proofreaders samantha among the brethren. by "josiah allen's wife" (marietta holley) part 2 chapter iv. never knew a word about the threshin' machine a-comin' till about half an hour before. josiah allen wuzn't to blame. it come just as onexpected onto him as it did onto me. solomon gowdey wuz a-goin' to have 'em first, which would have left me ample time to cook up for 'em. but he wuz took down bed sick, so they had to come right onto us with no warnin' previous and beforehand. they wuz a drivin' up just as josiah got the stove-pipe up. they had to go right by the side of the house, right by the parlor winders, to get to the side of the barn where they wanted to thresh; and just as they wuz a-goin' by one of the horses got down, and of all the yellin' i ever heard that was the cap sheaf. steve yerden is rough on his horses, dretful rough. he yells at 'em enough to raise the ruff. his threshin' machine is one of the kind where the horses walk up and look over the top. it is kinder skairful any way, and it made it as bad agin when you expected to see the horse fall out every minute. wall, that very horse fell out of the machine three times that day. it wuz a sick horse, i believe, and hadn't ort to have been worked. but three times it fell, and each time the yellin' wuz such that it skairt the author of "peaceful repose," and me, almost to death. the machine wuz in plain sight of the house, and every time we see the horse's head come a mountin' up on top of the machine, we expected that over it would go. but though it didn't fall out only three times, as i said, it kep' us all nerved up and uneasy the hull of the time expectin' it. and steve yerden kep' a-yellin' at his horses all the time; there wuzn't no comfort to be took within a mile of him. i wuz awful sorry it happened so, on her account. [illustration: "it didn't fall out only three times."] wall, i had to get dinner for nine men, and cook if all from the very beginnin'. if you'll believe it, i had to begin back to bread. i hadn't any bread in the house, but i had it a-risin', and i got two loaves out by dinner time. but i had to stir round lively, i can tell you, to make pies and cookies and fried cakes, and cook meat, and vegetables of all kinds. the author of "wedlock's peaceful repose" came out into the kitchen. i told her she might, if she wanted to, for i see i wuzn't goin' to have a minute's time to go into the parlor and visit with her. she looked pretty sober and thoughtful, and i didn't know as she liked it, to think i couldn't do as i promised to do, accordin' to agreement, to hear her lecture, and lift my hand up when i differed from her. but, good land! i couldn't help it. i couldn't get a minute's time to lift my hand up. i could have heard the lecture, but i couldn't spare my hands. and then josiah would come a-rushin' in after one thing and another, actin' as was natural, accordin' to the nater of man, more like a wild man than a christian methodist. for he was so wrought up and excited by havin' so much on his hands to do, and the onexpectedness of it, that he couldn't help actin' jest as he did act. i don't believe he could. and then steve yerden is enough to distract a leather-man, any way. [illustration: "to find a piece of old rope to tie up the harness."] twice i had to drop everything and find cloths to do up the horse's legs, where it had grazed 'em a-fallin' out of the machine. and once i took my hands out of the pie-crust to find a piece of old rope to tie up the harness. it seemed as if i left off every five minutes to wait on josiah allen, to find somethin' that he wanted and couldn't find, or else to do somethin' for him that he couldn't do. truly, it was a wild and harrowin' time, and tegus. but i kept a firm holt of my principles, and didn't groan--not when anybody could hear me. i won't deny that i did, out in the buttery by myself, give vent to a groan or two, and a few sithes. but immegiately, or a very little after, i was calm again. wall, worse things wuz a-comin' onto me, though i didn't know it. i owed a tin peddler; had been owin' him for four weeks. i owed him twenty-five pounds of paper rags, for a new strainer. i had been expectin' him for over three weeks every day. but in all the three hundred and sixty-five days of the year, there wuzn't another day that would satisfy him; he had got to come on jest that day, jest as i wuz fryin' my nut cakes for dinner. i tried to put him off till another day. but no! he said it wuz his last trip, and he must have his rags. and so i had to put by my work, and lug down my rag-bag. his steel-yards wuz broke, so he had to weigh 'em in the house. it wuz a tegus job, for he wuz one of the perticuler kind, and had to look 'em all over before he weighed 'em, and pick out every little piece of brown paper, or full cloth--everything, he said, that wouldn't make up into the nicest kind of writin' paper. and my steel-yards wuz out of gear any way, so they wouldn't weigh but five pounds at a time, and he wuz dretful perticuler to have 'em just right by the notch. and he would call on me to come and see just how the steel-yards stood every time. (he wuz as honest as the day; i hain't a doubt of it.) but it wuz tegus, fearful tegus, and excitin'. excitin', but not exhileratin', to have the floor all covered with rags of different shapes and sizes, no two of a kind. it wuz a curius time before he come, and a wild time, but what must have been the wildness, and the curosity when there wuz, to put a small estimate on it, nearly a billion of crazy lookin' rags scattered round on the floor. [illustration: "she looked curius, curiuser than the floor looked."] but i kep' calm; i have got giant self-control, and i used every mite of it, every atom of control i had by me, and kep' calm. i see i must--for i see that miss fogg looked bad; yes, i see that the author of "wedlock's peaceful repose" wuz pretty much used up. she looked curius, curiuser than the floor looked, and that is goin' to the complete end of curosity, and metafor. wall, i tussled along and got dinner ready. the tin peddler had to stay to dinner, of course. i couldn't turn him out jest at dinner time. and sometimes i almost think that he delayed matters and touzled 'round amongst them rags jest a purpose to belate himself, so he would have to stay to dinner. i am called a good cook. it is known 'way out beyend loontown and zoar--it is talked about, i spoze. wall, he stayed to dinner. but he only made fourteen; there wuz only thirteen besides him, so i got along. and i had a good dinner and enough of it. i had to wait on the table, of course--that is, the tea and coffee. and i felt that a cup of good, strong tea would be a paneky. i wuz that wore out and flustrated that i felt that i needed a paneky to soothe. and i got the rest all waited on and wuz jest a liftin' my cup to my lips, the cup that cheers everybody but don't inebriate 'em--good, strong japan tea with cream in it. oh, how good it smelt. but i hadn't fairly got it to my mouth when i wuz called off sudden, before i had drinked a drop, for the case demanded help at once. miss peedick had unexpected company come in, jest as they wuz a-settin' down to the dinner-table, and she hadn't hardly anything for dinner, and the company wuz very genteel--a minister and a justice of the peace--so she wanted to borrow a loaf of bread and a pie. she is a good neighbor and is one that will put herself out for a neighborin' female, and i went into the buttery, almost on the run, to get 'em for her, for her girl said she wanted to get 'em into the house and onto the table before mr. peedick come in with 'em from the horse barn, for they knew that mr. peedick would lead 'em out to dinner the very second they got into the house, and miss peedick didn't want her husband to know that she had borrowed vittles, for he would be sure to let the cat out of the bag, right at the table, by speakin' about 'em and comparin' 'em with hern. i see the necessity for urgent haste, and the trouble wuz that i hurried too much. in takin' down a pie in my awful hurry, i tipped over a pan of milk right onto my dress. it wuz up high and i wuz right under the shelf, so that about three tea-cupsful went down into my neck. but the most went onto my dress, about five quarts, i should judge besides that that wuz tricklin' down my backbone. [illustration: "i see the necessity for urgent haste."] wall, i started serintha ann peedick off with her ma's pie and bread, and then wiped up the floor as well as i could, and then i had to go and change my clothes. i had to change 'em clear through to my wrapper, for i wuz wet as sop--as wet as if i had been takin' a milk swim. chapter v. wall, the author of "wedlock's peaceful repose" wuz a-waitin' for me to the table; the men had all got through and gone out. she sot right by me, and she had missed me, i could see. her eyes looked bigger than ever, and more sad like. she said, "she was dretful sorry for me," and i believed her. she asked me in a awe-stricken tone, "if i had such trials every day?" and i told her "no, i didn't." i told her that things would run along smooth and agreeable for days and days, but that when things got to happenin', they would happen right along for weeks at a time, sometimes, dretful curius. a hull batch of difficulties would rain down on anybody to once. sez i, "you know mr. shakespeare says that' sorrows never come a-spyin' along as single fighters, but they come in hull battles of 'em,' or words to that effect." sez i, in reasonable axents, "mebby i shall have a hull lot of good things happen to me right along, one after another, some dretful agreeable days, and easy." sez she in the same sad axents, and wonderin', "did you ever have another day in your hull life as hard as this you are a-passin' through?" "oh, yes," sez i, "lots of'em--some worse ones, and," sez i, "the day has only jest begun yet, i presume i shall have lots and lots of new things happen to me before night. because it is jest as i tell you, when things get to happenin' there hain't no tellin' when they will ever stop." miss fogg groaned, a low, deep groan, and that is every word she said, only after a little while she spoke up, and sez: "you hain't eaten a bit of dinner; it all got cold while you wuz a changin' your dress." "oh, wall," sez i, "i can get along some way. and i must hurry up and get the table cleared off any way, and get to my work agin', for i have got to do a lot of cookin' this afternoon. it takes a sight of pies and cakes and such to satisfy twelve or a dozen men." so i went to work vigorously agin. but well might i tell miss fogg "that the day had only jest begun, and there wuz time for lots of things to happen before night," for i had only jest got well to work on the ingregiences of my pies when submit tewksbury sent over "to see if i could let her have them sturchien seeds i had promised her--she wanted 'em to run up the inside of her bedroom winder, and shade her through the winter. she wuz jest a-settin' out her winter stock of flower roots and seeds, and wanted 'em immegiatly, and to once, that is, if it was perfectly convenient," so the boy said. submit is a good creeter, and she wouldn't have put that burden on me on such a time for nothin', not if she had known my tribulations; but she didn't, and i felt that one trial more wouldn't, as the poet hath well said, "either make or break me." so i went to huntin' for the seeds. wall, it wuz a good half-hour before i could find 'em, for of course it wuz natural nater, accordin' to the total deprivity of things, that i should find 'em in the bottom of the last bag of seeds that i overhauled. but submit had been disappointed, and i didn't want to make her burdens any heavier, so i sent her the sturchien seeds. but it wuz a trial i do admit to look over more than forty bags of garden and flower seeds in such a time as that. but i sent 'em. i sent submit the sturchien seeds, and then i laid to work again fast as i possibly could. but i sez to the author of "peaceful repose," i sez to her, sez i: "i feel bad to think i hain't gettin' no time to hear you rehearse your lecture, but you can see jest how it is; you see i hain't had a minute's time today. mebby i will get a few minutes' time before night; i will try to," sez i. "oh," sez she, "it hain't no matter about that; i--i--i somehow--i don't feel like rehearsin' it as it was." sez she, "i guess i shall make some changes in it before i rehearse it agin." sez i, "you lay out to make a more mean thing of it, more megum." "yes," sez she, in faint axents, "i am a-thinkin' of it." [illustration: "as i started for the buttery."] "wall," sez i cheerfully, as i started for the buttery with a pile of cups in one hand, the castor and pickle dish in the other, and a pile of napkins under my arm, "i believe i shall like it as well again if you do, any way," sez i, as i kicked away the cat that wuz a-clawin' my dress, and opened the door with my foot, both hands bein' full. "any way, there will be as much agin truth in it." wall, i went to work voyalently, and in two hours' time i had got my work quelled down some. but i had to strain nearly every nerve in the effort. and i am afraid i didn't use the colporter just exactly right, who come when i wuz right in the midst of puttin' the ingregiences into my tea cakes. i didn't enter so deep into the argument about the revised new testament as i should in easier and calmer times. i conversed considerable, i argued some with him, but i didn't get so engaged as mebby i had ort to. he acted disappointed, and he didn't stay and talk more'n an hour and three quarters. he generally spends half a day with us. he is a master hand to talk; he'll make your brain fairly spin round he talks so fast and handles such large, curius words. he talked every minute, only when i wuz a-answerin' his questions. [illustration: "there wuz somethin' wrong about 'em."] wall, he had jest gone, the front gate had just clicked onto him, when miss philander dagget came in at the back door. she had her press-board in her hand, and a coat over her arm, and i see in a minute that i had got another trial onto me. i see i had got to set her right. i set her a chair, and she took off her sun-bonnet and hung it over the back of her chair, and set down, and then she asked me if i could spend time to put in the sleeves of her husband's coat. she said "there wuz somethin' wrong about em', but she didn't know what." she said "she wouldn't have bothered me that day when i had so much round, but philander had got to go to a funeral the next day, as one of the barriers, and he must have his coat." wall, i wrung my hands out of the dish-water they was in at the time, and took the coat and looked at it, and the minute i set my eyes on it i see what ailed it i see she had got the sleeves sot in so the elbows come right in front of his arms, and if he had wore it in that condition to the funeral or anywhere else he would have had to fold up his arms right acrost his back; there wuzn't no other possible way. and then i turned tailoress and helped her out of her trouble. i sot the sleeves in proper, and fixed the collar. she had got it sot on as a ruffle. i drawed it down smooth where it ort to be and pinned it--and she went home feelin' first rate. i am very neighborly, and helpful, and am called so. jonesville would miss me if any thing should happen. [illustration: "she is apt to get things wrong."] i have often helped that woman a sight. she is a good, willin' creeter, but she is apt to get things wrong, dretful apt. she made her little boy's pantaloons once wrong side before, so it would seem that he would have to set down from the front side, or else stand up. and twice she got her husband's pantaloons sewed up so there wuz no way to get into em' only to crawl up into 'em through the bottom of the legs. but i have always made a practice of rippin' and tearin' and bastin', and settin' her right, and i did now. wall, she hadn't hardly got out of the back door, when josiah allen came in in awful distress, he had got a thorn in his foot, he had put on an old pair of boots, and there wuz a hole in the side of one of 'em, and the thorn had got in through the hole. it pained him dretfully, and he wuz jest as crazy as a loon for the time bein'. and he hollered the first thing that "he wanted some of hall's salve." and i told him "there wuzn't a mite in the house." and he hollered up and says, "there would be some if there wuz any sense in the head of the house." [illustration: "he wanted some of hall's salve."] i glanced up mechanically at his bald head, but didn't say nothin', for i see it wouldn't do. and he hollered out agin, "why hain't there any hall's salve?" sez i, "because old hall has been dead for years and years, and hain't made any salve." "wall, he wouldn't have been dead if he had had any care took of him," he yelled out. "why," sez i, "he wuz killed by lightnin'; struck down entirely onexpected five years ago last summer." "oh, argue and dispute with a dying man. gracious peter! what will become of me!" he groaned out, a-holdin' his foot in his hand. sez i, "let me put some pond's extract on it, josiah." "pond's extract!" he yelled, and then he called that good remedy words i wuz ashamed to hear him utter. and he jumped round and pranced and kicked just as it is the nater of man to act under bodily injury of that sort. and then he ordered me to take a pin and get the thorn out, and then acted mad as a hen at me all the time i wuz a-doin' it; acted jest as if i wuz a-prickin' him a-purpose. he talked voyalent and mad. i tried to hush him down; i told him the author of "wedlock's peaceful repose" would hear him, and he hollered back "he didn't care a cent who heard him. he wuz killed, and he shouldn't live to trouble anybody long if that pain kept up." his acts and words wuz exceedingly skairful to anybody who didn't understand the nater of a man. but i wuzn't moved by 'em so much as the width of a horse hair. good land! i knew that jest as soon as the pain subsided he would be good as gold, so i kep' on, cool and collected, and got the thorn out, and did up the suffering toe in pond's extract, and i hadn't only jest got it done, when, for all the world! if i didn't see a double team stop in front of the house, and i peeked through the winder and see as it wuz the livery stable man from jonesville, and he had brung down the last straws to be lifted onto the camel's back--a hull lot of onexpected company. a hull load of 'em. there wuz the baptist minister and his wife and their three children, and the minister's wife's sister-in-law from the west, who wuz there a-visitin', and the editor of the _augur'ses_ wife (she wuz related to the visitor from the west by marriage) and three of the twins. and old miss minkley, she wuz acquainted with the visitor's mother, used to go to school with her. and drusilly sypher, she wuz the visitor from the west's bosom friend, or used to be. wall, they had all come down to spend the afternoon and visit with each other, and with me and josiah, and stay to supper. chapter vi. the author of "peaceful repose" sez to me, and she looked pale and skairt; she had heard every word josiah had said, and she wuz dretful skairt and shocked (not knowin' the ways of men, and not understandin', as i said prior and before, that in two hours' time he would be jest as good as the very best kind of pie, affectionate, and even spoony, if i would allow spoons, which i will not the most of the time). wall, she proposed, miss fogg did, that she should ride back with the livery man. and though i urged her to stay till night, i couldn't urge her as hard as i would otherwise, for by that time the head of the procession of visitors had reached the door-step, and i had to meet 'em with smiles. [illustration: "she proposed that she should ride back with the livery man."] i smiled some, i thought i must. but they wuz curius smiles, very, strange-lookin' smiles, sort o' gloomy ones, and mournful lookin'. i have got lots of different smiles that i keep by me for different occasions, every woman has, and this wuz one of my most mournfulest and curiusest ones. wall, the author of "wedlock's peaceful and perfect repose" insisted on goin', and she went. and i sez to her as she went down the steps, "that if she would come up some other day when i didn't have quite so much work round, i would be as good as my word to her about hearin' her rehearse the lecture." but she said, as she hurried out to the gate, lookin' pale an' wan (as wan agin as she did when she came, if not wanner): "that she should make _changes_ in it before she ever rehearsed it agin--_deep changes_!" and i should dare to persume to say that she did. though, as i say, she went off most awful sudden, and i hadn't seen nor heard from her sence till i got this letter. wall, jest as i got through with the authoresses letter, and lodema trumble's, josiah allen came. and i hurried up the supper. i got it all on the table while i wuz a steepin' my tea (it wuz good tea). and we sot down to the table happy as a king and his queen. i don't s'pose queens make a practice of steepin' tea, but mebby they would be better off if they did--and have better appetites and better tea. any way we felt well, and the supper tasted good. and though josiah squirmed some when i told him lodema wuz approachin' and would be there that very night or the next day--still the cloud wore away and melted off in the glowin' mellowness of the hot tea and cream, the delicious oysters and other good things. [illustration: "my pardner enjoys good vittles."] my pardner, though, as he often says, is not a epicack, still he duz enjoy good vittles dretful well and appreciates 'em. and i make a stiddy practice of doin' the best i can by him in this direction. and if more females would foller on and cipher out this simple rule, and get the correct answer to it, the cramp in the right hands of divorce lawyers would almost entirely disappear. for truly it seems that _no_ human man _could be_ more worrysome, and curius, and hard to get along with than josiah allen is at times; still, by stiddy keepin' of my table set out with good vittles from day to day, and year to year, the golden cord of affection has bound him to me by ties that can't never be broken into. he worships me! and the better vittles i get, the more he thinks on me. for love, however true and deep it is, is still a tumultous sea; it has its high tides, and its low ones, its whirlpools, and its calms. he loves me a good deal better some days than he does others; i see it in his mean. and mark you! mark it well, female reader, these days are the ones that i cook up sights and sights of good food, and with a cheerful countenance and clean apron, set it before him in a bright room, on a snowy table-cloth! great--great is the mystery of men's love. i have often and often repeated this simple fact and truth that underlies married life, and believe me, dear married sisters, too much cannot be said about it, by those whose hearts beat for the good of female and male humanity--and it _cannot_ be too closely followed up and practised by female pardners. but i am a-eppisodin'; and to resoom. wall, lodema trumble arrove the next mornin' bright and early--i mean the mornin' wuz bright, not lodema--oh no, fur from it; lodema is never bright and cheerful--she is the opposite and reverse always. she is a old maiden. i do think it sounds so much more respectful to call 'em so rather than "old maid" (but i had to tutor josiah dretful sharp before i could get him into it). i guess lodema is one of the regular sort. there is different kinds of old maidens, some that could marry if they would, and some that would but couldn't. and i ruther mistrust she is one of the "would-but-couldn't's," though i wouldn't dast to let her know i said so, not for the world. josiah never could bear the sight of her, and he sort o' blamed her for bein' a old maiden. but i put a stop to that sudden, for sez i: "she hain't to blame, josiah." and she wuzn't. i hain't a doubt of it. wall, how long she calculated to stay this time we didn't know. but we had our fears and forebodin's about it; for she wuz in the habit of makin' awful long visits. why, sometimes she would descend right down onto us sudden and onexpected, and stay fourteen weeks right along--jest like a famine or a pestilence, or any other simely that you are a mind to bring up that is tuckerin' and stiddy. and she wuz disagreeable, i'll confess, and she wuz tuckerin', but i done well by her, and stood between her and josiah all i could. he loved to put on her, and she loved to impose on him. i don't stand up for either on 'em, but they wuz at regular swords' pints all the time a'most. and it come fearful tuff on me, fearful tuff, for i had to stand the brunt on it. but she is a disagreeable creeter, and no mistake. she is one of them that can't find one solitary thing or one solitary person in this wide world to suit 'em. if the weather is cold she is pinin' for hot weather, and if the weather is hot she is pantin' for zero. [illustration: "but she is a disagreeable creeter."] if it is a pleasant day the sun hurts her eyes, and if it is cloudy she groans aloud and says "she can't see." and no human bein' wuz ever known to suit her. she gets up early in the mornin' and puts on her specs, and goes out (as it were) a-huntin' up faults in folks. and she finds 'em, finds lots of 'em. and then she spends the rest of the day a-drivin' 'em ahead of her, and groanin' at 'em. you know this world bein' such a big place and so many different sort o' things in it that you can generally find in it the perticuler sort of game you set out to hunt in the mornin'. if you set out to hunt beauty and goodness, if you take good aim and are perseverin'--if you jest track 'em and foller 'em stiddy from mornin' till night, and don't get led away a-follerin' up some other game, such as meanness and selfishness and other such worthless head o' cattle--why, at night you will come in with a sight of good game. you will be a noble and happy hunter. [illustration: "but fit with their tongues, fearful."] at the same time, if you hunt all day for faults you will come in at night with sights of pelts. you will find what you hunt for, track 'em right along and chase 'em down. wall, lodema never got led away from her perticuler chase. she just hunted faults from mornin' till night, and done well at it. she brought in sights of skins. but oh! wuzn't it disagreeable in the extreme to samantha, who had always tried to bend her bow and bring down beauty, to have her familiar huntin' grounds turned into so different a warpath. it wuz disagreeable! it wuz! it wuz! and then, havin' to stand between her and josiah too, wuz fearful wearin' on me. i had always stood there in the past, and now in this visit it wuz jest the same; all the hull time, till about the middle of the fifth week, i had to stand between their two tongues--they didn't fight with their hands, but fit with their tongues, fearful. proofreaders samantha among the brethren. by "josiah allen's wife" (marietta holley) part 6 chapter xxiii. miss timson's letter wuz writ to me on the 6th day of his sickness, and josiah and me set sail for loontown on the follerin' day after we got it. i laid the case before the female sisters of the meetin' house, and they all counselled me to go. for, as they all said, on account of sister bobbet's fallin' on the apple parin' we could not go on with the work of paperin' the meetin' house, and so the interests of zion wouldn't languish on account of my absence for a day or two any way. and, as the female sisters all said, it seemed as if the work i wuz called to in loontown wuz a fair and square case of duty, so they all counselled me to go, every one on 'em. though, as wuz nateral, there wuz severel divisions of opinions as to the road i should take a-goin' there, what day i should come back, what remiedies wuz best for me to recommend when i got there, what dress i should wear, and whether i should wear a hankerchif pin or not--or a bib apron, or a plain banded one, etc., etc., etc., etc. but, as i sez, as to my goin' they wuz every one on 'em unanimus. they meen well, those sisters in the meetin' house do, every one on 'em. josiah acted real offish at first about goin'. and he laid the case before the male brothers of the meetin' house, for josiah wuz fearful that the interests of the buzz saw mill would languish in his absence. one or two of the weaker brethren joined in with him, and talked kinder deprestin' about it. but deacon sypher and deacon henzy said they would guard his interests with eagle visions, or somethin' to that effect, and they counselled josiah warmly that it wuz his duty to go. we hearn afterwards that deacon sypher and deacon henzy wanted to go into the north woods a-fishin' and a-huntin' for 2 or 3 days, and it has always been spozed by me that that accounted for their religeus advice to josiah allen. howsumever, i don't _know_ that. but i do know that they started off a-fishin' the very day we left for loontown, and that they come back home about the time we did, with two long strings of trout. [illustration: the return of the hunters.] and there wuz them that said that they ketched the trout, and them that said they bought 'em. and they brung back the antlers of a deer in their game bags, and some bones of a elk. and there are them that sez that they dassent, either one of 'em, shoot off a gun, not hardly a pop gun. but i don't know the truth of this. i know what they _said_, they _said_ the huntin' wuz excitin' to the last degree, and the fishin' superb. and there wuz them that said that they should think the huntin' would be excitin', a-rummagin' round on the ground for some old bones, and they should think the fishin' would be superb, a-dippin' 'em out of a barell and stringin' 'em onto their own strings. but their stories are very large, that i know. and each one on 'em, accordin' to their tell, ketched more trouts than the other one, and fur bigger ones, and shot more deers. wall, deacon sypher'ses advice and deacon henzy's influenced josiah a good deal, and i said quite a few words to him on the subject, and, suffice it to say, that the next day, about 10 a.m., we set out on our journey to loontown. [illustration: "miss timson and rosy seemed dretful glad to see me."] miss timson and rosy seemed dretful glad to see me, but they wuz pale and wan, wanner fur than i expected to see 'em; but after i had been there a spell i see how it wuz. i see that ralph wuz their hero as well as their love, and they worshipped him in every way, with their hearts and their souls and their idealized fancies. wall, he wuz a noble lookin' man as i ever see, fur or near, and as good a one as they make, he wuz strong and tender, so i couldn't blame 'em. and though i wouldn't want josiah to hear me say too much about it, or mebby it would be best that he shouldn't, before i had been there 24 hours i begun to feel some as they did. but my feelin's wuz strictly in a meetin' house sense, strictly. but i begun to feel with them that the middle of the world wuz there in that bedroom, and the still, white figure a-layin' there wuz the centre, and the rest of the world wuz a-revolvin' round him. his face wuz worn and marked by the hand of time and endeaver. but every mark wuz a good one. the soul, which is the best sculptor after all, had chiselled into his features the marks of a deathless endeavor and struggle toward goodness, which is god. had marked it with the divine sweetness and passion of livin' and toilin' for the good of others. he had gi'n his life jest as truly to seek and save them that wuz lost as ever any old prophet and martyr ever had sense the world began. but under all these heavenly expressions that a keen eye could trace in his good lookin' face, could be seen a deathly weakness, the consumin' fire that wuz a-consumin' of him. miss timson wept when she see me, and rosy threw herself into my arms and sobbed. but i gently ondid her arms from round my neck and give miss timson to understand that i wuz there to _help_ 'em if i could. "for," sez i softly, "the hull future time is left for us to weep in, but the present wuz the time to try to help ralph s. robinson." wall, i laid to, josiah a-helpin' me nobly, a-pickin' burdock leaves or beet leaves, as the case might be, and a-standin' by me nobly all through the follerin' night (that is, when he wuz awake). josiah and i took care on him all that night, miss timson refusin' to give him into the charge of underlin's, and we a-offerin' and not to be refused. wall, josiah slept some, or that is, i s'poze he did. i didn't hear much from him from 10 p.m. to 5 a.m., only once i heard him murmer in his sleep, "buzz saw mill." [illustration: "didn't see how folks needed so much sleep."] but every time i would come out into the settin' room where he sot and roust him up to get sunthin' for me, he would say, almost warmly-"samantha, that last remark of your'n wuz very powerful." and i wouldn't waste my time nor hisen by tellin' him that i hadn't made no remark, nor thought on't. i see it would hurt his feelin's, specilly as he would add in haste-"that he didn't see how folks needed so much sleep; as for him, it wuz a real treat to keep awake all night, now and then." no, i would let it go, and ask him for burdock or beet, as the case might be. truly i had enugh on my mind and heart that night without disputin' with my josiah. ralph s. robinson would lay lookin' like a dead man some of the time, still and demute, and then he would speak out in a strange language, stranger than any i ever heard. he would preach sermons in that language, i a-knowin' it wuz a sermen by his gestures, and also by my feelin's. and then he would shet up his eyes and pray in that strange, strange tongue, and anon breakin' out into our own language. and once he said: "and now may the peace of god be with you all. amen. the peace of god! the peace! the peace!" his voice lingered sort o' lovin'ly over that word, and i felt that he wuz a-thinkin' then of the real peace, the onbroken stillness, outside and inside, that he invoked. rosy would steal in now and then like a sweet little shadow, and bend down and kiss her pa, and cry a little over his thin, white hands which wuz a-lyin' on the coverlet, or else lifted in that strange speech that sounded so curius to us, a-risin' up out of the stillness of a loontown spare bedroom on a calm moonlit evenin'. wall, friday and saturday he wuz crazier'n a loon, more'n half the time he wuz, but along saturday afternoon the doctor told us that the fever would turn sometime the latter part of the night, and if he could sleep then, and not be disturbed, there would be a chance for his life. wall, miss timson and rosy both told me how the ringin' of the bells seemed to roust him up and skair him (as it were) and git him all excited and crazy. and they both wuz dretful anxius about the mornin' bells which would ring when ralph would mebby be sleepin'. so thinkin' it wuz a case of life and death, and findin' out who wuz the one to tackle in the matter, i calmly tied on my bonnet and walked over and tackled him. chapter xxiv. it wuz deacon garven and he wuz a close communion baptist by perswaision, and a good man, so fur as firm morals and a sound creed goes. some things he lacked: he hadn't no immagination at all, not one speck. and in makin' him up, it seems as if he had a leetle more justice added to him to make up a lack of charity and pity. and he had a good deal of sternness and resolve gin him, to make up, i spoze, for a lack of tenderness and sweetness of nater. a good sound man deacon garven wuz, a man who would cheat himself before he would cheat a neighber. he wuz jest full of qualities that would hender him from ever takin' a front part in a scandel and a tragedy. yes, if more men wuz like deacon garven the pages of the daily papers would fairly suffer for rapiners, embezzlers, wife whippers, etc. wall, he wuz in his office when i tackled him. the hired girl asked me if i come for visitin' purposes or business, and i told her firmly, "business!" so she walked me into a little office one side of the hall, where i spoze the deacon transacted the business that come up on his farm, and then he wuz justice of the peace, and trustee of varius concerns (every one of 'em good ones). he is a tall, bony man, with eyes a sort of a steel gray, and thin lips ruther wide, and settin' close together. and without lookin' like one, or, that is, without havin' the same features at all, the deacon did make me think of a steel trap. i spoze it wuz because he wuz so sound, and sort o' firm. a steel trap is real firm when it lays hold and tries to be. [illustration: "the deacon did make me think of a steel trap."] wall, i begun the subject carefully, but straight to the pint, as my way is, by tellin' him that ralph s. robinson wuz a-layin' at death's door, and his life depended on his gettin' sleep, and we wuz afraid the bells in the mornin' would roust him up, and i had come to see if he would omit the ringin' of 'em in the mornin'. "not ring the bells!" sez he, in wild amaze. "not ring the church bells on the sabbath day?" his look wuz skairful in the extreme, but i sez-"yes, that is what i said, we beg of you as a christian to not ring the bells in the mornin'." "a christian! a christian! advise me as a _christian_ to not ring the sabbath bells!" i see the idee skairt him. he wuz fairly pale with surprise and borrow. and i told him agin', puttin' in all the perticilers it needed to make the story straight and good, how ralph s. robinson had labored for the good of others, and how his strength had gin out, and he wuz now a-layin' at the very pint of death, and how his girl and his sister wuz a-breakin' their hearts over him, and how we had some hopes of savin' his life if he could get some sleep, that the doctors said his life depended on it, and agin i begged him to do what we asked. but the deacon had begin to get over bein' skairt, and he looked firm as anybody ever could, as he sez: "the bells never hurt anybody, i know, for here i have lived right by the side of 'em for 20 years. do i look broke down and weak?" sez he. "no," sez i, honestly. "no more than a grannit monument, or a steel trap." "wall," sez he, "what don't hurt me won't hurt nobody else." "but," sez i, "folks are made up different." sez i, "the bible sez so, and what might not hurt you, might be the ruin of somebody else. wuz you ever nervous?" sez i. "never," sez he. and he added firmly, "i don't believe in nerves. i never did. there hain't no use in 'm." "it wuz a wonder they wuz made, then," sez i. "as a generel thing the lord don't make things there hain't no use on. howsumever," sez i, "there hain't no use in disputin' back and forth on a nerve. but any way, sickness is so fur apart from health, that the conditions of one state can't be compared to the other; as ralph s. robinson is now, the sound of the bells, or any other loud noise means torture and agony to him, and, i am afraid, death. and i wish you would give orders to not have 'em rung in the mornin'." "are you a professor?" sez he. "yes," sez i. "what perswaision?" sez he. "methodist episcopal," sez i. "and do you, a member of a sister church, which, although it has many errors, is still a-gropin' after the light! do you counsel me to set aside the sacred and time honored rules of our church, and allow the sabbath to go by unregarded, have the sanctuary desecrated, the cause of religion languish--i cannot believe it. think of the widespread desolation it would cause if, as the late lamented mr. selkirk sung: "'the sound of the church-going bells, these valleys and hills never heard.'" "no church, no sanctuary, no religius observances." "why," sez i, "that wouldn't hinder folks from goin' to church. folks seem to get to theatres, lectures, and disolvin' views on time, and better time than they do to meetin'," sez i. "in your opinin' it hain't necessary to beat a drum and sound on a bugle as the salvation army duz, to call folks to meetin'; you are dretful hard on them, so i hear." "yes, they make a senseless, vulgar, onnecessary racket, disturbin' and agrivatin' to saint and sinner." "but," sez i, "they say they do it for the sake of religion." "religion hain't to be found in drum-sticks," sez he bitterly. "no," sez i, "nor in a bell clapper." "oh," sez he, "that is a different thing entirely, that is to call worshippers together, that is necessary." sez i, "one hain't no more necessary than the other in my opinion." sez he, "look how fur back in the past the sweet bells have sounded out." "yes," sez i candidly, "and in the sweet past they wuz necessary," sez i. "in the sweet past, there wuzn't a clock nor a watch, the houses wuz fur apart, and they needed bells. but now there hain't a house but what is runnin' over with clocks--everybody knows the time; they know it so much that time is fairly a drug to 'em. why, they time themselves right along through the day, from breakfast to midnight. time their meals, their business, their pleasures, their music, their lessons, their visits, their visitors, their pulse beats, and their dead beats. they time their joys and their sorrows, and everything and everybody, all through the week, and why should they stop short off sundays? why not time themselves on goin' to meetin'? they do, and you know it. there hain't no earthly need of the bells to tell the time to go to meetin', no more than there is to tell the time to put on the tea-kettle to get supper. if folks want to go to meetin' they will get there, bells or no bells, and if they don't want to go, bells hain't a-goin' to get 'em started. "take a man with the sunday _world_ jest brung in, a-layin' on a lounge, with his feet up in a chair, and kinder lazy in the first place, bells hain't a-goin' to start him. "and take a woman with her curl papers not took down, and a new religeus novel in her hand, and a miliner that disapinted her the night before, and bells hain't a-goin' to start her. no, the great bell of moscow won't start 'em. [illustration: "bells hain't a-goin' to start him."] "and take a good christian woman, a widow, for instance, who loves church work, and has a good handsome christian pasture, who is in trouble, lost his wife, mebby, or sunthin' else bad, and the lack of bells hain't a-goin' to keep that women back, no, not if there wuzn't a bell on earth." "oh, wall, wavin' off that side of the subject," sez he (i had convinced him, i know, but he wouldn't own it, for he knew well that if folks wanted to go they always got there, bells or no bells). "but," sez he wavin' off that side of the subject, "the observance is so time honored, so hallowed by tender memories and associations all through the past." "don't you 'spoze, deacon garven," sez i, "that i know every single emotion them bells can bring to anybody, and felt all those memorys and associations. i'll bet, or i wouldn't be afraid to bet, if i believed in bettin', that there hain't a single emotion in the hull line of emotions that the sound of them bells can wake up, but what i have felt, and felt 'em deep too, jest as deep as anybody ever did, and jest es many of 'em. but it is better for me to do without a upliftin', soarin' sort of a feelin' ruther than have other people suffer agony." "agony!" sez he, "talk about their causin' agony, when there hain't a more heavenly sound on earth." [illustration: "a-leanin' over the front gate on a still spring mornin'."] "so it has been to me," sez i candidly. "to me they have always sounded beautiful, heavenly. why," sez i, a-lookin' kinder fur off, beyond deacon garven, and all other troubles, as thoughts of beauty and insperation come to me borne out of the past into my very soul, by the tender memories of the bells--thoughts of the great host of believers who had gathered together at the sound of the bells--the great army of the redeemed- 'some of the host have crossed the flood, and some are crossin' now,' thinks i a-lookin' way off in a almost rapped way. and then i sez to deacon garven in a low soft voice, lower and more softer fur, than i had used to him, "don't i know what it is to stand a-leanin' over the front gate on a still spring mornin', the smell of the lilacs in the air, and the brier roses. a dew sparklin' on the grass under the maples, and the sunshine a-fleckin' the ground between 'em, and the robins a-singin' and the hummin' birds a-hoverin' round the honeysuckles at the door. and over all and through all, and above all clear and sweet, comin' from fur off a-floatin' through the sabbath stillness, the sound of the bells, a-bringin' to us sweet sabbath messages of love and joy. bringin' memories too, of other mornin's as fair and sweet, when other ears listened with us to the sound, other eyes looked out on the summer beauty, and smiled at the sound of the bells. heavenly emotions, sweet emotions come to me on the melody of the bells, peaceful thoughts, inspirin' thoughts of the countless multitude that has flocked together at the sound of the bells. the aged feet, the eager youthful feet, the children's feet, all, all walkin' to the sound of the bells. thoughts of the happy youthful feet that set out to walk side by side, at their ringin' sounds. thoughts of the aged ones grown tired, and goin' to their long dreamless sleep to their solemn sound. thoughts of the brave hero's who set out to protect us with their lives while the bells wuz ringin' out their approval of such deeds. thoughts of how they pealed out joyfully on their return bearin' the form of peace. thoughts of how the bells filled the mornin' and evenin' air, havin' throbbed and beat with every joy and every pain of our life, till they seem a part of us (as it were) and the old world would truly seem lonesome without 'em. "as i told you, and told you truly, i don't believe there is a single emotion in the hull line of emotions, fur or near, but what them bells have rung into my very soul. "but such emotions, beautiful and inspirin' though they are, can be dispensed with better than justice and mercy can. sweet and tender sentiment is dear to me, truly, near and dear, but mercy and pity and common sense, have also a powerful grip onto my right arm, and have to lead me round a good deal of the time. "beautiful emotion, when it stands opposed to eternal justice, ort to step gently aside and let justice have a free road. sentiment is truly sweet, but any one can get along without it, take it right along through the year, better than they can without sleep. "you see if you can't sleep you must die, while a person can worry along a good many years without sentiment. or, that is, i have been told they could. i don't know by experience, for i have always had a real lot of it. you see my experience has been such that i could keep sentiment and comfort too. but my mind is such, that i have to think of them that hain't so fortunate as i am. "i have looked at the subject from my own standpoint, and have tried also to look at it through others' eyes, which is the only way we can get a clear, straight light on any subject. as for me, as i have said, i would love to hear the sweet, far off sound of the bells a-tremblin' gently over the hills to me from jonesville; it sounds sweeter to me than the voices of the robins and swallers, a-comin' home from the south in the spring of the year. and i would deerly love to have it go on and on as fur as my own feelins are concerned. but i have got to look at the subject through the tired eyes, and feel it through the worn-out nerves of others, who are sot down right under the wild clamor of the bells. "what comes to me as a heavenly melody freighted full of beautiful sentiment and holy rapture comes to them as an intolerable agony, a-maddenin' discord, that threatens their sanity, that rouses 'em up from their fitful sleep, that murders sleep--the bells to them seem murderus, strikin' noisily with brazen hands, at their hearts. [illustration: "tossin' on beds of nervous sufferin'."] "to them tossin' on beds of nervous sufferin', who lay for hours fillin' the stillness with horror, with dread of the bells, where fear and dread of 'em exceed the agony of the clangor of the sound when it comes at last. long nights full of a wakeful horror and expectency, fur worse than the realization of their imaginin's. to them the bells are a instrument of torture jest as tuff to bear as any of the other old thumb screws and racks that wrung and racked our old 4 fathers in the name of religion. "i have to think of the great crowd of humanity huddled together right under the loud clangor of the bells whose time of rest begins when the sun comes up, who have toiled all night for our comfort and luxury. so we can have our mornin' papers brought to us with our coffee. so we can have the telegraphic messages, bringing us good news with our toast. so's we can have some of our dear ones come to us from distant lands in the morning. i must think of them who protect us through the night so we can sleep in peace. "hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of these, our helpers and benafacters, work all night for our sakes, work and toil. the least we can do for these is to help 'em to the great restorer, sleep, all we can. "some things we can't do; we can't stop the creakin' sounds of the world's work; the big roar of the wheel of business that rolls through the week days, can't be oiled into stillness; but sundays they might get a little rest sunday is the only day of rest for thousands of men and wimmen, nervous, pale, worn by their week's hard toil. "the creakin' of the wheels of traffic are stopped on this day. they could get a little of the rest they need to carry on the fight of life to help support wife, child, father, husband; but religeon is too much for 'em--the religeon that the bible declares is mild, peacible, tender. it clangs and bangs and whangs at 'em till the day of rest is a torment. "now the lord wouldn't approve of this. i know he wouldn't, for he was always tender and pitiful full of compassion. i called it religeon for oritory, but it hain't religeon, it is a relict of old barberism who, under the cloak of religeon, whipped quakers and hung prophetic souls, that the secrets of heaven had been revealed to, secrets hidden from the coarser, more sensual vision." sez deacon garven: "i consider the bells as missionarys. they help spread the gospel." "and," sez i, for i waz full of my subject, and kep him down to it all i could, "ralph s. robinson has spread the gospel over acres and acres of land, and brung in droves and droves of sinners into the fold without the help of church or steeple, let alone bells, and it seems es if he ortn't to be tortured to death now by 'em." "wall," he said, "he viewed 'em as gospel means, and he couldn't, with his present views of his duty to the lord, omit 'em." sez i, "the lord didn't use 'em. he got along without 'em." "wall," he said, "it wuz different times now." sez i, "the lord, if he wuz here to-day, deacon garven, if he had bent over that form racked with pain and sufferin' and that noise of any kind is murderous to, he would help him, i know he would, for he wuz good to the sick, and tender hearted always." "wall, _i_ will help him," sez deacon garven, "i will watch, and i will pray, and i will work for him." sez i, "will you promise me not to ring the bells to-morrow mornin'; if he gets into any sleep at all durin' the 24 hours, it is along in the mornin', and i think if we could keep him asleep, say all the forenoon, there would be a chance for him. will you promise me?" "wall," sez he kinder meltin' down a little, "i will talk with the bretheren." sez i, "promise me, deacon eben garven, before you see 'em." sez he, "i would, but i am so afraid of bringin' the cause of religeon into contempt. and i dread meddlin' with the old established rules of the church." sez i, "mercy and justice and pity wuz set up on earth before bells wuz, and i believe it is safe to foller 'em." but he wouldn't promise me no further than to talk with the bretheren, and i had to leave him with that promise. as things turned out afterwuds, i wuz sorry, sorry es a dog that i didn't shet up deacon garven in his own smoke house, or cause him to be shet, and mount a guard over him, armed nearly to the teeth with clubs. but i didn't, and i relied some on the bretheren. ralph wuz dretful wild all the forepart of the night. he'd lay still for a few minutes, and then he would get all rousted up, and he would set up in bed and call out some words in that strange tongue. and he would lift up his poor weak right arm, strong then in his fever, and preach long sermons in that same strange curius language. he would preach his sermon right through, earnest and fervent as any sermon ever wuz. i would know it by the looks of his face. and then he would sometimes sing a little in that same singular language, and then he would lay down for a spell. but along towards mornin' i see a change, his fever seemed to abate and go down some--very gradual, till just about the break of day, he fell into a troubled sleep--or it wuz a troubled sleep at first--but growin' deeper and more peaceful every minute. and along about eight o'clock he wuz a-sleepin' sweet for the first time durin' his sickness; it wuz a quiet restful sleep, and some drops of presperation and sweat could be seen on his softened features. we all wuz as still, almost, as if we wuz automatoes, we wuz so afraid of makin' a speck of noise to disturb him. we kep almost breathless, in our anxiety to keep every mite of noise out of his room. but i did whisper to rosy in a low still voice-[illustration: "the lord be praised, we shall pull him through."] "your father is saved, the lord be praised, we shall pull him through." she jest dropped onto her knees, and laid her head in my lap and cried and wept, but soft and quiet so's it wouldn't disturb a mice. miss timson wuz a-prayin', i could see that. she wuz a-returnin' thanks to the lord for his mercy. as for me, i sot demute, in that hushed and darkened room, a-watchin' every shadow of a change that might come to his features, with a teaspoon ready to my hand, to give him nourishment at the right time if he needed it, or medicine. when all of a sudden--slam! bang! rush! roar! slam! slam! ding! dong! bang!!! come right over our heads the wild, deafening clamor of the bells. ralph started up wilder than ever because of his momentary repose. he never knew us, nor anything, from that time on, and after sufferin' for another 24 hours, sufferin' that made us all willin' to have it stop, he died. and so he who had devoted his hull life to religeon wuz killed by it. he who had gin his hull life for the true, wuz murdered by the false. [illustration: "and i thought he wuz pronouncin' a benediction on the savages."] his last move wuz to spread out his hands, and utter a few of them strange words, as if in benediction over a kneelin' multitude. and i thought then, and i think still, that he wuz pronouncin' a benediction on the savages. and i have always hoped that the mercy he besought from on high at that last hour brought down god's pity and forgiveness on all benighted savages, and bigoted ones, deacon garven, and the hull on 'em. chapter xxv. the very next day after i got home from miss timson'ses, we wimmen all met to the meetin' house agin as usial, for we knew very well that the very hardest and most arjuous part of our work lay before us. for if it had been hard and tuckerin' to what it seemed the utmost limit of tucker, to stand up on a lofty barell, and lift up one arm, and scrape the ceilin', what would it be, so we wildly questioned our souls, and each other, to stand up on the same fearful hites, and lift _both_ arms over our heads, and get on them fearful lengths of paper smooth. i declare, when the hull magnitude of the task we had tackled riz before us, it skairt the hull on us, and nuthin' but our deathless devotion to the methodist meetin' house, kep us from startin' off to our different homes on the run. but lovin' it as we did, as the very apples in our eyes, and havin' in our constant breasts a determinate to paper that meetin' house, or die in the attempt, we made ready to tackle it. [illustration: "we had to wait for the paste to bile."] yet such wuz the magnitude of the task, and our fearful apprehensions, that after we had looked the ceilin' all over, and examined the paper--we all sot down, as it were, instinctivly, and had a sort of a conference meetin' (we had to wait for the paste to bile anyway, it wuz bein' made over the stove in the front entry). and he would lift up his poor weak right arm, strong then in his fever, and preach long sermons in that same strange curius language. he would preach his sermon right through, earnest and fervent as any sermon ever wuz. i would know it by the looks of his face. and then he would sometimes sing a little in that same singular language, and then he would lay down for a spell. but along towards mornin' i see a change, his fever seemed to abate and go down some--very gradual, till just about the break of day, he fell into a troubled sleep--or it wuz a troubled sleep at first--but growin' deeper and more peaceful every minute. and along about eight o'clock he wuz a-sleepin' sweet for the first time durin' his sickness; it wuz a quiet restful sleep, and some drops of presperation and sweat could be seen on his softened features. [illustration: "we all set and laid on our plans, and cut the edges offen the paper."] we all wuz as still, almost, as if we wuz automatoes, we wuz so afraid of makin' a speck of noise to disturb him. we kep almost breathless, in our anxiety to keep every mite of noise out of his room. but i did whisper to rosy in a low still voice--it middlin calm, and miss gowdy offered to be the one to carry it back to jonesville, and change it that very afternoon--for we could not afford to buy a new one, and we had the testimony of as many as twenty-one or two pairs of eyes, that the handle didn't come out by our own carelessness, but by its own inherient weakness--so we spozed he would swap it, we spozed so. but it wuz arrainged before we disbanded (the result of our conference), that the next mornin' we would each one on us bring our offerin's to the fair, and hand 'em in to the treasurer, so's she would know in time what to depend on, and what she had to do with. and we agreed (also the result of our conference) that we would, each one on us, tell jest how we got the money and things to give to the fair. and then we disbanded and started off home but i'll bet that each one on us, in a sort of secret unbeknown way, gin a look on that lofty ceilin', them dangerus barells, and that pile of paper, and groaned a low melancholy groan all to herself. [illustration: "the handle come out."] i know i did, and i know submit tewksbury did, for i stood close to her and heard her. but then to be exactly jest, and not a mite underhanded, i ort mebby to say, that her groan may be caused partly by the fact that that aniversery of hern wuz a-drawin' so near. yes, the very next day wuz the day jest 20 years ago that samuel danker went away from submit tewksbury to heathen lands. yes, the next day wuz the one that she always set the plate on for him--the gilt edged chiny with pink sprigs. but i'll bet that half or three quarters of that low melancholy groan of her'n wuz caused by the hardness of the job that loomed up in front of us, and the hull of mine wuz. wall, that night josiah allen wuz a-feelin' dretful neat, fer he had sold our sorell colt for a awful big price. it wuz a good colt; its mother wuz took sick when it wuz a few days old, and we had brung it up as a corset, or ruther i did, fer josiah allen at that time had the rheumatiz to that extent that he couldn't step his foot on the floor for months, so the care of the corset come on me, most the hull on it, till it got big enough to run out in the lot and git its own livin'. night after night i used to get up and warm milk for it, when it wuz very small, for it wuz weakly, and we didn't know as we could winter it. [illustration: "i would meander out there in a icy night to feed it."] we kep it in a little warm shed offen the wood house for quite a spell, but still i used to find it considerable cold when i would meander out there in a icy night to feed it. but jest as it is always the way with wimmen, the more care i took on it, the more it needed me and depended on me, the better i liked it. till i got to likin' it so well that it wuzn't half so hard a job for me to go out to feed it in the night as it would have been to laid still in my warm bed and think mebby it wuz cold and hungry. so i would pike out and feed it two or three times a night. that is the nater of wimmen, the weaker it wuz and the humblier it wuz, and the more it needed me, the more i thought on it. and as is the nater of man, josiah allen didn't seem to care so much about it while it wuz weak and humbly and spindlin'. he told me time and agin, that i couldn't save it, and it never would amount to anythin', and wuzn't nothin' but legs any way, and lots of other slightin' remarks. and he'd call it "horse corset" in a kind of a light, triflin' way, that wuz apt to gaul a woman when she come back with icy night-gown and frosty toes and fingers, way along in the night. [illustration: "been out to tend to your 'horse corset,' have you?"] he'd wake up, a-layin' there warm and comfortable on his soft goose feather piller and say to me: "been out to tend to your 'horse corset,' have you?" "_horse corset_! 'wall, what if it wuz?" such language way along in the night, from a warm comfortable pardner to a cold one, is apt to make some words back and forth. and then he'd speak of its legs agin, in the most slightin' terms--and he'd ask me if didn't want its picter took--etc., etc., etc. (i believe one thing that ailed josiah allen wuz he didn't want me to get up and get my feet so cold). but, as i wuz a-sayin', though i couldn't deny some of his words, for truly its legs did seem to be at the least calculation a yard and a half long, specilly in the night, why they'd look fairly pokerish. and though i knew it wuz humbly still i persevered, and at last it got to thrivin' and growin' fast. and the likelier it grew, and the stronger, and the handsomer, so josiah allen's likin' for it grew and increased, till he got to settin' a sight of store by it. and now it wuz a two-year-old, and he had sold it for two hundred and fifteen dollars. it wuz spozed it wuz goin' to make a good trotter. wall, seem' he had got such a big price for the colt, and knowin' well that i wuz the sole cause of its bein' alive at this day, i felt that it wuz the best time in the hull three hundred and sixty-five days of the year to tackle him for sunthin' to give to the fair. i felt that the least he could do would be to give me ten or fifteen dollars for it. so consequently after supper wuz out of the way, and the work done up, i tackled him. proofreaders samantha among the brethren. by "josiah allen's wife" (marietta holley) part 5 chapter xviii. josiah's face wuz smooth and placid, he hadn't took a mite of sense of what i had been a-sayin', and i knew it. men don't. they know at the most it is only _talk_, wimmen hain't got it in their power to _do_ anything. and i s'pose they reason on it in this way--a little wind storm is soon over, it relieves old natur and don't hurt anything. yes, my pardner's face wuz as calm as the figger on the outside of the almanac a-holdin' the bottle, and his axent wuz mildly wonderin' and gently sarcestickle. "how a steeple would look a-pintin' down! that is a true woman's idee." [illustration: sister filkins.] sez i, "i would have it a-pintin' down towards the depths of darkness that wuz in that man's heart that roze it up, and the infamy of the deed that kep him in the meetin' house and turned his victim out of it." "i d'no as she wuz his victim," sez josiah. sez i, "every one knows that in the first place simeon lathers wuz the man that led her astray." "it wuzn't proved," sez josiah, a-turnin' the almanac over and lookin' at the advertisement on the back side on't. "and why wuzn't it proved?" sez i, "because he held a big piece of gold against the mouths of the witnesses." "i didn't see any in front of my mouth," sez josiah, lookin' 'shamed but some composed. "and you know what the story wuz," sez he, "accordin' to that, he did it all to try her faith." i wouldn't encourage josiah by even smilin' at his words, though i knew well what the story wuz he referred to. it wuz at a conference meetin', when simeon lathers wuz jest a-beginnin' to take notice of how pretty irene filkins wuz. she had gone forward to the anxious seat, with some other young females, their minds bein' wrought on, so it wuz spozed, by deacon lathers's eloquent exhortations, and urgin's to 'em to come forward and be saved. and they had gone up onto the anxious seat a-sheddin' tears, and they all knelt down there, and deacon lathers he went right up and knelt down right by sister irene filkins, and them that wuz there say, that right while he wuz a-prayin' loud and strong for 'em all, and her specially, he put his arm round her and acted in such a way that she resented it bitterly. she wuz a good, virtuous girl then, any way. and she resented his overtoors in such a indignant and decided way that it drawed the attention of a hull lot of brothers and sisters towards 'em. and deacon lathers got right up from his knees and sez, "bretheren and sisters, let us sing these lines: "he did it all to try her faith." i remembered this story, but i wuzn't goin' to encourage josiah allen by lettin' my attention be drawed off by any anectotes--nor i didn't smile--oh, no i but i went right on with a hull lot of burnin' indignatin in my axents, and sez i, "josiah allen, can you look me in the face and say that it wuzn't money and bad men's influence that keep such men as deacon widrig and simeon lathers in the meetin' house?" sez i, "if they wuz poor men would they have been kep', or if it wuzn't for the influence of men that like hard drink?" "wall, as it were," sez josiah, "i--that is--wall, it is a-gettin' bed-time, samantha." and he wound up the clock and went to bed. and i set there, all rousted up in my mind, for more'n a hour--and i dropped more'n seven stitches in josiah's heel, and didn't care if i did. but i have episoded fearfully, and to resoom and go on. miss henn wuz mad, and she wuz one of our most enterprizen' sisters, and we felt that she wuz a great loss. things looked dretful dark. and sister bobbet, who is very tender hearted, shed tears several times a-talkin' about the hard times that had come onto our meetin' house, and how zion wuz a-languishin', etc., etc. and i told sister bobbet in confidence, and also in public, that it wuz time to talk about zion's languishin' when we had done all we could to help her up. and i didn't believe zion would languish so much if she had a little help gin her when she needed it. and miss bobbet said "she felt jest so about it, but she couldn't help bein' cast down." and so most all of the sisters said. submit tewksbury wept, and shed tears time and agin, a-talkin' about it, and so several of 'em did. but i sez to 'em-"good land!" sez i. "we have seen jest as hard times in the methodist meetin' house before, time and agin, and we wimmen have always laid holt and worked, and laid plans, and worked, and worked, and with the lord's help have sailed the old ship zion through the dark waters into safety, and we can do it agin." though what we wuz to do we knew not, and the few male men who didn't jine in the hardness, said they couldn't see no way out of it, but what the minister would have to go, and the meetin' house be shet up for a spell. but we female wimmen felt that we could not have it so any way. and we jined together, and met in each other's housen (not publickly, oh no! we knew our places too well as methodist sisters). we didn't make no move in public, but we kinder met round to each other's housen, sort o' private like, and talked, and talked, and prayed--we all knew that wuzn't aginst the church rules, so we jest rastled in prayer, for help to pay our honest debts, and keep the methodist meetin' house from disgrace, for the men wuz that worked up and madded, that they didn't seem to care whether the meetin' house come to nothin' or not. wall, after settin' day after day (not public settin', oh, no! we knew our places too well, and wouldn't be ketched a-settin' public till we had a right to). after settin' and talkin' it over back and forth, we concluded the very best thing we could do wuz to give a big fair and try to sell things enough to raise some money. it wuz a fearful tuff job we had took onto ourselves, for we had got to make all the things to sell out of what we could get holt of, for, of course, our husbands all kep the money purses in their own hands, as the way of male pardners is. but we laid out to beset 'em when they wuz cleverer than common (owin' to extra good vittles) and get enough money out of 'em to buy the materials to work with, bedquilts (crazy, and otherwise), embroidered towels, shawl straps, knit socks and suspenders, rugs, chair covers, lap robes, etc., etc., etc. it wuz a tremendus hard undertakin' we had took onto ourselves, with all our spring's work on hand, and not one of us sisters kep a hired girl at the time, and we had to do our own house cleanin', paintin' floors, makin' soap, spring sewin', etc., besides our common housework. but the very worst on't wuz the meetin' house wuz in such a shape that we couldn't do a thing till that wuz fixed. the men had undertook to fix over the meetin' house jest before the hardness commenced. the men and wimmen both had labored side by side to fix up the old house a little. the men had said that in such church work as that wimmen had a perfect right to help, to stand side by side with the male brothers, and do half, or more than half, or even _all_ the work. they said it wuzn't aginst the discipline, and all the bishops wuz in favor of it, and always had been. they said it wuz right accordin' to the articles. but when it come to the hard and arjuous duties of drawin' salleries with 'em, or settin' up on conferences with 'em, why there a line had to be drawed, wimmen must not be permitted to strain herself in no such ways--nor resk the tender delicacy of her nature, by settin' in a meetin' house as a delegate by the side of a man once a year. it wuz too resky. but we could lay holt and work with 'em in public, or in private, which we felt wuz indeed a privelege, for the interests of the methodist meetin' house wuz dear to our hearts, and so wuz our pardners' approvals--and they wuz all on 'em unanimus on this pint--we could _work_ all we wanted to. so we had laid holt and worked right along with the men from day to day, with their full and free consents, and a little help from 'em, till we had got the work partly done. we had got the little sabbath-school room painted and papered, and the cushions of the main room new covered, and we had engaged to have it frescoed, but the frescoer had turned out to be a perfect fraud, and, of all the lookin' things, that meetin' house wuz about the worst. the plaster, or whatever it wuz he had put on, had to be all scraped off before it could be papered, the paper wuz bought, and the scrapin' had begun. [illustration: "appearin' in public."] the young male and female church members had give a public concert together, and raised enough money to get the paper--it wuz very nice, and fifty cents a roll (double roll). these young females appearin' in public for this purpose wuz very agreeable to the hull meetin' house, and wuz right accordin' to the rules of the methodist meetin' house, for i remember i asked about it when the question first come up about sendin' female delegates to the conference, and all the male members of our meetin' house wuz so horrified at the idee. i sez, "i'll bet there wouldn't one of the delegates yell half so loud es she that wuz mahala gowdey at the concert. her voice is a sulferino of the very keenest edge and highest tone, and she puts in sights and sights of quavers." but they all said that wuz a _very_ different thing. and sez i, "how different? she wuz a yellin' in public for the good of the methodist meetin' house (it wuz her voice that drawed the big congregatin, we all know). and them wimmen delegates would only have to 'yea' and 'nay' in a still small voice for the good of the same. i can't see why it would be so much more indelicate and unbecomin' in them"--and sez i, "they would have bonnets and shawls on, and she that wuz mahala had on a low neck and short sleeves." but they wouldn't yield, and i wouldn't nuther. but i am a eppisodin fearful, and to resoom. wall, as i said, the scrapin' had begun. one side of the room wuz partly cleaned so the paper could go on, and then the fuss come up, and there it wuz, as you may say, neither hay nor grass, neither frescoed nor papered nor nuthin'. and of all the lookin' sights it wuz. wall, of course, if we had a fair in that meetin' house, we couldn't have it in such a lookin' place to disgrace us in the eyes of baptists and 'piscopals. no, that meetin' house had got to be scraped, and we wimmen had got to do the scrapin' with case knives. it wuz a hard job. i couldn't help thinkin' quite a number of thoughts as i stood on a barell with a board acrost it, afraid as death of fallin' and a workin' for dear life, and the other female sisters a standin' round on similar barells, all a-workin' fur beyond their strengths, and all afraid of fallin', and we all a-knowin' what we had got ahead on us a paperin' and a gettin' up the fair. chapter xix. couldn't help a-methinkin' to myself several times. it duz seem to me that there hain't a question a-comin' up before that conference that is harder to tackle than this plasterin' and the conundrum that is up before us jonesville wimmen how to raise 300 dollars out of nuthin', and to make peace in a meetin' house where anarky is now rainin' down. but i only thought these thoughts to myself, fur i knew every women there wuz peacible and law abidin' and there wuzn't one of 'em but what would ruther fall offen her barell then go agin the rules of the methodist meetin' house. yes, i tried to curb down my rebellous thoughts, and did, pretty much all the time. and good land! we worked so hard that we hadn't time to tackle very curius and peculier thoughts, them that wuz dretful strainin' and wearin' on the mind. not of our own accord we didn't, fur we had to jest nip in and work the hull durin' time. [illustration: "every night josiah would tackle me on it."] and then we all knew how deathly opposed our pardners wuz to our takin' any public part in meetin' house matters or mountin' rostrums, and that thought quelled us down a sight. of course when these subjects wuz brung up before us, and turned round and round in front of our eyes, why we had to look at 'em and be rousted up by 'em more or less. it was nater. and josiah not havin' anything to do evenin's only to set and look at the ceilin'. every single night when i would go home from the meetin' house, josiah would tackle me on it, on the danger of allowin' wimmen to ventur out of her spear in meetin' house matters, and specially the conference. it begin to set in new york the very day we tackled the meetin' in jonesville with a extra grip. so's i can truly say, the meetin' house wuz on me day and night. for workin' on it es i did, all day long, and josiah a-talkin' abut it till bed time, and i a-dreamin' abut it a sight, that, and the conference. truly, if i couldn't set on the conference, the conference sot on me, from mornin' till night, and from night till mornin'. i spoze it wuz josiah's skairful talk that brung it onto me, it wuz brung on nite mairs mostly, in the nite time. he would talk _very_ skairful, and what he called deep, and repeat pages of casper keeler's arguments, and they would appear to me (drawed also by nite mairs) every page on 'em lookin' fairly lurid. i suffered. josiah would set with the _world_ and other papers in his hand, a-perusin' of 'em, while i would be a-washin' up my dishes, and the very minute i would get 'em done and my sleeves rolled down, he would tackle me, and often he wouldn't wait for me to get my work done up, or even supper got, but would begin on me as i filled up my tea kettle, and keep up a stiddy drizzle of argument till bed time, and as i say, when he left off, the nite mairs would begin. i suffered beyond tellin' almost. the secont night of my arjuous labors on the meetin' house, he began wild and eloquent about wimmen bein' on conferences, and mountin' rostrums. and sez he, "that is suthin' that we methodist men can't stand." [illustration: "is rostrums much higher than them barells to stand on?"] and i, havin' stood up on a barell all day a-scrapin' the ceilin', and not bein' recuperated yet from the skairtness and dizziness of my day's work, i sez to him: "is rostrums much higher than them barells we have to stand on to the meetin' house?" and josiah said, "it wuz suthin' altogether different." and he assured me agin, "that in any modest, unpretendin' way the methodist church wuz willin' to accept wimmen's work. it wuzn't aginst the discipline. and that is why," sez he, "that wimmen have all through the ages been allowed to do most all the hard work in the church--such as raisin' money for church work--earnin' money in all sorts of ways to carry on the different kinds of charity work connected with it--teachin' the children, nursin' the sick, carryin' on hospital work, etc., etc. but," sez he, "this is fur, fur different from gettin' up on a rostrum, or tryin' to set on a conference. why," sez he, in a haughty tone, "i should think they'd know without havin' to be told that laymen don't mean women." sez i, "them very laymen that are tryin' to keep wimmen out of the conference wouldn't have got in themselves if it hadn't been for wimmen's votes. if they can legally vote for men to get in why can't men vote for them?" "that is the pint," sez josiah, "that is the very pint i have been tryin' to explain to you. wimmen can help men to office, but men can't help wimmen; that is law, that is statesmanship. i have been a-tryin' to explain it to you that the word laymen _always_ means woman when she can help men in any way, but _not_ when he can help her, or in any other sense." sez i, "it seemed to mean wimmen when metilda henn wuz turned out of the meetin' house." "oh, yes," sez josiah in a reasonin' tone, "the word laymen always means wimmen when it is used in a punishin' and condemnatory sense, or in the case of work and so fourth, but when it comes to settin' up in high places, or drawin' sallerys, or anything else difficult, it alweys means men." sez i, in a very dry axent, "then the word man, when it is used in church matters, always means wimmen, so fur as scrubbin' is concerned, and drowdgin' round?" "yes," sez josiah haughtily, "and it always means men in the higher and more difficult matters of decidin' questions, drawin' sallerys, settin' on conferences, etc. it has long been settled to be so," sez he. "who settled it?" sez i. "why the men, of course," sez he. "the men have always made the rules of the churches, and translated the bibles, and everything else that is difficult," sez he. sez i, in fearful dry axents, almost husky ones, "it seems to take quite a knack to know jest when the word laymen means men and when it means wimmen." "that is so," sez josiah. "it takes a man's mind to grapple with it; wimmen's minds are too weak to tackle it it is jest as it is with that word 'men' in the declaration of independence. now that word 'men', in that declaration, means men some of the time, and some of the time men and wimmen both. it means both sexes when it relates to punishment, taxin' property, obeyin' the laws strictly, etc., etc., and then it goes right on the very next minute and means men only, as to wit, namely, votin', takin' charge of public matters, makin' laws, etc. "i tell you it takes deep minds to foller on and see jest to a hair where the division is made. it takes statesmanship. "now take that claws, 'all men are born free and equal.' "now half of that means men, and the other half men and wimmen. now to understand them words perfect you have got to divide the tex. 'men are born.' that means men and wimmen both--men and wimmen are both born, nobody can dispute that. then comes the next claws, 'free and equal.' now that means men only--anybody with one eye can see that. "then the claws, 'true government consists.' that means men and wimmen both--consists--of course the government consists of men and wimmen, 'twould be a fool who would dispute that. 'in the consent of the governed.' that means men alone. do you see, samantha?" sez he. i kep' my eye fixed on the tea kettle, fer i stood with my tea-pot in hand waitin' for it to bile--"i see a great deal, josiah allen." [illustration: church work.] "wall," sez he, "i am glad on't. now to sum it up," sez he, with some the mean of a preacher--or, ruther, a exhauster--"to sum the matter all up, the words 'bretheren,' 'laymen,' etc., always means wimmen so fur as this: punishment for all offenses, strict obedience to the rules of the church, work of any kind and all kinds, raisin' money, givin' money all that is possible, teachin' in the sabbath school, gettin' up missionary and charitable societies, carryin' on the same with no help from the male sect leavin' that sect free to look after their half of the meanin' of the word--sallerys, office, makin' the laws that bind both of the sexes, rulin' things generally, translatin' bibles to suit their own idees, preachin' at 'em, etc., etc. do you see, samantha?" sez he, proudly and loftily. "yes," sez i, as i filled up my tea-pot, for the water had at last biled. "yes, i see." and i spoze he thought he had convinced me, for he acted high headeder and haughtier for as much as an hour and a half. and i didn't say anything to break it up, for i see he had stated it jest as he and all his sect looked at it, and good land! i couldn't convince the hull male sect if i tried--clergymen, statesmen and all--so i didn't try, and i wuz truly beat out with my day's work, and i didn't drop more than one idee more. i simply dropped this remark es i poured out his tea and put some good cream into it--i merely sez: "there is three times es many wimmen in the meetin' house es there is men." "yes," sez he, "that is one of the pints i have been explainin' to you," and then he went on agin real high headed, and skairt, about the old ground, of the willingness of the meetin' house to shelter wimmen in its folds, and how much they needed gaurdin' and guidin', and about their delicacy of frame, and how unfitted they wuz to tackle anything hard, and what a grief it wuz to the male sect to see 'em a-tryin' to set on conferences or mount rostrums, etc., etc. and i didn't try to break up his argument, but simply repeated the question i had put to him--for es i said before, i wuz tired, and skairt, and giddy yet from my hard labor and my great and hazardus elevatin'; i had not, es you may say, recovered yet from my recuperation, and so i sez agin them words-"is rostrums much higher than them barells to stand on?" and josiah said agin, "it wuz suthin' entirely different;" he said barells and rostrums wuz so fur apart that you couldn't look at both on 'em in one day hardly, let alone a minute. and he went on once more with a long argument full of bible quotations and everything. and i wuz too tuckered out to say much more. but i did contend for it to the last, that i didn't believe a rostrum would be any more tottlin' and skairful a place than the barell i had been a-standin' on all day, nor the work i'd do on it any harder than the scrapin' of the ceilin' of that meetin house. and i don't believe it would, i stand jest as firm on it to-day as i did then. chapter xx. wall, we got the scrapin' done after three hard and arjous days' works, and then we preceeded to clean the house. the day we set to clean the meetin' house prior and before paperin', we all met in good season, for we knew the hardships of the job in front of us, and we all felt that we wanted to tackle it with our full strengths. sister henzy, wife of deacon henzy, got there jest as i did. she wuz in middlin' good spirits and a old yeller belzerine dress. sister gowdy had the ganders and newraligy and wore a flannel for 'em round her head, but she wuz in workin' spirits, her will wuz up in arms, and nerved up her body. sister meechim wuz a-makin' soap, and so wuz sister sypher, and sister mead, and me. but we all felt that soap come after religion, not before. "cleanliness _next_ to godliness." so we wuz all willin' to act accordin' and tackle the old meetin' house with a willin' mind. wall, we wuz all engaged in the very heat of the warfare, as you may say, a-scrubbin' the floors, and a-scourin' the benches by the door, and a-blackin' the 2 stoves that stood jest inside of the door. we wuz workin' jest as hard as wimmen ever worked--and all of the wimmen who wuzn't engaged in scourin' and moppin' wuz a-settin' round in the pews a-workin' hard on articles for the fair--when all of a suddin the outside door opened and in come josiah allen with 3 of the other men bretheren. they had jest got the great news of wimmen bein' apinted for deaconesses, and had come down on the first minute to tell us. she that wuz celestine bobbet wuz the only female present that had heard of it. josiah had heard it to the post-office, and he couldn't wait till noon to tell me about it, and deacon gowdy wuz anxius miss gowdy should hear it as soon es possible. deacon sypher wanted his wife to know at once that if she wuzn't married she could have become a deaconess under his derectin'. and josiah wanted me to know immegietly that i, too, could have had the privilege if i had been a more single woman, of becomin' a deaconess, and have had the chance of workin' all my hull life for the meetin' house, with a man to direct my movements and take charge on me, and tell me what to do, from day to day and from hour to hour. and deacon henzy was anxious miss henzy should get the news as quick as she could. so they all hastened down to the meetin' house to tell us. and we left off our work for a minute to hear 'em. it wuzn't nowhere near time for us to go home. josiah had lots of further business to do in jonesville and so had the other men. but the news had excited 'em, and exhilerated 'em so, that they had dropped everything, and hastened right down to tell us, and then they wuz a-goin' back agin immegietly. i, myself, took the news coolly, or as cool as i could, with my temperature up to five or five and a half, owin' to the hard work and the heat. [illustration: the last news from the conference.] miss gowdy also took it pretty calm. she leaned on her mop handle, partly for rest (for she was tuckered out) and partly out of good manners, and didn't say much. but miss sypheris such a admirin'woman, she looked fairly radiant at the news, and she spoke up to her husband in her enthusiastik warm-hearted way-"why, deacon sypher, is it possible that i, too, could become a deacon, jest like you?" "no," sez deacon sypher solemnly, "no, drusilly, not like me. but you wimmen have got the privelege now, if you are single, of workin' all your days at church work under the direction of us men." "then i could work at the deacon trade under you," sez she admirin'ly, "i could work jest like you--pass round the bread and wine and the contribution box sundays?" "oh, no, drusilly," sez he condesendinly, "these hard and arjuous dutys belong to the male deaconship. that is their own one pertickiler work, that wimmen can't infringe upon. their hull strength is spent in these duties, wimmen deacons have other fields of labor, such as relievin' the wants of the sick and sufferin', sittin' up nights with small-pox patients, takin' care of the sufferin' poor, etc., etc." "but," sez miss sypher (she is so good-hearted, and so awful fond of the deacon), "wouldn't it be real sweet, deacon, if you and i could work together as deacons, and tend the sick, relieve the sufferers--work for the good of the church together--go about doin' good?" "no, drusilly," sez he, "that is wimmen's work. i would not wish for a moment to curtail the holy rights of wimmen. i wouldn't want to stand in her way, and keep her from doin' all this modest, un-pretendin' work, for which her weaker frame and less hefty brain has fitted her. "we will let it go on in the same old way. let wimmen have the privelege of workin' hard, jest as she always has. let her work all the time, day and night, and let men go on in the same sure old way of superentendin' her movements, guardin' her weaker footsteps, and bossin' her round generally." deacon sypher is never happy in his choice of language, and his method of argiment is such that when he is up on the affirmative of a question, the negative is delighted, for they know he will bring victery to their side of the question. now, he didn't mean to speak right out about men's usual way of bossin' wimmen round. it was only his unfortunate and transparent manner of speakin'. and deacon bobbet hastened to cover up the remark by the statement that "he wuz so highly tickled that wimmen wuzn't goin' to be admitted to the conference, because it would _weaken_ the conference." "yes," sez my josiah, a-leanin' up aginst the meetin' house door, and talkin' pretty loud, for sister peedick and me had gone to liftin' round the big bench by the door, and it wuz fearful heavy, and our minds wuz excersised as to the best place to put it while we wuz a-cleanin' the floor. "you see," sez he, "we feel, we men do, we feel that it would be weakenin' to the conference to have wimmen admitted, both on account of her own lack of strength and also from the fact that every woman you would admit would keep out a man. and that," sez he (a-leanin' back in a still easier attitude, almust a luxurious one), "that, you see, would tend naterally to weakenin' the strength of a church." [illustration: "wall," sez i, "move round a little, won't you, for we want to set the bench."] "wall," sez i, a-pantin' hard for breath under my burden, "move round a little, won't you, for we want to set the bench here while we scrub under it. and," sez i, a-stoppin' a minute and rubbin' the perspiratin and sweat offen my face, "seein' you men are all here, can't you lay holt and help us move out the benches, so we can clean the floor under 'em? some of 'em are very hefty," sez i, "and all of us sisters almost are a-makin' soap, and we all want to get done here, so we can go home and bile down; we would dearly love a little help," sez i. "i would help," sez josiah in a willin' tone, "i would help in a minute, if i hadn't got so much work to do at home." and all the other male bretheren said the same thing--they had got to git to get home to get to work. (some on 'em wanted to play checkers, and i knew it.) but some on 'em did have lots of work on their hands, i couldn't dispute it. chapter xxi. why, deacon henzy, besides all his cares about the buzz saw mill, and his farm work, had bought a steam threshin' machine that made him sights of work. it was a good machine. but it wuz fairly skairful to see it a-steamin' and a-blowin' right along the streets of jonesville without the sign of a horse or ox or anything nigh it to draw it. a-puffin' out the steam, and a-tearin' right along, that awful lookin' that it skairt she that wuz celestine bobbet most into fits. she lived in a back place where such machines wuz unknown, and she had come home to her father's on a visit, and wuz goin' over to visit some of his folks that day, over to loontown. and she wuz a-travellin' along peacible, with her father's old mair, and a-leanin' back in the buggy a readin' a article her father had sent over by her to deacon widrig, a witherin' article about female deaconesses, and the stern necessity of settin' 'em apart and sanctifyen' 'em to this one work--deacon work--and how they mustn't marry, or tackle any other hard jobs whatsumever, or break off into any other enterprize, only jest plain deacon work. it wuz a very flowery article. and she wuz enjoyin' of it first rate, and a-thinkin', for she is a little timid and easily skairt, and the piece had convinced her-she wuz jest a-thinkin' how dretful it would be if sum female deaconess should ever venter into some other branch of business, and what would be apt to become of her if she did. she hated to think of what her doom would most likely be, bein' tender hearted. [illustration: "she see this wild and skairful machine approachin'."] when lo, and behold! jest as she wuz a-thinkin' these thoughts, she see this wild and skairful machine approachin', and deacon henzy a-standin' up on top of it a-drivin'. he looked wild and excited, bein' very tickled to think that he had threshed more with his machine, by twenty bushels, than deacon petengill had with his. there was a bet upon these two deacons, so it wuz spozed, and he wuz a-hastenin' to the next place where he wuz to be setup, so's to lose no time, and he was kinder hollerin'. and the wind took his gray hair back, and his long side whiskers, and kinder stood 'em out, and the skirts of his frock the same. his mean wuz wild. and it wuz more than celestine's old mair and she herself could bear; she cramped right round in the road (the mair did) and set sail back to old bobbet'ses, and that great concern a-puffin' and a-steamin' along after 'em. and by the time that she that wuz celestine got there she wuz almost in a fit, and the mair in a perfect lather. wall, celestine didn't get over it for weeks and weeks, nor the mair nuther. and besides this enterprize of deacon henzy's, he had got up a great invention, a new rat trap, that wuz peculier and uneek in the extreme. it wuz the result of arjous study on his part, by night and day, for a long, long time, and it wuz what he called "a travellin' rat trap." it wuz designed to sort o' chase the rats round and skair 'em. [illustration: deacon henzy's rat trap (like a circus for the rats).] it was spozed he got the idee in the first place from his threshin' machine. it had to be wound up, and then it would take after 'em--rats or mice, or anything--and they do say that it wuz quite a success. only it had to move on a smooth floor. it would travel round pretty much all night; and they say that when it wuz set up in a suller, it would chase the rats back into their holes, and they would set there and look out on it, for the biggest heft of the night. it would take up their minds, and kep 'em out of vittles and other mischief. it wuz somethin' like providin' a circus for 'em. but howsumever, the deacon wuz a-workin' at this; he wuzn't quite satisfied with its runnin' gear, and he wuz a-perfectin' this rat trap every leisure minute he had outside of his buzz saw and threshin' machine business, and so he wuz fearful busy. deacon sypher had took the agency for "the wild west, or the leaping cow boy of the plain," and wuz doin' well by it. and deacon bobbet had took in a lot of mustangs to keep through the winter. and he wuz a ridin' 'em a good deal, accordin' to contract, and tryin' to tame 'em some before spring. and this work, with the buzz saw, took up every minute of his time. for the mustangs throwed him a good deal, and he had to lay bound up in linements a good deal of the time, and arneky. [illustration: "he had to lay bound up in linements a good deal of the time."] so, as i say, it didn't surprise me a mite to have 'em say they couldn't help us, for i knew jest how these jobs of theirn devoured their time. and when my josiah had made his excuse, it wuzn't any more than i had looked out for, to hear deacon henzy say he had got to git home to ile his threshin' machine. one of the cogs wuz out of gear in some way. he wanted to help us, so it didn't seem as if he could tear himself away, but that steam threshin' machine stood in the way. and then on his way down to jonesville that very mornin' a new idee had come to him about that travellin' rat trap, and he wanted to get home jest as quick as he could, to try it. and deacon bobbet said that three of them mustangs he had took in to break had got to be rid that day, they wuz a gettin' so wild he didn't hardly dast to go nigh 'em. and deacon sypher said that he must hasten back, for a man wuz a-comin' to see him from way up on the state road, to try to get a agency under him for "the leaping cow boy of the plain." and he wanted to show the "leaping cow boy" to some agents to the tavern in jonesville on his way home, and to some wimmen on the old plank road. two or three of the wimmen had gin hopes that they would take the "leaping cow boy." and then they said--the hull three of the deacons did--that any minute them other deacons who wuz goin' into partnership with 'em in the buzz saw business wuz liable to drive down to see 'em about it. and some of the other men brethren said their farms and their live stock demanded the hull of their time--every minute of it. so we see jest how it wuz, we see these male deacons couldn't devote any of their time to the meetin' house, nor those other brethren nuther. we see that their time wuz too valuable, and their own business devoured the hull on it. and we married sisters, who wuz acestemed to the strange and mysterius ways of male men, we accepted the situation jest es we would any other mysterius dispensation, and didn't say nothin'. good land! we wuz used to curius sayin's and doin's, every one on us. curius as a dog, and curiuser. but sister meechim (onmarried), she is dretful questinin' and inquirin' (men don't like her, they say she prys into subjects she's no business to meddle with). she sez to josiah: "why is it, deacon allen, that men deacons can carry on all sorts of business and still be deacons, while wimmen deacons are obleeged to give up all other business and devote themselves wholly to their work?" "it is on account of their minds," sez josiah. "men have got stronger minds than wimmen, that is the reason." and sister meechim sez agin-"why is it that wimmen deacons have to remain onmarried, while men deacons can marry one wife after another through a long life, that is, if they are took from 'em by death or a divorce lawyer?" "wall," sez josiah, "that, too, is on account of their brains. their brains hain't so hefty es men's." but i jest waded into the argument then. i jest interfered, and sez in a loud, clear tone, "oh, shaw!" and then i sez further, in the same calm, clear tones, but dry as ever a dry oven wuz in its dryest times. sez i, "if you men can't help us any about the meetin' house, you'd better get out of our way, for we wimmen have got to go to scrubbin' right where you are a-standin'." "certainly," sez josiah, in a polite axent, "certainly." and so the rest of the men said. and josiah added to his remarks, as he went down the steps, "you'd better get home, samantha, in time to cook a hen, and make some puddin', and so forth." and i sez, with quite a lot of dignity, "have i ever failed, josiah allen, to have good dinners for you, and on time too?" "no," sez he, "but i thought i would jest stop to remind you of it, and also to tell you the last news from the conference, about the deaconesses." and so they trailed down one after another, and left us to our work in the meetin' house; but as they disapered round the corner, sister arvilly lanfear, who hain't married, and who has got a sharp tongue (some think that is why, but i don't; i believe arvilly has had chances). but any way, she sez, as they went down the steps, "i'll bet them men wuz a-practisen' their new parts of men superentendents, and look on us as a lot of deaconesses." [illustration: "josiah added to his remarks."] "wall," sez sister gowdy--she loves to put on arvilly--"wall, you have got one qualificatin', arvilly!" "yes, thank the lord," sez she. and i never asked what she meant, but knew well enough that she spoke of her single state. but arvilly has had chances, _i_ think. chapter xxii. i got home in time to get a good supper, though mebbe i ortn't to say it. sure enough, josiah allen had killed a hen, and dressed it ready for me to brile, but it wuz young and tender, and i knew it wouldn't take long, so i didn't care. good land! i love to humor him, and he knows it. casper keeler come in jest as i wuz a-gettin' supper and i thought like as not he would stay to supper; i laid out to ask him. but i didn't take no more pains on his account. no, i do jest as well by josiah allen from day to day, as if he wuz company, or lay out to. casper came over on a errent about that buzz saw mill. he wuz in dretful good spirits, though he looked kinder peaked. he had jest got home from the city. it happened dretful curius, but jest at this time casper keeler had had to go to new york on business. he had to sign some papers that nobody else couldn't sign. [illustration: casper keeler.] his mother had hearn of a investment there that promised to pay dretful well, so she had took a lot of stock in it, and it had riz right up powerful. why the money had increased fourfold, and more too, and casper bein' jest come of age, had to go and sign suthin' or other. wall, he went round and see lots of sights in new york. his ma's money that she had left him made him fairly luxurius as to comfort, and he had plenty of money to go sight seein' as much as he wanted to. he went to all the theatres, and operas, and shows of all kinds, and museums, and the brooklyn bridge, and circuses, and receptions, and et cetery, et cetery. he wuz a-tellin' me how much money he spent while he wuz there, kinder boastin' on it; he had went to one of the biggest, highest taverns in the hull village of new york, where the price wuz higher than the very highest pinakle on the top of it, fur higher. and i sez, "did you go to the wimmen's exchange and the workin' wimmen's association, that wuz held there while you wuz there?" and he acted real scorfin'. "wimmen's work!" sez he. "no, indeed! i had too much on my hands, and too much comfort to take in higher circles, than to take in any such little trifles as wimmen's work." sez i, "young man, it is a precious little you would take in in life if it hadn't been for wimmen's work. who earned and left you the money you are a-usin'?" sez i, "who educated you and made your life easy before you?" and then bein' fairly drove into a corner, he owned up that his mother wuz a good woman. but his nose wuz kinder lifted up the hull of the time he wuz a-sayin' it, as if he hated to own it up, hated to like a dog. but he got real happified up and excited afterwards, in talkin' over with josiah what he see to the conference.' he stayed to supper; i wuz a seasonin' my chicken and mashed potatoes, and garnishin' 'em for the table. i wuz out to one side a little, but i listened with one side of my brain while the other wuz fixed on pepper, ketchup, parsley, etc., etc. [illustration: "he seemed to have a horrow of woman a-raisin' out of her spear."] sez casper, "it wuz the proudest, greatest hour of my life," sez he, "when i see a nigger delegate git up and give his views on wimmen keepin' down in their place. when i see a black nigger stand up there in that conference and state so clearly, so logically and so powerfully the reasons why poor weak wimmen should _not_ be admitted into that sacred enclosure-"when i see even a nigger a-standin' there and a-knowin' so well what wimmen's place wuz, my heart beat with about the proudest emotions i have ever experienced. why, he said," sez casper, "that if wimmen wuz allowed to stand up in the conference, they wouldn't be satisfied. the next thing they would want to do would be to preach. it wuz a masterly argument," sez casper. "it must have been," sez my josiah. "he seemed to have such a borrow of a weak-minded, helpless woman a-raisin' herself up out of her lower spear." "well he might," sez josiah, "well he might." truly, there are times when women can't, seeminly, stand no more. this wuz one on 'em, and i jest waded right into the argiment. i sez, real solemn like, a-holdin' the sprig of parsley some like a septer, only more sort o' riz up like and mysteriouser. yes, i held that green sprig some as the dove did when it couldn't find no rest for the soles of its feet--no foundation under it and it sailed about seekin' some mount of truth it could settle down on. oh how wobblin' and onsubstantial and curius i felt hearin' their talk. "and," sez i, "nobody is tickleder than i be to think a colored man has had the right gin him to stand up in a conference or anywhere else. i have probable experienced more emotions in his behalf," sez i, "deep and earnest, than any other female, ancient or modern. i have bore his burdens for him, trembled under his lashes, agonized with him in his unexampled griefs and wrongs and indignities, and i have rejoiced at the very depths of my soul at his freedom. "but," sez i, "when he uses that freedom to enchain another and as deservin' a race, my feelin's are hurt and my indignations are riz up. "yes," sez i, a-wavin' that sprig some like a warlike banner, as my emotions swelled up under my bask waste, "when that negro stands there a-advocatin' the slavery of another race, and a-sayin' that women ortn't to say her soul is her own, and wimmen are too weak and foolish to lift up their right hands, much less preach, i'd love to ask him where he and his race wuz twenty-five years ago, and where they would be to-day if it wuzn't for a woman usin' her right hand and her big heart and brain in his behalf, and preachin' for him all over the world and in almost every language under the sun. everybody says that 'uncle tom's cabin' wuz the searchin' harrow that loosened the old, hard ground of slavery so the rich seed of justice could be planted and bring forth freedom. "if it hadn't been for that woman's preachin', that negro exhauster would to-day most likely be a hoin' cotton with a overseer a-lashin' him up to his duties, and his wife and children and himself a-bein' bought and sold, and borrowed and lent and mortgaged and drove like so many animals. and i'd like to have riz right up in that conference and told him so." "oh, no," sez josiah, lookin' some meachin', "no, you wouldn't." "yes, i would," sez i. "and i'd 've enjoyed it _richly_" sez i, es i turned and put my sprig round the edge of the platter. [illustration: samantha expresses her views.] casper wuz demute for as much as half a minute, and josiah allen looked machin' for about the same length of time. but, good land! how soon they got over it. they wuz as chipper as ever, a-runnin' down the idee of women settin', before they got half through dinner. after hard and arjuous work we got the scrapin' done, and the scrubbin' done, and then we proceeded to make a move towards puttin' on the paper. but the very day before we wuz to put on our first breadth, sister bobbet, our dependence and best paperer, fell down on a apple parin' and hurt her ankle jint, so's she couldn't stand on a barell for more'n several days. and we felt dretful cast down about it, for we all felt as if the work must stop till sister bobbet could be present and attend to it. but, as it turned out, it wuz perfectly providential, so fur as i wuz concerned, for on goin' home that night fearfully deprested on account of sister sylvester bobbet, lo and behold! i found a letter there on my own mantletry piece that completely turned round my own plans. it come entirely onexpected to me, and contained the startlin' intelligence that my own cousin, on my mother's own side, had come home to loontown to his sister's, and wuz very sick with nervous prostration, neuralgia, rheumatism, etc., and expected paralasys every minute, and heart failure, and such. [illustration: "sister bobbet, our dependence, fell down on a apple parin'".] and his sister, miss timson, who wrote the letter, beset me to come over and see him. she said, jane ann did (miss timson'ses name is jane ann), and sez she in post scriptum remark to me, sez she-"samantha, i know well your knowledge of sickness and your powers of takin' care of the sick. do come and help me take care of ralph, for it seems as if i can't let him go. poor boy, he has worked so hard, and now i wuz in hopes that he wuz goin' to take some comfort in life, unbeknown to him. do come and help him for my sake, and for rosy's sake." rosy wuz ralph's only child, a pretty girl, but one ruther wild, and needin' jest now a father's strong hand. rosy's mother died when she wuz a babe, and ralph, who had always been dretful religius, felt it to be his duty to go and preach to the savages. so miss timson took the baby and ralph left all his property with miss timson to use for her, and then he girded up his lions, took his bible and him book and went out west and tackled the savages. tackled 'em in a perfectly religius way, and done sights of good, sights and sights. for all he wuz so mild and gentle and religius, he got the upper hand of them savages in some way, and he brung 'em into the church by droves, and they jest worshipped him. wall, he worked so hard a-tryin' to do good and save souls that wuz lost--a-tryin' single-handed to overthrow barberus beliefs and habits, and set up the pure and peaceful doctrines of the master. [illustration: ralph smith robinson.] he loved and followed, that his health gin out after a time--he felt weak and mauger. and jest about this time his sister wrote to him that rosy havin' got in with gay companions, wuz a gettin' beyond her influence, and she _needed_ a father's control and firm hand to guide her right, or else she would be liable to go to the wrong, and draw lots of others with her, for she wuz a born leader amongst her mates, jest as her father wuz--so wouldn't ralph come home. wall, ralph come. his sister and girl jest worshipped him, and looked and longed for his comin', as only tender-hearted wimmen can love and worship a hero. for if there wuz ever a hero it wuz ralph smith robinson. wall, ralph had been in the unbroken silences of nature so long, that the clack, and crash, and clamor of what we call civilized life almost crazed him. he had been where his maker almost seemed to come down and walk with him through the sweet, unbroken stillnesses of mornin' and evenin'. the world seemed so fur off to him, and the eternal verities of life so near, that truly, it sometimes seemed to him as if, like one of old, "he walked with god." of course the savages war-whooped some, but they wuz still a good deal of the time, which is more than you can say for yankees. and loontown when he got home was rent to its very twain with a presidential election. ralph suffered. but above all his other sufferin's, he suffered from church bells. miss timson lived, as it wuz her wish, and often her boast, right under the droppin's of the sanctuary. she lotted on it when she bought the place. the baptist steeple towered up right by the side of her house. her spare bed wuz immegietly under the steeple. wall, comin' as he did from a place where he wuz called to worship by the voice of his soul and his good silver watch--this volume of clamor, this rushin' niagara of sound a-pourin' down into his ears, wuz perfectly intolerable and onbeerable. he would lay awake till mornin' dreadin' the sound, and then colapse under it, till it run along and he come down with nervous fever. he wuz worn out no doubt by his labors before he come, and any way he wuz took bed-sick, and couldn't be moved so's the doctor said, and he bein' outside of his own head, delerius, couldn't of course advance no idees of his own, so he lay and suffered. proofreaders samantha among the brethren. by "josiah allen's wife" (marietta holley) part 4 chapter xiii. curius, hain't it? how folks will get to tellin' things, and finally tell 'em so much, that finally they will get to believin' of 'em themselves--boastin' of bein' rich, etc., or bad. now i have seen folks boast over that, act real haughty because they had been bad and got over it. i've seen temperance lecturers and religious exhorters boast sights and sights over how bad they had been. but they wuzn't tellin' the truth, though they had told the same thing so much that probable they had got to thinkin' so. but in the case of one man in petickuler, i found out for myself, for i didn't believe what he wuz a sayin' any of the time. why, he made out in evenin' meetin's, protracted and otherwise, that he had been a awful villain. why no pirate wuz ever wickeder than he made himself out to be, in the old times before he turned round and become pious. [illustration: "his face wuz a good moral face."] but i didn't believe it, for he had a good look to his face, all but the high headed look he had, and sort o' vain. but except this one look, his face wuz a good moral face, and i knew that no man could cut up and act as he claimed that he had, without carryin' some marks on the face of the cuttin' up, and also of the actin'. and so, as it happened, i went a visitin' (to josiah's relations) to the very place where he had claimed to do his deeds of wild badness, and i found that he had always been a pattern man--never had done a single mean act, so fur as wuz known. where wuz his boastin' then? as the bible sez, why, it wuz all vain talk. he had done it to get up a reputation. he had done it because he wuz big feelin' and vain. and he had got so haughty over it, and had told of it so much, that i spoze he believed in it himself. curius! hain't it? but i am a eppisodin', and to resoom. trueman's wife would talk jest so, jest so haughty and high headed, about the world comin' to a end. she'd dispute with everybody right up and down if they disagreed with her--and specially about that religion of hern. how sot she wuz, how extremely sot. but then, it hain't in me, nor never wuz, to fight anybody for any petickuler religion of theirn. there is sights and sights of different religions round amongst different friends of mine, and most all on 'em quite good ones. that is, they are agreeable to the ones who believe in 'em, and not over and above disagreeable to me. now it seems to me that in most all of these different doctrines and beliefs, there is a grain of truth, and if folks would only kinder hold onto that grain, and hold themselves stiddy while they held onto it, they would be better off. but most folks when they go to follerin' off a doctrine, they foller too fur, they hain't megum enough. now, for instance, when you go to work and whip anybody, or hang 'em, or burn 'em up for not believin' as you do, that is goin' too fur. it has been done though, time and agin, in the world's history, and mebby will be agin. but it hain't reasonable. now what good will doctrines o' any kind do to anybody after they are burnt up or choked to death? you see such things hain't bein' megum. because i can't believe jest as somebody else duz, it hain't for me to pitch at 'em and burn 'em up, or even whip 'em. no, indeed! and most probable if i should study faithfully out their beliefs, i would find one grain, or mebby a grain and a half of real truth in it. [illustration: "ef i fell on a stun."] now, for instance, take the doctrines of christian healin', or mind cure. now i can't exactly believe that if i fell down and hurt my head on a stun--i cannot believe as i am a layin' there, that i hain't fell, and there hain't no stun--and while i am a groanin' and a bathin' the achin' bruise in anarky and wormwood, i can't believe that there hain't no such thing as pain, nor never wuz. no, i can't believe this with the present light i have got on the subject. but yet, i have seen them that this mind cure religion had fairly riz right up, and made 'em nigher to heaven every way--so nigh to it that seemin'ly a light out of some of its winders had lit up their faces with its glowin' repose, its sweet rapture. i've seen 'em, seen 'em as the patent medicine maker observes so frequently, "before and after takin'." folks that wuz despondent and hopeless, and wretched actin', why, this belief made 'em jest blossom right out into a state of hopefulness, and calmness, and joy--refreshin' indeed to contemplate. wall now, the idee of whippin' anybody for believin' anything that brings such a good change to 'em, and fills them and them round 'em with so much peace and happiness. why, i wouldn't do it for a dollar bill. and as for hangin' 'em, and brilin' 'em on gridirons, etc., why, that is entirely out of the question, or ort to be. and now, it don't seem to me that i ever could make a tree walk off, by lookin' at it, and commandin' it to--or call some posys to fall down into my lap, right through, the plasterin'-or send myself, or one of myselfs, off to injy, while the other one of me stayed to jonesville. now, honestly speakin', it don't seem to me that i ever could learn to do this, not at my age, any way, and most dead with rheumatiz a good deal of the time. i most know i couldn't. but then agin i have seen believers in theosiphy that could do wonders, and seemed indeed to have got marvelous control over the forces of natur. and now the idee of my whippin' 'em for it. why you wouldn't ketch me at it. and spiritualism now! i spoze, and i about know that there are lots of folks that won't ever see into any other world than this, till the breath leaves their body. yet i've seen them, pure sweet souls too, as i ever see, whose eyes beheld blessed visions withheld from more material gaze. yes, i've neighbored with about all sorts of religius believers, and never disputed that they had a right to their own religion. and i've seen them too that didn't make a practice of goin' to any meetin' houses much, who lived so near to god and his angels that they felt the touch of angel hands on their forwards every day of their lives, and you could see the glow of the fairer land in their rapt eyes. they had outgrown the outward forms of religion that had helped them at first, jest as children outgrow the primers and abc books of their childhood and advance into the higher learnin'. i've seen them folks i've neighbored with 'em. human faults they had, or god would have taken them to his own land before now. their imperfections, i spoze sort o' anchored 'em here for a spell to a imperfect world. but you could see, if you got nigh enough to their souls to see anything about 'em--you could see that the anchor chains wuz slight after all, and when they wuz broke, oh how lightly and easily they would sail away, away to the land that their rapt souls inhabited even now. yes, i've seen all sorts of religius believers and i wuzn't goin' to be too hard on tamer for her belief, though i couldn't believe as she did. chapter xiv. he come to our house a visitin' along the first week in june, and the last day in june wuz the day they had sot for the world to come to an end. i, myself, didn't believe she knew positive about it, and josiah didn't either. and i sez to her, "the bible sez that it hain't agoin' to be revealed to angels even, or to the son himself, but only to the father when that great day shall be." and sez i to trueman's wife, sez i, "how should _you_ be expected to know it?" sez she, with that same collected together haughty look to her, "my name wuzn't mentioned, i believe, amongst them that _wuzn't_ to know it!" and of course i had to own up that it wuzn't. but good land! i didn't believe she knew a thing more about it than i did, but i didn't dispute with her much, because she wuz one of the relatives on his side--you know you have to do different with 'em than you do with them on your own side--you have to. and then agin, i felt that if it didn't come to an end she would be convinced that she wuz in the wrong on't, and if she did we should both of us be pretty apt to know it, so there wuzn't much use in disputin' back and forth. but she wuz firm as iron in her belief. and she had come up visitin' to our home, so's to be nigh when trueman riz. trueman wuz buried in the old risley deestrict, not half a mile from us on a back road. and she naterally wanted to be round at the time. she said plain to me that trueman never could seem to get along without her. and though she didn't say it right out, she carried the idea (and josiah resented it because trueman was a favorite cousin of his'n on his own side.) she jest the same as said right out that trueman, if she wuzn't by him to tend to him, would be jest as apt to come up wrong end up as any way. josiah didn't like it at all. wall, she had lived a widowed life for a number of years, and had said right out, time and time agin, that she wouldn't marry agin. but josiah thought, and i kinder mistrusted myself, that she wuz kinder on the lookout, and would marry agin if she got a chance--not fierce, you know, or anything of that kind, but kinder quietly lookin' out and standin' ready. that wuz when she first come; but before she went away she acted fierce. [illustration: "buried in the old risley deesirict."] wall, there wuz sights of adventists up in the risley deestrict, and amongst the rest wuz an old bachelder, joe charnick. and joe charnick wuz, i s'poze, of all advents, the most adventy. he jest _knew_ the world wuz a comin' to a end that very day, the last day of june, at four o'clock in the afternoon. and he got his robe all made to go up in. it wuz made of a white book muslin, and jenette finster made it. cut it out by one of his mother's nightgowns--so she told me in confidence, and of course i tell it jest the same; i want it kep. she was afraid joe wouldn't like it, if he knew she took the nightgown for a guide, wantin' it, as he did, for a religious purpose. but, good land! as i told her, religion or not, anybody couldn't cut anything to look anyhow without sumpthin' fora guide, and she bein' an old maiden felt a little delicate about measurin' him. his mother wuz as big round as he wuz, her weight bein' 230 by the steelyards, and she allowed 2 fingers and a half extra length--joe is tall. she gathered it in full round the neck, and the sleeves (at his request) hung down like wings, a breadth for each wing wuz what she allowed. jenette owned up to me (though she wouldn't want it told of for the world, for it had been sposed for years, that he and she had a likin' for each other, and mebby would make a match some time, though what they had been a-waitin' for for the last 10 years nobody knew). but she allowed to me that when he got his robe on, he wuz the worst lookin' human bein' that she ever laid eyes on, and sez she, for she likes a joke, jenette duz: "i should think if joe looked in the glass after he got it on, his religion would be a comfort to him; i should think he would be glad the world _wuz_ comin' to a end." but he _didn't_ look at the glass, jenette said he didn't; he wanted to see if it wuz the right size round the neck. joe hain't handsome, but he is kinder good-lookin', and he is a good feller and got plenty to do with, but bein' kinder big-featured, and tall, and hefty, he must have looked like fury in the robe. but he is liked by everybody, and everybody is glad to see him so prosperous and well off. he has got 300 acres of good land, "be it more or less," as the deed reads; 30 head of cows, and 7 head of horses (and the hull bodies of 'em). and a big sugar bush, over 1100 trees, and a nice little sugar house way up on a pretty side hill amongst the maple trees. a good, big, handsome dwellin' house, a sort of cream color, with green blinds; big barn, and carriage house, etc., etc., and everything in the very best of order. he is a pattern farmer and a pattern son--yes, joe couldn't be a more pattern son if he acted every day from a pattern. he treats his mother dretful pretty, from day to day. she thinks that there hain't nobody like joe; and it wuz s'pozed that jenette thought so too. but jenette is, and always wuz, runnin' over with common sense, and she always made fun and laughed at joe when he got to talkin' about his religion, and about settin' a time for the world to come to a end. and some thought that that wuz one reason why the match didn't go off, for joe likes her, everybody could see that, for he wuz jest such a great, honest, open-hearted feller, that he never made any secret of it. and jenette liked joe _i_ knew, though she fooled a good many on the subject. but she wuz always a great case to confide in me, and though she didn't say so right out, which wouldn't have been her way, for, as the poet sez, she wuzn't one "to wear her heart on the sleeves of her bask waist," still, i knew as well es i wanted to, that she thought her eyes of him. and old miss charnick jest about worshipped jenette, would have her with her, sewin' for her, and takin' care of her--she wuz sick a good deal, mother charnick wuz. and she would have been tickled most to death to have had joe marry her and bring her right home there. and jenette wuz a smart little creeter, "smart as lightnin'," as josiah always said. she had got along in years, jenette had, without marryin', for she staid to hum and took care of her old father and mother and tom. the other girls married off, and left her to hum, and she had chances, so it wuz said, good ones, but she wouldn't leave her father and mother, who wuz gettin' old, and kinder bed-rid, and needed her. her father, specially, said he couldn't live, and wouldn't try to, if jenette left 'em, but he said, the old gentleman did, that jenette should be richly paid for her goodness to 'em. that wuzn't what made jenette good, no, indeed; she did it out of the pure tenderness and sweetness of her nature and lovin'heart. but i used to love to hear the old gentleman talk that way, for he wuz well off, and i felt that so far as money could pay for the hull devotion of a life, why, jenette would be looked out for, and have a good home, and enough to do with. so she staid to hum, as i say, and took care of'em night and day; sights of watching and wearisome care she had, poor little creeter; but she took the best of care of 'em, and kep 'em kinder comforted up, and clean, and brought up tom, the youngest boy, by hand, and thought her eyes on him. and he wuz a smart chap--awful smart, as it proved in the end; for he married when he wuz 21, and brought his wife (a disagreeable creeter) home to the old homestead, and jenette, before they had been there 2 weeks, wuz made to feel that her room wuz better than her company. that wuz the year the old gentleman died; her mother had died 3 months prior and beforehand. her brother, as i said, wur smart, and he and his wife got round the old man in some way and sot him against jenette, and got everything he had. he wuz childish, the old man wuz; used to try to put his pantaloons on over his head, and get his feet into his coat sleeves, etc., etc. and he changed his will, that had gi'n jenette half the property, a good property, too, and gi'n it all to tom, every mite of it, all but one dollar, which jenette never took by my advice. for i wuz burnin' indignant at old mr. finster and at tom. curius, to think such a girl as jenette had been--such a patient, good creeter, and such a good-tempered one, and everything--to think her pa should have forgot all she had done, and suffered, and gi'n up for 'em, and give the property all to that boy, who had never done anything only to spend their money and make jenette trouble. but then, i s'poze it wuz old mr. finster's mind, or the lack on't, and i had to stand it, likewise so did jenette. but i never sot a foot into tom finster's house, not a foot after that day that jenette left it. i wouldn't. but i took her right to my house, and kep her for 9 weeks right along, and wuz glad to. that wuz some 10 years prior and before this, and she had gone round sewin' ever sense. and she wuz beloved by everybody, and had gone round highly respected, and at seventy-five cents a day. her troubles, and everybody that knew her, knew how many she had of 'em, but she kep 'em all to herself, and met the world and her neighbors with a bright face. if she took her skeletons out of the closet to air 'em, and i s'poze she did, everybody duz; they have to at times, to see if their bones are in good order, if for nothin' else. but if she ever did take 'em out and dust 'em, she did it all by herself. the closet door wuz shet up and locked when anybody wuz round. and you would think, by her bright, laughin' face, that she never heard the word skeleton, or ever listened to the rattle of a bone. and she kep up such a happy, cheerful look on the outside, that i s'poze it ended by her bein' cheerful and happy on the inside. the stiddy, good-natured, happy spirit that she cultivated at first by hard work, so i s'poze; but at last it got to be second nater, the qualities kinder struck in and she _wuz_ happy, and she _wuz_ contented--that is, i s'poze so. though i, who knew jenette better than anybody else, almost, knew how tuff, how fearful tuff it must have come on her, to go round from home to home--not bein' settled down at home anywhere. i knew jest what a lovin' little home body she wuz. and how her sweet nater, like the sun, would love to light up one bright lovin' home, and shine kinder stiddy there, instead of glancin' and changin' about from one place to another, like a meteor. some would have liked it; some like change and constant goin' about, and movin' constantly through space--but i knew jenette wuzn't made on the meteor plan. i felt sorry for jenette, down deep in my heart, i did; but i didn't tell her so; no, she wouldn't have liked it; she kep a brave face to the world. and as i said, her comin' wuz looked for weeks and weeks ahead, in any home where she wuz engaged to sew by the day. everybody in the house used to feel the presence of a sunshiny, cheerful spirit. one that wuz determined to turn her back onto troubles she couldn't help and keep her face sot towards the sun of happiness. one who felt good and pleasant towards everybody, wished everybody well. one who could look upon other folks'es good fortune without a mite of jealousy or spite. one who loved to hear her friends praised and admired, loved to see 'em happy. and if they had a hundred times the good things she had, why, she was glad for their sakes, that they had 'em, she loved to see 'em enjoy 'em, if she couldn't. and she wuz dretful kinder cunnin' and cute, jenette wuz. she would make the oddest little speeches; keep everybody laughin' round her, when she got to goin'. [illustration: "dretful kinder cunnin' and cute, jenette wuz."] yes, she wuz liked dretful well, jenette wuz. her face has a kind of a pert look on to it, her black eyes snap, a good-natured snap, though, and her nose turns up jest enough to look kinder cunnin', and her hair curls all over her head. smart round the house she is, and mother charnick likes that, for she is a master good housekeeper. smart to answer back and joke. joe is slow of speech, and his big blue eyes won't fairly get sot onto anything, before jenette has looked it all through, and turned it over, and examined it on the other side, and got through with it. wall, she wuz to work to mother charnick's makin' her a black alpacka dress, and four new calico ones, and coverin' a parasol. a good many said that miss charnick got dresses a purpose for jenette to make, so's to keep her there. jenette wouldn't stay there a minute only when she wuz to work, and as they always kep a good, strong, hired girl, she knew when she wuz needed, and when she wuzn't. but, of course, she couldn't refuse to sew for her, and at what she wuz sot at, though she must have known and felt that miss charnick wuz lavish in dresses. she had 42 calico dresses, and everybody knew it, new ones, besides woosted. but, anyway, there she was a sewin' when the word came that the world was a comin' to a end on the 30th day of june, at 4 o'clock in the afternoon. miss charnick wuz a believer, but not to the extent that joe was. for jenette asked her if she should stop sewin', not sposin' that she would need the dresses, specially the four calico ones, and the parasol in case of the world's endin'. and she told jenette, and jenette told me, so's i know it is true, "that she might go right on, and get the parasol cover, and the trimmins to the dresses, cambrick, and linin' and things, and hooks and eyes." and miss charnick didn't prepare no robe. but jenette mistrusted, though miss charnick is close-mouthed, and didn't say nothin', but jenette mistrusted that she laid out, when she sees signs, to use a nightgown. she had piles of the nicest ones, that jenette had made for her from time to time, over 28, all trimmed off nice enough for day dresses, so jenette said, trimmed with tape trimmin's, some of 'em, and belted down in front. wall, they had lots of meetin's at the risley school-house, as the time drew near. and miss trueman pool went to every one on 'em. she had been too weak to go out to the well, or to the barn. she wanted dretfully to see some new stanchils that josiah had been a makin', jest like some that pool had had in his barn. she wanted to see 'em dretful, but was too weak to walk. and i had had kind of a tussle in my own mind, whether or not i should offer to let josiah carry her out; but kinder hesitated, thinkin' mebby she would get stronger. but i hain't jealous, not a mite. it is known that i hain't all through jonesville and loontown. no, i'd scorn it. i thought pool's wife would get better and she did. one evenin' joe charnick came down to bring home josiah's augur, and the conversation turned onto adventin'. and miss pool see that joe wuz congenial on that subject; he believed jest as she did, that the world would come to an end the 30th. this was along the first part of the month. [illustration: "joe charnick came down to bring home josiah's augur."] he spoke of the good meetin's they wuz a-havin' to the risley school-house, and how he always attended to every one on 'em. and the next mornin' miss trueman pool gin out that she wuz a-goin' that evenin'. it wuz a good half a mile away, and i reminded her that josiah had to be away with the team, for he wuz a-goin' to loontown, heavy loaded, and wouldn't get back till along in the evenin'. but she said "that she felt that the walk would do her good." i then reminded her of the stanchils, but she said "stanchils and religion wuz two separate things." which i couldn't deny, and didn't try to. and she sot off for the school-house that evenin' a-walkin' a foot. and the rest of her adventins and the adventins of joe i will relate in another epistol; and i will also tell whether the world come to an end or not. i know folks will want to know, and i don't love to keep folks in onxiety--it hain't my way. chapter xv. wall, from that night, miss trueman pool attended to the meetins at the risley school-house, stiddy and constant. and before the week wuz out joe charnick had walked home with her twice. and the next week he carried her to jonesville to get the cloth for her robe, jest like his'n, white book muslin. and twice he had come to consult her on a bible passage, and twice she had walked up to his mother's to consult with her on a passage in the apockraphy. and once she went up to see if her wings wuz es deep and full es his'n. she wanted 'em jest the same size. miss charnick couldn't bear her. miss charnick wuz a woman who had enjoyed considerble poor health in her life, and she had now, and had been havin' for years, some dretful bad spells in her stomach--a sort of a tightness acrost her chest. and trueman's wife argued with her that her spells had been worse, and her chest had been tighter. and the old lady didn't like that at all, of course. and the old lady took thoroughwert for 'em, and trueman's wife insisted on't that thoroughwert wuz tightenin'. and then there wuz some chickens in a basket out on the stoop, that the old hen had deserted, and miss charnick wuz a bringin' 'em up by hand. and mother chainick went out to feed 'em, and trueman's wife tosted her head and said, "she didn't approve of it--she thought a chicken ought to be brung up by a hen." but miss charnick said, "why, the hen deserted 'em; they would have perished right there in the nest." but trueman's wife wouldn't gin in, she stuck right to it, "that it wuz a hen's business, and nobody else's." and of course she had some sense on her side, for of course it is a hen's business, her duty and her prevelege to bring up her chickens. but if she won't do it, why, then, somebody else has got to--they ought to be brung. i say mother charnick wuz in the right on't. but trueman's wife had got so in the habit of findin' fault, and naggin' at me, and the other relations on trueman's side and hern, that she couldn't seem to stop it when she knew it wuz for her interest to stop. and then she ketched a sight of the alpacker dress jenette wuz a-makin' and she said "that basks had gone out." and miss charnick was over partial to 'em (most too partial, some thought), and thought they wuz in the height of the fashion. but trueman's wife ground her right down on it. "basks _wuz out_, fer she knew it, she had all her new ones made polenay." and hearin' 'em argue back and forth for more'n a quarter of an hour, jenette put in and sez (she thinks all the world of mother charnick), "wall, i s'pose you won't take much good of your polenays, if you have got so little time to wear 'em." and then trueman's wife (she wuz meen-dispositioned, anyway) said somethin' about "hired girls keepin' their place." and then mother charnick flared right up and took jenette's part. and joe's face got red; he couldn't bear to see jenette put upon, if she wuz makin' fun of his religeon. and trueman's wife see that she had gone too fur, and held herself in, and talked good to jenette, and flattered up joe, and he went home with her and staid till ten o'clock. they spent a good deal of their time a-huntin' up passages, to prove their doctrine, in the bible, and the apockraphy, and josephus, and others. it beat all how many trueman's wife would find, and every one she found joe would seem to think the more on her. and so it run along, till folks said they wuz engaged, and josiah and me thought so, too. and though jenette wuzn't the one to say anything, she begun to look kinder pale and mauger. and when i spoke of it to her, she laid it to her liver. and i let her believe i thought so too. and i even went so fur as to recommend tansey and camomile tea, with a little catnip mixed in--i did it fur blinders. i knew it wuzn't her liver that ailed her. i knew it wuz her heart. i knew it wuz her heart that wuz a-achin'. wall, we had our troubles, josiah and me did. trueman's wife wuz dretful disagreeable, and would argue us down, every separate thing we tried to do or say. and she seemed more high-headed and disagreeable than ever sence joe had begun to pay attention to her. though what earthly good his attention wuz a-goin' to do, wuz more than i could see, accordin' to her belief. but josiah said, "he guessed joe wouldn't have paid her any attention, if he hadn't thought that the world wuz a-comin' to a end so soon. he guessed he wouldn't want her round if it wuz a-goin' to stand." sez i, "josiah, you are a-judgin' joe by yourself." and he owned up that he wuz. wall, the mornin' of the 30th, after josiah and me had eat our breakfast, i proceeded to mix up my bread. i had set the yeast overnight, and i wuz a mouldin' it out into tins when trueman's wife come down-stairs with her robe over her arm. she wanted to iron it out and press the seams. i had baked one tin of my biscuit for breakfast, and i had kep 'em warm for trueman's wife, for she had been out late the night before to a meetin' to risley school-house, and didn't come down to breakfast. i had also kep some good coffee warm for her, and some toast and steak. she laid her robe down over a chair-back, and sot down to her breakfast, but begun the first thing to find fault with me for bein' to work on that day. she sez, "the idee, of the last day of the world, and you a-bein' found makin' riz biscuit, yeast ones!" sez she. "wall," sez i, "i don't know but i had jest as soon be found a-makin' riz biscuit, a-takin' care of my own household, as the lord hes commanded me to, as to be found a-sailin' round in a book muslin mother hubbard." "it hain't a mother hubbard!" sez she. "wall," sez i, "i said it for oritory. but it is puckered up some like them, and you know it." hers wuz made with a yoke. and josiah sot there a-fixin' his plantin' bag. he wuz a-goin' out that mornin' to plant over some corn that the crows had pulled up. and she bitterly reproved him. but he sez, "if the world don't come to a end, the corn will be needed." "but it will," she sez in a cold, haughty tone. [illustration: "wall," sez he, "if it does, i may as well be doin' that as to be settin' round."] "wall," sez he, "if it does, i may as well be a-doin' that as to be settin' round." and he took his plantin' bag and went out. and then she jawed me for upholdin' him. and sez she, as she broke open a biscuit and spread it with butter previous to eatin' it, sez she, "i should think _respect_, respect for the great and fearful thought of meetin' the lord, would scare you out of the idea of goin' on with your work." sez i calmly, "does it scare you, trueman's wife?" "wall, not exactly scare," sez she, "but lift up, lift up far above bread and other kitchen work." and again she buttered a large slice, and i sez calmly, "i don't s'poze i should be any nearer the lord than i am now. he sez he dwells inside of our hearts, and i don't see how he could get any nearer to us than that. and anyway, what i said to you i keep a-sayin', that i think he would approve of my goin' on calm and stiddy, a-doin' my best for the ones he put in my charge here below, my husband, my children, and my grandchildren." (i some expected tirzah ann and the babe home that day to dinner.) "wall, you feel very diffrent from some wimmen that wuz to the school-house last night, and act very diffrent. they are good christian females. it is a pity you wuzn't there. p'raps your hard heart would have melted, and you would have had thoughts this mornin' that would soar up above riz biscuit." and as she sez this she begun on her third biscuit, and poured out another cup of coffee. and i, wantin' to use her well, sez, "what did they do there?" "do!" sez she, "why, it wuz the most glorious meetin' we ever had. three wimmen lay at one time perfectly speechless with the power. and some of em' screemed so you could hear 'em fer half a mile." i kep on a-mouldin' my bread out into biscuit (good shaped ones, too, if i do say it), and sez calmly, "wall, i never wuz much of a screemer. i have always believed in layin' holt of the duty next to you, and doin' _some_ things, things he has _commanded_. everybody to their own way. i don't condemn yourn, but i have always seemed to believe more in the solid, practical parts of religion, than the ornimental. i have always believed more in the power of honesty, truth, and justice, than in the power they sometimes have at camp and other meetins. howsumever," sez i, "i don't say but what that power is powerful, to the ones that have it, only i wuz merely observin' that it never wuz _my_ way to lay speechless or holler much--not that i consider hollerin' wrong, if you holler from principle, but i never seemed to have a call to." "you would be far better if you did," sez trueman's wife, "far better. but you hain't good enough." "oh!" sez i, reasonably, "i could holler if i wanted to, but the lord hain't deef. he sez specilly, that he hain't, and so i never could see the _use_ in hollerin' to him. and i never could see the use of tellin' him in public so many things as some do. why he _knows_ it. he _knows_ all these things. he don't need to have you try to enlighten him as if you wuz his gardeen--as i have heard folks do time and time agin. he _knows_ what we are, what we need. i am glad, trueman's wife," sez i, "that he can look right down into our hearts, that he is right there in 'em a-knowin' all about us, all our wants, our joys, our despairs, our temptations, our resolves, our weakness, our blindness, our defects, our regrets, our remorse, our deepest hopes, our inspiration, our triumphs, our glorys. but when he _is_ right there, in the midst of our soul, our life, why, _why_ should we kneel down in public and holler at him?" "you would be glad to if you wuz good enough," sez she; "if you had attained unto a state of perfection, you would feel like it." that kinder riled me up, and i sez, "wall, i have lived in this house with them that wuz perfect, and that is bad enough for me, without bein' one of 'em myself. for more disagreeable creeters," sez i, a prickin' my biscuit with a fork, "more disagreeable creeters i never laid eyes on." trueman's wife thinks she is perfect, she has told me so time and agin--thinks she hain't done anything wrong in upwards of a number of years. but she didn't say nothin' to this, only begun agin about the wickedness and immorality of my makin' riz biscuit that mornin', and the deep disgrace of josiah allen keepin' on with his work. but before i could speak up and take his part, for i _will_ not hear my companion found fault with by any female but myself, she had gathered up her robe, and swept upstairs with it, leavin' orders for a flatiron to be sent up. wall, the believers wuz all a-goin' to meet at the risley school-house that afternoon. they wuz about 40 of 'em, men and wimmen. and i told josiah at noon, i believed i would go down to the school-house to the meetin'. and he a-feelin', i mistrust, that if they should happen to be in the right on't, and the world should come to a end, he wanted to be by the side of his beloved pardner, he offered to go too. but he never had no robe, no, nor never thought of havin'. the risley school-house stood in a clearin', and had tall stumps round it in the door-yard. and we had heard that some of the believers wuz goin' to get up on them stumps, so's to start off from there. and sure enough, we found it wuz the calculation of some on 'em. the school-boys had made steps up the sides of some of the biggest stumps, and lots of times in political meetin's men had riz up on 'em to talk to the masses below. why i s'poze a crowd of as many as 45 or 48, had assembled there at one time durin' the heat of the campain. but them politicians had on their usual run of clothes, they didn't have on white book muslin robes. good land! chapter xvi. wall, lots of folks had assembled to the school-house when we got there, about 3 o'clock p.m.--afternoon. believers, and world's people, all a-settin' round on seats and stumps, for the school-house wuz small and warm, and it wuz pleasanter out-doors. we had only been there a few minutes when mother charnick and jenette walked in. joe had been there for sometime, and he and the widder pool wuz a-settin' together readin' a him out of one book. jenette looked kinder mauger, and trueman's wife looked haughtily at her, from over the top of the him book. mother charnick had a woosted work-bag on her arm. there might have been a night gown in it, and there might not. it wuz big enough to hold one, and it looked sort o' bulgy. but it wuz never known--miss charnick is a smart woman. it never wuz known what she had in the bag. wall, the believers struck up a him, and sung it through--as mournful, skairful sort of a him as i ever hearn in my hull life; and it swelled out and riz up over the pine trees in a wailin', melancholy sort of a way, and wierd--dretful wierd. and then a sort of a lurid, wild-looking chap, a minister, got up and preached the wildest and luridest discourse i ever hearn in my hull days. it wuz enough to scare a snipe. the very strongest and toughest men there turned pale, and wimmen cried and wept on every side of me, and wept and cried. i, myself, didn't weep. but i drawed nearer to my companion, and kinder leaned up against him, and looked off on the calm blue heavens, the serene landscape, and the shinin' blue lake fur away, and thought--jest as true as i live and breathe, i thought that i didn't care much, if god willed it to be so, that my josiah and i should go side by side, that very day and minute, out of the certainties of this life into the mysteries of the other, out of the mysteries of this life into the certainties of the other. [illustration: "a sort of a lurid, wild-looking chap."] for, thinks i to myself, we have got to go into that other world pretty soon, josiah and me have. and if we went in the usual way, we had got to go alone, each on us. terrible thought! we who had been together under shine and shade, in joy and sorrow. our two hands that had joined at the alter, and had clung so clost together ever sence, had got to leggo of each other down there in front of the dark gateway. solemn gateway! so big that the hull world must pass through it--and yet so small that the hull world has got to go through it alone, one at a time. my josiah would have to stand outside and let me go down under the dark, mysterious arches, alone--and he knows jest how i hate to go anywhere alone, or else i would have to stop at the gate and bid him good-by. and no matter how much we knocked at the gate, or how many tears we shed onto it, we couldn't get through till our time come, we had _got_ to be parted. and now if we went on this clear june day through the crystal gateway of the bendin' heavens--we two would be together for weal or for woe. and on whatever new, strange landscape we would have to look on, or wander through, he would be right by me. whatever strange inhabitants the celestial country held, he would face 'em with me. close, close by my side, he would go with me through that blue, lovely gateway of the soft june skies into the city of the king. and it wuz a sweet thought to me. not that i really _wanted_ the world to come to a end that day. no, i kinder wanted to live along for some time, for several reasons: my pardner, the babe, the children, etc.; and then i kinder like to live for the _sake_ of livin'. i enjoy it. but i can say, and say with truth, and solemnity, that the idee didn't scare me none. and as my companion looked down in my face as the time approached, i could see the same thoughts that wuz writ in my eyes a-shinin' in his'n. wall, as the pinter approached the hour, the excitement grew nearly, if not quite rampant. the believers threw their white robes on over their dresses and coats, and as the pinter slowly moved round from half-past three to quarter to 4--and so on--they shouted, they sung, they prayed, they shook each other's hands--they wuz fairly crazed with excitement and fervor, which they called religion--for they wuz in earnest, nobody could dispute that. joe and miss pool kinder hung together all this time--though i ketched him givin' several wistful looks at jenette, as much as to say, "oh, how i hate to leave you, jenette!" but miss pool would roust him up agin, and he would shout and sing with the frienziedest and most zealousest of 'em. mother charnick stood with her bag in her hand, and the other hand on the puckerin' string. i don't say what she had in the bag, but i do say this, that she had it fixed so's she could have ondone it in a secont's time. and her eyes wuz intent on the heavens overhead. but they kep calm and serene and cloudless, nothin' to be seen there--no sign, no change--and ma charnick kep still and didn't draw the puckerin' string. but oh, how excitement reined and grew rampant around that school-house! miss pool and joe seemin' to outdo all the rest (she always did try to), till at last, jest as the pinter swung round to the very minute, joe, more than half by the side of himself, with the excitement he had been in for a week, and bein' urged onto it by miss pool, as he sez to this day, he jumped up onto the tall stump he had been a standin' by, and stood there in his long white robe, lookin' like a spook, if anybody had been calm enough to notice it, and he sung out in a clear voice--his voice always did have a good honest ring to it: farewell my friends, farewell my foes; up to heaven joe charnick goes. and jest as the clock struck, and they all shouted and screamed, he waved his arms, with their two great white wings a-flutterin', and sprung upwards, expectin' the hull world, livin' and dead, would foller him--and go right up into the heavens. and trueman's wife bein' right by the stump, waved her wings and jumped too--jest the same direction es he jumped. but she only stood on a camp chair, and when she fell, she didn't crack no bones, it only jarred her dretfully, and hurt her across the small of her back, to that extent that i kep bread and milk poultices on day and night for three weeks, and lobelia and catnip, half and half; she a-arguin' at me every single poultice i put on that it wuzn't her way of makin' poultices, nor her way of applyin' of 'em. [illustration: "farewell my friends, farewell my foes."] i told her i didn't know of any other way of applyin' 'em to her back, only to put 'em on it. but she insisted to the last that i didn't apply 'em right, and i didn't crumble the bread into the milk right, and the lobelia wuzn't picked right, nor the catnip. not one word did she ever speak about the end of the world--not a word--but a-naggin' about everything else. wall, i healed her after a time, and glad enough wuz i to see her healed, and started off. but joe charnick suffered worse and longer. he broke his limb in two places and cracked his rib. the bones of his arm wuz a good while a-healin', and before they wuz healed he was wounded in a new place. he jest fell over head and ears in love with jenette finster. for bein' shet up to home with his mother and her (his mother wouldn't hear to jenette leavin' her for a minute) he jest seemed to come to a full realizin' sense of her sweet natur' and bright, obleegin' ways; and his old affection for her bloomed out into the deepest and most idolatrous love--joe never could be megum. jenette, and good enough for him, held him off for quite a spell--but when he got cold and relapsted, and they thought he wuz goin' to die, then she owned up to him that she worshipped him--and always had. and from that day he gained. mother charnick wuz tickled most to death at the idea of havin' jenette for her own girl--she thinks her eyes on her, and so does jenette of her. so it wuz agreeable as anything ever wuz all around, if not agreeabler. jest as quick as she got well enough to walk, and before he got out of his bed, trueman's wife walked over to see joe. and joe's mother hatin' her so, wouldn't let her step her foot into the house. and joe wuz glad on't, so they say. mother charnick wuz out on the stoop in front of the house, when trueman's wife got there, and told her that they had to keep the house still; that is, they say so, i don't know for certain, but they say that ma charnick offered to take trueman's wife out to see her chickens, the ones she had brought up by hand, and trueman's wife wantin' to please her, so's to get in, consented. and miss charnick showed her the hull 14 of 'em, all fat and flourishing--they wuz well took care of. and miss charnick looked down on 'em fondly, and sez: "i lay out to have a good chicken pie the day that joe and jenette are married." [illustration: "i lay out to have a good chicken pie the day that joe and jenette are married."] "married!" sez trueman's wife, in faint and horrified axcents. "yes, they are goin' to be married jest as soon as my son gets well enough. jenette is fixin' a new dress for me to wear to the weddin'--with a bask," sez she with emphasis. and es she said it, they say she stooped down and gathered some sprigs of thoroughwert, a-mentionin' how much store she set by it for sickness. but if she did, trueman's wife didn't sense it, she wuz dumbfoundered and sot back by the news. and she left my home and board the week before the weddin'. they had been married about a year, when jenette wuz here a-visitin'--and she asked me in confidence (and it _must_ be kep, it stands lo reason it must), "if i s'posed that book muslin robe would make two little dresses?" and i told her, "good land! yes, three on 'em," and it did. she dresses the child beautiful, and i don't know whether she would want the neighbors to know jest what and when and where she gets the materials-it looks some like her and some like joe--and they both think their eyes on it--but old miss charnick worships it--wall, though es i said (and i have eppisoded to a extent that is almost onprecidented and onheard on). though josiah allen made a excuse of borrowin' a plow (a _plow_, that time of night) to get away from my arguments on the conference, and submit's kinder skairt face, and so forth, and so on-he resumed the conversation the next mornin' with more energy than ever. (he never said nuthin' about the plow, and i never see no sign on it, and don't believe he got it, or wanted it.) he resumed the subject, and kep on a-resumin' of it from day to day and from hour to hour. he would nearly exhaust the subject at home, and then he would tackle the wimmen on it at the methodist meetin' house, while we methodist wimmen wuz to work. after leavin' me to the meetin' house, josiah would go on to the post-office for his daily _world_, and then he would stop on his way back to give us female wimmen the latest news from the conference, and give us his idees on't. [illustration: "he never had time to help."] and sometimes he would fairly harrow us to the very bone, with his dretful imaginins and fears that wimmen would be allowed to overdo herself, and ruin her health, and strain her mind, by bein' permitted to set! why submit tewksbury, and some of the other weaker sisters, would look fairly wild-eyed for some time after he would go. he never could stay long. sometimes we would beset him to stay and do some little job for us, to help us along with our work, such as liftin' somethin' or movin' some bench, or the pulpit, or somethin'. but he never had the time; he always had to hasten home to get to work. he wuz in a great hurry with his spring's work, and full of care about that buzz saw mill. and that wuz how it wuz with every man in the meetin' house that wuz able to work any. they wuz all in a hurry with their spring's work, and their buzz saws, and their inventions, and their agencys, etc., etc., etc. and that wuz the reason why we wimmen wuz havin' such a hard job on the meetin' house. chapter xvii. you see the way on't wuz: we had to do sumthin' to raise the minister's salary, which wuz most half a year behindhand, to say nothin' of the ensuin' year a-comin'. and as i have hinted at before but hain't gi'n petickulers, the men in the meetin' house had all gi'n out, and said they had gi'n every cent they could, and they couldn't and they wouldn't do any more, any way. as i have said more formally, there wuz a hardness arozen amongst the male brethern. deacon peedick thought he had gi'n more than his part in proportion, and come right out plain and said so. and deacon bobbet said "he wuzn't the man to stand it to be told right to his face that he hadn't done his share," and he said "he wuzn't the man either, to be hinted at from the pulpit about things." i don't believe he wuz hinted at, and sister bobbet don't and she felt like death to have him so riz up in his mind, and act so. i know what the tex' wuz; it wuz these words: "the lord loveth a cheerful giver." the minister didn't mean nothin' only pure gospel, when he preached about it. but it proved to be a tight-breasted, close-fittin' coat to several of the male brothers, and it fitted 'em so well it fairly pinched 'em. but there it wuz, deacon bobbet wouldn't gi'n a cent towards raisin' the money. and there wuz them that said, and stuck to it, that he said "he wouldn't give a _darn_ cent." but i don't know as that is so. i wouldn't want to be the one that said that he had demeaned himself to that extent. wall, he wouldn't give a cent, and peedick wouldn't give, and deacon henzy and deacon sypher wouldn't. they said that there wuz certain members of the meetin' house that had said to certain people suthin' slightin' about buzz saws. i myself thought then, and think still, that the subject of buzz saws had a great deal to do in makin' 'em act so riz up and excited. i believe the subject rasped 'em, and made 'em nervous. but when these various hardnesses aroze amongst some of the brethern, the rest of the men kinder joined in with 'em, some on one side, and some on the other, and they all baulked right out of the harness. (allegory.) and there the minister wuz, good old creeter, jest a-sufferin' for the necessities of life, and most half a year's salery due. i tell you it looked dark. the men all said they couldn't see no way out of the trouble, and some of the wimmen felt about so. and old miss henn, one of our most able sisters, she had gi'n out, she wuz as mad as her own sirname about how her metilda had been used. the meetin' house had just hauled her up for levity. and i thought then, and think now, that the meetin' house wuz too hard on metilda henn. she did titter right out in protracted meetin', sister henn don't deny it, and she felt dretful bad about it, and so did i. but metilda said, and stuck to it, that she couldn't have helped laughin' if it had been to save her life. and though i realized the awfulness of it, still, when some of the brethern wuz goin' on dretful about it, i sez to 'em: "the bible sez there is a time to laugh, and i don't know when that is, unless it is when you can't help it." what she wuz a-laughin' at wuz this: there wuz a widder woman by the name of nancy lum that always come to evenin' meetin's. she wuz very tall and humbly, and she had been on the look out (so it wuz s'pozed) for a 3d husband for some time. she had always made a practice of saying one thing over and over to all the protracted and conference meetin's, and she would always bust out a-cryin' before she got it all out. she always said "she wanted to be found always at the foot of the cross." she would always begin this remark dretful kinder loud and hysterical, and then would dwindle down kinder low at the end on't, and bustin' out into tears somewhere through it from first to last. but this evenin' suthin' had occurred to make her more hysterical and melted down than usial. some say it wuz because deacon henshaw wuz present for the first time after his wive's death. but any way, she riz up lookin' awful tall and humbly--she was most a head taller than any man there--and she sez out loud and strong: "i want to be found--" and then she busted right out a-cryin' hard. and she sobbed for some time. and then she begun agin, "i want to be found--" and then she busted out agin. and so it went on for some time--she a-tellin' out ever and anon loud and firm, "that she wanted to be found--" and then bustin' into tears. till finally deacon henshaw (some mistrust that he is on the point of gettin' after her, and he always leads the singin' any way) he struck right out onto the him- "oh, that will be joyful!" and sister lum sot down. wall, that wuz what made metilda henn titter. and that was what made me bring forward that verse of scripter. that the bible said "'there wuz a time to laugh,' and i didn't know when it wuz unless it wuz when you couldn't help it--" but i didn't say it to uphold metilda--no, indeed. i only said it because they wuz so bitter on her, and laid the rules of the meetin' house down on her so heavy. but josiah said, "what would become of the meetin' house if it didn't punish its unruly members?" and i sez to josiah, "do you remember the case of deacon widrig over in loontown. he wuz rich and influential, and when he wuz complained of, and the meetin' house sot on him, they sot light, and you know it, josiah allen. and he was kep in the church, the meen old creeter. and miss henn is a widder and poor." "yes," sez josiah, calmly, "she hain't been able to help the meetin' house much, and brother widrig contributes largely." sez i, in a fearful meanin' axent, "i hearn he did at the time he wuz up--i hearn he contributed _lots_ to the male brethren who was a-judgin' him--but," sez i, "do you spoze, josiah allen, that if wimmen wuz allowed their way in the matter, that that man would be allowed to stay in the meetin' house, and keep on a-makin' and a-sellin' the poisen that is sendin' men to ruin all round him-"makin' his hard cider by the barell and hogset and fixin' it some way so it will make a far worse drunk than whiskey, and then supplyin' every low saloon fur and near with it, and peddlin' it out to every man and boy that wants it. "and boys think they can drink cider without doin' any harm--so he jest entices 'em down into the road to ruin--doin' as much agin harm as a whiskey seller. "and mothers have to set still and see it go on. it is men that are always appinted to deal with sinners, male or female. men are judged by their peers, but wimmen never are. "i wonder if that is just? i wonder how deacon widrig would have liked it to have had miss henn set on him? he wuz dretful excited, so i hearn, about metilda's case--thought it wuz highly incumbient on the meetin' house to have her made a example of, so's to try to abolish such wicked doin's as snickerin' out in meetin'. [illustration: "supplyin' every low saloon fur and near."] "i wonder how he would have liked it to have had charley lanfear's mother set on him? she is a sister in the meetin' house and charley is a ruined boy--and deacon widrig is jest as much the cause of his ruin-jest as guilty of murderin' all that wuz sweet and lovely in him es if he had fed arsenic to him with a teaspoon." sez i, "in that very meetin' house to loontown, there are mothers who have to set and take the bread and wine tokens of the blood and body of their crucified redeemer from a man's hands that they know are red with the blood of their own sons. fur redder than human blood and deeper-stained with the ruin of their immortal souls. "what thoughts does these mothers keep on a-thinkin' as they set there and see a man guilty of worse than murder set up as a example to other young souls? what thoughts do they keep on a-thinkin' of the young hearts that wuz pure before this man laid holt of 'em. young eyes that wuz true and tender till this man made 'em look on his accursed drink. young lips that smiled on their mothers till he gin 'em that that changed the smiles to curses? "would a delegation of wimmen keep such a man in the meetin' house if he paved the hull floor with fine gold? no, you know they wouldn't. let a jury of mothers set on such a man, and see if he could get up agin very easy. "they are the ones who have suffered by him, who have agonized, who went down into deeper than the valley of death led by his hand. they went down into that depth where they lose their boy. lose him eternally. "death, jest death, would give 'em a chance to meet their child again. but what hope does a mother have when down in the darkness that has no mornin', her boy tears his hand from her weak grasp and plunges downward? "how does such a mother feel as she sets there in a still meetin' house, and the man who has done all this passes her the emblems of a deathless love, a divine purity?" josiah sat demute and, didn't say nuthin', and i went on, for i wuz very roze up in my mind, and by the side of myself with emotions. and sez i, "take the case of simeon lathers. why wuz it that sister irene filkins wuz turned out of the meetin' house and the man who wuz the first cause of her goin' astray kep in--the handsome, smooth-faced hypocrite?--it wuz because he wuz rich as a jew, and jest plastered over the consciences of them that tried him with his fine speeches and his money." [illustration: "josiah looked up and sez, 'how a steeple would look a-pintin' down'"] "fixed over the meetin' house there in zoar, built a new steeple, a towerin' one. if wimmen had had their way, that steeple would have pinted the other way." josiah looked up from ayers' almanac, which he wuz calmly perusin', and sez he, "how a steeple would look a-pintin' down!" proofreaders samantha among the brethren. by "josiah allen's wife" (marietta holley) part 1 _with illustrations_. 1890 to all women who work, trying to bring into dark lives the brightness and hope of a better country, _this book is dedicated_. preface. again it come to pass, in the fulness of time, that my companion, josiah allen, see me walk up and take my ink stand off of the manteltry piece, and carry it with a calm and majestick gait to the corner of the settin' room table devoted by me to literary pursuits. and he sez to me: "what are you goin' to tackle now, samantha?" and sez i, with quite a good deal of dignity, "the cause of eternal justice, josiah allen." "anythin' else?" sez he, lookin' sort o' oneasy at me. (that man realizes his shortcomin's, i believe, a good deal of the time, he duz.) "yes," sez i, "i lay out in petickuler to tackle the meetin' house. she is in the wrong on't, and i want to set her right." josiah looked sort o' relieved like, but he sez out, in a kind of a pert way, es he set there a-shellin corn for the hens: "a meetin' house hadn't ort to be called she--it is a he." and sez i, "how do you know?" and he sez, "because it stands to reason it is. and i'd like to know what you have got to say about him any way?" sez i, "that 'him' don't sound right, josiah allen. it sounds more right and nateral to call it 'she.' why," sez i, "hain't we always hearn about the mother church, and don't the bible tell about the church bein' arrayed like a bride for her husband? i never in my life hearn it called a 'he' before." "oh, wall, there has always got to be a first time. and i say it sounds better. but what have you got to say about the meetin' house, anyway?" "i have got this to say, josiah allen. the meetin' house hain't a-actin' right about wimmen. the founder of the church wuz born of woman. it wuz on a woman's heart that his head wuz pillowed first and last. while others slept she watched over his baby slumbers and his last sleep. a woman wuz his last thought and care. before dawn she wuz at the door of the tomb, lookin' for his comin'. so she has stood ever sense--waitin', watchin', hopin', workin' for the comin' of christ. workin', waitin' for his comin' into the hearts of tempted wimmen and tempted men--fallen men and fallen wimmen--workin', waitin', toilin', nursin' the baby good in the hearts of a sinful world--weepin' pale-faced over its crucefixion--lookin' for its reserection. oh how she has worked all through the ages!" "oh shaw!" sez josiah, "some wimmen don't care about anythin' but crazy work and back combs." i felt took down, for i had been riz up, quite considerble, but i sez, reasonable: "yes, there are such wimmen, josiah, but think of the sweet and saintly souls that have given all their lives, and hopes, and thoughts to the meetin' house--think of the throngs to-day that crowd the aisles of the sanctuary--there are five wimmen to one man, i believe, in all the meetin' houses to-day a-workin' in his name. true daughters of the king, no matter what their creed may be--catholic or protestant. "and while wimmen have done all this work for the meetin' house, the meetin' house ort to be honorable and do well by her." "wall, hain't _he_?" sez josiah. "no, _she_ hain't," sez i. "wall, what petickuler fault do you find? what has _he_ done lately to rile you up?" sez i, "_she_ wuz in the wrong on't in not lettin' wimmen set on the conference." "wall, i say _he_ wuz right," sez josiah. "_he_ knew, and i knew, that wimmen wuzn't strong enough to set." "why," sez i, "it don't take so much strength to set as it duz to stand up. and after workin' as hard as wimmen have for the meetin' house, she ort to have the priveledge of settin'. and i am goin' to write out jest what i think about it." "wall," sez josiah, as he started for the barn with the hen feed, "don't be too severe with the meetin' house." and then, after he went out, he opened the door agin and stuck his head in and sez: "don't be too hard on _him_" and then he shet the door quick, before i could say a word. but good land! i didn't care. i knew i could say what i wanted to with my faithful pen--and i am bound to say it. josiah allen's wife, bonny view, near adams, new york, oct. 14th, 1890. contents. chapter i. chapter ii. chapter iii. chapter iv. chapter v. chapter vi. chapter vii. chapter viii. chapter ix. chapter x. chapter xi. chapter xii. chapter xiii. chapter xiv. chapter xv. chapter xvi chapter xvii chapter xviii chapter xix chapter xx chapter xxi chapter xxii chapter xxiii chapter xxiv chapter xxv chapter xxvi chapter xxvii chapter xxviii _publishers' appendix_ chapter i. when i first heard that wimmen wuz goin' to make a effort to set on a conference, it wuz on a wednesday, as i remember well. for my companion, josiah allen, had drove over to loontown in a democrat and in a great hurry, to meet two men who wanted him to go into a speculation with 'em. and it wuz kinder curious to meditate on it, that they wuz all deacons, every one on 'em. three on 'em wuz baptis'es, and two on 'em had jined our meetin' house, deacons, and the old name clung to 'em--we spoze because they wuz such good, stiddy men, and looked up to. take 'em all together there wuz five deacons. the two foreign deacons from 'way beyond jonesville, deacon keeler and deacon huffer, and our own three jonesvillians--deacon henzy, deacon sypher, and my own particular deacon, josiah allen. it wuz a wild and hazardous skeme that them two foreign deacons wuz a-proposin', and i wuz strongly in favor of givin' 'em a negative answer; but josiah wuz fairly crazy with the idee, and so wuz deacon henzy and deacon sypher (their wives told me how they felt). the idee was to build a buzz saw mill on the creek that runs through jonesville, and have branches of it extend into zoar, loontown, and other more adjacent townships (the same creek runs through 'em all). as near as i could get it into my head, there wuz to be a buzz saw mill apiece for the five deacons--each one of 'em to overlook their own particular buzz saw--but the money comin' from all on 'em to be divided up equal among the five deacons. [illustration: "a wild and hazardous skeme."] they thought there wuz lots of money in the idee. but i wuz very set against it from the first. it seemed to me that to have buzz saws a-permeatin' the atmosphere, as you may say, for so wide a space, would make too much of a confusion and noise, to say nothin' of the jarin' that would take place and ensue. i felt more and more, as i meditated on the subject, that a buzz saw, although estimable in itself, yet it wuz not a spear in which a religious deacon could withdraw from the world, and ponder on the great questions pertainin' to his own and the world's salvation. i felt it wuz not a spear that he could revolve round in and keep that apartness from this world and nearness to the other, that i felt that deacons ought to cultivate. but my idees wuz frowned at by every man in jonesville, when i ventured to promulgate 'em. they all said, "the better the man, the better the deed." they said, "the better the man wuz, the better the buzz saw he would be likely to run." the fact wuz, they needed some buzz saw mills bad, and wuz very glad to have these deacons lay holt of 'em. [illustration: talking over the buzz-saw.] but i threw out this question at 'em, and stood by it--"if bein' set apart as a deacon didn't mean anything? if there wuzn't any deacon-work that they ought to be expected to do--and if it wuz right for 'em to go into any world's work so wild and hazardous and engrossin', as this enterprise?" and again they sez to me in stern, decided axents, "the better the man, the better the deed. we need buzz saws." and then they would turn their backs to me and stalk away very high-headed. and i felt that i wuz a gettin' fearfully onpopular all through jonesville, by my questions. i see that the hull community wuz so sot on havin' them five deacons embark onto these buzz saws that they would not brook any interference, least of all from a female woman. but i had a feelin' that josiah allen wuz, as you may say, my lawful prey. i felt that i had a right to question my own pardner for the good of his own soul, and my piece of mind. and i sez to him in solemn axents: "josiah allen, what time will you get when you are fairly started on your buzz saw, for domestic life, or social, or for religious duties?" and josiah sez, "dumb 'em! i guess a man is a goin' to make money when he has got a chance." and i asked him plain if he had got so low, and if i had lived with him twenty years for this, to hear him in the end dumb religious duties. and josiah acted skairt and conscience smut for most half a minute, and said, "he didn't dumb 'em." "what wuz you dumbin'?" sez i, coldly. "i wuz dumbin' the idee," sez he, "that a man can't make money when he has a chance to." but i sez, a haulin' up this strong argument agin-"every one of you men, who are a layin' holt of this enterprise and a-embarkin' onto this buzz saw are married men, and are deacons in a meetin' house. now this work you are a-talkin' of takin' up will devour all of your time, every minute of it, that you can spare from your farms. "and to say nothin' of your wives and children not havin' any chance of havin' any comfort out of your society. what will become of the interests of zion at home and abroad, of foreign and domestic missions, prayer meetin's, missionary societies, temperance meetin's and good works generally?" and then again i thought, and it don't seem as if i can be mistaken, i most know that i heerd josiah allen mutter in a low voice, "dumb good works!" [illustration: "i heerd josiah mutter, 'dumb good works!'"] but i wouldn't want this told of, for i may be mistook. i didn't fairly ketch the words, and i spoke out agin, in dretful meanin' and harrowin' axents, and sez, "what will become of all this gospel work?" and josiah had by this time got over his skare and conscience smite (men can't keep smut for more'n several minutes anyway, their consciences are so elastic; good land! rubber cord can't compare with 'em), and he had collected his mind all together, and he spoke out low and clear, and in a tone as if he wuz fairly surprised i should make the remark: "why, the gospel work will get along jest as it always has, the wimmen will 'tend to it." and i own i was kinder lost and by the side of myself when i asked the question--and very anxious to break up the enterprise or i shouldn't have put the question to him. for i well knew jest as he did that wimmen wuz most always the ones to go ahead in church and charitable enterprises. and especially now, for there wuz a hardness arozen amongst the male men of the meetin' house, and they wouldn't do a thing they could help (but of this more anon and bimeby). there wuz two or three old males in the meetin' house, too old to get mad and excited easy, that held firm, and two very pious old male brothers, but poor, very poor, had to be supported by the meetin' house, and lame. they stood firm, or as firm as they could on such legs as theirs wuz, inflammatory rheumatiz and white swellin's and such. but all the rest had got their feelin's hurt, and got mad, etc., and wouldn't do a thing to help the meetin' house along. well, i tried every lawful, and mebby a little on-lawful way to break this enterprise of theirs up--and, as i heern afterwards, so did sister henzy. sister sypher is so wrapped up in deacon sypher that she would embrace a buzz saw mill or any other enterprise he could bring to bear onto her. "she would be perfectly willin' to be trompled on," so she often sez, "if deacon sypher wuz to do the tromplin'." some sez he duz. wall, in spite of all my efforts, and in spite of all sister henzy's efforts, our deacons seemed to jest flourish on this skeme of theirn. and when we see it wuz goin' to be a sure thing, even sister sypher begin to feel bad. she told albina widrig, and albina told miss henn, and miss henn told me, that "what to do she didn't know, it would deprive her of so much of the deacon's society." it wuz goin' to devour so much of his time that she wuz afraid she couldn't stand it. she told albina in confidence (and albina wouldn't want it told of, nor miss henn, nor i wouldn't) that she had often been obleeged to go out into the lot between breakfast and dinner to see the deacon, not bein' able to stand it without lookin' on his face till dinner time. and when she was laid up with a lame foot it wuz known that the deacon left his plowin' and went up to the house, or as fur as the door step, four or five times in the course of a mornin's work, it wuz spozed because she wuz fearful of forgettin' how he looked before noon. she is a dretful admirin' woman. she acts dretful reverential and admirin' towards men--always calls her husband "the deacon," as if he was the one lonely deacon who was perambulatin' the globe at this present time. and it is spozed that when she dreams about him she dreams of him as "the deacon," and not as samuel (his given name is samuel). [illustration: "the initials stood for 'miss deacon sypher.'"] but we don't know that for certain. we only spoze it. for the land of dreams is a place where you can't slip on your sun-bonnet and foller neighbor wimmen to see what they are a-doin' or what they are a-sayin' from hour to hour. no, the best calculator on gettin' neighborhood news can't even look into that land, much less foller a neighborin' female into it. no, their barks have got to be moored outside of them mysterious shores. but, as i said, this had been spozen. but it is known from actual eyesight that she marks all her sheets, and napkins, and piller-cases, and such, "m. d. s." and i asked her one day what the m. stood for, for i 'spozed, of course, the d. s. stood for drusillia sypher. and she told me with a real lot of dignity that the initials stood for "miss deacon sypher." wall, the jonesville men have been in the habit of holdin' her up as a pattern to their wives for some time, and the jonesville wimmen hain't hated her so bad as you would spoze they all would under the circumstances, on account, we all think, of her bein' such a good-hearted little creeter. we all like drusilly and can't help it. wall, even she felt bad and deprested on account of her deacon's goin' into the buzz saw-mill business. but she didn't say nothin', only wept out at one side, and wiped up every time he came in sight. they say that she hain't never failed once of a-smilin' on the deacon every time he came home. and once or twice he has got as mad as a hen at her for smilin'. once, when he came home with a sore thumb--he had jest smashed it in the barn door--and she stood a-smilin' at him on the door step, there are them that say the deacon called her a "infernal fool." but i never have believed it. i don't believe he would demean himself so low. but he yelled out awful at her, i do 'spoze, for his pain wuz intense, and she stood stun still, a-smilin' at him, jest accordin' to the story books. and he sez: "stand there like a----fool, will you! get me a _rag!_" i guess he did say as much as that. but they say she kept on a-smilin' for some time--couldn't seem to stop, she had got so hardened into that way. [illustration: "once, when her face wuz all swelled up, she smiled at him."] and once, when her face wuz all swelled up with the toothache, she smiled at him accordin' to rule when he got home, and they say the effect wuz fearful, both on her looks and the deacon's acts. they say he was mad again, and called her some names. but as a general thing they get along first rate, i guess, or as well as married folks in general, and he makes a good deal of her. i guess they get along without any more than the usual amount of difficulties between husbands and wives, and mebby with less. i know this, anyway, that she just about worships the deacon. wall, as i say, it was the very day that these three deacons went to loontown to meet deacon keeler and deacon huffer, to have a conference together as to the interests of the buzz saw mill that i first heard the news that wimmen wuz goin' to make a effort to set on the methodist conference, and the way i heerd on't wuz as follows: josiah allen brought home to me that night a paper that one of the foreign deacons, deacon keeler, had lent him. it contained a article that wuz wrote by deacon keeler's son, casper keeler--a witherin' article about wimmen's settin' on the conference. it made all sorts of fun of the projeck. we found out afterwards that casper keeler furnished nearly all the capital for the buzz saw mill enterprise at his father's urgent request. his father, deacon keeler, didn't have a cent of money of his own; it fell onto casper from his mother and aunt. they had kept a big millinery store in the town of lyme, and a branch store in loontown, and wuz great workers, and had laid up a big property. and when they died, the aunt, bein' a maiden woman at the time, the money naturally fell onto casper. he wuz a only child, and they had brung him up tender, and fairly worshipped him. they left him all the money, but left a anuety to be paid yearly to his father, deacon keeler, enough to support him. the deacon and his wife had always lived happy together--she loved to work, and he loved to have her work, so they had similar tastes, and wuz very congenial--and when she died he had the widest crape on his hat that wuz ever seen in the town of lyme. (the crape was some she had left in the shop.) he mourned deep, both in his crape and his feelin's, there hain't a doubt of that. wall, miss keelerses will provided money special for casper to be educated high. so he went to school and to college, from the time he was born, almost. so he knew plenty of big words, and used 'em fairly lavish in this piece. there wuz words in it of from six to seven syllables. why, i hadn't no idee till i see 'em with my own eye, that there wuz any such words in the english language, and words of from four to six syllables wuz common in it. his father, deacon keeler, wouldn't give the paper to my companion, he thought so much of it, but he offered to lend it to him, because he said he felt that the idees it promulgated wuz so sound and deep they ought to be disseminated abroad. the idees wuz, "that wimmen hadn't no business to set on the conference. she wuz too weak to set on it. it wuz too high a place for her too ventur' on, or to set on with any ease. there wuzn't no more than room up there for what men would love to set on it. wimmen's place wuz in the sacred precinks of home. she wuz a tender, fragile plant, that needed guardin' and guidin' and kep by man's great strength and tender care from havin' any cares and labors whatsoever and wheresoever and howsumever." josiah said it wuz a masterly dockument. and it wuz writ well. it painted in wild, glarin' colors the fear that men had that wimmen would strain themselves to do anything at all in the line of work--or would weaken her hull constitution, and lame her moral faculties, and ruin herself by tryin' to set up on a conference, or any other high and tottlin' eminence. the piece wuz divided into three different parts, with a headin' in big letters over each one. the _first_ wuz, wimmen to have no labors and cares whatsoever; _secondly_, none wheresoever; _thirdly_, none howsumever. the writer then proceeded to say that he would show first, _what_ cares and labors men wuz willin' and anxious to ward offen women. and he proved right out in the end that there wuzn't a thing that they wanted wimmen to do--not a single thing. then he proceeded to tell _where_ men wuz willin' to keep their labors and cares offen wimmen. and he proved it right out that it wuz every _where_. in the home, the little sheltered, love-guarded home of the farmer, the mechanic and the artizen (makin' special mention of the buzz sawyers). and also in the palace walls and the throne. there and every _where_ men would fain shelter wimmen from every care, and every labor, even the lightest and slightest. then lastly came the _howsumever_. he proceeded to show _how_ this could be done. and he proved it right out (or thought he did) that the first great requisit' to accomplish all this, wuz to keep wimmen in her place. keep her from settin' on the conference, and all other tottlin' eminences, fitted only for man's stalwart strength. and the end of the article wuz so sort of tragick and skairful that josiah wept when he read it. he pictured it out in such strong colors, the danger there wuz of puttin' wimmen, or allowin' her to put herself in such a high and percipitous place, such a skairful and dangerous posture as settin' up on a conference. [illustration: "josiah wept when he read it."] "to have her set up on it," sez the writer, in conclusion, "would endanger her life, her spiritual, her mental and her moral growth. it would shake the permanency of the sacred home relations to its downfall. it would hasten anarchy, and he thought sizm." why, josiah allen handled that paper as if it wuz pure gold. i know he asked me anxiously as he handed it to me to read, "if my hands wuz perfectly clean," and we had some words about it. and till he could pass it on to deacon sypher to read he kep it in the bible. he put it right over in galatians, for i looked to see--second galatians. and he wrapped it up in a soft handkerchief when he carried it over to deacon sypherses. and deacon sypher treasured it like a pearl of great price (so i spoze) till he could pass it on to deacon henzy. and deacon henzy was to carry it with care to a old male deacon in zoar, bed rid. wall, as i say, that is the very first i had read about their bein' any idee promulgated of wimmens settin' up on the conference. and i, in spite of josiah allen's excitement, wuz in favor on't from the very first. yes, i wuz awfully in favor of it, and all i went through durin' the next and ensuin' weeks didn't put the idee out of my head. no, far from it. it seemed as if the severer my sufferin's wuz, the much more this idee flourished in my soul. just as a heavy plow will meller up the soil so white lilies can take root, or any other kind of sweet posies. and oh! my heart! wuz not my sufferin's with lodema trumble, a hard plow and a harrowin' one, and one that turned up deep furrows? but of this, more anon and bimeby. chapter ii. wall, it wuz on the very next day--on a thursday as i remember well, for i wuz a-thinkin' why didn't lodema's letter come the next day--fridays bein' considered onlucky--and it being a day for punishments, hangin's, and so forth. but it didn't, it came on a thursday. and my companion had been to jonesville and brung me back two letters; he brung 'em in, leavin' the old mair standin' at the gate, and handed me the letters, ten pounds of granulated sugar, a pound of tea, and the request i should have supper on the table by the time that he got back from deacon henzy's. (on that old buzz-saw business agin, so i spozed, but wouldn't ask.) wall, i told him supper wuz begun any way, and he had better hurry back. but he wuz belated by reason of deacon henzy's bein' away, so i set there for some time alone. wall, i wuz goin' to have some scolloped oysters for supper, so the first thing i did wuz to put 'em into the oven--they wuz all ready, i had scolloped 'em before josiah come, and got 'em all ready for the oven--and then i set down and read my letters. wall, the first one i opened wuz from lodema trumble, josiah's cousin on his own side. and her letter brought the sad and harrowin' intelligence that she was a-comin' to make us a good long visit. the letter had been delayed. she was a-comin' that very night, or the next day. wall, i sithed deep. i love company dearly, but--oh my soul, is there not a difference, a difference in visitors? wall, suffice it to say, i sithed deep, and opened the other letter, thinkin' it would kind o' take my mind off. and for all the world! i couldn't hardly believe my eyes. but it wuz! it wuz from serena fogg. it wuz from the authoress of "wedlock's peaceful repose." i hadn't heard a word from her for upwards of four years. and the letter brung me startlin' intelligence. it opened with the unexpected information that she wuz married. she had been married three years and a half to a butcher out to the ohio. and i declare my first thought wuz as i read it, "wall, she has wrote dretful flowery on wedlock, and its perfect, onbroken calm, and peaceful repose, and now she has had a realizin' sense of what it really is." but when i read a little further, i see what the letter wuz writ for. i see why, at this late day, she had started up and writ me a letter. i see it wuz writ on duty. she said she had found out that i wuz in the right on't and she wuzn't. she said that when in the past she had disputed me right up and down, and insisted that wedlock wuz a state of perfect serenity, never broken in upon by any cares or vexations whatsomever, she wuz in the wrong on't. she said she had insisted that when anybody had moored their barks into that haven of wedded life, that they wuz forever safe from any rude buffetin's from the world's waves; that they wuz exempt from any toil, any danger, any sorrow, any trials whatsomever. and she had found she was mistook. she said i told her it wuz a first-rate state, and a satisfactory one for wimmen; but still it had its trials, and she had found it so. she said that i insisted its serenity wuz sometimes broken in upon, and she had found it so. the last day at my house had tottled her faith, and her own married experience had finished the work. her husband wuz a worthy man, and she almost worshipped him. but he had a temper, and he raved round considerable when meals wuzn't ready on time, and she havin' had two pairs of twins durin' her union (she comes from a family on her mother's side, so i had hearn before, where twins wuz contagious), she couldn't always be on the exact minute. she had to work awful hard; this broke in on her serenity. her husband devotedly loved her, so she said; but still, she said, his bootjack had been throwed voyalent where corns wuz hit onexpected. [illustration: "four twins broke in also on her waveless calm."] their souls wuz mated firm as they could be in deathless ties of affection and confidence, yet doors _had_ been slammed and oaths emitted, when clothin' rent and buttons tarried not with him. strange actions and demeanors had been displayed in hours of high-headedness and impatience, which had skaired her almost to death before gettin' accustomed to 'em. the four twins broke in also on her waveless calm. they wuz lovely cherubs, and the four apples of her eyes. but they did yell at times, they kicked, they tore round and acted; they made work--lots of work. and one out of each pair snored. it broke up each span, as you may say. the snorin' filled each room devoted to 'em. _he_ snored, loud. a good man and a noble man he wuz, so she repeated it, but she found out too late--too late, that he snored. the house wuz small; she could _not_ escape from snores, turn she where she would. she got tired out with her work days, and couldn't rest nights. her husband, as he wuz doin' such a flourishin' business, had opened a cattle-yard near the house. she wuz proud of his growin' trade, but the bellerin' of the cattle disturbed her fearfully. also the calves bleating and the lambs callin' on their dams. it wuz a long letter, filled with words like these, and it ended up by saying that for years now she had wanted to write and tell me that i had been in the right on't and she in the wrong. i had been megum and she hadn't. and she ended by sayin', "god bless me and adoo." [illustration: the lecture.] the fire crackled softly on the clean hearth. the teakettle sung a song of welcome and cheer. the oysters sent out an agreeable atmosphere. the snowy table, set out in pretty china and glassware, looked invitin', and i set there comfortable and happy and so peaceful in my frame, that the events of the past, in which serena fogg had flourished, seemed but as yesterday. i thought it all over, that pleasant evenin' in the past, when josiah allen had come in unexpected, and brung the intelligence to me that there wuz goin' to be a lectur' give that evenin' by a young female at the jonesville school-house, and beset me to go. and i give my consent. then my mind travelled down that pleasant road, moongilded, to the school-house. it stopped on the door-step while josiah hitched the mair. we found the school-house crowded full, fur a female lecturer wuz a rarity, and she wuz a pretty girl, as pretty a girl as i ever see in my life. and it wuz a pretty lecture, too, dretful pretty. the name of the lecture wuz, "wedlock's peaceful and perfect repose." a pretty name, i think, and it wuz a beautiful lecture, very, and extremely flowery. it affected some of the hearers awfully; they wuz all carried away with it. josiah allen wept like a child durin' the rehearsin' of it. i myself didn't weep, but i enjoyed it, some of it, first rate. i can't begin to tell it all as she did, 'specially after this length of time, in such a lovely, flowery way, but i can probably give a few of the heads of it. it hain't no ways likely that i can give the heads half the stylish, eloquent look that she did as she held 'em up, but i can jest give the bare heads. she said that there had been a effort made in some directions to try to speak against the holy state of matrimony. the papers had been full of the subject, "is marriage a failure, or is it not?" she had even read these dreadful words--"marriage is a failure." she hated these words, she despised 'em. and while some wicked people spoke against this holy institution, she felt it to be her duty, as well as privilege, to speak in its praise. i liked it first rate, i can tell you, when she went on like that. for no living soul can uphold marriage with a better grace that can she whose name vuz once smith. i _love_ josiah allen, i am _glad_ that i married him. but at the same time, my almost devoted love doesn't make me blind. i can see on every side of a subject, and although, as i said heretofore, and prior, i love josiah allen, i also love megumness, and i could not fully agree with every word she said. but she went on perfectly beautiful--i didn't wonder it brought the school-house down--about the holy calm and perfect rest of marriage, and how that calm wuz never invaded by any rude cares. how man watched over the woman he loved; how he shielded her from every rude care; kept labor and sorrow far, far from her; how woman's life wuz like a oneasy, roarin', rushin' river, that swept along discontented and onsatisfied, moanin' and lonesome, until it swept into the calm sea of repose--melted into union with the grand ocian of rest, marriage. and then, oh! how calm and holy and sheltered wuz that state! how peaceful, how onruffled by any rude changes! happiness, peace, calm! oh, how sweet, how deep wuz the ocian of true love in which happy, united souls bathed in blissful repose! [illustration: "he had on a new vest."] it was dretful pretty talk, and middlin' affectin'. there wasn't a dry eye in josiah allen's head, and i didn't make no objection to his givin' vent to his feelin's, only when i see him bust out a-weepin' i jest slipped my pocket-handkerchief 'round his neck and pinned it behind. (his handkerchief wuz in constant use, a cryin' and weepin' as he wuz.) and i knew that salt water spots black satin awfully. he had on a new vest. submit tewksbury cried and wept, and wept and cried, caused by remembrances, it wuz spozed. of which, more anon, and bimeby. and drusilly sypher, deacon sypherses wife, almost had a spazzum, caused by admiration and bein' so highly tickled. i myself didn't shed any tears, as i have said heretofore. and what kep' me calmer wuz, i _knew_, i knew from the bottom of my heart, that she went too fur, she wuzn't megum enough. and then she went on to draw up metafors, and haul in illustrations, comparin' married life and single--jest as likely metafors as i ever see, and as good illustrations as wuz ever brung up, only they every one of 'em had this fault--when she got to drawin' 'em, she drawed 'em too fur. and though she brought the school-house down, she didn't convince me. [illustration: "i myself didn't shed any tears."] once she compared single life to a lonely goose travellin' alone acrost the country, 'cross lots, lonesome and despairin', travellin' along over a thorny way, and desolate, weighed down by melancholy and gloomy forebodin's, and takin' a occasional rest by standin' up on one cold foot and puttin' its weery head under its wing, with one round eye lookin' out for dangers that menaced it, and lookin', also, perhaps, for a possible mate, for the comin' gander--restless, wobblin', oneasy, miserable. why, she brought the school-house down, and got the audience all wrought up with pity, and sympathy. oh, how submit tewksbury did weep; she wept aloud (she had been disappointed, but of this more bimeby). and then she went on and compared that lonesome voyager to two blissful wedded ones. a pair of white swans floatin' down the waveless calm, bathed in silvery light, floatin' down a shinin' stream that wuz never broken by rough waves, bathed in a sunshine that wuz never darkened by a cloud. and then she went on to bring up lots of other things to compare the two states to--flowery things and sweet, and eloquent. she compared single life to quantities of things, strange, weird, melancholy things, and curius. why, they wuz so powerful that every one of 'em brought the school-house down. and then she compared married life to two apple blossoms hangin' together on one leafy bough on the perfumed june air, floatin' back and forth under the peaceful benediction of summer skies. and she compared it to two white lambs gambolin' on the velvety hill-side. to two strains of music meltin' into one dulcet harmony, perfect, divine harmony, with no discordant notes. josiah hunched me, he wanted me to cry there, at that place, but i wouldn't. he did, he cried like an infant babe, and i looked close and searchin' to see if my handkerchief covered up all his vest. he didn't seem to take no notice of his clothes at all, he wuz a-weepin' so--why, the whole schoolhouse wept, wept like a babe. but i didn't. i see it wuz a eloquent and powerful effort. i see it was beautiful as anything could be, but it lacked that one thing i have mentioned prior and before this time. it lacked megumness. i knew they wuz all impressive and beautful illustrations, i couldn't deny it, and i didn't want to deny it. but i knew in my heart that the lonely goose that she had talked so eloquent about, i knew that though its path might be tegus the most of the time, yet occasionally it stepped upon velvet grass and blossomin' daisies. and though the happy wedded swans floated considerable easy a good deal of the time, yet occasionally they had their wings rumpled by storms, thunder storms, sudden squalls, and et cetery, et cetery. and i knew the divine harmony of wedded love, though it is the sweetest that earth affords, i knew that, and my josiah knew it--the very sweetest and happiest strains that earthly lips can sing. yet i knew that it wuz both heavenly sweet, and divinely sad, blended discord and harmony. i knew there wuz minor chords in it, as well as major, i knew that we must await love's full harmony in heaven. there shall we sing it with the pure melody of the immortals, my josiah and me. but i am a eppisodin', and to continue and resoom. wall, we wuz invited to meet the young female after the lecture wuz over, to be introduced to her and talk it over. she wuz the methodist minister's wive's cousin, and the minister's wife told me she wuz dretful anxious to get my opinion on the lecture. i spoze she wanted to get the opinion of one of the first wimmen of the day. for though i am fur from bein' the one that ort to mention it, i have heard of such things bein' said about me all round jonesville, and as far as loontown and shackville. and so, i spoze, she wanted to get hold of my opinion. wall, i wuz introduced to her, and i shook hands with her, and kissed her on both cheeks, for she is a sweet girl and i liked her looks. i could see that she was very, very sentimental, but she had a sweet, confidin', innocent look to her, and i give her a good kissin' and i meant it. when i like a person, i _do_ like 'em, and visy-versey. but at the same time my likin' for a person mustn't be strong enough to overthrow my principles. and when she asked me in her sweet axents, "how i liked her lecture, and if i could see any faults in it?" i leaned up against duty, and told her, "i liked it first-rate, but i couldn't agree with every word of it." here josiah allen give me a look sharp enough to take my head clear off, if looks could behead anybody. but they can't. and i kept right on, calm and serene, and sez i, "it wuz very full of beautiful idees, as full of 'em as a rose-bush is full of sweetness in june, but," says i, "if i speak at all i must tell the truth, and i must say that while your lecture is as sweet and beautiful a effort as i ever see tackled, full of beautiful thoughts, and eloquence, still i must say that in my opinion it lacked one thing, it wuzn't mean enough." "mean enough?" sez she. "what do you mean?" "why," sez i, "i mean, mean temperature, you know, middleinness, megumness, and whatever you may call it; you go too fur." she said with a modest look "that she guessed she didn't, she guessed she didn't go too far." and josiah allen spoke up, cross as a bear, and, sez he, "i know she didn't. she didn't say a word that wuzn't gospel truth." sez i, "married life is the happiest life in my opinion; that is, when it is happy. some hain't happy, but at the same time the happiest of 'em hain't _all_ happiness." "it is," sez josiah (cross and surly), "it is, too." [illustration: "you go too fur."] and serena fogg said, gently, that she thought i wuz mistaken, "she thought it wuz." and josiah jined right in with her and said: "he _knew_ it wuz, and he would take his oath to it." but i went right on, and, sez i, "mebby it is in one sense the most peaceful; that is, when the affections are firm set and stabled it makes 'em more peaceful than when they are a-traipsin' round and a-wanderin'. but," sez i, "marriage hain't _all_ peace." sez josiah: "it is, and i'll swear to it." sez i, goin' right on, cool and serene, "the sunshine of true love gilds the pathway with the brightest radiance we know anything about, but it hain't all radiance." "yes, it is," sez josiah, firmly, "it is, every mite of it." and serena fogg sez, tenderly and amiably, "yes, i think mr. allen is right; i think it is." "wall," sez i, in meanin' axcents, awful meanin', "when you are married you will change your opinion, you mark my word." and she said, gently, but persistently, "that she guessed she shouldn't; she guessed she was in the right of it." sez i, "you think when anybody is married they have got beyend all earthly trials, and nothin' but perfect peace and rest remains?" and she sez, gently, "yes, mem!" "why," sez i, "i am married, and have been for upwards of twenty years, and i think i ought to know somethin' about it; and how can it be called a state of perfect rest, when some days i have to pass through as many changes as a comet, and each change a tegus one. i have to wabble round and be a little of everything, and change sudden, too. "i have to be a cook, a step-mother, a housemaid, a church woman, a wet nurse (lots of times i have to wade out in the damp grass to take care of wet chickens and goslins). i have to be a tailoress, a dairy-maid, a literary soarer, a visitor, a fruit-canner, a adviser, a soother, a dressmaker, a hostess, a milliner, a gardener, a painter, a surgeon, a doctor, a carpenter, a woman, and more'n forty other things. "marriage is a first-rate state, and agreeable a good deal of the time; but it haint a state of perfect peace and rest, and you'll find out it haint if you are ever married." but miss fogg said, mildly, "that she thought i wuz mistaken--she thought it wuz." "you do?" sez i. "yes, mem," sez she. i got up, and sez i, "come, josiah, i guess we had better be a-goin'." i thought it wouldn't do no good to argue any more with her, and josiah started off after the mair. he had hitched it on the barn floor. she didn't seem willin' to have me go; she seemed to cling to me. she seemed to be a good, affectionate little creetur. and she said she would give anything almost if she could rehearse the hull lecture over to me, and have me criticise it. sez she: "i have heard so much about you, and what a happy home you have." "yes," sez i, "it is as happy as the average of happy homes, any way." and sez she, "i have heard that you and your husband wuz just devoted to each other." and i told her "that our love for each other wuz like two rocks that couldn't be moved." and she said, "on these very accounts she fairly hankered after my advice and criticism. she said she hadn't never lived in any house where there wuz a livin' man, her father havin' died several months before she was born; and she hadn't had the experience that i had, and she presumed that i could give her several little idees that she hadn't thought on." and i told her calmly "that i presumed i could." it seemed that her father died two months after marriage, right in the midst of the mellow light of the honeymoon, before he had had time to drop the exstatic sweetness of courtship and newly-married bliss and come down into the ordinary, everyday, good and bad demeanors of men. and she had always lived with her mother (who naturally worshipped and mentally knelt before the memory of her lost husband) and three sentimental maiden aunts. and they had drawed all their knowledge of manhood from moore's poems and solomon's songs. so serena fogg's idees of men and married life wuz about as thin and as well suited to stand the wear and tear of actual experience as a gauze dress would be to face a greenland winter in. and so, after considerable urgin' on her part (for i kinder hung back and hated to tackle the job, but not knowin' but that it wuz duty's call), i finally consented, and it wuz arranged this way: she wuz to come down to our house some day, early in the mornin', and stay all day, and she wuz to stand up in front of me and rehearse the lecture over to me, and i wuz to set and hear it, and when she came to a place where i didn't agree with her i wuz to lift up my right hand and she wuz to stop rehearsin', and we wuz to argue with each other back and forth and try to convince each other. and when we got it all arranged josiah and i set out for home, i calm in my frame, though dreadin' the job some. chapter iii. but josiah allen wuz jest crazy over that lecture--crazy as a loon. he raved about it all the way home, and he would repeat over lots of it to me. about "how a man's love was the firm anchor that held a woman's happiness stiddy; how his calm and peaceful influence held her mind in a serene calm--a waveless repose; how tender men wuz of the fair sect, how they watched over 'em and held 'em in their hearts." "oh," sez he, "it went beyond anything i ever heard of. i always knew that men wuz good and pious, but i never realized how dumb pious they wuz till to-night" "she said," sez i, in considerable dry axents--not so dry as i keep by me, but pretty dry--"no true man would let a woman perform any manuel labor." "wall, he won't. there ain't no need of your liftin' your little finger in emanuel labor." "manuel, josiah." "wall, i said so, didn't i? hain't i always holdin' you back from work?" "yes," sez i. "you often speak of it, josiah. you are as good," sez i, firmly, "full as good as the common run of men, and i think a little better. but there are things that have to be done. a married woman that has a house and family to see to and don't keep a hired girl, can't get along without some work and care." "wall i say," sez he, "that there hain't no need of you havin' a care, not a single care. not as long as i live--if it wuzn't for me, you might have some cares, and most probable would, but not while i live." i didn't say nothin' back, for i don't want to hurt his feelin's, and won't, not if i can help it. and he broke out again anon, or nearly anon-[illustration: "oh, what a lecture that wuz."] "oh, what a lecture that wuz. did you notice when she wuz goin' on perfectly beautiful, about the waveless sea of married life--did you notice how it took the school house down? and i wuz perfectly mortified to see you didn't weep or even clap your hands." "wall," sez i, firmly, "when i weep or when i clap, i weep and clap on the side of truth. and i can't see things as she duz. i have been a-sailin' on that sea she depictured for over twenty years, and have never wanted to leave it for any other waters. but, as i told her, and tell you now, it hain't always a smooth sea, it has its ups and downs, jest like any other human states." sez i, soarin' up a very little ways, not fur, for it wuz too cold, and i was too tired, "there hain't but one sea, josiah allen, that is calm forever, and one day we will float upon it, you and me. it is the sea by which angels walk and look down into its crystal depths, and behold their blessed faces. it is the sea on whose banks the fadeless lilies blow--and that mirrors the soft, cloudless sky of the happy morning. it is the sea of eternal repose, that rude blasts can never blow up into billows. but our sea--the sea of married life--is not like that, it is ofttimes billowy and rough." "i say it hain't," sez he, for he was jest carried away with the lecture, and enthused. "we have had a happy time together, josiah allen, for over twenty years, but has our sea of life always been perfectly smooth?" "yes, it has; smooth as glass." "hain't there never been a cloud in our sky?" "no, there hain't; not a dumb cloud." sez i, sternly, "there has in mine. your wicked and profane swearin' has cast many and many a cloud over my sky, and i'd try to curb in my tongue if i was in your place." "'dumb' hain't swearin'," sez he. and then he didn't say nothin' more till anon, or nearly at that time, he broke out agin, and sez he: "never, never did i hear or see such eloquence till to-night i'll have that girl down to our house to stay a week, if i'm a living josiah allen." "all right," sez i, cheerfully. "i'd love to have her stay a week or ten days, and i'll invite her, too, when she comes down to rehearse her lecture." wall we got home middlin' tired, and the subject kinder dropped down, and josiah had lots of work come on the next day, and so did i, and company. and it run along for over a week before she come. and when she did come, it wuz in a dreadful bad time. it seems as if she couldn't have come in a much worse time. it wuz early one mornin', not more than nine o'clock, if it wuz that. there had come on a cold snap of weather unexpected, and josiah wuz a-bringin' in the cook stove from the summer kitchen, when she come. josiah allen is a good man. he is my choice out of a world full of men, but i can't conceal it from myself that his words at such a time are always voyalent, and his demeanor is not the demeanor that i would wish to have showed off to the public. he wuz at the worst place, too. he had got the stove wedged into the entry-way door, and couldn't get it either way. he had acted awkward with it, and i told him so, and he see it when it wuz too late. he had got it fixed in such a way that he couldn't get into the kitchen himself without gettin' over the stove, and i, in the course of duty, thought it wuz right to tell him that if he had heerd to me he wouldn't have been in such a fix. oh! the voyalence and frenzy of his demeanor as he stood there a-hollerin'. i wuz out in the wood-house shed a-bilin' my cider apple sass in the big cauldron kettle, but i heard the racket, and as i come a-runnin' in i thought i heard a little rappin' at the settin'-room door, but i didn't notice it much, i wuz that agitated to see the way the stove and josiah wuz set and wedged in. there the stove wuz, wedged firm into the doorway, perfectly sot there. there wuz sut all over the floor, and there stood josiah allen, on the wood-house side, with his coat off, his shirt all covered with black, and streaks of black all over his face. and oh! how wild and almost frenzied his attitude wuz as he stood there as if he couldn't move nor be moved no more than the stove could. and oh! the voyalence of the language he hurled at me acrost that stove. "why," sez i, "you must come in here, josiah allen, and pull it from this side." and then he hollered at me, and asked me: "how in thunder he was a goin' to _get_ in." and then he wanted to know "if i wanted him squshed into jelly by comin' in by the side of it--or if i thought he wuz a crane, that he could step over it or a stream of water that he could run under it, or what else do you think?" he hollered wildly. "wall," sez i, "you hadn't ort to got it fixed in that shape. i told you what end to move first," sez i. "you have moved it in side-ways. it would go in all right if you had started it the other way." "oh, yes! it would have been all right. you love to see me, samantha, with a stove in my arms. you love it dearly. i believe you would be perfectly happy if you could see me a luggin' round stoves every day. but i'll tell you one thing, if this dumb stove is ever moved either way out of this door--if i ever get it into a room agin, it never shall be stirred agin so much as a hair's breadth--not while i have got the breath of life in me." sez i, "hush! i hear somebody a-knockin' at the door." "i won't hush. it is nothin' but dumb foolishness a movin' round stoves, and if anybody don't believe it let 'em look at me--and let 'em look at that stove set right here in the door as firm as a rock." [illustration: "won't you be still?"] sez i agin in a whisper, "do be still, and i'll let 'em in, i don't want them to ketch you a talkin' so and a-actin'." "wall, i want 'em to ketch me, that is jest what i want 'em to do. if it is a man he'll say every word i say is gospel truth, and if it is a woman it will make her perfectly happy to see me a-swelterin' in the job--seven times a year do i have to move this stove back and forth--and i say it is high time i said a word. so you can let 'em in just as quick as you are a mind to." sez i, a whisperin' and puttin' my finger on my lip: "won't you be still?" "no, i won't be still!" he yelled out louder than ever. "and you may go through all the motions you want to and you can't stop me. all you have got to do is to walk round and let folks in, happy as a king. nothin' under the heavens ever made a woman so happy as to have some man a-breakin' his back a-luggin' round a stove." i see he wouldn't stop, so i had to go and open the door, and there stood serena fogg, there stood the author of "wedlock's peaceful repose." i felt like a fool. for i knew she had heard every word, i see she had by her looks. she looked skairt, and as surprised and sort o' awe-stricken as if she had seen a ghost. i took her into the parlor, and took her things, and i excused myself by tellin' her that i should have to be out in the kitchen a-tendin' to things for a spell, and went back to josiah. and i whispered to him, sez i: "miss fogg has come, and she has heard every word you have said, josiah allen. and what will she think now about wedlock's peaceful repose?" but he had got that wild and reckless in his demeanor and acts, that he went right on with his hollerin', and, sez he, "she won't find much repose here to-day, and i'll tell her that. this house has got to be all tore to pieces to get that stove started." sez i, "there won't be nothin' to do only to take off one side of the door casin'. and i believe it can be done without that." "oh, you believe! you believe! you'd better take holt and lug and lift for two hours as i have, and then see." sez i, "you hain't been here more'n ten minutes, if you have that. and there," sez i, liftin' up one end a little, "see what anybody can do who is calm. there i have stirred it, and now you can move it right along." "oh, _you_ did it! i moved it myself." i didn't contend, knowin' it wuz men's natural nater to say that. [illustration: "and he said i had rubbed 'em out."] wall, at last josiah got the stove in, but then the stove-pipe wouldn't go together, it wouldn't seem to fit. he had marked the joints with chalk, and the marks had rubbed off, and he said i had "rubbed 'em out." i wuz just as innocent as a babe, but i didn't dispute him much, for i see a little crack open in the parlor door, and i knew the author of "wedlock's peaceful repose" was a-listenin'. but when he told me for the third time that i rubbed 'em out on purpose to make him trouble, and that i had made a practice of rubbin' 'em out for years and years--why, then i _had_ to correct him on the subject, and we had a little dialogue. i spoze serena fogg heard it. but human nater can't bear only just so much, especially when it has stoves a dirtien up the floor, and apple sass on its mind, and unexpected company, and no cookin' and a threshin' machine a-comin'. proofreaders samantha among the brethren. by "josiah allen's wife" (marietta holley) part 3 chapter vii. but along about the middle of the fifth week i see a change. lodema had been uncommon exasperatin', and i expected she would set josiah to goin', and i groaned in spirit, to think what a job wuz ahead of me, to part their two tongues--when all of a sudden i see a curius change come over my pardner's face. i remember jest the date that the change in his mean wuz visible, and made known to me--for it wuz the very mornin' that we got the invitation to old mr. and miss pressley's silver weddin'. and that wuz the fifteenth day of the month along about the middle of the forenoon. and it wuz not half an hour after elnathen pressley came to the door and give us the invitations, that i see the change in his mean. and when i asked him about it afterwards, what that strange and curius look meant, he never hung back a mite from tellin' me, but sez right out plain: "mebby, samantha, i hain't done exactly as i ort to by cousin lodema, and i have made up my mind to make her a happy surprise before she goes away." "wall," sez i, "so do." i thought he wuz goin' to get her a new dress. she had been a-hintin' to him dretful strong to that effect. she wanted a parmetty, or a balzereen, or a circassien, which wuz in voge in her young days. but i wuz in hopes he would get her a cashmere, and told him so, plain. but i couldn't get him to tell what the surprise wuz. he only sez, sez he: "i am goin' to make her a happy surprise." and the thought that he wuz a-goin' to branch out and make a change, wuz considerable of a comfort to me. and i needed comfort--yes, indeed i did--i needed it bad. for not one single thing did i do for her that i done right, though i tried my best to do well by her. but she found fault with my vittles from mornin' till night, though i am called a excellent cook all over jonesville, and all round the adjoining country, out as far as loontown, and zoar. it has come straight back to me by them that wouldn't lie. but it hain't made me vain. but i never cooked a thing that suited lodema, not a single thing. most of my vittles wuz too fresh, and then if i braced up and salted 'em extra so as to be sure to please her, why then they wuz briny, and hurt her mouth. why, if you'll believe it, i give her a shawl, made her a present of it; it had even checks black and white, jest as many threads in the black stripes as there wuz in the white, for i counted 'em. and she told me, after she had looked it all over and said it wuz kinder thin and slazy, and checkered shawls had gone out of fashion, and the black looked some as if it would fade with washin', and the white wuzn't over clear, and the colors wuzn't no ways becomin' to her complexion, and etcetery, etcetery. "but," sez she, after she had got all through with the rest of her complaints--"if the white stripes wuz where the black wuz, and the black where the white wuz, she should like it quite well." and there it wuz, even check, two and two. wall, that wuz a sample of her doin's. if anybody had a roman nose she wanted a greecy one. [illustration: "if the white stripes wuz where the black wuz."] and if the nose wuz greece, why then she wanted rome. why, josiah sez to me along about the third week, he said (to ourselves, in private), "that if lodema went to heaven she would be dissatisfied with it, and think it wuz livelier, and more goin' on down to the other place." and he said she would get the angels all stirred up a findin' fault with their feathers. i told him "i would not hear such talk." "wall," sez he, "don't you believe it?" and i kinder turned him off, and wouldn't tell, and told him it wuz wicked to talk so. "wall," sez josiah, "you dassent say she wouldn't." and i dassent, though i wouldn't own it up to him, i dassent. and if she kinder got out of other occupations for a minute durin' them first weeks she would be a quarrelin' with josiah allen about age. i s'pose she and josiah wuzn't far from the same age, for they wuz children together. but she wanted to make out she wuz young. and she would tell josiah that "he seemed jest like a father to her, and always had." and sometimes when she felt the most curius, she would call him "father," and "pa," and "papa." and it would mad josiah allen so that i would have all i could do to quell him down. now i didn't feel so, i didn't mind it so much. why, there would be days, when she felt the curiusest, that she would call me "mother," and "ma," and foller me round with foot-stools and things, when i went to set down, and would kinder worry over my fallin' off the back step, and would offer to help me up the suller stairs, and so forth, and watchin' over what i et, and tellin' me folks of my age ort to be careful, and not over-eat. and josiah asked me to ask her "how she felt about that time?" for she wuz from three to four years older than i wuz. but i wouldn't contend with her, and the footstools come kinder handy, i had jest as lieve have 'em under my feet as not, and ruther. and as for rich vittles not agreein' with me, and my not over-eatin', i broke that tip by fallin' right in with her, and not cookin' such good things--that quelled her down, and gaulded josiah too. but, as i said, it riled josiah the worst of anything to have lodema call him father, for he wants to make out that he is kinder young himself. and sez he to her one day, about the third week, when she was a-goin' on about how good and fatherly he looked, and how much he seemed like a parent to her, and always had, sez he: "i wonder if i seemed like a father to you when we wuz a-kickin' at each other in the same cradle?" sez he: "we both used to nuss out of the same bottle, any way, for i have heard my mother say so lots of times. there wuzn't ten days' difference in our ages. you wuz ten days the oldest as i have always made out." she screamed right out, "why, josiah allen, where is your conscience to talk in that way--and your heart?" "in here, where everybody's is," sez josiah, strikin' himself with his right hand--he meant to strike against his left breast, but struck too low, kinder on his stomach. and sez i, "that is what i have always thought, josiah allen. i have always had better luck reachin' your conscience through your stomach than in any other way. and now," sez i coldly, "do you go out and bring in a pail of water." i used to get beat out and sick of their scufflin's and disagreein's, and broke 'em up whenever i could. but oh! oh! how she did quarrel with josiah allen and that buzz saw scheme of his'n. how light she made of that enterprise, how she demeaned the buzz, and run the saws--till i felt that bad as i hated the enterprise myself, i felt that a variety of loud buzz saws would be a welcome relief from her tongue--from their two tongues; for as fur down as she would run them buzz saws, jest so fur would josiah allen praise 'em up. [illustration: lodema and josiah in youth.] she never agreed with josiah allen but in jest one thing while she was under his ruff. i happened to mention one day how extremely anxious i wuz to have females set on the conference; and then, wantin' to dispute me, and also bein' set on that side, she run down the project, and called it all to nort--and when too late she see that she had got over on josiah allen's side of the fence. but it had one good effect. when that man see she wuz there, he waded off, way out of sight of the project, and wouldn't mention it--it madded him so to be on the same side of the fence she wuz--so that it seemed to happen all for the best. why, i took her as a dispensation from the first, and drawed all sorts of morels from her, and sights of 'em--sights. but oh, it wuz tuff on me, fearful tuff. and when she calculated and laid out to make out her visit and go, wuz more than we could tell. chapter viii. for two weeks had passed away like a nite mair of the nite--and three weeks, and four weeks--and she didn't seem to be no nigher goin' than she did when she came. and i would not make a move towards gettin' rid of her, not if i had dropped down in my tracts, because she wuz one of the relatives on his side. but i wuz completely fagged out; it did seem, as i told tirzah ann one day in confidence, "that i never knew the meanin' of the word 'fag' before." and tirzah ann told me (she couldn't bear her) that if she wuz in my place, she would start her off. sez she: "she has plenty of brothers and sisters, and a home of her own, and why should she come here to torment you and father;" and sez she, "i'll talk to her, mother, i'd jest as leve as not." sez i, "tirzah ann, if you say a word to her, i'll--i'll never put confidence in you agin;" sez i, "life is full of tribulations, and we must expect to bear our crosses;" sez i, "the old martyrs went through more than lodema." sez tirzah ann, "i believe lodema would have wore out john rogers." and i don't know but she would, but i didn't encourage her by ownin' it up that she would; but i declare for't, i believe she would have been more tegus than the nine children, and the one at the breast, any way. wall, as i said, it wuz durin' the fifth week that josiah allen turned right round, and used her first rate. and when she would talk before folks about how much filial affection she had for him, and about his always havin' been jest like a parent to her, and everything of the kind--he never talked back a mite, but looked clever, and told me in confidence, "that he had turned over a new leaf, and he wuz goin' to surprise her--give her a happy surprise." and he seemed, instead of lovin' to rile her up, as he had, to jest put his hull mind on the idee of the joyful surprise. wall, i am always afraid (with reason) of josiah allen's enterprizes. but do all i could, he wouldn't tell me one word about what he wuz goin' to do, only he kep it up, kep a-sayin' that, "it wuz somethin' i couldn't help approvin' of, and it wuz somethin' that would happify me, and be a solid comfort to her, and a great gain and honor." so (though i trembled some for the result) i had to let it go on, for she wuz one of the relations on his own side, and i knew it wouldn't do for me to interfere too much, and meddle. why, he did come right out one day and give hints to me to that effect. sez i, "why do you go on and be so secret about it? why don't you tell your companion all about it, what you are a-goin' to do, and advise with her?" and he sez, "i guess i know what i am about. she is one of the relations on my side, and i guess i have got a few rights left, and a little spunk." "yes," sez i, sadly, "you have got the spunk." "wall," sez he, "i guess i can spunk up, and do somethin' for one of my own relations, without any interference or any advice from any of the smith family, or anybody else." sez i, "i don't want to stop your doin' all you can for lodema, but why not tell what you are a-goin' to do?" "it will be time enough when the time comes," sez he. "you will find it out in the course of next week." wall, it run along to the middle of the next week. and one day i had jest sot down to tie off a comforter. it wuz unbleached cheese cloth that i had bought and colored with tea leaves. it wuz a sort of a light mice color, a pretty soft gray, and i wuz goin' to tie it in with little balls of red zephyr woosted, and work it in buttonhole stitch round the edge with the same. it wuz fur our bed, josiah's and mine, and it wuz goin' to be soft and warm and very pretty, though i say it, that shouldn't. [illustration: "i had jest sot down to tie off a comforter."] it wuzn't quite so pretty as them that hain't colored. i had 'em for my spare beds, cream color tied with pale blue and pink, that wuz perfectly beautiful and very dressy; but i thought for everyday use a colored one would be better. wall, i had brought it out and wuz jest a-goin' to put it onto the frames (some new-fashioned ones i had borrowed from tirzah ann for the occasion). and cousin lodema had jest observed, "that the new-fashioned frames with legs wuzn't good for nothin', and she didn't like the color of gray, it looked too melancholy, and would be apt to depress our feelin's too much, and would be tryin' to our complexions." and i told her "that i didn't spoze there would be a very great congregation in our bedroom, as a general thing in the dead of night, to see whether it wuz becomin' to josiah and me or not. and, it bein' as dark as egypt, our complexions wouldn't make a very bad show any way." "wall," she said, "to tie it with red wuzn't at all appropriate, it wuz too dressy a color for folks of our age, josiah's and mine." "why," sez she, "even _i_, at _my_ age, would skurcely care to sleep under one so gay. and she wouldn't have a cheese cloth comforter any way." she sort o' stopped to ketch breath, and josiah sez: "oh, wall, lodema, a cheese cloth comforter is better than none, and i should think you would be jest the one to like any sort of a frame on legs." but i wunk at him, a real severe and warnin' wink, and he stopped short off, for all the world as if he had forgot bein' on his good behavior; he stopped short off, and went right to behavin', and sez he to me: "don't put on your comforter to-day, samantha, for tirzah ann and whitfield and the babe are a-comin' over here bimeby, and maggie is a-comin', and thomas jefferson." "wall," sez i, "that is a good reason why i should keep on with it; the girls can help me if i don't get it off before they get here." and then he sez, "miss minkley is a-comin', too, and the elder." "why'ee," sez i, "josiah allen, why didn't you tell me before, so i could have baked up somethin' nice? what a man you are to keep things; how long have you known it?" "oh, a week or so!" "a week!" sez i; "josiah allen, where is your conscience? if you have got a conscience." "in the same old place," sez he, kinder hittin' himself in the pit of his stomach. "wall, i should think as much," sez i. and lodema sez, sez she: "a man that won't tell things is of all creeters that walks the earth the most disagreeable. and i should think the girls, maggie and tirzah ann, would want to stay to home and clean house such a day as this is. and i should think a elder would want to stay to home so's to be on hand in case of anybody happenin' to be exercised in their minds, and wantin to talk to him on religious subjects. and if i wuz a elder's wife, i should stay to home with him; i should think it wuz my duty and my privilege. and if i wuz a married woman, i would have enough baked up in the house all the time, so's not to be afraid of company." but i didn't answer back. i jest sot away my frames, and went out and stirred up a cake; i had one kind by me, besides cookies and jell tarts. but i felt real worked up to think i hadn't heard. wall, i hadn't more'n got that cake fairly into the oven when the children come, and elder minkley and his wife. and i thought they looked queer, and i thought the elder begun to tell me somethin', and i thought i see josiah wink at him. but i wouldn't want to take my oath whether he wunk or not, but i _thought_ he wunk. i wuz jest a turnin' this over in my mind, and a carryin' away their things, when i glanced out of the settin' room winder, and lo, and behold! there wuz abi adsit a comin' up to the front door, and right behind her wuz her pa and ma adsit, and deacon henzy and his wife, and miss henn and metilda, and lute pitkins and his wife, and miss petengill, and deacon sypher and drusilly, and submit tewksbury--a hull string of 'em as long as a procession. sez i, and i spoke it right out before i thought--sez i-"why'ee!" sez i. "for the land's sake!" sez i, "has there been a funeral, or anything? and are these the mourners?" sez i. "are they stoppin' here to warm?" for it wuz a cold day--and i repeated the words to myself mechanically as it wuz, as i see 'em file up the path. "they be mourners, hain't they?" "no," sez josiah, who had come in and wuz a standin' by the side of me, as i spoke out to myself unbeknown to me--sez he in a proud axent-"no, they hain't mourners, they are happyfiers; they are highlariers; they have come to our party. we are givin' a party, samantha. we are havin' a diamond weddin' here for lodema." "a diamond weddin'!" i repeated mechanically. "yes, this is my happy surprise for lodema." i looked at lodema trumble. she looked strange. she had sunk back in her chair. i thought she wuz a-goin' to faint, and she told somebody the next day, "that she did almost lose her conscientiousness." "why," sez i, "she hain't married." [illustration: "we are givin' a party, samantha."] "wall, she ort to be, if she hain't," sez he. "i say it is high time for her to have some sort of a weddin'. everybody is a havin' 'em--tin, and silver and wooden, and basswood, and glass, and etc.--and i thought it wuz a perfect shame that lodema shouldn't have none of no kind--and i thought i'd lay to, and surprise her with one. every other man seemed to be a-holdin' off, not willin' seemin'ly that she should have one, and i jest thought i would happify her with one." "wall, why didn't you make her a silver one, or a tin?" sez i. "or a paper one!" screamed lodema, who had riz up out of her almost faintin' condition. "that would have been much more appropriate," sez she. "wall, i thought a diamond one would be more profitable to her. for i asked 'em all to bring diamonds, if they brought anything. and then i thought it would be more suitable to her age." "why!" she screamed out. "they have to be married seventy-five years before they can have one." "yes," sez he dreemily, "i thought that would be about the right figure." lodema wuz too mad to find fault or complain or anything. she jest marched up-stairs and didn't come down agin that night. and the young folks had a splendid good time, and the old ones, too. tirzah ann and maggie had brought some refreshments with 'em, and so had some of the other wimmen, and, with what i had, there wuz enough, and more than enough, to refresh ourselves with. wall, the very next mornin' lodema marched down like a grenideer, and ordered josiah to take her to the train. and she eat breakfast with her things on, and went away immegiately after, and hain't been back here sense. and i wuz truly glad to see her go, but wuz sorry she went in such a way, and i tell josiah he wuz to blame, but he acts as innocent as you pleese. and he goes all over the arguments agin every time i take him to do about it. he sez "she wuz old enough to have a weddin' of some kind." and of course i can't dispute that, when he faces me right down, and sez: "hain't she old enough?" and i'll say, kinder short-"why, i spoze so!" "wall," sez he, "wouldn't it have been profitable to her if they had brought diamonds? wouldn't it have been both surprisin' and profitable?" and sez he, "i told 'em expressly to bring diamonds if they had more than they wanted. i charged old bobbet and lute pitkins specially on the subject. i didn't want 'em to scrimp themselves; but," sez i, "if you have got more diamonds than you want, lute, bring over a few to lodema." [illustration: "if you have got more diamonds than you want."] "yes," sez i, coldly, "he wuz dretful likely to have diamonds more then he wanted, workin' out by day's work to support his family. you know there wuzn't a soul you invited that owned a diamond." "how did i know what they owned? i never have prowled round into their bureau draws and things, tryin' to find out what they had; they might have had quarts of 'em, and i not know it." sez i, "you did it to make fun of lodema and get rid of her. and it only makes it worse to try to smooth it over." sez i, "i'd be honorable about it if i wuz in your place, and own up." "own up? what have i got to own up? i shall always say if my orders wuz carried out, it would have been a profitable affair for lodema, and it would--profitable and surprisin'." and that is all i can get him to say about it, from that day to this. chapter ix. but truly the labors that descended onto my shoulders immegiately after lodema's departure wuz hard enough to fill up my hull mind, and tax every one of my energies. yes, my labors and the labors of the other female jonesvillians wuz deep and arjuous in the extreme (of which more and anon bimeby). i had been the female appinted in a private and becomin' female way, to go to loontown to see the meetin' house there that we heard they had fixed over in a cheap but commojous way. and for reasons (of which more and anon) we wanted to inquire into the expense, the looks on't, etc., etc. so i persuaded josiah allen to take me over to loontown on this pressin' business, and he gin his consent to go on the condition that we should stop for a visit to cephas bodley'ses. josiah sets store by 'em. you see they are relations of ourn and have been for some time, entirely unbeknown to us, and they'd come more'n a year ago a huntin' of us up. they said they "thought relations ought to be hunted up and hanged together." they said "the idea of huntin' us up had come to 'em after readin' my books." they told me so, and i said, "wall!" i didn't add nor diminish to that one "wall," for i didn't want to act too backward, nor too forward. i jest kep' kinder neutral, and said, "wall!" you see cephas'ses father's sister-in-law wuz stepmother to my aunt's second cousin on my father's side. and cephas said that "he had felt more and more, as years went by, that it wuz a burnin' shame for relations to not know and love each other." he said "he felt that he loved josiah and me dearly." i didn't say right out whether it wuz reciprokated or not i kinder said, "wall!" agin. and i told josiah, in perfect confidence and the wood-house chamber, "that i had seen nearer relations than mr. bodley'ses folks wuz to us," [illustration: "cephas said it wuz a burnin' shame for relations to not know and love each other."] howsumever, i done well by 'em. josiah killed a fat turkey, and i baked it, and done other things for their comfort, and we had quite a good time. cephas wuz ruther flowery and enthusiastick, and his mouth and voice wuz ruther large, but he meant well, i should judge, and we had quite a good time. she wuz very freckled, and a second-day baptist by perswasion, and wuz piecin' up a crazy bedquilt. she went a-visitin' a good deal, and got pieces of the women's dresses where she visited for blocks. so it wuz quite a savin' bedquilt, and very good-lookin', considerin'. but to resoom and continue on. cephas'ses folks made us promise on our two sacred honors, josiah's honor and mine, that we would pay back the visit, for, as cephas said, "for relatives to live so clost to each other, and not to visit back and forth, wuz a burnin' shame and a disgrace." and josiah promised that we would go right away after sugerin'. we wouldn't promise on the new testament, as cephas wanted us to (he is dretful enthusiastick); but we gin good plain promises that we would go, and laid out to keep our two words. wall, we got there onexpected, as they had come onto us. and we found 'em plunged into trouble. their only child, a girl, who had married a young lawyer of loontown, had jest lost her husband with the typus, and they wuz a-makin' preparations for the funeral when we got there. she and her husband had come on a visit, and he wuz took down bed-sick there and died. i told 'em i felt like death to think i had descended down onto 'em at such a time. but cephas said he wuz jest dispatchin' a messenger for us when we arrove, for, he said, "in a time of trouble, then wuz the time, if ever, that a man wanted his near relations clost to him." and he said "we had took a load offen him by appearin' jest as we did, for there would have been some delay in gettin' us there, if the messenger had been dispatched." he said "that mornin' he had felt so bad that he wanted to die--it seemed as if there wuzn't nothin' left for him to live for; but now he felt that he had sunthin' to live for, now his relatives wuz gathered round him." josiah shed tears to hear cephas go on. i myself didn't weep none, but i wuz glad if we could be any comfort to 'em, and told 'em so. and i told sally ann, that wuz cephas'ses wife, that i would do anything i could to help 'em. and she said everything wuz a-bein' done that wuz necessary. she didn't know of but one thing that wuz likely to be overlooked and neglected, and that wuz the crazy bedquilt. she said "she would love to have that finished to throw over a lounge in the settin'-room, that wuz frayed out on the edges, and if i felt like it, it _would_ be a great relief to her to have me take it right offen her hands and finish it." so i took out my thimble and needle (i always carry such necessaries with me, in a huzzy made expressly for that purpose), and i sot down and went to piecin' up. there wuz seventeen blocks to piece up, each one crazy as a loon to look at, and it wuz all to set together. she had the pieces, for she had been off on a visitin' tower the week before, and collected of 'em. so i sot in quiet and the big chair in the settin'-room, and pieced up, and see the preparations goin' on round us. i found that cephas'ses folks lived in a house big and showy-lookin', but not so solid and firm as i had seen. it wuz one of the houses, outside and inside, where more pains had been took with the porticos and ornaments than with the underpinnin'. it had a showy and kind of a shaky look. and i found that that extended to cephas'ses business arrangements. amongst the other ornaments of his buildin's wuz mortgages, quite a lot of'em, and of almost every variety. he had gin his only child, s. annie (she wuz named after her mother, sally ann, but spelt it this way), he had gin s. annie a showy education, a showy weddin', and a showy settin'-out. but she had had the good luck to marry a sensible man, though poor. [illustration: "so i sot in quiet and the big chair."] he took s. annie and the brackets, the piano and hangin' lamps and baskets and crystal bead lambrequins, her father had gin her, moved 'em all into a good, sensible, small house, and went to work to get a practice and a livin'. he was a lawyer by perswasion. wall, he worked hard, day and night, for three little children come to 'em pretty fast, and s. annie consumed a good deal in trimmin's and cheap lace to ornament 'em; she wuz her father's own girl for ornament. but he worked so hard, and had so many irons in the fire, and kep' 'em all so hot, that he got a good livin' for 'em, and begun to lay up money towards buyin' 'em a house--a home. he talked a sight, so folks said that knew him well, about his consumin' desire and aim to get his wife and children into a little home of their own, into a safe little haven, where they could live if he wuz called away. they say that that wuz on his mind day and night, and wuz what nerved his hand so in the fray, and made him so successful. wall, he had laid up about nine hundred dollars towards a home, every dollar on it earned by hard work and consecrated by this deathless hope and affection. the house he had got his mind on only cost about a thousand dollars. loontown property is cheap. wall, he had laid up nine hundred, and wuz a-beginnin' to save on the last hundred, for he wouldn't run in debt a cent any way, when he wuz took voyalent sick there to cephas'ses; he and s. annie had come home for a visit of a day or two, and he bein' so run down, and weak with his hard day work and his night work, that he suckumbed to his sickness, and passed away the day before i got there. wall, s. annie wuz jest overcome with grief the day i got there, but the day follerin' she begun to take some interest and help her father in makin' preparations for the funeral. the body wuz embalmed, accordin' to cephas'ses and s. annie's wish, and the funeral wuz to be on the sunday follerin', and on that cephas and s. annie now bent their energies. to begin with, s. annie had a hull suit of clear crape made for herself, with a veil that touched the ground; she also had three other suits commenced, for more common wear, trimmed heavy with crape, one of which she ordered for sure the next week, for she said, "she couldn't stir out of the house in any other color but black." i knew jest how dear crape wuz, and i tackled her on the subject, and sez i-"do you know, s. annie, these dresses of your'n will cost a sight?" "cost?" sez she, a-bustin' out a-cryin'. "what do i care about cost? i will do everything i can to respect his memory. i do it in remembrance of him." sez i, gently, "s. annie, you wouldn't forget him if you wuz dressed in white. and as for respect, such a life as his, from all i hear of it, don't need crape to throw respect on it; it commands respect, and gets it from everybody." "but," sez cephas, "it would look dretful odd to the neighbors if she didn't dress in black." sez he in a skairful tone, and in his intense way-[illustration: "what is life worth when folks talk?"] "i would ruther resk my life than to have her fail in duty in this way; it would make talk. and." sez he, "what is life worth when folks talk?" i turned around the crazed block and tackled it in a new place (more luny than ever it seemed to me), and sez i, mekanickly-"it is pretty hard work to keep folks from talkin'; to keep 'em from sayin' somethin'." but i see from their looks it wouldn't do to say anything more, so i had to set still and see it go on. at that time of year flowers wuz dretful high, but s. annie and cephas had made up their minds that they must have several flower-pieces from the city nighest to loontown. one wuz a-goin' to be a gate ajar, and one wuz to be a gate wide open, and one wuz to be a big book. cephas asked what book i thought would be preferable to represent. and i mentioned the bible. but cephas sez, "no, he didn't think he would have a bible; he didn't think it would be appropriate, seein' the deceased wuz a lawyer." he said "he hadn't quite made up his mind what book to have. but anyway it wuz to be in flowers--beautiful flowers." another piece wuz to be his name in white flowers on a purple background of pansies. his name wuz wellington napoleon bonaparte hardiman. and i sez to cephas--"to save expense, you will probable have the moneygram w.n.b.h.?" "oh, no," sez he. sez i, "hen the initials of his given names, and the last name in full." "oh, no," he said; "it wuz s. annie's wish, and hisen, that the hull name should be put on. they thought it would show more respect." i sez, "where wellington is now, that hain't a goin' to make any difference, and," sez i, "cephas, flowers are dretful high this time of year, and it is a long name." but cephas said agin that he didn't care for expense, so long as respect wuz done to the memory of the deceased. he said that he and s. annie both felt that it wuz their wish to have the funeral go ahead of any other that had ever took place in loontown or jonesville. he said that s. annie felt that it wuz all that wuz left her now in life, the memory of such a funeral as he deserved. sez i, "there is his children left for her to live for," sez i--"three little bits of his own life, for her to nourish, and cherish, and look out for." "yes," sez cephas, "and she will do that nobly, and i will help her. they are all goin' to the funeral, too, in deep-black dresses." he said "they wuz too little to realize it now, but in later and maturer years it would be a comfort to 'em to know they had took part in such a funeral as that wuz goin' to be, and wuz dressed in black." "wall," sez i (in a quiet, onassumin' way i would gin little hints of my mind on the subject), "i am afraid that will be about all the comforts of life the poor little children will ever have," sez i. "it will be if you buy many more flower-pieces and crape dresses." cephas said "it wouldn't take much crape for the children's dresses, they wuz so little, only the baby's; that would have to be long." sez i, "the baby would look better in white, and it will take sights of crape for a long baby dress." "yes, but s. annie can use it afterwards for veils. she is very economical; she takes it from me. and she feels jest as i do, that the baby must wear it in respect to her father's memory." sez i, "the baby don't know crape from a clothes-pin." "no," sez cephas, "but in after years the thought of the respect she showed will sustain her." "wall," sez i, "i guess she won't have much besides thoughts to live on, if things go on in this way." i would give little hints in this way, but they wuzn't took. things went right on as if i hadn't spoke. and i couldn't contend, for truly, as a bad little boy said once on a similar occasion, "it wuzn't my funeral," so i had to set and work on that insane bedquilt and see it go on. but i sithed constant and frequent, and when i wuz all alone in the room i indulged in a few low groans. chapter x. we dressmakers wuz in the house, to stay all the time till the dresses wuz done; and clerks would come around, anon, if not oftener, with packages of mournin' goods, and mournin' jewelry, and mournin' handkerchiefs, and mournin' stockings, and mournin' stockin'-supporters, and mournin' safety-pins, and etc., etc., etc., etc., etc. every one of 'em, i knew, a-wrenchin' boards offen the sides of that house that wellington had worked so hard to get for his wife and little ones. wall, the day of the funeral come. it wuz a wet, drizzly day, but cephas wuz up early, to see that everything wuz as he wanted it to be. as fur as i wuz concerned, i had done my duty, for the crazy bedquilt wuz done; and though brains might totter as they looked at it, i felt that it wuzn't my fault. sally ann spread it out with complacency over the lounge, and thanked me, with tears in her eyes, for my noble deed. along quite early in the mornin', before the show commenced, i went in to see wellington. he lay there calm and peaceful, with a look on his face as if he had got away at last from a atmosphere of show and sham, and had got into the great reality of life. it wuz a good face, and the worryment and care that folks told me had been on it for years had all faded away. but the look of determination, and resolve, and bravery,--that wuz ploughed too deep in his face to be smoothed out, even by the mighty hand that had lain on it. the resolved look, the brave look with which he had met the warfare of life, toiled for victory over want, toiled to place his dear and helpless ones in a position of safety,--that look wuz on his face yet, as if the deathless hope and endeavor had gone on into eternity with him. and by the side of him, on a table, wuz the big high flower-pieces, beginnin' already to wilt and decay. wall, it's bein' such an uncommon bad day, there wuzn't many to the funeral. but we rode to the meetin'-house in loontown in a state and splendor that i never expect to again. cephas had hired eleven mournin' coaches, and the day bein' so bad, and so few a-turnin' out to the funeral, that in order to occupy all the coaches--and cephas thought it would look better and more popular to have 'em all occupied--we divided up, and josiah went in one, alone, and lonesome as a dog, as he said afterwards to me. and i sot up straight and oncomfortable in another one on 'em, stark alone. cephas had one to himself, and his wife another one, and two old maids, sisters of cephas'ses who always made a point of attendin' funerals, they each one of 'em had one. s. annie and her children, of course, had the first one, and then the minister had one, and one of the trustees in the neighborhood had another; so we lengthened out into quite a crowd, all a-follerin' the shiny hearse, and the casket all covered with showy plated nails. i thought of it in jest that way, for wellington, i knew, the real wellington, wuzn't there. no, he wuz fur away--as fur as the real is from the unreal. wall, we filed into the loontown meetin'-house in pretty good shape. the same meetin'-house i had been sent to reconoiter. but cephas hadn't no black handkerchief, and he looked worried about it. he had shed tears a-tellin' me about it, what a oversight it wuz, while i wuz a fixin' on his mournin' weed. he took it into his head to have a deeper weed at the last minute, so i fixed it on. he had the weed come up to the top of his hat and lap over. i never see so tall a weed. but it suited cephas; he said "he thought it showed deep respect." "wall," sez i, "it is a deep weed, anyway--the deepest i ever see." and he said as i wuz a sewin' it on, he a-holdin' his hat for me, "that wellington deserved it; he deserved it all." but, as i say, he shed tears to think that his handkerchief wuzn't black-bordered. he said "it wuz a fearful oversight; it would probably make talk." "but," i sez, "mebby it won't be noticed." [illustration: "as a procession we wuz middlin' long, but ruther thin."] "yes, it will," sez he. "it will be noticed." and sez he, "i don't care about myself, but i am afraid it will reflect onto wellington. i am afraid they will think it shows a lack of respect for him. for wellington's sake i feel cut down about it." and i sez, "i guess where wellington is now, the color of a handkerchief border hain't a-goin' to make much difference to him either way." and i don't spoze it wuz noticed much, for there wuzn't more'n ten or a dozen folks there when we went in. we went in in injin file mostly by cephas'ses request, so's to make more show. and as a procession we wuz middlin' long, but ruther thin. the sermon wuz not so very good as to quality, but abundant as to quantity. it wuz, as nigh as i could calkerlate, about a hour and three-quarters long. josiah whispered to me along about the last that "we had been there over seven hours, and his legs wuz paralyzed." and i whispered back that "seven hours would take us into the night, and to stretch his feet out and pinch 'em," which he did. but it wuz long and tegus. my feet got to sleep twice, and i had hard work to wake 'em up agin. the sermon meant to be about wellington, i s'pose; he did talk a sight about him, and then he kinder branched off onto politics, and then the inter-state bill; he kinder favored it, i thought. wall, we all got drippin' wet a-goin' home, for cephas insisted on our gettin' out at the grave, for he had hired some uncommon high singers (high every way, in price and in notes) to sing at the grave. and so we disembarked in the drippin' rain, on the wet grass, and formed a procession agin. and cephas had a long exercise light there in the rain. but the singin' wuz kinder jerky and curius, and they had got their pay beforehand, so they hurried it through. and one man, the tenor, who wuz dretful afraid of takin' cold, hurried through his part and got through first, and started on a run for the carriage. the others stood their grounds till the piece wuz finished, but they put on some dretful curius quavers. i believe they had had chills; it sounded like it. take it altogether, i don't believe anybody got much satisfaction out of it, only cephas. s. annie sp'ilt her dress and bonnet entirely--they wuz wilted all down; and she ordered another suit jest like it before she slept. wall, the next mornin' early two men come with plans for monuments. cephas had telegrafted to 'em to come with plans and bid for the job of furnishin' the monument. and after a good deal of talk on both sides, cephas and s. annie selected one that wuz very high and p'inted. the men stayed to dinner, and i said to cephas out to one side-"cephas, that monument is a-goin' to cost a sight." "wall," sez he, "we can't raise too high a one. wellington deserved it all." sez i, "won't that and all these funeral expenses take about all the money he left?" "oh, no!" sez he. "he had insured his life for a large amount, and it all goes to his wife and children. he deserves a monument if a man ever did." "but," sez i, "don't you believe that wellington would ruther have s. annie and the children settled down in a good little home with sumthin' left to take care of 'em, than to have all this money spent in perfectly useless things?" "_useless!_" sez cephas, turnin' red. "why," sez he, "if you wuzn't a near relation i should resent that speech bitterly." "wall," sez i, "what do all these flowers, and empty carriages, and silver-plated nails, and crape, and so forth--what does it all amount to?" "respect and honor to his memory," sez cephas, proudly. sez i, "such a life as wellington's had them; no body could take 'em away nor deminish 'em. such a brave, honest life is crowned with honor and respect any way. it don't need no crape, nor flowers, nor monuments to win 'em. and, at the same time," sez i dreamily, "if a man is mean, no amount of crape, or flower-pieces, or flowery sermons, or obituries, is a-goin' to cover up that meanness. a life has to be lived out-doors as it were; it can't be hid. a string of mournin' carriages, no matter how long, hain't a-goin' to carry a dishonorable life into honor, and no grave, no matter how low and humble it is, is a-goin' to cover up a honorable life. "such a life as wellington's don't need no monument to carry up the story of his virtues into the heavens; it is known there already. and them that mourn his loss don't need cold marble words to recall his goodness and faithfulness. the heart where the shadow of his eternal absence has fell don't need crape to make it darker. "wellington wouldn't be forgot if s. annie wore pure white from day today. no, nobody that knew wellington, from all i have hearn of him, needs crape to remind 'em that he wuz once here and now is gone. "howsomever, as fur as that is concerned, i always feel that mourners must do as they are a mind to about crape, with fear and tremblin'--that is, if they are well off, and _can_ do as they are a mind to; and the same with monuments, flowers, empty coaches, etc. but in this case, cephas bodley, i wouldn't be a doin' my duty if i didn't speak my mind. when i look at these little helpless souls that are left in a cold world with nothin' to stand between them and want but the small means their pa worked so hard for and left for the express purpose of takin' care of 'em, it seems to me a foolish thing, and a cruel thing, to spend all that money on what is entirely onnecessary." "onnecessary!" sez cephas, angrily. "agin i say, josiah allen's wife, that if it wuzn't for our close relationship i should turn on you. a worm will turn," sez he, "if it is too hardly trampled on." "i hain't trampled on you," sez i, "nor hain't had no idea on't. i wuz only statin' the solemn facts and truth of the matter. and you will see it some time, cephas bodley, if you don't now." sez cephas, "the worm has turned, josiah allen's wife! yes, i feel that i have got to look now to more distant relations for comfort. yes, the worm has been stomped on too heavy." he looked cold, cold as a iceickle almost. and i see that jest the few words i had spoke, jest the slight hints i had gin, hadn't been took as they should have been took. so i said no more. for agin the remark of that little bad boy came up in my mind and restrained me from sayin' any more. truly, as the young male child observed, "it wuzn't my funeral." we went home almost immegiately afterwards, my heart nearly a-bleedin' for the little children, poor little creeters, and cephas actin' cold and distant to the last and we hain't seen 'em sence. but news has come from them, and come straight. josiah heerd to jonesville all about it. and though it is hitchin' the democrat buggy on front of the mare--to tell the end of the funeral here--yet i may as well tell it now and be done with it. the miller at loontown wuz down to the jonesville mill to get the loan of some bags, and josiah happened to be there to mill that day, and heerd all about it. cephas had got the monument, and the ornaments on it cost fur more than he expected. there wuz a wreath a-runnin' round it clear from the bottom to the top, and verses a kinder runnin' up it at the same time. and it cost fearful. poetry a-runnin' up, they say, costs fur more than it duz on a level. any way, the two thousand dollars that wuz insured on wellington's life wuzn't quite enough to pay for it. but the sale of his law library and the best of the housen' stuff paid it. the nine hundred he left went, every mite of it, to pay the funeral expenses and mournin' for the family. [illustration: carried to the county poor house.] and as bad luck always follers on in a procession, them mortgages of cephas'ses all run out sort o' together. his creditors sold him out, and when his property wuz all disposed of it left him over fourteen hundred dollars in debt. the creditors acted perfectly greedy, so they say--took everything they could; and one of the meanest ones took that insane bedquilt that i finished. that _wuz_ mean. they say sally ann crumpled right down when that wuz took. some say that they got hold of that tall weed of cephas'ses, and some dispute it; some say that he wore it on the last ride he took in loontown. but, howsomever, cephas wuz took sick, sally ann wuzn't able to do anything for their support, s. annie wuz took down with the typhus, and so it happened the very day the monument wuz brought to the loontown cemetery, cephas bodley's folks wuz carried to the county house, s. annie, the children and all. and it happened dretful curius, but the town hired that very team that drawed the monument there, to take the family back. it wuz a good team. the monument wuzn't set up, for they lacked money to pay for the underpinnin'! (wuz n't it curius, cephas bodley never would think of the underpinnin' to anything?) but it lay there by the side of the road, a great white shape. and they say the children wuz skairt, and cried when they went by it--cried and wept. but i believe it wuz because they wuz cold and hungry that made 'em cry. i don't believe it wuz the monument. chapter xi. [illustration:] a few days follerin' on and ensuin' after this eppisode, submit tewksburv wuz a takin' supper with me. she had come home with me from the meetin' house where we had been to work all day. i had urged her to stay, for she lived a mile further on the road, and had got to walk home afoot. and she hain't any too well off, submit hain't--she has to work hard for every mite of food she eats, and clothes she wears, and fuel and lights, etc., etc. so i keep her to dinners and suppers all i can, specially when we are engaged in meetin' house work, for as poor as submit is, she will insist on doin' for the meetin' house jest as much as any other female woman in jonesville. she is quite small boneded, and middlin' good lookin' for a women of her years. she has got big dark eyes, very soft and mellow lookin' in expression--and a look deep down into 'em, as if she had been waitin' for something, for some time. her hair is gettin' quite gray now, but its original color was auburn, and she has got quite a lot of it--kinder crinkly round her forward. her complexion is pale. she is a very good lookin' woman yet, might marry any day of the week now, i hain't no doubt of it. she is a single woman, but is well thought on in jonesville, and the southern part of zoar, where she has relatives on her mother's side. [illustration: submit tewksbury.] she has had chances to my certain knowledge (widowers and such). but if all the men in the world should come and stand in rows in front of her gate with gilded crowns in their hands all ready to crown her, and septers all ready for her to grasp holt of, and wield over the world, she would refuse every one of 'em. she has had a disappointment, submit has. and she looked at the world so long through tears, that the world got to lookin' sort o' dim like and shadowy to her, and the whole men race looked to her fur off and misty, as folks will when you look at 'em through a rain. she couldn't marry one of them shadows of men, if she tried, and she hain't never tried. no, her heart always has been, and is now, fur away, a-travellin' through unknown regions, unknown, and yet more real to her than jonesville or zoar, a-follerin' the one man in the world who is a reality to her. submit wuz engaged to a young methodist minister by the name of samuel danker. i remember him well. a good lookin' young fellow at the time, with blue eyes and light hair, ruther long and curly, and kinder wavin' back from his forward, and a deep spiritual look in his eyes. in fact, his eyes looked right through the fashions and follys of the civilized world, into the depths of ignorance, rivers of ruin and despair, that wuz a-washin' over a human race, black jungles where naked sin and natural depravities crouched hungry for victims. samuel danker felt that he had got to go into heathen lands as a missionary. he wuz engaged to submit, and loved her dearly, and he urged her to go too. but submit had a invalid father on her hands, a bed rid grandfather, and three young brothers, too young to earn a thing, and they all on 'em together hadn't a cent of money to their names. they had twenty-five acres of middlin' poor land, and a old house. wall, submit felt that she couldn't leave these helpless ones and go to more foreign heathen lands. so, with a achin' heart, she let samuel danker go from her, for he felt a call, loud, and she couldn't counsel him to shet up his ears, or put cotton into 'em. submit tewksbury had always loved and worked for the methodist meetin' house (she jined it on probation when she wuz thirteen). but although she always had been extremely liberal in givin', and had made a practice of contributin' every cent she could spare to the meetin' house, it wuz spozed that samuel danker wuz the biggest offerin' she had ever give to it. fur it wuz known that he went to her the night before he sot sail, took supper with her, and told her she should decide the matter for him, whether he went or whether he staid. it wuz spozed his love for submit wuz so great that it made him waver when the time come that he must leave her to her lot of toil and sacrifice and loneliness. but submit loved the methodist meetin' house to that extent, she leaned so hard on the arm of duty, that she nerved up her courage anew, refused to accept the sacrifice of his renunciation, bid him go to his great work, and quit himself like a man--told him she would always love him, pray for him, be constant to him. and she felt that the master they both wanted to serve would some day bring him back to her. so he sailed away to his heathens--and submit stayed to home with her five helpless males and her achin' heart. and if i had to tell which made her the most trouble, i couldn't to save my life. she knew the secret of her achin' heart, and the long dark nights she kep awake with it. the neighbors couldn't understand that exactly, for there hain't no language been discovered yet that will give voice to the silent crys of a breakin' heart, a tender heart, a constant heart, cryin' out acrost the grayness of dreary days acrost the blackness of lonely nights. but we could see her troubles with the peevish paralasys of age, with the tremendus follys of undisciplined youth. but submit took care of the hull caboodle of 'em; worked out some by days' works, to get more necessaries for 'em than the poor little farm would bring in; nursed the sick on their sick-beds and on their death-beds, till she see 'em into heaven--or that is where we spoze they went to, bein' deservin' old males both on 'em, her father and her grandfather, and in full connectin with the methodist episcopel meetin' house. she took care of her young brothers, patient with 'em always, ready to mend bad rents in their clothin' and their behavior--tryin' to prop up their habits and their morals, givin' 'em all the schoolin' she could, givin' 'em all a good trade, all but the youngest, him she kep with her always till the lord took him (scarlet fever), took him to learn the mysterius trade of the immortals. submit had a hard fit of sickness after that. and when she got up agin, there wuz round her pale forward a good many white hairs that wuz orburn before the little boy went away from her. sense that, the other boys have married, and submit has lived alone in the old farm-house, lettin' the farm out on shares. it is all run down; she don't get much from it; it don't yield much but trouble and burdocks, but as little as she gets, she always will, as i say, do her full share, and more than her share, for the meetin' house. [illustration: "he took supper with her for the last time."] some think it is on account of her inherient goodness, and some think it is on account of samuel danker. we all spose she hain't forgot samuel. and they do say that every year when the day comes round, that he took supper with her for the last time, she puts a plate on for him--the very one he eat on last---a pink edged chiny plate, with gilt sprigs, the last one left of her mother's first set of chiny. that is what they _say_, i hain't never seen the plate. it is now about twenty years sense samuel danker went to heathen lands. and as it wuz a man-eatin' tribe he went to preach to, and as he hain't been heern of from that day to this, it is spozed that they eat him up some years ago. but it is thought that submit hain't gin up hope yet. we spoze so, but don't know, on account of her never sayin' anything on the subject. but we judge from the plate. wall, as i say (and i have episoded fearfully, fearfully), submit took supper with me that night. and after josiah had put out his horse (he had been to jonesville for the evenin' mail, and stopped for us at the meetin' house on his way back), he took the _world_ out of his pocket, and perused it for some time, and from that learned the great news that wimmen wuz jest about to be held up agin, to see if her strength wuz sufficient to set on the conference. and oh! how josiah allen went on about it to submit and me, all the while we wuz a eatin' supper--and for more'n a hour afterwuds. chapter xii. submit wuz very skairt to heern him go on (she felt more nervous on account of an extra hard day's work), and i myself wuz beat out, but i wuzn't afraid at all of him, though he did go on elegant, and dretful empressive and even skairful. he stood up on the same old ground that men have always stood up on, the ground of man's great strength and capability, and wimmen's utter weakness, helplessness, and incapacity. josiah enlarged almost wildly on the subject of how high, how inaccessibley lofty the conference wuz, and the utter impossibility of a weak, helpless, fragaile bein' like a women ever gettin' up on it, much less settin' on it. and then, oh how vividly he depictered it, how he and every other male methodist in the land loved wimmen too well, worshipped 'em too deeply to put such a wearin' job onto 'em. oh how josiah allen soared up in eloquence. submit shed tears, or, that is, i thought she did--i see her wipe her eyes any way. some think that about the time the samuel danker anniversary comes round, she is more nervous and deprested. it wuz very near now, and take that with her hard work that day, it accounts some for her extra depression--though, without any doubt, it wuz josiah's talk that started the tears. i couldn't bear to see submit look so mournful and deprested, and so, though i wuz that tired myself that i could hardly hold my head up, yet i did take my bits in my teeth, as you may say, and asked him-what the awful hard job wuz that he and other men wuz so anxus to ward offen wimmen. and he sez, "why, a settin' on the conference." and i sez, "i don't believe that is such a awful hard job to tackle." "yes, indeed, it is," sez josiah in his most skairful axent, "yes, it is." and he shook his head meenin'ly and impressively, and looked at me and submit in as mysterius and strange a way, es i have ever been looked at in my life, and i have had dretful curius looks cast onto me, from first to last. and he sez in them deep impressive axents of hisen, "you jest try it once, and see--i have sot on it, and i know." josiah wuz sent once as a delegate to the methodist conference, so i spozed he did know. but i sez, "why you come home the second day when you sot as happy as a king, and you told me how you had rested off durin' the two days, and how you had visited round at uncle jenkins'es, and cousin henn's, and you said that you never had had such a good time in your hull life, as you did when you wuz a settin'. you looked as happy as a king, and acted so." josiah looked dumbfounded for most a quarter of a minute. for he knew my words wuz as true es anything ever sot down in matthew, mark, or luke, or any of the other old patriarks. he knew it wuz gospel truth, that he had boasted of his good times a settin', and as i say for nearly a quarter of a minute he showed plain signs of mortification. but almost imegietly he recovered himself, and went on with the doggy obstinacy of his sect: "oh, wall! men can tackle hard jobs, and get some enjoyment out of it too, when it is in the line of duty. one thing that boys em' up, and makes em' happy, is the thought that they are a keepin' trouble and care offen wimmen. that is a sweet thought to men, and always wuz. and there wuz great strains put onto our minds, us men that sot, that wimmen couldn't be expected to grapple with, and hadn't ort to try to. it wuz a great strain onto us." "what was the nater of the strain?" sez i. "i didn't know as you did a thing only sot still there and go to sleep. _you_ wuz fast asleep there most the hull of the time, for it come straight to me from them that know. and all that deacon bobbet did who went with you wuz to hold up his hand two or three times a votin'. i shouldn't think that wuz so awful wearin'." and agin i sez, "what wuz the strain?" but josiah didn't answer, for that very minute he remembered a pressin' engagement he had about borrowin' a plow. he said he had got to go up to joe charnick's to get his plow. (i don't believe he wanted a plow that time of night.) but he hurried away from the spot. and soon after submit went home lookin' more deprested and down-casted than ever. and josiah allen didn't get home till _late_ at night. i dare persume to say it wuz as late as a quarter to nine when that man got back to the bosom of his family. and i sot there all alone, and a-meditatin' on things, and a-wonderin' what under the sun he wuz a-traipsin up to joe charnick's for at that time of night, and a-worryin' some for fear he wuz a-keepin' miss charnick up, and a-spozin' in my mind what miss charnick would do, to get along with the meetin' house, and the conference question, if she wuz a member. (she is a _very_ sensible woman, jenette charnick is, _very_, and a great favorite with me, and others.) and i got to thinkin' how prosperus and happy she is now, and how much she had went through. and i declare the hull thing come back to me, all the strange and curius circumstances connected with her courtship and marriage, and i thought it all out agin, the hull story, from beginnin' to end. the way it begun wuz--and the way josiah allen and me come to have any connectin with the story wuz as follers: some time ago, and previus, we had a widder come to stay with us a spell, she that wuz tamer shelmadine, miss trueman pool that now is. her husband died several years ago, and left her not over and above well off. and so she goes round a-visitin', and has went ever sense his death. and finds sights of faults with things wherever she is, sights of it. trueman wuz josiah's cousin, on his own side, and i always made a practice of usin' her quite well. she used to live neighbor to me before i wuz married, and she come and stayed nine weeks. she is a tall spindlin' woman, a second adventist by perswasion, and weighs about ninety-nine pounds. wall, as i say, she means middlin' well, and would be quite agreeable if it wuzn't for a habit she has of thinkin' what she duz is a leetle better than anybody else can do, and wantin' to tell a leetle better story than anybody else can. now she thinks she looks better than i do. but josiah sez she can't begin with me for looks, and i don't spoze she can, though of course it hain't to be expected that i would want it told of that i said so. no, i wouldn't want it told of pro or con, especially con. but i know josiah allen has always been called a pretty good judge of wimmen's looks. [illustration: "she is a tall spindlin' woman."] and now she thinks she can set hens better than i can--and make better riz biscuit. she jest the same as told me so. any way, the first time i baked bread after she got here, she looked down on my loaves real haughty, yet with a pityin' look, and sez: "it is very good for yeast, but i always use milk emptin's." and she kinder tested her head, and sort o' swept out of the room, not with a broom, no, she would scorn to sweep out a room with a broom or help me in any way, but she sort o' swept it out with her mean. but i didn't care, i knew my bread wuz good. now if anybody is sick, she will always tell of times when she has been sicker. she boasts of layin' three nights and two days in a fit. but we don't believe it, josiah and me don't. that is, we don't believe she lay there so long, a-runnin'. we believe she come out of 'em occasionally. but you couldn't get her to give off a hour or a minute of the time. three nights and two days she lay there a-runnin', so she sez, and she has said it so long, that we spoze, josiah and me do, that she believes it herself now. female suffrage by susan fenimore cooper (this e-text has been prepared from the original two-part magazine article, "female suffrage: a letter to the christian women of america," by susan fenimore cooper, which appeared in harper's new weekly magazine, vol. xli (june-november, 1870), pp. 438-446, 594-600. the author is identified only in the table of contents, p. v, where she is listed as "susan f. cooper." transcribed by hugh c. macdougall jfcooper@wpe.com {because "vanilla text" does not permit of accents or italics, accents have been ignored, and both all-capital and italicized words transcribed as all capitals. paragraphs are separated by a blank line, but not indented. footnotes by susan fenimore cooper are inserted as paragraphs (duly identified) as indicated by her asterisks. all insertions by the transcriber are enclosed in {brackets}. for readers wishing to know the exact location of specific passages, the page breaks from harper's are identified by a blank line at the end of each page, followed by the original page number at the beginning of the next. {a brief introduction to susan fenimore cooper's article: {the question of "female suffrage" has long been resolved in the united states, and--though sometimes more recently--in other democratic societies as well. for most people, certainly in the so-called western world, the right of women to vote on a basis of equality with men seems obvious. a century ago this was not the case, even in america, and it required a long, arduous, and sometimes painful struggle before the nineteenth amendment to the united states constitution was ratified on august 18, 1920. {why then, take steps to make available through the gutenberg project an article arguing against the right of women to vote--an article written by a woman? {there are two reasons for doing so. the first is that susan fenimore cooper (1813-1894) was no ordinary woman. she was educated in europe and extremely well read; she was the daughter and literary assistant of james fenimore cooper, america's first internationally recognized novelist; and she was a naturalist and essayist of great talent whose "nature diary" of her home village at cooperstown, published as "rural hours" in 1850, has become a classic of early american environmental literature. {yet susan fenimore cooper argued eloquently, bringing to her task not only her deep religious feelings but also her very considerable knowledge of world history and of american society, that women should not be given the vote! hers was not a simple defense of male dominion; her case is combined with equally eloquent arguments in favor of higher education for women, and for equal wages for equal work. "female suffrage," is thus of considerable biographic importance, throwing important light on her views of god, of society, and of american culture. {at the same time, "female suffrage" demonstrates that no social argument--however popular or politically correct today--can be considered as self-evident. those who favor full legal and social equality of the sexes at the ballot box and elsewhere (as i believe i do), should be prepared to examine and answer susan fenimore cooper's arguments to the contrary. many of those arguments are still heard daily in the press and on tv talk shows--not indeed to end women's right to vote, but as arguments against further steps towards gender equality. unlike many modern commentators, susan fenimore cooper examines these arguments in detail, both as to their roots and their possible effects, rather than expressing them as simplistic sound-bites. she asks her readers to examine whether gender equality is compatible with christian teachings; whether universal suffrage can ever resolve social problems; whether the "political" sphere is as significant to human life as politicians believe. one need not agree with her answers, but one can only be grateful that she forces us to ask questions. {hugh c. macdougall, secretary, james fenimore cooper society--august 1999} female suffrage. a letter to the christian women of america. part i. {publisher's note} [note.--we have printed this letter, which will be continued in our next number, not as an expression of our own views, but simply as the plea of an earnest and thoughtful christian woman addressed to her fellow-countrywomen.--editor of harper.] the natural position of woman is clearly, to a limited degree, a subordinate one. such it has always been throughout the world, in all ages, and in many widely different conditions of society. there are three conclusive reasons why we should expect it to continue so for the future. first. woman in natural physical strength is so greatly inferior to man that she is entirely in his power, quite incapable of self-defense, trusting to his generosity for protection. in savage life this great superiority of physical strength makes man the absolute master, woman the abject slave. and, although every successive step in civilisation lessens the distance between the sexes, and renders the situation of woman safer and easier, still, in no state of society, however highly cultivated, has perfect equality yet existed. this difference in physical strength must, in itself, always prevent such perfect equality, since woman is compelled every day of her life to appeal to man for protection, and for support. secondly. woman is also, though in a very much less degree, inferior to man in intellect. the difference in this particular may very probably be only a consequence of greater physical strength, giving greater power of endurance and increase of force to the intellectual faculty connected with it. in many cases, as between the best individual minds of both sexes, the difference is no doubt very slight. there have been women of a very high order of genius; there have been very many women of great talent; and, as regards what is commonly called cleverness, a general quickness and clearness of mind within limited bounds, the number of clever women may possibly have been even larger than that of clever men. but, taking the one infallible rule for our guide, judging of the tree by its fruits, we are met by the fact that the greatest achievements of the race in every field of intellectual culture have been the work of man. it is true that the advantages of intellectual education have been, until recently, very generally on the side of man; had those advantages been always equal, women would no doubt have had much more of success to record. but this same fact of inferiority of education becomes in itself one proof of the existence of a certain degree of mental inequality. what has been the cause of this inferiority of education? why has not woman educated herself in past ages, as man has done? is it the opposition of man, and the power which physical strength gives him, which have been the impediments? had these been the only obstacles, and had that general and entire equality of intellect existed between the sexes, which we find proclaimed to-day by some writers, and by many talkers, the genius of women would have opened a road through these and all other difficulties much more frequently than it has yet done. at this very hour, instead of defending the intellect of women, just half our writing and talking would be required to defend the intellect of men. but, so long as woman, as a sex, has not provided for herself the same advanced intellectual education to the same extent as men, and so long as inferiority of intellect in man has never yet in thousands of years been gravely discussed, while the inferiority of intellect in woman has been during the same period generally admitted, we are compelled to believe there is some foundation for this last opinion. the extent of this difference, the interval that exists between the sexes, the precise degree of inferiority on the part of women, will probably never be satisfactorily proved. believing then in the greater physical powers of man, and in his superiority, to a limited extent, in intellect also, as two sufficient reasons for the natural subordination of woman as a sex, we have yet a third reason for this subordination. christianity can be proved to be the safest and highest ally of man's nature, physical, moral, and intellectual, that the world has yet known. it protects his physical nature at every point by plain, stringent rules of general temperance and moderation. to his moral nature it gives the pervading strength of healthful purity. to his intellectual nature, while on one hand it enjoins full development and vigorous action, holding out to the spirit the highest conceivable aspirations, on the other it teaches the invaluable lessons of a wise humility. this grand and holy religion, whose whole action is healthful, whose restraints are all blessings--this gracious religion, whose chief precepts are the love of god and the love of man--this same christianity confirms the subordinate position of woman, by allotting to man the headship in plain language and by positive precept. no system of philosophy has ever yet worked out in behalf of woman the practical results for good which christianity has conferred on her. christianity has raised woman from slavery and made her the thoughtful companion of man; finds her the mere toy, or the victim of his passions, and it places her by his side, his truest friend, his most faithful counselor, his helpmeet in every worthy and honorable task. it protects her far more effectually than any other system. it cultivates, strengthens, elevates, purifies all her highest endowments, and holds out to her aspirations the most sublime for that future state of existence, where precious rewards are promised to every faithful discharge of duty, even the most humble. but, while conferring on her these priceless blessings, it also enjoins the submission of the wife to the husband, and allots a subordinate position to the whole sex while here on earth. no woman calling herself a christian, acknowledging her duties as such, can, therefore, consistently deny the obligation of a limited subordination laid upon her by her lord and his church. from these three chief considerations--the great inferiority of physical strength, a very much less and undefined degree of inferiority in intellect, and the salutary teachings of the christian faith--it follows that, to a limited degree, varying with circumstances, and always to be marked out by sound reason and good feeling, the subordination of woman, as a sex, is inevitable. this subordination once established, a difference of position, and a consequent difference of duties, follow as a matter of course. there must, of necessity, in such a state of things, be certain duties inalienably connected with the position of man, others inalienably connected with the position of woman. for the one to assume the duties of the other becomes, first, an act of desertion, next, an act of usurpation. for the man to discharge worthily the duties of his own position becomes his highest merit. for the woman to discharge worthily the duties of her own position becomes her highest merit. to be noble the man must be manly. to be noble the woman must be womanly. independently of the virtues required equally of both sexes, such as truth, uprightness, candor, fidelity, honor, we look in man for somewhat more of wisdom, of vigor, of courage, from natural endowment, combined with enlarged action and experience. in woman we look more especially for greater purity, modesty, patience, grace, sweetness, tenderness, refinement, as the consequences of a finer organization, in a protected and sheltered position. that state of society will always be the most rational, the soundest, the happiest, where each sex conscientiously discharges its own duties, without intruding on those of the other. it is true that the world has often seen individual women called by the manifest will of providence to positions of the highest authority, to the thrones of rulers and sovereigns. and many of these women have discharged those duties with great intellectual ability and great success. it is rather the fashion now among literary men to depreciate queen elizabeth and her government. but it is clear that, whatever may have been her errors--and no doubt they were grave--she still appears in the roll of history as one of the best sovereigns not only of her own house, but of all the dynasties of england. certainly she was in every way a better and a more successful ruler than her own father or her own brother-in-law, and better also than the stuarts who filled her throne at a later day. catherine of russia, though most unworthy as a woman, had a force of intellectual ability quite beyond dispute, and which made itself felt in every department of her government. isabella i. of spain gave proof of legislative and executive ability of the very highest order; she was not only one of the purest and noblest, but also, considering the age to which she belonged, and the obstacles in her way, one of the most skillful sovereigns the world has ever seen. her nature was full of clear intelligence, with the highest moral and physical courage. she was in every way a better ruler than her own husband, to whom she proved nevertheless an admirable wife, acting independently only where clear principle was at stake. the two greet errors of her reign, the introduction of the inquisition and the banishment of the jews, must be charged to the confessor rather than to the queen, and these were errors in which her husband was as closely involved as herself. on the other hand, some of the best reforms of her reign originated in her own mind, and were practically carried out under her own close personal supervision. many other skillful female rulers might be named. and it is not only in civilized life and in christendom that woman has shown herself wise in governing; even among the wildest savage tribes they have appeared, occasionally, as leaders and rulers. this is a singular fact. it may be proved from the history of this continent, and not only from the early records of mexico and cuba and hayti, but also from the reports of the earliest navigators on our own coast, who here and there make mention incidentally of this or that female chief or sachem. but a fact far more impressive and truly elevating to the sex also appears on authority entirely indisputable. while women are enjoined by the word of god to refrain from public teaching in the church, there have been individual women included among the prophets, speaking under the direct influence of the most holy spirit of god, the highest dignity to which human nature can attain. but all these individual cases, whether political or religious, have been exceptional. the lesson to be learned from them is plain. we gather naturally from these facts, what may be learned also from other sources, that, while the positions of the two sexes are as such distinct, the one a degree superior, the other a degree inferior, the difference between them is limited--it is not impassable in individual cases. the two make up but one species, one body politic and religious. there are many senses besides marriage in which the two are one. it is the right hand and the left, both belonging to one body, moved by common feeling, guided by common reason. the left hand may at times be required to do the work of the right, the right to act as the left. even in this world there are occasions when the last are first, the first last, without disturbing the general order of things. these exceptional cases temper the general rule, but they can not abrogate that rule as regards the entire sex. man learns from them not to exaggerate his superiority--a lesson very often needed. and woman learns from them to connect self-respect and dignity with true humility, and never, under any circumstances, to sink into the mere tool and toy of man--a lesson equally important. such until the present day has been the general teaching and practice of christendom, where, under a mild form, and to a limited point, the subordination of woman has been a fact clearly established. but this teaching we are now called upon to forget, this practice we are required to abandon. we have arrived at the days foretold by the prophet, when "knowledge shall be increased, and many shall run to and fro." the intellectual progress of the race during the last half century has indeed been great. but admiration is not the only feeling of the thoughtful mind when observing this striking advance in intellectual acquirement. we see that man has not yet fully mastered the knowledge he has acquired. he runs to and fro. he rushes from one extreme to the other. how many chapters of modern history, both political and religious, are full of the records of this mental vacillation of our race, of this illogical and absurd tendency to pass from one extreme to the point farthest from it! an adventurous party among us, weary of the old paths, is now eagerly proclaiming theories and doctrines entirely novel on this important subject. the emancipation of woman is the name chosen by its advocates for this movement. they reject the idea of all subordination, even in the mildest form, with utter scorn. they claim for woman absolute social and political equality with man. and they seek to secure these points by conferring on the whole sex the right of the elective franchise, female suffrage being the first step in the unwieldy revolutions they aim at bringing about. these views are no longer confined to a small sect. they challenge our attention at every turn. we meet them in society; we read them in the public prints; we hear of them in grave legislative assemblies, in the congress of the republic, in the imperial parliament of great britain. the time has come when it is necessary that all sensible and conscientious men and women should make up their minds clearly on a subject bearing upon the future condition of the entire race. there is generally more than one influence at work in all public movements of importance. the motive power in such cases is very seldom simple. so it has been with the question of female suffrage. the abuses inflicted on woman by legislation, the want of sufficient protection for her interests when confided to man, are generally asserted by the advocates of female suffrage as the chief motives for a change in the laws which withhold from her the power of voting. but it is also considered by the friend of the new movement that to withhold the suffrage from half the race is an inconsistency in american politics; that suffrage is an inalienable right, universal in its application; that women are consequently deprived of a great natural right when denied the power of voting. a third reason is also given for this proposed change in our political constitution. it is asserted that the entire sex would be greatly elevated in intellectual and moral dignity by such a course; and that the effect on the whole race would therefore be most advantageous, as the increased influence of woman in public affairs would purify politics, and elevate the whole tone of political life. here we have the reason for this movement as advanced by its advocates. these are the points on which they lay the most stress: first. the abuse of legislative power in man, by oppressing the sex. secondly. the inalienable natural right of woman to vote; and imperatively so in a country where universal suffrage is a great political principle. thirdly. the elevation of the sex, and the purification of politics through their influence. let us consider each of these points separately. first. the abuse of legislative power by man in the oppression of women. in some countries of europe much of wrong is still done to woman, at the present day, by old laws owing their existence to a past state of things, and which have not yet been repealed or modified to suit existing circumstances. but we are writing now to american women, and, instead of the evils existing in the other hemisphere, we are looking at a very different state of society. let us confine ourselves, therefore, to the subject as it affects ourselves. to go into all the details which might be drawn together from the statute books of the different states of the union bearing on this point, and to do them full justice, would require volumes. such a course is not necessary. the question can be decided with truth and justice on general principles--on generally admitted facts. we admit, then, that in some states--perhaps in all--there may be laws in which the natural and acquired rights of woman have not been fairly considered; that in some cases she has needed more legal protection and more privileges than she has yet received. but while this admission is made, attention is at the same time demanded for a fact inseparably connected with it; namely, the marked and generous liberality which american men have thus far shown in the considerate care and protection they have, as a general rule, given to the interests of women. in no country, whether of ancient or modern times, have women had less to complain of in their treatment by man than in america. this is no rhetorical declamation; it is the simple statement of an undeniable fact. it is a matter of social history. since the days of early colonial life to the present hour--or, in other words, during the last two hundred and fifty years--such has been the general course of things in this country. the hardest tasks have been taken by man, and a generous tenderness has been shown to women in many of the details of social life, pervading all classes of society, to a degree beyond what is customary even in the most civilized countries of europe. taking these two facts together--that certain abuses still exist, that certain laws and regulations need changing and that, as a general rule, american women have thus far been treated by their countrymen with especial consideration, in a legal and in a social sense--the inference becomes perfectly plain. a formidable and very dangerous social revolution is not needed to correct remaining abuses. any revolution aiming at upsetting the existing relations of the sexes--relations going back to the earliest records and traditions of the race--can not be called less than formidable and dangerous. let women make full use of the influences already at their command, and all really needed changes may be effected by means both sure and safe--means already thoroughly tried. let them use all the good sense, all the information, all the eloquence, and, if they please, all the wit, at their command when talking over these abuses in society. let them state their views, their needs, their demands, in conscientiously written papers. let them appeal for aid to the best, the wisest, the most respected men of the country, and the result is certain. choose any one real, existing abuse as a test of the honesty and the liberality of american men toward the women of the country, and we all know before-hand what shall be the result.[1] {footnote by sfc} [1] there is an injustice in the present law of guardianship in the state of new york, which may be named as one of those abuses which need reformation. a woman can not now, in the state of new york, appoint a guardian for her child, even though its father be dead. the authority for appointing a guardian otherwise than by the courts is derived from the revised statutes, p. 1, title 3, chapter 8, part 2, and that passage gives the power to the father only. the mother is not named. it has been decided in the courts that a mother can not make this appointment--12 howard's practical reports, 532. this is certainly very unjust and very unwise. but let any dozen women of respectability take the matter in hand, and, by the means already at their command, from their own chimney-corners, they can readily procure the insertion of the needful clause. and so with any other real abuse. men are now ready to listen, and ready to act, when additional legislation is prudently and sensibly asked for by their wives and mothers. how they may act when women stand before them, armed cap-a-pie, and prepared to demand legislation at the point of the bayonet, can not yet be known. {end footnote} if husbands, fathers, brothers, are ready any day to shed their heart's blood for our personal defense in the hour of peril, we may feel perfectly assured that they will also protect us, when appealed to, by legislation. when they lay down their arms and refuse to fight for us, it will then be time to ask them to give up legislation also. but until that evil hour arrives let men make the laws, and let women be content to fill worthily, to the very best of their abilities, the noble position which the heavenly father has already marked out for them. there is work to be done in that position reaching much higher, going much farther, and penetrating far deeper, than any mere temporary legislation can do. of that work we shall speak more fully a moment later. secondly. the inalienable natural right of woman to vote; and imperatively so in a country where universal suffrage is a great political principle. this second proposition of the advocates of female suffrage is of a general character. it does not point to particular abuses, it claims the right of woman to vote as one which she should demand, whether practically needed or not. it is asserted that to disqualify half the race from voting is an abuse entirely inconsistent with the first principles of american politics. the answer to this is plain. the elective franchise is not an end; it is only a means. a good government is indeed an inalienable right. just so far as the elective franchise will conduce to this great end, to that point it becomes also a right, but no farther. a male suffrage wisely free, including all capable of justly appreciating its importance, and honestly discharging its responsibilities, becomes a great advantage to a nation. but universal suffrage, pushed to its extreme limits, including all men, all women, all minors beyond the years of childhood, would inevitably be fraught with evil. there have been limits to the suffrage of the freest nations. such limits have been found necessary by all past political experience. in this country, at the present hour, there are restrictions upon the suffrage in every state. those restrictions vary in character. they are either national, relating to color, political, mental, educational, connected with a property qualification, connected with sex, connected with minority of years, or they are moral in their nature.[2] (footnote by sfc} [2] in connection with this point of moral qualification we venture to ask a question. why not enlarge the criminal classes from whom the suffrage is now withheld? why not exclude every man convicted of any degrading legal crime, even petty larceny? and why not exclude from the suffrage all habitual drunkards judicially so declared? these are changes which would do vastly more of good than admitting women to vote. {end footnote} this restriction connected with sex is, in fact, but one of many other restrictions, considered more or less necessary even in a democracy. manhood suffrage is a very favorite term of the day. but, taken in the plain meaning of those words, such fullness of suffrage has at the present hour no actual existence in any independent nation, or in any extensive province. it does not exist, as we have just seen, even among the men of america. and, owing to the conditions of human life, we may well believe that unrestricted fullness of manhood suffrage never can exist in any great nation for any length of time. in those states of the american union which approach nearest to a practical manhood suffrage, unnaturalized foreigners, minors, and certain classes of criminals, are excluded from voting. and why so? what is the cause of this exclusion? here are men by tens of thousands--men of widely different classes and conditions--peremptorily deprived of a privilege asserted to be a positive inalienable right universal in its application. there is manifestly some reason for this apparently contradictory state of things. we know that reason to be the good of society. it is for the good of society that the suffrage is withheld from those classes of men. a certain fitness for the right use of the suffrage is therefore deemed necessary before granting it. a criminal, an unnaturalized foreigner, a minor, have not that fitness; consequently the suffrage is withheld from them. the worthy use of the vote is, then, a qualification not yet entirely overlooked by our legislators. the state has had, thus far, no scruples in withholding the suffrage even from men, whenever it has believed that the grant would prove injurious to the nation. here we have the whole question clearly defined. the good of society is the true object of all human government. to this principle suffrage itself is subordinate. it can never be more than a means looking to the attainment of good government, and not necessarily its corner-stone. just so far is it wise and right. move one step beyond that point, and instead of a benefit the suffrage may become a cruel injury. the governing power of our own country--the most free of all great nations--practically proclaims that it has no right to bestow the suffrage wherever its effects are likely to become injurious to the whole nation, by allotting different restrictions to the suffrage in every state of the union. the right of suffrage is, therefore, most clearly not an absolutely inalienable right universal in its application. it has its limits. these limits are marked out by plain justice and common-sense. women have thus far been excluded from the suffrage precisely on the same principles--from the conviction that to grant them this particular privilege would, in different ways, and especially by withdrawing them from higher and more urgent duties, and allotting to them other duties for which they are not so well fitted, become injurious to the nation, and, we add, ultimately injurious to themselves, also, as part of the nation. if it can be proved that this conviction is sound and just, founded on truth, the assumed inalienable right of suffrage, of which we have been hearing so much lately, vanishes into the "baseless fabric of a vision." if the right were indeed inalienable, it should be granted, without regard to consequences, as an act of abstract justice. but, happily for us, none but the very wildest theorists are prepared to take this view of the question of suffrage. the advocates of female suffrage must, therefore, abandon the claim of inalienable right. such a claim can not logically be maintained for one moment in the face of existing facts. we proceed to the third point. thirdly. the elevation of the entire sex, the general purification of politics through the influence of women, and the consequent advance of the whole race. such, we are told, must be the inevitable results of what is called the emancipation of woman, the entire independence of woman through the suffrage. here we find ourselves in a peculiar position. while considering the previous points of this question we have been guided by positive facts, clearly indisputable in their character. actual, practical experience, with the manifold teachings at her command, has come to our aid. but we are now called upon, by the advocates of this novel doctrine, to change our course entirely. we are under orders to sail out into unknown seas, beneath skies unfamiliar, with small light from the stars, without chart, without pilot, the port to which we are bound being one as yet unvisited by mortal man--or woman! heavy mist, and dark cloud, and threatening storm appear to us brooding over that doubtful sea. but something of prophetic vision is required of us. we are told that all perils which seem to threaten the first stages of our course are entirely illusive--that they will vanish as we approach--that we shall soon arrive in halcyon waters, and regions where wisdom, peace, and purity reign supreme. if we cautiously inquire after some assurance of such results, we are told that to those sailing under the flag of progress triumph is inevitable, failure is impossible; and that many of the direst evils hitherto known on earth must vanish at the touch of the talisman in the hand of woman--and that talisman is the vote. now, to speak frankly--and being as yet untrammeled by political aspirations, we fearlessly do so--as regards this flag of progress, we know it to be a very popular bit of bunting; but to the eye of common-sense it is grievously lacking in consistency. the flag of our country means something positive. we all love it; we all honor it. it represents to us the grand ideas by which the nation lives. it is the symbol of constitutional government, of law and order, of union, of a liberty which is not license. it is to us the symbol of all that may be great and good and noble in the christian republic. but this vaunted flag of progress, so alluring to many restless minds, is vague in its colors, unstable, too often illusive, in web and woof. many of its most prominent standard-bearers are clad in the motley garb of theorists. their flag may be seen wandering to and fro, hither and thither, up and down, swayed by every breath of popular caprice; so it move to the mere cry of "progress!" its followers are content. to-day, in the hands of the skeptical philosopher, it assaults the heavens. tomorrow it may: float over the mire of mormonism, or depths still more vile. it was under the flag of progress that, in the legislative halls of france, the name of the holy lord god of hosts, "who inhabiteth eternity," was legally blasphemed. it was under the flag of progress that, on the 10th of november, 1793, therese momoro, goddess of reason, and wife of the printer momoro, was borne in triumph, by throngs of worshipers, through the streets of paris, and enthroned in the house of god. beyond all doubt, there is now, as there ever has been, an onward progress toward truth on earth. but that true progress is seldom rapid, excepting perhaps in the final stages of some particular movement. it is, indeed, often so slow, so gradual, as to be imperceptible at the moment to common observation. it is often silent, wonderful, mysterious, sublime. it is the grand movement toward the divine will, working out all things for eventual good. in looking back, there are for every generation way-marks by which the course of that progress may be traced. in looking forward no mortal eye can foresee its immediate course. the ultimate end we know, but the next step we can not foretell. the mere temporary cry of progress from human lips has often been raised in direct opposition to the true course of that grand, mysterious movement. it is like the roar of the rapids in the midst of the majestic stream, which, in the end, shall yield their own foaming waters to the calm current moving onward to the sea. we ask, then, for something higher, safer, more sure, to guide us than the mere popular cry of "progress!" we dare not blindly follow that cry, nor yield thoughtless allegiance to every flag it upholds. then, again, as regards that talisman, the vote, we have but one answer to make. we do not believe in magic. we have a very firm and unchangeable faith in free institutions, founded on just principles. we entirely believe that a republican form of government in a christian country may be the highest, the noblest, and the happiest that the world has yet seen. still, we do not believe in magic. and we do not believe in idolatry. we americans are just as much given to idolatry as any other people. our idols may differ from those of other nations; but they are, none the less, still idols. and it strikes the writer that the ballot-box is rapidly becoming an object of idolatry with us. is it not so? from the vote alone we expect all things good. from the vote alone we expect protection against all things evil. of the vote americans can never have too much--of the vote they can never have enough. the vote is expected by its very touch, suddenly and instantaneously, to produce miraculous changes; it is expected to make the foolish wise, the ignorant knowing, the weak strong, the fraudulent honest. it is expected to turn dross into gold. it is held to be the great educator, not only as regards races, and under the influence of time, which is in a measure true, but as regards individuals and classes of men, and that in the twinkling of an eye, with magical rapidity. were this theory practically sound, the vote would really prove a talisman. in that case we should give ourselves no rest until the vote were instantly placed in the hands of every chinaman landing in california, and of every indian roving over the plains. but, in opposition to this theory, what is the testimony of positive facts known to us all? are all voters wise? are all voters honest? are all voters enlightened? are all voters true to their high responsibilities? are all voters faithful servants of their country? is it entirely true that the vote has necessarily and really these inherent magical powers of rapid education for individuals and for classes of men, fitting them, in default of other qualifications, for the high responsibilities of suffrage? alas! we know only too well that when a man is not already honest and just and wise and enlightened, the vote he holds can not make him so. we know that if he is dishonest, he will sell his vote; if he is dull and ignorant, he is misled, for selfish purposes of their own, by designing men. as regards man, at least, the vote can be too easily proved to be no talisman. it is very clear that for man the ballot-box needs to be closely guarded on one side by common-sense, on the other by honesty. a man must be endowed with a certain amount of education and of principle, before he receives the vote, to fit him for a worthy use of it. and if the vote be really no infallible talisman for man, why should we expect it to work magical wonders in the hands of woman? but let us drop the play of metaphor, appropriate though it be when facing the visions of political theorists. let us look earnestly and clearly at the positive facts before us. we are gravely told that to grant the suffrage to woman would be a step inevitably beneficial and elevating to the whole sex, and, through their influence, to the entire race, and that, on this ground alone, the proposed change in the constitution should be made. here, so far at least as the concluding proposition goes, we must all agree. if it can be clearly proved that this particular change in our institutions is one so fraught with blessings, we are bound to make it at every cost. the true elevation of the whole race: that is what we are all longing for, praying for. and is it indeed true that this grand work can effectually be brought about by the one step we are now urged to take? what says actual experience on this point? the whole history of mankind shows clearly that, as yet, no one legislative act has ever accomplished half of what is claimed by the advocates of woman's suffrage as the inevitable result of the change they propose. no one legislative act has ever been so widely comprehensive in its results for good as they declare that this act shall be. no one legislative act has ever raised the entire race even within sight of the point of elevation predicted by the champions of what is called the emancipation of woman. hear them speak for themselves: "it is hardly possible, with our present experience, to raise our imaginations to the conception of so great a change for the better as would be made by its removal"--the removal of the principle of the subordination of the wife to the husband, and the establishment of the entire independence of women, to be obtained by female suffrage. these are not the words of some excited woman making a speech at a public meeting. the quotation is from the writings of mr. stuart mill. the subordination of the wife to the husband is declared by mr. mill to be "the citadel of the enemy." storm the citadel, proclaim the entire independence of the wife, and our feeble imaginations, we are told, are utterly incapable of conceiving the glorious future of the race consequent upon this one step. this is a very daring assertion. it is so bold, indeed, as to require something of positive proof ere we can yield to it our implicit belief. the citadel we are urged to storm was built by the hand of god. the flag waving over that citadel is the flag of the cross. when the creator made one entire sex so much more feeble in physical powers than the other, a degree of subordination on the part of the weaker sex became inevitable, unless it were counteracted by increase of mental ability, strengthened by special precept. but the mental ability, so far as there is a difference, and the precept, are both on the side of the stronger sex. the whole past history of the race coincides so clearly with these facts that we should suppose that even those who are little under the influence of christian faith might pause era they attacked that citadel. common-sense might teach them something of caution, something of humility, when running counter to the whole past experience of the race. as for those who have a living belief in the doctrines of christianity, when they find that revealed religion, from the first of the prophets to the last of the apostles, allots a subordinate position to the wife, they are compelled to believe moses and st. paul in the right, and the philosophers of the present day, whether male or female, in the wrong. to speak frankly, the excessive boldness of these new theories, the incalculable and inconceivable benefits promised us from this revolution from the natural condition of things in christendom--and throughout the world indeed--would lead us to suspicion. guides who appeal to the imagination when discussing practical questions are not generally considered the safest. and the champions of female suffrage are necessarily compelled to take this course. they have no positive foundation to rest on. mr. stuart mill has said in parliament, in connection with this subject, that "the tyranny of established custom has entirely passed away." nothing can be more true than this assertion. as a rule, the past is now looked upon with doubt, with suspicion, often with a certain sort of contempt, very far from being always consistent with sound reason. the tyranny of the present day--and it may be just as much a tyranny as the other--is radically opposite in character. it is the tyranny of novelty to which we are most exposed at present. the dangers lie chiefly in that direction. there will be little to fear from the old until the hour of reaction arrives, as it inevitably must, if the human mind be strained too far in a new direction. at present the more startling an assertion, the farther it wanders from all past experience, the greater are its chances of attracting attention, of gaining adherents, of achieving at least a partial and temporary success. in the age and in the country which has seen the development of mormonism as a successful religious, social, and political system, nothing should surprise us. such is the restlessness of human nature that it will often, from mere weak hankering after change, hug to its bosom the wildest theories, and yield them a temporary allegiance. let us suppose that to-day the proposed revolution were effected; all women, without restriction, even the most vile, would be summoned to vote in accordance with their favorite theory of inalienable right. that class of women, and other degraded classes of the ignorant and unprincipled, will always be ready to sell their votes many times over--to either party, to both parties, to the highest bidder, in short. they will sell their vote much more readily than the lowest classes of men now do. they will hold it with greater levity. they will trifle with it. they will sell their vote any day for a yard of ribbon or a tinsel brooch--unless they are offered two yards of ribbon or two brooches. they will vote over again every hour of every election day, by cunning disguises and trickery. and thus, so far as women are concerned, the most degraded element in society will, in fact, represent the whole sex. nay, they will probably not unfrequently command the elections, as three colored women are said once to have done in new jersey. a hundred honest and intelligent women can have but one vote each, and at least fifty of these will generally stay at home. if, which god forbid, it actually comes to female voting, a very small proportion of the sex will, at common elections, appear at the polls. avocations more urgent, more natural to them, and in which they are more deeply interested, will keep them away. the degraded women will be there by the scores, as tools of men, enjoying both the importance of the hour, the fun, and the pay. fifty women, known to be thieves and prostitutes, will hold, at a moderate calculation, say two hundred votes. and, as women form the majority of the resident population in some states, that wretched element of society will, in fact, govern those states, or those who bribe them will do so. massachusetts, very favorable to female suffrage now, will probably come round to the opinion of new jersey in former days. great will be the consumption of cheap ribbons, and laces, and artificial flowers, and feathers, and tinsel jewelry, in every town and village about election time, after emancipation is achieved. we are compelled to believe so, judging from our knowledge of human nature, and of the use already made of bribery at many elections. the demagogues will be more powerful than ever. their work will be made easy for them. it seems, indeed, probable that under the new era our great elections shall become a sort of grand national gift concerns, of which the most active demagogues of all parties will be the managers. not that women are more mercenary, or more unprincipled than men. god forbid! that would be saying too much. we entirely believe the reverse to be true. but the great mass of women can never be made to take a deep, a sincere, a discriminating, a lasting interest in the thousand political questions ever arising to be settled by the vote. they very soon weary of such questions. on great occasions they can work themselves up to a state of frenzied excitement over some one political question. at such times they can parade a degree of unreasoning prejudice, of passionate hatred, of blind fury, even beyond what man can boast of. but, in their natural condition, in everyday life, they do not take instinctively to politics as men do. men are born politicians; just as they are born masons, and carpenters, and soldiers, and sailors. not so women. their thoughts and feelings are given to other matters. the current of their chosen avocations runs in another channel than that of politics--a channel generally quite out of sight of politics; it is an effort for them to turn from one to the other. with men, on the contrary, politics, either directly or indirectly, are closely, palpably, inevitably blended with their regular work in life. they give their attention unconsciously, spontaneously; to politics. look at a family of children, half boys, half girls; the boys take instinctively to whips and guns and balls and bats and horses, to fighting and wrestling and riding; the girls fondle their dolls, beg for a needle and thread, play at housekeeping, at giving tea-parties, at nursing the sick baby, at teaching school. that difference lasts through life. give your son, as he grows up, a gun and a vote; he will delight in both. give your daughter, as she grows up, a gun and a vote, and, unless she be an exceptional woman, she will make a really good use of neither. your son may be dull; but he will make a good soldier, and a very tolerable voter. your daughter may be very clever; but she would certainly run away on the battle-held, and very probably draw a caricature on the election ticket. there is the making of an admirable wife and mother, and a valuable member of society, in that clever young woman. she is highly intelligent, thoroughly well educated, reads greek and latin, and has a wider range of knowledge and thought than ninety-nine in a hundred of the voters in the same district; but there is nothing of the politician in her nature. she would rather any day read a fine poem than the best political speech of the hour. what she does know of politics reaches her through that dull but worthy brother of hers. it is only occasionally that we meet women with an inherent bias for politics; and those are not, as a rule, the highest type of the sex--it is only occasionally that they are so. the interest most women feel in politics is secondary, factitious, engrafted on them by the men nearest to them. women are not abortive men; they are a distinct creation. the eye and the ear, though both belonging to the same body, are each, in a certain sense, a distinct creation. a body endowed with four ears might hear remarkably well; but without eyes it would be of little use in the world. a body with four eyes would have a fourfold power of vision, and would consequently become nearly as sharp-sighted as a spider; but without hearing its powers of sight would avail little. in both cases, half the functions of the human being, whether physical or mental, would be very imperfectly performed. thus it is with men and women; each has a distinct position to fill in the great social body, and is especially qualified for it. these distinct positions are each highly important. and it is reasonable to believe that, by filling their own peculiar position thoroughly well, women can best serve their creator, their fellow-creatures, and themselves. no doubt you may, if you choose, by especial education from childhood upward, make your girls very respectable politicians, as much so as the majority of your sons. but in that case you must give up your womanly daughters--you must be content with manly daughters. this essential difference between the sexes is a very striking fact; yet the advocates of female suffrage constantly lose sight of it; they talk and write as if it had no existence. it is not lack of intellect on the part of women, but difference of intellect, or rather a difference of organization and affinities giving a different bias to the intellect, which is the cause of their distinct mental character as a sex. and, owing to this essential difference, the great majority of women are naturally disinclined to politics, and partially unfitted for action in that field. female suffrage. a letter to the christian women of america. part ii. let us now look for a moment at the actual condition of women in america, in connection with the predicted elevation. we are told they are to be elevated by the suffrage--and that by hanging on to the election tickets in the hands of their wives, the men are to be elevated with them. what, therefore, is the ground women now occupy, and from whence they are to soar upward on the paper wings of the ballot? the principal facts connected with that position are self-evident; there is nothing vague or uncertain here; we have but to look about us and the question is answered. we already know, for instance, from daily observation and actual experience, that, as a general rule, the kindness and consideration of american men have been great, both in public and in private life. we know that in american society women have been respected, they have been favored, they have been protected, they have been beloved. there has been a readiness to listen to their requests, to redress grievances, to make changes whenever these have become necessary or advisable. such, until very recently, has been the general current of public feeling, the general tendency of public action, in america. if there appear to-day occasional symptoms of a change in the tone of men on this point, it is to be attributed to the agitation of the very question we are now discussing. whenever women make ill-judged, unnatural, extravagant demands, they must prepare to lose ground. yes, even where the particular points in dispute are conceded to their reiterated importunity, they must still eventually lower their general standing and consideration by every false step. there are occasions where victory is more really perilous than a timely defeat; a temporary triumph may lead to ground which the victors can not permanently hold to their own true and lasting advantage. on the other hand, every just and judicious demand women may now make with the certainty of successful results. this is, indeed, the great fact which especially contributes to render the birthright of american women a favorable one. if the men of the country are already disposed to redress existing grievances, where women are concerned, as we know them to be, and if they are also ready, as we know them to be, to forward all needful future development of true womanly action, what more, pray, can we reasonably ask of them? where lies this dim necessity of thrusting upon women the burdens of the suffrage? and why should the entire nation be thrown into the perilous convulsions of a revolution more truly formidable than any yet attempted on earth? bear in mind that this is a revolution which, if successful in all its aims, can scarcely fail to sunder the family roof-tree, and to uproot the family hearth-stone. it is the avowed determination of many of its champions that it shall do so; while with another class of its leaders, to weaken and undermine the authority of the christian faith in the household is an object if not frankly avowed yet scarcely concealed. the great majority of the women enlisted in this movement--many of them, it is needless to say, very worthy persons as individuals--are little aware of all the perils into which some of their most zealous male allies would lead them. degradation for the sex, and not true and lasting elevation, appear to most of us likely to be the end to which this movement must necessarily tend, unless it be checked by the latent good sense, the true wisdom, and the religious principle of women themselves, aroused, at length, to protest, to resist. if we are called upon for proof of the assertion, that american men are already prepared to redress actual grievances, we find that proof in their course at the present moment. observe the patience with which our legislative bodies are now considering the petitions of a clamorous minority demanding the redress of a fictitious grievance--a minority demanding a political position which the majority of their sex still utterly reject--a position repugnant to the habits, the feelings, the tastes, and the principles of that majority. if men are willing to give their attention to these querulous demands of a small minority of our sex, how much more surely may we rely on their sympathy, and their efficient support, when some measure in which the interests of the whole sex are clearly involved shall be brought before them by all their wives and mothers? and again: they are not only already prepared to redress grievances, but also to forward all needed development of true womanly action. take, in proof of this, assertion, the subject of education. this is, beyond all doubt the vital question of the age, embracing within its limits all others. education is of far more importance than the suffrage, which is eventually subject to it, controlled by it. this is, indeed, a question altogether too grave, too comprehensive, and too complicated in some of its bearings to be more than briefly alluded to here. but let us consider education for a moment as the mere acquirement of intellectual knowledge. this is but one of its phases, and that one not the most important; but such is the popular, though very inadequate, idea of the subject in america. observe how much has already been done in this sense for the instruction of the woman of our country. in the common district schools, and even in the high schools of the larger towns, the same facilities are generally offered to both sexes; in the public schools brother and sister have, as a rule, the same books and the same teachers. and we may go much further and say that every woman in the country may already--if she is determined to do so--obtain very much the same intellectual instruction which her own brother receives. if that education is a highly advanced one she will, no doubt, have some special difficulties to contend against; but those difficulties are not insurmountable. the doors of most colleges and universities are closed, it is true, against women, and we can not doubt that this course is taken for sound reasons, pointed out by good sense and true sagacity. it is impossible not to believe that between the ages of fifteen and five-and-twenty young men and young women will carry on their intellectual training far more thoroughly and successfully apart than thrown into the same classes. at that age of vivid impressions and awakening passions, the two sexes are sufficiently thrown together in family life and in general society for all purposes of mutual influence and improvement. let them chat, walk, sing, dance together, at that period of their lives; but if you wish to make them good scholars, let them study apart. let their loves and jealousies be carried on elsewhere than in the college halls. but already female colleges, exclusively adapted to young women, are talked of--nay, here and there one or two such colleges now exist. there is nothing in which american men more delight, nothing more congenial to their usual modes of thought and action, than to advance the intellectual instruction of the whole nation, daughters as well as sons. we may rest assured that they will not fail to grant all needful development in this direction. one female college, of the very highest intellectual standard, would probably be found sufficient for a population of some millions. the number of women desiring a full college education will always, for many different reasons, be much smaller than the number of male students. but there is no good reason why such colleges, when found desirable, should not enter into our future american civilization. individual american women may yet, by these means, make high progress in science, and render good service to the country and the race. every branch of study which may be carried on thoroughly and successfully, without impairing womanly modesty of mind and manner, should be so far opened to the sex as to allow those individuals to whom providence has given the ability for deep research to carry them to the farthest point needed. but as regards those studies which are intended to open the way to professions essentially bold and masculine in character, we do not see how it is within the bounds of possibility for young women to move onward in that direction without losing some of their most precious womanly prerogatives--without, in short, unsexing themselves. the really critical point with regard to the present position of women in america is the question of work and wages. here the pocket of man is touched. and the pocket is the most sensitive point with many men, not only in america, but all the world over. there can be no doubt whatever that women are now driven away from certain occupations, to which they are well adapted, by the selfishness of some men. and in many departments where they are day-laborers for commercial firms they are inadequately paid, and compelled to provide food, lodging, fuel, and light out of scanty wages. yes, we have here one of the few real grievances of which american women have a just right to complain. but even here--even where the pocket is directly touched, we still believe that women may obtain full justice in the end, by pursuing the right course. only let the reality of the grievance be clearly proved, and redress will follow, ere long. providence has the power of bringing good out of evil; and therefore we believe that the movement now going on will here, at least, show some lasting results for good. the "song of the shirt" shall, we trust, ere long become an obsolete lay in our country. our women, twenty years hence, shall be better paid in some of their old fields of labor; and new openings, appropriate to their abilities, mental and physical, shall also be made for them. and here they are much more likely to succeed without the suffrage than with it. it is not by general law-making that they can better themselves in these particulars. individual fitness for this or that branch of work is what is required for success. and if, by thorough preparation, women can discharge this or that task, not essentially masculine in its requirements, as well as men, they may rest assured that in the end their wages will be the same as those of their fathers and brothers in the same field of work. and how is it with our homes--how fares it with american women in the family circle? to all right-minded women the duties connected with home are most imperative, most precious, most blessed of all, partaking as they do of the spirit of religious duty. to women this class of duties is by choice, and by necessity, much more absorbing than it is to men. it is the especial field of activity to which providence has called them; for which their maker has qualified them by peculiar adaptation of body and mind. to the great majority of american women these duties are especially absorbing, owing to the difficulty of procuring paid subordinates, well qualified for the tasks they undertake. the task of positive labor, and the task of close supervision, are both particularly burdensome to american wives and mothers. thus far, or at least until very recently, those duties of wife and mother have been generally performed conscientiously. the heart of every worthy american woman is in her home. that home, with its manifold interests, is especially under her government. the good order, the convenience, the comfort, the pleasantness, the whole economy of the house, in short, depend in a very great measure on her. the food of the family is prepared by her, either directly or by close supervision. the clothing of the family passes through her hands or under her eye. the health of the family is included within the same tender, watchful, loving oversight. the education of the children is chiefly directed by her--in many families almost exclusively so. whether for evil or for good, by careless neglect or by patient, thoughtful, prayerful guidance, she marks out their future course. this is even too much the case. american fathers love their children fondly; no fathers more affectionate than they are; they pet their children; they toil ceaselessly for them; but their education they leave almost entirely to the mother. it may be said, with perfect truth, that in the great majority of american families the educational influences come chiefly from the mother; they are tacitly made over to her as a matter of course. the father has too often very little to do with them. his work lies abroad, in the world of business or politics, where all his time and attention are fully absorbed. in this way the american mother rules the very heart of her family. if at all worthy she has great influence with her husband; she has great influence over her daughters; and as regards her sons, there are too many cases in which hers is the only influence for good to which they yield. is there so little of true elevation and dignity in this position that american women should be in such hot haste to abandon it for a position as yet wholly untried, entirely theoretical and visionary? it will be said that all women are not married, that all wives are not mothers, that there are childless widows and many single women in the country. quite true, but in a rapid sketch one looks at the chief features only; and home life, with its varied duties, is, of course, the principal point in every christian country. the picture is essentially correct, without touching on lesser details. we pause here to observe also that almost every single woman has a home somewhere. she makes a home for herself, or she is ingrafted on the home of others, and wherever she may be--even in that wretched kind of existence, boarding-house life--she may, if she choose, carry something of the home spirit with her. in fact, every true woman instinctively does so, whatever be the roof that covers her head. she thinks for others, she plans for others, she serves others, she loves and cherishes others, she unconsciously throws something of the web of home feeling and home action over those near her, and over the dwelling she inhabits. she carries the spirit of home and its duties into the niche allotted to her--a niche with which she is generally far more contented than the world at large believes--a niche which is never so narrow but that it provides abundant material for varied work--often very pleasant work too. let it be understood, once for all, that the champions of widows and single women are very much given to talking and writing absurdly on this point. their premises are often wholly false. they often fancy discontent and disappointment and inaction where those elements have no existence. certainly it is not in the least worth while to risk a tremendous social revolution in behalf of this minority of the sex. every widow and single woman can, if she choose, already find abundance of the most noble occupation for heart, mind, body, and soul. carry the vote into her niche, she certainly will be none the happier or more truly respectable for that bit of paper. it is also an error to suppose that among the claimants for suffrage single women are the most numerous or the most clamorous. the great majority of the leaders in this movement appear to be married women. a word more on the subject of home life, as one in which the interests of the whole sex are most closely involved. it is clear that those interests are manifold, highly important to the welfare of the race, unceasing in their recurrence, urgent and imperative in their nature, requiring for their successful development such devotion of time, labor, strength, thought, feeling, that they must necessarily leave but little leisure to the person who faithfully discharges them. the comfort, health, peace, temper, recreation, general welfare, intellectual, moral, and religious training of a family make up, indeed, a charge of the very highest dignity, and one which must tax to the utmost every faculty of the individual to whom it is intrusted. the commander of a regiment at the head of his men, the member of congress in his seat, the judge on his bench, scarcely holds a position so important, so truly honorable, as that of the intelligent, devoted, faithful american wife and mother, wisely governing her household. and what are the interests of the merchant, the manufacturer, the banker, the broker, the speculator, the selfish politician, when compared with those confided to the christian wife and mother? they are too often simply contemptible--a wretched, feverish, maddening struggle to pile up lucre, which is any thing but clean. where is the superior merit of such a life, that we should hanker after it, when placed beside that of the loving, unselfish, christian wife and mother--the wife, standing at her husband's side, to cheer, to aid, to strengthen, to console, to counsel, amidst the trials of life; the mother, patiently, painfully, and prayerfully cultivating every higher faculty of her children for worthy action through time and eternity? which of these positions has the most of true elevation connected with it? and then, again, let as look at the present position of american women in society. in its best aspects social life may be said to be the natural outgrowth of the christian home. it is something far better than the world, than vanity fair, than the court of mammon, where all selfish passions meet and parade in deceptive masquerade. it is the selfish element in human nature which pervades what we call the world; self-indulgence, enjoyment, the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, the pride of life, receive, in that arena, their full development. society, on the contrary, in its highest meaning, becomes the practical development of the second great commandment, loving and serving our neighbor. in every christian country there are many individuals, especially among women, to whom social life practically bears that meaning. public worship itself is a social act, the highest of all, blending in one the spirit of the two great commandments--the love of god and the love of man. and whatever of social action or social enjoyment is not inconsistent with those two great commandments becomes the christian's heritage, makes a part, more or less important, of his education, enters into the great stream of the better civilization. and it is here that we reach what may be called the more public duties of woman. from all duties entirely public she is now, or she may be if she choose, relieved by man. these more public duties of hers are still but the outgrowth of her home life, and more or less closely interwoven with it. they are very important, never to be neglected with impunity. the really unsocial woman is in great danger of becoming also un-christian. every friend crossing the threshold brings social life into the home. the genial smile, the kindly greeting, the cheering word, all these and a thousand other gracious impulses, are, of course, but the first instinctive movements of the social feeling. and from these we move onward over a vast field of action, to the very farthest point reached by the higher charities of christianity. there can be no doubt that the charm, the grace, and the happy cheerfulness of society are chiefly due to women; and it is also true that the whole unwritten common-law of society is, in a great measure, under their control. the world is constantly encroaching here, enervating and corrupting social life. to oppose wisely, skillfully, and effectually these treacherous encroachments, these alluring temptations, is one of the most difficult tasks possible. to contribute her full share toward purifying and brightening the social atmosphere about her, in accordance with the spirit of true christian civilization, such is one great and essential part of woman's work in life. it is a work more especially her own. man, without his helpmeet, can do but little here. his faculties are absorbed by other tasks, not more important, but more engrossing and essentially different. the finer tact, the more graceful manner, the quicker wit, the more tender conscience, are all needed here. every woman in the country has her own share of this work to do. each individual woman is responsible for the right use of all her own social influences, whether for good or for evil. to keep up the standard of female purity becomes emphatically one of the most stringent duties of every christian woman. for her own sake, for the sake of all she loves, for the sake of her country, for the service of christ and his church, she is bound to uphold this standard at a high point--a point entirely above suspicion. this task is of importance incalculable. but, owing to the frivolity of some women, and the very loose ideas of many men, it is no easy task. undoubtedly, the very great majority of women are born modest at heart. their nature is by many degrees less coarse than that of man. and their conscience is more tender. but there is one temptation to which they too often yield. with them the great dangers are vanity and the thirst for admiration, which often become a sort of diseased excitement--what drinking or gambling is to men. here is the weak point. yielding chiefly to this temptation, scores of women are falling every day. vanity leads them to wear the extravagant, the flashy, the immodest, the unhealthy dress, to dance the immodest dance, to adopt the alluring manner, to carry flirting to extremes. vanity leads them, in short, to forget true self-respect, to enjoy the very doubtful compliment of a miserably cheap admiration. they become impatient of the least appearance of neglect or indifference, they become eager in pursuit of attention, while men always attribute that pursuit to motives of the coarsest kind. it is generally vanity alone which leads a married woman to receive the first disgraceful flattery of dissolute men. probably nine out of ten of those american women who have trifled with honor and reputation, whose names are spoken with the sneer of contempt, have been led on, step by step, in the path of sin by vanity as the chief motive. where one woman falls from low and coarse passions, a hundred fall from sheer levity and the love of admiration. to counteract this fatal influence young women must be taught to respect themselves, to be on their guard against vanity and its enticements, to cherish personal modesty in every way. the married woman who is quietly working by example or by precept among the young girls nearest to her, seeking to cherish and foster among them this vital principle of pure personal modesty in dress, in language, in reading, in tone of voice, in countenance, in manner--the natural outward expression of true modesty of heart--is doing far more for her country than if she were to mount the rostrum to-morrow and make a political speech eloquent as any of webster's. sensible women may always have a good measure of political influence of the right sort, if they choose. and it is in one sense a duty on their part to claim this influence, and to exert it, but always in the true womanly way. the influence of good sense, of a sound judgment, of good feeling may always he theirs. let us see that we preserve this influence, and that we use it wisely. but let us cherish our happy immunities as women by keeping aloof from all public personal action in the political field. there is much higher work for us to do. our time, our thoughts, our efforts may be given to labors far more important than any mere temporary electing, or law-making, passed today, annulled to-morrow, in obedience to the fickle spirit of party politics. that work is to promote by all worthy means the moral civilization of the country. toward this work legislation, the mere enacting of laws, can do but little. we have all heard of the shrewd mind who considered the songs of a people as more important than their laws. the moral condition of a nation is subject to many different influences--of these the statute book is but one, and that not the most important. no mere skeleton of political constitution can, of itself, produce moral health and strength. it is the living heart within which does the work. and over that heart women have very great influence. the home is the cradle of the nation. a sound home education is the most important of all moral influences. in the very powerful influences which affection gives them over the home, by teaching childhood, by guiding youth, over the men of their family, women have noble means for working good, not only to their own households, not only to the social circle about them, but to the nation at large. all these influences they can bring into action far more effectually by adhering closely to that position which is not only natural to them, but also plainly allotted to them by the revealed word of god. in no position of their own devising can they do that work half so well. political and social corruption are clearly the great evils to be dreaded for our country. we have already gone far enough in the path of universal manhood suffrage to feel convinced that no mere enlargement of the suffrage has power to save us from those evils. during half a century we have been moving nearer and nearer to a suffrage all but universal, and we have, during the same period, been growing more corrupt. the undisguised frauds at elections, the open accusations of bribery in legislative assemblies, the accusations of corruption connected with still higher offices--of these we read daily in the public prints. and these accusations are not disproved. they are generally believed. it is clear, therefore, that something more effectual than universal manhood suffrage is needed to stem the torrent. and it is simply ridiculous to suppose that womanhood suffrage can effect the same task. who can believe that where men, in their own natural field, have partially failed to preserve a healthful political atmosphere, an honest political practice, that women, so much less experienced, physically so much more feeble, so excitable, so liable to be misled by fancy, by feeling, are likely, in a position foreign to their nature, not only to stand upright themselves, but, like atlas of old, to bear the weight of the whole political world on their shoulders--like hercules, to cleanse the augean stables of the political coursers--to do, in short, all that man has failed to do? no; it is, alas! only too clear that something more than the ballot-box, whether in male or female hands, is needed here. and it is the same in social life. the public prints, under a free press, must always hold up a tolerably faithful mirror to the society about them. the picture it displays is no better in social life than in political life. we say the mirror is tolerably faithful, since there are heights of virtue and depths of sin alike unreflected by the daily press. the very purest and the very foulest elements of earthly existence are left out of the picture. but the general view can scarcely fail to be tolerably correct. take, then, the sketch of social life as it appears in some half dozen of the most popular prints from week to week. you will be sure to find the better features grievously blended with others fearfully distorted by evil. there are blots black as pitch in that picture. there are forms, more fiend-like than human, photographed on those sheets of paper. crimes of worse than brutal violence, savage cruelty, crimes of treachery and cowardly cunning and conspiracy, breach of trust, tyrannical extortion, groveling intemperance, sensuality gross and shameless--the heart sickens at the record of a week's crime! it is a record from which the christian woman often turns aside appalled. human nature can read no lessons of humility more powerful than those contained in the newspapers of the day. they preach what may be called home truths with most tremendous force. from this record of daily crime it is only too clear that universal suffrage has had no power to purify the society in which we live. if no worse, we can not claim to be better than other nations, under a different political rule. this admission becomes the more painful when we reflect that in america this full freedom of fundamental institutions, this relief from all needless shackles, is combined with a well-developed system of intellectual education. we are an absolutely free nation. we are, on the whole, and to a certain point, intellectually, an educated nation. yet vice and crime exist among us to an extent that is utterly disgraceful. it is evident, therefore, that universal manhood suffrage, even when combined with general education, is still insufficient for the task of purifying either social or political life. the theoretical infidel philosopher may wonder at this fact. not so the christian. great intellectual activity, and the abuse of that power for evil purposes, are a spectacle only too common in this world. look at the present condition of the most civilized nations. of all generations that have lived on earth, our own is assuredly the most enlightened, in an intellectual sense; mental culture has never been so generally diffused as it is to-day, nor has it ever achieved so many conquests as within the last half century; and yet mark how comparatively little has this wonderful intellectual progress accomplished in the noble work of improving the moral condition of the most enlightened countries. to the mind humbled by christian doctrine, living in the light of a holy faith, these facts, though unspeakably painful, can not cause surprise. we are prepared for them. we have already learned that no mere legislative enactment and no mere intellectual training can suffice to purify the human heart thoroughly. an element much more powerful than mental culture is needed for that great work. for this work light from on high is sent. a thorough moral education is required, and the highest form of that education can be reached in one way only--by walking in the plain path of obedience to the will of the creator, as revealed in holy scripture. we must turn, not to plato and aristotle, but to inspired prophet and apostle. we must open our hearts to the spirit of the decalogue and the sermon on the mount. we must go to sinai and to calvary, and humbly, on bended knee, receive the sublime lessons to be learned there. we should never have expected moral progress as an inevitable consequence of free institutions and mere intellectual education, had it not been that, like other nations, we indulge in idolatries, and among our "gods many" are the suffrage and mental activity. we are gravely told by philosophers that, with the vote in the hands of woman, the moral elevation of the race is secured forever! "great is diana of the ephesians!" the feeling is common in america that to doubt the omnipotence of universal suffrage in its extreme development is not only treason, but a sort of blasphemy. and this feeling is now leading many minds, unconsciously, perhaps, to shrink from opposing the present movement in favor of womanhood suffrage. they bow the knee to the common idol. they dare not believe it possible for the suffrage to be carried too far. for ourselves we have no sympathies whatever with idolatry. we fearlessly declare our opinion, therefore, that no political institutions whatever, neither despotic, nor monarchical, nor aristocratic, nor yet the most free, are capable, in themselves, of achieving moral education for a people. neither do we believe it more possible for abstract intellectual culture to gain this most important of all ends. institutions wisely free are a very great blessing. let us be fervently thankful for them. intellectual education is equally important and desirable. these are both noble and admirable means to work with, provided we still look above and beyond them for a further development of the race--for fullness of moral civilization. in fact, if we wish for a vigorous, healthful, lasting development of republican institutions, we must necessarily unite with these not only intellectual teaching, but also a sound moral education. this is a fact to which men, in the whirl of their political or commercial struggles, too often willfully shut their eyes. they are quite ready to acknowledge the truth of the assertion in a general way, but they choose to forget its vast importance in political or commercial practice. they recklessly lower the moral standard themselves, whenever that standard is at a height inconvenient for the attaining of some particular object toward which they are aiming. they are lacking in faith. unlike women, who carry faith with them in private life, men act as if faith were not needed in everyday public life. at least the great majority of men, nominal christians, fail to carry christian principle with them into common business or politics. faith, in the heart of women, is connected with love; consequently it is less easily stifled. they more frequently carry this principle with them in daily practice--not to the extent that they should do, but far more so than most men do. and here, christian women, is your great advantage. it is the lord's work to which we would urge you. the work of true faith, however lowly, is sure of a blessing. with faith unfeigned in your hearts, giving purity to your lives, you have it in your power to render most effectual service to the nation in your own natural sphere, far beyond what you could possibly accomplish by the path of common politics. you have never, as yet, done full justice to the advantages of your own actual position in this respect. you have overlooked the great work immediately before you. we have no magic talisman to offer you in carrying out that work. we shall not flatter you with the promise of unlimited success; we shall not attempt to gratify any personal ambition of public honors. we have no novel theories or brilliant illusions with which to dazzle your imagination. fidelity to plain moral duties--this is the one great principle to which we would most earnestly call your attention. there is absolutely no principle so sorely needed in the civilized world to-day as this. we live in an age of false and inflated ambitions. simple moral truths fare badly in our time. imposing theories, brilliant novelties, subtle sophistries, exaggerated development, arrogant pretensions--these too often crowd simple moral truths out of sight, out of mind. and yet, without that class of duties in healthful action, corruption more or less general is inevitable. truth of word, honesty of action, integrity of character, temperance, chastity, moderation, sincerity, subordination to just authority, conjugal fidelity, filial love and honor--these duties, and others closely connected with them, bear old and homely names. but, christian women, you can not ask for a task more noble, more truly elevating, for yourselves and your country, than to uphold these plain moral principles, first by your own personal example, and then by all pure influences in your homes and in the society to which you belong. in no other mode can you so well forward the great work of christian civilization as by devoting yourselves to the daily personal practice, and to the social cultivation, by example and influence, of these plain moral duties. your present domestic position is especially favorable to this task. you have more time for thought on these subjects; you have more frequent opportunities for influence over the young nearest to you; you have more leisure for prayer, for invoking a blessing on your efforts, however humble they may he. it is not enough to set a decent example yourselves. you must go to the very root of the matter. you must carry about with you hearts and minds very deeply impressed with the incalculable importance of a sound morality; you must be clearly convinced of the misery, the shame, the perils of all immorality. in this nineteenth century the civilization of a country must necessarily prove either heathen or christian in its spirit. there is no neutral ground lying between these boundaries. faith or infidelity, such is the choice we must all make, whether as individuals or as nations. thanks be to god we are not only in name, but also partially in character, a christian nation. faith is not entirely wanting. we all in a measure feel its good effects. even the avowed infidel living in our midst is far more under its influences, though indirectly so, than he is aware of. and where there is life, there we have hope of growth, of higher development. to cherish that growth, to further that higher development by all gracious and loving and generous influences, is a work for which women are especially adapted. they work from within outwardly. men work chiefly by mental and physical pressure from without. men work by external authority; women work by influences. men seek to control the head. women always aim at touching the heart. and we have the highest of all authority for believing that this last is the most efficient mode of working. "out of the heart are the issues of life." this, therefore, christian women, is your especial task. use all the happy womanly influences in your power to forward the moral education, the christian civilization, of the country to which you belong. be watchful, with the unfeigned humility of the christian, over your own personal course, and the example connected with it. aim at keeping up, on all occasions, a high practical standard of sound morality at all points. cultivate every germ of true moral principle in your own homes, and in the social circle about you. let the holy light of truth, honor, fidelity, honesty, purity, piety, and love brighten the atmosphere of your homes. what heathen civilization means we know from many sources, more especially from the records of rome under the empire, in the days of st. paul, when it had reached its highest development. what christian civilization means we learn from the apostle: "let him that nameth the name of christ depart from iniquity." "whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report--think on these things." proofreaders samantha among the brethren. by "josiah allen's wife" (marietta holley) part 7 chapter xxvi. he wuz jest a-countin' out his money prior to puttin' it away in his tin box, and i laid the subject before him strong and eloquent, jest the wants and needs of the meetin' house, and jest how hard we female sisters wuz a-workin', and jest how much we needed some money to buy our ingregiencies with for the fair. he set still, a-countin' out his money, but i know he heard me. there wuz four fifty dollar bills, a ten, and a five, and i felt that at the very least calculation he would hand me out the ten or the five, and mebby both on 'em. but he laid 'em careful in the box, and then pulled out his old pocket-book out of his pocket, and handed me a ten cent piece. [illustration: "handed me a ten cent piece."] i wuz mad. and i hain't a-goin' to deny that we had some words. or at least i said some words to him, and gin him a middlin' clear idee of how i felt on the subject. why, the colt wuz more mine than his in the first place, and i didn't want a cent of money for myself, but only wanted it for the good of the methodist meetin' house, which he ort to be full as interested in as i wuz. yes, i gin him a pretty lucid idee of what my feelin's wuz on the subject--and spozed mebby i had convinced him. i wuz a-standin' with my back to him, a-ironin' a shirt for him, when i finished up my piece of mind. and thought more'n as likely as not he'd break down and be repentent, and hand me out a ten dollar bill. but no, he spoke out as pert and cheerful as anything and sez he: "samantha, i don't think it is necessary for christians to give such a awful sight. jest look at the widder's mit." i turned right round and looked at him, holdin' my flat-iron in my right hand, and sez i: "what do you mean, josiah allen? what are you talkin' about?" [illustration: "what do you mean, josiah allen? what are you talkin' about?"] "why the widder's mit that is mentioned in scripter, and is talked about so much by christians to this day. most probable it wuz a odd one, i dare persume to say she had lost the mate to it. it specilly mentions that there wuzn't but one on 'em. and jest see how much that is talked over, and praised up clear down the ages, to this day. it couldn't have been worth more'n five cents, if it wuz worth that." "how do you spell mit, josiah allen?" sez i. "why m-i-t-e, mit." "i should think," sez i, "that that spells mite." "oh well, when you are a-readin' the bible, all the best commentaters agree that you must use your own judgment. mite! what sense is there in that? widder's mite! there hain't any sense in it, not a mite." and josiah kinder snickered here, as if he had made a dretful cute remark, bringin' the "mite" in in that way. but i didn't snicker, no, there wuzn't a shadow, or trace of anything to be heard in my linement, but solemn and bitter earnest. and i set the flat-iron down on the stove, solemn, and took up another, solemn, and went to ironin' on his shirt collar agin with solemnety and deep earnest. "no," josiah allen continued, "there hain't no sense in that--but mit! there you have sense. all wimmen wear mits; they love 'em. she most probable had a good pair, and lost one on 'em, and then give the other to the church. i tell you it takes men to translate the bible, they have such a realizin' sense of the weaknesses of wimmen, and how necessary it is to translate it in such a way as to show up them weaknesses, and quell her down, and make her know her place, make her know that man is her superior in every way, and it is her duty as well as privilege to look up to him." and josiah allen crossed his left leg over his right one, as haughty and over bearin' a-crossin' as i ever see in my life, and looked up haughtily at the stove-pipe hole in the ceilin', and resoomed, "but, as i wuz sayin' about her mit, the widder's, you know. that is jest my idee of givin', equinomical, savin', jest as it should be." "yes," sez i, in a very dry axent, most as dry as my flat-iron, and that wuz fairly hissin' hot. "she most probable had some man to advise her, and to tell her what use the mit would be to support a big meetin' house." oh, how dry my axent wuz. it wuz the very dryest, and most irony one i keep by me--and i keep dretful ironikle ones to use in cases of necessity. "most probable," sez josiah, "most probable she did." he thought i wuz praisin' men up, and he acted tickled most to death. "yes, some man without any doubt, advised her, told her that some other widder would lose one of hern, and give hers to the meetin' house, jest the mate to hern. that is the way i look at it," sez he "and i mean to mention that view of mine on this subject the very next time they take up a subscription in the meetin' house and call on me." but i turned and faced him then with the hot flat-iron in my hand, and burnin' indignation in my eys, and sez i: "if you mention that, josiah allen, in the meetin' house, or to any livin' soul on earth, i'll part with you." and i would, if it wuz the last move i ever made. but i gin up from that minute the idea of gettin' anything out of josiah allen for the fair. but i had some money of my own that i had got by sellin' three pounds of geese feathers and a bushel of dried apples, every feather picked by me, and every quarter of apple pared and peeled and strung and dried by me. it all come to upwerds of seven dollars, and i took every cent of it the next day out of my under bureau draw and carried it to the meetin' house and gin it to the treasurer, and told 'em, at the request of the hull on 'em, jest how i got the money. and so the hull of the female sisters did, as they handed in their money, told jest how they come by it. sister moss had seated three pairs of children's trouses for young miss gowdy, her children are very hard on their trouses (slidin' down the banesters and such). and young miss gowdy is onexperienced yet in mendin', so the patches won't show. and sister moss had got forty-seven cents for the job, and brung it all, every cent of it, with the exception of three cents she kep out to buy peppermint drops with. she has the colic fearful, and peppermint sometimes quells it. young miss gowdy wuz kep at home by some new, important business (twins). but she sent thirty-two cents, every cent of money she could rake and scrape, and that she had scrimped out of the money her husband had gin her for a woosted dress. she had sot her heart on havin' a ruffle round the bottom (he didn't give her enough for a overshirt), but she concluded to make it plain, and sent the ruffle money. and young sister serena nott had picked geese for her sister, who married a farmer up in zoar. she had picked ten geese at two cents apiece, and serena that tender-hearted that it wuz like pickin' the feathers offen her own back. [illustration: "she had picked ten geese at two cents apiece."] and then she is very timid, and skairt easy, and she owned up that while the pickin' of the geese almost broke her heart, the pickin' of the ganders almost skairt her to death. they wuz very high headed and warlike, and though she put a stockin' over their heads, they would lift 'em right up, stockin' and all, and hiss, and act, and she said she picked 'em at what seemed to her to be at the resk of her life. but she loved the meetin' house, so she grin and bore it, as the sayin' is, and she brung the hull of her hard earned money, and handed it over to the treasurer, and everybody that is at all educated knows that twice ten is twenty. she brung twenty cents. sister grimshaw had, and she owned it right out and out, got four dollars and fifty-three cents by sellin' butter on the sly. she had took it out of the butter tub when brother grimshaw's back wuz turned, and sold it to the neighbors for money at odd times through the year, and besides gettin' her a dress cap (for which she wuz fairly sufferin'), she gin the hull to the meetin' house. there wuz quite dubersome looks all round the room when she handed in the money and went right out, for she had a errent to the store. and sister gowdy spoke up and said she didn't exactly like to use money got in that way. but sister lanfear sprunted up, and brung jacob right into the argument, and the isrealites who borrowed jewelry of the egyptians, and then she brung up other old bible characters, and held 'em up before us. but still we some on us felt dubersome. and then another sister spoke up and said the hull property belonged to sister grimshaw, every mite of it, for he wuzn't worth a cent when he married her--she wuz the widder bettenger, and had a fine property. and grimshaw hadn't begun to earn what he had spent sense (he drinks). so, sez she, it all belongs to sister grimshaw, by right. then the sisters all begin to look less dubersome. but i sez: "why don't she come out openly and take the money she wants for her own use, and for church work, and charity?" "because he is so hard with her," sez sister lanfear, "and tears round so, and cusses, and commits so much wickedness. he is willin' she should dress well--wants her to--and live well. but he don't want her to spend a cent on the meetin' house. he is a atheist, and he hain't willin' she should help on the cause of religeon. and if he knows of her givin' any to the cause, he makes the awfulest fuss, scolds, and swears, and threatens her, so's she has been made sick by it, time and agin." "wall," sez i, "what business is it to him what she does with her own money and her own property?" i said this out full and square. but i confess that i did feel a little dubersome in my own mind. i felt that she ort to have took it more openly. and sister grimshaw's sister amelia, who lives with her (onmarried and older than sister grimshaw, though it hain't spozed to be the case, for she has hopes yet, and her age is kep). she had been and contoggled three days and a half for miss elder minkley, and got fifty cents a day for contogglin'. she had fixed over the waists of two old dresses, and contoggled a old dress skirt so's it looked most as well as new. amelia is a good contoggler and a good christian. and i shouldn't be surprised any day to see her snatched away by some widower or bachelder of proper age. she would be willin', so it is spozed. wall, sister henn kinder relented at the last, and brung two pairs of fowls, all picked, and tied up by their legs. and we thought it wuz kinder funny and providential that one henn should bring four more of'em. but we wuz tickled, for we knew we could sell 'em to the grocer man at jonesville for upwerds of a dollar bill. [illustration: "submit tewksbury did bring that plate."] and submit tewksbury, what should that good little creeter bring, and we couldn't any of us hardly believe our eyes at first, and think she could part with it, but she did bring _that plate_. that pink edged, chiny plate, with gilt sprigs, that she had used as a memorial of samuel danker for so many years. sot it up on the supper table and wept in front of it. wall, she knew old china like that would bring a fancy price, and she hadn't a cent of money she could bring, and she wanted to do her full part towerds helpin' the meetin' house along--so she tore up her memorial, a-weepin' on it for hours, so we spozed, and offered it up, a burnt chiny offerin' to the lord. wall, i am safe to say, that nothin' that had took place that day had begun to affect us like that. to see that good little creeter lookin' pale and considerble wan, hand in that plate and never groan over it, nor nothin', not out loud she didn't, but we spozed she kep up a silent groanin' inside of her, for we all knew the feelin' she felt for the plate. it affected all on us fearfully. but the treasurer took it, and thanked her almost warmly, and submit merely sez, when she wuz thanked: "oh, you are entirely welcome to it, and i hope it will fetch a good price, so's to help the cause along." and then she tried to smile a little mite. but i declare that smile wuz more pitiful than tears would have been. everybody has seen smiles that seemed made up, more than half, of unshed tears, and withered hopes, and disappointed dreams, etc., etc. submit's smile wuz of that variety, one of the very curiusest of 'em, too. wall, she gin, i guess, about two of 'em, and then she went and sot down. chapter xxvii. and now i am goin' to relate the very singulerist thing that ever happened in jonesville, or the world--although it is eppisodin' to tell on it now, and also a-gettin' ahead of my story, and hitchin', as you may say, my cart in front of my horse. but it has got to be told and i don't know but i may as well tell it now as any time. mebby you won't believe it. i don't know as i should myself, if it wuz told to me, that is, if it come through two or three. but any way it is the livin' truth. that very night as submit tewksbury sat alone at her supper table, a-lookin' at that vacent spot on the table-cloth opposite to her, where the plate laid for samuel danher had set for over twenty years, she heard a knock at the door, and she got up hasty and wiped away her tears and opened the door. a man stood there in the cold a-lookin' into the warm cosy little room. he didn't say nothin', he acted strange. he gin submit a look that pierced clear to her heart (so they say). a look that had in it the crystallized love and longin' of twenty years of faithfulness and heart hunger and homesickness. it wuz a strange look. submit's heart begun to flutter, and her face grew red and then white, and she sez in a little fine tremblin' voice, "who be you?" and he sez, "i am samuel danker." and then they say she fainted dead away, and fell over the rockin' chair, he not bein' near enough to ketch her. and he brung her to on a burnt feather that fell out of the chair cushion when she fell. there wuz a small hole in it, so they say, and the feather oozed out. i don't tell this for truth, i only say that _they say_ thus and so. [illustration: "i am samuel danker."] but as to samuel's return, that i can swear to, and so can josiah. and that they wuz married that very night of his return, that too can be swore to. a old minister who lived next door to submit--superanuated, but life enough in him to marry 'em safe and sound, a-performin' the ceremony. it made a great stir in jonesville, almost enormus. but they wuz married safe enough, and happy as two gambolin' lambs, so they say. any way submit looks ten years younger than she did, and i don't know but more. i don't know but she looks eleven or twelve years younger, and samuel, why they say it is a perfect sight to see how happy he looks, and how he has renewed his age. the hull affair wuz very pleasin' to the jonesvillians. why there wuzn't more'n one or two villians but what wuz fairly delighted by it, and they wuz spozed to be envius. and i drew severel morals from it, and drew 'em quite a good ways too, over both religous and seckuler grounds. one of the seekuler ones wuz drawed from her not settin' the table for him that night, for the first time for twenty years, givin' away the plate, and settin' on (with tears) only a stun chiny one for herself. how true it is that if a female woman keeps dressed up slick, piles of extra good cookin' on hand, and her house oncommon clean, and she sets down in a rockin' chair, lookin' down the road for company. [illustration: "they don't come!"] _they don't come!_ but let her on a cold mornin' leave her dishes onwashed, and her floors onswept, and put on her husband's old coat over her meanest dress, and go out (at his urgent request) to help him pick up apples before the frost spiles 'em. she a-layin' out to cook up some vittles to put on to her empty shelves when she goes into the house, she not a-dreamin' of company at that time of day. _they come!_ another moral and a more religeus one. when folks set alone sheddin' tears on their empty hands, that seem to 'em to be emptied of all hope and happiness forever. like es not some divine compensation is a-standin' right on the door steps, ready to enter in and dwell with 'em. also that when submit tewksbury thought she had gin away for conscience' sake, her dearest treasure, she had a dearer one gin to her--samuel danker by name. [illustration: "they come."] also i drew other ones of various sizes, needless to recapitulate, for time is hastenin', and i have eppisoded too fur, and to resoom, and take up agin on my finger the thread of my discourse, that i dropped in the methodist meetin' house at jonesville, in front of the treasurer. wall, submit brought the plate. sister nash brought twenty-three cents all in pennys, tied up in the corner of a old handkercif. she is dretful poor, but she had picked up these here and there doin' little jobs for folks. and we hadn't hardly the heart to take 'em, nor the heart to refuse takin' 'em, she wuz so set on givin' 'em. and it wuz jest so with mahala crane, joe cranes'es widder. she, too, is poor, but a christian, if there ever wuz one. she had made five pair of overhawls for the clothin' store in loontown, for which she had received the princely revenue of fifty cents. she handed the money over to the treasurer, and we wuz all on us extremely worked upon and wrought up to see her do it, for she did it with such a cheerful air. and her poor old calico dress she had on wuz so thin and wore out, and her dingy alpaca shawl wuz thin to mendin', and all darned in spots. we all felt that mahala had ort to took the money to get her a new dress. [illustration: "sister arvilly lanfrar, canvassin' for a book."] but we dasted none on us to say so to her. i wouldn't have been the one to tell her that for a dollar bill, she seemed to be so happy a-givin' her part towerds the fair, and for the good of the meetin' house she loved. wall, sister meachim had earned two dollars above her wages--she is a millinner by perswasion, and works at a millinner's shop in jonesville. she had earned the two dollars by stayin' and workin' nights after the day's work wuz done. and sister arvilly lanfear had earned three dollars and twenty-eight cents by canvassin' for a book. the name of the book wuz: "the wild, wicked, and warlike deeds of man." and arvilly said she had took solid comfort a-sellin' it, though she had to wade through snow and slush half way up to her knees some of the time, a-trailin' round from house to house a-takin' orders fer it. she said she loved to sell a book that wuz full of truth from the front page to the back bindin'. as for me i wouldn't gin a cent for the book, and i remember we had some words when she come to our house with it. i told her plain that i wouldn't buy no book that belittled my companion, or tried to--sez i, "arvilly, men are _jest_ as good as wimmen and no better, not a mite better." and arvilly didn't like it, but i made it up to her in other ways. i gin her some lamb's wool yarn for a pair of stockin's most immegictly afterwerds, and a half bushel of but'nuts. she is dretful fond of but'nuts. [illustration: "old miss balch."] wall, sister shelmadine had sold ten pounds of maple sugar, and brought the worth on it. and sister henzy brung four dollars and a half, her husband had gin her for another purpose, but she took it for this, and thought there wuzn't no harm in it, as she laid out to go without the four dollars and a halt's worth. it was fine shoes he had gin the money for, and she calculated to make the old ones do. and sister henzy's mother, old miss balch, she is eighty-three years old, and has inflamatery rheumatiz in her hands, which makes 'em all swelled up and painful. but sister henzy said her mother had knit three pairs of fringed mittens (the hardest work for her hands she could have laid holt of, and which must have hurt her fearful). but miss henzy said a neighbor had offered her five dollars fer the three pairs, and so she felt it wuz her duty to knit 'em, to help the fair along. she is a very strong methodist, and loved to forwerd the interests of zion. she wuz goin' to give every cent of the money to the meetin' house, so sister henzy said, all but ten cents, that she _had_ to have to get pond's extract with, to bathe her hands. they wuz in a fearful state. we all felt bad for old miss balch, and i don't believe there wuz a woman there but what gin her some different receipt fer helpin' her hands, besides sympathy, lots and lots of it, and pity. wall, sister sypher'ses husband is clost, very clost with her. she don't have anythin' to give, only her labor, as well off as they be. and now he wuz so wrapped up in that buzz saw mill business that she wouldn't have dasted to approach him any way, that is, to ask him for a cent. wall, what should that good little creeter do but gin all the money she had earned and saved durin' the past year or two, and had laid by for emergincies or bunnets. she had got over two dollars and seventy-five cents, which she handed right over to the treasurer of the fair to get materials for fancy work. when they wuz got she proposed to knit three pairs of men's socks out of zephyr woosted, and she said she was goin' to try to pick enough strawberrys to buy a pair of the socks for deacon sypher. she said it would be a comfort for her to do it, for they would be so soft for the deacon's feet. wall, sister gowdy wuz the last one to gin in dress gin to her by her uncle out to the ohio. it wuz gin her to mourn for her mother-in-law in. and what should that good, willin' creeter do but bring that dress and gin it to the fair to sell. we hated to take it, we hated to like dogs, for we knew sister gowdy needed it. but she would make us take it; she said "if her mother gowdy wuz alive, she would say to her, "sarah ann, i'd ruther not be mourned for in bombazeen than to have the dear old meetin' house in jonesville go to destruction. sell the dress and mourn fer me in a black calico." _that_ sister gowdy said would be, she knew, what mother gowdy would say to her if she wuz alive. and we couldn't dispute sarah ann, for we all knew that old miss gowdy worked for the meetin' house as long as she could work for anything. she loved the methodist meetin' house better than she loved husband or children, though she wuz a good wife and mother. she died with cramps, and her last request wuz to have this hymn sung to her funeral: [illustration: "i love thy kingdom, lord."] "i love thy kingdom, lord, the house of thine abode, the church our dear redeemer bought with his most precious blood." the quire all loved mother gowdy, and sung it accordin' to her wishes, and broke down, i well remember, at the third verse- "for her my tears shall fall, for her my prayers ascend, for her my toil and life be given, till life and toil shall end." the quire broke down, and the minister himself shed tears to think how she had carried out her belief all her life, and died with the thought of the church she loved on her heart and its name on her lips. wall, the dress would sell at the least calculation for eight dollars; the storekeeper had offered that, but sarah ann hoped it would bring ten to the fair. it wuz a cross to sarah ann, so we could see, for she had loved mother gowdy dretful well, and loved the uncle who had gin it to her, and she hadn't a nice black dress to her back. but she said she hadn't lived with mother gowdy twenty years for nothin', and see how she would always sacrifice anything and everything but principle for the good of the meetin' house. sister gowdy is a good-hearted woman, and we all on us honored her for this act of hern, though we felt it wuz almost too much for her to do it. wall, sister gowdy wuz the last one to gin in her testimony, and havin' got through relatin' our experiences we proceeded to business and paperin'. chapter xxviii. sister sylvester bobbet and i had been voted on es the ones best qualified to lead off in the arjeous and hazerdous enterprize. and though we deeply felt the honor they wuz a-heapin' on to us, yet es it hes been, time and agin, in other high places in the land, if it hadn't been fer duty that wuz a-grippin' holt of us, we would gladly have shirked out of it and gin the honor to some humble but worthy constituent. fer the lengths of paper wuz extremely long, the ceilin' fearfully high, and oh! how lofty and tottlin' the barells looked to us. and we both on us, sister sylvester bobbet and i, had giddy and dizzy spells right on the ground, let alone bein' perched up on barells, a-liftin' our arms up fur, fur beyond the strength of their sockets. [illustration: "we felt nerved up to do our best."] but duty wuz a-callin' us, and the other wimmen also, and it wuzn't for me, nor sister sylvester bobbet to wave her nor them off, or shirk out of hazerdous and dangerous jobs when the good of the methodist meetin' house wuz at the bay. no, with as lofty looks as i ever see in my life (i couldn't see my own, but i felt 'em), and with as resolute and martyrous feelin's as ever animated two wimmen's breasts, sister sylvester bobbet and i grasped holt of the length of paper, one on each end on it, sister arvilly lanfear and miss henzy a-holdin' it up in the middle like aaron and hur a-holdin' up moses'ses arms. we advanced and boldly mounted up onto our two barells, miss gowdy and sister sypher a-holdin' two chairs stiddy for us to mount up on. every eye in the meetin' house wuz on us. we felt nerved up to do our best, even if we perished in so doin', and i didn't know some of the time but we would fall at our two posts. the job wuz so much more wearin' and awful than we had foreboded, and we had foreboded about it day and night for weeks and weeks, every one on us. the extreme hite of the ceilin'; the slipperyness and fragility of the lengths of paper; the fearful hite and tottlin'ness of the barells; the dizzeness that swept over us at times, in spite of our marble efforts to be calm. the dretful achin' and strainin' of our armpits, that bid fair to loosen 'em from their four sockets. the tremenjous responsibility that laid onto us to get the paper on smooth and onwrinkled. it wuz, takin' it altogether, the most fearful and wearisome hour of my hull life. every female in the room held her breath in deathless anxiety (about thirty breaths). and every eye in the room wuz on us (about fifty-nine eyes--miss shelmadine hain't got but one workin' eye, the other is glass, though it hain't known, and must be kep). wall, it wuz a-goin' on smooth and onwrinkled--smiles broke out on every face, about thirty smiles--a half a minute more and it would be done, and done well. when at that tryin' and decisive moment when the fate of our meetin' house wuz, as you may say, at the stake, we heard the sound of hurryin' feet, and the door suddenly opened, and in walked josiah allen, deacon sypher, and deacon henzy followed by what seemed to me at the time to be the hull male part of the meetin' house. but we found out afterwerds that there wuz a few men in the meetin' house that thought wimmen ort to set; they argued that when wimmen had been standin' so long they out to set down; they wuz good dispositioned. but as i sez at the time, it looked to us as if every male methodist in the land wuz there and present. they wuz in great spirits, and their means wuz triumphant and satisfied. they had jest got the last news from the conference in new york village, and had come down in a body to disseminate it to us. they said the methodist conference had decided that the seven wimmen that had been stood up there in new york for the last week, couldn't set, that they wuz too weak and fraguile to set on the conference. and then the hull crowd of men, with smiles and haughty linements, beset josiah to read it out to us. so josiah allen, with his face nearly wreathed with a smile, a blissful smile, but as high headed a one as i ever see, read it all out to us. but he should have to hurry, he said, for he had got to carry the great and triumphant news all round, up as fur as zoar, if he had time. [illustration: "the methodist conference had decided that wimmen wuz too weak to set."] and so he read it out to us, and as we see that that breadth wuz spilte, we stopped our work for a minute and heard it. and after he had finished it, they all said it wuz a masterly dockument, the decision wuz a noble one, and it wuz jest what they had always said. they said they had always known that wimmen wuz too weak, her frame wuz too tender, she was onfitted by nater, in mind and in body to contend with such hardship. and they all agreed that it would be puttin' the men in a bad place, and takin' a good deal offen their dignity, if the fair sex had been allowed by them to take such hardships onto 'em. and they sez, some on 'em, "why! what are men in the methodist meetin' house for, if it hain't to guard the more weaker sect, and keep cares offen 'em?" and one or two on 'em mentioned the words, "cooin' doves" and "sweet tender flowerets," as is the way of men at such times. but they wuz in too big a hurry to spread themselves (as you may say) in this direction. they had to hurry off to tell the great news to other places in jonesville and up as fer as loontown and zoar. but sister arvilly lanfear, who happened to be a-standin' in the door as they went off, she said she heard 'em out as fer as the gate a-congratilatin' themselves and the methodist meetin' house and the nation on the decesion, for, sez they, "them angels hain't strong enough to set, and i've known it all the time." and sister sylvester gowdy sez to me, a-rubbin' herachin' armpits-"if they are as beet out as we be they'd be glad to set down on anything--a conference or anything else." and i sez, a-wipin' the presperatin of hard labor from my forwerd, "for the land's sake! yes! i should think so." and then with giddy heads and strainin' armpits we tackled the meetin' house agin. [illustration: the end] publishers' appendix. in view of the frequent reference, in this work, to the discussion in and preceding the general conference of the methodist episcopal church of 1888, in regard to the admission of women delegates, the publishers have deemed it desirable to append the six following addresses delivered on the floor of the conference during the progress of that discussion. the general conference of the methodist episcopal church is the highest legislative body of that denomination. it is composed of delegates, both ministerial and lay, the former being elected by the annual conferences, and the latter by lay electoral conferences. the sessions of the general conference are held quadrennially. prior to the session held in may, 1888, in new york city, women delegates were elected, one each, by the four following lay electoral conferences--namely, the kansas conference, the minnesota conference, the pittsburgh conference, and the rock river conference. protest was made against the admission of these delegates on the ground that the admission of women delegates was not in accord with the constitutional provisions of the church, embodied in what are termed the restrictive rules. a special committee on the eligibility of women to membership in the general conference was appointed, consisting of seventeen members, to whom the protest was referred. on may 3d the committee reported adversely to the admission of the four women delegates, the report alleging "that under the constitution and laws of the church as they now are, women are not eligible as lay delegates in the general conference." from the discussion following this report, and lasting several days, the following six addresses, three in favor of and three against the admission of the women delegates, are selected and presented, with a few verbal corrections, as published in the official journal of the conference. address of rev. dr. theodore l. flood. i am in accord, in the main, with dr. potts and dr. brush in what they have said on this question, unless it may be where my friend who last spoke said that these ladies, these elected delegates to this body, ought to be admitted. my judgment and my conscience before the discipline of the methodist episcopal church and the restrictive rules is that these women elected by these electoral conferences are in this general conference. their names may not have been called when the roll was called, and yet it was distinctly stated by the bishop presiding that morning that they would be called, and the challenges presented with their names; and afterward demanded it, the names of these delegates who were not enrolled with the others were called, and the protests were read. their names have been called as members of this body, and they are simply here as "challenged" members. from that standpoint this question must be discussed, and any disposition of this case under the circumstances must be in this direction. these women delegates must be put out of this general conference if they are not granted the rights and privileges of members here. it is not a question of "admitting" them. before this report, before the bar of history, we stand, and will be called upon to vote and act, and millions of people will hold us responsible, and i dare say that our votes will be recorded as to whether they shall be "put out" or "stay in." why, sir, the government of the methodist episcopal church exists for the ministry and membership of the church. the ministry and the membership of the church do not exist for the government. the world was made for man, and not man for the world. that is the fundamental idea in the government of god, as he treats us as human beings. that is the fundamental idea in the government of the methodist episcopal church, as we are enlisted in the support of that government as ministers and members of the church. now under this system of ecclesiastical government a time came in our history when we submitted a grave question to the membership of the church. it was not a question simply of petition, asking the membership to send petitions up to the general conference. on the contrary, it was submitting a constitutional question not simply to the male members of the church, for that grand and noble man of the methodist church, dr. david sherman of the new england conference, moved himself to strike out the word "male" from the report of the committee on lay delegation. it came to a vote, and it was stricken out, two to one in the vote. when that was done, then the general conference of our church submitted to the membership of the church the question of lay delegation. but back of the question of lay delegation was as grave a question, and that was granting the right of suffrage to the women of the church. the general conference assumed the responsibility of giving to the women the right to vote. it may be questioned this way; it may be explained that way; but the facts abide that the general conference granted to the women of the church the right to vote on a great and important question in ecclesiastical law. now if you run a parallel along the line of our government--and it has often been said that there are parallels in the government of the united states corresponding to lines of legislation and legislative action in the government of the church--you will find that the right of suffrage in the country at the ballot-box has been a gradual growth. one of the most sacred rights that a man, an american citizen, enjoys is the right to cast a ballot for the man or men he would have legislate for him; and for no trivial reason can that right, when once granted to the american citizen, be taken away from him. go to the state of massachusetts, and trace the history of citizen suffrage, and you find it commenced in this way: first, a man could vote under the government there who was a member of the church. next, he could vote if he were a freeholder. a little later on he could vote if he paid a poll-tax. in the government, and under the legislation of our church, first the women were granted the right to vote on the principle of lay delegation, not on the "plan" of lay delegation, but on the "principle" of lay delegation. that was decided by bishop simpson in the new hampshire conference, and by bishop janes afterward in one of the new york conferences. on the principle of lay delegation, the women of the church were granted the right of suffrage; presently they appeared in the quarterly conference, to vote as class-leaders, stewards, and sunday-school superintendents; and it created a little excitement, a feverish state of feeling in the church, and the general conference simply passed a resolution or a rule interpreting that action on the part of women claiming this privilege in the quarterly conference as being a "right," and it was continued. presently, as the right of suffrage of women passed on and grew, they voted in the electoral conferences, and there was no outcry made against it. i have yet to hear of any bishop in the church, or any presiding elder, or any minister challenging the right of women to vote in electoral conferences or quarterly conferences; and yet for sixteen years they have been voting in these bodies; voting to send laymen here to legislate; to send laymen to the general conference to elect bishops and editors and book agents and secretaries. they come to where votes count in making up this body; they have been voting sixteen years, and only now, when the logical result of the right of suffrage that the general conference gave to women appears and confronts us by women coming here to vote as delegates, do we rise up and protest. i believe that it is at the wrong time that the protest comes. it should have come when the right to vote was granted to women in the church. it is sixteen years too late, and as was very wisely said by dr. potts, the objection comes not so much from the constitution of the church as from the "constitution of the men," who challenge these women. now, sir, another parallel. you take the united states government just after the war, when the colored people of the south, the freedmen of our land, unable to take care of themselves, their friends, that had fought the battles of the war, in congress determined that they should be protected, if no longer by bayonets and cannon, that they should be protected by placing the ballot in their hands, and the ballot was placed in the hands of the freedman of the south by the action of the national congress, congress submitting a constitutional amendment to the legislatures of the states; and when enough of them had voted in favor of it, and the president had signed the bill, it became an amendment to the constitution of the united states, granting to the people of the south, who had been disfranchised, the right of suffrage. now, what does the right of suffrage do? it carries with it the right to hold office. where women have the privileges of voting on the school question, they are granted the privilege of being school directors, holding the office of superintendents, and the restriction on them stops at that point under statute law. if you go a little further you will find that when the freedmen were enfranchised, and they sent men of their own color to the house of representatives, did that body say "stop!" "we protest, you cannot come in because of illegality"? no. they were admitted on the face of their credentials because they had first been granted the right of suffrage. when men of their color went to the united states senate and submitted their credentials, they were not protested against, but they were admitted as members of the united states senate on the face of their credentials. and why? because the right of suffrage granted to the freedmen of the south under a constitutional amendment of the nation, carried with it the right of the men whom we fought to free, and did free, in an awful war, to hold office in the nation. now, sir, you must interpret the law somewhat by the spirit of the times in which you live. that is a mistaken notion to say that you must always go to the men that made the law to get the interpretation of it. if that were true, would it not always be wise for legislators to give their affidavits and place on file their interpretation of the law they had confirmed, and placed on the statute books? there are legal gentlemen in this body who will tell you that it goes for very little when you come to interpret law. and yet you will find this to be true, that a law must be interpreted somewhat by the spirit of the time in which you live. why, twenty years ago, when the general conference handed the question of lay delegation down to the annual conferences, and the members of our church, there was not a woman practising law in the supreme court of the united states. go back through the history of jurisprudence of this country and in england, and you will find that it had never been known that a woman practised law in the supreme court of this country or england. but to-day women have been admitted to practise law in the supreme court of the united states. no amendment to the constitution of the united states had to be adopted in order to secure this privilege for them. but this is true, that the judges of the supreme court, by a more liberal interpretation of the constitution of the united states, said, "women may be officers of the supreme court, and may practise law there." the same kind of a spirit, in interpreting the discipline and the restrictive rules of the discipline of the church, will place these women delegates in this body where they have been sent. the same thing is true of the supreme court of pennsylvania and in the courts of philadelphia. there is no way out, as my judgment sees, and as my conscience tells me, since before the government of god man and woman are equally responsible. there is no way out of this dilemma for this general conference, but to say that these women delegates shall sit in this body, where they have been sent, and where their names have been called. why, take the missionary operations. the woman's missionary society is to-day raising more money and doing more missionary work than the parent missionary society did fifty years ago. and yet men legislate concerning the missionary operations of women, and give them no voice directly in this body. we bring up the temperance question here against license and in favor of prohibition, and we pass our resolutions after we have given our discussions, and yet the methodist church has the honor of having in the ranks of her membership--(time called.) address of rev. dr. james m. buckley. mr. president, while the last speaker was on the floor, a modification of a passage of scripture occurred to me, "the enemy cometh in like a flood, but i will lift up a standard against him." it is somewhat peculiar that he should begin by making a statement about one of the most honored names in american methodism, a statement that has been published in the papers, and that nine tenths of this body knew as well as he did. it must have been intended as a part of his argument, and i regard it as of as much force as anything he said after it. but in point of fact the question does not turn upon the person, but upon the principle. i have received an anonymous letter containing the following among other things, "beware how you attack the holy cause of woman. do you not know that obstacles to progress are rem-o-o-v-e-d out of the way?" the signature of that letter is ingenious. i cannot tell whether it was a man or a woman, for it reads as follows, "a lover of your soul and of woman." now, mr. president, the only candlestick that ought to be removed out of its place is the candlestick that contains a candle that does not burn the pure oil of truth. and i believe, sir, that with the best of intentions the three speakers who have appeared have given us three chapters in different styles of a work of fiction, and it is my duty to undertake to show where they have slipped. the apocrypha says, "an eloquent man is known far and near; but a man of understanding discerneth where he slippeth." i have no claim to eloquence; never pretended to have any; but i have a claim to some knowledge of methodist history, to some ability to state my sentiments, and to be without any fear of the results, either present or prospective. now, mr. president, you notice from my friends that if they cannot command the judgment of the conference they propose to say the women are in, and defy us to put them out. i am sorry that my friend did not take in the full significance of that. and they say that everybody who has a certificate in form is in until he is put out. why, they do not discriminate between ordinary contested cases and a case where the constitutional point is involved. if these women have a right here, they have had it from the beginning by the constitution. it is not a contested case as to whether john smith was voted for by the people who ought to vote for him, or in the right place. now, they talk of bringing up documents here. i wrote to the hon. george f. edmunds, the most distinguished member of the united states senate, and simply put this question, if a certificate of election in the senate shows anything that would prove the person unworthy of a seat, would he be seated pending an investigation or not? he did not know what it referred to, and i read it _verbatim_. i never mentioned the name of methodist, and i read _verbatim_ from his letter: "no officer of the senate has any right to decide any such question, and, therefore, every person admitted to a seat is admitted by, in fact, a vote of the senate. the ordinary course in the senate is, when the credentials appear to be perfectly regular, and there is no notorious and undisputed fact or circumstance against the qualifications and election of a senator, to admit him at once and settle the question of his right afterward. but there have been cases in which the senate declined to admit a claimant holding a regular certificate upon the ground that enough was known to the senate to justify its declining to receive him until an inquiry should be had. very truly yours, "george f. edmunds." now, mr. president, all this twaddle about the women being in is based upon the pretence that one woman is there now. the certificate shows that they were women, though as yet no action has been taken in regard to them at all. if they were in, they were in with a constitutional challenge. i champion the holy cause of women. i stand here to champion their cause against their being introduced into this body without their own sex having had the opportunity of expressing their opinion upon the subject. i stand here to protect them against being connected with movements without law or contrary to law, and those who wish to bring them in and those who say it is the constitution of the man and prejudice (my friend, dr. potts, said prejudice), they are persons, indeed, to stand up here as, _par excellence_ the champions of women! is it the constitution of the men? have you read the letter of mrs. caroline wright in the _christian advocate_, one of our most distinguished american methodist women? she does not wish to see them here. it is the constitution of the woman in that case, and i am opposed to their being admitted until the general sentiment of the women and the men of our church have an opportunity of being heard upon it. now, mr. president, note these facts.... this is not a fact, but my opinion. i solemnly believe that there was never an hour in the methodist episcopal church when it was in so great danger as it is to-day, not on account of the admission of these women, two of whom i believe to be as competent to sit in judgment on this question as any man on this floor. that is not the question, as i propose to show. i assert freely, here and now, if the women are in under the restrictive rules, no power ought to put them out. if they are not in under the restrictive rules, nothing has been done since, in my judgment, bearing upon it. i am astounded that these brethren fancy that this question has no bearing at all on the meaning of that rule. that is a wonderful thing. but we affirm that when the church voted to introduce lay delegation, it not only did not intend to introduce women, but it did intend to fill up the whole body with men. that is what we affirm. if we can prove it, it is a tower of help to us. if we cannot prove it, we cannot make out our case. but our contention is, that the church did not undertake to put women in, and it did undertake to fill up the capacities and relations of the body with men. now, look at it. no man goes to the dictionary to find the meaning of the word "layman." there is not a man that can find out the meaning of our restrictive rules from the dictionary. no living man can make out the meaning of a word in the restrictive rules from webster's dictionary. you must get it from the history of the church. who is the "general superintendent" by webster or worcester? the methodist episcopacy is the thing that is protected by the restrictive rules. the dictionary does not tell how the chartered fund shall be taken care of. now they talk about laymen. they do not seem, i think, to understand the history of the thing. some of them do not appear to understand the history of the english language. why was the word "layman" ever introduced? because there was a separate class of clergy men in the world, but there was not a class of clergywomen in the world. if there had been, there would have been a term for laywomen and for clergywomen. and the word was invented to distinguish the laymen from the _clergy_men. had there been clergywomen, there would have been laywomen. the "laity" means all the people, men, women, and children. a woman is one of the laity, and so is every child in the country or in the church one of the laity. but when you speak of man acting as a unit he is a layman, but you never say a laywoman. you say: a woman. abraham lincoln said, "all these things are done and suffered, that government of the people, for the people, and by the people should not perish from the earth." now, people, the dictionary says, are men, women, and children. did abraham lincoln mean that any women or children can take any part in the government of the nation? no, no, no! he meant this. when he stood up and delivered his inaugural speech, he said this, "the intent of the lawmaker is the law." i give them something from one of the greatest lawyers that ever lived to think of awhile--john selden: "the only honest meaning of any word is the intent of the man that wrote it." at the time that the plan of lay delegation was adopted, there was not a single conference of the church on this wide globe, not one that distinguished between the ministry and the laity that allowed women to take any part in its law-making body. some one will talk about the quakers. but they deny the existence of the church, the sacraments of the church, and make no distinction between the ministry and the laity. let them get up and show that there was ever one church in the world worthy of the name that allowed women to make its laws. there is not one to-day. let them name a church, let them name one that has allowed women in its law-making body; and yet such is the blinding power of gush that men will say that our fathers all understood it and proposed to put women in. the fact is, that they only proposed to allow them to put us in. as soon as the general conference adjourned the women made an appeal in a public statement. they were asked to vote for lay delegation, and were told that then they could set the church right. the opponents appealed to them to vote against it on the ground that it would not make any difference to them. james porter, daniel curry, dr. hodgson (professor little thinks he was the greatest of them all) wrote a series of articles in the _advocate_, and it never occurred to them that the women could come into the general conference. lay delegation was only admitted by 33 votes. had there been a change of 33 votes they would not have come in. every member of the new york east conference knows that dr. curry's influence was so powerful that he could almost get a majority against it. and they know if any one had set up an opposition to it on this ground, the whole conference would have voted against the movement, and that if it had not been for bishop ames and bishop janes, who went to the wyoming conference where the majority was opposed to lay delegation, and by their influence there converted my friend olin and others, he knows that if this matter of the women had been in or understood, the whole conference would have been against it. it would not have been possible. dr. potts says that it is prejudice. nothing of the kind. do you know there are 12,000 methodist ministers that are ciphers all the time except when they vote for delegates? are you going to presume that when the church has a multitude of members, that it is going to sit here and change, by an interpretation, a restrictive rule, or put in what was never in, and never understood to be in? the restrictive rule fills up the ministerial delegates. every time you put a woman in, you put a man out. this subject has never come up here before. the question is this, do those restrictive rules mean anything? if they do, you cannot put in anything that the fathers did not put in. and if you put in women as lawmakers; if you can read those rules and put them in there, you can change any one of the restrictive rules by a majority of one. and i want to say to you, that if you do it, you will prove to the methodist episcopal church that the sole protection we have against the caprice of a majority of the general conference is not worth the paper it is written on. all you have to do is to get a majority of the conference against the episcopacy, and then put any interpretation, and then you get a few women admitted, and this you call the progress of the age. mr. chairman, i believe in progress, and when the church progresses far enough, it can change this law in a constitutional way. but it has not yet gone far enough. these men believe that the church has never done it, or that it is best. dr. flood said that they must be brought in in the light of progress. i affirm that dr. flood's arguments all point in that direction--they must be interpreted in the light of progress. when you do that you have got a despotism. i want to go back to my constituents and say this: i exercise all the power that our charter gives me. but at the moment that anything is proposed, and we put in what the fathers did not have before their eyes, at that moment i stop and say, thus far, but no farther. a despotism is a despotism, whether it is a despotism without restraint, the czar with his wife, the czar without his wife. you will turn this house into a despotism, and you will find it difficult to defend methodism by its peculiar constitution before the american people. if you want women in, there is another way to bring them in. send the question around as you did for lay delegation. there was only a doubt in the general conference of 1868, and yet they had a sense of candor. john m'clintock fought in favor of taking them in. but he said, "i think it best to send the question around." true progress is not gained in any other way. some prefer a shorter cut. let me say to you, "he that cometh in by the door," the same hath a right to come in; but he that cometh in another way, is not as respectable as in the other case. address of rev. dr. a.b. leonard. mr. chairman, unfortunately for me, i have received no anonymous letters. and so i have nothing either sensational or startling with which to introduce my speech. i shall not speak this morning under any fear of being removed as an obstruction, or of having my future prospects blasted. it is my privilege, therefore, to speak to you this morning upon this subject calmly and dispassionately, having no motive to either suppress or exaggerate the truth. the party who wrote dr. buckley, threatening to remove him as an obstruction, must be highly gratified to know that that obstruction has already been removed. brother hughey removed the obstruction, extinguished the candle, and destroyed the candlestick. we are to approach this question this morning, to discuss it purely upon its merits. the ground of constitutional law was traversed thoroughly yesterday morning in the opening speech by dr. potts, a speech that, though he did not hear it himself, was heard by this body, and will be heard through the length and breadth of the church everywhere. it remains for us who follow him simply to turn on a few side-lights here and there, or to give an opportunity of viewing this question from a new point of view. and, first, there is a line of argument that may be helpful to some that has already been presented in part touching the administration of our law and the interpretation of terms that is worthy, i think, of still further consideration. dr. buckley said in the new york _christian advocate_ of march 15th, 1888: "the question of eligibility turns, first, upon whether the persons claiming seats are laymen; secondly, whether they have been members of the church for five years consecutively, and are at least twenty-five years of age; and, thirdly, upon whether they have been duly elected. if women are found to be eligible under the law, they would stand upon the same plane with men, in this particular, that they must be twenty-five years, etc." now, then, is a woman legally qualified to sit in the general conference as a lay delegate? is she a layman in the sense of that word in the discipline? if she be not in, she cannot be introduced contrary to law by a mere majority vote of the general conference. the doctor sometimes writes more clearly than he speaks, and it was so in the occasion of writing this article. over against this we have one of (as dr. hamilton would say) the "subtle insinuations" of the episcopal address, which declares that no definition of "layman" settles the question of eligibility as to any class of persons. for many are classed as laymen for the purposes of lay representation, and have to do with it officially as laymen, yet themselves are ineligible as delegates. well, in this case, we have the episcopal board over against the editor. both are right and both are wrong. the editor is right when he said of a woman, if she be a lay member her right is clear as that of any duly elected man. but he is wrong when he denies to her a right to a seat in this body as a layman. the episcopal address is wrong when it says that "no definition of the word 'layman' settles the question of eligibility." but it is right when it says, "many are classed as laymen for purposes of lay representation, and have to do with it officially as lay members who are not themselves eligible as delegates." in the practical work of the church, and in the administration of its laws, women have been regarded as laymen from the beginning until now. they pay quarterage. if they did not pay quarterage some of our salaries would be very short. they contribute to our benevolent collections, and if it were not for their contributions, we would not to-day be shouting over the "million dollars for missions." they pray and testify in our class-meetings and prayer-meetings, and but for their presence among us, many of those meetings would be as silent as the grave. they are amenable to law, and must be tried by the very same process by which men are tried. they are subject to the same penalty. they may be suspended; they may be expelled. in all these respects they have been regarded as laymen from the beginning. indeed, we have never recognized more than two orders in our church. we have laymen and ministers. up to 1872 but one of these orders was represented in this general conference. this general conference was strictly a clerical organization. but in 1872 we marked a new epoch in methodist history, and a new element came into this body, and has been in all our sessions since that date. the first step, as has been mentioned here before, was taken in 1868, when the question of lay delegation was sent down to the members of the church over twenty-one years of age, and to the annual conferences. dr. queal, if i understood him, made what is, in my judgment, a fatal concession on this question. he distinctly stated, if i understood him correctly, and i have not had time to refer to the report of his speech (if i misinterpret him he will correct me), that when the motion to strike out the word "male" was made, it was done for the purpose of putting a "rider" on the motion and cause its defeat, and when that fact was made known to those in favor of lay delegation, they said they would accept it then with that interpretation, and the interpretation was that the amendment would let women into the general conference. now, that being true, all this talk about the idea of the "women coming in" being never entertained until very recently falls to the ground. it was present on that occasion. it was understood by those that opposed lay delegation, and that favored it, that if they passed this amendment and the laymen were allowed to come in, it would open the door to allow women to come in also. l. c. queal said: i think i am entitled now to correct this putting of the case. bishop foss: are you misrepresented? l. c. queal: i am misrepresented in this, that while i stated that dr. sherman put that on as a "rider," with a view to defeating the bill, that immediately after thinking so i thought it might be the occasion of securing the approval of the principle in the laity of the church. that is all i stated. all the rest of dr. leonard's statement is his own inference--a misconstruction of the fact. a.b. leonard: i understood dr. queal as i stated. i have not had time to refer to the speech he made. i leave his statement with you, and you have the privilege of consulting his speech as it is printed this morning, in reference to this matter. it came to my thought very distinctly that the idea of the possibility of women coming in was then lodged in the minds that were both in favor of and opposed to lay delegation. now, then, this vote that was taken, in accordance with the order of 1868, laid the foundation stone for the introduction of women into this body. that sent the question of lay delegation down to be voted on by the laity of the church. if the women were not to be recognized as laity here, why allow them to vote on the question of the laity at all? and, having allowed them to vote on the question of the laity, settling the very foundation principle itself, with what consistency can we disallow them a place in this general conference, when by their votes they opened the way for the laymen coming into this general conference? do you not remember that we had a vote previously, and the men only voted, and that the lay delegation scheme was defeated, and the _methodist_, that was published in this city, being the organ of the lay delegationists, said that "votes ought to be weighed, not counted"? and then the question was sent back to be voted upon by both the men and the women? and let the laymen of this general conference remember that they are in this body to-day by reason of the votes of the women of the methodist episcopal church. in 1880 we went still further. we went into the work of construing pronouns. there had been women in the quarterly conferences previously to that date; but there was a mist in the air with regard to their legality there. the general conference by its action did not propose to admit women to the quarterly conferences. it simply proposed to clear away the mist and recognize their legal right to sit in the quarterly conference. being in the quarterly conference, and in the district conference, they have the right to vote on every question that comes before such bodies. they vote to license ministers, to recommend ministers to annual conferences, to recommend local preachers for deacons' and elders' orders. they vote on sending delegates to our lay electoral conferences, and they vote in elections for delegates to lay electoral conferences, and they vote in elections for delegates from lay electoral conferences to this general conference. and there are men on this floor to-day that would not be in this at all if they had not received the support of women in lay electoral conferences. now, brethren, let it be remembered that the votes of the women to send delegates to the lay electoral conferences were never challenged until they came here asking for seats. they were good enough to elect laymen to this body, but not good enough to take seats with laymen in this body. with what consistency can laymen accept seats by the votes of the women and then deprive women of their seats? i am surprised at some of the "subtle insinuations" of the episcopacy concerning constitutional law. allow me to say at this point that, having introduced into the quarterly conference these women, and having given them a right to vote there, and in the district conferences, and in the lay electoral conferences, in all honesty we must do one of two things, if we would be consistent, we must go back and take up that old foundation of lay delegation that we laid in 1868, or we must go forward and allow these women to have their seats. in a word, we must either lay again the "foundation of repentance from dead work, or go forward to perfection." and i am not in favor of going back. if it is true that the body of the constitution is outside of the restrictive rules, and cannot be changed except in the way prescribed for altering the restrictive rules, then i say that this general conference has again and again been both lawless and revolutionary. every paragraph of the chapter, known as the constitution, beginning with â§63, and closing with â§69, was put into that constitution without any voice from an annual conference of this foot-stool. not one single one of them was ever submitted to an annual conference; â§20, â¶183, stood for many years in the constitution of the church, but was transferred bodily from that constitution by the general conference to the position it now occupies. you come and tell us to-day that we cannot change the constitution outside of the restrictive rules without going down to the annual conferences; it is too late in the day to say that. we have made too much history on that point. the present plan of lay delegation was not submitted to the annual conferences. bishop simpson definitely stated when he reported to the general conference the result of the vote ordered in 1868 that the question simply of the introduction of the laity into the general conference was presented to be voted upon by the laity and by the annual conferences, but the "plan" was not submitted to either to be voted upon, and the "plan" for lay delegation by which these lay brethren occupy their seats here this morning was made in every jot and tittle by the general conference without any reference to the annual conferences at all. i want to know, then, by what propriety we come here in this general conference to say that there can be no change of part i. of the constitution outside of the restrictive rules. the general conference cannot alter our articles of faith, it cannot abolish our episcopacy; it cannot deprive our members of a right to trial and appeal. these come under the restrictive rules, and cannot be touched by this body without the consent of the annual conferences; but all else has been from beginning, and is now in the hands of the general conference. let it be remembered that this general conference is a unique body. it is at once a legislative and a judicial body; in the former capacity it makes law; in the latter capacity it has the power to construe law. it is at once a congress, if you please, to enact law, and a supreme court to interpret law. now, then, in admitting women to our general conference, we are simply construing the constitution, and not changing the constitution. the supreme court of the united states gives decisions on the construing of the constitution, and who ever heard of a decision of the supreme court being sent down to be ratified by the state legislatures? the supreme court of the united states construes the constitution, without any reference to the state legislatures, and so we construe law without any reference to the annual conferences. if we touch the law inside of the restrictive rules, we must go down to the annual conferences. outside we are free to legislate as we may. what is the constitution for? the constitution is designed simply to limit the powers of the legislature. in my own state of ohio, for illustration, we have an article in our constitution that forbids our legislature to license the liquor traffic, but our legislators give a license under the guise of taxing, but they cannot give us a license law in form. the constitution prevents it. there are states that have constitutions that have no word to say about the liquor traffic at all, while they may either tax, license, or prohibit. this is a fact that is well settled, that the constitution is a limitation of legislative power, and where there is no such limitation there is no restriction. address of rev. dr. alfred wheeler. mr. president, it will be well for us, so far as we have progressed in this discussion, to see how near and how far we agree. it is admitted by the friends of the report, or by the committee, that this is a question of law, and to be decided exclusively upon principles of law. so far as those who are opposed to the report have spoken, they conceive, as i understand it, that the position taken by the committee is taken by those who are advocating its adoption. then we are agreed that it is not a matter of sentiment, it is not a matter of chivalry. there is no place for knighthood, or any of its laws, or any other of the principles that dominated the contests of the knights of old. if it were a matter of knighthood there is not a man on this floor that would deem it necessary to bring a lance into this body. all would be peace and quiet. there are none that would hail with more joy and gladness the women of the church to a seat in this body than those of us who now, under the circumstances, oppose their coming in. it is not either a matter of progressive legislation regarding the franchise of colored men, or of anybody else in the country. it is a question of law, methodist law, and methodist law alone. now, so far as the intention is concerned of those who made the law, i do not see how those who have kept themselves conversant with the history of lay delegation can for a moment claim that it was even the most remote intention of those who introduced lay delegation into the general conference to bring in the women, and for us to transfer the field now toward women, in view of their magnificent work in the last ten or fifteen years, back to twenty years, is to commit an anachronism that would be fatal to all just interpretation of law. i myself was in the very first meeting that was ever called to initiate the movement that at last brought in lay delegation. i voted for it; i wrote for it; i spoke for it in the general conference and in the annual conferences. i was a member of the first lay committee, or committee on lay delegation, that was appointed here by the general conference in 1868. and during all these various processes of discussion, so far as i know, the thought was never suggested that under it women would come in to represent the laity, nor was it ever suggested that it was desirable that they should; so that the intention of the law-maker could never have embraced this design--the design of bringing women into the general conference. i leave that. now, i claim that the general conference has no legal authority to admit them here. we are not an omnipotent body. i know that the supreme court of the united states, in that contest between the northern church, or the methodist episcopal church, and the church south, decided that the general conference was the methodist episcopal church. i used that argument myself upon the conference floor in 1868, that the general conference could, without any other process, by mere legislation, introduce the laity into this body. i claimed there and then that, according to that decision, the methodist episcopal church was in the general conference. the general conference refused to accept that endorsement of that court, or that proposition concerning the prerogatives of this body. and through all the processes that have been ordered concerning the introduction of lay delegation that interpretation of the constitution of the church has been repudiated. the church herself rejected the interpretation that the supreme court placed upon her constitution, and as a loyal son of the church i accepted her interpretation of her own constitution, so that now i claim that the general conference has no authority whatever to change the _personnel_ of the general conference without the vote of the annual conferences. before it can be done constitutionally, you must obtain the consent of the brethren of the annual conferences, and i am in favor of that, and of receiving an affirmative vote on their part. but until this is done i do not see how they can come in only as we trample the organic law of our church under our feet. and to do this, there is nothing but peril ahead of us. a simple body may disregard law with comparative impunity, but an organic body that is complicated, complex in its nature, will find its own security in adhering earnestly, strictly, and everlastingly, to the law that that body passes for the government of its own conduct. let us see, now, with regard to this restrictive rule. as i have said, it has been admitted all along that the action of the annual conferences must be secured. here comes in the decision of the general conference of 1872. i do not need to recite it. but let us bear in mind two facts. one is, that this general conference is a legislative body, and that it is also a judicial body. as a judicial body, it interprets law; as a legislative body, it makes law. the general conference of 1872 interpreted law, and the general conference may reverse itself with just as much propriety as a court can reverse itself. and if it be the judgment of this general conference that that interpretation was incorrect, it is perfectly competent for this conference to say so, and have its action correspond with its own decision. there is another point. the case that was before the general conference of 1876 was a specific case. it was the case of the relation that local preachers sustain to the church, a particular case. this is the principle of all decisions in law, that when a particular case is decided in general terms, the scope and comprehension of the decision must be limited to the particular case itself. and if a court in its decision embraces more than was involved in the particular case, it has no force whatever. and as this was a particular case submitted to the general conference, and the decision was in general terms, it comprehends simply the case that was before it, and cannot be advanced to comprehend more. and the reason of this is very obvious; for if it was not the case, then cases might be brought before the court for its decision that had never occurred. there is another point i wish to notice. the general conference of 1880 did not see the effect that legislation would have by admitting women to certain offices. certain affirmative legislation is also negative legislation. when saloons are permitted to sell in quantities of one gallon, it forbids to sell in quantities of less than one gallon; when it says you can sell in quantities of one barrel, it forbids them to sell in quantities of two. when the general conference of 1880 decided that women should be eligible in the quarterly conferences as superintendents of sunday-schools, class-leaders, and as stewards, by that very affirmative conclusion, the subject was passed upon about their taking any other position. that, i think, must be regarded as sound, and a just interpretation of the law. but suppose it is not; the general conference of 1880 certainly did not understand the matter as the general conference of 1872 did. for if it had, there would have been no necessity for legislation at all, there would have been no need for putting in the law as it now stands, that the pronoun "he," wherever employed, shall not be considered as prohibiting women from holding the offices of sunday-school superintendent, class leader, and steward. now, for this reason, and for the further reason that it is a matter of immense importance that we guard against despotism, i oppose changing the _personnel_ of the general conference without my annual conference has a right to vote upon it, and it is voted upon. despotism is a suitable term. a general conference may become a despot, and just as soon as it goes outside of its legitimate province, then it usurps, and so far as it usurps, it becomes despotic, and is a despot; and you and i, so far as our annual conferences are concerned, do well to regard with a deep jealousy an infringement upon our organic rights. the only safety of the church is the equipoise that is constituted by the relation the annual conferences sustain to the general conference, and far safer is it for us to bring these women of the church, elect, honorable women, into the general conference of the church by the same way that their husbands and brothers are here. there is another thought that i wish to suggest. what are the possibilities with regard to lay delegation, supposing the design of those who wish to bring women in without further action is successful? you make lay delegation a farce in this body. the presiding elders and pastors of the church may act in co-operation, and they can elect their own wives as delegates to this general conference, and thus lay delegation comes to be a farce. some of you may laugh at this suggestion, but it is an _in posse_, and it may easily be made an _in esse_. it is important to us that the laity should hold the place they have by the regulations we have, and they should be changed only to make them more perfect. no body is safe without adherence to law. we may set lightly by law; we may regard it as a thing to be laid aside at the command of excitement or passion, but the nation that does that is a doomed nation, and the church that does that has its history already written. the only safe course for us to pursue is to pursue the wise, careful, judicious, and conservative--i mean every word--and conservative course we have heretofore pursued through all our history. when we boast of what methodism has done, or what she is going to do, let us remember it is because of her firm adherence to law. it is with her as it is with the german nation and the anglo-saxon race--everywhere our glory is in our adherence to wise laws, and if we pass unwise laws, in repealing them in the same wise. address of general clinton b. fisk. mr. president and brethren, to an onlooker of this remarkable scene, this great debate now in the third day of its progress must be suggestive of some of the marvellous plays, woven into song, which have made the hearts of the thronging multitudes who have crowded this place of meeting in the past throb alternately with emotions of hope and fear as to the outcome of the parties involved in plot and counterplot. the visitors to this general conference, seated in their boxes and in the family circle, will say surely these honored men of god who have been called as superintendents of the affairs of our great conquering church, these chosen ministers of reconciliation and peace, these _male_ laymen called by their brethren to their high places in this general conference, whose names at home are the synonym of chivalrous goodness--surely all these of rank and talent and authority, whose able and eloquent words have been ringing through the arches and dome of this temple of music on the wrong side of the question, are but simply acting the parts assigned them. in the final scene they will join hands around the eligible women elect, who, in obedience to the call of the laity in their several conferences, are in their seats with us, and say, "whom god hath joined, let not _male_ put asunder." my brothers, let us briefly restate the case. five noble women of the laymen of the methodist episcopal church have been chosen as delegates to this general conference under the constitution and by the forms prescribed by the laws of the church. as they enter, or attempt to enter, the portals of this great assemblage they hear a voice from the platform, in words not to be misunderstood, "thou shalt not," and voices from all parts of the house take up the prohibitory words, and supplement the voices of the bishops, "thou shalt not." and one would think, from the vehement oratory of the resisting delegates of this general conference, that the foundations of the church were in imminent peril by the presence of these "elect ladies" among us. let us turn back a moment, and review the history of the rise, progress, and triumph of the cause of lay representation. i claim to know a little something about it, as i was on the skirmish line in the conflict, and in all its battles fought until the day of victory. in 1861, to the male members of the church, was submitted the question of lay representation. it failed of securing a majority vote. had it carried, there would have been plausibility in the argument this day made against the eligibility of women to seats in this general conference. the evolution of the succeeding eight years lifted woman to a higher appreciation of her position in the methodist church, and her rights and privileges became the theme of discussion throughout the bounds of the church. among the champions for woman was that magnificent man, that grand old man, dr. daniel d. whedon, who, in discussing this question, said: "if it is _rights_ they talk of, every competent member of the church of christ, of either sex and of every shade of complexion, has equal original rights. those rights, they may be assured, when that question comes fairly up, will be firmly asserted and maintained." and in answer to the expected fling, "but you are a woman's rights man," he replied: "we are a human rights man. and our mother was a human being. and our wives, sisters, and daughters are all human beings. and that these human beings are liable as any other human beings to be oppressed by the stronger sex, and as truly need in self-defence a check upon oppression, the history of all past governments and legislation does most terribly demonstrate. what is best in the state is not indeed with us the question; but never, with our consent, shall the church of the living god disfranchise her who gave to the world its divine redeemer. when that disfranchisement comes to the debate, may the god of eternal righteousness give us strength equal to our will to cleave it to the ground!" the general conference of 1868, after full discussion, submitted the question of lay representation to a vote of all the members of the church, male and female, thus recognizing the women as laymen, as belonging to the great body of the laity, and as vitally interested in the government of the church, and having rights under that government. during the debate on the report of the committee on the plan for submitting the question as in 1861, to the male members, dr. sherman moved to strike out the word "male." while that motion was under consideration, dr. slicer, of baltimore, said, "if it were the last moment i should spend, and the last articulate sound i should utter, i should speak for the wives, mothers, and daughters of the methodist episcopal church.... i am for women's rights, sir, _wherever church privileges are concerned_." dr. sherman's motion was carried by a vote of 142 to 70, and the question of lay representation was submitted to all the members of the church over twenty-one years of age. the general conference did not ask women to vote on a proposition that only male members of the church should be represented in the general conference, and it did not then enter the thought of any clear-headed man that women were to be deprived of their rights to a seat in the general conference. there were a few noisy, disorderly brethren who cried out from their seats, "no, no," but they were silenced by the presiding bishop and the indignation of the right thinking, orderly delegates. what does the rev. dr. david sherman, the mover of the motion to strike out the word "male," now say of the prevailing sentiment on that day of great debate? i have his freshly written words in response to an inquiry made a few weeks ago. on march 21st he made this statement: "some of us believed that women were laymen, that the term 'men' in the discipline, as elsewhere, often designated not sex, but genus; and that those who constituted a main part of many of our churches should have a voice in determining under what government they would live. we believed in the rightful equality of the sexes before the law, and hence that women should have the same right as men to vote and hold office. the conference of 1868 was a reform body, and it seemed possible to take these views on a stage; hence the amendment was offered, and carried with a rush and heartiness even beyond my expectations....the latter interpretation of the conference making all not members of conferences laymen, fully carried out these views, as they were understood at the moment by the majority party. some, to be sure, cried out against it, but their voices were not heard amid the roar of victory. who can go back of the interpretation of the supreme court of the church?" it is amazing that brethren will stand here to-day and utterly ignore the decision of our supreme court in defining who are laymen. could the utterances of any court be more definite and clear than those of the general conference when it said, "the general conference holds that in all matters connected with the election of lay delegates the word 'laymen' must be understood to include all the members of the church who are not members of the annual conferences"? this decision must include women among the laity of the church. i know it is said that this means the classification of local preachers. we respond that that only appears from the debate. the general conference was settling a great principle in which the personal rights and privileges of two thirds of the membership of our church were involved. surely, our supreme court would have made a strange decision had they, in defining laymen, excepted women. let us see how it would look in cold type had they said, "the general conference holds that in all matters connected with the election of lay delegates the word laymen must be understood to include all the members of the annual conferences, _and who are not women_." we would have become the laughing-stock of christendom had we made such an utterance. the church universal in all ages has always divided its membership into two great classes, and two only, the clergy and the laymen, using the terms laity and laymen synonymously and interchangeably. see bingham's "antiquities," blackstone's "commentaries," schaffs "history," and kindred authorities. it is sheer trifling for sensible males to talk about a distinction between lay_men_ and lay_women_. women were made class-leaders, stewards, and sunday-school superintendents, and employed in these several capacities long before the specific interpretations of the pronouns were made. they were so appointed and employed in saint paul's church in this city during the pastorate of that sainted man, john m'clintock, in 1860, and could the voice of that great leader and lover of the church reach us to day from the skies it would be in protest against the views presented in this debate by the supporters of the committee's report and its amendment. it is a well-established and incontrovertible principle of law that any elector is eligible to the office for which said elector votes, unless there be a _specific enactment discriminating against the elector_. our law says that a lay delegate shall be twenty-five years of age, and five years a member of the methodist episcopal church. it does not say that a delegate must not be a woman, or must be a man. women are eligible to membership in this general conference. women have been chosen delegates as provided by law. they are here in their seats ready for any duty on committees, or otherwise, as they may be invited. we cannot turn them out and slam the door on their exit. it would be revolutionary so to do by a simple vote of this body. it would be a violation of the guarantees of personal liberty, a holding of the just rights of the laity of the church. we cannot exclude them from membership in the general conference, except by directing the annual conferences to vote on the question of their exclusion. are we ready to send that question in that form down to the annual conferences for their action? i trust that a large majority of this general conference will say with emphasis we are not ready for any such action. the women of our methodism have a place in the heart of the church from which they cannot be dislodged. they are our chief working members. they are at the very front of every great movement of the church at home or abroad. in the spirit of rejoicing consecration our matrons and maids uphold the banner of our lord in every conflict with the enemy of virtue and righteousness. looking down upon us from these galleries, tier upon tier, are the magnificent leaders of the woman's foreign and the woman's home missionary societies. our women are at the front of the battle now waging against the liquor traffic in our fair land, and they will not cease their warfare until this nation shall be redeemed from the curse of the saloon. god bless all these women of our great conquering church of the redeemer. twenty years ago bishop hurst accompanied me on a leisurely tour of continental europe. in the old city of nuremberg we wandered among the old churches and market-places, where may be seen the marvellous productions of that evangel of art, albert durer. in an old schloss in that city may be found the diary of albert durer, almost four centuries old. in it you may read as follows: "master gebhart, of antwerp, has a daughter seventeen years old, and she has illuminated the head of a saviour for which i gave a florin. it is a marvel that a woman could do so much." three and a half centuries later rosa bonheur hangs her master-piece in the chief places of the galleries of the world, and harriet hosmer's studio contributes many of the best marbles that adorn the parlors of europe and america, and no one wonders that a woman can do so much. from that day when martin luther, the protesting monk, and catherine von bora, the ex-nun, stood together at the altar and the twain became one, woman has by her own heroism, by her faith in her sex and in god, who made her, fought a good fight against the organized selfishness of those who would withhold from her any right or privilege to which she is entitled, and has lifted herself from slavery and barbarism to a place by the side of man, where god placed her in paradise, his equal in tact and talent, moving upon the world with her unseen influences, and making our christian civilization what it is to-day. let not our methodism in this her chiefest council say or do ought that shall lead the world to conclude that we are retreating from our advanced position of justice to the laity of the church. let us rather strengthen our guarantee of loving protection of every right and privilege of every member of our church, without distinction of race, color, or sex. amen and amen. address of judge z. p. taylor. mr. president and gentlemen, when elected a delegate i had no opinion on the constitutional question here involved. but i had then, and i have now, a sympathy for the women, and a profound admiration of their work. no man on this floor stands more ready and more willing to assist them by all lawful and constitutional means to every right and and to every privilege enjoyed by men. but, sir, notwithstanding this admiration and sympathy, i cannot lose sight of the vital question before the general conference now and here. that question is this: under the constitution and restrictive rules of the methodist episcopal church are women eligible as lay delegates in this general conference? if they are, then this substitute offered by dr. moore does them an injustice, because it puts a cloud upon their right and title to seats upon this floor. if they are not, then this body would be in part an unconstitutional body if they are admitted. it follows that whoever supports this substitute either wrongs the elect ladies or violates the constitution. if they are constitutionally a part of this body, seat them; if they are not, vote down this substitute, and adopt the report of the committee, with the amendment of dr. neely, and then let them in four years hence in the constitutional way. after the most careful study of the vital question in the light of history, ecclesiastical, common, and constitutional law, it is my solemn and deliberate judgment that women are not eligible as lay delegates in this body. facts, records, and testimonials conclusively prove that in 1868, when the general conference submitted the matter of lay delegation to the entire membership of the church, the idea of women being eligible was not the intent. the intent was to bring into the general conference a large number of men of business experience, who could render service by their knowledge and experience touching the temporal affairs of the church. when the principle of admitting lay delegates was voted upon by the laity, this idea, and no other, was intended. when the annual conferences voted for the principle and the plan, this and this only was their intent. when the general conference, by the constitutional majority, acted in favor of admitting the lay delegates provisionally elected, this idea, and none other, actuated them. it was not the intent then to admit women, but to admit men only, and the intent must govern in construing a constitution. dr. fisk said judge cooley is a high authority on constitutional law. i admit it, and am happy to say that i was a student of his over a quarter of a century ago, and ever since then have studied and practised constitutional law, and i am not here to stultify my judgment by allowing sentiment and impulse to influence my decision. those opposing the report of the committee, with few exceptions, admit that it was not the intent and purpose, when the constitution and restrictive rules were amended, to admit women as lay delegates. they claim, however, that times have changed, and now propose to force a construction upon the language not intended by the laity, the annual conferences, or the general conference at the time of the amendment. can this be done without an utter violation of law? i answer, no. in the able address read by bishop merrill, containing the views of the board of bishops, he says: "for the first time in our history several 'elect ladies' appear, regularly certified from electoral conferences, as lay delegates to this body. in taking the action which necessitates the consideration of the question of their eligibility, the electoral conferences did not consult the bishops as to the law in the case, nor do we understand it to be our duty to define the law for these conferences; neither does it appear that any one is authorized to decide questions of law in them. the electoral conferences simply assumed the lawfulness of this action, being guided, as we are informed, by a declarative resolution of the general conference of 1872, defining the scope of the word 'laymen," in answer to a question touching the classification and rights of ordained local and located ministers. of course, the language of that resolution is carried beyond its original design when applied to a subject not before the body when it was adopted, and not necessarily involved in the language itself. this also should be understood, that no definition of the word 'laymen' settles the question of eligibility as to any class of persons, for many are classed as laymen for the purposes of lay representation, and have to do with it officially as laymen, who are themselves not eligible as delegates. even laymen who are confessedly ineligible, who are not old enough to be delegates, or have not been members long enough, may be stewards, class-leaders, trustees, local preachers and exhorters, and, as such, be members of the quarterly conference, and vote for delegates to the electoral conference without themselves being eligible. "the constitutional qualifications for eligibility cannot be modified by a resolution of the general conference, however sweeping, nor can the original meaning of the language be enlarged. if women were included in the original constitutional provision for lay delegates, they are here by constitutional right. if they were not so included, it is beyond the power of this body to give them membership lawfully, except by the formal amendment of the constitution, which cannot be effected without the consent of the annual conferences. in extending to women the highest spiritual privileges, in recognizing their gifts, and in providing for them spheres of christian activity, as well as in advancing them to positions of official responsibility, ours has been a leader of the churches, and gratefully do we acknowledge the good results shown in their enlarged usefulness, and in the wonderful developments of their power to work for god, which we take as evidences of the divine approval of the high ground taken. in all reformatory and benevolent enterprises, especially in the temperance, missionary, and sunday-school departments of church-work, their success is marvellous, and challenges our highest admiration. happily no question of competency or worthiness is involved in the question of their eligibility as delegates. hitherto the assumption underlying the legislation of the church has been that they were ineligible to official positions, except by special provision of law. in harmony with this assumption, they have been made eligible, by special enactment, of the offices of steward, class-leader, and sunday-school superintendent, and naturally the question arises as to whether the necessity for special legislation, in order to their eligibility to those specified offices, does not indicate similar necessity for special provision in order to their eligibility as delegates, and if so it is further to be considered that the offices of steward, class-leader, and sunday-school superintendent may be created and filled by simple enactments of the general conference itself; but to enter the general conference, and form part of the law-making body of the church, requires special provision in the constitution, and, therefore, such provision as the general conference alone cannot make." now, sir, this language moves forward with a grasp of logic akin to that used by chief justice marshall, or that eminent jurist, cooley, from whom i beg leave to quote. cooley, in his great work on "constitutional limitations," says: "a constitution is not made to mean one thing at one time, and another at some subsequent time, when the circumstances may have changed as perhaps to make a different rule in the case seem desirable. a principal share of the benefit expected from written constitutions would be lost, if the rules they establish were so flexible as to bend to circumstances, or be modified by public opinion. "the meaning of the constitution is fixed when it is adopted, and is not different at any subsequent time." this same great author says: "intent governs. the object of construction applied to a written constitution is to give effect to the intent of the people in adopting it. in the case of written laws it is the intent of the lawgiver that is to be enforced. "but it must not be forgotten in construing our constitutions that in many particulars they are but the legitimate successors of the great charters of english liberty whose provisions declaratory of the rights of the subject have acquired a well understood meaning which the people must be supposed to have had in view in adopting them. we cannot understand these unless we understand their history. "it is also a very reasonable rule that a state constitution shall be understood and construed in the light, and by the assistance of the common law, and with the fact in view that its rules are still in force. "it is a maxim with the courts that statutes in derogation of the common law shall be construed strictly." here, sir, we have the language of judge cooley himself. it is as clear as the noonday's sun, and he utterly repudiates the pernicious doctrine that the constitution can grow and develop so as to mean one thing when it is adopted, and something else at another time. you can never inject anything into a constitution by construction which was not in it when adopted. and you are bound, according to all rules of construction, to give it the construction which was intended when adopted. no man of common honesty and common sense dares to assert on this floor that it was the intent when the constitution was amended to admit women as lay delegates. it follows inevitably that they are not constitutionally eligible, and to admit them is to violate the constitution of the church, which, as a court, we are in honor bound not to do. it has been asserted with gravity that the right to vote for a person for office carries with it the right to be voted for unless prohibited by positive enactment. this proposition is not true, and never has been. we have seen, when the constitution and restrictive rules were amended, the intent was to admit men only as lay delegates. no general conference can, by resolution or decision, change the constitution and restrictive rules. grant, if you please, that the general conference, by its action in 1880, had power to make women eligible in the quarterly conference as stewards and class-leaders, this could not qualify her to become a lay delegate in the law-making body of the church. the qualifications of lay delegates to this body must inhere in the constitution and restrictive rules, according to their intent and meaning when adopted. it is fundamental law that where general disabilities exist, not simply by statute, but by common law, the removal of lesser disabilities does not carry with it the removal of the greater ones. legislation qualifying women to vote in wyoming and elsewhere had to be coupled also with positive enactments qualifying her to be voted for, otherwise she would have been ineligible to office. this is so, and i defy any lawyer to show the contrary. â§3, article i, constitution of the united states, reads: "the senate of the united states shall be composed of two senators from each state, chosen by the legislature thereof for six years. no person shall be a senator who shall not have attained to the age of thirty years, and been nine years a citizen of the united states, and who shall not, when elected, be an inhabitant of the state for which he shall be chosen." these and no other qualifications are worded or found in the constitution of the united states touching the qualification of senators. is there a layman on this floor who will dare assert that under the constitution of the united states women are eligible as representatives or senators? words of common gender are exclusively used as applied to the qualification of senators. the words persons and citizens include women the same as they include men. nevertheless, in the light of the past, i am bold to assert, that any man who would dare stand in the senate of the united states, and contend that women are eligible to the office of united states senators, would be regarded by the civilized world as a person of gush and void of judgment. article 14, united states constitution, â§1: "all persons born or naturalized in the united states and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the united states, wherein they reside. no state shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the _privileges_ or _immunities_ of citizens of the united states; nor shall any state deprive any person of life, liberty, or property without due process of law, _nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws_." (tax case and what was decided.) (mrs. minor _vs_. judges of election. 53 mo. 68.) the first case indicates that the word citizen when affecting property rights includes corporations. the second, that the word person, when it relates to the woman claiming the right to vote, does not confer upon her that right. the language is: no state shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of any citizen of the united states. nevertheless, a republican circuit judge held this language did not entitle mrs. minor to vote. a democratic supreme court of missouri held the same, and the supreme court of the united states, in an able opinion written by men known as the friends of women, conclusively demonstrated that these constitutional guarantees did not confer upon woman the right to vote. why? because, from time immemorial, this right had not obtained in favor of woman, and these words of common gender should not be so construed as to confer this right, since it was not intended when made to affect their status in this regard. the unexpurgated case against woman suffrage by sir almroth e. wright m.d., f.r.s. 1913 contents preface introduction programme of this treatise--motives from which women claim the suffrage--types of men who support the suffrage--john stuart mill. part i arguments which are adduced in support of woman's suffrage i arguments from elementary natural rights signification of the term "woman's rights"--argument from "justice"--juridical justice--"egalitarian equity"--argument from justice applied to taxation--argument from liberty--summary of arguments from elementary natural rights. ii arguments from intellectual grievances of woman complaint of want of chivalry--complaint of "insults"--complaint of "illogicalties"--complaint of "prejudices"--the familiar suffragist grievance of the drunkard voter and the woman of property who is a non-voter--the grievance of woman being required to obey man-made laws. iii arguments which take the form of "counsels of perfection" addressed to man argument that woman requires a vote for her protection--argument that woman ought to be invested with the responsibilities of voting in order that she may attain her full intellectual stature. part ii arguments against the concession of the parliamentary suffrage to woman i woman's disability in the matter of physical force international position of state would be imperilled by woman's suffrage--internal equilibrium of state would be imperilled. ii woman's disability in the matter of intellect characteristics of the feminine mind--suffragist illusions with regard to the equality of man and woman as workers--prospect for the intellectual future of woman--has woman advanced? iii woman's disability in the matter of public morality standards by which morality can be appraised--conflict between different moralities--the correct standard of morality--moral psychology of man and woman--difference between man and woman in matters of public morality. iv mental outlook and programme of the female legislative reformer v ulterior ends which the woman's suffrage movement has in view part iii is there, if the suffrage is barred, any palliative or corrective for the discontents of woman? i palliatives or correctives for the discontent of woman what are the suffragist's grievances?--economic and physiological difficulties of woman--intellectual grievances of suffragist and corrective. appendix letter on militant hysteria preface it has come to be believed that everything that has a bearing upon the concession of the suffrage to woman has already been brought forward. in reality, however, the influence of women has caused man to leave unsaid many things which he ought to have said. especially in two respects has woman restricted the discussion. she has placed her taboo upon all generalisations about women, taking exception to these on the threefold ground that there would be no generalisations which would hold true of all women; that generalisations when reached possess no practical utility; and that the element of sex does not leave upon women any general imprint such as could properly be brought up in connexion with the question of admitting them to the electorate. woman has further stifled discussion by placing her taboo upon anything seriously unflattering being said about her in public. i would suggest, and would propose here myself to act upon the suggestion, that, in connexion with the discussion of woman's suffrage, these restrictions should be laid aside. in connexion with the setting aside of the restriction upon generalising, i may perhaps profitably point out that all generalisations, and not only generalisations which relate to women, are _ex hypothesi [by hypothesis]_ subject to individual exceptions. (it is to generalisations that the proverb that "the exception proves the rule" really applies.) i may further point out that practically every decision which we take in ordinary life, and all legislative action without exception, is based upon generalisations; and again, that the question of the suffrage, and with it the larger question as to the proper sphere of woman, finally turns upon the question as to what imprint woman's sexual system leaves upon her physical frame, character, and intellect: in more technical terms, it turns upon the question as to what are the _secondary sexual character[istic]s_ of woman. now only by a felicitous exercise of the faculty of successful generalisation can we arrive at a knowledge of these. with respect to the restriction that nothing which might offend woman's _amour propre [self love]_ shall be said in public, it may be pointed out that, while it was perfectly proper and equitable that no evil (and, as pericles proposed, also no good) should be said of woman in public so long as she confined herself to the domestic sphere, the action of that section of women who have sought to effect an entrance into public life, has now brought down upon woman, as one of the penalties, the abrogation of that convention. a consideration which perhaps ranks only next in importance to that with which we have been dealing, is that of the logical sanction of the propositions which are enunciated in the course of such controversial discussions as that in which we are here involved. it is clearly a precondition of all useful discussion that the author and reader should be in accord with respect to the authority of the generalisations and definitions which supply the premisses for his reasonings. though this might perhaps to the reader appear an impractical ideal, i would propose here to attempt to reach it by explaining the logical method which i have set myself to follow. although i have from literary necessity employed in my text some of the verbal forms of dogmatism, i am very far from laying claim to any dogmatic authority. more than that, i would desire categorically to repudiate such a claim. for i do not conceal from myself that, if i took up such a position, i should wantonly be placing myself at the mercy of my reader. for he could then, by merely refusing to see in me an authority, bring down the whole edifice of my argument like a house of cards. moreover i am not blind to what would happen if, after i claimed to be taken as an authority, the reader was indulgent enough still to go on to read what i have written. he would in such a case, the moment he encountered a statement with which he disagreed, simply waive me on one side with the words, "so you say." and if he should encounter a statement with which he agreed, he would in his wisdom, censure me for neglecting to provide for that proposition a satisfactory logical foundation. if it is far from my thoughts to claim a right of dictation, it is equally remote from them to take up the position that i have in my arguments furnished _proof_ of the thesis which i set out to establish. it would be culpable misuse of language to speak in such connexion of _proof_ or _disproof_. proof by testimony, which is available in con-nexion with questions of fact, is unavailable in connexion with general truths; and logical proof is obtainable only in that comparatively narrow sphere where reasoning is based--as in mathematics--upon axioms, or--as in certain really crucial experiments in the mathematic sciences--upon quasi-axiomatic premisses. everywhere else we base our reasonings on premisses which are simply more or less probable; and accordingly the conclusions which we arrive at have in them always an element of insecurity. it will be clear that in philosophy, in jurisprudence, in political economy and sociology, and in literary criticism and such like, we are dealing not with certainties but with propositions which are, for literary convenience, invested with the garb of certainties. what kind of logical sanction is it, then, which can attach to reasonings such as are to be set out here? they have in point of fact the sanction which attaches to reasonings based upon premisses arrived at by the method of _diacritical judgment._ it is, i hasten to notify the reader, not the method, but only the name here assigned to it, which is unfamiliar. as soon as i exhibit it in the working, the reader will identify it as that by which every generalisation and definition ought to be put to the proof. i may for this purpose take the general statements or definitions which serve as premisses for my reasonings in the text. i bring forward those generalisations and definitions because they commend themselves to my diacritical judgment. in other words, i set them forth as results which have been reached after reiterated efforts to call up to mind the totality of my experience, and to de-tect the factor which is common to all the individual experiences. when for instance i propose a definition, i have endeavoured to call to mind all the different uses of the word with which i am familiar--eliminating, of course, all the obviously incorrect uses. and when i venture to attempt a generalisation about woman, i endeavour to recall to mind without distinction all the different women i have encountered, and to extricate from my impressions what was common to all,--omitting from consideration (except only when i am dealing specifically with these) all plainly abnormal women. having by this procedure arrived at a generalisation--which may of course be correct or incorrect--i submit it to my reader, and ask from him that he should, after going through the same mental operations as myself, review my judgment, and pronounce his verdict. if it should then so happen that the reader comes, in the case of any generalisation, to the same verdict as that which i have reached, that particular generalisation will, i submit, now go forward not as a datum of my individual experience, but as the intellectual resultant of two separate and distinct experiences. it will thereby be immensely fortified. if, on the other hand, the reader comes to the conclusion that a particular generalisation is out of conformity with his experience, that generalisation will go forward shorn of some, or perchance all, its authority. but in any case each individual generalisation must be referred further. and at the end it will, according as it finds, or fails to find, acceptance among the thoughtful, be endorsed as a truth, and be gathered into the garner of human knowledge; or be recognised as an error, and find its place with the tares, which the householder, in time of the harvest, will tell the reapers to bind in bundles to burn them. a. e. w. 1913. introduction programme of this treatise--motives from which women claim the suffrage--types of men who support the suffrage--john stuart mill. the task which i undertake here is to show that the woman's suffrage movement has no real intellectual or moral sanction, and that there are very weighty reasons why the suffrage should not be conceded to woman. i would propose to begin by analysing the mental attitude of those who range themselves on the side of woman suffrage, and then to pass on to deal with the principal arguments upon which the woman suffragist relies. the preponderating majority of the women who claim the suffrage do not do so from motives of public interest or philanthropy. they are influenced almost exclusively by two motives: resentment at the suggestion that woman should be accounted by man as inherently his inferior in certain important respects; and reprehension of a state of society in which more money, more personal liberty (in reality only more of the personal liberty which the possession of money confers), more power, more public recognition and happier physiological conditions fall to the share of man. a cause which derives its driving force so little from philanthropy and public interest and so much from offended _amour propre_ and pretensions which are, as we shall see, unjustified, has in reality no moral prestige. for its intellectual prestige the movement depends entirely on the fact that it has the advocacy of a certain number of distinguished men. it will not be amiss to examine that advocacy. the "intellectual" whose name appears at the foot of woman's suffrage petitions will, when you have him by himself, very often make confession:--"woman suffrage," he will tell you, "is not the grave and important cause which the ardent female suffragist deems it to be. not only will it not do any of the things which she imagines it is going to do, but it will leave the world exactly where it is. still--the concession of votes to women is desirable from the point of view of symmetry of classification; and it will soothe the ruffled feelings of quite a number of very worthy women." it may be laid down as a broad general rule that only two classes of men have the cause of woman's suffrage really at heart. the first is the crank who, as soon as he thinks he has discerned a moral principle, immediately gets into the saddle, and then rides hell-for-leather, reckless of all considerations of public expediency. the second is that very curious type of man, who when it is suggested in his hearing that the species woman is, measured by certain intellectual and moral standards, the inferior of the species man, solemnly draws himself up and asks, "are you, sir, aware that you are insulting my wife?" to this, the type of man who feels every unfavourable criticism of woman as a personal affront to himself, john stuart mill, had affinities. we find him writing a letter to the home secretary, informing him, in relation to a parliamentary bill restricting the sale of arsenic to male persons over twenty-one years, that it was a "gross insult to every woman, all women from highest to lowest being deemed unfit to have poison in their possession, lest they shall commit murder." we find him again, in a state of indignation with the english marriage laws, preluding his nuptials with mrs. taylor by presenting that lady with a formal charter; renouncing all authority over her, and promising her security against all infringements of her liberty which might proceed from _himself_. to this lady he is always ascribing credit for his eminent intellectual achievements. and lest his reader should opine that woman stands somewhat in the shade with respect to her own intellectual triumphs, mill undertakes the explanation. "felicitous thoughts," he tells us, "occur by hundreds to every woman of intellect. but they are mostly lost for want of a husband or friend . . . to estimate them properly, and to bring them before the world; and even when they are brought before it they generally appear as his ideas." not only did mill see woman and all her works through an optical medium which gave images like this; but there was upon his retina a large blind area. by reason of this last it was inapprehensible to him that there could be an objection to the sexes co-operating indiscriminately in work. it was beyond his ken that the sex element would under these conditions invade whole departments of life which are now free from it. as he saw things, there was in point of fact a risk of the human race dying out by reason of the inadequate imperativeness of its sexual instincts. mill's unfaithfulness to the facts cannot, however, all be put down to constitutional defects of vision. when he deals with woman he is no longer scrupulously conscientious. we begin to have our suspicions of his uprightness when we find him in his _subjection of women_ laying it down as a fundamental postulate that the subjection of woman to man is always morally indefensible. for no upright mind can fail to see that the woman who lives in a condition of financial dependence upon man has no moral claim to unrestricted liberty. the suspicion of mill's honesty which is thus awakened is confirmed by further critical reading of his treatise. in that skilful tractate one comes across, every here and there, a _suggestio falsi [suggestion of a falsehood],_ or a _suppressio veri [suppression of the truth],_ or a fallacious analogy nebulously expressed, or a mendacious metaphor, or a passage which is contrived to lead off attention from some weak point in the feminist case.[1] moreover, mill was unmindful of the obligations of intellectual morality when he allowed his stepdaughter, in connexion with feminist questions, to draft letters [2] which went forward as his own. [1] _vide [see]_ in this connexion the incidental references to mill on pp. 50, 81 footnote, and 139. [2] vide _letters of john stuart mill,_ vol. ii, pp. 51, 79, 80, 100, 141, 157, 238, 239, 247, 288, and 349. there is yet another factor which must be kept in mind in connexion with the writings of mill. it was the special characteristic of the man to set out to tackle concrete problems and then to spend his strength upon abstractions. in his _political economy_, where his proper subject matter was man with his full equipment of impulses, mill took as his theme an abstraction: an _economic man_ who is actuated solely by the desire of gain. he then worked out in great elaboration the course of conduct which an aggregate of these puppets of his imagination would pursue. having persuaded himself, after this, that he had in his possession a _vade mecum_ _[handbook]_ to the comprehension of human societies, he now took it upon himself to expound the principles which govern and direct these. until such time as this procedure was unmasked, mill's political economy enjoyed an unquestioned authority. exactly the same plan was followed by mill in handling the question of woman's suffrage. instead of dealing with woman as she is, and with woman placed in a setting of actually subsisting conditions, mill takes as his theme a woman who is a creature of his imagination. this woman is, _by assumption_, in mental endowments a replica of man. she lives in a world which is, _by tacit assumption_, free from complications of sex. and, if practical considerations had ever come into the purview of mill's mind, she would, _by tacit assumption_, be paying her own way, and be making full personal and financial contributions to the state. it is in connexion with this fictitious woman that mill sets himself to work out the benefits which women would derive from co-partnership with men in the government of the state, and those which such co-partnership would confer on the community. finally, practising again upon himself the same imposition as in his _political economy_, this unpractical trafficker in abstractions sets out to persuade his reader that he has, by dealing with fictions of the mind, effectively grappled with the concrete problem of woman's suffrage. this, then, is the philosopher who gives intellectual prestige to the woman's suffrage cause. but is there not, let us in the end ask ourselves, here and there at least, a man who is of real account in the world of affairs, and who is--not simply a luke-warm platonic friend or an opportunist advocate--but an impassioned promoter of the woman's suffrage movement? one knows quite well that there is. but then one suspects--one perhaps discerns by "the spirit sense"--that this impassioned promoter of woman's suffrage is, on the sequestered side of his life, an idealistic dreamer: one for whom some woman's memory has become, like beatrice for dante, a mystic religion. we may now pass on to deal with the arguments by which the woman suffragist has sought to establish her case. part i arguments which are adduced in support of woman's suffrage i arguments from elementary natural rights signification of the term "woman's rights"--argument from "justice"--juridical justice-"egalitarian equity"--argument from justice applied to taxation--argument from liberty--summary of arguments from elementary natural rights. let us note that the suffragist does not--except, perhaps, when she is addressing herself to unfledged girls and to the sexually embittered--really produce much effect by inveighing against the legal grievances of woman under the bastardy laws, the divorce laws, and the law which fixes the legal age of consent. this kind of appeal does not go down with the ordinary man and woman--first, because there are many who think that in spite of occasional hardships the public advantage is, on the whole, very well served by the existing laws; secondly, because any alterations which might be desirable could very easily be made without recourse to woman's suffrage; and thirdly, because the suffragist consistently acts on the principle of bringing up against man everything that can possibly be brought up against him, and of never allowing anything to appear on the credit side of the ledger. the arguments which the woman suffragist really places confidence in are those which are provided by undefined general principles, apothegms set out in the form of axioms, formulae which are vehicles for fallacies, ambiguous abstract terms, and "question-begging" epithets. your ordinary unsophisticated man and woman stand almost helpless against arguments of this kind. for these bring to bear moral pressure upon human nature. and when the intellect is confused by a word or formula which conveys an ethical appeal, one may very easily find oneself committed to action which one's unbiased reason would never have approved. the very first requirement in connexion with any word or phrase which conveys a moral exhortation is, therefore, to analyse it and find out its true signification. for all such concepts as justice, rights, freedom, chivalry--and it is with these that we shall be specially concerned--are, when properly defined and understood beacon-lights, but when ill understood and undefined, stumbling-blocks in the path of humanity. we may appropriately begin by analysing the term "woman's rights" and the correlative formula "woman has a right to the suffrage." our attention here immediately focuses upon the term _right_. it is one of the most important of the verbal agents by which the suffragist hopes to bring moral pressure to bear upon man. now, the term _right_ denotes in its juridical sense a debt which is owed to us by the state. a right is created when the community binds itself to us, its individual members, to intervene by force to restrain any one from interfering with us, and to protect us in the enjoyment of our faculties, privileges, and property. the term is capable of being given a wider meaning. while no one could appropriately speak of our having a _right_ to health or anything that man has not the power to bestow, it is arguable that there are, independent of and antecedent to law, elementary rights: a right to freedom; a right to protection against personal violence; a right to the protection of our property; and a right to the impartial administration of regulations which are binding upon all. such a use of the term _right_ could be justified on the ground that everybody would be willing to make personal sacrifices, and to combine with his fellows for the purpose of securing these essentials--an understanding which would almost amount to legal sanction. the suffragist who employs the term "woman's _rights_" does not employ the word rights in either of these senses. her case is analogous to that of a man who should in a republic argue about the divine _right_ of kings; or that of the liberal who should argue that it was his _right_ to live permanently under a liberal government; or of any member of a minority who should, with a view of getting what he wants, argue that he was contending only for his rights. the woman suffragist is merely bluffing. her formula "_woman's rights_" means simply "_woman's claims_." for the moment--for we shall presently be coming back to the question of the enforcement of rights--our task is to examine the arguments which the suffragist brings forward in support of her claims. first and chief among these is the argument that the _principle of justice_ prescribes that women should be enfranchised. when we inquire what the suffragist understands under the principle of justice, one receives by way of answer only the _petitio principii [question begging]_ that justice is a moral principle which includes woman suffrage among its implications. in reality it is only very few who clearly apprehend the nature of justice. for under this appellation two quite different principles are confounded. the primary and correct signification of the term justice will perhaps be best arrived at by pursuing the following train of considerations:-when man, long impatient at arbitrary and quite incalculable autocratic judgments, proceeded to build up a legal system to take the place of these, he built it upon the following series of axioms:--(_a_) all actions of which the courts are to take cognisance shall be classified. (_b_) the legal consequences of each class of action shall be definitely fixed. (_c_) the courts shall adjudicate only on questions of fact, and on the issue as to how the particular deed which is the cause of action should be classified. and (_d_) such decisions shall carry with them in an automatic manner the appointed legal consequences. for example, if a man be arraigned for the appropriation of another man's goods, it is an axiom that the court (when once the questions of fact have been disposed of) shall adjudicate only on the issue as to whether the particular appropriation of goods in dispute comes under the denomination of larceny, burglary, or other co-ordinate category; and that upon this the sentence shall go forth: directing that the legal consequences which are appointed to that particular class of action be enforced. this is the system every one can see administered in every court of justice. there is, however, over and above what has just been set out another essential element in justice. it is an element which readily escapes the eye. i have in view the fact that the classifications which are adopted and embodied in the law must not be arbitrary classifications. they must all be conformable to the principle of utility, and be directed to the advantage of society. if, for instance, burglary is placed in a class apart from larceny, it is discriminated from it because this distinction is demanded by considerations of public advantage. but considerations of utility would not countenance, and by consequence justice would not accept, a classification of theft into theft committed by a poor man and theft committed by a rich man. the conception of justice is thus everywhere interfused with considerations of utility and expediency. it will have become plain that if we have in view the justice which is administered in the courts--we may here term it _juridical justice_--then the question as to whether it is _just_ to refuse the suffrage to woman will be determined by considering whether the classification of men as voters and of women as non-voters is in the public interest. put otherwise, the question whether it would be just that woman should have a vote would require the answer "yes" or "no," according as the question whether it would be expedient or inexpedient that woman should vote required the answer "yes" or "no." but it would be for the electorate, not for the woman suffragist, to decide that question. there is, as already indicated, another principle which passes under the name of justice. i have in view the principle that in the distribution of wealth or political power, or any other privileges which it is in the power of the state to bestow, every man should share equally with every other man, and every woman equally with every man, and that in countries where europeans and natives live side by side, these latter should share all privileges equally with the white--the goal of endeavour being that all distinctions depending upon natural endowment, sex, and race should be effaced. we may call this principle the _principle of egalitarian equity_--first, because it aims at establishing a quite artificial equality; secondly, because it makes appeal to our ethical instincts, and claims on that ground to override the distinctions of which formal law takes account. but let us reflect that we have here a principle which properly understood, embraces in its purview all mankind, and not mankind only but also the lower animals. that is to say, we have here a principle, which consistently followed out, would make of every man and woman _in primis [at first]_ a socialist; then a woman suffragist; then a philo-native, negrophil, and an advocate of the political rights of natives and negroes; and then, by logical compulsion ant anti-vivisectionist, who accounts it _unjust_ to experiment on an animal; a vegetarian, who accounts it _unjust_ to kill animals for food; and findly one who, like the jains, accounts it unjust to take the life of even verminous insects. if we accept this principle of egalitarian equity as of absolute obligation, we shall have to accept along with woman's suffrage all the other "isms" believed in, and agitated for, by the cranks who are so numerously represented in the ranks of woman suffragists. if, on the other hand, we accept the doctrine of egalitarian equity with the qualification that it shall apply only so far as what it enjoins is conformable to public advantage, we shall again make expediency the criterion of the justice of woman's suffrage. before passing on it will be well to point out that the argument from justice meets us not only in the form that justice requires that woman should have a vote, but also in all sorts of other forms. we encounter it in the writings of publicists, in the formula _taxation_ _carries with it a right to representation_; and we encounter it in the streets, on the banners of woman suffrage processions, in the form _taxation without representation is tyranny_. this latter theorem of taxation which is displayed on the banners of woman suffrage is, i suppose, deliberately and intentionally a _suggestio falsi_. for only that taxation is tyrannous which is diverted to objects which are not useful to the contributors. and even the suffragist does not suggest that the taxes which are levied on women are differentially applied to the uses of men. putting, then, this form of argument out of sight, let us come to close quarters with the question whether the payment of taxes gives a title to control the finances of the state. now, if it really did so without any regard to the status of the claimant, not only women, but also foreigners residing in, or holding property in, england, and with these lunatics and miners with property, and let me, for the sake of a pleasanter collocation of ideas, hastily add peers of the realm, who have now no control over public finance, ought to receive the parliamentary franchise. and in like manner if the payment of a tax, without consideration of its amount, were to give a title to a vote, every one who bought an article which had paid a duty would be entitled to a vote in his own, or in a foreign, country according as that duty has been paid at home or abroad. in reality the moral and logical nexus between the payment of taxes and the control of the public revenue is that the solvent and selfsupporting citizens, and only these, are entitled to direct its financial policy. if i have not received, or if i have refunded, any direct contributions i may have received from the coffers of the state; if i have paid my _pro rata_ share of its establishment charges--_i.e._ of the costs of both internal administration and external defence; and i have further paid my proportional share of whatever may be required to make up for the deficit incurred on account of my fellow-men and women who either require direct assistance from the state, or cannot meet their share of the expenses of the state, i am a _solvent citizen_; and if i fail to meet these liabilities, i am an _insolvent citizen_ even though i pay such taxes as the state insists upon my paying. now if a woman insists, in the face of warnings that she had better not do so, on taxing man with dishonesty for withholding from her financial control over the revenues of the state, she has only herself to blame if she is told very bluntly that her claim to such control is barred by the fact that she is, as a citizen insolvent. the taxes paid by women would cover only a very small proportion of the establishment charges of the state which would properly be assigned to them. it falls to man to make up that deficit. and it is to be noted with respect to those women who pay their full pro rata contribution and who ask to be treated as a class apart from, and superior to, other women, that only a very small proportion of these have made their position for themselves. immeasurably the larger number are in a solvent position only because men have placed them there. all large fortunes and practically all the incomes which are furnished by investments are derived from man. nay; but the very revenues which the woman suffrage societies devote to man's vilification are to a preponderating extent derived from funds which he earned and gave over to woman. in connexion with the financial position of woman as here stated, it will be well to consider first the rich woman's claim to the vote. we may seek light on the logical and moral aspects of this claim by considering here two parallel cases. the position which is occupied by the peer under the english constitution furnishes a very interesting parallel to the position of the woman who is here in question. time out of mind the commons have viewed with the utmost jealousy any effort of the house of lords to obtain co-partnership with them in the control of the finances of the state; and, in pursuance of that traditional policy, the peers have recently, after appeal to the country, been shorn of the last vestige of financial control. now we may perhaps see, in this jealousy of a house of lords, which represents inherited wealth, displayed by a house of commons representing voters electing on a financial qualification, an unconscious groping after the moral principle that those citizens who are solvent by their own efforts, and only these, should control the finances of the state. and if this analogy finds acceptance, it would not--even if there were nothing else than this against such proposals--be logically possible, after ousting the peers who are large tax-payers from all control over the finances of the state, to create a new class of voters out of the female representatives of unearned wealth. the second parallel case which we have to consider presents a much simpler analogy. consideration will show that the position occupied in the state by the woman who has inherited money is analogous to that occupied in a firm by a sleeping partner who stands in the shoes of a deceased working partner, and who has only a small amount of capital in the business. now, if such a partner were to claim any financial control, and were to make trouble about paying his _pro rata_ establishment charges, he would be very sharply called to order. and he would never dream of appealing to justice by breaking windows, going to gaol, and undertaking a hunger strike. coming back from the particular to the general, and from the logical to the moral aspect of woman's claim to control the finances of the state on the ground that she is a tax-payer, it will suffice to point out that this claim is on a par with the claim to increased political power and completer control over the finances of the state which is put forward by a class of male voters who are already paying much less than their _pro rata_ share of the upkeep of the state. in each case it is a question of trying to get control of other people's money. and in the case of woman it is of "trying on" in connexion with her public partnership with man that principle of domestic partnership, "all yours is mine, and all mine's my own." next to the plea of justice, the plea which is advanced most insistently by the woman who is contending for a vote is the plea of liberty. we have here, again, a word which is a valuable asset to woman suffrage both in the respect that it brings moral pressure to bear, and in the respect that it is a word of ambiguous meaning. in accordance with this we have john stuart mill making propaganda for woman suffrage in a tractate entitled the_ subjection of_ _women_; we have a woman's _freedom_ league--"freedom" being a question-begging synonym for "parliamentary franchise"--and everywhere in the literature of woman's suffrage we have talk of woman's "emancipation"; and we have women characterised as serfs, or slaves--the terms _serfs_ and _slaves_ supplying, of course, effective rhetorical synonyms for non-voters. when we have succeeded in getting through these thick husks of untruth we find that the idea of liberty which floats before the eyes of woman is, not at all a question of freedom from unequitable legal restraints, but essentially a question of getting more of the personal liberty (or command of other people's services), which the possession of money confers and more freedom from sexual restraints. the suffragist agitator makes profit out of this ambiguity. in addressing the woman worker who does not, at the rate which her labour commands on the market, earn enough to give her any reasonable measure of financial freedom, the agitator will assure her that the suffrage would bring her more money, describing the woman suffrage cause to her as the cause of liberty. by juggling in this way with the two meanings of "liberty" she will draw her into her toils. the vote, however, would not raise wages of the woman worker and bring to her the financial, nor yet the physiological freedom she is seeking. the tactics of the suffragist agitator are the same when she is dealing with a woman who is living at the charges of a husband or relative, and who recoils against the idea that she lies under a moral obligation to make to the man who works for her support some return of gratitude. the suffragist agitator will point out to her that such an obligation is slavery, and that the woman's suffrage cause is the cause of freedom. and so we find the women who want to have everything for nothing, and the wives who do not see that they are beholden to man for anything, and those who consider that they have not made a sufficiently good bargain for themselves--in short, all the ungrateful women--flock to the banner of women's freedom--the banner of financial freedom for woman at the expense of financial servitude for man. the grateful woman will practically always be an anti-suffragist. it will be well, before passing on to another class of arguments, to summarise what has been said in the three foregoing sections. we have recognised that woman has not been defrauded of elementary natural rights; that justice, as distinguished from egalitarian equity, does not prescribe that she should be admitted to the suffrage; and that her status is not, as is dishonestly alleged, a status of serfdom or slavery. with this the whole case for recrimination against man, and _a fortiori [for greater reason]_ the case for [a] resort to violence, collapses. and if it does collapse, this is one of those things that carries consequences. it would beseem man to bethink himself that to give in to an unjustified and doubtfully honest claim is to minister to the demoralisation of the claimant. ii arguments from intellectual grievances of woman complaint of want of chivalry--complaint of "insults"--complaint of "illogicalities"--complaint of "prejudices"--the familiar suffragist grievance of the drunkard voter and the woman of property who is a non-voter--the grievance of woman being required to obey man-made laws. we pass from the argument from elementary natural rights to a different class of arguments--intellectual grievances. the suffragist tells us that it is unchivalrous to oppose woman's suffrage; that it is insulting to tell woman that she is unfit to exercise the franchise; that it is "illogical" to make in her case an exception to a general rule; that it is mere "prejudice" to withhold the vote from her; that it is indignity that the virtuous and highly intelligent woman has no vote, while the drunkard has; and that the woman of property has no vote, while her male underlings have; and, lastly, that it is an affront that a woman should be required to obey "man-made" laws. we may take these in their order. let us consider chivalry, first, from the standpoint of the woman suffragist. her notion of _chivalry_ is that man should accept every disadvantageous offer which may be made to him by woman. that, of course, is to make chivalry the principle of egalitarian equity limited in its application to the case between man and woman. it follows that she who holds that the suffrage ought, in obedience to that principle of justice, to be granted to her by man, might quite logically hold that everything else in man's gift ought also to be conceded. but to do the woman suffragist justice, she does not press the argument from chivalry. inasmuch as life has brought home to her that the ordinary man has quite other conceptions of that virtue, she declares that "she has no use for it." let us now turn to the anti-suffragist view. the anti-suffragist (man or woman) holds that chivalry is a principle which enters into every reputable relation between the sexes, and that of all the civilising agencies at work in the world it is the most important. but i think i hear the reader interpose, "what, then, is chivalry if it is not a question of serving woman without reward?" a moment's thought will make the matter clear. when a man makes this compact with a woman, "i will do you reverence, and protect you, and yield you service; and you, for your part, will hold fast to an ideal of gentleness, of personal refinement, of modesty, of joyous maternity, and to who shall say what other graces and virtues that endear woman to man," that is _chivalry_. it is not a question of a purely one-sided bargain, as in the suffragist conception. nor yet is it a bargain about purely material things. it is a bargain in which man gives both material things, and also things which pertain perhaps somewhat to the spirit; and in which woman gives back of these last. but none the less it is of the nature of a contract. there is in it the inexorable _do ut des; facio ut facias [give me this, and i will give you that; do this for me, and i will do that for you]._ and the contract is infringed when woman breaks out into violence, when she jettisons her personal refinement, when she is ungrateful, and, possibly, when she places a quite extravagantly high estimate upon her intellectual powers. we now turn from these almost too intimate questions of personal morality to discuss the other grievances which were enumerated above. with regard to the suffragist's complaint that it is _"insulting"_ for woman to be told that she is as a class unfit to exercise the suffrage, it is relevant to point out that one is not insulted by being told about oneself, or one's class, untruths, but only at being told about oneself, or one's class, truths which one dislikes. and it is, of course, an offence against ethics to try to dispose of an unpalatable generalisation by characterising it as "insulting." but nothing that man could do would be likely to prevent the suffragist resorting to this aggravated form of intellectual immorality. we may now turn to the complaint that it is "illogical" to withhold the vote from women. this is the kind of complaint which brings out in relief the logical endowment and legislative sagacity of the suffragist. with regard to her logical endowment it will suffice to indicate that the suffragist would appear to regard the promulgation of a rule which is to hold without exception as an essentially logical act; and the admission of any class exception to a rule of general application as an illogicality. it would on this principle be "illogical" to except, under conscription, the female population from military service. with regard to the suffragist's legislative sagacity we may note that she asks that we should put back the clock, and return to the days when any arbitrary principle might be adduced as a ground for legislation. it is as if bentham had never taught:-"what is it to offer a _good reason_ with respect to a law? it is to allege the good or evil which the law tends to produce; so much good, so many arguments in its favour; so much evil, so many arguments against it. "what is it to offer a _false reason?_ it is the alleging for, or against a law, something else than its good or evil effects." next, we may take up the question as to whether an unwelcome generalisation may legitimately be got out of the way by characterising it as a prejudice. this is a fundamentally important question not only in connexion with such an issue as woman suffrage, but in connexion with all search for truth in those regions where crucial scientific experiments cannot be instituted. in the whole of this region of thought we have to guide ourselves by generalisations. now every generalisation is in a sense a _prejudgment_. we make inferences from cases or individuals that have already presented themselves to such cases or individuals of the same class as may afterwards present themselves. and if our generalisation happens to be an unfavourable one, we shall of necessity have prejudged the case against those who are exceptions to their class. thus, for example, the proposition that woman is incapable of usefully exercising the parliamentary franchise prejudges the case against a certain number of capable women. it would none the less be absolutely anarchical to propose to abandon the system of guiding ourselves by prejudgments; and unfavourable prejudgments or prejudices are logically as well justified, and are obviously as indispensable to us as favourable prejudgments. the suffragist who proposes to dispose of generalisations which are unfavourable to woman as prejudices ought therefore to be told to stand down. it has probably never suggested itself to her that, if there were a mind which was not stored with both favourable prejudgments and prejudices, it would be a mind which had learned absolutely nothing from experience. but i hear the reader interpose, "is there not a grave danger that generalisations may be erroneous?" and i can hear the woman suffragist interject, "is there not a grave danger that unflattering generalisations about woman may be erroneous?" the answer to the general question is that there is of course always the risk that our generalisations may be erroneous. but when a generalisation finds wide acceptance among the thoughtful, we have come as close to truth as it is possible for humanity to come. to the question put by the suffragist the reply is that experience with regard to the capacity of woman has been accumulating in all climes, and through all times; and that the belief of men in the inherent inferiority of women in the matter of intellectual morality, and in the power of adjudication, has never varied. i pass now to the two most familiar grievances of the suffragist; the grievance that the virtuous and intelligent woman has no vote, while the male drunkard has; and the grievance that the woman of property has no vote, while her male underlings have. all that is worth while saying on these points is that the suffragist is here manufacturing grievances for herself, _first_, by reasoning from the false premiss that every legal distinction which happens to press hardly upon a few individuals ought for that to be abrogated; and, _secondly_, by steady leaving out of sight that logical inconsistencies can, for the more part, be got rid of only at the price of bringing others into being. the man who looks forward to the intellectual development of woman must be brought near to despair when he perceives that practically every woman suffragist sees in every hard case arising in connexion with a legal distinction affecting woman, an insult and example of the iniquity of man-made laws, or a logical inconsistency which could with a very little good-will be removed. we have come now to the last item on our list, to the grievance that woman has to submit herself to "_man-made laws_." this is a grievance which well rewards study. it is worth study from the suffragist point of view, because it is the one great injury under which all others are subsumed. and it is worth studying from the anti-suffragist point of view, because it shows how little the suffragist understands of the terms she employs; and how unreal are the wrongs which she resents. quite marvelously has the woman suffragist in this connexion misapprehended; or would she have us say misrepresented? the woman suffragist misapprehends--it will be better to assume that she "misapprehends"--when she suggests that we, the male electors, have framed the laws. in reality the law which we live under--and the law in those states which have adopted either the english, or the roman law--descends from the past. it has been evolved precedent, by precedent, by the decisions of generation upon generation of judges, and it has for centuries been purged by amending statutes. moreover we, the present male electors--the electors who are savagely attacked by the suffragist for our asserted iniquities in connexion with the laws which regulate sexual relations--have never in our capacity as electors had any power to alter an old, or to suggest a new law; except only in so far as by voting conservative or liberal we may indirectly have remotely influenced the general trend of legislation. "well but"--the suffragist will here rejoin--"is it not at any rate true that in the drafting of statutes and the framing of judicial decisions man has always nefariously discriminated against woman?" the question really supplies its own answer. it will be obvious to every one who considers that the drafting of statutes and the formulating of legal decisions is almost as impersonal a procedure as that of drawing up the rules to govern a game; and it offers hardly more opportunity for discriminating between man and woman. there are, however, three questions in connexion with which the law can and does make a distinction between man and woman. the _first_ is that of sexual relations: rape, divorce, bastardy, and the age of consent. in connexion with _rape_, it has never been alleged that the law is not sufficiently severe. it is, or has been, under colonial conditions, severe up to the point of ferocity. in the matter of _divorce_ the law of a minority of man-governed states differentiates in favour of man. it does so influenced by tradition, by what are held to be the natural equities, and by the fact that a man is required to support his wife's progeny. the law of _bastardy [illegitimate childbirth]_ is what it is because of the dangers of blackmail. the law which fixes the age of consent discriminates against man, laying him open to a criminal charge in situations where woman--and it is not certain that she is not a more frequent offender--escapes scot-free. the _second_ point in which the law differentiates is in the matter of exacting personal service for the state. if it had not been that man is more prone to discriminate in favour of woman than against her, every military state, when exacting personal military service from men, would have demanded from women some such equivalent personal service as would be represented by a similar period of work in an army clothing establishment, or ordnance factory, or army laundry; or would at any rate have levied upon woman a ransom in lieu of such service. the _third_ point in which the law distinguishes between man and woman is with reference to the suffrage. the object of this book is to show that this is equitable and in the interests of both. the suffragist further misapprehends when she regards it as an indignity to obey laws which she has not herself framed, or specifically sanctioned. (the whole male electorate, be it remarked, would here lie under the same dignity as woman.) but in reality, whether it is a question of the rules of a game, or of the reciprocal rights and duties of members of a community, it is, and ought to be, to every reasonable human being not a grievance, but a matter of felicitation, that an expert or a body of experts should have evolved a set of rules under which order and harmony are achieved. only vanity and folly would counsel amateurs to try to draw up rules or laws for themselves. again, the woman suffragist takes it as a matter of course that she would herself be able to construct a system of workable laws. in point of fact, the framing of a really useful law is a question of divining something which will apply to an infinite number of different cases and individuals. it is an intellectual feat on a par with the framing of a great generalisation. and would woman--that being of such short sight, whose mind is always so taken up with whatever instances lie nearest to her--be capable of framing anything that could pass muster as a great generalisation? lastly, the suffragist fails to see that the function of framing the laws is not an essential function of citizenship. the essential functions of citizenship are the shaping of public policy, and the control of the administrative acts of government. such directive control is in a state of political freedom exercised through two quite different agencies. it is exercised--and it is of the very essence of political freedom that this should be the normal method of control--in the first place, through expressed public opinion. by this are continuously regulated not only momentous matters of state, such as declarations of war and the introduction of constitutional changes, but also smaller and more individual matters, such as the commutation of a capital sentence, or the forcible feeding of militant suffragists. in the background, behind the moral compulsion of expressed public opinion, there is, in the case of a parliamentary state, also another instrument of control. i have in view that periodical settlement of the contested rulership of the state by the force of a majority of electors which is denoted a general election. the control exercised by the suffrages of the electors in a general election is in certain important respects less effective than that exercised by the everyday public expression of opinion. it falls short in the respect that its verdicts are, except only in connexion with the issue as to whether the government is to be retained in office or dismissed, ambiguous verdicts; further, in the respect that it comes into application either before governmental proposals have taken definite shape, or only after the expiration of a term of years, when the events are already passing out of memory. if we now consider the question of woman's franchise from the wider point of view here opened up, it will be clear that, so far as concerns the control which is exercised through public opinion on the government, the intelligent woman, and especially the intelligent woman who has made herself an expert on any matter, is already in possession of that which is a greater power than the franchise. she has the power which attaches to all intelligent opinion promulgated in a free state. moreover, wherever the special interest of women are involved, any woman may count on being listened to if she is voicing the opinions of any considerable section of her sex. in reality, therefore, woman is disfranchised only so far as relates to the confirmation of a government in office, or its dismissal by the _ultima ratio [ultimate reason]_ of an electoral contest. and when we reflect that woman does not come into consideration as a compelling force, and that an electoral contest partakes of the nature of a civil war, it becomes clear that to give her the parliamentary vote would be to reduce all those trials of strength which take the form of electoral contests to the level of a farce. with this i have, i will not say completed the tale of the suffragist's grievances--that would be impossible--but i have at any rate dealt with those which she has most acrimoniously insisted upon. iii arguments which take the form of "counsels of perfection" addressed to man argument that woman requires a vote for her protection--argument that woman ought to be invested with the responsibilities of voting in order that she may attain her full intellectual stature. there, however, remains still a further class of arguments. i have in view here arguments which have nothing to do with elementary natural rights, nor yet with wounded _amour propre._ they concern ethics, and sympathy, and charitable feelings. the suffragist here gives to man "counsels of perfection." it will be enough to consider here two of these:--the _first_, the argument that woman, being the weaker vessel, needs, more than man, the suffrage for her _protection_; the _second_, that woman, being less than man in relation to public life, ought to be given the vote for _instructional purposes_. the first of these appeals will, for instance, take the following form:--"consider the poor sweated east end woman worker. she knows best where the shoe pinches. you men can't know. give her a vote; and you shall see that she will very soon better her condition." when i hear that argument i consider:--we will suppose that woman was ill. should we go to her and say: "you know best, know better than any man, what is wrong with you. here are all the medicines and remedies. make your own selection, for that will assuredly provide what will be the most likely to help." if this would be both futile and inhuman, much more would it be so to seek out this woman who is sick in fortune and say to her, "go and vote for the parliamentary candidate who will be likely to influence the trend of legislation in a direction which will help." what would really help the sweated woman labourer would, of course, be to have the best intellect brought to bear, not specially upon the problem of indigent woman, but upon the whole social problem. but the aspect of the question which is, from our present point of view, the fundamentally important one is the following: granting that the extension of the suffrage to woman would enable her, as the suffragist contends, to bring pressure upon her parliamentary representative, man, while anxious to do his very best for woman, might very reasonably refuse to go about it in this particular way. if a man has a wife whom he desires to treat indulgently, he does not necessarily open a joint account with her at his bankers. if he wants to contribute to a charity he does not give to the managers of that charity a power of attorney over his property. and if he is a philanthropical director of a great business he does not, when a pathetic case of poverty among his staff is brought to his notice, imperil the fortunes of his undertaking by giving to his workmen shares and a vote in the management. moreover, he would perhaps regard it as a little suspect if a group of those who were claiming this as a right came and told him that "it was very _selfish_ of him" not to grant their request. precious above rubies to the suffragist and every other woman who wants to apply the screw to man is that word _selfish_. it furnishes her with the _petitio principii_ that man is under an ethical obligation to give anything she chooses to ask. we come next--and this is the last of all the arguments we have to consider--to the argument that the suffrage ought to be given to woman for instructional purposes. now it would be futile to attempt to deny that we have ready to hand in the politics of the british empire--that empire which is swept along in "the too vast orb of her fate"--an ideal political training-ground in which we might put woman to school. the woman voter would there be able to make any experiment she liked. but one wonders why it has not been proposed to carry woman's instruction further, and for instructional purposes to make of a woman let us say a judge, or an ambassador, or a prime minister. there would--if only it were legitimate to sacrifice vital national interests--be not a little to say in favour of such a course. one might at any rate hope by these means once for all to bring home to man the limitations of woman. part ii arguments against the concession of the parliamentary suffrage to woman i woman's disability in the matter of physical force international position of state would be imperilled by woman's suffrage--internal equilibrium of state would be imperilled. the woman suffrage movement has now gone too far to be disposed of by the overthrow of its arguments, and by a mere indication of those which could be advanced on the other side. the situation demands the bringing forward of the case against woman's suffrage; and it must be the full and quite unexpurgated case. i shall endeavour to do this in the fewest possible words, and to be more especially brief where i have to pass again over ground which i have previously traversed in dealing with the arguments of the suffragists. i may begin with what is fundamental. it is an axiom that we should in legislating guide ourselves directly by considerations of utility and expediency. for abstract principles--i have in view here _rights, justice, egalitarian equity, equality, liberty, chivalry, logicality,_ and such like--are not all of them guides to utility; and each of these is, as we have seen, open to all manner of private misinterpretation. applying the above axiom to the issue before us, it is clear that we ought to confine ourselves here to the discussion of the question as to whether the state would, or would not, suffer from the admission of women to the electorate. we can arrive at a judgment upon this by considering, on the one hand, the class-characters of women so far as these may be relevant to the question of the suffrage; and, on the other hand, the legislative programmes put forward by the female legislative reformer and the feminist. in connexion with the class-characters of woman, it will be well, before attempting to indicate them, to interpolate here the general consideration that the practical statesman, who has to deal with things as they are, is not required to decide whether the characters of women which will here be considered are, as the physiologist (who knows that the sexual products influence every tissue of the body) cannot doubt, "secondary sexual characters"; or, as the suffragist contends, "acquired characters." it will be plain that whether defects are "secondary sexual characters" (and therefore as irremediable as "racial characters"); or whether they are "acquired characters" (and as such theoretically remediable) they are relevant to the question of the concession of the suffrage just so long as they continue to be exhibited.[1] [1] this is a question on which mill (vide _subjection of women_, last third of chapter i) has endeavoured to confuse the issues for his reader, first, by representing that by no possibility can man know anything of the "nature," _i.e._, of the "secondary sexual characters" of woman; and, secondly, by distracting attention from the fact that "acquired characters" may produce unfitness for the suffrage. the primordial argument against giving woman the vote is that that vote would not represent physical force. now it is by physical force alone and by prestige--which represents physical force in the background--that a nation protects itself against foreign interference, upholds its rule over subject populations, and enforces its own laws. and nothing could in the end more certainly lead to war and revolt than the decline of the military spirit and loss of prestige which would inevitably follow if man admitted woman into political co-partnership. while it is arguable that such a partnership with woman in government as obtains in australia and new zealand is sufficiently unreal to be endurable, there cannot be two opinions on the question that a virile and imperial race will not brook any attempt at forcible control by women. again, no military foreign nation or native race would ever believe in the stamina and firmness of purpose of any nation that submitted even to the semblance of such control. the internal equilibrium of the state also would be endangered by the admission to the register of millions of electors whose vote would not be endorsed by the authority of physical force. regarded from this point of view a woman's suffrage measure stands on an absolutely different basis to any other extension of the suffrage. an extension which takes in more men--whatever else it may do--makes for stability in the respect that it makes the decrees of the legislature more irresistible. an extension which takes in any women undermines the physical sanction of the laws. we can see indications of the evil that would follow such an event in the profound dissatisfaction which is felt when--in violation of the democratic principle that every man shall count for one, and no man for more than one--the political wishes of the large constituencies which return relatively few members to parliament, are overborne by those of constituencies which, with a smaller aggregate population, return more members. and we see what such evil finally culminates in when the over-representation of one part of a country and the corresponding under-representation of other portions has led a large section of the people to pledge themselves to disregard the eventual ordinances of parliament. if ever the question as to whether the will of ulster or that of the nationalists is to prevail is brought to the arbitrament of physical force, it will be due to the inequalities of parliamentary representation as between england and ireland, and as between the unionist and nationalist population of ulster. the general lesson that all governmental action ought to be backed by force, is further brought home to the conscience when we take note of the fact that every one feels that public morality is affronted when senile, infirm, and bedridden men are brought to the poll to turn the scale in hotly contested elections. for electoral decisions are felt to have moral prestige only when the electoral figures quantitatively represent the physical forces which are engaged on either side. and where vital interests are involved, no class of men can be expected to accept any decision other than one which rests upon the _ultima ratio_. now all the evils which are the outcome of disparities between the parliamentary power and the organised physical force of contending parties would "grow" a hundredfold if women were admitted to the suffrage. there would after that be no electoral or parliamentary decision which would not be open to challenge on the ground that it was impossible to tell whether the party which came out the winner had a majority which could enforce its will, or only a majority obtained by the inclusion of women. and no measure of redistribution could ever set that right. there may find place here also the consideration that the voting of women would be an unsettling element in the government of the state, forasmuch as they would, by reason of a general lack of interest in public affairs, only very; seldom come to the poll: would, in fact, come to the poll in full strength only when some special appeal had come home to their emotions. now an electorate which includes a very large proportion of quite uninterested voters would be in the same case as a legislature which included a very large proportion of members who made a practice of staying away. it would be in the same case, because the absentees, who would not have acquired the training which comes from consecutive attention to public affairs, might at any moment step in and upset the stability of state by voting for some quite unconsidered measure. coming back in conclusion to our main issue, i would re-emphasise an aspect of the question upon which i have already elsewhere insisted.[1] i have in view the fact that woman does, and should, stand to physical violence in a fundamentally different relation to man. nothing can alter the fact that, the very moment woman resorts to violence, she places herself within the jurisdiction of an ethical law, which is as old as civilisation, and which was framed in its interests. [1] _vide_ appendix, pp. 176-179. ii woman's disability in the matter of intellect characteristics of the feminine mind--suffragist illusions with regard to the equality of man and woman as workers--prospect for the intellectual future of woman--has woman advanced? the woman voter would be pernicious to the state not only because she could not back her vote by physical force, but also by reason of her intellectual defects. woman's mind attends in appraising a statement primarily to the mental images which it evokes, and only secondarily--and sometimes not at all--to what is predicated in the statement. it is over-influenced by individual instances; arrives at conclusions on incomplete evidence; has a very imperfect sense of proportion; accepts the congenial as true, and rejects the uncongenial as false; takes the imaginary which is desired for reality, and treats the undesired reality which is out of sight as non-existent--building up for itself in this way, when biased by predilections and aversions, a very unreal picture of the external world. the explanation of this is to be found in all the physiological attachments of woman's mind:[1] in the fact that mental images are in her over-intimately linked up with emotional reflex responses; that yielding to such reflex responses gives gratification; that intellectual analysis and suspense of judgment involve an inhibition of reflex responses which is felt as neural distress; that precipitate judgment brings relief from this physiological strain; and that woman looks upon her mind not as an implement for the pursuit of truth, but as an instrument for providing her with creature comforts in the form of agreeable mental images. [1] certain of these have already been referred to in the letter printed in the appendix (_ vide_ p.167 _infra_). in order to satisfy the physical yearning for such comforts, a considerable section of intelligent and virtuous women insist on picturing to themselves that the reign of physical force is over, or as good as over; that distinctions based upon physical and intellectual force may be reckoned as non-existent; that male supremacy as resting upon these is a thing of the past; and that justice means egalitarian equity--means equating the weaklings with the strong and the incapable with the capable. all this because these particular ideas are congenial to the woman of refinement, and because it is to her, when she is a suffragist, uncongenial that there should exist another principle of justice which demands from the physically and intellectually capable that they shall retain the reins of government in their own hands; and specially uncongenial that in all man-governed states the ideas of justice of the more forceful should have worked out so much to the advantage of women, that a large majority of these are indifferent or actively hostile to the woman's suffrage movement. in further illustration of what has been said above, it may be pointed out that woman, even intelligent woman, nurses all sorts of misconceptions about herself. she, for instance, is constantly picturing to herself that she can as a worker lay claim to the same all-round efficiency as a man--forgetting that woman is notoriously unadapted to tasks in which severe physical hardships have to be confronted; and that hardly any one would, if other alternative offered, employ a woman in any work which imposed upon her a combined physical and mental strain, or in any work where emergencies might have to be faced. in like manner the suffragist is fond of picturing to herself that woman is for all ordinary purposes the intellectual equal, and that the intelligent woman is the superior of the ordinary man. these results are arrived at by fixing the attention upon the fact that an ordinary man and an ordinary woman are, from the point of view of memory and apprehension, very much on a level; and that a highly intelligent woman has a quicker memory and a more rapid power of apprehension than the ordinary man; and further, by leaving out of regard that it is not so much a quick memory or a rapid power of apprehension which is required for effective intellectual work, as originality, or at any rate independence of thought, a faculty of felicitious generalisations and diacritical judgment, long-sustained intellectual effort, an unselective mirroring of the world in the mind, and that relative immunity to fallacy which goes together with a stable and comparatively unresponsive nervous system. when we consider that the intellect of the quite ungifted man works with this last-mentioned physiological advantage, we can see that the male intellect must be, and--_pace [with the permission of]_ the woman suffragist--it in point of fact is, within its range, a better instrument for dealing with the practical affairs of life than that of the intelligent woman. how far off we are in the case of woman from an unselective mirroring of the world in the mind is shown by the fact that large and important factors of life may be represented in woman's mind by lacunae [gaps] of which she is totally unconscious. thus, for instance, that not very unusual type of spinster who is in a condition of retarded development (and you will find this kind of woman even on county council's), is completely unconscious of the sexual element in herself and in human nature generally. nay, though one went from the dead, he could not bring it home to her that unsatisfied sexuality is an intellectual disability. sufficient illustration will now have been given of woman's incapacity to take a complete or objective view of any matter in which she has a personal, or any kind of emotional interest; and this would now be the place to discuss those other aspects of her mind which are relevant to her claim to the suffrage. i refer to her logical endowment and her political sagacity. all that i might have been required to say here on these issues has, however, already been said by me in dealing with the arguments of the suffragist. i have there carefully written it in between the lines. one thing only remains over.--we must, before we pass on, consider whether woman has really, as she tells us, given earnest for the future weeding out of these her secondary sexual characters, by making quite phenomenal advances within the lifetime of the present generation; and, above all, whether there is any basis for woman's confident assurance that, when for a few generations she shall have enjoyed educational advantages, she will at any rate pull up level with man. the vision of the future may first engage our attention; for only this roseate prospect makes of any man a feminist. now the basis that all this hope rests upon is the belief that it is a law of heredity that acquired characteristics are handed down; and, let it be observed, that whereas this theory found, not many decades ago, under the influence of darwin, thousands of adherents among scientific men, it finds to-day only here and there an adherent. but let that pass, for we have to consider here, not only whether acquired characteristics are handed down, but further whether, "if we held that doctrine true," it would furnish scientific basis for the belief that educational advantages carried on from generation to generation would level up woman's intellect to man's; and whether, as the suffragist also believes, the narrow education of past generations of women can be held responsible for their present intellectual shortcomings. a moment's consideration will show--for we may here fix our eyes only on the future--that woman could not hope to advance relatively to man except upon the condition that the acquired characteristics of woman, instead of being handed down equally to her male and female descendants, were accumulated upon her daughters. now if that be a law of heredity, it is a law which is as yet unheard of outside the sphere of the woman suffrage societies. moreover, one is accustomed to hear women, when they are not arguing on the suffrage, allege that clever mothers make clever sons. it must, as it will have come home to us, be clear to every thoughtful mind that woman's belief that she will, through education and the cumulation of its effects upon her through generations, become a more glorious being, rests, not upon any rational basis, but only on the physiological fact that what is congenial to woman impresses itself upon her as true. all that sober science in the form of history and physiology would seem to entitle us to hope from the future of woman is that she will develop _pari passu [step by step]_ with man; and that education will teach her not to retard him overmuch by her lagging in the rear. in view of this larger issue, the question as to whether woman has, in any real sense of the word, been making progress in the course of the present generation, loses much of interest. if to move about more freely, to read more freely, to speak out her mind more freely, and to have emancipated herself from traditionary beliefs--and, i would add, traditionary ethics--is to have advanced, woman has indubitably advanced. but the educated native too has advanced in all these respects; and he also tells us that he is pulling up level with the white man. let us at any rate, when the suffragist is congratulating herself on her own progress, meditate also upon that dictum of nietzsche, "progress is writ large on all woman's banners and bannerets; but one can actually see her going back." iii woman's disability in the matter of public morality standards by which morality can be appraised--conflict between different moralities--the correct standard of morality--moral psychology of men and woman--difference between man and woman in matters of public morality. yet a third point has to come into consideration in connexion with the woman voter. this is, that she would be pernicious to the state also by virtue of her defective moral equipment. let me make clear what is the nature of the defect of morality which is here imputed to woman. conduct may be appraised by very different standards. we may appraise it by reference to a transcendental religious ideal which demands that the physical shall be subordinated to the spiritual, and that the fetters of self should be flung aside. or again, we may bring into application purely mundane utilitarian standards, and may account conduct as immoral or moral according as it seeks only the happiness of the agent, or the happiness of the narrow circle of humanity which includes along with him also his relatives and intimate friends, or again, the welfare of the wider circle which includes all those with whom he may have come into contact, or whom he may affect through his work; or again, the welfare of the whole body-politic of which we are members; or lastly, that of the general body of mankind. now it might be contended that all these different moralities are in their essence one and the same; and that one cannot comply with the requirements of any one of these systems of morality without fulfilling in a measure the requirements of all the other moralities. it might, for example, be urged that if a man strive after the achievement of a transcendental ideal in which self shall be annulled, he will _pro tanto [to such extent]_ be bringing welfare to his domestic circle; or again, that it would be impossible to promote domestic welfare without, through this, promoting the welfare of the nation, and through that the general welfare of the world. in like manner it might be argued that all work done for abstract principles of morality like liberty and justice, for the advancement of knowledge, and for whatever else goes to the building up of a higher civilisation, will, by promoting the welfare of the general body of mankind, redound to the advantage of each several nation, and ultimately to the advantage of each domestic circle. but all this would be true only in a very superficial and strictly qualified sense. in reality, just as there is eternal conflict between egoism and altruism, so there is conflict between the different moralities. to take examples, the attempt to actualise the transcendental religious ideal may, when pursued with ardour, very easily conflict with the morality which makes domestic felicity its end. and again--as we see in the anti-militarist movement in france, in the history of the early christian church, in the case of the quakers and in the teachings of tolstoy--it may quite well set itself in conflict with national ideals, and dictate a line of conduct which is, from the point of view of the state, immoral. we need no further witness of the divorce between idealistic and national morality than that which is supplied in the memorable utterance of bishop magee, "no state which was conducted on truly christian principles could hold together for a week." and domestic morality will constantly come into conflict with public morality. to do everything in one's power to advance one's relatives and friends irrespectively of all considerations of merit would, no doubt, be quite sound domestic morality; it could, however, not always be reconciled with public morality. in the same way, to take one's country's part in all eventualities would be patriotic, but it might quite well conflict with the higher interests of humanity. now, the point towards which we have been winning our way is that each man's moral station and degree will be determined by the election which he makes where egoism and altruism, and where a narrower and a wider code of morality, conflict. that the moral law forbids yielding to the promptings of egoism or to those of the narrower moralities when this involves a violation of the precepts of the wider morality is axiomatic. criminal and anti-social actions are not excused by the fact that motives which impelled their commission were not purely egoistic. but the ethical law demands more than abstention from definitely anti-social actions. it demands from every individual that he shall recognise the precepts of public morality as of superior obligation to those of egoism and domestic morality. by the fact that her public men recognised this ethical law rome won for herself in the ancient world spectacular grandeur. by an unexampled national obedience to it glory has in our time accrued to japan. and, in truth, there is not anywhere any honour or renown but such as comes from casting away the bonds of self and of the narrower moralities to carry out the behests of the wider morality. even in the strongholds of transcendental religion where it was axiomatic that morality began and was summed up in personal morality, it is gradually coming to be recognised that, where we have two competing moralities, it is always the wider morality which has the prior claim upon our allegiance. kingsley's protest against the morality of "saving one's dirty soul" marked a step in advance. and we find full recognition of the superior claim of the larger morality in that other virile dictum of bishop magee, "i would rather have england free, than england sober." that is, "i would maintain the conditions which make for the highest civilisation even at the price of a certain number of lapses in personal and domestic morality." what is here new, let it be noted, is only the acknowledgment by those whose official allegiance is to a transcendental ideal of personal morality that they are called upon to obey a higher allegiance. for there has always existed, in the doctrine that guilty man could not be pardoned and taken back into favour until the claims of eternal justice had been satisfied, theoretical recognition of the principle that one must conform to the precepts of abstract morality before one may ethically indulge oneself in the lower moralities of philanthropy and personal benevolence. the view point from which i would propose to survey the morality of woman has now been reached. it has, however, still to be pointed out that we may appropriately, in comparing the morals of man and woman, confine our survey to a comparatively narrow field. that is to say, we may here rule out all that relates to purely personal and domestic morality--for this is not relevant to the suffrage. and we may also rule out all that relates to offences against the police laws--such as public drunkenness and offences against the criminal law--for these would come into consideration only in connexion with an absolutely inappreciable fraction of voters. it will be well to begin by signalising certain points in the moral psychology of man. when morality takes up its abode in a man who belongs to the intellectual caste it will show itself in his becoming mindful of his public obligations. he will consider the quality of his work as affecting the interest of those who have to place dependence upon it; behaviour to those who are casually brought into relations with him; the discharge of his indebtedness to the community; and the proper conduct of public affairs. in particular, it will be to him a matter of concern that the law shall be established upon classifications which are just (in the sense of being conformable to public advantage); and that the laws shall everywhere be justly, that is to say rigorously and impartially, administered. if we now turn to the man in the street we shall not find him especially sensible to the appeals of morality. but when the special call comes it will generally be possible to trust him: as an elector, to vote uninfluenced by considerations of private advantage; and, when called to serve on a jury, to apply legal classifications without distinction of person. furthermore, in all times of crisis he may be counted upon to apply the principles of communal morality which have been handed down in the race. the _titanic_ disaster, for example, showed in a conspicuous manner that the ordinary man will, "letting his own life go," obey the communal law which lays it upon him, when involved in a catastrophe, to save first the women and children. lastly, we come to the man who is intolerant of all the ordinary restraints of personal and domestic morality. even in him the seeds of communal morality will often be found deeply implanted. time and again a regiment of scallawags, who have let all other morality go hang, have, when the proper chord has been made to vibrate in them, heard the call of communal morality, and done deeds which make the ears of whosoever heareth of them to tingle. we come into an entirely different land when we come to the morality of woman. it is personal and domestic, not public, morality which is instinctive in her. in other words, when egoism gives ground to altruism, that altruism is exercised towards those who are linked up to her by a bond of sexual affection, or a community in blood, or failing this, by a relation of personal friendship, or by some other personal relation. and even when altruism has had her perfect work, woman feels no interest in, and no responsibility towards, any abstract moral ideal. and though the suffragist may protest, instancing in disproof of this her own burning enthusiasm for justice, we, for our part, may legitimately ask whether evidence of a moral enthusiasm for justice would be furnished by a desire to render to others their due, or by vehement insistence upon one's own rights, and systematic attempts to extort, under the cover of the word "justice," advantages for oneself. but it will be well to dwell a little longer on, and to bring out more clearly, the point that woman's moral ideals are personal and domestic, as distinguished from impersonal and public. let us note in this connexion that it would be difficult to conceive of a woman who had become deaf to the appeal of personal and domestic morality making it a matter of _amour propre_ to respond to a call of public morality; and difficult to conceive of a woman recovering lost self-respect by fulfilling such an obligation. but one knows that woman will rise and respond to the call of any strong human or transcendental personal affection. again, it is only a very exceptional woman who would, when put to her election between the claims of a narrow and domestic and a wider or public morality, subordinate the former to the latter. in ordinary life, at any rate, one finds her following in such a case the suggestions of domestic--i had almost called it animal--morality. it would be difficult to find any one who would trust a woman to be just to the rights of others in the case where the material interests of her children, or of a devoted husband, were involved. and even to consider the question of being in such a case intellectually just to any one who came into competition with personal belongings like husband and child would, of course, lie quite beyond the moral horizon of ordinary woman. it is not only the fact that the ideals of abstract justice and truth would inevitably be brushed aside by woman in the interests of those she loves which comes into consideration here; it is also the fact that woman is almost without a moral sense in the matter of executing a public trust such as voting or attaching herself to a political association with a view to influencing votes. there is between man and woman here a characteristic difference. while it is, of course, not a secret to anybody that the baser sort of man can at any time be diverted from the path of public morality by a monetary bribe or other personal advantage, he will not, at any rate, set at naught all public morality by doing so for a peppercorn. he will, for instance, not join, for the sake of a daughter, a political movement in which he has no belief; nor vote for this or that candidate just to please a son; or censure a member of parliament who has in voting on female suffrage failed to consider the predilections of his wife. but woman, whether she be politically enfranchised as in australasia, or unenfranchised as at home; whether she be immoral in the sense of being purely egoistic, or moral in the sense of being altruistic, very rarely makes any secret or any shame of doing these things. in this matter one would not be very far from the truth if one alleged that there are no good women, but only women who have lived under the influence of good men. even more serious than this postponement of public to private morality is the fact that even reputedly ethical women will, in the interests of what they take to be idealistic causes, violate laws which are universally accepted as being of moral obligation. i here pass over the recent epidemic of political crime among women to advert to the want of conscience which permits, in connexion with professedly idealistic causes, not only misrepresentations, but the making of deliberately false statements on matters of public concern. it is, for example, an illustration of the profoundly different moral atmospheres in which men and women live that when a public woman recently made, for what was to her an idealistic purpose, a deliberately false statement of fact in _the times_, she quite naively confessed to it, seeing nothing whatever amiss in her action. and it did not appear that any other woman suffragist could discern any kind of immorality in it. the worst thing they could find to say was that it perhaps was a little _gauche_ to confess to making a deliberately false statement on a public question when it was for the moment particularly desirable that woman should show up to best advantage before the eyes of man. we may now for a moment put aside the question of woman's public morality and consider a question which is inextricably mixed up with the question of the admission of woman to the suffrage. this is the mental attitude and the programme of the female legislative reformer. iv mental outlook and programme of the female legislative reformer the suffragist woman, when she is the kind of woman who piques herself upon her ethical impulses, will, even when she is intellectually very poorly equipped, and there is no imprint of altruism upon her life, assure you that nothing except the moral influence of woman, exerted through the legislation, which her practical mind would be capable of initiating, will ever avail to abate existing social evils, and to effect the moral redemption of the world. it will not be amiss first to try to introduce a little clearness and order into our ideas upon those formidably difficult problems which the female legislative reformer desires to attack, and then to consider how a rational reforming mind would go to work in the matter of proposing legislation for these. _first_ would come those evils which result from individuals seeking advantage to themselves by the direct infliction of injury upon others. violations of the criminal law and the various forms of sweating and fleecing one's fellow-men come under this category. _then_ would come the evils which arise out of purveying physiological and psychological refreshments and excitements, which are, according as they are indulged in temperately or intemperately, grateful and innocuous, or sources of disaster and ruin. the evils which are associated with the drink traffic and the betting industry are typical examples. _finally,_ there would come into consideration the evils of death or physical suffering deliberately inflicted by man upon man with a view to preventing worse evils. the evil of war would come under this category. in this same category might also come the much lesser evil of punitive measures inflicted upon criminals. and with this might be coupled the evil of killing and inflicting physical suffering upon animals for the advantage of man. we may now consider how the rational legislative reformer would in each case go to work. he would not start with the assumption that it _must_ be possible by some alteration of the law to abolish or conspicuously reduce any of the afore-mentioned evils; nor yet with the assumption that, if a particular alteration of the law would avail to bring about this result, that alteration ought necessarily to be made. he would recognise that many things which are theoretically desirable are unattainable; and that many legislative measures which could perfectly well be enforced would be barred by the fact that they would entail deplorable unintended consequences. the rational legislator whom we have here in view would accordingly always take expert advice as to whether the desired object could be achieved by legal compulsion; and as to whether a projected law which satisfied the condition of being workable would give a balance of advantages over disadvantages. in connexion with a proposal for the prevention of sweating he would, for instance, take expert advice as to whether its provisions could be enforced; and whether, if enforceable, they would impose added hardships on any class of employees or penalties on any innocent class of employers. in like manner in connexion with a proposed modification in criminal procedure, the rational reformer would defer to the expert on the question as to whether such modification would secure greater certainty of punishment for the guilty without increasing the risk of convicting the innocent. in connexion with the second category of evils--the category under which would come those of drinking and betting--the rational legislative reformer would recognise the complete impracticability of abolishing by legislative prohibition physiological indulgences and the evils which sometimes attend upon them. he would consider instead whether these attendant evils could be reduced by making the regulating laws more stringent; and whether more stringent restrictions--in addition to the fact that they would filch from the all too small stock of human happiness--would not, by paving the way for further invasions of personal liberty, cripple the free development of the community. on the former question, which only experts could properly answer, the reasonable reformer would defer to their advice. the answer to the last question he would think out for himself. in connexion with the evils which are deliberately inflicted by man with a view to reaping either personal profit, or profit for the nation, or profit for humanity, the reasonable reformer would begin by making clear to himself that the world we live in is not such a world as idealism might conjure up, but a world of violence, in which life must be taken and physical suffering be inflicted. and he would recognise that the vital material interests of the nation can be protected only by armed force; that civilisation can be safeguarded only by punishing violations of the criminal law; and that the taking of animal life and the infliction of a certain amount of physical suffering upon animals is essential to human well-being, comfort, and recreation; and essential also to the achievement of the knowledge which is required to combat disease. and the reasonable reformer will, in conformity with this, direct his efforts, not to the total abolition of war, but to the prevention of such wars as are not waged for really vital material interests, and to the abatement of the ferocities of warfare. in the case of punishment for criminals he would similarly devote his efforts not to the abrogation of punishments, but to the relinquishment of any that are not reformatory, or really deterrent. in like manner the reasonable reformer would not seek to prohibit the slaughtering of animals for food, or the killing off of animal pests, or the trapping, shooting, or hunting of animals for sport or profit, nor yet would he seek to prevent their utilisation of animals for the acquirement of knowledge. he would direct his efforts to reducing the pain which is inflicted, and to preserving everywhere measure and scale--not sentimentally forbidding in connexion with one form of utilisation of animals what is freely allowed in connexion with another--but differentiating, if differentiating at all in favour of permitting the infliction of proportionately greater suffering in the case where national and humanitarian interests, than in the case where mere recreation and luxury and personal profit, are at stake. having recognised what reason would prescribe to the legislative reformer, we have next to inquire how far the man voter conforms to these prescriptions of reason, and how far the woman reformer would do so if she became a voter. let it be noted that the man in the street makes no question about falling in with the fact that he is born into a world of violence, and he acquiesces in the principle that the state, and, failing the state, the individual, may employ force and take life in defence of vital material interests. and he frankly falls in with it being a matter of daily routine to kill and inflict suffering upon animals for human profit or advantage. even if these principles are not formulated by the man in the street in quite such plain terms, he not only carries them out in practice, but he conducts all his thinking upon these presuppositions. he, for instance, would fall in with the proposition that morality does not require from man that he should give up taking life or inflicting physical suffering. and he would not cavil with the statement that man should put reasonable limits to the amount of suffering he inflicts, and confine this within as narrow a range as possible--always requiring for the death or suffering inflicted some tangible advantage. moreover, if the question should be raised as to whether such advantage will result, the ordinary man will as a rule, where the matter lies beyond his personal ken, take expert opinion before intervening. he will, for instance, be prepared to be so guided in connexion with such questions as whether disease could, if more knowledge were available, be to a large extent prevented and cured; as to how far animal experiments would contribute to the acquirement of that knowledge; and as to how far the physical suffering which might be involved in these experiments can be minimised or abolished. but not every man is prepared to fall in with this programme of inflicting physical suffering for the relief of physical suffering. there is also a type of spiritually-minded man who in this world of violence sets his face uncompromisingly against the taking of any life and the infliction of any physical suffering--refusing to make himself a partaker of evil. an idealist of this type will, like tolstoy, be an anti-militarist. he will advocate a general gaol delivery for criminals. he will be a vegetarian. he will not allow an animal's life to be taken in his house, though the mice scamper over his floors. and he will, consistently with his conviction that it is immoral to resort to force, refuse to take any part in legislation or government. this attitude, which is that commended by the hindoo and the buddhist religions, is, of course, a quite unpractical attitude towards life. it is, in fact, a self-destructive attitude, unless a man's fellow-citizens are prepared by forcible means to secure to him the enjoyment of the work of his hands or of his inherited property, or unless those who refuse to desist from the exercise of force are prepared to untake the support of idealists. we have not only these two classes of men--the ordinary man who has no compunction in resorting to force when the requirements of life demand it, and the idealist who refuses to have any lot or part in violence; there is also a hybrid. this male hybrid will descant on the general iniquity of violence, and then not only connive at those forms of violence which minister to his personal comforts, but also make a virtue of trying to abate by legal violence some particular form of physical suffering which happens to offend in a quite special manner his individual sensibility. there is absolutely nothing to be said about this kind of reforming crank, except only that anything which may be said in relation to the female legislative reformer may be appositely said of him; and perhaps also this, that the ordinary man holds him both in intellectual and in moral contempt, and is resolved not to allow him to do any really serious injury to the community. to become formidable this quasi-male person must, as he recognises, ally himself with the female legislative reformer. passing on to deal with her, it imports us first to realise that while the male voter has--except where important constitutional issues were in question--been accustomed to leave actual legislation to the expert, the female reformer gives notice beforehand that she will, as soon as ever she gets the suffrage, insist on pressing forward by her vote her reforming schemes. what would result from the ordinary voter legislating on matters which require expert knowledge will be plain to every one who will consider the evolution of law. there stand over against each other here, as an example and a warning, the roman law, which was the creation of legal experts: the praetor and the jurisconsult; and the legal system of the greeks, which was the creation of a popular assembly--and it was a popular assembly which was quite ideally intelligent. upon the roman law has been built the law of the greater part of the civilised world. the greek is a by-word for inconsequence. how can one, then, without cold shudders think of that legal system which the female amateur legal reformer would bring to the birth? let us consider her qualifications. let us first take cognisance of the fact that the reforming woman will neither stand to the principle that man may, where this gives a balance of advantage, inflict on his fellow-man, and _a fortiori_ upon animals, death and physical suffering; nor yet will she stand to the principle that it is ethically unlawful to do deeds of violence. she spends her life halting between these two opinions, eternally shilly-shallying. she will, for instance, begin by announcing that it can never be lawful to do evil that good may come; and that killing and inflicting suffering is an evil. (in reality the precept of not doing evil that good may come has relation only to breaking for idealistic purposes moral laws of higher obligation.) she will then go back upon that and concede that war may sometimes be lawful, and that the punishment of criminals is not an evil. but if her emotions are touched by the forcible feeding of a criminal militant suffragist, she will again go back upon that and declare that the application of force is an intolerable evil. or, again, she will concede that the slaughtering of animals for food is not an evil, but that what is really unforgivable is the infliction of physical suffering on animals. and all the time for her, as well as for man, calves and lambs are being emasculated to make her meat succulent; wild animals are painfully done to death to provide her table with delicacies; birds with young in the nest are shot so that she may parade in their plumage; or fur-bearing animals are for her comfort and adornment massacred and tortured in traps. when a man crank who is co-responsible for these things begins to talk idealistic reforms, the ordinary decent man refuses to have anything more to say to him. but when a woman crank holds this language, the man merely shrugs his shoulders. "it is," he tells himself, "after all, the woman whom god gave him." it must be confessed that the problem as to how man with a dual nature may best accommodate himself to a world of violence presents a very difficult problem. it would obviously be no solution to follow out everywhere a programme of violence. not even the predatory animals do that. tigers do not savage their cubs; hawks do not pluck hawks' eyes; and dogs do not fight bitches. nor would, as has been shown, the solution of the problem be arrived at by everywhere surrendering--if we had been given the grace to do this--to the compunctious visitings of nature. what is required is to find the proper compromise. as to what that would be there is, as between the ordinary man and woman on the one side, and the male crank and the battalions of sentimental women on the other, a conflict which is, to all intents and purposes, a sex war. the compromise which ordinary human nature had fixed upon--and it is one which, ministering as it does to the survival of the race, has been adopted through the whole range of nature--is that of making within the world in which violence rules a series of enclaves in which the application of violence is progressively restricted and limited. outside the outermost of the series of ring fences thus constituted would be the realm of uncompromising violence such as exists when human life is endangered by wild animals, or murderous criminals, or savages. just within this outermost fence would be civilised war--for in civilised war non-combatants and prisoners and wounded are excluded from the application of violence. in like manner we bring humanity in general within a more sheltered enclosure than animals--pet animals within a more sheltered enclosure than other animals. again, we bring those who belong to the white race within a narrower protecting circle than mankind in general, and those of our own nation within a still narrower one. following out the same principle, we include women and children within a narrower shelter fence than our adult fellow-male; and we use the weapon of force more reluctantly when we are dealing with our relatives and friends than when we are dealing with those who are not personally known to us; and finally, we lay it aside more completely when we are dealing with the women of our households than when we are dealing with the males. the cause of civilisation and of the amenities, and the welfare of the nation, of the family, and of woman, are all intimately bound up with a faithful adherence to this compromise. but this policy imposes upon those whom it shelters from violence corresponding obligations. in war non-combatants--not to speak of the wounded on the battlefield--must desist from hostile action on the pain of being shot down like wild beasts. and though an individual non-combatant might think it a patriotic action for him to take part in war, the thoughtful man would recognise that such action was a violation of a well-understood covenant made in the interest of civilisation, and that to break through this covenant was to abrogate a humanitarian arrangement by which the general body of non-combatants immensely benefits. exactly the same principle finds, as already pointed out, application when a woman employs direct violence, or aspires to exercise by voting indirect violence. one always wonders if the suffragist appreciates all that woman stands to lose and all that she imperils by resort to physical force. one ought not to have to tell her that, if she had to fight for her position, her status would be that which is assigned to her among the kaffirs--not that which civilised man concedes to her. from considering the compromise by which man adapts his dual nature to violence in the world, we turn to that which the female legislative reformer would seek to impose by the aid of her vote. her proposal, as the reader will have discerned, would be that all those evils which make appeal to the feminine emotions should be legally prohibited, and that all those which fail to make this appeal shall be tolerated. in the former class would be included those which come directly under woman's ken, or have been brought vividly before the eyes of her imagination by emotional description. and the specially intolerable evils will be those which, owing to the fact that they fall upon woman or her immediate belongings, induce in the female legislative reformer pangs of sympathetic discomfort. in the class of evils which the suffragist is content to tolerate, or say nothing about, would be those which are incapable of evoking in her such sympathetic pangs, and she concerns herself very little with those evils which do not furnish her with a text for recriminations against man. conspicuous in this programme is the absence of any sense of proportion. one would have imagined that it would have been plain to everybody that the evils which individual women suffer at the hands of man are very far from being the most serious ills of humanity. one would have imagined that the suffering inflicted by disease and by bad social conditions--suffering which falls upon man and woman alike--deserved a first place in the thoughts of every reformer. and one might have expected it to be common knowledge that the wrongs individual men inflict upon women have a full counterpart in the wrongs which individual women inflict upon men. it may quite well be that there are mists which here "blot and fill the perspective" of the female legislative reformer. but to look only upon one's own things, and not also upon the things of others, is not for that morally innocent. there is further to be noted in connexion with the female legislative reformer that she has never been able to see why she should be required to put her aspirations into practical shape, or to consider ways and means, or to submit the practicability of her schemes to expert opinion. one also recognises that from a purely human point of view such tactics are judicious. for if the schemes of the female legislative reformer were once to be reviewed from the point of view of their practicability, her utility as a legislator would come into question, and the suffragist could no longer give out that there has been committed to her from on high a mission to draw water for man-kind out of the wells of salvation. lastly, we have to reflect in connection with the female legislative reformer that to go about proposing to reform the laws means to abandon that special field of usefulness which lies open to woman in alleviating misery and redressing those hard cases which will, under all laws and regulations of human manufacture and under all social dispositions, inevitably occur. now when a woman leaves a social task which is commensurate with her abilities, and which asks from her personal effort and self-sacrifice, for a task which is quite beyond her abilities, but which, she thinks, will bring her personal kudos, shall we impute it to her for righteousness? v ulterior ends which the woman's suffrage movement has in view we have now sufficiently considered the suffragist's humanitarian schemes, and we may lead up to the consideration of her further projects by contrasting woman's suffrage as it presents itself under colonial conditions--_i.e._ woman's suffrage without the female legislative reformer and the feminist--with the woman suffrage which is being agitated for in england--_i.e._ woman suffrage with the female legislative reformer and the feminist. in the colonies and undeveloped countries generally where women are in a minority, and where owing to the fact that practically all have an opportunity of marrying, there are not for woman any difficult economic and physiological conditions, there is no woman's question; and by consequence no female legislative reformer or feminist. the woman voter follows, as the opportunist politicians who enfranchised her intended, the lead of her men-folk--serving only a pawn in the game of politics. under such conditions woman's suffrage kleaves things as they are, except only that it undermines the logical foundations of the law, and still further debases the standard of public efficiency and public morality. in countries, such as england, where an excess female population [1] has made economic difficulties for woman, and where the severe sexual restrictions, which here obtains, have bred in her sex-hostility, the suffrage movement has as its avowed ulterior object the abrogation of all distinctions which depend upon sex; and the achievement of the economic independence of woman. [1] in england and wales there are, in a population of 8,000,000 women between the ages of twenty and fifty, 3,000,000 unmarried women. to secure this economic independence every post, occupation, and government service is to be thrown open to woman; she is to receive everywhere the same wages as man; male and female are to work side by side; and they are indiscriminately to be put in command the one over the other. furthermore, legal rights are to be secured to the wife over her husband's property and earnings. the programme is, in fact, to give to woman an economic independence out of the earnings and taxes of man. nor does feminist ambition stop short here. it demands that women shall be included in every advisory committee, every governing board, every jury, every judicial bench, every electorate, every parliament, and every ministerial cabinet; further, that every masculine foundation, university, school of learning, academy, trade union, professional corporation and scientific society shall be converted into an epicene institution--until we shall have everywhere one vast cock-and-hen show. the proposal to bring man and woman together everywhere into extremely intimate relationships raises very grave questions. it brings up, first, the question of sexual complications; secondly, the question as to whether the tradition of modesty and reticence between the sexes is to be definitely sacrificed; and, most important of all, the question as to whether epicene conditions would place obstacles in the way of intellectual work. of these issues the feminist puts the first two quite out of account. i have already elsewhere said my say upon these matters.[1] with regard to the third, the feminist either fails to realise that purely intellectual intercourse--as distinguished from an intercommunion of mental images--with woman is to a large section of men repugnant; or else, perceiving this, she makes up her mind that, this notwithstanding, she will get her way by denouncing the man who does not welcome her as _selfish_; and by insisting that under feminism (the quotation is from mill, the italics which question his sincerity are mine) "the mass of mental faculties available for the higher service of mankind would be _doubled_." [1] _vide_ appendix, pp. 169-173. the matter cannot so lightly be disposed of. it will be necessary for us to find out whether really intimate association with woman on the purely intellectual plane is realisable. and if it is, in fact, unrealisable, it will be necessary to consider whether it is the exclusion of women from masculine corporations; or the perpetual attempt of women to force their way into these, which would deserve to be characterised as _selfish_. in connexion with the former of these issues, we have to consider here not whether that form of intellectual co-operation in which the man plays the game, and the woman moves the pawns under his orders, is possible. that form of co-operation is of course possible, and it has, doubtless, certain utilities. nor yet have we to consider whether quite intimate and purely intellectual association on an equal footing between a particular man and a selected woman may or may not be possible. it will suffice to note that the feminist alleges that this also is possible; but everybody knows that the woman very often marries the man. what we have to ask is whether--even if we leave out of regard the whole system of attractions or, as the case may be, repulsions which come into operation when the sexes are thrown together--purely intellectual intercourse between man and the typical unselected woman is not barred by the intellectual immoralities and limitations which appear to be secondary sexual characters of woman. with regard to this issue, there would seem to be very little real difference of opinion among men. but there are great differences in the matter of candour. there are men who speak out, and who enunciate like nietzsche that "man and woman are alien--never yet has any one conceived how alien." there are men who, from motives of delicacy or policy, do not speak out--averse to saying anything that might be unflattering to woman. and there are men who are by their profession of the feminist faith debarred from speaking out, but who upon occasion give themselves away. of such is the man who in the house of commons champions the cause of woman's suffrage, impassionately appealing to justice; and then betrays himself by announcing that he would shake off from his feet the dust of its purlieus if ever women were admitted as members--_i.e._ if ever women were forced upon _him_ as close intellectual associates. wherever we look we find aversion to compulsory intellectual co-operation with woman. we see it in the sullen attitude which the ordinary male student takes up towards the presence of women students in his classes. we see it in the fact that the older english universities, which have conceded everything else to women, have made a strong stand against making them actual members of the university; for this would impose them on men as intellectual associates. again we see the aversion in the opposition to the admission of women to the bar. but we need not look so far afield. practically every man feels that there is in woman--patent, or hidden away--an element of unreason which, when you come upon it, summarily puts an end to purely intellectual intercourse. one may reflect, for example, upon the way the woman's suffrage controversy has been conducted. proceeding now on the assumption that these things are so, and that man feels that he and woman belong to different intellectual castes, we come now to the question as to whether it is man who is selfish when he excludes women from his institutions, or woman when she unceasingly importunes for admittance. and we may define as _selfish_ all such conduct as pursues the advantage of the agent at the cost of the happiness and welfare of the general body of mankind. we shall be in a better position to pronounce judgment on this question of ethics when we have considered the following series of analogies: when a group of earnest and devout believers meet together for special intercession and worship, we do not tax them with selfishness if they exclude unbelievers. nor do we call people who are really devoted to music selfish if, coming together for this, they make a special point of excluding the unmusical. nor again would the imputation of selfishness lie against members of a club for black-balling a candidate who would, they feel, be uncongenial. nor should we regard it as an act of selfishness if the members of a family circle, or of the same nation, or of any social circle, desired to come together quite by themselves. nor yet would the term selfish apply to an east end music hall audience when they eject any one who belongs to a different social class to themselves and wears good clothes. and the like would hold true of servants resenting their employers intruding upon them in their hours of leisure or entertainments. if we do not characterise such exclusions as selfish, but rather respect and sympathise with them, it is because we recognise that the whole object and _raison d' etre_ of association would in each case be nullified by the weak-minded admission of the incompatible intruder. we recognise that if any charge of selfishness would lie, it would lie against that intruder. now if this holds in the case where the interests of religious worship or music, or family, national, or social life, or recreation and relaxation after labour are in question, it will hold true even more emphatically where the interests of intellectual work are involved. but the feminist will want to argue. she will--taking it as always for granted that woman has a right to all that men's hands or brains have fashioned--argue that it is very important for the intellectual development of woman that she should have exactly the same opportunities as man. and she will, scouting [rejecting with contempt] the idea of any differences between the intelligences of man and woman, discourse to you of their intimate affinity. it will, perhaps, be well to clear up these points. the importance of the higher development of woman is unquestionable. but after all it is the intellect of man which really comes into account in connexion with "the mass of mental faculties available for the higher service of mankind." the maintenance of the conditions which allow of man's doing his best intellectual work is therefore an interest which is superior to that of the intellectual development of woman. and woman might quite properly be referred for her intellectual development to instructional institutions which should be special to herself. coming to the question of the intimate resemblances between the masculine and the feminine intelligence, no man would be venturesome enough to dispute these, but he may be pardoned if he thinks--one would hope in no spirit of exaltation--also of the differences. we have an instructive analogy in connexion with the learned societies. it is uncontrovertible that every candidate for election into such a society will have, and will feel that he has, affinities with the members of that association. and he is invited to set these forth in his application. but there may also be differences of which he is not sensible. on that question the electors are the judges; and they are the final court of appeal. there would seem to be here a moral which the feminist would do well to lay to heart. there is also another lesson which she might very profitably consider. a quite small difference will often constitute as effective a bar to a useful and congenial co-operation as a more fundamental difference. in the case of a body of intellectual workers one might at first sight suppose that so small a distinction as that of belonging to a different nationality--sex, of course, is an infinitely profounder difference--would not be a bar to unrestricted intellectual co-operation. but in point of fact it is in every country, in every learned society, a uniform rule that when foreign scientists or scholars are admitted they are placed not on the ordinary list of working members, but on a special list. one discerns that there is justification for this in the fact that a foreigner would in certain eventualities be an incompatible person. one may think of the eventuality of the learned society deciding to recognise a national service, or to take part in a national movement. and one is not sure that a foreigner might not be an incompatible person in the eventuality of a scientist or scholar belonging to a nationality with which the foreigner's country was at feud being brought forward for election. and he would, of course, be an impossible person in a society if he were, in a spirit of chauvinism, to press for a larger representation of his own fellow-countrymen. now this is precisely the kind of way man feels about woman. he recognises that she is by virtue of her sex for certain purposes an incompatible person; and that, quite apart from this, her secondary sexual characters might in certain eventualities make her an impossible person. we may note, before passing on, that these considerations would seem to prescribe that woman should be admitted to masculine institutions only when real humanitarian grounds demand it; that she should--following here the analogy of what is done in the learned societies with respect to foreigners--be invited to co-operate with men only when she is quite specially eminent, or beyond all question useful for the particular purpose in hand; and lastly, that when co-opted into any masculine institution woman should always be placed upon a special list, to show that it was proposed to confine her co-operation within certain specified limits. from these general questions, which affect only the woman with intellectual aspirations, we pass to consider what would be the effect of feminism upon the rank and file of women if it made of these co-partners with man in work. they would suffer not only because woman's physiological disabilities and the restrictions which arise out of her sex place her at a great disadvantage when she has to enter into competition with man, but also because under feminism man would be less and less disposed to take off woman's shoulders a part of her burden. and there can be no dispute that the most valuable financial asset of the ordinary woman is the possibility that a man may be willing--and may, if only woman is disposed to fulfil her part of the bargain, be not only willing but anxious--to support her and to secure for her, if he can, a measure of that freedom which comes from the possession of money. in view of this every one who has a real fellow-feeling for woman, and who is concerned for her material welfare, as a father is concerned for his daughter's, will above everything else desire to nurture and encourage in man the sentiment of chivalry, and in woman that disposition of mind that makes chivalry possible. and the woman workers who have to fight the battle of life for themselves would indirectly profit from this fostering of chivalry; for those women who are supported by men do not compete in the limited labour market which is open to the woman worker. from every point of view, therefore, except perhaps that of the exceptional woman who would be able to hold her own against masculine competition--and men always issue informal letters of naturalisation to such an exceptional woman--the woman suffrage which leads up to feminism would be a social disaster. part iii is there, if the suffrage is barred, any palliative of corrective for the discontents of woman? i palliatives or correctives for the discontents of woman what are the suffragist's grievances?--economic and physiological difficulties of woman--intellectual grievances of suffragist and corrective. is there then, let us ask ourselves, if the suffrage with its programme of feminism is barred as leading to social disaster, any palliative or corrective that can be applied to the present discontents of woman? if such is to be found, it is to be found only by placing clearly before us the suffragist's grievances. these grievances are, _first,_ the economic difficulties of the woman who seeks to earn her living by work other than unskilled manual labour; _secondly_, the difficult physiological conditions in which woman is placed by the excess of the female over the male population and by her diminished chances of marriage [1]; and _thirdly,_ the tedium which obsesses the life of the woman who is not forced, and cannot force herself, to work. on the top of these grievances comes the fact that the suffragist conceives herself to be harshly and unfairly treated by man. this last is the fire which sets a light to all the inflammable material. [1] _vide_ footnote, p. 138. it would be quite out of question to discuss here the economic and physiological difficulties of woman. only this may be said: it is impossible, in view of the procession of starved and frustrated lives which is continuously filing past, to close one's eyes to the urgency of this woman's problem. after all, the primary object of all civilisation is to provide for every member of the community food and shelter and fulfilment of natural cravings. and when, in what passes as a civilised community, a whole class is called upon to go without any one of these our human requirements, it is little wonder that it should break out. but when a way of escape stands open revolt is not morally justified. thus, for example, a man who is born into, but cannot support himself in, a superior class of society is not, as long as he can find a livelihood abroad in a humbler walk in life, entitled to revolt. no more is the woman who is in economic or physiological difficulties. for, if only she has the pluck to take it, a way of escape stands open to her. she can emigrate; she can go out from the social class in which she is not self-supporting into a humbler social class in which she could earn a living; and she can forsake conditions in which she must remain a spinster for conditions in which she may perhaps become a mother. only in this way can the problem of finding work, and relief of tedium, for the woman who now goes idle be resolved. if women were to avail themselves of these ways of escape out of unphysiological conditions, the woman agitator would probably find it as difficult to keep alive a passionate agitation for woman suffrage as the irish nationalist agitator to keep alive, after the settlement of the land question and the grant of old age pensions, a passionate agitation for a separate parliament for ireland. for the happy wife and mother is never passionately concerned about the suffrage. it is always the woman who is galled either by physiological hardships, or by the fact that she has not the same amount of money as man, or by the fact that man does not desire her as a co-partner in work, and withholds the homage which she thinks he ought to pay to her intellect. for this class of grievances the present education of woman is responsible. the girl who is growing up to woman's estate is never taught where she stands relatively to man. she is not taught anything about woman's physical disabilities. she is not told--she is left to discover it for herself when too late--that child and husband are to woman physiological requirements. she is not taught the defects and limitations of the feminine mind. one might almost think there were no such defects and limitations; and that woman was not always overestimating her intellectual power. and the ordinary girl is not made to realise woman's intrinsically inferior money-earning capacity. she is not made to realise that the woman who cannot work with her hands is generally hard put to earn enough to keep herself alive in the incomplete condition of a spinster. as a result of such education, when, influenced by the feminist movement, woman comes to institute a comparison between herself and man, she brings into that comparison all those qualities in which she is substantially his equal, and leaves out of account all those in which she is his inferior. the failure to recognise that man is the master, and why he is the master, lies at the root of the suffrage movement. by disregarding man's superior physical force, the power of compulsion upon which all government is based is disregarded. by leaving out of account those powers of the mind in which man is the superior, woman falls into the error of thinking that she can really compete with him, and that she belongs to the self-same intellectual caste. finally, by putting out of sight man's superior money-earning capacity, the power of the purse is ignored. uninstructed woman commits also another fundamental error in her comparison. instead of comparing together the average man and the average woman, she sets herself to establish that there is no defect in woman which cannot be discovered also in man; and that there is no virtue or power in the ordinary man which cannot be discovered also in woman. which having been established to her satisfaction, she is led inevitably to the conclusion that there is nothing whatever to choose between the sexes. and from this there is only a step to the position that human beings ought to be assigned, without distinction of sex, to each and every function which would come within the range of their individual capacities, instead of being assigned as they are at present: men to one function, and women to another. here again women ought to have been safeguarded by education. she ought to have been taught that even when an individual woman comes up to the average of man this does not abrogate the disqualification which attaches to a difference of sex. nor yet--as every one who recognises that we live in a world which conducts itself by generalisations will see--does it abrogate the disqualification of belonging to an inferior intellectual caste. the present system of feminine education is blameworthy not only in the respect that it fails to draw attention to these disqualifications and to teach woman where she stands; it is even more blameworthy in that it fails to convey to the girl who is growing up any conception of that absolutely elementary form of morality which consists in distinguishing _meum_ and _tuum_ [_that which is mine_ and _that which is yours_]. instead of her educators encouraging every girl to assert "rights" as against man, and put forward claims, they ought to teach her with respect to him those lessons of behaviour which are driven home once for all into every boy at a public school. just as there you learn that you may not make unwarranted demands upon your fellow, and just as in the larger world every nation has got to learn that it cannot with impunity lay claim to the possessions of its neighbours, so woman will have to learn that when things are not offered to her, and she has not the power to take them by force, she has got to make the best of things as they are. one would wish for every girl who is growing up to womanhood that it might be brought home to her by some refined and ethically-minded member of her own sex how insufferable a person woman becomes when, like a spoilt child, she exploits the indulgence of man; when she proclaims that it is his duty to serve her and to share with her his power and possessions; when she makes an outcry when he refuses to part with what is his own; and when she insists upon thrusting her society upon men everywhere. and every girl ought to be warned that to embark upon a policy of recrimination when you do not get what you want, and to proclaim yourself a martyr when, having hit, you are hit back, is the way to get yourself thoroughly disliked. finally, every girl ought to be shown, in the example of the militant suffragist, how revolt and martyrdom, undertaken in order to possess oneself of what belongs to others, effects the complete disorganisation of moral character. no one would wish that in the education of girls these quite unlovely things should be insisted upon more than was absolutely necessary. but one would wish that the educators of the rising generation of women should, basing themselves upon these foundations, point out to every girl how great is woman's debt to civilisation; in other words, how much is under civilisation done for woman by man. and one would wish that, in a world which is rendered unwholesome by feminism, every girl's eyes were opened to comprehend the great outstanding fact of the world: the fact that, turn where you will, you find individual man showering upon individual woman--one man in tribute to her enchantment, another out of a sense of gratitude, and another just because she is something that is his--every good thing which, suffrage or no suffrage, she never could have procured for herself. appendix letter on militant hysteria reprinted by permission from _the times_ (london), march 28, 1912. to the editor of the times sir,--for man the physiological psychology of woman is full of difficulties. he is not a little mystified when he encounters in her periodically recurring phases of hypersensitiveness, unreasonableness, and loss of the sense of proportion. he is frankly perplexed when confronted with a complete alteration of character in a woman who is child-bearing. when he is a witness of the "tendency of woman to morally warp when nervously ill," and of the terrible physical havoc which the pangs of a disappointed love may work, he is appalled. and it leaves on his mind an eerie feeling when he sees serious and long-continued mental disorders developing in connexion with the approaching extinction of a woman's reproductive faculty. no man can close his eyes to these things; but he does not feel at liberty to speak of them. "for the woman that god gave him is not his to give away."[1] [1 from "the female of the species" by rudyard kipling] as for woman herself, she makes very light of any of these mental upsettings. she perhaps smiles a little at them. . . .[1] [1] in the interests of those who feel that female dignity is compromised by it, i have here omitted a woman's flippant overestimate of the number of women in london society who suffer from nervous disorders at the climacteric [i.e. menopause]. none the less, these upsettings of her mental equilibrium are the things that a woman has most cause to fear; and no doctor can ever lose sight of the fact that the mind of woman is always threatened with danger from the reverberations of her physiological emergencies. it is with such thoughts that the doctor lets his eyes rest upon the militant suffragist. he cannot shut them to the fact that there is mixed up with the woman's movement much mental disorder; and he cannot conceal from himself the physiological emergencies which lie behind. the recruiting field for the militant suffragists is the million of our excess female population--that million which had better long ago have gone out to mate with its complement of men beyond the sea. among them there are the following different types of women:-(_a_) first--let us put them first--come a class of women who hold, with minds otherwise unwarped, that they may, whenever it is to their advantage, lawfully resort to physical violence. the programme, as distinguished from the methods, of these women is not very different from that of the ordinary suffragist woman. (_b_) there file past next a class of women who have all their life-long been strangers to joy, women in whom instincts long suppressed have in the end broken into flame. these are the sexually embittered women in whom everything has turned into gall and bitterness of heart, and hatred of men. their legislative programme is license for themselves, or else restrictions for man. (_c_) next there file past the incomplete. one side of their nature has undergone atrophy, with the result that they have lost touch with their living fellow men and women. their programme is to convert the whole world into an epicene institution---an epicene institution in which man and woman shall everywhere work side by side at the selfsame tasks and for the selfsame pay. these wishes can never by any possibility be realised. even in animals--i say _even,_ because in these at least one of the sexes has periods of complete quiscence--male and female cannot be safely worked side by side, except when they are incomplete. while in the human species safety can be obtained, it can be obtained only at the price of continual constraint. and even then woman, though she protests that she does not require it, and that she does not receive it, practically always does receive differential treatment at the hands of man. it would be well, i often think, that every woman should be clearly told--and the woman of the world will immediately understand--that when man sets his face against the proposal to bring in an epicene world, he does so because he can do his best work only in surroundings where he is perfectly free from suggestion and from restraint, and from the onus which all differential treatment imposes. and i may add in connexion with my own profession that when a medical man asks that he should not be the yoke-fellow of a medical woman he does so also because he would wish to keep up as between men and women--even when they are doctors--some of the modesties and reticences upon which our civilisation has been built up. now the medical woman is of course never on the side of modesty,[1] or in favour of any reticences. her desire for knowledge does not allow of these. [1] to those who have out of inadvertence and as laymen and women misunderstood, it may be explained that the issue here discussed is the second in order of the three which are set out on p. 139 (_supra_). (_d_) inextricably mixed up with the types which we have been discussing is the type of woman whom dr. leonard williams's recent letter brought so distinctly before our eyes--the woman who is poisoned by her misplaced self-esteem; and who flies out at every man who does not pay homage to her intellect. she is the woman who is affronted when a man avers that _for him_ the glory of woman lies in her power of attraction, in her capacity for motherhood, and in unswerving allegiance to the ethics which are special to her sex. i have heard such an intellectually embittered woman say, though she had been self-denyingly taken to wife, that "never in the whole course of her life had a man ever as much as done her a kindness." the programme of this type of woman is, as a preliminary, to compel man to admit her claim to be his intellectual equal; and, that done, to compel him to divide up everything with her to the last farthing, and so make her also his financial equal. and her journals exhibit to us the kind of parliamentary representative she desiderates. he humbly, hat in hand, asks for his orders from a knot of washerwomen standing arms a-kimbo.[2] [2] i give, in response to a request, the reference: _votes for women,_ march 18, 1910, p. 381. (_e_) following in the wake of these embittered human beings come troops of girls just grown up. all these will assure you, these young girls--and what is seething in their minds is stirring also in the minds in the girls in the colleges and schools which are staffed by unmarried suffragists--that woman has suffered all manner of indignity and injustice at the hands of man. and these young girls have been told about the intellectual, and moral, and financial value of woman--such tales as it never entered into the heart of man to conceive. the programme of these young women is to be married upon their own terms. man shall--so runs their scheme--work for their support--to that end giving up his freedom, and putting himself under orders, for many hours of the day; but they themselves must not be asked to give up any of their liberty to him, or to subordinate themselves to his interests, or to obey him in anything. to obey a man would be to commit the unpardonable sin. it is not necessary, in connexion with a movement which proceeds on the lines set out above, any further to labour the point that there is in it an element of mental disorder. it is plain that it is there. there is also a quite fatuous element in the programmes of the militant suffragist. we have this element, for instance, in the doctrine that, notwithstanding the fact that the conditions of the labour market deny it to her, woman ought to receive the same wage as a man for the same work. this doctrine is fatuous, because it leaves out of sight that, even if woman succeeds in doing the same work as man, he has behind him a much larger reserve of physical strength. as soon as a time of strain comes, areserve of strength and freedom from periodic indisposition is worth paying extra for. fatuous also is the dogma that woman ought to have the same pay for the same work--fatuous because it leaves out of sight that woman's commercial value in many of the best fields of work is subject to a very heavy discount by reason of the fact that she cannot, like a male employee, work cheek by jowl with a male employer; nor work among men as a man with his fellow employees. so much for the woman suffragist's protest that she can conceive of no reason for a differential rate of pay for man. quite as fatuous are the marriage projects of the militant suffragist. every woman of the world could tell her--whispering it into her private ear--that if a sufficient number of men should come to the conclusion that it was not worth their while to marry except on the terms of fair give-and-take, the suffragist woman's demands would have to come down. it is not at all certain that the institution of matrimony--which, after all, is the great instrument in the levelling up of the financial situation of woman--can endure apart from some willing subordination on the part of the wife. it will have been observed that there is in these programmes, in addition to the element of mental disorder and to the element of the fatuous, which have been animadverted upon, also a very ugly element of dishonesty. in reality the very kernel of the militant suffrage movement is the element of immorality. there is here not only immorality in the ends which are in view, but also in the methods adopted for the attainment of those ends. we may restrict ourselves to indicating wherein lies the immorality of the methods. there is no one who does not discern that woman in her relations to physical force stands in quite a different position to man. out of that different relation there must of necessity shape itself a special code of ethics for woman. and to violate that code must be for woman immorality. so far as i have seen, no one in this controversy has laid his finger upon the essential point in the relations of woman to physical violence. it has been stated--and in the main quite truly stated--that woman in the mass cannot, like man, back up her vote by bringing physical force into play. but the woman suffragist here counters by insisting that she as an individual may have more physical force than an individual man. and it is quite certain--and it did not need suffragist raids and window-breaking riots to demonstrate it--that woman in the mass can bring a certain amount of physical force to bear. the true inwardness of the relation in which woman stands to physical force lies not in the question of her having it at command, but in the fact that she cannot put it forth without placing herself within the jurisdiction of an ethical law. the law against which she offends when she resorts to physical violence is not an ordinance of man; it is not written in the statutes of any state; it has not been enunciated by any human law-giver. it belongs to those unwritten, and unassailable, and irreversible commandments of religion, [_greek_ 1], which we suddenly and mysteriously become aware of when we see them violated. [1 from _antigone_ by sophocles; "_the unwritten and unassailable statutes given to us by the gods._" sir almroth had it in the original greek with greek fonts.] the law which the militant suffragist has violated is among the ordinances of that code which forbade us even to think of employing our native indian troops against the boers; which brands it as an ignominy when a man leaves his fellow in the lurch and saves his own life; and which makes it an outrage for a man to do violence to a woman. to violate any ordinance of that code is more dishonourable than to transgress every statutory law. we see acknowledgment of it in the fact that even the uneducated man in the street resents it as an outrage to civilisation when he sees a man strike a blow at a woman. but to the man who is committing the outrage it is a thing simply unaccountable that any one should fly out at him. in just such a case is the militant suffragist. she cannot understand why any one should think civilisation is outraged when she scuffles in the street mud with a policeman. if she asks for an explanation, it perhaps behoves a man to supply it. up to the present in the whole civilised world there has ruled a truce of god as between man and woman. that truce is based upon the solemn covenant that within the frontiers of civilisation (outside them of course the rule lapses) the weapon of physical force may not be applied by man against woman; nor by woman against man. under this covenant, the reign of force which prevails in the world without comes to an end when a man enters his household. under this covenant that half of the human race which most needs protection is raised up above the waves of violence. within the terms of this compact everything that woman has received from man, and everything man receives from woman, is given as a free gift. again, under this covenant a full half of the programme of christianity has been realised; and a foundation has been laid upon which it may be possible to build higher; and perhaps finally in the ideal future to achieve the abolition of physical violence and war. and it is this solemn covenant, the covenant so faithfully kept by man, which has been violated by the militant suffragist in the interest of her morbid, stupid, ugly, and dishonest programmes. is it wonder if men feel that they have had enough of the militant suffragist, and that the state would be well rid of her if she were crushed under the soldiers' shields like the traitor woman at the tarpeian rock [in ancient rome where traitors were killed]? we may turn now to that section of woman suffragists--one is almost inclined to doubt whether it any longer exists--which is opposed to all violent measures, though it numbers in its ranks women who are stung to the quick by the thought that man, who will concede the vote to the lowest and most degraded of his own sex, withholds it from "even the noblest woman in england." when that excited and somewhat pathetic appeal is addressed to us, we have only to consider what a vote really gives. the parliamentary vote is an instrument--and a quite astonishly disappointing instrument it is--for obtaining legislation; that is, for directing that the agents of the state shall in certain defined circumstances bring into application the weapon of physical compulsion. further, the vote is an instrument by which we give to this or that group of statesmen anthority to supervise and keep in motion the whole machinery of compulsion. to take examples. a vote cast in favour of a bill for the prohibition of alcohol--if we could find opportunity for giving a vote on such a question--would be a formal expression of our desire to apply, through the agency of the paid servants of the state, that same physical compulsion which mrs. carrie nation put into application in her "bar-smashing" crusades. and a vote which puts a government into office in a country where murder is punishable by death is a vote which, by agency of the hangman, puts the noose round the neck of every convicted murderer. so that the difference between voting and direct resort to force is simply the difference between exerting physical violence in person, and exerting it through the intermediary of an agent of the state. the thing, therefore, that is withheld from "the noblest woman in england," while it is conceded to the man who is lacking in nobility of character, is in the end only an instrument by which she might bring into application physical force. when one realises that that same noblest woman of england would shrink from any personal exercise of violence, one would have thought that it would have come home to her that it is not precisely her job to commission a man forcibly to shut up a public-house, or to hang a murderer. one cannot help asking oneself whether, if she understood what a vote really means, the noblest woman in england would still go on complaining of the bitter insult which is done to her in withholding the vote. but the opportunist--the practical politician, as he calls himself--will perhaps here intervene, holding some such language as this:--"granting all you say, granting, for the sake of argument, that the principle of giving votes to woman is unsound, and that evil must ultimately come of it, how can you get over the fact that no very conspicuous harm has resulted from woman suffrage in the countries which have adopted it? and can any firm reasons be rendered for the belief that the giving of votes to women in england would be any whit more harmful than in the colonies?" a very few words will supply the answer. the evils of woman suffrage lie, _first,_ in the fact that to give the vote to women is to give it to voters who as a class are quite incompetent to adjudicate upon political issues; _secondly,_ in the fact that women are a class of voters who cannot effectively back up their votes by force; and, _thirdly,_ in the fact that it may seriously embroil man and woman. the first two aspects of the question have already in this controversy been adequately dealt with. there remains the last issue. from the point of view of this issue the conditions which we have to deal with in this country are the absolute antithesis of those ruling in any of the countries and states which have adopted woman suffrage. when woman suffrage was adopted in these countries it was adopted in some for one reason, in others for another. in some it was adopted because it appealed to the _doctrinaire [theoretical]_ politician as the proper logical outcome of a democratic and socialistic policy. in others it was adopted because opportunist politicians saw in it an instrument by which they might gain electioneering advantages. so much was this the case that it sometimes happened that the woman's vote was sprung upon a community which was quite unprepared and indifferent to it. the cause of woman suffrage was thus in the countries of which we speak neither in its inception nor in its realisation a question of revolt of woman against the oppression of man. it had, and has, no relation to the programmes of the militant suffragists as set out at the outset of this letter. by virtue of this, all the evils which spring from the embroiling of man and woman have in the countries in question been conspicuously absent. instead of seeing himself confronted by a section of embittered and hostile women voters which might at any time outvote him and help to turn an election, man there sees his women folk voting practically everywhere in accordance with his directions, and lending him a hand to outvote his political opponent. whether or no such voting is for the good of the common weal is beside our present question. but it is clearly an arrangement which leads to amity and peace between a man and his womenkind, and through these to good-will towards all women. in england everything is different. if woman suffrage comes in here, it will have come as a surrender to a very violent feminist agitation--an agitation which we have traced back to our excess female population and the associated abnormal physiological conditions. if ever parliament concedes the vote to woman in england, it will be accepted by the militant suffragist, not as an eirenicon, but as a victory which she will value only for the better carrying on of her fight _a outrance [to the bitter end]_ against the oppression and injustice of man. a conciliation with hysterical revolt is neither an act of peace; nor will it bring peace. nor would the conferring of the vote upon women carry with it any advantages from the point of view of finding a way out of the material entanglements in which woman is enmeshed, and thus ending the war between man and woman. one has only to ask oneself whether or not it would help the legislator in remodelling the divorce or the bastardy laws if he had conjoined with him an unmarried militant suffragist as assessor. peace will come again. it will come when woman ceases to believe and to teach all manner of evil of man despitefully. it will come when she ceases to impute to him as a crime her own natural disabilities, when she ceases to resent the fact that man cannot and does not wish to work side by side with her. and peace will return when every woman for whom there is no room in england seeks "rest" beyond the sea, "each one in the house of her husband," and when the woman who remains in england comes to recognise that she can, without sacrifice of dignity, give a willing subordination to the husband or father, who, when all is said and done, earns and lays up money for her. a. e. wright. _march_ 27, 1912. [illustration: "and i wonder if there is a woman in the land that can blame serepta for wantin' her rights."] samantha on the woman question by marietta holley "josiah allen's wife" author of "samantha at saratoga," "my opinions" and "betsey bobbet's," etc. contents i. "she wanted her rights" ii. "they can't blame her" iii. "polly's eyes growed tender" iv. "strivin' with the emissary" v. "he wuz dretful polite" vi. "concerning moth-millers and minny fish" vii. "no hamperin' hitchin' straps" viii. "old mom nater listenin'" ix. the women's parade x. "the creation searchin' society" illustrations "and i wonder if there's a woman in the land that can blame serepta for wantin' her rights" (p. 29). frontispiece "i wanted to visit the capitol of our country.... so we laid out to go" "he'd entered political life where the bible wuzn't popular; he'd never read further than gulliver's epistle to the liliputians" "sez josiah, 'does that thing know enough to vote?'" i "she wanted her rights" lorinda cagwin invited josiah and me to a reunion of the allen family at her home nigh washington, d.c., the birthplace of the first allen we knowed anything about, and josiah said: "bein' one of the best lookin' and influential allens on earth now, it would be expected on him to attend to it." and i fell in with the idee, partly to be done as i would be done by if it wuz the relation on my side, and partly because by goin' i could hit two birds with one stun, as the poet sez. indeed, i could hit four on 'em. my own cousin, diantha trimble, lived in a city nigh lorinda's and i had promised to visit her if i wuz ever nigh her, and help bear her burdens for a spell, of which burden more anon and bom-by. diantha wuz one bird, the reunion another, and the third bird i had in my mind's eye wuz the big outdoor meeting of the suffragists that wuz to be held in the city where diantha lived, only a little ways from lorinda's. and the fourth bird and the biggest one i wuz aimin' to hit from this tower of ourn wuz washington, d.c. i wanted to visit the capitol of our country, the center of our great civilization that stands like the sun in the solar system, sendin' out beams of power and wisdom and law and order, and justice and injustice, and money and oratory, and talk and talk, and wind and everything, to the uttermost points of our vast possessions, and from them clear to the ends of the earth. i wanted to see it, i wanted to like a dog. so we laid out to go. [illustration: "i wanted to visit the capitol of our country.... so we laid out to go."] lorinda lived on the old allen place, and i always sot store by her, and her girl, polly, wuz, as thomas j. said, a peach. she had spent one of her college vacations with us, and a sweeter, prettier, brighter girl i don't want to see. her name is pauline, but everybody calls her polly. the cagwins are rich, and polly had every advantage money could give, and old mom nater gin her a lot of advantages money couldn't buy, beauty and intellect, a big generous heart and charm. and you know the cagwins couldn't bought that at no price. charm in a girl is like the perfume in a rose, and can't be bought or sold. and you can't handle or describe either on 'em exactly. but what a influence they have; how they lay holt of your heart and fancy. royal gray, the young man who wuz payin' attention to her, stopped once for a day or two in jonesville with polly and her ma on their way to the cagwins' camp in the adirondacks. and we all liked him so well that we agreed in givin' him this extraordinary praise, we said he wuz worthy of polly, we knowed of course that wuz the highest enconium possible for us to give. good lookin', smart as a whip, and deep, you could see that by lookin' into his eyes, half laughin' and half serious eyes and kinder sad lookin' too under the fun, as eyes must be in this world of ourn if they look back fur, or ahead much of any. a queer world this is, and kinder sad and mysterious, behind all the good and glory on't. he wuz jest out of harvard school and as full of life and sperits as a colt let loose in a clover field. he went out in the hay field, he and polly, and rode home on top of a load of hay jest as nateral and easy and bare-headed as if he wuz workin' for wages, and he the only son of a millionaire--we all took to him. well, when the news got out that i wuz goin' to visit washington, d.c., all the neighbors wanted to send errents by me. betsy bobbet slimpsey wanted a dozen patent office books for scrap books for her poetry. uncle nate gowdey wanted me to go to the agricultural buro and git him a paper of lettuce seed. and solomon sypher wanted me to git him a new kind of string beans and some cowcumber seeds. uncle jarvis bentley, who wuz goin' to paint his house, wanted me to ask the president what kind of paint he used on the white house. he thought it ort to be a extra kind to stand the sharp glare that wuz beatin' down on it constant, and to ask him if he didn't think the paint would last longer and the glare be mollified some if they used pure white and clear ile in it, and left off whitewash and karseen. ardelia rumsey, who is goin' to be married, wanted me, if i see any new kinds of bedquilt patterns at the white house or the senator's housen, to git patterns for 'em. she said she wuz sick of sun flowers and blazin' stars. she thought mebby they'd have sunthin' new, spread eagle style. she said her feller wuz goin' to be connected with the govermunt and she thought it would be appropriate. and i asked her how. and she said he wuz goin' to git a patent on a new kind of jack knife. i told her that if she wanted a govermunt quilt and wanted it appropriate she ort to have a crazy quilt. and she said she had jest finished a crazy quilt with seven thousand pieces of silk in it, and each piece trimmed with seven hundred stitches of feather stitchin'--she'd counted 'em. and then i remembered seein' it. there wuz a petition fer wimmen's rights and i remember ardelia couldn't sign it for lack of time. she wanted to, but she hadn't got the quilt more than half done. it took the biggest heft of two years to do it. and so less important things had to be put aside. and ardelia's mother wanted to sign it, but she couldn't owin' to a bed-spread she wuz makin'. she wuz quiltin' in noah's ark and all the animals on a turkey red quilt. i remember she wuz quiltin' the camel that day and couldn't be disturbed, so we didn't git the names. it took the old lady three years, and when it wuz done it wuz a sight to behold, though i wouldn't want to sleep under so many animals. but folks went from fur and near to see it, and i enjoyed lookin' at it that day. zebulin coon wanted me to carry a new hen coop of hisen to git patented. and i thought to myself i wonder if they will ask me to carry a cow. and sure enough elnathan purdy wanted me to dicker for a calf from mount vernon, swop one of his yearlin's for it. but the errents serepta pester sent wuz fur more hefty and momentous than all the rest put together, calves, hen coop, cow and all. and when she told 'em over to me, and i meditated on her reasons for sendin' 'em and her need of havin' 'em done, i felt that i would do the errents for her if a breath wuz left in my body. she come for a all day's visit; and though she is a vegetable widow and humbly, i wuz middlin' glad to see her. but thinkses i as i carried her things into my bedroom, "she'll want to send some errent by me"; and i wondered what it would be. and so it didn't surprise me when she asked me if i would lobby a little for her in washington. i spozed it wuz some new kind of tattin' or fancy work. i told her i shouldn't have much time but would try to git her some if i could. and she said she wanted me to lobby myself. and then i thought mebby it wuz a new kind of dance and told her, "i wuz too old to lobby, i hadn't lobbied a step since i wuz married." and then she explained she wanted me to canvas some of the senators. and i hung back and asked her in a cautious tone, "how many she wanted canvassed, and how much canvas it would take?" i had a good many things to buy for my tower, and though i wanted to obleege serepta, i didn't feel like runnin' into any great expense for canvas. and then she broke off from that subject, and said she wanted her rights and wanted the whiskey ring broke up. and she talked a sight about her children, and how bad she felt to be parted from 'em, and how she used to worship her husband and how her hull life wuz ruined and the whiskey ring had done it, that and wimmen's helpless condition under the law and she cried and wep' and i did. and right while i wuz cryin' onto that gingham apron, she made me promise to carry them two errents of hern to the president and git 'em done for her if i possibly could. she wanted the whiskey ring destroyed and her rights, and she wanted 'em both inside of two weeks. i told her i didn't believe she could git 'em done inside that length of time, but i would tell the president about it, and i thought more'n likely as not he would want to do right by her. "and," sez i, "if he sets out to, he can haul them babies of yourn out of that ring pretty sudden." and then to git her mind offen her sufferin's, i asked how her sister azuba wuz gittin' along? i hadn't heard from her for years. she married phileman clapsaddle, and serepty spoke out as bitter as a bitter walnut, and sez she: "she's in the poor-house." "why, serepta pester!" sez i, "what do you mean?" "i mean what i say, my sister, azuba clapsaddle, is in the poor-house." "why, where is their property gone?" sez i. "they wuz well off. azuba had five thousand dollars of her own when she married him." "i know it," sez she, "and i can tell you, josiah alien's wife, where their property has gone, it has gone down phileman clapsaddle's throat. look down that man's throat and you will see 150 acres of land, a good house and barn, twenty sheep and forty head of cattle." "why-ee!" sez i. "yes, and you'll see four mules, a span of horses, two buggies, a double sleigh, and three buffalo robes. he's drinked 'em all up, and two horse rakes, a cultivator, and a thrashin' machine." "why-ee!" sez i agin. "and where are the children?" "the boys have inherited their father's habits and drink as bad as he duz and the oldest girl has gone to the bad." "oh dear! oh dear me!" sez i, and we both sot silent for a spell. and then thinkin' i must say sunthin' and wantin' to strike a safe subject and a good lookin' one, i sez: "where is your aunt cassandra's girl? that pretty girl i see to your house once?" "that girl is in the lunatick asylum." "serepta pester," sez i, "be you tellin' the truth?" "yes, i be, the livin' truth. she went to new york to buy millinery goods for her mother's store. it wuz quite cool when she left home and she hadn't took off her winter clothes, and it come on brilin' hot in the city, and in goin' about from store to store the heat and hard work overcome her and she fell down in a sort of faintin' fit and wuz called drunk and dragged off to a police court by a man who wuz a animal in human shape. and he misused her in such a way that she never got over the horror of what befell her when she come to to find herself at the mercy of a brute in a man's shape. she went into a melancholy madness and wuz sent to the asylum." i sithed a long and mournful sithe and sot silent agin for quite a spell. but thinkin' i must be sociable i sez: "your aunt cassandra is well, i spoze?" "she is moulderin' in jail," sez she. "in jail? cassandra in jail!" "yes, in jail." and serepta's tone wuz now like worm-wood and gall. "you know she owns a big property in tenement houses and other buildings where she lives. of course her taxes wuz awful high, and she didn't expect to have any voice in tellin' how that money, a part of her own property that she earned herself in a store, should be used. but she had been taxed high for new sidewalks in front of some of her buildin's. and then another man come into power in that ward, and he naterally wanted to make some money out of her, so he ordered her to build new sidewalks. and she wouldn't tear up a good sidewalk to please him or anybody else, so she wuz put to jail for refusin' to comply with the law." thinkses i, i don't believe the law would have been so hard on her if she hadn't been so humbly. the pesters are a humbly lot. but i didn't think it out loud, and didn't ophold the law for feelin' so. i sez in pityin' tones, for i wuz truly sorry for cassandra keeler: "how did it end?" "it hain't ended," sez she, "it only took place a month ago and she has got her grit up and won't pay; and no knowin' how it will end; she lays there amoulderin'." i don't believe cassanda wuz mouldy, but that is serepta's way of talkin', very flowery. "well," sez i, "do you think the weather is goin' to moderate?" i truly felt that i dassent speak to her about any human bein' under the sun, not knowin' what turn she would give to the talk, bein' so embittered. but i felt that the weather wuz safe, and cotton stockin's, and hens, and factory cloth, and i kep' her down on them for more'n two hours. but good land! i can't blame her for bein' embittered agin men and the laws they've made, for it seems as if i never see a human creeter so afflicted as serepta pester has been all her life. why, her sufferin's date back before she wuz born, and that's goin' pretty fur back. her father and mother had some difficulty and he wuz took down with billerous colick, voylent four weeks before serepta wuz born. and some think it wuz the hardness between 'em and some think it wuz the gripin' of the colick when he made his will, anyway he willed serepta away, boy or girl whichever it wuz, to his brother up on the canada line. so when serepta wuz born (and born a girl ontirely onbeknown to her) she wuz took right away from her mother and gin to this brother. her mother couldn't help herself, he had the law on his side. but it killed her. she drooped away and died before the baby wuz a year old. she wuz a affectionate, tenderhearted woman and her husband wuz overbearin' and stern always. but it wuz this last move of hisen that killed her, for it is pretty tough on a mother to have her baby, a part of her own life, took right out of her own arms and gin to a stranger. for this uncle of hern wuz a entire stranger to serepta, and almost like a stranger to her father, for he hadn't seen him since he wuz a boy, but knew he hadn't any children and spozed that he wuz rich and respectable. but the truth wuz he had been runnin' down every way, had lost his property and his character, wuz dissipated and mean. but the will wuz made and the law stood. men are ashamed now to think that the law wuz ever in voge, but it wuz, and is now in some of the states, and the poor young mother couldn't help herself. it has always been the boast of our american law that it takes care of wimmen. it took care of her. it held her in its strong protectin' grasp so tight that the only way she could slip out of it wuz to drop into the grave, which she did in a few months. then it leggo. but it kep' holt of serepta, it bound her tight to her uncle while he run through with what property she had, while he sunk lower and lower until at last he needed the very necessaries of life and then he bound her out to work to a woman who kep' a drinkin' den and the lowest hant of vice. twice serepta run away, bein' virtuous but humbly, but them strong protectin' arms of the law that had held her mother so tight reached out and dragged her back agin. upheld by them her uncle could compel her to give her service wherever he wanted her to work, and he wuz owin' this woman and she wanted serepta's work, so she had to submit. but the third time she made a effort so voyalent that she got away. a good woman, who bein' nothin' but a woman couldn't do anything towards onclinchin' them powerful arms that wuz protectin' her, helped her to slip through 'em. and serepta come to jonesville to live with a sister of that good woman; changed her name so's it wouldn't be so easy to find her; grew up to be a nice industrious girl. and when the woman she wuz took by died she left serepta quite a handsome property. and finally she married lank burpee, and did considerable well it wuz spozed. her property, put with what little he had, made 'em a comfortable home and they had two pretty children, a boy and a girl. but when the little girl wuz a baby he took to drinkin', neglected his bizness, got mixed up with a whiskey ring, whipped serepta--not so very hard. he went accordin' to law, and the law of the united states don't approve of a man's whippin' his wife enough to endanger her life, it sez it don't. he made every move of hisen lawful and felt that serepta hadn't ort to complain and feel hurt. but a good whippin' will make anybody feel hurt, law or no law. and then he parted with her and got her property and her two little children. why, it seemed as if everything under the sun and moon, that could happen to a woman, had happened to serepta, painful things and gauldin'. jest before lank parted with her, she fell on a broken sidewalk: some think he tripped her up, but it never wuz proved. but anyway serepta fell and broke her hip hone; and her husband sued the corporation and got ten thousand dollars for it. of course the law give the money to him and she never got a cent of it. but she wouldn't have made any fuss over that, knowin' that the law of the united states wuz such. but what made it so awful mortifyin' to her wuz, that while she wuz layin' there achin' in splints, he took that very money and used it to court up another woman with. gin her presents, jewelry, bunnets, head-dresses, artificial flowers out of serepta's own hip money. and i don't know as anything could be much more gauldin' to a woman than that--while she lay there groanin' in splints, to have her husband take the money for her own broken bones and dress up another woman like a doll with it. but the law gin it to him, and he wuz only availin' himself of the glorious liberty of our free republic, and doin' as he wuz a mind to. and it wuz spozed that that very hip money wuz what made the match. for before she wuz fairly out of splints he got a divorce from her and married agin. and by the help of serepta's hip money and the whiskey ring he got her two little children away from her. ii "they can't blame her" and i wonder if there is a woman in the land that can blame serepta for gittin' mad and wantin' her rights and wantin' the whiskey ring broke up, when they think how she's been fooled round with by men; willed away, and whipped, and parted with, and stole from. why, they can't blame her for feelin' fairly savage about 'em, as she duz. for as she sez to me once, when we wuz talkin' it over, how everything had happened to her. "yes," sez she, with a axent like bone-set and vinegar, "and what few things hain't happened to me has happened to my folks." and sure enough i couldn't dispute her. trouble and wrongs and sufferin's seemed to be epidemic in the race of pester wimmen. why, one of her aunts on her father's side, huldah pester, married for her first husband, eliphelet perkins. he wuz a minister, rode on a circuit, and he took huldah on it too, and she rode round with him on it a good deal of the time. but she never loved to, she wuz a woman that loved to be still, and kinder settled down at home. but she loved eliphelet so well that she would do anything to please him, so she rode round with him on that circuit till she wuz perfectly fagged out. he wuz a dretful good man to her, but he wuz kinder poor and they had hard times to git along. but what property they had wuzn't taxed, so that helped some, and huldah would make one dollar go a good ways. no, their property wuzn't taxed till eliphelet died. then the supervisor taxed it the very minute the breath left his body; run his horse, so it wuz said, so's to be sure to git it onto the tax list, and comply with the law. you see eliphelet's salary stopped when his breath did. and i spoze the law thought, seein' she wuz havin' trouble, she might jest as well have a little more; so it taxed all the property it never had taxed a cent for before. but she had this to console her that the law didn't forgit her in her widowhood. no; the law is quite thoughtful of wimmen by spells. it sez it protects wimmen. and i spoze that in some mysterious way, too deep for wimmen to understand, it wuz protectin' her now. well, she suffered along and finally married agin. i wondered why she did. but she wuz such a quiet, home-lovin' woman that it wuz spozed she wanted to settle down and be kinder still and sot. but of all the bad luck she had. she married on short acquaintance, and he proved to be a perfect wanderer. he couldn't keep still, it wuz spozed to be a mark. he moved huldah thirteen times in two years, and at last he took her into a cart, a sort of covered wagon, and traveled right through the western states with her. he wanted to see the country and loved to live in the wagon, it wuz his make. and, of course, the law give him control of her body, and she had to go where he moved it, or else part with him. and i spoze the law thought it wuz guardin' and nourishin' her when it wuz joltin' her over them prairies and mountains and abysses. but it jest kep' her shook up the hull of the time. it wuz the regular pester luck. and then another of her aunts, drusilly pester, married a industrious, hard-workin' man, one that never drinked, wuz sound on the doctrines, and give good measure to his customers, he wuz a groceryman. and a master hand for wantin' to foller the laws of his country as tight as laws could be follered. and so knowin' that the law approved of moderate correction for wimmen, and that "a man might whip his wife, but not enough to endanger her life"; he bein' such a master hand for wantin' to do everything faithful and do his very best for his customers, it wuz spozed he wanted to do the best for the law, and so when he got to whippin' drusilly, he would whip her too severe, he would be too faithful to it. you see what made him whip her at all wuz she wuz cross to him. they had nine little children, she thought two or three children would be about all one woman could bring up well by hand, when that hand wuz so stiff and sore with hard work. but he had read some scareful talk from high quarters about race suicide. some men do git real wrought up about it and want everybody to have all the children they can, jest as fast as they can, though wimmen don't all feel so. aunt hetty sidman said, "if men had to born 'em and nuss 'em themselves, she didn't spoze they would be so enthusiastick about it after they had had a few, 'specially if they done their own housework themselves," and aunt hetty said that some of the men who wuz exhortin' wimmen to have big families, had better spend some of their strength and wind in tryin' to make this world a safer place for children to be born into. she said they'd be better off in nonentity than here in this world with saloons on every corner, and war-dogs howlin' at 'em. i don't know exactly what she meant by nonentity, but guess she meant the world we all stay in, before we are born into this one. aunt hetty has lost five boys, two by battle and three by licensed saloons, that makes her talk real bitter, but to resoom. i told josiah that men needn't worry about race suicide, for you might as well try to stop a hen from makin' a nest, as to stop wimmen from wantin' a baby to love and hold on her heart. but sez i, "folks ort to be moderate and mejum in babies as well as in everything else." but drusilly's husband wanted twelve boys he said, to be law-abidin' citizens as their pa wuz, and a protection to the govermunt, and to be ready to man the new warships, if a war broke out. but her babies wuz real pretty and cunning, and she wuz so weak-minded she couldn't enjoy the thought that if our male statesmen got to scrappin' with some other nation's male law-makers and made another war, of havin' her grown-up babies face the cannons. i spoze it wuz when she wuz so awful tired she felt so. you see she had to do every mite of her housework, and milk cows, and make butter and cheese, and cook and wash and scour, and take all the care of the children day and night in sickness and health, and make their clothes and keep 'em clean. and when there wuz so many of 'em and she enjoyin' real poor health, i spoze she sometimes thought more of her own achin' back than she did of the good of the govermunt--and she would git kinder discouraged sometimes and be cross to him. and knowin' his own motives wuz so high and loyal, he felt that he ort to whip her, so he did. and what shows that drusilly wuzn't so bad after all and did have her good streaks and a deep reverence for the law is, that she stood his whippin's first-rate, and never whipped him. now she wuz fur bigger than he wuz, weighed eighty pounds the most, and might have whipped him if the law had been such. but they wuz both law-abidin' and wanted to keep every preamble, so she stood it to be whipped, and never once whipped him in all the seventeen years they lived together. she died when her twelfth child wuz born. there wuz jest ten months difference between that and the one next older. and they said she often spoke out in her last sickness, and said, "thank fortune, i've always kep' the law!" and they said the same thought wuz a great comfort to him in his last moments. he died about a year after she did, leavin' his second wife with twins and a good property. then there wuz abagail pester. she married a sort of a high-headed man, though one that paid his debts, wuz truthful, good lookin', and played well on the fiddle. why, it seemed as if he had almost every qualification for makin' a woman happy, only he had this one little eccentricity, he would lock up abagail's clothes every time he got mad at her. of course the law give her clothes to him, and knowin' that it wuz the law in the state where they lived, she wouldn't have complained only when they had company. but it wuz mortifyin', nobody could dispute it, to have company come and have nothin' to put on. several times she had to withdraw into the woodhouse, and stay most all day there shiverin', and under the suller stairs and round in clothes presses. but he boasted in prayer meetin's and on boxes before grocery stores that he wuz a law-abidin' citizen, and he wuz. eben flanders wouldn't lie for anybody. but i'll bet abagail flanders beat our old revolutionary four-mothers in thinkin' out new laws, when she lay round under stairs and behind barrels in her night-gown. when a man hides his wife's stockin's and petticoats it is governin' without the consent of the governed. if you don't believe it you'd ort to peeked round them barrels and seen abagail's eyes, they had hull reams of by-laws in 'em and preambles, and declarations of independence, so i've been told. but it beat everything i ever hearn on, the lawful sufferin's of them wimmen. for there wuzn't nothin' illegal about one single trouble of theirn. they suffered accordin' to law, every one on 'em. but it wuz tuff for 'em, very tuff. and their bein' so dretful humbly wuz another drawback to 'em, though that too wuz perfectly lawful, as everybody knows. and serepta looked as bad agin as she would otherwise on account of her teeth. it wuz after lank had begun to git after this other woman, and wuz indifferent to his wife's looks that serepta had a new set of teeth on her upper jaw. and they sot out and made her look so bad it fairly made her ache to look at herself in the glass. and they hurt her gooms too, and she carried 'em back to the dentist and wanted him to make her another set, but he acted mean and wouldn't take 'em back, and sued lank for the pay. and they had a law-suit. and the law bein' such that a woman can't testify in court, in any matter that is of mutual interest to husband and wife, and lank wantin' to act mean, said that they wuz good sound teeth. and there serepta sot right in front of 'em with her gooms achin' and her face all swelled out, and lookin' like furiation, and couldn't say a word. but she had to give in to the law. and ruther than go toothless she wears 'em to this day, and i believe it is the raspin' of them teeth aginst her gooms and her discouraged, mad feelin's every time she looks in the glass that helps embitter her towards men, and the laws men have made, so's a woman can't have control of her own teeth and her own bones. serepta went home about 5 p.m., i promisin' sacred to do her errents for her. and i gin a deep, happy sithe after i shot the door behind her, and i sez to josiah i do hope that's the very last errent we will have to carry to washington, d.c., for the jonesvillians. "yes," says he, "an' i guess i will get a fresh pail of water and hang on the tea kettle for you." "and," i says, "it's pretty early for supper, but i'll start it, for i do feel kinder gone to the stomach. sympathy is real exhaustin'. sometimes i think it tires me more'n hard work. and heaven knows i sympathized with serepta. i felt for her full as much as if she was one of the relations on _his_ side." but if you'll believe it, i had hardly got the words out of my mouth and josiah had jest laid holt of the water pail, when in comes philander dagget, the president of the jonesville creation searchin' society and, of course, he had a job for us to do on our tower. this society was started by the leadin' men of jonesville, for the purpose of searchin' out and criticizin' the affairs of the world, an' so far as possible advisin' and correctin' the meanderin's an' wrong-doin's of the universe. this society, which we call the c.s.s. for short, has been ruther quiet for years. but sence woman's suffrage has got to be such a prominent question, they bein' so bitterly opposed to it, have reorganized and meet every once in a while, to sneer at the suffragettes and poke fun at 'em and show in every way they can their hitter antipathy to the cause. philander told me if i see anything new and strikin' in the way of society badges and regalia, to let him know about it, for he said the c.s.s. was goin' to take a decided stand and show their colors. they wuz goin' to help protect his women endangered sect, an' he wanted sunthin' showy and suggestive. i thought of a number of badges and mottoes that i felt would be suitable for this society, but dassent tell 'em to him, for his idees and mine on this subject are as fur apart as the two poles. he talked awful bitter to me once about it, and i sez to him: "philander, the world is full of good men, and there are also bad men in the world, and, sez i, did you ever in your born days see a bad man that wuzn't opposed to woman's suffrage? all the men who trade in, and profit by, the weakness and sin of men and women, they every one of 'em, to a man, fight agin it. and would they do this if they didn't think that their vile trades would suffer if women had the right to vote? it is the great-hearted, generous, noble man who wants women to become a real citizen with himself--which she is not now--she is only a citizen just enough to be taxed equally with man, or more exhorbitantly, and be punished and executed by the law she has no hand in makin'." philander sed, "i have always found it don't pay to talk with women on matters they don't understand." an' he got up and started for the door, an' josiah sed, "no, it don't pay, not a cent; i've always said so." but i told philander i'd let him know if i see anything appropriate to the c.s.s. holdin' back with a almost herculaneum effort the mottoes and badges that run through my mind as bein' appropriate to their society; knowin' it would make him so mad if i told him of 'em--he never would neighbor with us again. and in three days' time we sot sail. we got to the depo about an hour too early, but i wuz glad we wuz on time, for it would have worked josiah up dretfully ef we hadn't been, for he had spent most of the latter part of the night in gittin' up and walkin' out to the clock seein' if it wuz train time. jest before we started, who should come runnin' down to the depo but sam nugent wantin' to send a errent by me to washington. he wunk me out to one side of the waitin' room, and ast "if i'd try to git him a license to steal horses." it kinder runs in the blood of the nugents to love to steal, and he owned up it did, but he said he wanted the profit of it. but i told him i wouldn't do any sech thing, an' i looked at him in such a witherin' way that i should most probable withered him, only he is blind in one side, and i wuz on the blind side, but he argued with me, and said that it wuz no worse than to give licenses for other kinds of meanness. he said they give licenses now to steal--steal folkses senses away, and then they could steal everything else, and murder and tear round into every kind of wickedness. but he didn't ask that. he wanted things done fair and square: he jest wanted to steal horses. he wuz goin' west, and he thought he could do a good bizness, and lay up somethin'. if he had a license he shouldn't be afraid of bein' shet up or shot. but i refused the job with scorn; and jest as i wuz refusin', the cars snorted, and i wuz glad they did. they seemed to express in that wild snort something of the indignation i felt. the idee! iii "polly's eyes crowed tender" lorinda wuz dretful glad to see us and so wuz her husband and polly. but the reunion had to be put off on account of a spell her husband wuz havin'. lorinda said she could not face such a big company as she'd invited while hiram wuz havin' a spell, and i agreed with her. sez i, "never, never, would i have invited company whilst josiah wuz sufferin' with one of his cricks." men hain't patient under pain, and outsiders hain't no bizness to hear things they say and tell on 'em. so polly had to write to the relations puttin' off the reunion for one week. but lorinda kep' on cookin' fruit cake and such that would keep, she had plenty of help, but loved to do her company cookin' herself. and seein' the reunion wuz postponed and lorinda had time on her hands, i proposed she should go with me to the big out-door meetin' of the suffragists, which wuz held in a nigh-by city. "good land!" sez she, "nothin' would tempt me to patronize anything so brazen and onwomanly as a out-door meetin' of wimmen, and so onhealthy and immodest." i see she looked reproachfully at polly as she said it. polly wuz arrangin' some posies in a vase, and looked as sweet as the posies did, but considerable firm too, and i see from lorinda's looks that polly wuz one who had to leave father and mother for principle's sake. but i sez, "you're cookin' this minute, lorinda, for a out-door meetin'" (she wuz makin' angel cake). "and why is this meetin' any more onwomanly or immodest than the camp-meetin' where you wuz converted, and baptized the next sunday in the creek?" "oh, them wuz religious meetin's," sez she. "well," sez i, "mebby these wimmen think their meetin' is religious. you know the bible sez, 'faith and works should go together,' and some of the leaders of this movement have showed by their works as religious a sperit and wielded aginst injustice to young workin' wimmen as powerful a weepon as that axe of the 'postles the bible tells about. and you said you went every day to the hudson-fulton doin's and hearn every out-door lecture; you writ me that there wuz probable a million wimmen attendin' them out-door meetin's, and that wuz curosity and pleasure huntin' that took them, and this is a meetin' of justice and right." "oh, shaw!" sez lorinda agin, with her eye on polly. "wimmen have all the rights they want or need." lorinda's husband bein' rich and lettin' her have her way she is real foot loose, and don't feel the need of any more rights for herself, but i told her then and there some of the wrongs and sufferin's of serepta pester, and bein' good-hearted (but obstinate and bigoted) she gin in that the errents wuz hefty, and that serepta wuz to be pitied, but she insisted that wimmen's votin' wouldn't help matters. but euphrasia pottle, a poor relation from troy, spoke up. "after my husband died one of my girls went into a factory and gits about half what the men git for the same work, and my oldest girl who teaches in the public school don't git half as much for the same work as men do, and her school rooms are dark, stuffy, onhealthy, and crowded so the children are half-choked for air, and the light so poor they're havin' their eyesight spilte for life, and new school books not needed at all, are demanded constantly, so some-one can make money." "yes," sez i, "do you spoze, lorinda, if intelligent mothers helped control such things they would let their children be made sick and blind and the money that should be used for food for poor hungry children be squandered on _on_-necessary books they are too faint with hunger to study." "but wimmen's votin' wouldn't help in such things," sez lorinda, as she stirred her angel cake vigorously. but euphrasia sez, "my niece, ellen, teaches in a state where wimmen vote and she gits the same wages men git for the same work, and her school rooms are bright and pleasant and sanitary, and the pupils, of course, are well and happy. and if you don't think wimmen can help in such public matters just go to seattle and see how quick a bad man wuz yanked out of his public office and a good man put in his place, mostly by wimmen's efforts and votes." "yes," sez i, "it is a proved fact that wimmen's votes do help in these matters. and do you think, lorinda, that if educated, motherly, thoughtful wimmen helped make the laws so many little children would be allowed to toil in factories and mines, their tender shoulders bearin' the burden of constant labor that wears out the iron muscles of men?" polly's eyes growed tender and wistful, and her little white hands lingered over her posies, and i knowed the hard lot of the poor, the wrongs of wimmen and children, the woes of humanity, wuz pressin' down on her generous young heart. and i could see in her sweet face the brave determination to do and to dare, to try to help ondo the wrongs, and try to lift the burdens from weak and achin' shoulders. but lorinda kep' on with the same old moth-eaten argument so broke down and feeble it ort to be allowed to die in peace. "woman's suffrage would make women neglect their homes and housework and let their children run loose into ruin." i knowed she said it partly on polly's account, but i sez in surprise, "why, lorinda, it must be you hain't read up on the subject or you would know wherever wimmen has voted they have looked out first of all for the children's welfare. they have raised the age of consent, have closed saloons and other places of licensed evil, and in every way it has been their first care to help 'em to safer and more moral surroundin's, for who has the interest of children more at heart than the mothers who bore them, children who are the light of their eyes and the hope of the future." lorinda admitted that the state of the children in the homes of the poor and ignorant wuz pitiful. "but," sez she, "the bible sez 'ye shall always have the poor with you,' and i spoze we always shall, with all their sufferin's and wants. but," sez she, "in well-to-do homes the children are safe and well off, and don't need any help from woman legislation." "why, lorinda," sez i, "did you ever think on't how such mothers may watch over and be the end of the law to their children with the father's full consent during infancy when they're wrastlin' with teethin', whoopin'-cough, mumps, etc., can be queen of the nursery, dispensor of pure air, sunshine, sanitary, and safe surroundin's in every way, and then in a few years see 'em go from her into dark, overcrowded, unsanitary, carelessly guarded places, to spend the precious hours when they are the most receptive to influence and pass man-made pitfalls on their way to and fro, must stand helpless until in too many cases the innocent healthy child that went from her care returns to her half-blind, a physical and moral wreck. the mother who went down to death's door for 'em, and had most to do in mouldin' their destiny during infancy should have at least equal rights with the father in controllin' their surroundin's during their entire youth, and to do this she must have equal legal power or her best efforts are wasted. that this is just and right is as plain to me as the nose on my face and folks will see it bom-bye and wonder they didn't before. "and wimmen who suffer most by the lack on't, will be most interested in openin' schools to teach the fine art of domestic service, teachin' young girls how to keep healthy comfortable homes and fit themselves to be capable wives and mothers. i don't say or expect that wimmen's votin' will make black white, or wash all the stains from the legislative body at once, but i say that jest the effort to git wimmen's suffrage has opened hundreds of bolted doors and full suffrage will open hundreds more. and i'm goin' to that woman's suffrage meetin' if i walk afoot." but here josiah spoke up, i thought he wuz asleep, he wuz layin' on the lounge with a paper over his face. but truly the word, "woman's suffrage," rousts him up as quick as a mouse duz a drowsy cat, so, sez he, "i can't let you go, samantha, into any such dangerous and onwomanly affair." "let?" sez i in a dry voice; "that's a queer word from one old pardner to another." "i'm responsible for your safety, samantha, and if anybody goes to that dangerous and onseemly meetin' i will. mebby polly would like to go with me." as stated, polly is as pretty as a pink posy, and no matter how old a man is, nor how interestin' and noble his pardner is, he needs girl blinders, yes, he needs 'em from the cradle to the grave. but few, indeed, are the female pardners who can git him to wear 'em. he added, "you know i represent you legally, samantha; what i do is jest the same as though you did it." sez i, "mebby that is law, but whether it is gospel is another question. but if you represent me, josiah, you will have to carry out my plans; i writ to diantha smith trimble that if i went to the city i'd take care of aunt susan a night or two, and rest her a spell; you know diantha is a widder and too poor to hire a nurse. but seein' you represent me you can set up with her ma a night or two; she's bed-rid and you'll have to lift her round some, and give her her medicine and take care of diantha's twins, and let her git a good sleep." "well, as it were--samantha--you know--men hain't expected to represent wimmen in everything, it is mostly votin' and tendin' big meetin's and such." "oh, i see," sez i; "men represent wimmen when they want to, and when they don't wimmen have got to represent themselves." "well, yes, samantha, sunthin' like that." he didn't say anything more about representin' me, and polly said she wuz goin' to ride in the parade with some other college girls. lorinda's linement looked dark and forbiddin' as polly stated in her gentle, but firm way this ultimatum. lorinda hated the idee of polly's jinin' in what she called onwomanly and immodest doin's, but i looked beamin'ly at her and gloried in her principles. after she went out lorinda said to me in a complainin' way, "i should think that a girl that had every comfort and luxury would be contented and thankful, and be willin' to stay to home and act like a lady." sez i, "nothin' could keep polly from actin' like a lady, and mebby it is because she is so well off herself that makes her sorry for other young girls that have nothin' but poverty and privation." "oh, nonsense!" sez lorinda. but i knowed jest how it wuz. polly bein' surrounded by all the good things money could give, and bein' so tender-hearted her heart ached for other young girls, who had to spend the springtime of their lives in the hard work of earnin' bread for themselves and dear ones, and she longed to help 'em to livin' wages, so they could exist without the wages of sin, and too many on 'em had to choose between them black wages and starvation. she wanted to help 'em to better surroundin's and she knowed the best weepon she could put into their hands to fight the wolves of want and temptation, wuz the ballot. polly hain't a mite like her ma, she favors the smiths more, her grand-ma on her pa's side wuz a smith and a woman of brains and principle. durin' my conversation with lorinda, i inquired about royal gray, for as stated, he wuz a great favorite of ourn, and i found out (and i could see it gaulded her) that when polly united with the suffragists he shied off some, and went to payin' attention to another girl. whether it wuz to make polly jealous and bring her round to his way of thinkin', i didn't know, but mistrusted, for i could have took my oath that he loved polly deeply and truly. to be sure he hadn't confided in me, but there is a language of the eyes, when the soul speaks through 'em, and as i'd seen him look at polly my own soul had hearn and understood that silent language and translated it, that polly wuz the light of his eyes, and the one woman in the world for him. and i couldn't think his heart had changed so sudden. but knowin' as i did the elastic nature of manly affection, i felt dubersome. this other girl, maud vincent, always said to her men friends, it wuz onwomanly to try to vote. she wuz one of the girls who always gloried in bein' a runnin' vine when there wuz any masculine trees round to lean on and twine about. one who always jined in with all the idees they promulgated, from neckties to the tariff, who declared cigar smoke wuz so agreeable and welcome; it did really make her deathly sick, but she would choke herself cheerfully and willin'ly if by so chokin' she could gain manly favor and admiration. she said she didn't believe in helpin' poor girls, they wuz well enough off as it wuz, she wuz sure they didn't feel hunger and cold as rich girls did, their skin wuz thicker and their stomachs different and stronger, and constant labor didn't harm them, and working girls didn't need recreation as rich girls did, and woman's suffrage wouldn't help them any; in her opinion it would harm them, and anyway the poor wuz on-grateful. she had the usual arguments on the tip of her tongue, for old miss vincent, the aunt she lived with, wuz a ardent she aunty and very prominent in the public meetin's the she auntys have to try to compel the suffragists not to have public meetin's. they talk a good deal in public how onwomanly and immodest it is for wimmen to talk in public. and she wuz one of the foremost ones in tryin' to git up a school to teach wimmen civics, to prove that they mustn't ever have anything to do with civics. yes, old miss vincent wuz a real active, ardent she aunty, and maud genevieve takes after her. royal gray, his handsome attractive personality, and his millions, had long been the goal of maud's ambition. and how ardently did she hail the coolness growing between him and polly, the little rift in the lute, and how zealously did she labor to make it larger. polly and royal had had many an argument on the subject, that is, he would begin by makin' fun of the suffragists and their militant doin's, which if he'd thought on't wuz sunthin' like what his old revolutionary forbears went through for the same reasons, bein' taxed without representation, and bein' burdened and punished by the law they had no voice in making, only the suffragettes are not nearly so severe with their opposers, they haven't drawed any blood yet. why, them old patriots we revere so, would consider their efforts for freedom exceedingly gentle and tame compared to their own bloody battles. and royal would make light of the efforts of college girls to help workin' girls, and the encouragement and aid they'd gin 'em when they wuz strikin' for less death-dealin' hours of labor, and livin' wages, and so forth. i don't see how such a really noble young man as royal ever come to argy that way, but spoze it wuz the dead hand of some rough onreasonable old ancestor reachin' up out of the shadows of the past and pushin' him on in the wrong direction. so when he begun to ridicule what polly's heart wuz sot on, when she felt that he wuz fightin' agin right and justice, before they knowed it both pairs of bright eyes would git to flashin' out angry sparks, and hash words would be said on both sides. that old long-buried tory ancestor of hisen eggin' him on, so i spoze, and polly's generous sperit rebellin' aginst the injustice and selfishness, and mebby some warlike ancestor of hern pushin' her on to say hash things. 'tennyrate he had grown less attentive to her, and wuz bestowin' his time and attentions elsewhere. and when she told him she wuz goin' to ride in the automobile parade of the suffragists, but really ridin' she felt towards truth and justice to half the citizens of the u.s., he wuz mad as a wet hen, a male wet hen, and wuz bound she shouldn't go. some men, and mebby it is love that makes 'em feel so (they say it is), and mebby it is selfishness (though they won't own up to it), but they want the women they love to belong to them alone, want to rule absolutely over their hearts, their souls, their bodies, and all their thoughts and aims, desires, and fancies. they don't really say they want 'em to wear veils, and be shet in behind lattice-windowed harems, but i believe they would enjoy it. they want to be foot loose and heart loose themselves, but always after ulysses is tired of world wandering, he wants to come back and open the barred doors of home with his own private latch-key, and find penelope knitting stockings for him with her veil on, waitin' for him. that sperit is i spoze inherited from the days when our ancestor, the cave man, would knock down the woman he fancied, with a club, and carry her off into his cave and keep her there shet up. but little by little men are forgettin' their ancestral traits, and men and wimmen are gradually comin' out of their dark caverns into the sunshine (for women too have inherited queer traits and disagreeable ones, but that is another story). well, as i said, royal wuz mad and told polly that he guessed that the day of the parade he would take maud vincent out in the country in his motor, to gather may-flowers. polly told him she hoped they would have a good time, and then, after he had gone, drivin' his car lickety-split, harem skarum, owin' to his madness i spoze, polly went upstairs and cried, for i hearn her, her room wuz next to ourn. and i deeply respected her for her principles, for he had asked her first to go may-flowering with him the day of the suffrage meeting. but she refused, havin' in her mind, i spoze, the girls that couldn't hunt flowers, but had to handle weeds and thistles with bare hands (metaforically) and wanted to help them and all workin' wimmen to happier and more prosperous lives. iv "strivin' with the emissary" but i am hitchin' the horse behind the wagon and to resoom backwards. the reunion wuz put off a week and the suffrage meetin' wuz two days away, so i told lorinda i didn't believe i would have a better time to carry serepta pester's errents to washington, d.c. josiah said he guessed he would stay and help wait on hiram cagwin, and i approved on't, for lorinda wuz gittin' wore out. and then josiah made so light of them errents i felt that he would be a drawback instead of a help, for how could i keep a calm and noble frame of mind befittin' them lofty errents, and how could i carry 'em stiddy with a pardner by my side pokin' fun at 'em, and at me for carryin' 'em, jarrin' my sperit with his scorfin' and onbelievin' talk? and as i sot off alone in the trolley i thought of how they must have felt in old times a-carryin' the urim and thumim. and though i hadn't no idee what them wuz, yet i always felt that the carriers of 'em must have felt solemn and high-strung. yes, my feelin's wuz such as i felt of the heft and importance of them errents not alone to serepta pester, but to the hull race of wimmen that it kep' my mental head rained up so high that i couldn't half see and enjoy the sight of the most beautiful city in the world, and still i spoze its grandeur and glory sort o' filtered down through my conscientiousness, as cloth grows white under the sun's rays onbeknown to it. anon i left the trolley and walked some ways afoot. it wuz a lovely day, the sun shone down in golden splendor upon the splendor beneath it. broad, beautiful clean streets, little fresh green parks, everywhere you could turn about, and big ones full of flowers and fountains, and trees and statutes. and anon or oftener i passed noble big stun buildings, where everything is made for the nation's good and profit. money and fish and wisdom and all sorts of patented things and garden seeds and tariffs and resolutions and treaties and laws of every shape and size, good ones and queer ones and reputations and rates and rebates, etc., etc. but it would devour too much time to even name over all that is made and onmade there, even if i knowed by name the innumerable things that are flowin' constant out of that great reservoir of the nation, with its vast crowd of law-makers settin' on the lid, regulatin' its flow and spreadin' it abroad over the country, thick and thin. but on i went past the capitol, the handsomest buildin' on the globe, standin' in its own eden of beauty. by the public library as long as from our house to grout hozleton's, and i guess longer, and every foot on't more beautifler ornamented than tongue can tell. but i didn't dally tryin' to pace off the size on't, though it wuz enormous, for the thought of what i wuz carryin' bore me on almost regardless of my matchless surroundin's and the twinges of rumatiz. and anon i arrived at the white house, where my hopes and the hopes of my sect and serepta pester wuz sot. i will pass over my efforts to git into the presence, merely sayin' that they were arjous and extreme, and i wouldn't probably have got in at all had not the presence appeared with a hat on jest goin' out for a walk, and see me as i wuz strivin' with the emissary for entrance. i spoze my noble mean, made more noble fur by the magnitude of what i wuz carryin', impressed him, for suffice it to say inside of five minutes the presence wuz back in his augience room, and i wuz layin' out them errents of serepta's in front of him. he wuz very hefty, a good-lookin' smilin' man, a politer demeanored gentlemanly appearner man i don't want to see. but his linement which had looked so pleasant and cheerful growed gloomy and deprested as i spread them errents before him and sez in conclusion: "serepta pester sent these errents to you, she wanted intemperance done away with, the whiskey ring broke up and destroyed, she wanted you to have nothin' stronger than root beer when you had company to dinner, she offerin' to send you some burdock and dandeline roots and some emptins to start it with, and she wanted her rights, and wanted 'em all by week after next without fail." he sithed hard, and i never see a linement fall furder than hisen fell, and kep' a-fallin'. i pitied him, i see it wuz a hard stent for him to do it in the time she had sot, and he so fleshy too. but knowin' how much wuz at the stake, and how the fate of serepta and wimmen wuz tremblin' in the balances, i spread them errents out before him. and bein' truthful and above board, i told him that serepta wuz middlin' disagreeable and very humbly, but she needed her rights jest as much as though she wuz a wax-doll. and i went on and told him how she and her relations had suffered from want of rights, and how dretfully she had suffered from the ring till i declare talkin' about them little children of hern, and her agony, i got about as fierce actin' as serepta herself, and entirely onbeknown to myself i talked powerful on intemperance and rings, and such. when i got down agin onto my feet i see he had a still more worried and anxious look on his good-natured face, and he sez: "the laws of the united states are such that i can't do them errands, i can't interfere." "then," sez i, "why don't you make the united states do right?" he said sunthin' about the might of the majority, and the powerful corporations and rings, and that sot me off agin. and i talked very powerful and allegored about allowin' a ring to be put round the united states and let a lot of whiskey dealers and corporations lead her round, a pitiful sight for men and angels. sez i, "how duz it look before the nations to see columbia led round half-tipsy by a ring?" he seemed to think it looked bad, i knew by his looks. sez i, "intemperance is bad for serepta and bad for the nation." he murmured sunthin' about the revenue the liquor trade brought the govermunt. but i sez, "every penny is money right out of the people's pockets; every dollar the people pay into the liquor traffic that gives a few cents into the treasury, is costin' the people ten times that dollar in the loss intemperance entails, loss of labor, by the inability of drunken men to do anything but wobble and stagger, loss of wealth by the enormous losses of property and taxation, of alms-houses, mad-houses, jails, police forces, paupers' coffins, and the diggin' of thousands and thousands of graves that are filled yearly by them that reel into 'em." sez i, "wouldn't it be better for the people to pay that dollar in the first place into the treasury than to let it filter through the dram-seller's hands, a few cents of it fallin' into the national purse at last, putrid and heavy with all these losses and curses and crimes and shames and despairs and agonies?" he seemed to think it would, i see by the looks of his linement he did. every honorable man feels so in his heart, and yet they let the liquor ring control 'em and lead 'em round. "it is queer, queer as a dog." sez i, "the intellectual and moral power of the united states are rolled up and thrust into that whiskey ring and bein' drove by the whiskey dealers jest where they want to drive 'em." sez i, "it controls new york village and nobody denies it, and the piety and philanthropy and culture and philosophy of that village has to be drawed along by that ring." and sez i, in low but startlin' tones of principle: "where, where is it a-drawin' 'em to? where is it drawin' the hull nation to? is it drawin' 'em down into a slavery ten times more abject and soul-destroyin' than african slavery ever wuz? tell me," sez i firmly, "tell me!" he did not try to frame a reply, he could not find a frame. he knowed it wuz a conundrum boundless as truth and god's justice, and as solemnly deep in its sure consequences of evil as eternity, and as sure to come as that is. oh, how solemn he looked, and how sorry i felt for him, for i knowed worse wuz to come, i knowed the sharpest arrow serepta pester had sent wuz yet to pierce his sperit. but i sort o' blunted the edge on't what i could conscientiously. sez i, "i think myself serepta is a little onreasonable, i myself am willin' to wait three or four weeks. but she's suffered dretful from intemperance from the rings and from the want of rights, and her sufferin's have made her more voylent in her demands and impatienter," and then i fairly groaned as i did the rest of the errent, and let the sharpest arrow fly from the bo. "serepta told me to tell you if you didn't do these errents you should not be president next year." he trembled like a popple leaf, and i felt that serepta wuz threatenin' him too hard. sez he, "i do not wish to be president again, i shall refuse to be nominated. at the same time i _do_ wish to be president and shall work hard for the nomination if you can understand the paradox." "yes," sez i, "i understand them paradoxes. i've lived with 'em as you may say, all through my married life." a clock struck in the next room and i knowed time wuz passin' swift. sez the president, "i would be glad to do serepta's errents, i think she is justified in askin' for her rights, and to have the ring destroyed, but i am not the one to do them." sez i, "who is the man or men?" he looked all round the room and up and down as if in hopes he could see someone layin' round on the floor, or danglin' from the ceilin', that would take the responsibility offen him, and in the very nick of time the door opened after a quick rap, and the president jumped up with a relieved look on his linement, and sez: "here is the very man to do the errents." and he hastened to introduce me to the senator who entered. and then he bid me a hasty adoo, but cordial and polite, and withdrew himself. v "he wuz dretful polite" i felt glad to have this senator do serepta's errents, but i didn't like his looks. my land! talk about serepta pester bein' disagreeable, he wuz as disagreeable as she any day. he wuz kinder tall and looked out of his eyes and wore a vest. he wuz some bald-headed, and wore a large smile all the while, it looked like a boughten one that didn't fit him, but i won't say it wuz. i presoom he'll be known by this description. but his baldness didn't look to me like josiah allen's baldness, and he didn't have the noble linement of the president, no indeed. he wuz dretful polite, good land! politeness is no name for it, but i don't like to see anybody too good. he drawed a chair up for me and himself and asked me: if he should have the inexpressible honor and delightful joy of aiding me in any way, if so to command him to do it or words to that effect. i can't put down his second-hand smiles and genteel looks and don't want to if i could. but tacklin' hard jobs as i always tackle 'em, i sot down calm in front of him with my umbrell on my lap and told him all of serepta's errents, and how i had brought 'em from jonesville on my tower. i told over all her sufferin's and wrongs from the rings and from not havin' her rights, and all her sister's azuba clapsaddle's, and her aunt cassandra keeler's, and hulda and drusilly's and abagail flanderses injustices and sufferin's. i did her errents as honorable as i'd love to have one done for me, i told him all the petickulars, and as i finished i said firmly: "now can you do serepta pesterses errents and will you?" he leaned forward with that disagreeable boughten smile of hisen and took up one corner of my mantilly, it wuz cut tab fashion, and he took up the tab and said in a low insinuatin' voice, lookin' clost at the edge of the tab: "am i mistaken, or is this beautiful creation pipein' or can it be kensington tattin'?" i drawed the tab back coldly and never dained a reply; agin he sez, in a tone of amiable anxiety, "have i not heard a rumor that bangs are going out of style? i see you do not wear your lovely hair bang-like or a-pompadouris? ah, women are lovely creatures, lovely beings, every one of 'em." and he sithed, "you are very beautiful," and he sithed agin, a sort of a deceitful lovesick sithe. i sot demute as the spinks, and a chippin' bird tappin' his wing aginst her stuny breast would move it jest as much as he moved me by his talk or his sithes. but he kep' on, puttin' on a sort of a sad injured look as if my coldness wuz ondoin' of him. "my dear madam, it is my misfortune that the topics i introduce, however carefully selected by me, do not seem to be congenial to you. have you a leanin' toward natural history, madam? have you ever studied into the habits and traits of our american wad?" "what?" sez i. for truly a woman's curosity, however parlyzed by just indignation, can stand only just so much strain. "the what?" "the wad. the animal from which is obtained the valuable fur that tailors make so much use of." sez i, "do you mean waddin' eight cents a sheet?" "eight cents a pelt--yes, the skins are plentiful and cheap, owing to the hardy habits of the animal." sez i, "cease instantly. i will hear no more." truly, i had heard much of the flattery and little talk statesmen will use to wimmen, and i'd hearn of their lies, etc.; but truly i felt that the half had not been told. and then i thought out-loud and sez: "i've hearn how laws of eternal right and justice are sot one side in washington, d.c., as bein' too triflin' to attend to, while the legislators pondered over and passed laws regardin' hen's eggs and bird's nests. but this is goin' too fur--too fur. but," sez i firmly, "i shall do serepta's errents, and do 'em to the best of my ability, and you can't draw off my attention from her wrongs and sufferin's by talkin' about wads." "i would love to obleege serepta," sez he, "because she belongs to such a lovely sect. wimmen are the loveliest, most angelic creatures that ever walked the earth; they are perfect, flawless, like snow and roses." sez i firmly, "they hain't no such thing; they are disagreeable creeters a good deal of the time. they hain't no better than men, but they ort to have their rights all the same. now serepta is disagreeable and kinder fierce actin', and jest as humbly as they make wimmen, but that hain't no sign she ort to be imposed upon; josiah sez she hadn't ort to have rights she is so humbly, but i don't feel so." "who is josiah?" sez he. sez i, "my husband." "ah, your husband! yes, wimmen should have husbands instead of rights. they do not need rights; they need freedom from all cares and sufferin'. sweet lovely beings! let them have husbands to lift them above all earthly cares and trials! oh! angels of our homes!" sez he, liftin' his eyes to the heavens and kinder shettin' 'em, some as if he wuz goin' into a spazzum. "fly around, ye angels, in your native hants; mingle not with rings and vile laws, flee away, flee above them!" and he kinder waved his hand back and forth in a floatin' fashion up in the air, as if it wuz a woman flyin' up there smooth and serene. it would have impressed some folks dretful, but it didn't me. i sez reasonably: "serepta would have been glad to flew above 'em, but the ring and the vile laws lay holt of her onbeknown to her and dragged her down. and there she is all bruised and broken-hearted by 'em. she didn't meddle with the political ring, but the ring meddled with her. how can she fly when the weight of this infamous traffic is holdin' her down?" "ahem!" sez he. "ahem, as it were. as i was saying, my dear madam, these angelic angels of our homes are too ethereal, too dainty to mingle with rude crowds. we political men would fain keep them as they are now; we are willing to stand the rude buffetin' of--of--voting, in order to guard these sweet delicate creatures from any hardships. sweet tender beings, we would fain guard thee--ah, yes, ah, yes." sez i, "cease instantly, or my sickness will increase, for such talk is like thoroughwort or lobelia to my moral and mental stomach. you know and i know that these angelic tender bein's, half-clothed, fill our streets on icy midnights, huntin' up drunken husbands and fathers and sons. they are driven to death and to moral ruin by the miserable want liquor drinkin' entails. they are starved, they are froze, they are beaten, they are made childless and hopeless by drunken husbands killin' their own flesh and blood. they go down into the cold waves and are drowned by drunken captains; they are cast from railways into death by drunken engineers; they go up on the scaffold and die for crimes committed by the direct aid of this agent of hell. "wimmen had ruther be flyin' round than to do all this, but they can't. if men really believed all they say about wimmen, and i think some on 'em do in a dreamy sentimental way--if wimmen are angels, give 'em the rights of angels. who ever hearn of a angel foldin' up her wings and goin' to a poor-house or jail through the fault of somebody else? who ever hearn of a angel bein' dragged off to police court for fightin' to defend her children and herself from a drunken husband that had broke her wings and blacked her eyes, got the angel into the fight and then she got throwed into the streets and imprisoned by it? who ever hearn of a angel havin' to take in washin' to support a drunken son or father or husband? who ever hearn of a angel goin' out as wet-nurse to git money to pay taxes on her home to a govermunt that in theory idolizes her, and practically despises her, and uses that money in ways abominable to that angel. if you want to be consistent, if you're bound to make angels of wimmen, you ort to furnish a free safe place for 'em to soar in. you ort to keep the angels from bein' tormented and bruised and killed, etc." "ahem," sez he, "as it were, ahem." but i kep' right on, for i begun to feel noble and by the side of myself: "this talk about wimmen bein' outside and above all participation in the laws of her country, is jest as pretty as anything i ever hearn, and jest as simple. why, you might jest as well throw a lot of snowflakes into the street, and say, 'some of 'em are female flakes and mustn't be trompled on.' the great march of life tromples on 'em all alike; they fall from one common sky, and are trodden down into one common ground. "men and wimmen are made with divine impulses and desires, and human needs and weaknesses, needin' the same heavenly light, and the same human aids and helps. the law should mete out to them the same rewards and punishments. "serepta sez you call wimmen angels, and you don't give 'em the rights of the lowest beasts that crawl on the earth. and serepta told me to tell you that she didn't ask the rights of a angel; she would be perfectly contented and proud, if you would give her the rights of a dog--the assured political rights of a yeller dog.' she said yeller and i'm bound on doin' her 'errent jest as she wanted it done, word for word. "a dog, serepta sez, don't have to be hung if it breaks the laws it is not allowed any hand in making; a dog don't have to pay taxes on its bone to a govermunt that withholds every right of citizenship from it; a dog hain't called undogly if it is industrious and hunts quietly round for its bone to the best of its ability, and tries to git its share of the crumbs that falls from that table bills are laid on. "a dog hain't preached to about its duty to keep home sweet and sacred, and then see that home turned into a place of danger and torment under laws that these very preachers have made legal and respectable. a dog don't have to see its property taxed to advance laws it believes ruinous, and that breaks its own heart and the heart of other dear dogs. a dog don't have to listen to soul-sickening speeches from them that deny it freedom and justice, about its bein' a damask rose and a seraph, when it knows it hain't; it knows, if it knows anything, that it is jest a plain dog. "you see serepta has been embittered by the trials that politics, corrupt legislation have brought right onto her. she didn't want nothin' to do with 'em, but they come onto her onexpected and onbeknown, and she feels that she must do everything she can to alter matters. she wants to help make the laws that have such a overpowerin' influence over her. she believes they can't be much worse than they are now, and may be a little better." "ah," interrupted the senator, "if serepta wishes to change political affairs, let her influence her children, her boys, and they will carry her benign and noble influence forward into the centuries." "but the law took her boy, her little boy and girl, away from her. through the influence of the whiskey ring, of which her husband wuz a shinin' member, he got possession of her boy. and so the law has made it perfectly impossible for her to mould it indirectly through him, what serepta duz she must do herself." "ah! my dear woman. a sad thing for serepta; i trust _you_ have no grievance of this kind, i trust that your estimable husband is, as it were, estimable." "yes, josiah allen is a good man, as good as men can be. you know men or wimmen can't be only jest about so good anyway. but he's my choice, and he don't drink a drop." "pardon me, madam, but if you are happy in your married relations, and your husband is a temperate good man, why do you feel so upon this subject?" "why, good land! if you understood the nature of a woman you would know my love for him, my happiness, the content and safety i feel about him and our boy, makes me realize the sufferin's of serepta in havin' her husband and boy lost to her; makes me realize the depth of a wife's and mother's agony when she sees the one she loves goin' down, down so low she can't reach him; makes me feel how she must yearn to help him in some safe sure way. "high trees cast long shadows. the happier and more blessed a woman's life is, the more duz she feel for them that are less blessed than she. highest love goes lowest, like that love that left heaven and descended to earth, and into it that he might lift up the lowly. the pityin' words of him who went about pleasin' not himself, hants me and inspires me; i'm sorry for serepta, sorry for the hull wimmen race of the nation, and for the men too. lots of 'em are good creeters, better than wimmen, some on 'em. they want to do right, but don't exactly see the way to do it. in the old slavery times some of the masters wuz more to be pitied than the slaves. they could see the injustice, feel the wrong they wuz doin', but old chains of custom bound 'em, social customs and idees had hardened into habits of thought. "they realized the size and heft of the evil, but didn't know how to grapple with it, and throw it. so now, many men see the evils of this time, want to help, but don't know the best way to lay holt of 'em. life is a curious conundrum anyway, and hard to guess. but we can try to git the right answer to it as fur as we can. serepta feels that one of the answers to the conundrum is in gittin' her rights. i myself have got all the rights i need or want, as fur as my own happiness is concerned. my home is my castle (a story and a half wooden one, but dear). my towers elevate me, the companionship of my friends give social happiness, our children are prosperous and happy. we have property enough for all the comforts of life. and above all other things my josiah is my love and my theme." "ah, yes!" sez he, "love is a woman's empire, and in that she should find her full content--her entire happiness and thought. a womanly woman will not look outside that lovely and safe and beautious empire." sez i firmly, "if she hain't a idiot she can't help it. love is the most beautiful thing on earth, the most holy and satisfyin'. but i do not ask you as a politician, but as a human bein', which would you like best, the love of a strong, earnest tender nature, for in man or woman 'the strongest are the tenderest, the loving are the daring,' which would you like best, the love and respect of such a nature full of wit, of tenderness, of infinite variety, or the love of a fool? "a fool's love is wearin', it is insipid at best, and it turns to vinegar. why, sweetened water must turn to vinegar, it is its nater. and if a woman is bright and true-hearted, she can't help seein' through an injustice. she may be happy in her own home. domestic affection, social enjoyments, the delights of a cultured home and society, and the companionship of the man she loves and who loves her, will, if she is a true woman, satisfy her own personal needs and desires, and she would far ruther for her own selfish happiness rest quietly in that love, that most blessed home. "but the bright quick intellect that delights you can't help seein' an injustice, can't help seein' through shams of all kinds, sham sentiment, sham compliments, sham justice. the tender lovin' nature that blesses your life can't help feelin' pity for them less blessed than herself. she looks down through the love-guarded lattice of her home from which your care would fain bar out all sights of woe and squaler, she looks down and sees the weary toilers below, the hopeless, the wretched. she sees the steep hills they have to climb, carryin' their crosses, she sees 'em go down into the mire, dragged there by the love that should lift 'em up. she would not be the woman you love if she could restrain her hand from liftin' up the fallen, wipin' tears from weepin' eyes, speakin' brave words for them that can't speak for themselves. the very strength of her affection that would hold you up if you were in trouble or disgrace yearns to help all sorrowin' hearts. "down in your heart you can't help admirin' her for this, we can't help respectin' the one that advocates the right, the true, even if they are our conquerors. wimmen hain't angels; now to be candid, you know they hain't. they hain't any better than men. men are considerable likely; and it seems curious to me that they should act so in this one thing. for men ort to be more honest and open than wimmen. they hain't had to cajole and wheedle and use little trickeries and deceits and indirect ways as wimmen have. why, cramp a tree limb and see if it will grow as straight and vigorous as it would in full freedom and sunshine. "men ort to be nobler than women, sincerer, braver. and they ort to be ashamed of this one trick of theirn, for they know they hain't honest in it, they hain't generous. give wimmen two or three generations of moral and legal freedom and see if men will laugh at 'em for their little deceits and affectations. no, men will be gentler, and wimmen nobler, and they will both come nearer bein' angels, though most probable they won't be any too good then, i hain't a mite afraid of it." vi "concerning moth-millers and minny fish" the senator kinder sithed, and that sithe sort o' brought me down onto my feet agin as it were, and a sense of my duty, and i spoke out agin: "can you and will you do serepta's errents?" he evaded a direct answer by sayin', "as you alluded to the little indirect ways of women, dearest madam, you will pardon me for saying that it is my belief that the soft gentle brains of females are unfitted for the deep hard problems men have to grapple with. they are too doll-like, too angelically and sweetly frivolous." "no doubt," sez i, "some wimmen are frivolous and some men foolish, for as mrs. poyser said, 'god made women to match the men,' but these few hadn't ort to disfranchise the hull race of men and wimmen. and as to soft brains, maria mitchell discovered planets hid from masculine eyes from the beginnin' of time, and do you think that wimmen can't see the black spots on the body politic, that darkens the life of her and her children? "madame curie discovered the light that looks through solid wood and iron, and you think wimmen can't see through unjust laws and practices, the rampant evils of to-day, and see what is on the other side, see a remedy for 'em. florence nightingale could mother and help cure an army, and why hain't men willin' to let wimmen help cure a sick legislation, kinder mother it, and encourage it to do better? she might much better be doin' that, than playin' bridge-whist, or rastlin' with hobble skirts, and it wouldn't devour any more time." he sot demute for a few minutes and then he sez, "while on the subject of women's achievements, dearest madam, allow me to ask you, if they have reached the importance you claim for them, why is it that so few women are made immortal by bein' represented in the hall of fame? and why are the four or five females represented there put away by themselves in a remote unadorned corner with no roof to protect them from the rough winds and storms that beat upon them?" sez i, "that's a good illustration of what i've been sayin'. it wuz owin' to a woman's gift that america has a hall of fame, and it would seem that common courtesy would give wimmen an equally desirable place amongst the immortals. do you spoze that if women formed half the committee of selection--which they should since it wuz a woman's gift that made such a place possible--do you spoze that if she had an equal voice with men, the names of noble wimmen would be tucked away in a remote unroofed corner? "edgar allan poe's genius wuz worthy a place among the immortals, no doubt; his poems and stories excite wonder and admiration. but do they move the soul like mrs. stowe's immortal story that thrilled the world and helped free a race?--yes, two races--for the curse of slavery held the white race in bondage, too. yet she and her three or four woman companions face the stormy winds in an out-of-the-way corner, while poe occupies his honorable sightly place among his fifty or more male companions. "wimmen have always been admonished to not strive for right and justice but to lean on men's generosity and chivalry. here wuz a place where that chivalry would have shone, but it didn't seem to materialize, and if wimmen had leaned on it, it would have proved a weak staff, indeed. "such things as this are constantly occurring and show plain that wimmen needs the ballot to protect her from all sorts of wrongs and indignities. men take wimmen's money, as they did here, and use it to uplift themselves, and lower her, like taxin' her heavily and often unjustly and usin' this money to help forward unjust laws which she abominates. and so it goes on, and will, until women are men's equals legally and politically." "ahem--you present things in a new light. i never looked at this matter with your eyes." "no, you looked at 'em through a man's eyes; such things are so customary that men do 'em without thinkin', from habit and custom, like hushin' up children's talk, when they interrupt grown-ups." agin he sot demute for a short space, and then said, "i feel that natural human instinct is aginst the change. in savage races that knew nothin' of civilization, male force and strength always ruled." "why," sez i, "history tells us of savage races where wimmen always rule, though i don't think they ort to--ability and goodness ort to rule." "nature is aginst it," sez he. but i sez firmly, "bees and lots of other insects and animals always have a female for queen and ruler. they rule blindly and entirely, right on through the centuries, but we are enlightened and should not encourage it. in my opinion the male bee has just as good a right to be monarch as his female pardner has, if he is as good and knows as much. i never believed in the female workin' ones killin' off the male drones to save winterin' 'em; they might give 'em some light chores to do round the hive to pay for their board. i love justice and that would be _my_ way." agin he sithed. "modern history don't seem to favor the scheme--" but his axent wuz as weak as a cat and his boughten smile seemed crackin' and wearin' out; he knowed better. sez i, "we won't argy long on that p'int, for i might overwhelm you if i approved of overwhelmin', but, will merely ask you to cast one eye on england. was the rain of victoria the good less peaceful and prosperous than that of the male rulers who preceded her? and you can then throw your other eye over to holland: is their sweet queen less worthy and beloved to-day than other european monarchs? and is her throne more shaky and tottlin' than theirn?" he didn't try to dispute me and bowed his head on his breast in a almost meachin' way. he knowed he wuz beat on every side, and almost to the end of his chain of rusty, broken old arguments. but anon he brightened up agin and sez, ketchin' holt of the last shackly link of his argument: "you seem to place a great deal of dependence on the bible. the bible is aginst the idee. the bible teaches man's supremacy, man's absolute power and might and authority." "why, how you talk," sez i. "in the very first chapter the bible tells how man wuz turned right round by a woman, tells how she not only turned man round to do as she wanted him to, but turned the hull world over. "that hain't nothin' i approve of; i don't speak of it because i like the idee. that wuzn't done in a open honorable manner as things should be done. no, eve ruled by indirect influence, the gently influencing men way, that politicians are so fond of. and she brought ruin and destruction onto the hull world by it. "a few years later when men and wimmen grew wiser, when we hear of wimmen rulin' israel openly and honestly, like miriam, deborah and other likely old four mothers, things went on better. they didn't act meachin' and tempt, and act indirect." he sithed powerful and sot round oneasy in his chair. and sez he, "i thought wimmen wuz taught by the bible to serve and love their homes." "so they be. and every true woman loves to serve. home is my supreme happiness and delight, and my best happiness is found in servin' them i love. but i must tell the truth, in the house or outdoors." sez he faintly, "the old testament may teach that women have some strength and power. but in the new testament in every great undertaken' and plan men have been chosen by god to carry them through." "why-ee!" sez i, "how you talk! have you ever read the bible?" he said evasively, his grandmother owned one, and he had seen it in early youth. and then he went on in a sort of apologizin' way. he had always meant to read it, but he had entered political life at an early age where the bible wuzn't popular, and he believed that he had never read further than the epistles of gulliver to the liliputians. sez i, "that hain't bible, there hain't no gulliver in it, and you mean galatians." well, he said, that might be it, it wuz some man he knew, and he had always heard and believed that man wuz the only worker that god had chosen. "why," sez i, "the one great theme of the new testament--the salvation of the world through the birth of christ--no man had anything to do with. our divine lord wuz born of god and woman. heavenly plan of redemption for fallen humanity. god himself called woman into that work, the divine work of saving a world, and why shouldn't she continue in it? god called her. mary had no dream of publicity, no desire of a world's work of suffering and renunciation. the soft air of galilee wropped her about in its sweet content, as she dreamed her quiet dreams in maiden peace--dreamed, perhaps, of domestic love and happiness. "from that sweetest silence, the restful peace of happy innocent girlhood, god called her to her divine work of helpin' redeem a world from sin. and did not this woman's love and willin' obedience, and sufferin' set her apart, baptize her for this work of liftin' up the fallen, helpin' the weak? [illustration: "he'd entered political life where the bible wuzn't popular; he'd never read further than gulliver's epistle to the liliputians."] "is it not a part of woman's life that she gave at the birth and crucifixion? her faith, her hope, her sufferin', her glow of divine pity and joyful martyrdom. these, mingled with the divine, the pure heavenly, have they not for nineteen hundred years been blessin' the world? the god in christ would awe us too much; we would shield our eyes from the too blindin' glory of the pure god-like. but the tender christ who wept over a sinful city, and the grave of his friend, who stopped dyin' on the cross to comfort his mother's heart, provide for her future--it is this womanly element in our lord's nature that makes us dare to approach him, dare to kneel at his feet? "and since woman wuz so blessed as to be counted worthy to be co-worker with god in the beginnin' of the world's redemption; since he called her from the quiet obscurity of womanly rest and peace into the blessed martyrdom of renunciation and toil and sufferin', all to help a world that cared nothin' for her, that cried out shame upon her. "he will help her carry on the work of helpin' a sinful world. he will protect her in it, she cannot be harmed or hindered, for the cause she loves of helpin' men and wimmen, is god's cause too, and god will take care of his own. herods full of greed and frightened selfishness may try to break her heart by efforts to kill the child she loves, but she will hold it so clost to her bosom he can't destroy it; and the light of the divine will go before her, showin' the way through the desert and wilderness mebby, but she shall bear it into safety." "you spoke of herod," sez he dreamily, "the name sounds familiar to me. was not mr. herod once in the united states senate?" "not that one," sez i. "he died some time ago, but i guess he has relatives there now, judgin' from laws made there. you ask who herod wuz, and as it all seems a new story to you, i will tell you. when the saviour of the world wuz born in bethlehem, and a woman wuz tryin' to save his life, a man by the name of herod wuz tryin' his best out of selfishness and greed to murder him." "ah! that was not right in herod." "no, it hain't been called so. and what wuzn't right in him hain't right in his relations who are tryin' to do the same thing to-day. sellin' for money the right to destroy the child the mother carries on her heart. surroundin' him with temptations so murderous, yet so enticin' to youthful spirits, that the mother feels that as the laws are now, the grave is the only place of safety that god himself can find for her boy. but because herod wuz so mean it hain't no sign that all men are mean. joseph wuz as likely as he could be." "joseph?" sez he pensively. "do you allude to our venerable speaker, joe cannon?" "no," sez i. "i'm talkin' bible--i'm talkin' about joseph; jest plain joseph." "ah! i see. i am not fully familiar with that work. being so engrossed in politics, and political literature, i don't git any time to devote to less important publications." sez i candidly, "i knew you hadn't read it the minute you mentioned the book of liliputians. but as i wuz sayin', joseph wuz a likely man. he had the strength to lead the way, overcome obstacles, keep dangers from mary, protect her tenderer form with the mantilly of his generous devotion. "_but she carried the child on her bosom_; ponderin' high things in her heart that joseph never dreamed of. that is what is wanted now, and in the future. the man and the woman walkin' side by side. he a little ahead, mebby, to keep off dangers by his greater strength and courage. she a-carryin' the infant christ of love, bearin' the baby peace in her bosom, carryin' it into safety from them that seek to destroy it. "and as i said before, if god called woman into this work, he will enable her to carry it through. he will protect her from her own weaknesses, and the misapprehensions and hard judgments and injustices of a gain-sayin' world. "yes, the star of hope is risin' in the sky brighter and brighter, and wise men are even now comin' to the mother of the new redeemer, led by the star." he sot demute. silence rained for some time; and finally i spoke out solemnly through the rain: "will you do serepta's errents? will you give her her rights? and will you break the whiskey ring?" he said he would love to do the errents, i had convinced him that it would be just and right to do 'em, but the constitution of the united states stood up firm aginst 'em. as the laws of the united states wuz, he could not make any move toward doin' either of the errents. sez i, "can't the laws be changed?" "be changed? change the laws of the united states? tamper with the glorious constitution that our fore-fathers left us--an immortal sacred legacy." he jumped up on his feet and his second-hand smile fell off. he kinder shook as if he wuz skairt most to death and tremblin' with horrow. he did it to skair me, i knew, but i knowed i meant well towards the constitution and our old forefathers; and my principles stiddied me and held me firm and serene. and when he asked me agin in tones full of awe and horrow: "can it be that i heard my ear aright? or did you speak of changin' the unalterable laws of the united states--tampering with the constitution?" "yes, that is what i said. hain't they never been changed?" he dropped that skairful look and put on a firm judicial one. he see that he could not skair me to death; an' sez he, "oh, yes, they've been changed in cases of necessity." sez i, "for instance durin' the oncivil war it wuz changed to make northern men cheap bloodhounds and hunters." "yes," he said, "it seemed to be a case of necessity and economy." "i know it," sez i; "men wuz cheaper than any other breed of bloodhounds the slave-holders could employ to hunt men and wimmen with, and more faithful." "yes," he said, "it wuz a case of clear economy." and sez i: "the laws have been changed to benefit liquor dealers." "well, yes," he said, "it had been changed to enable whiskey dealers to utilize the surplus liquor they import." sez he, gittin' kinder animated, for he wuz on a congenial and familar theme, "nobody, the best calculators in drunkards, can exactly calculate how much whiskey will be drunk in a year; and so, ruther than have the whiskey dealers suffer loss, the law had to be changed. and then," sez he, growin' still more candid in his excitement, "we are makin' a powerful effort to change the laws now so as to take the tax off of whiskey, so it can be sold cheaper, and obtained in greater quantities by the masses. any such great laws would justify a change in the constitution and the laws; but for any frivolous cause, any trivial cause, madam, we male custodians of the sacred constitution stand as walls of iron before it, guarding it from any shadow of change. faithful we will be, faithful unto death." sez i, "as it has been changed, it can be agin. and you jest said i had convinced you that serepta's errents wuz errents of truth and justice, and you would love to do 'em." "well, yes, yes--i would love to--as it were--. but, my dear madam, much as i would like to oblige you, i have not the time to devote to the cause of right and justice. i don't think you realize the constant pressure of hard work that is ageing us and wearing us out, before our day. "as i said, we have to watch the liquor interest constantly to see that the liquor dealers suffer no loss--we have to do that, of course." and he continued dreamily, as if losin' sight of me and talkin' to himself: "the wealthy corporations and trusts, we have to condemn them loudly to please the common people, and help 'em secretly to please ourselves, or our richest perkisits are lost. the canal ring, the indian agency, the land grabbers, the political bosses. in fact, we are surrounded by a host of bandits that we have to appease and profit by; oh, how these matters wear into the gray matter of our brains!" "gray matter!" sez i, with my nose uplifted to its extremest height, "i should call it black matter!" "well, the name is immaterial, but these labors, though pocket filling, are brain wearing. and of late i and the rest of our loyal henchmen have been worn out in our labors in tariff revision. you know how we claim to help the common people by the revision; you've probable read about it in the papers." "yes," sez i coldly, "i've hearn _talk_." "yes," sez he, "but if we do succeed, after the most strenious efforts in getting the duty off champagne, green turtle, olives, etc., and put on to sugar, tea, cotton cloth and such like, with all this brain fag and brain labor--" "and tongue labor!" sez i in a icy axent. "yes, after all this ceaseless toil the common people will not show any gratitude; we statesmen labor oft with aching hearts." and he leaned his forward on his hand and sithed. but my looks wuz like ice-suckles on the north side of a barn. and i stopped his complaints and his sithes by askin' in a voice that demanded a reply: "can you and will you do serepta's errents? errents full of truth and justice and eternal right?" he said he knew they wuz jest runnin' over with them qualities, but happy as it would make him to do 'em, he had to refuse owin' to the fur more important matters he had named, and the many, many other laws and preambles that he hadn't time to name over to me. "mebby you have heard," sez he, "that we are now engaged in making most important laws concerning moth-millers, and minny fish, and hog cholera. and take it with these important bills and the constant strain on our minds in tryin' to pass laws to increase our own salaries, you can see jest how cramped we are for time. and though we would love to pass some laws of truth and righteousness--we fairly ache to--yet not havin' the requisite time we are forced to lay 'em on the table or under it." "well," sez i, "i guess i may as well be a-goin'." and i bid him a cool goodbye and started for the door. but jest as my hand wuz on the nub he jumped up and opened the door, wearin' that boughten second-hand smile agin on his linement, and sez he: "dear madam, perhaps senator b. will do the errents for you." sez i, "where is senator b.?" and he said i would find him at his post of duty at the capitol. "well," i said, "i will hunt up the post," and did. a grand enough place for a emperor or a zar is the capitol of our great nation where i found him, a good natured lookin' boy in buttons showin' me the post. vii "no hamperin' hitchin' straps" well, senator b. wanted to do the errents but said it wuz not his place, and sent me to senator c., and he almost cried, he wanted to do 'em so bad, but stern duty tied him to his post, he said, and he sent me to senator d., and he _did_ cry onto his handkerchief, he wanted to do the errents so bad, and said it would be such a good thing to have 'em done. he bust right into tears as he said he had to refuse to do 'em. whether they wuz wet tears or dry ones i couldn't tell, his handkerchief wuz so big, but i hearn his sithes, and they wuz deep and powerful ones. but as i sez to him, "wet tears, nor dry ones, nor windy sithes didn't help do the errents." so i went on his sobbin' advice to senator e., and he wuz huffy and didn't want to do 'em and said so. and said his wife had thirteen children, and wimmen instead of votin' ort to go and do likewise. and i told him it wouldn't look well in onmarried wimmen and widders, and if they should foller her example folks would talk. and he said, "they ort to marry." and i said, "as the fashion is now, wimmen had to wait for some man to ask 'em, and if they didn't come up to the mark and ask 'em, who wuz to blame?" he wouldn't answer, and looked sulky, but honest, and wouldn't tell me who to go to to git the errents done. but jest outside his door i met the senator i had left sobbin' over the errents. he looked real hilarious, but drawed his face down when he ketched my eye, and sithed several times, and sent me to senator f. and he sent me to senator g. and suffice it to say i wuz sent round, and talked to, and cried at, and sulked to, and smiled at and scowled at, and encouraged and discouraged, 'till my head swum and my knees wobbled under me. and with all my efforts and outlay of oratory and shue leather not one of serepta pester's errents could i git done, and no hopes held out of their ever bein' done. and about the middle of the afternoon i gin up, there wuz no use in tryin' any longer and i turned my weary tracks towards the outside door. but as bad as i felt, i couldn't help my sperit bein' lifted up some by the grandeur about me. oh, my land! to stand in the immense hall and look up, and up, and see all the colors of the rain-bow and see what wonderful pictures there wuz up there in the sky above me as it were. why, it seemed curiouser than any northern lights i ever see in my life, and they stream up dretful curious sometimes. and as i walked through that lofty and most beautiful place and realized the size and majestic proportions of the buildin' i wondered to myself that a small law, a little unjust law could ever be passed in such grand and magnificent surroundin's. and i sez to myself, it can't be the fault of the place anyway; the law-makers have a chance for their souls to soar if they want to, here is room and to spare to pass laws big as elephants and camels, and i wondered that they should ever try to pass laws as small as muskeeters and nats. thinkses i, i wonder them little laws don't git to strollin' round and git lost in them magnificent corridors. but i consoled myself, thinkin' it wouldn't be no great loss if they did. but right here, as i wuz thinkin' on these deep and lofty subjects, i met the good natured young chap that had showed me round and he sez: "you look fatigued, mom." (soarin' even to yourself is tuckerin'.) "you look very fatigued; won't you take something?" i looked at him with a curious silent sort of a look; for i didn't know what he meant. agin he looked clost at me and sort o' pityin'; and sez he, "you look tired out, mom. won't you take something? let me treat you to something; what will you take, mom?" i thought he wuz actin' dretful liberal, but i knew they had strange ways in washington anyway. and i didn't know but it wuz their way to make some present to every woman that comes there, and i didn't want to act awkward and out of style, so i sez: "i don't want to take anything, and don't see any reason why you should insist on't. but if i have got to take sunthin' i had jest as soon have a few yards of factory cloth as anything. that always comes handy." i thought that if he wuz determined to treat me to show his good feelin's towards me, i would git sunthin' useful and that would do me some good, else what wuz the good of bein' treated? and i thought that if i had got to take a present from a strange man, i would make a shirt for josiah out of it. i thought that would save jealousy and make it right so fur as goodness went. "but," sez he, "i mean beer or wine or liquor of some kind." i riz right up in my shues and dignity, and glared at him. sez he, "there is a saloon right here handy in the buildin'." sez i in awful axents, "it is very appropriate to have it here handy!" sez i, "liquor duz more towards makin' the laws of the united states from caucus to convention than anything else duz, and it is highly proper to have it here so they can soak the laws in it right off before they lay 'em onto the table or under 'em, or pass 'em onto the people. it is highly appropriate," sez i. "yes," sez he. "it is very handy for the senators and congressmen, and let me get you a glass." "no, you won't!" sez i firmly. "the nation suffers enough from that room now without havin' josiah allen's wife let in." sez he, "if you have any feeling of delicacy in goin' in there, let me make some wine here. i will get a glass of water and make you some pure grape wine, or french brandy, or corn or rye whiskey. i have all the drugs right here." and he took a little box out of his pocket. "my father is a importer of rare old wines, and i know just how it is done. i have 'em all here, capsicum, coculus indicus, alum, copperas, strychnine; i will make some of the choicest, oldest, and purest imported liquors we have in the country, in five minutes if you say so." "no!" sez i firmly, "when i want to foller cleopatra's fashion and commit suicide, i will hire a rattlesnake and take my pizen as she did, on the outside." well, i got back to hiram cagwin's tired as a dog, and serepta's errents ondone. but my conscience opholded me and told me i had done my very best, and man or woman can do no more. well, the next day but one wuz the big outdoor suffrage meetin'. and we sot off in good season, hiram feelin' well enough to be left with the hired help. polly started before we did with some of her college mates, lookin' pretty as a pink with a red rose pinned over a achin' heart, so i spoze, for she loved the young man who wuz out with another girl may-flowering. burnin' zeal and lofty principle can't take the place in a woman's heart of love and domestic happiness, and men needn't be afraid it will. there is no more danger on't than there is of a settin' hen wantin' to leave her nest to be a commercial traveler. nature has made laws for wimmen and hens that no ballot, male or female, can upset. josiah and lorinda and i went in the trolley in good season, so's to git a sightly place, lorinda protestin' all the time aginst the indelicacy and impropriety of wimmen's appearin' in outdoor meetin's, forgittin', i spose, the dense procession of wimmen that fills the avenues every day, follerin' fashion and display. as nigh as i could make out the impropriety consisted in wimmen's follerin' after justice and right. josiah's face looked dubersome. i guess he wuz worryin' over his offer to represent me, and thinkin' of aunt susan and the twins. but as it turned out i met diantha while josiah wuz in a shop buyin' some peppermint lozengers, and she said her niece had come from the west, and they got along all right. so that lifted my burden. but i thought best not to tell josiah, as he wuz so bound to represent me. i thought it wouldn't do any hurt to let him think it over about the job a man took on himself when he sot out to represent a woman. they wouldn't like it in lots of ways, as willin' as they seem to be in print. wimmen go through lots of things calm and patient that would make a man flinch and shy off like a balky horse, and visey versey. i wouldn't want to represent josiah lots of times, breakin' colts, ploughin' greensward, cuttin' cord-wood etc., etc. men and wimmen want equal legal rights to represent themselves and their own sex which are different, and always must be, and both sexes don't want to be hampered and sot down on by the other one. that is gauldin' to human nater, male or female. we got a good place nigh the speakers' stand, and we hadn't stood there long before the parade hove in sight, the yeller banners streamin' out like sunshine on a rainy day, police outriders, music, etc. more than a hundred automobiles led the parade and five times as many wimmen walkin' afoot. a big grand-stand with the lady speakers and their friends on it, all dressed pretty as pinks. for the old idee that suffragists don't care for attractive dress and domestic life wuz exploded long ago, and many other old superstitions went up in the blaze. those of us who have gray hair can remember when if a man spoke favorably of women's rights the sarcastic question was asked him: "how old is susan b. anthony?" and this fine wit and cuttin' ridicule would silence argument and quench the spirit of the upholder. but the world moves. susan's memory is beloved and revered, and the contemptious ridicule of the onthinkin' and ignorant only nourished the laurels the world lays on her tomb. at that time accordin' to popular opinion a suffragist wuz a slatternly woman with uncombed locks, dangling shoe strings, and bloomers, stridin' through an unswept house onmindful of dirty children or hungry husband, but the world moves onward and public opinion with it. suffragists are the best mothers, the best housekeepers, the best dressers of any wimmen in the land. search the records and you'll find it so, and why? because they know sunthin', it takes common sense to make a gooseberry pie as it ort to be. and the more a woman knows and the more justice she demands, the better for her husband. the same sperit that rebels at tyranny and injustice rebels at dirt, disorder, discomfort, and all unpleasant conditions. i looked ahead with my mind's eye and see them pretty college girls settled down in pleasant homes of their own, where sanitary laws prevailed, where the babies wuzn't fed pickles and cabbage, and kep' in air-tight enclosures. where the husbands did not have to go outside their own homes to find cheer and comfort, and intelligent conversation, and where love and common sense walked hand in hand toward happiness and contentment, justice, with her blinders offen her eyes, goin' ahead on 'em. i never liked the idee of justice wearin' them bandages over her eyes. she ort to have both eyes open; if anybody ever needed good eyesight she duz, to choose the straight and narrer road, lookin' backward to see the mistakes she has made in the past, so's to shun 'em in the future, and lookin' all round her in the present to see where she can help matters, and lookin' fur off in the future to the bright dawn of a tomorrow. to the shinin' mount of equal rights and full liberty. where she sees men and wimmen standin' side by side with no halters or hamperin' hitchin' straps on either on 'em. he more gentle and considerate, and she less cowardly and emotional. good land! what could justice do blind in one eye and wimmen on the blind side? but good sensible wimmen are reachin' up and pullin' the bandages offen her eyes. she's in a fair way to git her eyesight. but i'm eppisodin', and to resoom forward. viii "old mom nater listenin'" there wuz some pleasant talkin' and jokin' between bystanders and suffragettes, and then some good natured but keen and sensible speeches. and one pretty speaker told about the doin's at albany and washington. how women's respectful pleas for justice are treated there. how the law-makers, born and nussed by wimmen and dependent on 'em for comfort and happiness, use the wimmen's tax money to help make laws makin' her of no legal importance only as helpless figgers to hang taxation and punishment on. old mom nater had been listenin' clost, her sky-blue eyes shinin' with joy to see her own sect present such a noble appearance in the parade. but when these insults and indignities wuz brung up to her mind agin and she realized afresh how wimmen couldn't git no more rights accorded to her than a dog or a hen, and worse. for a hen or a dog wouldn't be taxed to raise money for turkle soup and shampain to nourish the law-makers whilst they made the laws agin 'em--mom nater's eyes clouded over with indignation and resentment, and she boo-hooed right out a-cryin'. helpless tears, of no more account than other females have shed, and will, as they set on their hard benches with idiots, lunaticks, and criminals. of course she wiped up her tears pretty soon, not willin' to lose any of the wimmen's bright speeches. but when her tear-drops fell fast, josiah sez to me, "you'll see them wimmen run like hikers now, wimmen always thought more of shiffon and fol-de-rols than they did of principle." but i sez, "wait and see," (we wuz under a awnin' and protected). but the young and pretty speaker who wore a light silk dress and exquisite bunnet, kep' right on talkin' jest as calmly as if she didn't know her pretty dress wuz bein' spilte and her bunnet gittin' wet as sop, and i sez to josiah: "when wimmen are so in earnest, and want anything so much they can stand soakin' in their best dresses, and let their sunday bunnets be spilte on their heads, not noticin' 'em seemin'ly, but keep right on pleadin' for right and justice, they are in a fair way of gittin' what they are after." he looked kinder meachin' but didn't dispute me. the speeches wuz beautiful and convincin', and pretty soon old mom nater stopped cryin' to hear 'em, and she and i both listened full of joy and happiness to see with what eloquence and justice our sect wuz pleadin' our cause. their arguments wuz so reasonable and convincin' that i said to myself, i don't see how anybody can help bein' converted to this righteous cause, the liftin' up of wimmen from her uncomfortable crouchin' poster with criminals and idiots, up to the place she should occupy by the side of other good citizens of the united states, with all the legal and moral rights that go with that noble title. and right whilst i wuz thinkin' this, sunthin' wuz happenin' that proved i wuz right in my eppisodin', and somebody awful sot agin it wuz bein' converted then and there (but of this more anon and bom-bye). we stayed till we heard the last word of the last speech, i happy and proud in sperit, lorinda partly converted, she couldn't help it, though she wouldn't own up to it at that juncter. and josiah lookin' real deprested, the thought of representin' me wuz worryin' him i knew, for i hearn him say (soty vosy), "represent wimmen or not, i hain't goin' to set up all night with no old woman, and lift her round, nor dry nuss no twins." and thinkin' his sperit wuz pierced to a sufficient depth by his apprehension, so reason could be planted and take root, and he wouldn't be so anxious in the future to represent a woman, i told him what diantha said and we all went home in good sperits. the sun shone clear, the rain had washed the face of the earth till it shone, and everything looked gay and joyous. when we got to lorinda's we see a auto standin' in front of the door full of flowery branches in front and the pink posies lookin' no more bright and rosy than the faces of the two young folks settin' there. it wuz polly and royal. it seemed that when he and maud got back from the country (and they didn't stay long, royal wuz so restless and oneasy) maud insisted on his takin' her to the suffrage meetin' jest to make fun on't, so i spoze. she thought she had rubbed out polly's image and made a impression herself on royal's heart that only needed stompin' in a little deeper, and she thought ridicule would be the stomper she needed. but when they got to the meetin' and he see polly settin' like a lily amongst flowers, and read in her lovely face the earnest desire to lift the burden from the heavy laden, comfort the sorrowful, right the wrong, and do what she could in her day and generation-i spoze his eyes could only see her sweet face. but he couldn't help his ears from hearin' the reasonable, eloquent words of earnest and womanly wimmen, so full of good sense and truth and justice that no reasonable person could dispute 'em, and when he contrasted all this with the sneerin' face, the sarcastic egotistic prattle of maud, the veil dropped from his eyes, and he see with the new vision. you know how it wuz with saul the scoffer who went breathin' out vengeance, and eternal right stopped him on his way with its great light. well, i spoze it wuz a bright ray from that same light that shone down into royal's heart and made him see. he wuz always good hearted and generous--men have always been better than the laws they have made. he left maud at her home not fur away and hastened back, way-laid polly, and bore her home in triumph and a thirty-horse-power car. it don't make much difference i spoze how or where anybody is converted. the bible speaks of some bein' ketched out of the fire, and i spoze it is about the same if they are ketched out of the rain. 'tennyrate the same rain that washed some of the color off maud's cheeks, seemed to wash away the blindin' mist of prejudice and antagonism from royal's mental vision, leavin' his sperit ready for the great white light of truth and justice to strike in. and that very day and hour he come round to polly's way of thinkin', and bein' smart as a whip and so rich, i suppose he will be a great accusation to the cause. well, the next day but one the allens met in a pleasant grove on the river shore and we had a good growin' time. royal bein' as you may say one of the family, took us all to the grove in his big tourin' car, and the fourth trip he took polly alone, and wuzn't it queer that, though the load wuz fur lighter, it took him three times as long as the other three trips together? why, they never got there till dinner wuz on the table, and then they didn't seem to care a mite about the extra good food. but i made allowances, for as i looked into their glowin' faces i knowed they wuz partakin' of fruit from the full branches of first love, true love. rich fruit that gives the divinest satisfaction of any this old earth affords. food that never changes through the centuries, though fashion often changes, and riotous plenty or food famine may exalt or depress the sperit of the householder. nothin' but time has any power over this divine fruitage. he gradually, as the light of the honeymoon wanes, whets his old scythe and mows down some of the luxuriant branches, either cuttin' a full swath, or one at a time, and the blessed consumers have to come down to the ordinary food of mortals. but this wuz still fur away from them. and i knowed too that the ordinary food of ordinary mortals partook of under the full harvest moon of domestic comfort and contentment wuz not to be despised, though fur different. and the light fur different from the glow and the glamour that wropped them two together and all the rest of the world away from 'em. but i'm eppisodin' too much, and to resoom forward. as i said, we had a happy growin' time at the reunion, josiah bein' in fine feather to see the relation on his side presentin' such a noble appearance. and like a good wife i sympathized with him in his pride and happiness, though i told him they didn't present any better appearance than the same number of smiths would. and their cookin', though excellent, wuz no better than the smiths could cook if they sot out to. he bein' so good natered didn't dispute me outright, but said he thought the allens made better nut-cakes than the smiths. but they don't, no such thing. in fact i think the smith nut-cakes are lighter and have a more artistic twist to 'em and don't devour so much fat a-fryin'. but i'd hate to set josiah down to any better vittles. i d'no as i would dast let him loose at the table at a smith reunion, for he eat fur too much as it wuz. i had to give him five pepsin lozengers and some pepper tea. and then i looked out all night for night mairs to ride on his chist. but he come through it alive though with considerable pain. we stayed two or three days longer with lorinda, and then she and hiram went part way with us as we visited our way home. we've got relations livin' all along the river that we owed visits to. and we went to see a number of 'em and enjoyed our four selves first rate. these things all took place more than a year ago and another man sets in the high chair, before which i laid serepta's errents, a man not so hefty mebby weighed by common steelyards, but one of noble weight judged by mental and moral scales. i d'no whether i'd had any better luck if i'd presented serepta's errents to him. sometimes when i look in the kind eyes of his picter, and read his noble and eloquent words that i believe come from his very soul, i think mebby i'd been more lucky if he'd sot in the chair that day. but then i d'no, there are so many influences and hendrances planted like thorns in the cushion of that chair that a man, no matter how earnest he strives to do jest right, can't help bein' pricked by 'em and held back. and i know he could never done them errents in the time she sot, but i'm in hopes he'll throw his powerful influence jest as fur as he can on the side of right, and justice to all the citizens of the u.s., wimmen as well as men. 'tennyrate, he has showed more heroism now than many soldiers who risk life on the battle field. for the worst foe to fight and conquer is ridicule; and he and others in high places have attackted fashion so entrenched in the solid armour of habit that most public men wouldn't have dasted to take arms agin it. and the long waves of time must swash up agin the shores of eternity, before the good it has done can be estimated. how fur the influence has extended. how many weak wills been strengthened. how many broken hearts healed. how many young lives inspired to nobler and saner living. but to resoom forward, i can't nor won't carry them errents of serepta's there again. it is too wearin' for one of my age and my rheumatiz. what a tedious time i did put in there. it wuz a day long to be remembered by me. ix the women's parade josiah come home from jonesville one day, all wrought up. he'd took off a big crate of eggs and got returns from several crates he'd sent to new york, an' he sez to me: "that consarned middleman is cheatin' me the worst kind. i know the yaller plymouth rock eggs ort to bring mor'n the white leghorns; they're bigger and it stands to reason they're worth more, and he don't give nigh so much. i believe he eats 'em himself and that's why he wants to git 'em cheaper." "no middleman," sez i, "could eat fifty dozen a week." "he could if he eat enough at one time. 'tennyrate, i'm goin' to new york to see about it." "when are you goin'?" sez i. "i'm goin' to-morrow mornin'. i'm goin' in onexpected and i lay out to catch him devourin' them big eggs himself." "oh, shaw!" sez i. "the idee!" "well, i say the trusts and middlemen are dishonest as the old harry. don't you remember what one on 'em writ to uncle sime bentley and what he writ back? he'd sent a great load of potatoes to him and he didn't get hardly anything for 'em, only their big bill for sellin' 'em. they charged him for freightage, carage, storage, porterage, weightage, and to make their bill longer, they put in _ratage_ and _satage_. "uncle sime writ back 'you infarnel thief, you, put in "stealage" and keep the whole on't.'" but i sez, "they're not all dishonest. there are good men among 'em as well as bad." "well, i lay out to see to it myself, and if they ever charge me for 'ratage' and 'satage' i'm goin' to see what they are, and how they look." "well," sez i, "if you're bound to go, i'll get up and get a good breakfast and go with you." it was the day of the woman's suffrage parade and i wanted to see it. i wanted to like a dog, and had ever since i hearn of it. though some of the jonesvillians felt different. the creation searchin' society wuz dretful exercised about it. the president's stepma is a strong she aunty and has always ruled philander with an iron hand. i've always noticed that women who didn't want any rights always took the right to have their own way. but 'tennyrate philander come up a very strong he aunty. and he felt that the creation searchers ort to go to new york that day to assist the aunties in sneerin' at the marchers, writin' up the parade, and helpin' count 'em. philander wuz always good at figures, specially at subtraction, and he and his step ma thought he ort to be there to help. i told josiah i guessed the she aunties didn't need no help at that. but philander called a meetin' of the creation searchers to make arrangements to go. and i spoze the speech he made at the meetin' wuz a powerful effort. and the members most all on 'em believin' as he did--they said it wuz a dretful interestin' meetin'. sunthin' like a love feast, only more wrought up and excitin'. the editor of the _auger_ printed the whole thing in his paper, and said it give a staggerin' blow agin woman's suffrage, and he didn't know but it wuz a death blow--he hoped it wuz. "a woman's parade," sez philander, "is the most abominable sight ever seen on our planetary system. onprotected woman dressed up in fine clothes standin' up on her feet, and paradin' herself before strange men. oh! how bold! oh! how onwomanly! no wonder," says he, "the she aunties are shocked at the sight, and say they marched to attract the attention of men. why can't women stay to home and set down and knit? and then men would love 'em. but if they keep on with these bold, forward actions, men won't love 'em, and they will find out so. and it has always been, and is now, man's greatest desire and chiefest aim he has aimed at, to protect women, to throw the shinin' mantilly of his constant devotion about her delikit form and shield her and guard her like the very apples in his eyes. "woman is too sweet and tender a flower to have any such hardship put upon her, and it almost crazes a man, and makes him temporarily out of his head, to see women do anything to hazard that inheriant delicacy of hern, that always appealed so to the male man. "let us go forth, clad in our principles (and ordinary clothing, of course), and show just where we stand on the woman question, and do all we can to assist the gentle feminine she aunties. lovely, retirin' females whose pictures we so often see gracin' the sensational newspapers. their white womanly neck and shoulders, glitterin' with jewels, no brighter than their eyes. they don't appear there for sex appeal, or to win admiration. no indeed! no doubt they shrink from the publicity. and also shrink from making speeches in the senate chambers or the halls of justice, but will do so, angelic martyrs that they are, to hold their erring suffrage sisters back from their brazen efforts at publicity and public speakin'." they said his speech wuz cheered wildly, give out for publication, and entered into the moments of the society. but after all, it happened real curious the day of the parade every leadin' creation searcher had some impediment in his way, and couldn't go, and of course, the society didn't want to go without its leaders. mis' philander daggett, the president's wife, wuz paperin' her settin' room and parlor overhead. she wuz expectin' company and couldn't put it off. and bein' jest married, and thinkin' the world of her, philander said he dassent leave home for fear she'd fall offen the barrel and break her neck. she had a board laid acrost two barrels to stand up on. and every day philander would leave his outside work and come into the house, and set round and watch her--he thought so much of her. i suppose he wanted to catch her if she fell. but i didn't think she would fall. she is young and tuff, and she papered it real good, though it wuz dretful hard on her arm sockets and back. and the secretary's wife wuz puttin' in a piece of onions. she thought she would make considerable by it, and she will, if onions keep up. but it is turrible hard on a woman's back to weed 'em. but she is ambitious; she raised a flock of fifty-six turkeys last year besides doin' her house work, and makin' seventy-five yards of rag carpet. and she thought onions wouldn't be so wearin' on her as turkeys, for onions, she said, will stay where they are put, but turkeys are born wanderers and hikers. and they led her through sun and rain, swamp and swale, uphill and downhill, a-chasin' 'em up, but she made well by 'em. well, in puttin' in her onion seed, she overworked herself and got a crick in her back, so she couldn't stir hand nor foot for two days. and bein' only just them two, her husband had to stay home to see to things. and the treasurer's wife is canvassin' for the life of william j. bryan. and wantin' to make all she could, she took a longer tramp than common, and didn't hear of the parade or meetin' of the c.s.s. at all. she writ home a day or two before the meetin', that she wuz goin' as long as her legs held out, and they needn't write to her, for she didn't know where she would be. well, of course, the creation searchers didn't want to go without their officers. they said they couldn't make no show if they did. so they give up goin'. but i spoze they made fun of the woman's parade amongst theirselves, and mourned over their indelikit onwomanly actions, and worried about it bein' too hard for 'em, and sneered at 'em considerable. well, josiah always loves to have me with him, an' though he'd made light of the parade, he didn't object to my goin'. and suffice it to say that we arrove at that middleman's safe and sound, though why we didn't git lost in that grand immense depo and wander 'round there all day like babes in the woods, is more'n i can tell. the middleman wuzn't dishonest: he convinced josiah on it. he had shipped the colored eggs somewhere, and of course he couldn't pay as much, and he never had hearn of _ratage_ or _satage_. he wuz a real pleasant middleman, and hearing me say how much i wanted to see the woman's parade, he invited us to go upstairs and set by a winder, where there was a good view on't. we'd eat our lunch on the train and we accepted his invitation, and sot down by a winder then and there, though it wuz a hour or so before the time sot for the parade. and i should have taken solid comfort watchin' the endless procession of men and women and vehicles of all sorts and descriptions, but josiah made so many slightin' remarks on the dress of the females passin' below on the sidewalk, that it made me feel bad. and to tell the truth, though i didn't think best to own up to it to him, i _did_ blush for my sect to see the way some on 'em rigged themselves out. "see that thing!" josiah sez, as a woman passed by with her hat drawed down over one eye, and a long quill standin' out straight behind more'n a foot, an' her dress puckered in so 'round the bottom, she couldn't have took a long step if a mad dog wuz chasin' her--to say nothin' of bein' perched up on such high heels, that she fairly tottled when she walked. sez josiah: "does that _thing_ know enough to vote?" "no," sez i, reasonably, "she don't. but most probable if she had bigger things to think about she'd loosen the puckerin' strings 'round her ankles, push her hat back out of her eyes, an' get down on her feet again." "why, samantha," says he, "if you had on one of them skirts tied 'round your ankles, if i wuz a-dyin' on the upper shelf in the buttery, you couldn't step up on a chair to get to me to save your life, an' i'd have to die there alone." "why should you be dyin' on the buttery shelf, josiah?" sez i. "oh, that wuz jest a figger of speech, samantha." "but folks ort to be mejum in figgers of speech, josiah, and not go too fur." "do you think, samantha, that anybody can go too fur in describin' them fool skirts, and them slit skirts, and the immodesty and indecensy of some of them dresses?" [illustration: "sez josiah, 'does that thing know enough to vote?'"] "i don't know as they can," sez i, sadly. "jest look at that thing," sez he again. and as i looked, the hot blush of shame mantillied my cheeks, for i felt that my sect was disgraced by the sight. she wuz real pretty, but she didn't have much of any clothes on, and what she did wear wuzn't in the right place; not at all. sez josiah, "that girl would look much more modest and decent if she wuz naked, for then she might be took for a statute." and i sez, "i don't blame the good priest for sendin' them away from the lord's table, sayin', 'i will give no communion to a jezabel.' and the pity of it is," sez i, "lots of them girls are innocent and don't realize what construction will be put on the dress they blindly copy from some furrin fashion plate." then quite an old woman passed by, also robed or disrobed in the prevailin' fashion, and josiah sez, soty vosy, "i should think she wuz old enough to know sunthin'. who wants to see her old bones?" and he sez to me, real uppish, "do you think them things know enough to vote?" but jest then a young man went by dressed fashionably, but if he hadn't had the arm of a companion, he couldn't have walked a step; his face wuz red and swollen, and dissipated, and what expression wuz left in his face wuz a fool expression, and both had cigarettes in their mouths, and i sez, "does _that_ thing know enough to vote?" and jest behind them come a lot of furrin laborers, rough and rowdy-lookin', with no more expression in their faces than a mule or any other animal. "do _they_ know enough to vote?" sez i. "as for the fitness for votin' it is pretty even on both sides. good intelligent men ortn't to lose the right of suffrage for the vice and ignorance of some of their sect, and that argument is jest as strong for the other sect." but before josiah could reply, we hearn the sound of gay music, and the parade began to march on before us. first a beautiful stately figure seated fearlessly on a dancin' horse, that tossted his head as if proud of the burden he wuz carryin'. she managed the prancin' steed with one hand, and with the other held aloft the flag of our country. jest as women ort to, and have to. they have got to manage wayward pardners, children and domestics who, no matter how good they are, will take their bits in their mouths, and go sideways some of the time, but can be managed by a sensible, affectionate hand, and with her other hand at the same time she can carry her principles aloft, wavin' in every domestic breeze, frigid or torrid, plain to be seen by everybody. then come the wives and relations of senators and congressmen, showin' that bein' right on the spot they knowed what wimmen needed. then the wimmen voters from free suffrage states, showin' by their noble looks that votin' hadn't hurt 'em any. they carried the most gorgeous banner in the whole parade. then the wimmen's political union, showin' plain in their faces that understandin' the laws that govern her ain't goin' to keep woman from looking beautiful and attractive. on and on they come, gray-headed women and curly-headed children from every station in life: the millionairess by the working woman, and the fashionable society woman by the business one. two women on horseback, and one blowin' a bugle, led the way for the carriage of madam antoinette blackwell. i wonder if she ever dreamed when she wuz tryin' to climb the hill of knowledge through the thorny path of sex persecution, that she would ever have a bugle blowed in front of her, to honor her for her efforts, and form a part of such a glorious parade of the sect she give her youth and strength to free. how they swept on, borne by the waves of music, heralded by wavin' banners of purple and white and gold, bearin' upliftin' and noble mottoes. physicians, lawyers, nurses, authors, journalists, artists, social workers, dressmakers, milliners, women from furrin countries dressed in their quaint costumes, laundresses, clerks, shop girls, college girls, all bearin' the pennants and banners of their different colleges: vassar, wellesley, smith, etc., etc. high-school pupils, woman's suffrage league, woman's social league, and all along the brilliant line each division dressed in beautiful costumes and carryin' their own gorgeous banners. and anon or oftener all along the long, long procession bands of music pealin' out high and sweet, as if the spirit of music, who is always depictered as a woman, was glad and proud to do honor to her own sect. and all through the parade you could see every little while men on foot and on horseback, not a great many, but jest enough to show that the really noble men wuz on their side. for, as i've said more formally, that is one of the most convincin' arguments for woman's suffrage. in fact, it don't need any other. that bad men fight against women's suffrage with all their might. down by the big marble library, the grand-stand wuz filled with men seated to see their wives march by on their road to victory. i hearn and believe, they wuz a noble-lookin' set of men. they had seen their wives in the past chasin' fashion and amusement, and why shouldn't they enjoy seein' them follow principle and justice? well, i might talk all day and not begin to tell of the beauty and splendor of the woman's parade. and the most impressive sight to me wuz to see how the leaven of individual right and justice had entered into all these different classes of society, and how their enthusiasm and earnestness must affect every beholder. and in my mind i drawed pictures of the different modes of our american women and our english sisters, each workin' for the same cause, but in what a different manner. of course, our english sisters may have more reason for their militant doin's; more unjust laws regarding marriage--divorce, and care of children, and i can't blame them married females for wantin' to control their own money, specially if they earnt it by scrubbin' floors and washin'. i can't blame 'em for not wantin' their husbands to take that money from them and their children, specially if they're loafers and drunkards. and, of course, there are no men so noble and generous as our american men. but jest lookin' at the matter from the outside and comparin' the two, i wuz proud indeed of our suffragists. while our english sisters feel it their duty to rip and tear, burn and pillage, to draw attention to their cause, and reach the gole (which i believe they have sot back for years) through the smoke and fire of carnage, our american suffragettes employ the gentle, convincin' arts of beauty and reason. some as the quiet golden sunshine draws out the flowers and fruit from the cold bosom of the earth. mindin' their own business, antagonizin' and troublin' no one, they march along and show to every beholder jest how earnest they be. they quietly and efficiently answer that argument of the she auntys, that women don't want to vote, by a parade two hours in length, of twenty thousand. they answer the argument that the ballot would render women careless in dress and reckless, by organizin' and carryin' on a parade so beautiful, so harmonious in color and design that it drew out enthusiastic praise from even the enemies of suffrage. they quietly and without argument answered the old story that women was onbusiness-like and never on time, by startin' the parade the very minute it was announced, which you can't always say of men's parades. it wuz a burnin' hot day, and many who'd always argued that women hadn't strength enough to lift a paper ballot, had prophesied that woman wuz too delicately organized, too "fraguile," as betsy bobbet would say, to endure the strain of the long march in the torrid atmosphere. but i told josiah that women had walked daily over the burning plow shares of duty and domestic tribulation, till their feet had got calloused, and could stand more'n you'd think for. and he said he didn't know as females had any more burnin' plow shares to tread on than men had. and i sez, "i didn't say they had, josiah. i never wanted women to get more praise or justice than men. i simply want 'em to get as much--just an even amount; for," sez i, solemnly, "'male and female created he them.'" josiah is a deacon, and when i quote scripture, he has to listen respectful, and i went on: "i guess it wuz a surprise even to the marchers that of all the ambulances that kept alongside the parade to pick up faint and swoonin' females, the only one occupied wuz by a man." josiah denied it, but i sez, "i see his boots stickin' out of the ambulance myself." josiah couldn't dispute that, for he knows i am truthful. but he sez, sunthin' in the sperit of two little children i hearn disputin'. sez one: "it wuzn't so; you've told a lie." "well," sez the other, "you broke a piece of china and laid it to me." sez josiah, "you may have seen a pair of men's boots a-stickin' out of the ambulance, but i'll bet they didn't have heels on 'em a inch broad, and five or six inches high." "no, josiah," sez i, "you're right. men think too much of their comfort and health to hist themselves up on such little high tottlin' things, and you didn't see many on 'em in the parade." but he went on drivin' the arrow of higher criticism still deeper into my onwillin' breast. "i'll bet you didn't see his legs tied together at the ankles, or his trouses slit up the sides to show gauze stockin's and anklets and diamond buckles. and you didn't see my sect who honored the parade by marchin' in it, have a goose quill half a yard long, standin' up straight in the air from a coal-scuttle hat, or out sideways, a hejus sight, and threatenin' the eyes of friend and foe." "and you didn't see many on 'em in the parade," sez i agin. "women, as they march along to victory, have got to drop some of these senseless things. in fact, they are droppin' em. you don't see waists now the size of a hour glass. it is gettin' fashionable to breathe now, and women on their way to their gole will drop by the way their high heels; it will git fashionable to walk comfortable, and as they've got to take some pretty long steps to reach the ballot in 1916, it stands to reason they've got to have a skirt wide enough at the bottom to step up on the gole of victory. it is a high step, josiah, but women are goin' to take it. they've always tended to cleanin' their own house, and makin' it comfortable and hygenic for its members, big and little. and when they turn their minds onto the best way to clean the national house both sects have to live in to make it clean and comfortable and safe for the weak and helpless as well as for the strong--it stands to reason they won't have time or inclination to stand up on stilts with tied-in ankles, quilled out like savages." "well," said josiah, with a dark, forebodin' look on his linement, "_we shall see_." "yes," sez i, with a real radiant look into the future. "_we shall see_, josiah." but he didn't have no idea of the beautiful prophetic vision i beheld with the eyes of my sperit. good men and good women, each fillin' their different spears in life, but banded together for the overthrow of evil, the uplift of the race. x "the creation searchin' society" it was only a few days after we got home from new york that josiah come into the house dretful excited. he'd had a invitation to attend a meetin' of the creation searchin' society. "why," sez i, "did they invite you? you are not a member?" "no," sez he, "but they want me to help 'em be indignant. it is a indignation meetin'." "indignant about what?" i sez. "fur be it from me, samantha, to muddle up your head and hurt your feelin's by tellin' you what it's fur." and he went out quick and shet the door. but i got a splendid dinner and afterwards he told me of his own accord. i am not a member, of course, for the president, philander daggett, said it would lower the prestige of the society in the eyes of the world to have even one female member. this meetin' wuz called last week for the purpose of bein' indignant over the militant doin's of the english suffragettes. josiah and several others in jonesville wuz invited to be present at this meetin' as sort of honorary members, as they wuz competent to be jest as indignant as any other male men over the tribulations of their sect. josiah said so much about the meetin', and his honorary indignation, that he got me curious, and wantin' to go myself, to see how it wuz carried on. but i didn't have no hopes on't till philander daggett's new young wife come to visit me and i told her how much i wanted to go, and she bein' real good-natered said she would make philander let me in. he objected, of course, but she is pretty and young, and his nater bein' kinder softened and sweetened by the honey of the honeymoon, she got round him. and he said that if we would set up in a corner of the gallery behind the melodeon, and keep our veils on, he would let her and me in. but we must keep it secret as the grave, for he would lose all the influence he had with the other members and be turned out of the presidential chair if it wuz knowed that he had lifted wimmen up to such a hite, and gin 'em such a opportunity to feel as if they wuz equal to men. well, we went early and josiah left me to philander's and went on to do some errents. he thought i wuz to spend the evenin' with her in becomin' seclusion, a-knittin' on his blue and white socks, as a woman should. but after visitin' a spell, jest after it got duskish, we went out the back door and went cross lots, and got there ensconced in the dark corner without anybody seein' us and before the meetin' begun. philander opened the meetin' by readin' the moments of the last meetin', which wuz one of sympathy with the police of washington for their noble efforts to break up the woman's parade, and after their almost herculaneum labor to teach wimmen her proper place, and all the help they got from the hoodlum and slum elements, they had failed in a measure, and the wimmen, though stunned, insulted, spit on, struck, broken boneded, maimed, and tore to pieces, had succeeded in their disgustin' onwomanly undertakin'. but it wuz motioned and carried that a vote of thanks be sent 'em and recorded in the moments that the creation searchers had no blame but only sympathy and admiration for the hard worked policemen for they had done all they could to protect wimmen's delicacy and retirin' modesty, and put her in her place, and no man in washington or jonesville could do more. he read these moments, in a real tender sympathizin' voice, and i spoze the members sympathized with him, or i judged so from their linements as i went forward, still as a mouse, and peeked down on 'em. he then stopped a minute and took a drink of water; i spoze his sympathetic emotions had het him up, and kinder dried his mouth, some. and then he went on to state that this meetin' wuz called to show to the world, abroad and nigh by, the burnin' indignation this body felt, as a society, at the turrible sufferin's and insults bein' heaped onto their male brethren in england by the indecent and disgraceful doin's of the militant suffragettes, and to devise, if possible, some way to help their male brethren acrost the sea. "for," sez he, "pizen will spread. how do we know how soon them very wimmen who had to be spit on and struck and tore to pieces in washington to try to make 'em keep their place, the sacred and tender place they have always held enthroned as angels in a man's heart--" here he stopped and took out his bandanna handkerchief, and wiped his eyes, and kinder choked. but i knew it wuz all a orator's art, and it didn't affect me, though i see a number of the members wipe their eyes, for this talk appealed to the inheriant chivalry of men, and their desire to protect wimmen, we have always hearn so much about. "how do we know," he continued, "how soon they may turn aginst their best friends, them who actuated by the loftiest and tenderest emotions, and determination to protect the weaker sect at any cost, took their valuable time to try to keep wimmen down where they ort to be, _angels of the home_, who knows but they may turn and throw stuns at the capitol an' badger an' torment our noble lawmakers, a-tryin' to make 'em listen to their silly petitions for justice?" in conclusion, he entreated 'em to remember that the eye of the world wuz on 'em, expectin' 'em to be loyal to the badgered and woman endangered sect abroad, and try to suggest some way to stop them woman's disgraceful doin's. cyrenus presly always loves to talk, and he always looks on the dark side of things, and he riz up and said "he didn't believe nothin' could be done, for by all he'd read about 'em, the men had tried everything possible to keep wimmen down where they ort to be, they had turned deaf ears to their complaints, wouldn't hear one word they said, they had tried drivin' and draggin' and insults of all kinds, and breakin' their bones, and imprisonment, and stuffin' 'em with rubber tubes, thrust through their nose down into their throats. and he couldn't think of a thing more that could be done by men, and keep the position men always had held as wimmen's gardeens and protectors, and he said he thought men might jest as well keep still and let 'em go on and bring the world to ruin, for that was what they wuz bound to do, and they couldn't be stopped unless they wuz killed off." phileman huffstater is a old bachelder, and hates wimmen. he had been on a drunk and looked dretful, tobacco juice runnin' down his face, his red hair all towsled up, and his clothes stiff with dirt. he wuzn't invited, but had come of his own accord. he had to hang onto the seat in front of him as he riz up and said: "he believed that wuz the best and only way out on't, for men to rise up and kill off the weaker sect, for their wuzn't never no trouble of any name or nater, but what wimmen wuz to the bottom on't, and the world would be better off without 'em." but philander scorfed at him and reminded him that such hullsale doin's would put an end to the world's bein' populated at all. but phileman said in a hicuppin', maudlin way that "the world had better stop, if there had got to be such doin's, wimmen risin' up on every side, and pretendin' to be equal with men." here his knee jints kinder gin out under him, and he slid down onto the seat and went to sleep. i guess the members wuz kinder shamed of phileman, for lime peedick jumped up quick as scat and said, "it seemed the englishmen had tried most everything else, and he wondered how it would work if them militant wimmen could be ketched and a dose of sunthin' bitter and sickenin' poured down 'em. every time they broached that loathsome doctrine of equal rights, and tried to make lawmakers listen to their petitions, jest ketch 'em and pour down 'em a big dose of wormwood or sunthin' else bitter and sickenin', and he guessed they would git tired on't." but here josiah jumped up quick and said, "he objected," he said, "that would endanger the right wimmen always had, and ort to have of cookin' good vittles for men and doin' their housework, and bearin' and bringin' up their children, and makin' and mendin' and waitin' on 'em. he said nothin' short of a gatlin gun could keep samantha from speakin' her mind about such things, and he wuzn't willin' to have her made sick to the stomach, and incapacitated from cookin' by any such proceedin's." the members argued quite awhile on this pint, but finally come round to josiah's idees, and the meetin' for a few minutes seemed to come to a standstill, till old cornelius snyder got up slowly and feebly. he has spazzums and can't hardly wobble. his wife has to support him, wash and dress him, and take care on him like a baby. but he has the use of his tongue, and he got some man to bring him there, and he leaned heavy on his cane, and kinder stiddied himself on it and offered this suggestion: "how would it do to tie females up when they got to thinkin' they wuz equal to men, halter 'em, rope 'em, and let 'em see if they wuz?" but this idee wuz objected to for the same reason josiah had advanced, as philander well said, "wimmen had got to go foot loose in order to do the housework and cookin'." uncle sime bentley, who wuz awful indignant, said, "i motion that men shall take away all the rights that wimmen have now, turn 'em out of the meetin' house, and grange." but before he'd hardly got the words out of his mouth, seven of the members riz up and as many as five spoke out to once with different exclamations: "that won't do! we can't do that! who'll do all the work! who'll git up grange banquets and rummage sales, and paper and paint and put down carpets in the meetin' house, and git up socials and entertainments to help pay the minister's salary, and carry on the sunday school? and tend to its picnics and suppers, and take care of the children? we can't do this, much as we'd love to." one horsey, sporty member, also under the influence of liquor, riz up, and made a feeble motion, "spozin' we give wimmen liberty enough to work, leave 'em hand and foot loose, and sort o' muzzle 'em so they can't talk." this seemed to be very favorably received, 'specially by the married members, and the secretary wuz jest about to record it in the moments as a scheme worth tryin', when old doctor nugent got up, and sez in a firm, decided way: "wimmen cannot be kept from talking without endangerin' her life; as a medical expert i object to this motion." "how would you put the objection?" sez the secretary. "on the ground of cruelty to animals," sez the doctor. a fat englishman who had took the widder shelmadine's farm on shares, says, "i 'old with brother josiah hallen's hargument. as the father of nine young children and thirty cows to milk with my wife's 'elp, i 'old she musn't be kep' from work, but h'i propose if we can't do anything else that a card of sympathy be sent to hold hengland from the creation searchin' society of america, tellin' 'em 'ow our 'earts bleeds for the men's sufferin' and 'ardships in 'avin' to leave their hoccupations to beat and 'aul round and drive females to jails, and feed 'em with rubber hose through their noses to keep 'em from starvin' to death for what they call their principles." this motion wuz carried unanimously. but here an old man, who had jest dropped in and who wuz kinder deef and slow-witted, asked, "what it is about anyway? what do the wimmen ask for when they are pounded and jailed and starved?" hank yerden, whose wife is a suffragist, and who is mistrusted to have a leanin' that way himself, answered him, "oh, they wanted the lawmakers to read their petitions asking for the rights of ordinary citizens. they said as long as their property wuz taxed they had the right of representation. and as long as the law punished wimmen equally with men, they had a right to help make that law, and as long as men claimed wimmen's place wuz home, they wanted the right to guard that home. and as long as they brought children into the world they wanted the right to protect 'em. and when the lawmakers wouldn't hear a word they said, and beat 'em and drove 'em round and jailed 'em, they got mad as hens, and are actin' like furiation and wild cats. but claim that civil rights wuz never give to any class without warfare." "heavens! what doin's!" sez old zephaniah beezum, "what is the world comin' to!" "angle worms will be risin' up next and demandin' to not be trod on." sez he, "i have studied the subject on every side, and i claim the best way to deal with them militant females is to banish 'em to some barren wilderness, some foreign desert where they can meditate on their crimes, and not bother men." this idee wuz received favorably by most of the members, but others differed and showed the weak p'ints in it, and it wuz gin up. well, at ten p.m., the creation searchers gin up after arguin' pro and con, con and pro, that they could not see any way out of the matter, they could not tell what to do with the wimmen without danger and trouble to the male sect. they looked dretful dejected and onhappy as they come to this conclusion, my pardner looked as if he wuz most ready to bust out cryin'. and as i looked on his beloved linement i forgot everything else and onbeknown to me i leaned over the railin' and sez: "here is sunthin' that no one has seemed to think on at home or abroad. how would it work to stop the trouble by givin' the wimmen the rights they ask for, the rights of any other citizen?" i don't spoze there will ever be such another commotion and upheaval in jonesville till michael blows his last trump as follered my speech. knowin' wimmen wuz kep' from the meetin', some on 'em thought it wuz a voice from another spear. them wuz the skairt and horrow struck ones, and them that thought it wuz a earthly woman's voice wuz so mad that they wuz by the side of themselves and carried on fearful. but when they searched the gallery for wimmen or ghosts, nothin' wuz found, for philander's wife and i had scooted acrost lots and wuz to home a-knittin' before the men got there. and i d'no as anybody but philander to this day knows what, or who it wuz. and i d'no as my idee will be follered, but i believe it is the best way out on't for men and wimmen both, and would stop the mad doin's of the english suffragettes, which i don't approve of, no indeed! much as i sympathize with the justice of their cause. transcriber's note. minor punctuation inconsistencies have been silently repaired. a list of other changes made, can be found at the end of the book. mark up: _italics_ votes for women a play in three acts by elizabeth robins mills & boon, limited 49 whitcomb street london w. c. 1909 court theatre playbill votes for women! a dramatic tract in three acts by elizabeth robins lord john wynnstay mr. athol forde the hon. geoffrey stonor mr. aubrey smith mr. st. john greatorex mr. e. holman clark mr. richard farnborough mr. p. clayton greene mr. freddy tunbridge mr. percy marmont mr. allen trent mr. lewis casson [1]mr. walker mr. edmund gwenn lady john wynnstay miss maud milton mrs. heriot miss frances ivor miss vida levering miss wynne-matthison [1]miss beatrice dunbarton miss jean mackinlay mrs. freddy tunbridge miss gertrude burnett miss ernestine blunt miss dorothy minto a working woman miss agnes thomas act i. wynnstay house in hertfordshire. act ii. trafalgar square, london. act iii. eaton square, london. the entire action of the play takes place between sunday noon and six o'clock in the evening of the same day. [1] in the text these characters have been altered to mr. pilcher and miss jean dunbarton. cast lord john wynnstay lady john wynnstay _his wife_ mrs. heriot _sister of lady john_ miss jean dunbarton _niece to lady john and mrs. heriot_ the hon. geoffrey stonor _unionist m.p. affianced to jean dunbarton_ mr. st. john greatorex _liberal m.p._ the hon. richard farnborough mr. freddy tunbridge mrs. freddy tunbridge mr. allen trent miss ernestine blunt _a suffragette_ mr. pilcher _a working man_ a working woman _and_ miss vida levering persons in the crowd: servants in the two houses. act i wynnstay house in hertfordshire act ii trafalgar square, london act iii eaton square (_entire action of play takes place between sunday noon and six o'clock in the evening of the same day._) act i. the hall of wynnstay house. [illustration: stage setting.] _twelve o'clock sunday morning at end of june._ _action takes place between twelve and six same day._ votes for women act i hall of wynnstay house. _twelve o'clock, sunday morning, end of june. with the rising of the curtain, enter the_ butler. _as he is going, with majestic port, to answer the door_ l., _enter briskly from the garden, by lower french window_, lady john wynnstay, _flushed, and flapping a garden hat to fan herself. she is a pink-cheeked woman of fifty-four, who has plainly been a beauty, keeps her complexion, but is "gone to fat."_ lady john. has miss levering come down yet? butler (_pausing_ c.). i haven't seen her, m'lady. lady john (_almost sharply as_ butler _turns_ l.). i won't have her disturbed if she's resting. (_to herself as she goes to writing-table._) she certainly needs it. butler. yes, m'lady. lady john (_sitting at writing-table, her back to front door_). but i want her to know the moment she comes down that the new plans arrived by the morning post. butler (_pausing nearly at the door_). plans, m'la---lady john. she'll understand. there they are. (_glancing at the clock._) it's very important she should have them in time to look over before she goes--- (butler _opens the door_ l.) (_over her shoulder._) is that miss levering? butler. no, m'lady. mr. farnborough. [_exit_ butler. (_enter the_ hon. r. farnborough. _he is twenty-six; reddish hair, high-coloured, sanguine, self-important._) farnborough. i'm afraid i'm scandalously early. it didn't take me nearly as long to motor over as lord john said. lady john (_shaking hands_). i'm afraid my husband is no authority on motoring--and he's not home yet from church. farn. it's the greatest luck finding _you_. i thought miss levering was the only person under this roof who was ever allowed to observe sunday as a real day of rest. lady john. if you've come to see miss levering---farn. is she here? i give you my word i didn't know it. lady john (_unconvinced_). oh? farn. does she come every week-end? lady john. whenever we can get her to. but we've only known her a couple of months. farn. and i have only known her three weeks! lady john, i've come to ask you to help me. lady john (_quickly_). with miss levering? i can't do it! farn. no, no--all that's no good. she only laughs. lady john (_relieved_). ah!--she looks upon you as a boy. farn (_firing up_). such rot! what do you think she said to me in london the other day? lady john. that she was four years older than you? farn. oh, i knew that. no. she said she knew she was all the charming things i'd been saying, but there was only one way to prove it--and that was to marry some one young enough to be her son. she'd noticed that was what the _most_ attractive women did--and she named names. lady john (_laughing_). _you_ were too old! farn. (_nods_). her future husband, she said, was probably just entering eton. lady john. just like her! farn. (_waving the subject away_). no. i wanted to see you about the secretaryship. lady john. you didn't get it, then? farn. no. it's the grief of my life. lady john. oh, if you don't get one you'll get another. farn. but there _is_ only one. lady john. only one vacancy? farn. only one man i'd give my ears to work for. lady john (_smiling_). i remember. farn. (_quickly_). do i always talk about stonor? well, it's a habit people have got into. lady john. i forget, do you know mr. stonor personally, or (_smiling_) are you just dazzled from afar? farn. oh, i know him. the trouble is he doesn't know me. if he did he'd realise he can't be sure of winning his election without my valuable services. lady john. geoffrey stonor's re-election is always a foregone conclusion. farn. that the great man shares that opinion is precisely his weak point. (_smiling._) his only one. lady john. you think because the liberals swept the country the last time---farn. how can we be sure any conservative seat is safe after--- (_as_ lady john _smiles and turns to her papers._) forgive me, i know you're not interested in politics _qua_ politics. but this concerns geoffrey stonor. lady john. and you count on my being interested in him like all the rest of my sex. farn. (_leans forward_). lady john, i've heard the news. lady john. what news? farn. that your little niece--the scotch heiress--is going to become mrs. geoffrey stonor. lady john. who told you that? farn. please don't mind my knowing. lady john (_visibly perturbed_). she had set her heart upon having a few days with just her family in the secret, before the flood of congratulations breaks loose. farn. oh, that's all right. i always hear things before other people. lady john. well, i must ask you to be good enough to be very circumspect. i wouldn't have my niece think that i---farn. oh, of course not. lady john. she will be here in an hour. farn. (_jumping up delighted_). what? to-day? the future mrs. stonor! lady john (_harassed_). yes. unfortunately we had one or two people already asked for the week-end---farn. and i go and invite myself to luncheon! lady john, you can buy me off. i'll promise to remove myself in five minutes if you'll---lady john. no, the penalty is you shall stay and keep the others amused between church and luncheon, and so leave me free. (_takes up the plan._) only _remember_---farn. wild horses won't get a hint out of me! i only mentioned it to you because--since we've come back to live in this part of the world you've been so awfully kind--i thought, i hoped maybe you--you'd put in a word for me. lady john. with----? farn. with your nephew that is to be. though i'm _not_ the slavish satellite people make out, you can't doubt---lady john. oh, i don't doubt. but you know mr. stonor inspires a similar enthusiasm in a good many young---farn. they haven't studied the situation as i have. they don't know what's at stake. they don't go to that hole dutfield as i did just to hear his friday speech. lady john. ah! but you were rewarded. jean--my niece--wrote me it was "glorious." farn. (_judicially_). well, you know, _i_ was disappointed. he's too content just to criticise, just to make his delicate pungent fun of the men who are grappling--very inadequately, of course--still _grappling_ with the big questions. there's a carrying power (_gets up and faces an imaginary audience_)--some of stonor's friends ought to point it out--there's a driving power in the poorest constructive policy that makes the most brilliant criticism look barren. lady john (_with good-humoured malice_). who told you that? farn. you think there's nothing in it because _i_ say it. but now that he's coming into the family, lord john or somebody really ought to point out--stonor's overdoing his rôle of magnificent security! lady john. i don't see even lord john offering to instruct mr. stonor. farn. believe me, that's just stonor's danger! nobody saying a word, everybody hoping he's on the point of adopting some definite line, something strong and original that's going to fire the public imagination and bring the tories back into power. lady john. so he will. farn. (_hotly_). not if he disappoints meetings--goes calmly up to town--and leaves the field to the liberals. lady john. when did he do anything like that? farn. yesterday! (_with a harassed air._) and now that he's got this other preoccupation---lady john. you mean---farn. yes, your niece--that spoilt child of fortune. of course! (_stopping suddenly._) she kept him from the meeting last night. well! (_sits down_) if that's the effect she's going to have it's pretty serious! lady john (_smiling_). _you_ are! farn. i can assure you the election agent's more so. he's simply tearing his hair. lady john (_more gravely and coming nearer_). how do you know? farn. he told me so himself--yesterday. i scraped acquaintance with the agent just to see if--if---lady john. it's not only here that you manoeuvre for that secretaryship! farn. (_confidentially_). you can never tell when your chance might come! that election chap's promised to keep me posted. (_the door flies open and_ jean dunbarton _rushes in._) jean. aunt ellen--here i---lady john (_astonished_). my dear child! (_they embrace. enter_ lord john _from the garden--a benevolent, silver-haired despot of sixty-two._) lord john. i thought that was you running up the avenue. (jean _greets her uncle warmly, but all the time she and her aunt talk together. "how did you get here so early?" "i knew you'd be surprised--wasn't it clever of me to manage it? i don't deserve all the credit." "but there isn't any train between----" "yes, wait till i tell you." "you walked in the broiling sun----" "no, no." "you must be dead. why didn't you telegraph? i ordered the carriage to meet the 1.10. didn't you say the 1.10? yes, i'm sure you did--here's your letter."_) lord j. (_has shaken hands with_ farnborough _and speaks through the torrent_). now they'll tell each other for ten minutes that she's an hour earlier than we expected. (lord john _leads_ farnborough _towards the garden._) farn. the freddy tunbridges said _they_ were coming to you this week. lord j. yes, they're dawdling through the park with the church brigade. farn. oh! (_with a glance back at_ jean.) i'll go and meet them. [_exit_ farnborough. lord j. (_as he turns back_). that discreet young man will get on. lady john (_to_ jean). but _how_ did you get here? jean (_breathless_). "he" motored me down. lady john. geoffrey stonor? (jean _nods_.) why, where is he, then? jean. he dropped me at the end of the avenue and went on to see a supporter about something. lord j. you let him go off like that without---lady john (_taking_ jean's _two hands_). just tell me, my child, is it all right? jean. my engagement? (_radiantly._) yes, absolutely. lady john. geoffrey stonor isn't going to be--a little too old for you? jean (_laughing_). bless me, am i such a chicken? lady john. twenty-four used not to be so young--but it's become so. jean. yes, we don't grow up so quick. (_gaily._) but on the other hand we _stay_ up longer. lord j. you've got what's vulgarly called "looks," my dear, and that will help to _keep_ you up! jean (_smiling_). i know what uncle john's thinking. but i'm not the only girl who's been left "what's vulgarly called" money. lord j. you're the only one of our immediate circle who's been left so beautifully much. jean. ah, but remember geoffrey could--everybody _knows_ he could have married any one in england. lady john (_faintly ironic_). i'm afraid everybody does know it--not excepting mr. stonor. lord j. well, how spoilt is the great man? jean. not the least little bit in the world. you'll see! he so wants to know my best-beloved relations better. (_another embrace._) an orphan has so few belongings, she has to make the most of them. lord j. (_smiling_). let us hope he'll approve of us on more intimate acquaintance. jean (_firmly_). he will. he's an angel. why, he gets on with my grandfather! lady john. _does_ he? (_teasing._) you mean to say mr. geoffrey stonor isn't just a tiny bit--"superior" about dissenters. jean (_stoutly_). not half as much as uncle john and all the rest of you! my grandfather's been ill again, you know, and rather difficult--bless him! (_radiantly._) but geoffrey---(_clasps her hands._) lady john. he must have powers of persuasion!--to get that old covenanter to let you come in an abhorred motor-car--on sunday, too! jean (_half whispering_). grandfather didn't know! lady john. didn't know? jean. i honestly meant to come by train. geoffrey met me on my way to the station. we had the most glorious run. oh, aunt ellen, we're so happy! (_embracing her._) i've so looked forward to having you to myself the whole day just to talk to you about---lord j. (_turning away with affected displeasure_). oh, very well---jean (_catches him affectionately by the arm_). _you'd_ find it dreffly dull to hear me talk about geoffrey the whole blessed day! lady john. well, till luncheon, my dear, you mustn't mind if i---(_to_ lord john, _as she goes to writing-table._) miss levering wasn't only tired last night, she was ill. lord j. i thought she looked very white. jean. who is miss---you don't mean to say there are other people? lady john. one or two. your uncle's responsible for asking that old cynic, st. john greatorex, and i---jean (_gravely_). mr. greatorex--he's a radical, isn't he? lord j. (_laughing_). _jean!_ beginning to "think in parties"! lady john. it's very natural now that she should---jean. i only meant it was odd he should be here. naturally at my grandfather's---lord j. it's all right, my child. of course we expect now that you'll begin to think like geoffrey stonor, and to feel like geoffrey stonor, and to talk like geoffrey stonor. and quite proper too. jean (_smiling_). well, if i do think with my husband and feel with him--as, of course, i shall--it will surprise me if i ever find myself talking a tenth as well--- (_following her uncle to the french window._) you should have heard him at dutfield----(_stopping short, delighted._) oh! the freddy tunbridges. what? not aunt lydia! oh-h! (_looking back reproachfully at_ lady john, _who makes a discreet motion "i couldn't help it."_) (_enter the_ tunbridges. mr. freddy, _of no profession and of independent means. well-groomed, pleasant-looking; of few words. a "nice man" who likes "nice women" and has married one of them._ mrs. freddy _is thirty. an attractive figure, delicate face, intelligent grey eyes, over-sensitive mouth, and naturally curling dust-coloured hair._) mrs. freddy. what a delightful surprise! jean (_shaking hands warmly_). i'm so glad. how d'ye do, mr. freddy? (_enter_ lady john's _sister_, mrs. heriot--_smart, pompous, fifty--followed by_ farnborough.) mrs. heriot. my dear jean! my darling child! jean. how do you do, aunt? mrs. h. (_sotto voce_). _i_ wasn't surprised. i always prophesied---jean. sh! _please!_ farn. we haven't met since you were in short skirts. i'm dick farnborough. jean. oh, i remember. (_they shake hands._) mrs. f. (_looking round_). not down yet--the elusive one? jean. who is the elusive one? mrs. f. lady john's new friend. lord j. (_to_ jean). oh, i forgot you hadn't seen miss levering; such a nice creature! (_to_ mrs. freddy.)--don't you think? mrs. f. of course i do. you're lucky to get her to come so often. she won't go to other people. lady john. she knows she can rest here. freddy (_who has joined_ lady john _near the writing-table_). what does she do to tire her? lady john. she's been helping my sister and me with a scheme of ours. mrs. h. she certainly knows how to inveigle money out of the men. lady john. it would sound less equivocal, lydia, if you added that the money is to build baths in our shelter for homeless women. mrs. f. homeless women? lady john. yes, in the most insanitary part of soho. freddy. oh--a--really. farn. it doesn't sound quite in miss levering's line! lady john. my dear boy, you know as little about what's in a woman's line as most men. freddy (_laughing_). oh, i say! lord j. (_indulgently to_ mr. freddy _and_ farnborough). philanthropy in a woman like miss levering is a form of restlessness. but she's a _nice_ creature; all she needs is to get some "nice" fella to marry her. mrs. f. (_laughing as she hangs on her husband's arm_). yes, a woman needs a balance wheel--if only to keep her from flying back to town on a hot day like this. lord j. who's proposing anything so---mrs. f. the elusive one. lord j. not miss---mrs. f. yes, before luncheon! [_exit_ farnborough _to garden._ lady john. she must be in london by this afternoon, she says. lord j. what for in the name of---lady john. well, _that_ i didn't ask her. but (_consults watch_) i think i'll just go up and see if she's changed her plans. [_exit_ lady john. lord j. oh, she must be _made_ to. such a nice creature! all she needs--- (_voices outside. enter fussily, talking and gesticulating_, st. john greatorex, _followed by_ miss levering _and_ farnborough. greatorex _is sixty, wealthy, a county magnate, and liberal m.p. he is square, thick-set, square-bearded. his shining bald pate has two strands of coal-black hair trained across his crown from left ear to right and securely pasted there. he has small, twinkling eyes and a reputation for telling good stories after dinner when ladies have left the room. he is carrying a little book for_ miss levering. _she (parasol over shoulder), an attractive, essentially feminine, and rather "smart" woman of thirty-two, with a somewhat foreign grace; the kind of whom men and women alike say, "what's her story? why doesn't she marry?"_) greatorex. i protest! good lord! what are the women of this country coming to? i _protest_ against miss levering being carried off to discuss anything so revolting. bless my soul! what can a woman like you _know_ about it? miss levering (_smiling_). little enough. good morning. great. (_relieved_). i should think so indeed! lord j. (_aside_). you aren't serious about going---great. (_waggishly breaking in_). we were so happy out there in the summer-house, weren't we? miss l. ideally. great. and to be haled out to talk about public _sanitation_ forsooth! (_hurries after_ miss levering _as she advances to speak to the_ freddys, _&c._) why, god bless my soul, do you realise that's _drains_? miss l. i'm dreadfully afraid it is! (_holds out her hand for the small book_ greatorex _is carrying._) (greatorex _returns_ miss levering's _book open; he has been keeping the place with his finger. she opens it and shuts her handkerchief in._) great. and we in the act of discussing italian literature! perhaps you'll tell me that isn't a more savoury topic for a lady. miss l. but for the tramp population less conducive to savouriness, don't you think, than--baths? great. no, i can't understand this morbid interest in vagrants. _you're_ much too--leave it to the others. jean. what others? great. (_with smiling impertinence_). oh, the sort of woman who smells of indiarubber. the typical english spinster. (_to_ miss levering.) _you_ know--italy's full of her. she never goes anywhere without a mackintosh and a collapsible bath--rubber. when you look at her, it's borne in upon you that she doesn't only smell of rubber. _she's_ rubber too. lord j. (_laughing_). this is my niece, miss jean dunbarton, miss levering. jean. how do you do? (_they shake hands._) great. (_to_ jean). i'm sure _you_ agree with me. jean. about miss levering being too---great. for that sort of thing--_much_ too---miss l. what a pity you've exhausted the more eloquent adjectives. great. but i haven't! miss l. well, you can't say to me as you did to mrs. freddy: "you're too young and too happily married--and too----" (_glances round smiling at_ mrs. freddy, _who, oblivious, is laughing and talking to her husband and_ mrs. heriot.) jean. for what was mrs. freddy too happily married and all the rest? miss l. (_lightly_). mr. greatorex was repudiating the horrid rumour that mrs. freddy had been speaking in public; about women's trade unions--wasn't that what you said, mrs. heriot? lord j. (_chuckling_). yes, it isn't made up as carefully as your aunt's parties usually are. here we've got greatorex (_takes his arm_) who hates political women, and we've got in that mild and inoffensive-looking little lady--- (_motion over his shoulder towards_ mrs. freddy.) great. (_shrinking down stage in comic terror_). you don't mean she's _really_---jean (_simultaneously and gaily rising_). oh, and you've got me! lord j. (_with genial affection_). my dear child, he doesn't hate the charming wives and sweethearts who help to win seats. (jean _makes her uncle a discreet little signal of warning._) miss l. mr. greatorex objects only to the unsexed creatures who--a---lord j. (_hastily to cover up his slip_). yes, yes, who want to act independently of men. miss l. vote, and do silly things of that sort. lord j. (_with enthusiasm_). exactly. mrs. h. it will be a long time before we hear any more of _that_ nonsense. jean. you mean that rowdy scene in the house of commons? mrs. h. yes. no decent woman will be able to say "suffrage" without blushing for another generation, thank heaven! miss l. (_smiling_). oh? i understood that so little i almost imagined people were more stirred up about it than they'd ever been before. great. (_with a quizzical affectation of gallantry_). not people like you. miss l. (_teasingly_). how do you know? great. (_with a start_). god bless my soul! lord j. she's saying that only to get a rise out of you. great. ah, yes, your frocks aren't serious enough. miss l. i'm told it's an exploded notion that the suffrage women are all dowdy and dull. great. don't you believe it! miss l. well, of course we know you've been an authority on the subject for--let's see, how many years is it you've kept the house in roars whenever woman's rights are mentioned? great. (_flattered but not entirely comfortable_). oh, as long as i've known anything about politics there have been a few discontented old maids and hungry widows---miss l. "a few!" that's really rather forbearing of you, mr. greatorex. i'm afraid the number of the discontented and the hungry was 96,000--among the mill operatives alone. (_hastily._) at least the papers said so, didn't they? great. oh, don't ask me; that kind of woman doesn't interest me, i'm afraid. only i am able to point out to the people who lose their heads and seem inclined to treat the phenomenon seriously that there's absolutely nothing new in it. there have been women for the last forty years who haven't had anything more pressing to do than petition parliament. miss l. (_reflectively_). and that's as far as they've got. lord j. (_turning on his heel_). it's as far as they'll ever get. (_meets the group up_ r. _coming down._) miss l. (_chaffing_ greatorex). let me see, wasn't a deputation sent to you not long ago? (_sits_ c.) great. h'm! (_irritably._) yes, yes. miss l. (_as though she has just recalled the circumstances_). oh, yes, i remember. i thought at the time, in my modest way, it was nothing short of heroic of them to go asking audience of their arch opponent. great. (_stoutly_). it didn't come off. miss l. (_innocently_). oh! i thought they insisted on bearding the lion in his den. great. of course i wasn't going to be bothered with a lot of---miss l. you don't mean you refused to go out and face them! great. (_with a comic look of terror_). i wouldn't have done it for worlds. but a friend of mine went and had a look at 'em. miss l. (_smiling_). well, did he get back alive? great. yes, but he advised me not to go. "you're quite right," he said. "don't you think of bothering," he said. "i've looked over the lot," he said, "and there isn't a week-ender among 'em." jean (_gaily precipitates herself into the conversation_). you remember mrs. freddy's friend who came to tea here in the winter? (_to_ greatorex.) he was a member of parliament too--quite a little young one--he said women would never be respected till they had the vote! (greatorex _snorts, the other men smile and all the women except_ mrs. heriot.) mrs. h. (_sniffing_). i remember telling him that he was too young to know what he was talking about. lord j. yes, i'm afraid you all sat on the poor gentleman. lady john (_entering_). oh, _there_ you are! (_greets_ miss levering.) jean. it was such fun. he was flat as a pancake when we'd done with him. aunt ellen told him with her most distinguished air she didn't want to be "respected." mrs. f. (_with a little laugh of remonstrance_). my _dear_ lady john! farn. quite right! awful idea to think you're _respected_! miss l. (_smiling_). simply revolting. lady john (_at writing-table_). now, you frivolous people, go away. we've only got a few minutes to talk over the terms of the late mr. soper's munificence before the carriage comes for miss levering---mrs. f. (_to_ farnborough). did you know she'd got that old horror to give lady john £8,000 for her charity before he died? mrs. f. who got him to? lady john. miss levering. he wouldn't do it for me, but she brought him round. freddy. yes. bah-ee jove! i expect so. mrs. f. (_turning enthusiastically to her husband_). isn't she wonderful? lord j. (_aside_). nice creature. all she needs is--- (mr. _and_ mrs. freddy _and_ farnborough _stroll off to the garden._ lady john _on far side of the writing-table._ mrs. heriot _at the top._ jean _and_ lord john, l.) great. (_on divan_ c., _aside to_ miss levering). too "wonderful" to waste your time on the wrong people. miss l. i shall waste less of my time after this. great. i'm relieved to hear it. i can't see you wheedling money for shelters and rot of that sort out of retired grocers. miss l. you see, you call it rot. we couldn't have got £8,000 out of _you_. great. (_very low_). i'm not sure. (miss levering _looks at him._) great. if i gave you that much--for your little projects--what would you give me? miss l. (_speaking quietly_). soper didn't ask that. great. (_horrified_). soper! i should think not! lord j. (_turning to_ miss levering). soper? you two still talking soper? how flattered the old beggar'd be! lord j. (_lower_). did you hear what mrs. heriot said about him? "so kind; so munificent--so _vulgar_, poor soul, we couldn't know him in london--_but we shall meet him in heaven_." (greatorex _and_ lord john _go off laughing._) lady john (_to miss levering_). sit over there, my dear. (_indicating chair in front of writing-table._) you needn't stay, jean. this won't interest you. miss l. (_in the tone of one agreeing_). it's only an effort to meet the greatest evil in the world? jean (_pausing as she's following the others_). what do you call the greatest evil in the world? (_looks pass between_ mrs. heriot _and_ lady john.) miss l. (_without emphasis_). the helplessness of women. (jean _stands still._) lady john (_rising and putting her arm about the girl's shoulder_). jean, darling, i know you can think of nothing but (_aside_) _him_--so just go and---jean (_brightly_). indeed, indeed, i can think of everything better than i ever did before. he has lit up everything for me--made everything vivider, more--more significant. miss l. (_turning round_). who has? jean. oh, yes, i don't care about other things less but a thousand times more. lady john. you _are_ in love. miss l. oh, that's it! (_smiling at_ jean.) i congratulate you. lady john (_returning to the outspread plan_). well--_this_, you see, obviates the difficulty you raised. miss l. yes, quite. mrs. h. but it's going to cost a great deal more. miss l. it's worth it. mrs. h. we'll have nothing left for the organ at st. pilgrim's. lady john. my dear lydia, we're putting the organ aside. mrs. h. (_with asperity_). we can't afford to "put aside" the elevating effect of music. lady john. what we must make for, first, is the cheap and humanely conducted lodging-house. mrs. h. there are several of those already, but poor st. pilgrim's---miss l. there are none for the poorest women. lady john. no, even the excellent soper was for multiplying rowton houses. you can never get men to realise--you can't always get women---miss l. it's the work least able to wait. mrs. h. i don't agree with you, and i happen to have spent a great deal of my life in works of charity. miss l. ah, then you'll be interested in the girl i saw dying in a tramp ward a little while ago. _glad_ her cough was worse--only she mustn't die before her father. two reasons. nobody but her to keep the old man out of the workhouse--and "father is so proud." if she died first, he would starve; worst of all he might hear what had happened up in london to his girl. mrs. h. she didn't say, i suppose, how she happened to fall so low. miss l. yes, she had been in service. she lost the train back one sunday night and was too terrified of her employer to dare ring him up after hours. the wrong person found her crying on the platform. mrs. h. she should have gone to one of the friendly societies. miss l. at eleven at night? mrs. h. and there are the rescue leagues. i myself have been connected with one for twenty years---miss l. (_reflectively_). "twenty years!" always arriving "after the train's gone"--after the girl and the wrong person have got to the journey's end. (mrs. heriot's _eyes flash._) jean. where is she now? lady john. never mind. miss l. two nights ago she was waiting at a street corner in the rain. mrs. h. near a public-house, i suppose. miss l. yes, a sort of "public-house." she was plainly dying--she was told she shouldn't be out in the rain. "i mustn't go in yet," she said. "_this_ is what he gave me," and she began to cry. in her hand were two pennies silvered over to look like half-crowns. mrs. h. i don't believe that story. it's just the sort of thing some sensation-monger trumps up--now, who tells you such---miss l. several credible people. i didn't believe them till---jean. till----? miss l. till last week i saw for myself. lady john. _saw?_ where? miss l. in a low lodging-house not a hundred yards from the church you want a new organ for. mrs. h. how did _you_ happen to be there? miss l. i was on a pilgrimage. jean. a pilgrimage? miss l. into the underworld. lady john. _you_ went? jean. how _could_ you? miss l. i put on an old gown and a tawdry hat---(_turns to_ lady john.) you'll never know how many things are hidden from a woman in good clothes. the bold, free look of a man at a woman he believes to be destitute--you must _feel_ that look on you before you can understand--a good half of history. mrs. h. (_rises_). jean!---jean. but where did you go--dressed like that? miss l. down among the homeless women--on a wet night looking for shelter. lady john (_hastily_). no wonder you've been ill. jean (_under breath_). and it's like that? miss l. no. jean. no? miss l. it's so much worse i dare not tell about it--even if you weren't here i couldn't. mrs. h. (_to_ jean). you needn't suppose, darling, that those wretched creatures feel it as we would. miss l. the girls who need shelter and work aren't all serving-maids. mrs. h. (_with an involuntary flash_). we know that all the women who--_make mistakes_ aren't. miss l. (_steadily_). that is why every woman ought to take an interest in this--every girl too. jean yes--oh, yes! (_simultaneously_) lady john no. this is a matter for us older---mrs. h. (_with an air of sly challenge_). or for a person who has some special knowledge. (_significantly._) _we_ can't pretend to have access to such sources of information as miss levering. miss l. (_meeting_ mrs. heriot's _eye steadily_). yes, for i can give you access. as you seem to think, i have some first-hand knowledge about homeless girls. lady john (_cheerfully turning it aside_). well, my dear, it will all come in convenient. (_tapping the plan._) miss l. it once happened to me to take offence at an ugly thing that was going on under my father's roof. oh, _years_ ago! i was an impulsive girl. i turned my back on my father's house---lady john (_for_ jean's _benefit_). that was ill-advised. mrs. h. of course, if a girl does _that_---miss l. that was what all my relations said (_with a glance at_ jean), and i couldn't explain. jean. not to your mother? miss l. she was dead. i went to london to a small hotel and tried to find employment. i wandered about all day and every day from agency to agency. i was supposed to be educated. i'd been brought up partly in paris; i could play several instruments, and sing little songs in four different tongues. (_slight pause._) jean. did nobody want you to teach french or sing the little songs? miss l. the heads of schools thought me too young. there were people ready to listen to my singing, but the terms--they were too hard. soon my money was gone. i began to pawn my trinkets. _they_ went. jean. and still no work? miss l. no; but by that time i had some real education--an unpaid hotel bill, and not a shilling in the world. (_slight pause._) some girls think it hardship to have to earn their living. the horror is not to be allowed to---jean. (_bending forward_). what happened? lady john (_rises_). my dear (_to_ miss levering), have your things been sent down? are you quite ready? miss l. yes, all but my hat. jean. well? miss l. well, by chance i met a friend of my family. jean. that was lucky. miss l. i thought so. he was nearly ten years older than i. he said he wanted to help me. (_pause._) jean. and didn't he? (lady john _lays her hand on_ miss levering's _shoulder._) miss l. perhaps after all he did. (_with sudden change of tone._) why do i waste time over myself? i belonged to the little class of armed women. my body wasn't born weak, and my spirit wasn't broken by the _habit_ of slavery. but, as mrs. heriot was kind enough to hint, i do know something about the possible fate of homeless girls. i found there were pleasant parks, museums, free libraries in our great rich london--and not one single place where destitute women can be sure of work that isn't killing or food that isn't worse than prison fare. that's why women ought not to sleep o' nights till this shelter stands spreading out wide arms. jean. no, no---mrs. h. (_gathering up her gloves, fan, prayer-book, &c._). even when it's built--you'll see! many of those creatures will prefer the life they lead. they _like_ it. miss l. a woman told me--one of the sort that knows--told me many of them "like it" so much that they are indifferent to the risk of being sent to prison. "_it gives them a rest_," she said. lady john. a rest! (miss levering _glances at the clock as she rises to go upstairs._) (lady john _and_ mrs. heriot _bend their heads over the plan, covertly talking._) jean (_intercepting_ miss levering). i want to begin to understand something of--i'm horribly ignorant. miss l. (_looks at her searchingly_). i'm a rather busy person---jean. (_interrupting_). i have a quite special reason for wanting _not_ to be ignorant. (_impulsively_). i'll go to town to-morrow, if you'll come and lunch with me. miss l. thank you--i (_catches_ mrs. heriot's _eye_)--i must go and put my hat on. [_exit upstairs._ mrs. h. (_aside_). how little she minds all these horrors! lady john. they turn me cold. ugh! (_rising, harassed._) i wonder if she's signed the visitors' book! mrs. h. for all her shelter schemes, she's a hard woman. jean. miss levering is? mrs. h. oh, of course _you_ won't think so. she has angled very adroitly for your sympathy. jean. she doesn't look hard. lady john (_glancing at_ jean _and taking alarm_). i'm not sure but what she does. her mouth--always like this ... as if she were holding back something by main force! mrs. h. (_half under her breath_). well, so she is. [_exit_ lady john _into the lobby to look at the visitors' book._ jean. why haven't i seen her before? mrs. h. oh, she's lived abroad. (_debating with herself._) you don't know about her, i suppose? jean. i don't know how aunt ellen came to know her. mrs. h. that was my doing. but i didn't bargain for her being introduced to you. jean. she seems to go everywhere. and why shouldn't she? mrs. h. (_quickly_). you mustn't ask her to eaton square. jean. i have. mrs. h. then you'll have to get out of it. jean (_with a stubborn look_). i must have a reason. and a very good reason. mrs. h. well, it's not a thing i should have preferred to tell you, but i know how difficult you are to guide ... so i suppose you'll have to know. (_lowering her voice._) it was ten or twelve years ago. i found her horribly ill in a lonely welsh farmhouse. we had taken the manor for that august. the farmer's wife was frightened, and begged me to go and see what i thought. i soon saw how it was--i thought she was dying. jean. _dying!_ what was the---mrs. h. i got no more out of her than the farmer's wife did. she had had no letters. there had been no one to see her except a man down from london, a shady-looking doctor--nameless, of course. and then this result. the farmer and his wife, highly respectable people, were incensed. they were for turning the girl out. jean. _oh!_ but---mrs. h. yes. pitiless some of these people are! i insisted they should treat the girl humanely, and we became friends ... that is, "sort of." in spite of all i did for her---jean. what did you do? mrs. h. i--i've told you, and i lent her money. no small sum either. jean. has she never paid it back? mrs. h. oh, yes, after a time. but i _always_ kept her secret--as much as i knew of it. jean. but you've been telling me! mrs. h. that was my duty--and i _never_ had her full confidence. jean. wasn't it natural she---mrs. h. well, all things considered, she might have wanted to tell me who was responsible. jean. oh! aunt lydia! mrs. h. all she ever said was that she was ashamed--(_losing her temper and her fine feeling for the innocence of her auditor_)--ashamed that she "hadn't had the courage to resist"--not the original temptation but the pressure brought to bear on her "not to go through with it," as she said. jean (_wrinkling her brows_). you are being so delicate--i'm not sure i understand. mrs. h. (_irritably_). the only thing you need understand is that she's not a desirable companion for a young girl. (_pause._) jean. when did you see her after--after---mrs. h. (_with a slight grimace_). i met her last winter at the bishop's. (_hurriedly._) she's a connection of his wife's. they'd got her to help with some of their work. then she took hold of ours. your aunt and uncle are quite foolish about her, and i'm debarred from taking any steps, at least till the shelter is out of hand. jean. i do rather wonder she can bring herself to talk about--the unfortunate women of the world. mrs. h. the effrontery of it! jean. or ... the courage! (_puts her hand up to her throat as if the sentence had caught there._) mrs. h. even presumes to set _me_ right! of course i don't _mind_ in the least, poor soul ... but i feel i owe it to your dead mother to tell you about her, especially as you're old enough now to know something about life---jean (_slowly_).--and since a girl needn't be very old to suffer for her ignorance. (_moves a little away._) i _felt_ she was rather wonderful. mrs. h. _wonderful!_ jean (_pausing_). ... to have lived through _that_ when she was ... how old? mrs. h. (_rising_). oh, nineteen or thereabouts. jean. five years younger than i. to be abandoned and to come out of it like this! mrs. h. (_laying her hand on the girl's shoulder_). it was too bad to have to tell you such a sordid story to-day of all days. jean. it is a very terrible story, but this wasn't a bad time. i feel very sorry to-day for women who aren't happy. (_motor horn heard faintly._) (_jumping up._) that's geoffrey! mrs. h. mr. stonor! what makes you think...? jean. yes, yes. i'm sure, i'm sure--- (_checks herself as she is flying off. turns and sees_ lord john _entering from the garden._) (_motor horn louder._) lord j. who do you think is motoring up the drive? jean (_catching hold of him_). oh, dear! how am i ever going to be able to behave like a girl who isn't engaged to the only man in the world worth marrying? mrs. h. you were expecting mr. stonor all the time! jean. he promised he'd come to luncheon if it was humanly possible; but i was afraid to tell you for fear he'd be prevented. lord j. (_laughing as he crosses to the lobby_). you felt we couldn't have borne the disappointment. jean. i felt i couldn't. (_the lobby door opens._ lady john _appears radiant, followed by a tall figure in a dust-coat, &c., no goggles. he has straight, firm features, a little blunt; fair skin, high-coloured; fine, straight hair, very fair; grey eyes, set somewhat prominently and heavy when not interested; lips full, but firmly moulded._ geoffrey stonor _is heavier than a man of forty should be, but otherwise in the pink of physical condition. the_ footman _stands waiting to help him off with his motor coat._) lady john. here's an agreeable surprise! (jean _has gone forward only a step, and stands smiling at the approaching figure._) lord j. how do you do? (_as he comes between them and briskly shakes hands with_ stonor.) (farnborough _appears at the french window_.) farn. yes, by jove! (_turning to the others clustered round the window._) what gigantic luck! (_those outside crane and glance, and then elaborately turn their backs and pretend to be talking among themselves, but betray as far as manners permit the enormous sensation the arrival has created._) stonor. how do you do? (_shakes hands with_ mrs. heriot, _who has rushed up to him with both hers outstretched. he crosses to_ jean, _who meets him half way; they shake hands, smiling into each other's eyes._) jean. such a long time since we met! lord j. (_to_ stonor). you're growing very enterprising. i could hardly believe my ears when i heard you'd motored all the way from town to see a supporter on sunday. stonor. i don't know how we covered the ground in the old days. (_to_ lady john.) it's no use to stand for your borough any more. the american, you know, he "runs" for congress. by and by we shall all be flying after the thing we want. (_smiles at_ jean.) jean. sh! (_smiles and then glances over her shoulder and speaks low._) all sorts of irrelevant people here. farn. (_unable to resist the temptation, comes forward_). how do you do, mr. stonor? stonor. oh--how d'you do. farn. some of them were arguing in the smoking-room last night whether it didn't hurt a man's chances going about in a motor. lord j. yes, we've been hearing a lot of stories about the unpopularity of motor-cars--among the class that hasn't got 'em, of course. what do you say? lady john. i'm sure you gain more votes by being able to reach so many more of your constituency than we used---stonor. well, i don't know--i've sometimes wondered whether the charm of our presence wasn't counterbalanced by the way we tear about smothering our fellow-beings in dust and running down their pigs and chickens, not to speak of their children. lord j. (_anxiously_). what on the whole are the prospects? (farnborough _cranes forward_.) stonor (_gravely_). we shall have to work harder than we realised. farn. ah! (_retires towards group._) jean (_in a half-aside as she slips her arm in her uncle's and smiles at_ geoffrey). he says he believes i'll be able to make a real difference to his chances. isn't it angelic of him? stonor (_in a jocular tone_). angelic? macchiavelian. i pin all my hopes on your being able to counteract the pernicious influence of my opponent's glib wife. jean. you want me to have a _real_ share in it all, don't you, geoffrey? stonor (_smiling into her eyes_). of course i do. (farnborough _drops down again on pretence of talking to_ mrs. heriot.) lord j. i don't gather you're altogether sanguine. any complication? (jean _and_ lady john _stand close together_ (c.), _the girl radiant, following_ stonor _with her eyes and whispering to the sympathetic elder woman._) stonor. well (_taking sunday paper out of pocket_), there's this agitation about the woman question. oddly enough, it seems likely to affect the issue. lord j. why should it? can't you do what the other four hundred have done? stonor (_laughs_). easily. but, you see, the mere fact that four hundred and twenty members have been worried into promising support--and then once in the house have let the matter severely alone---lord j. (_to_ stonor). let it alone! bless my soul, i should think so indeed. stonor. of course. only it's a device that's somewhat worn. (_enter_ miss levering, _with hat on; gloves and veil in her hand._) lord j. still if they think they're getting a future cabinet minister on their side---stonor. ... it will be sufficiently embarrassing for the cabinet minister. (stonor _turns to speak to_ jean. _stops dead seeing_ miss levering.) jean (_smiling_). you know one another? miss l. (_looking at_ stonor _with intentness but quite calmly_). everybody in this part of the world knows mr. stonor, but he doesn't know me. lord j. miss levering. (_they bow._) (_enter_ greatorex, _sidling in with an air of giving_ mrs. freddy _a wide berth._) jean (_to_ miss levering _with artless enthusiasm_). oh, have you been hearing him speak? miss l. yes, i was visiting some relations near dutfield. they took me to hear you. stonor. oh--the night the suffragettes made their customary row. miss l. the night they asked you---stonor (_flying at the first chance of distraction, shakes hands with_ mrs. freddy). well, mrs. freddy, what do you think of your friends now? mrs. f. my friends? stonor (_offering her the sunday paper_). yes, the disorderly women. mrs. f. (_with dignity_). they are not my friends, but i don't think you must call them---stonor. why not? (_laughs._) i can forgive them for worrying the late government. but they _are_ disorderly. miss l. (_quietly_). isn't the phrase consecrated to a different class? great. (_who has got hold of the sunday paper_). he's perfectly right. how do you do? disorderly women! that's what they are! farn. (_reading over his shoulder_). ought to be locked up! every one of 'em. great. (_assenting angrily_). public nuisances! going about with dog whips and spitting in policemen's faces. mrs. f. (_with a harassed air_). i wonder if they did spit? great. (_exulting_). of _course_ they did. mrs. f. (_turns on him_). you're no authority on what they do. _you_ run away. great. (_trying to turn the laugh_). run away? yes. (_backing a few paces._) and if ever i muster up courage to come back, it will be to vote for better manners in public life, not worse than we have already. mrs. f. (_meekly_). so should i. don't think that _i_ defend the suffragette methods. jean. (_with cheerful curiosity_). still, you _are_ an advocate of the suffrage, aren't you? mrs. f. _here?_ (_shrugs._) i don't beat the air. great. (_mocking_). only policemen. mrs. f. (_plaintively_). if you cared to know the attitude of the real workers in the reform, you might have noticed in any paper last week we lost no time in dissociating ourselves from the little group of hysterical---(_catches her husband's eye, and instantly checks her flow of words._) mrs. h. they have lowered the whole sex in the eyes of the entire world. jean (_joining_ geoffrey stonor). i can't quite see what they want--those suffragettes. great. notoriety. farn. what they want? a good thrashin'--that's what i'd give 'em. miss l. (_murmurs_). spirited fellow! lord j. well, there's one sure thing--they've dished their goose. (greatorex _chuckles, still reading the account._) i believe these silly scenes are a pure joy to you. great. final death-blow to the whole silly business! jean (_mystified, looking from one to the other_). the suffragettes don't seem to _know_ they're dead. great. they still keep up a sort of death-rattle. but they've done for themselves. jean (_clasping her hands with fervour_). oh, i hope they'll last till the election's over. farn. (_stares_). why? jean. oh, we want them to get the working man to--(_stumbling and a little confused_)--to vote for ... the conservative candidate. isn't that so? (_looking round for help. general laughter._) lord j. fancy, jean----! great. the working man's a good deal of an ass, but even he won't listen to---jean (_again appealing to the silent_ stonor). but he _does_ listen like anything! i asked why there were so few at the long mitcham meeting, and i was told, "oh, they've all gone to hear miss----" stonor. just for a lark, that was. lord j. it has no real effect on the vote. great. not the smallest. jean (_wide-eyed, to_ stonor). why, i thought you said---stonor (_hastily, rubbing his hand over the lower part of his face and speaking quickly_). i've a notion a little soap and water wouldn't do me any harm. lord j. i'll take you up. you know freddy tunbridge. (stonor _pauses to shake hands. exeunt all three._) jean (_perplexed, as_ stonor _turns away, says to_ greatorex). well, if women are of no importance in politics, it isn't for the reason you gave. there is now and then a week-ender among them. great. (_shuffles about uneasily_). hm--hm. (_finds himself near_ mrs. freddy.) lord! the perils that beset the feet of man! (_with an air of comic caution, moves away_, l.) jean (_to_ farnborough, _aside, laughing_). why does he behave like that? farn. his moral sense is shocked. jean. why, i saw him and mrs. freddy together at the french play the other night--as thick as thieves. miss l. ah, that was before he knew her revolting views. jean. what revolting views? great. sh! sunday. (_as_ greatorex _sidles cautiously further away._) jean (_laughing in spite of herself_). i can't believe women are so helpless when i see men so afraid of them. great. the great mistake was in teaching them to read and write. jean (_over_ miss levering's _shoulder, whispers_). _say_ something. miss l. (_to_ greatorex, _smiling_). oh no, that wasn't the worst mistake. great. yes, it was. miss l. no. believe me. the mistake was in letting women learn to talk. great. _ah!_ (_wheels about with sudden rapture._) i see now what's to be the next great reform. miss l. (_holding up the little volume_). when women are all dumb, no more discussions of the "paradiso." great. (_with a gesture of mock rapture_). the thing itself! (_aside._) that's a great deal better than talking about it, as i'm sure _you_ know. miss l. why do you think i know? great. only the plain women are in any doubt. (jean _joins_ miss levering.) great. wait for me, farnborough. i cannot go about unprotected. [_exeunt_ farnborough _and_ greatorex. mrs. f. it's true what that old cynic says. the scene in the house has put back the reform a generation. jean. i wish 'd been there. mrs. f. i _was_. jean. oh, was it like the papers said? mrs. f. worse. i've never been so moved in public. no tragedy, no great opera ever gripped an audience as the situation in the house did that night. there we all sat breathless--with everything more favourable to us than it had been within the memory of women. another five minutes and the resolution would have passed. then ... all in a moment---lady john (_to_ mrs. heriot). listen--they're talking about the female hooligans. mrs. h. no, thank you! (_sits apart with the "church times."_) mrs. f. (_excitedly_). all in a moment a horrible dingy little flag was poked through the grille of the woman's gallery--cries--insults--scuffling--the police--the ignominious turning out of the women--_us_ as well as the---oh, i can't _think_ of it without--- (_jumps up and walks to and fro._) (_pauses._) then the next morning! the people gloating. our friends antagonised--people who were wavering--nearly won over--all thrown back--heart breaking! even my husband! freddy's been an angel about letting me take my share when i felt i must--but of course i've always known he doesn't really like it. it makes him shy. i'm sure it gives him a horrid twist inside when he sees my name among the speakers on the placards. but he's always been an angel about it before this. after the disgraceful scene he said, "it just shows how unfit women are for any sort of coherent thinking or concerted action." jean. to think that it should be women who've given the cause the worst blow it ever had! mrs. f. the work of forty years destroyed in five minutes! jean. they must have felt pretty sick when they woke up the next morning--the suffragettes. mrs. f. i don't waste any sympathy on _them_. i'm thinking of the penalty _all_ women have to pay because a handful of hysterical---jean. still i think i'm sorry for them. it must be dreadful to find you've done such a lot of harm to the thing you care most about in the world. miss l. do you picture the suffragettes sitting in sackcloth? mrs. f. well, they can't help realising _now_ what they've done. miss l. (_quietly_). isn't it just possible they realise they've waked up interest in the woman question so that it's advertised in every paper and discussed in every house from land's end to john o'groats? don't you think _they_ know there's been more said and written about it in these ten days since the scene, than in the ten years before it? mrs. f. you aren't saying you think it was a good way to get what they wanted? miss l. (_shrugs_). i'm only pointing out that it seems not such a bad way to get it known they _do_ want something--and (_smiling_) "want it bad." jean (_getting up_). didn't mr. greatorex say women had been politely petitioning parliament for forty years? miss l. and men have only laughed. jean. but they'd come round. (_she looks from one to the other._) mrs. tunbridge says, before that horrid scene, everything was favourable at last. miss l. at last? hadn't it been just as "favourable" before? mrs. f. no. we'd never had so many members pledged to our side. miss l. i thought i'd heard somebody say the bill had got as far as that, time and time again. jean. oh no. surely not---mrs. f. (_reluctantly_). y-yes. this was only a resolution. the bill passed a second reading thirty-seven years ago. jean (_with wide eyes_). and what difference did it make? miss l. the men laughed rather louder. mrs. f. oh, it's got as far as a second reading several times--but we never had so many friends in the house before---miss l. (_with a faint smile_). "friends!" jean. why do you say it like that? miss l. perhaps because i was thinking of a funny story--he said it was funny--a liberal whip told me the other day. a radical member went out of the house after his speech in favour of the woman's bill, and as he came back half an hour later, he heard some members talking in the lobby about the astonishing number who were going to vote for the measure. and the friend of woman dropped his jaw and clutched the man next him: "my god!" he said, "you don't mean to say they're going to give it to them!" jean. oh! mrs. f. you don't think all men in parliament are like that! miss l. i don't think all men are burglars, but i lock my doors. jean (_below her breath_). you think that night of the scene--you think the men didn't _mean_ to play fair? miss l. (_her coolness in contrast to the excitement of the others_). didn't the women sit quiet till ten minutes to closing time? jean. ten minutes to settle a question like that! miss l. (_quietly to_ mrs. freddy). couldn't you see the men were at their old game? lady john (_coming forward_). you think they were just putting off the issue till it was too late? miss l. (_in a detached tone_). _i_ wasn't there, but i haven't heard anybody deny that the women waited till ten minutes to eleven. then they discovered the policeman who'd been sent up at the psychological moment to the back of the gallery. then, i'm told, when the women saw they were betrayed once more, they utilised the few minutes left, to impress on the country at large the fact of their demands--did it in the only way left them. (_sits leaning forward reflectively smiling, chin in hand._) it does rather look to the outsider as if the well-behaved women had worked for forty years and made less impression on the world then those fiery young women made in five minutes. mrs. f. oh, come, be fair! miss l. well, you must admit that, next day, every newspaper reader in europe and america knew there were women in england in such dead earnest about the suffrage that the men had stopped laughing at last, and turned them out of the house. men even advertised how little they appreciated the fun by sending the women to gaol in pretty sober earnest. and all the world was talking about it. (mrs. heriot _lays down the "church times" and joins the others._) lady john. i have noticed, whenever the men aren't there, the women sit and discuss that scene. jean (_cheerfully_). _i_ shan't have to wait till the men are gone. (_leans over_ lady john's _shoulder and says half aside_) he's in sympathy. lady john. how do you know? jean. he told the interrupting women so. (mrs. freddy _looks mystified. the others smile._) lady john. oh! (mr. freddy _and_ lord john _appear by the door they went out of. they stop to talk._) mrs. f. here's freddy! (_lower, hastily to_ miss levering.) you're judging from the outside. those of us who have been working for years ... we all realise it was a perfectly lunatic proceeding. why, _think_! the only chance of our getting what we want is by _winning over_ the men. (_her watchful eye, leaving her husband for a moment, catches_ miss levering's _little involuntary gesture._) what's the matter? miss l. "winning over the men" has been the woman's way for centuries. do you think the result should make us proud of our policy? yes? then go and walk in piccadilly at midnight. (_the older women glance at_ jean.) no, i forgot---mrs. h. (_with majesty_). yes, it's not the first time you've forgotten. miss l. i forgot the magistrate's ruling. he said no decent woman had any business to be in london's main thoroughfare at night unless she has _a man with her_. i heard that in nine elms, too. "you're obliged to take up with a chap!" was what the woman said. mrs. h. (_rising_). jean! come! (_she takes_ jean _by her arm and draws her to the window, where she signals_ greatorex _and_ farnborough. mrs. freddy _joins her husband and_ lord john.) lady john (_kindly, aside to_ miss levering). my dear, i think lydia heriot's right. we oughtn't to do anything or _say_ anything to encourage this ferment of feminism, and i'll tell you why: it's likely to bring a very terrible thing in its train. miss l. what terrible thing? lady john. sex antagonism. miss l. (_rising_). it's here. lady john (_very gravely_). don't say that. (jean _has quietly disengaged herself from_ mrs. heriot, _and the group at the window returns and stands behind_ lady john, _looking up into_ miss leverings's _face._) miss l. (_to_ lady john). you're so conscious it's here, you're afraid to have it mentioned. lady john (_turning and seeing_ jean. _rising hastily_). if it's here, it is the fault of those women agitators. miss l. (_gently_). no woman _begins_ that way. (_leans forward with clasped hands looking into vacancy._) every woman's in a state of natural subjection (_smiles at_ jean)--no, i'd rather say allegiance to her idea of romance and her hope of motherhood. they're embodied for her in man. they're the strongest things in life--till man kills them. (_rousing herself and looking into_ lady john's _face._) let's be fair. each woman knows why that allegiance died. (lady john _turns hastily, sees_ lord john _coming down with_ mr. freddy _and meets them at the foot of the stairs._ miss levering _has turned to the table looking for her gloves, &c., among the papers; unconsciously drops the handkerchief she had in her little book._) jean (_in a low voice to_ miss levering). all this talk against the wicked suffragettes--it makes me want to go and hear what they've got to say for themselves. miss l. (_smiling with a non-committal air as she finds the veil she's been searching for_). well, they're holding a meeting in trafalgar square at three o'clock. jean. this afternoon? but that's no use to people out of town---unless i could invent some excuse.... lord j. (_benevolently_). still talking over the shelter plans? miss l. no. we left the shelter some time ago. lord j. (_to_ jean). then what's all the chatterment about? (jean, _a little confused, looks at_ miss levering.) miss l. the latest thing in veils. (_ties hers round her hat._) great. the invincible frivolity of woman! lord j. (_genially_). don't scold them. it's a very proper topic. miss l. (_whimsically_). oh, i was afraid you'd despise us for it. both men (_with condescension_). not at all--not at all. jean (_to_ miss levering _as_ footman _appears_). oh, they're coming for you. don't forget your book. (footman _holds out a salver with a telegram on it for_ jean.) why, it's for me! miss l. but it's time i was--- (_crosses to table._) jean (_opening the telegram_). may i? (_reads, and glances over the paper at_ miss levering.) i've got your book. (_crosses to_ miss levering, _and, looking at the back of the volume_) dante! whereabouts are you? (_opening at the marker._) oh, the "inferno." miss l. no; i'm in a worse place. jean. i didn't know there was a worse. miss l. yes; it's worse with the vigliacchi. jean. i forget. were they guelf or ghibelline? miss l. (_smiling_). they weren't either, and that was why dante couldn't stand them. (_more gravely._) he said there was no place in heaven nor in purgatory--not even a corner in hell--for the souls who had stood aloof from strife. (_looking steadily into the girl's eyes._) he called them "wretches who never lived," dante did, because they'd never felt the pangs of partizanship. and so they wander homeless on the skirts of limbo among the abortions and off-scourings of creation. jean (_a long breath after a long look. when_ miss levering _has turned away to make her leisurely adieux_ jean's _eyes fall on the open telegram_). aunt ellen, i've got to go to london. (stonor, _re-entering, hears this, but pretends to talk to_ mr. freddy, _&c._) lady john. my dear child! mrs. h. nonsense! is your grandfather worse? jean (_folding the telegram_). no-o. i don't think so. but it's necessary i should go, all the same. mrs. h. go away when mr. stonor---jean. he said he'd have to leave directly after luncheon. lady john. i'll just see miss levering off, and then i'll come back and talk about it. lord j. (_to_ miss levering). why are you saying goodbye as if you were never coming back? miss l. (_smiling_). one never knows. maybe i shan't come back. (_to_ stonor.) goodbye. (stonor _bows ceremoniously. the others go up laughing._ stonor _comes down_.) jean (_impulsively_). there mayn't be another train! miss levering---stonor (_standing in front of her_). what if there isn't? i'll take you back in the motor. jean (_rapturously_). _will_ you? (_inadvertently drops the telegram._) i must be there by three! stonor (_picks up the telegram and a handkerchief lying near, glances at the message_). why, it's only an invitation to dine--wednesday! jean. sh! (_takes the telegram and puts it in her pocket._) stonor. oh, i see! (_lower, smiling._) it's rather dear of you to arrange our going off like that. you _are_ a clever little girl! jean. it's not that i was arranging. i want to hear those women in trafalgar square--the suffragettes. stonor (_incredulous, but smiling_). how perfectly absurd! (_looking after_ lady john.) besides, i expect she wouldn't like my carrying you off like that. jean. then she'll have to make an excuse and come too. stonor. ah, it wouldn't be quite the same---jean (_rapidly thinking it out_). we could get back here in time for dinner. (geoffrey stonor _glances down at the handkerchief still in his hand, and turns it half mechanically from corner to corner._) jean (_absent-mindedly_). mine? stonor (_hastily, without reflection_). no. (_hands it to_ miss levering _as she passes._) yours. (miss levering, _on her way to the lobby with_ lord john _seems not to notice._) jean (_takes the handkerchief to give to her, glancing down at the embroidered corner; stops_). but that's not an l! it's vi----! (geoffrey stonor _suddenly turns his back and takes up the newspaper._) lady john (_from the lobby_). come, vida, since you will go. miss l. yes; i'm coming. [_exit_ miss levering. jean. _i_ didn't know her name was vida; how did you? (stonor _stares silently over the top of his paper_.) curtain. act ii scene: _the north side of the nelson column in trafalgar square. the curtain rises on an uproar. the crowd, which momentarily increases, is composed chiefly of weedy youths and wastrel old men. there are a few decent artisans; three or four "beery" out-o'-works; three or four young women of the domestic servant or strand restaurant cashier class; one aged woman in rusty black peering with faded, wondering eyes, consulting the faces of the men and laughing nervously and apologetically from time to time; one or two quiet-looking, business-like women, thirty to forty; two middle-class men, who stare and whisper and smile. a quiet old man with a lot of unsold sunday papers under one arm stands in an attitude of rapt attention, with the free hand round his deaf ear. a brisk-looking woman of forty-five or so, wearing pince-nez, goes round with a pile of propagandist literature on her arm. many of the men smoking cigarettes--the old ones pipes. on the outskirts of this crowd, of several hundred, a couple of smart men in tall shining hats hover a few moments, single eyeglass up, and then saunter off. against the middle of the column, where it rises above the stone platform, is a great red banner, one supporting pole upheld by a grimy sandwichman, the other by a small, dirty boy of eight. if practicable only the lower portion of the banner need be seen, bearing the final words of the legend_- "votes for women!" _in immense white letters. it will be well to get, to the full, the effect of the height above the crowd of the straggling group of speakers on the pedestal platform. these are, as the curtain rises, a working-class woman who is waving her arms and talking very earnestly, her voice for the moment blurred in the uproar. she is dressed in brown serge and looks pinched and sallow. at her side is the_ chairman _urging that she be given a fair hearing._ allen trent _is a tall, slim, brown-haired man of twenty-eight, with a slight stoop, an agreeable aspect, well-bred voice, and the gleaming brown eye of the visionary. behind these two, looking on or talking among themselves, are several other carelessly dressed women; one, better turned out than the rest, is quite young, very slight and gracefully built, with round, very pink cheeks, full, scarlet lips, naturally waving brown hair, and an air of childish gravity. she looks at the unruly mob with imperturbable calm. the_ chairman's _voice is drowned._ working woman (_with lean, brown finger out and voice raised shriller now above the tumult_). i've got boys o' me own and we laugh at all sorts o' things, but i should be ashymed and so would they if ever they was to be'yve as you're doin' to-d'y. (_in laughter the noise dies._) people 'ave been sayin' this is a middle-class woman's movement. it's a libel. i'm a workin' woman myself, the wife of a working man. (_voice_: "pore devil!") i'm a poor law guardian and a---noisy young man. think of that, now--gracious me! (_laughter and interruption._) old newsvendor (_to the noisy young man near him_). oh, shut up, cawn't yer? noisy young man. not fur _you_! voice. go'ome and darn yer old man's stockens! voice. just clean yer _own_ doorstep! working woman. it's a pore sort of 'ousekeeper that leaves 'er doorstep till sunday afternoon. maybe that's when you would do _your_ doorstep. i do mine in the mornin' before you men are awake. old newsvendor. it's true, wot she says!--every word. working woman. you say we women 'ave got no business servin' on boards and thinkin' about politics. wot's _politics_? (_a derisive roar._) it's just 'ousekeepin' on a big scyle. 'oo among you workin' men 'as the most comfortable 'omes? those of you that gives yer wives yer wyges. (_loud laughter and jeers._) { that's it! voices. { wantin' our money. { lord 'igh 'ousekeeper of england. working woman. if it wus only to use fur _our_ comfort, d'ye think many o' you workin' men would be found turnin' over their wyges to their wives? no! wot's the reason thousands do--and the best and the soberest? because the workin' man knows that wot's a pound to _'im_ is twenty shillin's to 'is wife. and she'll myke every penny in every one o' them shillin's _tell_. she gets more fur _'im_ out of 'is wyges than wot 'e can! some o' you know wot the 'omes is like w'ere the men don't let the women manage. well, the poor laws and the 'ole government is just in the syme muddle because the men 'ave tried to do the national 'ousekeepin' without the women. (_roars._) but, like i told you before, it's a libel to say it's only the well-off women wot's wantin' the vote. wot about the 96,000 textile workers? wot about the yorkshire tailoresses? i can tell you wot plenty o' the poor women think about it. i'm one of them, and i can tell you we see there's reforms needed. _we ought to 'ave the vote_ (_jeers_), and we know 'ow to appreciate the other women 'oo go to prison fur tryin' to get it fur us! (_with a little final bob of emphasis and a glance over shoulder at the old woman and the young one behind her, she seems about to retire, but pauses as the murmur in the crowd grows into distinct phrases._ "they get their 'air cut free." "naow they don't, that's only us!" "silly suffragettes!" "stop at 'ome!" "'inderin' policemen--mykin' rows in the streets!") voice (_louder than the others_). they sees yer ain't fit t'ave---other voices. "ha, ha!" "shut up!" "keep quiet, cawn't yer?" (_general uproar._) chairman. you evidently don't know what had to be done by _men_ before the extension of the suffrage in '67. if it hadn't been for demonstrations of violence--- (_his voice is drowned._) working woman (_coming forward again, her shrill note rising clear_). you s'y woman's plyce is 'ome! don't you know there's a third of the women o' this country can't afford the luxury of stayin' in their 'omes? they _got_ to go out and 'elp make money to p'y the rent and keep the 'ome from bein' sold up. then there's all the women that 'aven't got even miseerable 'omes. they 'aven't got any 'omes _at all_. noisy young man. you said _you_ got one. w'y don't you stop in it? working woman. yes, that's like a man. if one o' you is all right, he thinks the rest don't matter. we women---noisy young man. the lydies! god bless 'em! (_voices drown her and the_ chairman.) old newsvendor (_to_ noisy young man). oh, take that extra 'alf pint 'ome and _sleep it off_! working woman. p'r'aps _your_ 'omes are all right. p'r'aps you aren't livin', old and young, married and single, in one room. i come from a plyce where many fam'lies 'ave to live like that if they're to go on livin' _at all_. if you don't believe me, come and let me show you! (_she spreads out her lean arms._) come with me to canning town!--come with me to bromley--come to poplar and to bow! no. you won't even _think_ about the overworked women and the underfed children and the 'ovels they live in. and you want that we shouldn't think neither---a vagrant. we'll do the thinkin'. you go 'ome and nuss the byby. working woman. i do nurse my byby! i've nursed seven. what 'ave you done for yours? p'r'aps your children never goes 'ungry, and maybe you're satisfied--though i must say i wouldn't a' thought it from the _look_ o' you. voice. oh, i s'y! working woman. but we women are not satisfied. we don't only want better things for our own children. we want better things for all. _every_ child is our child. we know in our 'earts we oughtn't to rest till we've mothered 'em every one. voice. "women"--"children"--wot about the _men_? are _they_ all 'appy? (_derisive laughter and_ "no! no!" "not precisely." "'appy? lord!") working woman. no, there's lots o' you men i'm sorry for (_shrill voice_: "thanks awfully!"), an' we'll 'elp you if you let us. voice. 'elp us? you tyke the bread out of our mouths. you women are black-leggin' the men! working woman. _w'y_ does any woman tyke less wyges than a man for the same work? only because we can't get anything better. that's part the reason w'y we're yere to-d'y. do you reely think we tyke them there low wyges because we got a _lykin'_ for low wyges? no. we're just like you. we want as much as ever we can get. ("'ear! 'ear!" _and laughter_.) we got a gryte deal to do with our wyges, we women has. we got the children to think about. and w'en we get our rights, a woman's flesh and blood won't be so much cheaper than a man's that employers can get rich on keepin' you out o' work, and sweatin' us. if you men only could see it, we got the _syme_ cause, and if you 'elped us you'd be 'elpin yerselves. voices. "rot!" "drivel." old newsvendor. true as gospel! (_she retires against the banner with the others. there is some applause._) a man (_patronisingly_). well, now, that wusn't so bad--fur a woman. another. n-naw. _not fur a woman._ chairman (_speaking through this last_). miss ernestine blunt will now address you. (_applause, chiefly ironic, laughter, a general moving closer and knitting up of attention._ ernestine blunt _is about twenty-four, but looks younger. she is very downright, not to say pugnacious--the something amusing and attractive about her is there, as it were, against her will, and the more fetching for that. she has no conventional gestures, and none of any sort at first. as she warms to her work she uses her slim hands to enforce her emphasis, but as though unconsciously. her manner of speech is less monotonous than that of the average woman-speaker, but she, too, has a fashion of leaning all her weight on the end of the sentence. she brings out the final word or two with an effort of underscoring, and makes a forward motion of the slim body as if the better to drive the last nail in. she evidently means to be immensely practical--the kind who is pleased to think she hasn't a grain of sentimentality in her composition, and whose feeling, when it does all but master her, communicates itself magnetically to others._ ) miss ernestine blunt. perhaps i'd better begin by explaining a little about our "tactics." (_cries of_ "tactics! we know!" "mykin' trouble!" "public scandal!") to make you understand what we've done, i must remind you of what others have done. perhaps you don't know that women first petitioned parliament for the franchise as long ago as 1866. voice. how do _you_ know? (_she pauses a moment, taken off her guard by the suddenness of the attack._) voice. you wasn't there! voice. that was the trouble. haw! haw! miss e. b. and the petition was presented---voice. give 'er a 'earin' now she 'as got out of 'er crydle. miss e. b.--presented to the house of commons by that great liberal, john stuart mill. (_voice_: "mill? who is he when he's at home?") bills or resolutions have been before the house on and off for the last thirty-six years. that, roughly, is our history. we found ourselves, towards the close of the year 1905, with no assurance that if we went on in the same way any girl born into the world in this generation would live to exercise the rights of citizenship, though she lived to be a hundred. so we said all this has been in vain. we must try some other way. how did the working man get the suffrage, we asked ourselves? well, we turned up the records, and we _saw_---voices. "not by scratching people's faces!" ... "disraeli give it 'em!" "dizzy? get out!" "cahnty cahncil scholarships!" "oh, lord, this education!" "chartist riots, she's thinkin' of!" (_noise in the crowd._) miss e. b. but we don't _want_ to follow such a violent example. we would much rather _not_--but if that's the only way we can make the country see we're in earnest, we are prepared to show them. voice. an' they'll show you!--give you another month 'ard. miss e. b. don't think that going to prison has any fears for us. we'd go _for life_ if by doing that we could get freedom for the rest of the women. voices. "hear, hear!" "rot!" "w'y don't the men 'elp ye to get your rights?" miss e. b. here's some one asking why the men don't help. it's partly they don't understand yet--they _will_ before we've done! (_laughter._) partly they don't understand yet what's at stake---respectable old man (_chuckling_). lord, they're a 'educatin' of us! voice. wot next? miss e. b.--and partly that the bravest man is afraid of ridicule. oh, yes; we've heard a great deal all our lives about the timidity and the sensitiveness of women. and it's true. we _are_ sensitive. but i tell you, ridicule crumples a man up. it steels a woman. we've come to know the value of ridicule. we've educated ourselves so that we welcome ridicule. we owe our sincerest thanks to the comic writers. the cartoonist is our unconscious friend. who cartoons people who are of no importance? what advertisement is so sure of being remembered? poetic young man. i admit that. miss e. b. if we didn't know it by any other sign, the comic papers would tell us _we've arrived_! but our greatest debt of gratitude we owe, to the man who called us female hooligans. (_the crowd bursts into laughter._) we aren't hooligans, but we hope the fact will be overlooked. if everybody said we were nice, well-behaved women, who'd come to hear us? _not the men._ (_roars._) men tell us it isn't womanly for us to care about politics. how do they know what's womanly? it's for women to decide that. let the men attend to being manly. it will take them all their time. voice. are we down-'earted? oh no! miss e. b. and they say it would be dreadful if we got the vote, because then we'd be pitted against men in the economic struggle. but that's come about already. do you know that out of every hundred women in this country eighty-two are wage-earning women? it used to be thought unfeminine for women to be students and to aspire to the arts--that bring fame and fortune. but nobody has ever said it was unfeminine for women to do the heavy drudgery that's badly paid. that kind of work had to be done by _some_body--and the men didn't hanker after it. oh, no. (_laughter and interruption._) a man on the outer fringe. she can _talk_--the little one can. another. oh, they can all "talk." a beery, dirty fellow of fifty. i wouldn't like to be 'er 'usban'. think o' comin' 'ome to _that_! his pal. i'd soon learn 'er! miss e. b. (_speaking through the noise_). oh, no! _let_ the women scrub and cook and wash. that's all right! but if they want to try their hand at the better paid work of the liberal professions--oh, very unfeminine indeed! then there's another thing. now i want you to listen to this, because it's _very_ important. men say if we persist in competing with them for the bigger prizes, they're dreadfully afraid we'd lose the beautiful protecting chivalry that---yes, i don't wonder you laugh. _we_ laugh. (_bending forward with lit eyes._) but the women i found at the ferry tin works working for five shillings a week--i didn't see them laughing. the beautiful chivalry of the employers of women doesn't prevent them from paying women tenpence a day for sorting coal and loading and unloading carts--doesn't prevent them from forcing women to earn bread in ways worse still. so we won't talk about chivalry. it's being over-sarcastic. we'll just let this poor ghost of chivalry go--in exchange for a little plain justice. voice. if the house of commons won't give you justice, why don't you go to the house of lords? miss e. b. what? voice. better 'urry up. case of early closin'. (_laughter. a man at the back asks the speaker something._) miss e. b. (_unable to hear_). you'll be allowed to ask any question you like at the end of the meeting. new-comer (_boy of eighteen_). oh, is it question time? i s'y, miss, 'oo killed cock robin? (_she is about to resume, but above the general noise the voice of a man at the back reaches her indistinct but insistent. she leans forward trying to catch what he says. while the indistinguishable murmur has been going on_ geoffrey stonor _has appeared on the edge of the crowd, followed by_ jean _and_ lady john _in motor veils._) jean (_pressing forward eagerly and raising her veil_). is she one of them? that little thing! stonor (_doubtfully_). i--i suppose so. jean. oh, ask some one, geoffrey. i'm so disappointed. i did so hope we'd hear one of the--the worst. miss e. b. (_to the interrupter--on the other side_). what? what do you say? (_she screws up her eyes with the effort to hear, and puts a hand up to her ear. a few indistinguishable words between her and the man._) lady john (_who has been studying the figures on the platform through her lorgnon, turns to a working man beside her_). can you tell me, my man, which are the ones that--a--that make the disturbances? working man. the one that's doing the talking--she's the disturbingest o' the lot. jean (_craning to listen_). not that nice little---working man. don't you be took in, miss. miss e. b. oh, yes--i see. there's a man over here asking---a young man. _i've_ got a question, too. are--you--married? another (_sniggering_). quick! there's yer chawnce. 'e's a bachelor. (_laughter._) miss e. b. (_goes straight on as if she had not heard_)--man asking: if the women get full citizenship, and a war is declared, will the women fight? poetic young man. no, really--no, really, now! (_the crowd_: "haw! haw!" "yes!" "yes, how about _that?_") miss e. b. (_smiling_). well, you know, some people say the whole trouble about us is that we _do_ fight. but it is only hard necessity makes us do that. we don't _want_ to fight--as men seem to--just for fighting's sake. women are for peace. voice. hear, hear. miss e. b. and when we have a share in public affairs there'll be less likelihood of war. but that's not to say women can't fight. the boer women did. the russian women face conflicts worse than any battlefield can show. (_her voice shakes a little, and the eyes fill, but she controls her emotion gallantly, and dashes on._) but we women know all that is evil, and we're for peace. our part--we're proud to remember it--our part has been to go about after you men in war-time, and--_pick up the pieces_! (_a great shout._) yes--seems funny, doesn't it? you men blow them to bits, and then we come along and put them together again. if you know anything about military nursing, you know a good deal of our work has been done in the face of danger--_but it's always been done_. old newsvendor. that's so. that's so. miss e. b. you complain that more and more we're taking away from you men the work that's always been yours. you can't any longer keep women out of the industries. the only question is upon what terms shall she continue to be in? as long as she's in on bad terms, she's not only hurting herself--she's hurting you. but if you're feeling discouraged about our competing with you, we're willing to leave you your trade in war. _let_ the men take life! we _give_ life! (_her voice is once more moved and proud._) no one will pretend ours isn't one of the dangerous trades either. i won't say any more to you now, because we've got others to speak to you, and a new woman-helper that i want you to hear. (_she retires to the sound of clapping. there's a hurried consultation between her and the_ chairman. _voices in the crowd_: "the little 'un's all right" "ernestine's a corker," &c.) jean (_looking at_ stonor _to see how he's taken it_). well? stonor (_smiling down at her_). well---jean. nothing reprehensible in what _she_ said, was there? stonor (_shrugs_). oh, reprehensible! jean. it makes me rather miserable all the same. stonor (_draws her hand protectingly through his arm_). you mustn't take it as much to heart as all that. jean. i can't help it--i can't indeed, geoffrey. i shall _never_ be able to make a speech like that! stonor (_taken aback_). i hope not, indeed. jean. why, i thought you said you wanted me----? stonor (_smiling_). to make nice little speeches with composure--so i did! so i---(_seems to lose his thread as he looks at her._) jean (_with a little frown_). you _said_---stonor. that you have very pink cheeks? well, i stick to that. jean (_smiling_). sh! don't tell everybody. stonor. and you're the only female creature i ever saw who didn't look a fright in motor things. jean (_melted and smiling_). i'm glad you don't think me a fright. chairman. i will now ask (_name indistinguishable_) to address the meeting. jean (_as she sees_ lady john _moving to one side_). oh, don't go yet, aunt ellen! lady john. go? certainly not. i want to hear another. (_craning her neck._) i can't believe, you know, she was really one of the worst. (_a big, sallow cockney has come forward. his scanty hair grows in wisps on a great bony skull._) voice. that's pilcher. another. 'oo's pilcher? another. if you can't afford a bottle of tatcho, w'y don't you get yer 'air cut. mr. p. (_not in the least discomposed_). i've been addressin' a big meetin' at 'ammersmith this morning, and w'en i told 'em i wus comin' 'ere this awfternoon to speak fur the women--well--then the usual thing began! (_an appreciative roar from the crowd._) in these times if you want peace and quiet at a public meetin'--- (_the crowd fills in the hiatus with laughter._) there was a man at 'ammersmith, too, talkin' about women's sphere bein' 'ome. _'ome_ do you call it? you've got a kennel w'ere you can munch your tommy. you've got a corner w'ere you can curl up fur a few hours till you go out to work again. no, my man, there's too many of you ain't able to _give_ the women 'omes--fit to live in, too many of you in that fix fur you to go on jawin' at those o' the women 'oo want to myke the 'omes a little decenter. voice. if the vote ain't done us any good, 'ow'll it do the women any good? mr. p. look 'ere! any men here belongin' to the labour party? (_shouts and applause._) well, i don't need to tell these men the vote 'as done us _some_ good. they know it. and it'll do us a lot more good w'en you know 'ow to use the power you got in your 'and. voice. power! it's those fellers at the bottom o' the street that's got the power. mr. p. it's you, and men like you, that gave it to 'em. you carried the liberals into parliament street on your own shoulders. (_complacent applause._) you believed all their fine words. you never asked yourselves, "_wot's a liberal, anyw'y?_" a voice. he's a jolly good fellow. (_cheers and booing._) mr. p. no, 'e ain't, or if 'e is jolly, it's only because 'e thinks you're such silly codfish you'll go swellin' his majority again. (_laughter, in which_ stonor _joins._) it's enough to make any liberal jolly to see sheep like you lookin' on, proud and 'appy, while you see liberal leaders desertin' liberal principles. (_voices in agreement and protest._) you show me a liberal, and i'll show you a mr. fycing-both-w'ys. yuss. (stonor _moves closer with an amused look._) 'e sheds the light of 'is warm and 'andsome smile on the working man, and round on the other side 'e's tippin' a wink to the great land-owners. that's to let 'em know 'e's standin' between them and the socialists. huh! socialists. yuss, _socialists_! (_general laughter, in which_ stonor _joins._) the liberal, e's the judicial sort o' chap that sits in the middle---voice. on the fence! mr. p. tories one side--socialists the other. well it ain't always so comfortable in the middle. you're like to get squeezed. now, i s'y to the women, the conservatives don't promise you much but what they promise they _do_! stonor (_to_ jean). this fellow isn't half bad. mr. p. the liberals--they'll promise you the earth, and give yer ... the whole o' nothing. (_roars of approval._) jean. _isn't_ it fun? now, aren't you glad i brought you? stonor (_laughing_). this chap's rather amusing! mr. p. we men 'ave seen it 'appen over and over. but the women can tyke a 'int quicker'n what we can. they won't stand the nonsense men do. only they 'aven't got a fair chawnce even to agitate fur their rights. as i wus comin' up 'ere i 'eard a man sayin', "look at this big crowd. w'y, we're all _men_! if the women want the vote w'y ain't they 'ere to s'y so?" well, i'll tell you w'y. it's because they've 'ad to get the dinner fur you and me, and now they're washin' up the dishes. a voice. d'you think _we_ ought to st'y 'ome and wash the dishes? mr. p. (_laughs good-naturedly_). if they'd leave it to us once or twice per'aps we'd understand a little more about the woman question. i know w'y _my_ wife isn't here. it's because she _knows_ i ain't much use round the 'ouse, and she's 'opin' i can talk to some purpose. maybe she's mistaken. any'ow, here i am to vote for her and all the other women. ("_hear! hear!_" "_oh-h!_") and to tell you men what improvements you can expect to see when women 'as the share in public affairs they _ought_ to 'ave! voice. what do you know about it? you can't even talk grammar. mr. p. (_is dashed a fraction of a moment, for the first and only time_). i'm not 'ere to talk grammar but to talk reform. i ain't defendin' my grammar--but i'll say in pawssing that if my mother 'ad 'ad 'er rights, maybe my grammar would have been better. (stonor _and_ jean _exchange smiles. he takes her arm again and bends his head to whisper something in her ear. she listens with lowered eyes and happy face. the discreet love-making goes on during the next few sentences. interruption. one voice insistent but not clear. the speaker waits only a second and then resumes. "yes, if the women" but he cannot instantly make himself heard. the boyish_ chairman _looks harassed and anxious._ miss ernestine blunt _alert, watchful._) mr. p. wait a bit--'arf a minute, my man! voice. 'oo yer talkin' to? i ain't your man. mr. p. lucky for me! there seems to be a _gentleman_ 'ere who doesn't think women ought to 'ave the vote. voice. _one?_ oh-h! (_laughter._) mr. p. per'aps 'e doesn't know much about women? (_indistinguishable repartee._) oh, the gentleman says 'e's married. well, then, fur the syke of 'is wife we musn't be too sorry 'e's 'ere. no doubt she's s'ying: "'eaven by prysed those women are mykin' a demonstrytion in trafalgar square, and i'll 'ave a little peace and quiet at 'ome for one sunday in my life." (_the crowd laughs and there are jeers for the interrupter--and at the speaker._) (_pointing._) why, _you're_ like the man at 'ammersmith this morning. 'e was awskin' me: "'ow would you like men to st'y at 'ome and do the fam'ly washin'?" (_laughter._) i told 'im i wouldn't advise it. i 'ave too much respect fur--me clo'es. vagrant. it's their place--the women ought to do the washin'. mr. p. i'm not sure you ain't right. for a good many o' you fellas, from the look o' you--you cawn't even wash yerselves. (_laughter._) voice (_threatening_). 'oo are you talkin' to? (_chairman more anxious than before--movement in the crowd._) threatening voice. which of us d'you mean? mr. p. (_coolly looking down_). well, it takes about ten of your sort to myke a man, so you may take it i mean the lot of you. (_angry indistinguishable retorts and the crowd sways._ miss ernestine blunt, _who has been watching the fray with serious face, turns suddenly, catching sight of some one just arrived at the end of the platform._ miss blunt _goes_ r. _with alacrity, saying audibly to_ pilcher _as she passes, "here she is," and proceeds to offer her hand helping some one to get up the improvised steps. laughter and interruption in the crowd._) lady john. now, there's another woman going to speak. jean. oh, is she? who? which? i do hope she'll be one of the wild ones. mr. p. (_speaking through this last. glancing at the new arrival whose hat appears above the platform_ r.). that's all right, then. (_turns to the left._) when i've attended to this microbe that's vitiating the air on my right--- (_laughter and interruptions from the crowd._) stonor (_staring_ r., _one dazed instant, at the face of the new arrival, his own changes_). (jean _withdraws her arm from his and quite suddenly presses a shade nearer the platform._ stonor _moves forward and takes her by the arm._) we're going now. jean. not yet--oh, please not yet. (_breathless, looking back._) why i--i do believe---stonor (_to_ lady john, _with decision_). i'm going to take jean out of this mob. will you come? lady john. what? oh yes, if you think---(_another look through her glasses._) but isn't that--_surely_ its----!!! (vida levering _comes forward_ r. _she wears a long, plain, dark green dust-cloak. stands talking to_ ernestine blunt _and glancing a little apprehensively at the crowd._) jean. geoffrey! stonor (_trying to draw_ jean _away_). lady john's tired---jean. but you don't see who it is, geoffrey----! (_looks into his face, and is arrested by the look she finds there._) (lady john _has pushed in front of them amazed, transfixed, with glass up._ geoffrey stonor _restrains a gesture of annoyance, and withdraws behind two big policemen._ jean _from time to time turns to look at him with a face of perplexity._) mr. p. (_resuming through a fire of indistinct interruption_). i'll come down and attend to that microbe while a lady will say a few words to you (_raises his voice_)--if she can myke 'erself 'eard. (pilcher _retires in the midst of booing and cheers._) chairman (_harassed and trying to create a diversion_). some one suggests--and it's such a good idea i'd like you to listen to it- (_noise dies down._) that a clause shall be inserted in the next suffrage bill that shall expressly reserve to each cabinet minister, and to any respectable man, the power to prevent the franchise being given to the female members of his family on his public declaration of their lack of sufficient intelligence to entitle them to vote. voices. oh! oh! chairman. now, i ask you to listen, as quietly as you can, to a lady who is not accustomed to speaking--a--in trafalgar square--or a ... as a matter of fact, at all. voices. "a dumb lady." "hooray!" "three cheers for the dumb lady!" chairman. a lady who, as i've said, will tell you, if you'll behave yourselves, her impressions of the administration of police-court justice in this country. (jean _looks wondering at_ stonor's _sphinx-like face as_ vida levering _comes to the edge of the platform._) miss l. mr. chairman, men and women---voices (_off_). speak up. (_she flushes, comes quite to the edge of the platform and raises her voice a little._) miss l. i just wanted to tell you that i was--i was--present in the police-court when the women were charged for creating a disturbance. voice. y' oughtn't t' get mixed up in wot didn't concern you. miss l. i--i---(_stumbles and stops._) (_talking and laughing increases._ "wot's 'er name?" "mrs. or miss?" "ain't seen this one before.") chairman (_anxiously_). now, see here, men; don't interrupt---a girl (_shrilly_). i like this one's _'at_. ye can see she ain't one of 'em. miss l. (_trying to recommence_). i---voice. they're a disgrace--them women be'ind yer. a man with a fatherly air. it's the w'y they goes on as mykes the government keep ye from gettin' yer rights. chairman (_losing his temper_). it's the way _you_ go on that--- (_noise increases._ chairman _drowned, waves his arms and moves his lips._ miss levering _discouraged, turns and looks at_ ernestine blunt _and pantomimes "it's no good. i can't go on."_ ernestine blunt _comes forward, says a word to the_ chairman, _who ceases gyrating, and nods._) miss e. b. (_facing the crowd_). look here. if the government withhold the vote because they don't like the way some of us ask for it--_let them give it to the quiet ones_. does the government want to punish _all_ women because they don't like the manners of a handful? perhaps that's you men's notion of justice. it isn't women's. voices. haw! haw! miss l. yes. th-this is the first time i've ever "gone on," as you call it, but they never gave me a vote. miss e. b. (_with energy_). no! and there are one--two--three--four women on this platform. now, we all want the vote, as you know. well, we'd agree to be disfranchised all our lives, if they'd give the vote to all the other women. voice. look here, you made one speech, give the lady a chawnce. miss e. b. (_retires smiling_). that's _just_ what i wanted _you_ to do! miss l. perhaps you--you don't know--you don't know---voice (_sarcastic_). 'ow 're we goin' to know if you can't tell us? miss l. (_flushing and smiling_). thank you for that. we couldn't have a better motto. how _are_ you to know if we can't somehow manage to tell you? (_with a visible effort she goes on._) well, i certainly didn't know before that the sergeants and policemen are instructed to deceive the people as to the time such cases are heard. you ask, and you're sent to marlborough police court instead of to marylebone. voice. they ought ter sent yer to 'olloway--do y' good. old newsvendor. you go on, miss, don't mind 'im. voice. wot d'you expect from a pig but a grunt? miss l. you're told the case will be at two o'clock, and it's really called for eleven. well, i took a great deal of trouble, and i didn't believe what i was told- (_warming a little to her task._) yes, that's almost the first thing we have to learn--to get over our touching faith that, because a man tells us something, it's true. i got to the right court, and i was so anxious not to be late, i was too early. the case before the women's was just coming on. i heard a noise. at the door i saw the helmets of two policemen, and i said to myself: "what sort of crime shall i have to sit and hear about? is this a burglar coming along between the two big policemen, or will it be a murderer? what sort of felon is to stand in the dock before the women whose crime is they ask for the vote?" but, try as i would, i couldn't see the prisoner. my heart misgave me. is it a woman, i wondered? then the policemen got nearer, and i saw--(_she waits an instant_)--a little, thin, half-starved boy. what do you think he was charged with? stealing. what had he been stealing--that small criminal? _milk._ it seemed to me as i sat there looking on, that the men who had the affairs of the world in their hands from the beginning, and who've made so poor a business of it---voices. oh! oh! pore benighted man! are we down-'earted? _oh_, no! miss l.--so poor a business of it as to have the poor and the unemployed in the condition they're in to-day--when your only remedy for a starving child is to hale him off to the police-court--because he had managed to get a little milk--well, i _did_ wonder that the men refuse to be helped with a problem they've so notoriously failed at. i began to say to myself: "isn't it time the women lent a hand?" a voice. would you have women magistrates? (_she is stumped by the suddenness of the demand._) voices. haw! haw! magistrates! another. women! let 'em prove first they deserve---a shabby art student (_his hair longish, soft hat, and flowing tie_). they study music by thousands; where's their beethoven? where's their plato? where's the woman shakespeare? another. yes--what 'a' they ever _done_? (_the speaker clenches her hands, and is recovering her presence of mind, so that by the time the_ chairman _can make himself heard with, "now men, give this lady a fair hearing--don't interrupt"--she, with the slightest of gestures, waves him aside with a low "it's all right."_) miss l. (_steadying and raising her voice_). these questions are quite proper! they are often asked elsewhere; and i would like to ask in return: since when was human society held to exist for its handful of geniuses? how many platos are there here in this crowd? a voice (_very loud and shrill_). divil a wan! (_laughter._) miss l. not one. yet that doesn't keep you men off the register. how many shakespeares are there in all england to-day? not one. yet the state doesn't tumble to pieces. railroads and ships are built--homes are kept going, and babies are born. the world goes on! (_bending over the crowd_) it goes on _by virtue of its common people_. voices (_subdued_). hear! hear! miss l. i am not concerned that you should think we women can paint great pictures, or compose immortal music, or write good books. i am content that we should be classed with the common people--who keep the world going. but (_straightening up and taking a fresh start_), i'd like the world to go a great deal better. we were talking about justice. i have been inquiring into the kind of lodging the poorest class of homeless women can get in this town of london. i find that only the men of that class are provided for. some measure to establish rowton houses for women has been before the london county council. they looked into the question "very carefully," so their apologists say. and what did they decide? they decided that _they could do nothing_. lady john (_having forced her way to_ stonor's _side_). is that true? stonor (_speaking through_ miss levering's _next words_). i don't know. miss l. why could that great, all-powerful body do nothing? because, if these cheap and decent houses were opened, they said, the homeless women in the streets would make use of them! you'll think i'm not in earnest. but that was actually the decision and the reason given for it. women that the bitter struggle for existence has forced into a life of horror---stonor (_sternly to_ lady john). you think this is the kind of thing---(_a motion of the head towards_ jean.) miss l.--the outcast women might take advantage of the shelter these decent, cheap places offered. but the _men_, i said! are all who avail themselves of lord rowton's hostels, are _they_ all angels? or does wrong-doing in a man not matter? yet women are recommended to depend on the chivalry of men. (_the two policemen, who at first had been strolling about, have stood during this scene in front of_ geoffrey stonor. _they turn now and walk away, leaving_ stonor _exposed. he, embarrassed, moves uneasily, and_ vida levering's _eye falls upon his big figure. he still has the collar of his motor coat turned up to his ears. a change passes over her face, and her nerve fails her an instant._) miss l. justice and chivalry!! (_she steadies her voice and hurries on_)--they both remind me of what those of you who read the police-court news--(i have begun only lately to do that)--but you've seen the accounts of the girl who's been tried in manchester lately for the murder of her child. not pleasant reading. even if we'd noticed it, we wouldn't speak of it in my world. a few months ago i should have turned away my eyes and forgotten even the headline as quickly as i could. but since that morning in the police-court, i read these things. this, as you'll remember, was about a little working girl--an orphan of eighteen--who crawled with the dead body of her new-born child to her master's back-door, and left the baby there. she dragged herself a little way off and fainted. a few days later she found herself in court, being tried for the murder of her child. her master--a married man--had of course reported the "find" at his back-door to the police, and he had been summoned to give evidence. the girl cried out to him in the open court, "you are the father!" he couldn't deny it. the coroner at the jury's request censured the man, and regretted that the law didn't make him responsible. but he went scot-free. and that girl is now serving her sentence in strangeways gaol. (_murmuring and scraps of indistinguishable comment in the crowd, through which only_ jean's _voice is clear._) jean (_who has wormed her way to_ stonor's _side_). why do you dislike her so? stonor. i? why should you think---jean (_with a vaguely frightened air_). i never saw you look as you did--as you do. chairman. order, please--give the lady a fair---miss l. (_signing to him "it's all right"_). men make boast that an english citizen is tried by his peers. what woman is tried by hers? (_a sombre passion strengthens her voice and hurries her on._) a woman is arrested by a man, brought before a man judge, tried by a jury of men, condemned by men, taken to prison by a man, and by a man she's hanged! where in all this were _her_ "peers"? why did men so long ago insist on trial by "a jury of their peers"? so that justice shouldn't miscarry--wasn't it? a man's peers would best understand his circumstances, his temptation, the degree of his guilt. yet there's no such unlikeness between different classes of men as exists between man and woman. what man has the knowledge that makes him a fit judge of woman's deeds at that time of anguish--that hour--(_lowers her voice and bends over the crowd_)--that hour that some woman struggled through to put each man here into the world. i noticed when a previous speaker quoted the labour party you applauded. some of you here--i gather--call yourselves labour men. every woman who has borne a child is a labour woman. no man among you can judge what she goes through in her hour of darkness---jean (_with frightened eyes on her lover's set, white face, whispers_). geoffrey---miss l. (_catching her fluttering breath, goes on very low_.)--in that great agony when, even under the best conditions that money and devotion can buy, many a woman falls into temporary mania, and not a few go down to death. in the case of this poor little abandoned working girl, what man can be the fit judge of her deeds in that awful moment of half-crazed temptation? women know of these things as those know burning who have walked through fire. (stonor _makes a motion towards_ jean _and she turns away fronting the audience. her hands go up to her throat as though she suffered a choking sensation. it is in her face that she "knows."_ miss levering _leans over the platform and speaks with a low and thrilling earnestness._) i would say in conclusion to the women here, it's not enough to be sorry for these our unfortunate sisters. we must get the conditions of life made fairer. we women must organise. we must learn to work together. we have all (rich and poor, happy and unhappy) worked so long and so exclusively for _men_, we hardly know how to work for one another. but we must learn. those who can, may give money---voices (_grumbling_). oh, yes--money! money! miss l. those who haven't pennies to give--even those people aren't so poor they can't give some part of their labour--some share of their sympathy and support. (_turns to hear something the_ chairman _is whispering to her._) jean (_low to_ lady john). oh, i'm glad i've got power! lady john (_bewildered_). power!--_you?_ jean. yes, all that money--- (lady john _tries to make her way to_ stonor.) miss l. (_suddenly turning from the_ chairman _to the crowd_). oh, yes, i hope you'll all join the union. come up after the meeting and give your names. loud voice. you won't get many men. miss l. (_with fire_). then it's to the women i appeal! (_she is about to retire when, with a sudden gleam in her lit eyes, she turns for the last time to the crowd, silencing the general murmur and holding the people by the sudden concentration of passion in her face._) i don't mean to say it wouldn't be better if men and women did this work together--shoulder to shoulder. but the mass of men won't have it so. i only hope they'll realise in time the good they've renounced and the spirit they've aroused. for i know as well as any man could tell me, it would be a bad day for england if all women felt about all men _as i do_. (_she retires in a tumult. the others on the platform close about her. the_ chairman _tries in vain to get a hearing from the excited crowd._) (jean _tries to make her way through the knot of people surging round her._) stonor (_calls_). here!--follow me! jean. no--no--i---stonor. you're going the wrong way. jean. _this_ is the way i must go. stonor. you can get out quicker on this side. jean. i don't _want_ to get out. stonor. what! where are you going? jean. to ask that woman to let me have the honour of working with her. (_she disappears in the crowd._) curtain. act iii scene: _the drawing-room at old_ mr. dunbarton's _house in eaton square. six o'clock the same evening. as the curtain rises the door_ (l.) _opens and_ jean _appears on the threshold. she looks back into her own sitting-room, then crosses the drawing-room, treading softly on the parquet spaces between the rugs. she goes to the window and is in the act of parting the lace curtains when the folding doors_ (c.) _are opened by the_ butler. jean (_to the servant_). sh! (_she goes softly back to the door she has left open and closes it carefully. when she turns, the_ butler _has stepped aside to admit_ geoffrey stonor, _and departed, shutting the folding doors._ stonor _comes rapidly forward._) (_before he gets a word out._) speak low, please. stonor (_angrily_). i waited about a whole hour for you to come back. (jean _turns away as though vaguely looking for the nearest chair._) if you didn't mind leaving _me_ like that, you might have considered lady john. jean (_pausing_). is she here with you? stonor. no. my place was nearer than this, and she was very tired. i left her to get some tea. we couldn't tell whether you'd be here, or _what_ had become of you. jean. mr. trent got us a hansom. stonor. trent? jean. the chairman of the meeting. stonor. "got us----"? jean. miss levering and me. stonor (_incensed_). miss l---butler (_opens the door and announces_). mr. farnborough. (_enter_ mr. richard farnborough--_more flurried than ever._) farn. (_seeing_ stonor). at last! you'll forgive this incursion, miss dunbarton, when you hear---(_turns abruptly back to_ stonor.) they've been telegraphing you all over london. in despair they set me on your track. stonor. who did? what's up? farn. (_lays down his hat and fumbles agitatedly in his breast-pocket_). there was the devil to pay at dutfield last night. the liberal chap tore down from london and took over your meeting! stonor. oh?--nothing about it in the sunday paper _i_ saw. farn. wait till you see the press to-morrow morning! there was a great rally and the beggar made a rousing speech. stonor. what about? farn. abolition of the upper house---stonor. they were at that when i was at eton! farn. yes. but this new man has got a way of putting things!--the people went mad. (_pompously._) the liberal platform as defined at dutfield is going to make a big difference. stonor (_drily_). you think so. farn. well, your agent says as much. (_opens telegram._) stonor. my---(_taking telegram._) "try find stonor"--hm! hm! farn. (_pointing_).--"tremendous effect of last night's liberal manifesto ought to be counteracted in to-morrow's papers." (_very earnestly._) you see, mr. stonor, it's a battle-cry we want. stonor (_turns on his heel_). claptrap! farn. (_a little dashed_). well, they've been saying we have nothing to offer but personal popularity. no practical reform. no---stonor. no truckling to the masses, i suppose. (_walks impatiently away._) farn. (_snubbed_). well, in these democratic days---(_turns to_ jean _for countenance._) i hope you'll forgive my bursting in like this. (_struck by her face._) but i can see you realise the gravity---(_lowering his voice with an air of speaking for her ear alone._) it isn't as if he were going to be a mere private member. everybody knows he'll be in the cabinet. stonor (_drily_). it may be a liberal cabinet. farn. nobody thought so up to last night. why, even your brother--but i am afraid i'm seeming officious. (_takes up his hat._) stonor (_coldly_). what about my brother? farn. i met lord windlesham as i rushed out of the carlton. stonor. did he say anything? farn. i told him the dutfield news. stonor (_impatiently_). well? farn. he said it only confirmed his fears. stonor (_half under his breath_). said that, did he? farn. yes. defeat is inevitable, he thinks, unless---(_pause._) (geoffrey stonor, _who has been pacing the floor, stops but doesn't raise his eyes._) unless you can "manufacture some political dynamite within the next few hours." those were his words. stonor (_resumes his walking to and fro, raises his head and catches sight of_ jean's _white, drawn face. stops short_). you are very tired. jean. no. no. stonor (_to_ farnborough). i'm obliged to you for taking so much trouble. (_shakes hands by way of dismissing farnborough._) i'll see what can be done. farn. (_offering the reply-paid form_). if you'd like to wire i'll take it. stonor (_faintly amused_). you don't understand, my young friend. moves of this kind are not rushed at by responsible politicians. i must have time for consideration. farn. (_disappointed_). oh, well, i only hope someone else won't jump into the breach before you--(_watch in hand_) i tell you. (_to_ jean.) i'll find out what time the newspapers go to press on sunday. goodbye. (_to_ stonor.) i'll be at the club just _in case_ i can be of any use. stonor (_firmly_). no, don't do that. if i should have anything new to say---farn. (_feverishly_). b-b-but with our party, as your brother said--"heading straight for a vast electoral disaster----" stonor. if i decide on a counterblast i shall simply telegraph to headquarters. goodbye. farn. oh--a--g-goodbye. (_a gesture of "the country's going to the dogs."_) (jean _rings the bell. exit_ farnborough.) stonor (_studying the carpet_). "political dynamite," eh? (_pause._) after all ... women are much more conservative than men--aren't they? (jean _looks straight in front of her, making no attempt to reply._) especially the women the property qualification would bring in. (_he glances at_ jean _as though for the first time conscious of her silence._) you see now (_he throws himself into the chair by the table_) one reason why i've encouraged you to take an interest in public affairs. because people like us don't go screaming about it, is no sign we don't (some of us) see what's on the way. however little they want to, women of our class will have to come into line. all the best things in the world--everything that civilisation has won will be in danger if--when this change comes--the only women who have practical political training are the women of the lower classes. women of the lower classes, and (_his brows knit heavily_)--women inoculated by the socialist virus. jean. geoffrey. stonor (_draws the telegraph form towards him_). let us see, how we shall put it--when the time comes--shall we? (_he detaches a pencil from his watch chain and bends over the paper, writing._) (jean _opens her lips to speak, moves a shade nearer the table and then falls back upon her silent, half-incredulous misery._) stonor (_holds the paper off, smiling_). enough dynamite in that! rather too much, isn't there, little girl? jean. geoffrey, i know her story. stonor. whose story? jean. miss levering's. stonor. _whose?_ jean. vida levering's. (stonor _stares speechless. slight pause._) (_the words escaping from her in a miserable cry_) why did you desert her? stonor (_staggered_). i? _i?_ jean. oh, why did you do it? stonor (_bewildered_). what in the name of---what has she been saying to you? jean. some one else told me part. then the way you looked when you saw her at aunt ellen's--miss levering's saying you didn't know her--then your letting out that you knew even the curious name on the handkerchief---oh, i pieced it together---stonor (_with recovered self-possession_). your ingenuity is undeniable! jean.--and then, when she said that at the meeting about "the dark hour" and i looked at your face--it flashed over me---oh, _why_ did you desert her? stonor. i _didn't_ desert her. jean. ah-h! (_puts her hands before her eyes._) (stonor _makes a passionate motion towards her, is checked by her muffled voice saying_) i'm glad--i'm glad! (_he stares bewildered._ jean _drops her hands in her lap and steadies her voice._) she went away from you, then? stonor. you don't expect me to enter into---jean. she went away from you? stonor (_with a look of almost uncontrollable anger_). yes! jean. was that because you wouldn't marry her? stonor. i couldn't marry her--and she knew it. jean. did you want to? stonor (_an instant's angry scrutiny and then turning away his eyes_). i thought i did--_then_. it's a long time ago. jean. and why "couldn't" you? stonor (_a movement of strong irritation cut short_). why are you catechising me? it's a matter that concerns another woman. jean. if you're saying that it doesn't concern me, you're saying--(_her lip trembles_)--that _you_ don't concern me. stonor (_commanding his temper with difficulty_). in those days i--i was absolutely dependent on my father. jean. why, you must have been thirty, geoffrey. stonor (_slight pause_). what? oh--thereabouts. jean. and everybody says you're so clever. stonor. well, everybody's mistaken. jean (_drawing nearer_). it must have been terribly hard--- (stonor _turns towards her._) for you both- (_he arrests his movement and stands stonily._) that a man like you shouldn't have had the freedom that even the lowest seem to have. stonor. freedom? jean. to marry the woman they choose. stonor. she didn't break off our relations because i couldn't marry her. jean. why was it, then? stonor. you're too young to discuss such a story. (_half turns away._) jean. i'm not so young as she was when---stonor (_wheeling upon her_). very well, then, if you will have it! the truth is, it didn't seem to weigh upon her, as it seems to on you, that i wasn't able to marry her. jean. why are you so sure of that? stonor. because she didn't so much as hint such a thing when she wrote that she meant to break off the--the---jean. what made her write like that? stonor (_with suppressed rage_). why _will_ you go on talking of what's so long over and ended? jean. what reason did she give? stonor. if your curiosity has so got the upper hand--_ask her_. jean (_her eyes upon him_). you're afraid to tell me. stonor (_putting pressure on himself to answer quietly_). i still hoped--at _that_ time--to win my father over. she blamed me because (_goes to window and looks blindly out and speaks in a low tone_) if the child had lived it wouldn't have been possible to get my father to--to overlook it. jean (_faintly_). you wanted it _overlooked_? i don't underst---stonor (_turning passionately back to her_). of course you don't. (_he seizes her hand and tries to draw her to him._) if you did, you wouldn't be the beautiful, tender, innocent child you are---jean (_has withdrawn her hand and shrunk from him with an impulse--slight as is its expression--so tragically eloquent, that fear for the first time catches hold of him_). i am glad you didn't mean to desert her, geoffrey. it wasn't your fault after all--only some misunderstanding that can be cleared up. stonor. _cleared up?_ jean. yes. cleared up. stonor (_aghast_). you aren't thinking that this miserable old affair i'd as good as forgotten---jean (_in a horror-struck whisper, with a glance at the door which he doesn't see_). _forgotten!_ stonor. no, no. i don't mean exactly forgotten. but you're torturing me so i don't know what i'm saying. (_he goes closer._) you aren't--jean! you--you aren't going to let it come between you and me! jean (_presses her handkerchief to her lips, and then, taking it away, answers steadily_). i can't make or unmake what's past. but i'm glad, at least, that you didn't _mean_ to desert her in her trouble. you'll remind her of that first of all, won't you? (_moves to the door_, l.) stonor. where are you going? (_raising his voice._) why should i remind anybody of what i want only to forget? jean (_finger on lip_). sh! stonor (_with eyes on the door_). you don't mean that _she's_---jean. yes. i left her to get a little rest. (_he recoils in an access of uncontrollable rage. she follows him. speechless, he goes down_ r. _to get his hat._) geoffrey, don't go before you hear me. i don't know if what i think matters to you now--but i hope it does. (_with tears._) you can still make me think of you without shrinking--if you will. stonor (_fixes her a moment with his eyes. then sternly_). what is it you are asking of me? jean. to make amends, geoffrey. stonor (_with an outburst_). you poor little innocent! jean. i'm poor enough. but (_locking her hands together_) i'm not so innocent but what i know you must right that old wrong now, if you're ever to right it. stonor. you aren't insane enough to think i would turn round in these few hours and go back to something that ten years ago was ended for ever! why, it's stark, staring madness! jean. no. (_catching on his arm._) what you did ten years ago--_that_ was mad. this is paying a debt. stonor. look here, jean, you're dreadfully wrought up and excited--tired too---jean. no, not tired--though i've travelled so far to-day. i know you smile at sudden conversions. you think they're hysterical--worse--vulgar. but people must get their revelation how they can. and, geoffrey, if i can't make you see this one of mine--i shall know your love could never mean strength to me. only weakness. and i shall be afraid. so afraid i'll never dare to give you the _chance_ of making me loathe myself. i shall never see you again. stonor. how right _i_ was to be afraid of that vein of fanaticism in you. (_moves towards the door._) jean. certainly you couldn't make a greater mistake than to go away now and think it any good ever to come back. (_he turns._) even if i came to feel different, i couldn't _do_ anything different. i should know all this couldn't be forgotten. i should know that it would poison my life in the end. yours too. stonor (_with suppressed fury_). she has made good use of her time! (_with a sudden thought._) what has changed her? has _she_ been seeing visions too? jean. what do you mean? stonor. why is she intriguing to get hold of a man that, ten years ago, she flatly refused to see, or hold any communication with? jean. "intriguing to get hold of?" she hasn't mentioned you! stonor. _what!_ then how in the name of heaven do you know--that she wants--what you ask? jean (_firmly_). there can't be any doubt about that. stonor (_with immense relief_). you absurd, ridiculous child! then all this is just your own unaided invention. well--i could thank god! (_falls into the nearest chair and passes his handkerchief over his face._) jean (_perplexed, uneasy_). for what are you thanking god? stonor (_trying to think out his plan of action_). suppose--(i'm not going to risk it)--but suppose--(_he looks up and at the sight of_ jean's _face a new tenderness comes into his own. he rises suddenly._) whether i deserve to suffer or not--it's quite certain _you_ don't. don't cry, dear one. it never was the real thing. i had to wait till i knew you before i understood. jean (_lifts her eyes brimming_). oh, is that true? (_checks her movement towards him._) loving you has made things clear to me i didn't dream of before. if i could think that because of me you were able to do this---stonor (_seizes her by the shoulders and says hoarsely_). look here! do you seriously ask me to give up the girl i love--to go and offer to marry a woman that even to think of---jean. you cared for her once. you'll care about her again. she is beautiful and brilliant--everything. i've heard she could win any man she set herself to---stonor (_pushing_ jean _from him_). she's bewitched you! jean. geoffrey, geoffrey, you aren't going away like that. this isn't _the end_! stonor (_darkly--hesitating_). i suppose even if she refused me, you'd---jean. she won't refuse you. stonor. she did once. jean. she didn't refuse to _marry_ you--- (jean _is going to the door_ l.) stonor (_catches her by the arm_). wait!--a---(_hunting for some means of gaining time._) lady john is waiting all this while for the car to go back with a message. jean. _that's_ not a matter of life and death---stonor. all the same--i'll go down and give the order. jean (_stopping quite still on a sudden_). very well. (_sits_ c.) you'll come back if you're the man i pray you are. (_breaks into a flood of silent tears, her elbows on the table_ (c.) _her face in her hands._) stonor (_returns, bends over her, about to take her in his arms_). dearest of all the world--- (_door_ l. _opens softly and_ vida levering _appears. she is arrested at sight of_ stonor, _and is in the act of drawing back when, upon the slight noise_, stonor _looks round. his face darkens, he stands staring at her and then with a look of speechless anger goes silently out_ c. jean, _hearing him shut the door, drops her head on the table with a sob._ vida levering _crosses slowly to her and stands a moment silent at the girl's side._) miss l. what is the matter? jean (_lifting her head and drying her eyes_). i--i've been seeing geoffrey. miss l. (_with an attempt at lightness_). is this the effect seeing geoffrey has? jean. you see, i know now (_as_ miss levering _looks quite uncomprehending_)--how he (_drops her eyes_)--how he spoiled some one else's life. miss l. (_quickly_). who tells you that? jean. several people have told me. miss l. well, you should be very careful how you believe what you hear. jean (_passionately_). you _know_ it's true. miss l. i know that it's possible to be mistaken. jean. i see! you're trying to shield him---miss l. why should i--what is it to me? jean (_with tears_). oh--h, how you must love him! miss l. listen to me---jean (_rising_). what's the use of your going on denying it? (miss levering, _about to break in, is silenced._) _geoffrey doesn't._ (jean, _struggling to command her feelings, goes to window._ vida levering _relinquishes an impulse to follow, and sits left centre._ jean _comes slowly back with her eyes bent on the floor, does not lift them till she is quite near_ vida. _then the girl's self-absorbed face changes._) oh, don't look like that! i shall bring him back to you! (_drops on her knees beside the other's chair._) miss l. you would be impertinent (_softening_) if you weren't a romantic child. you can't bring him back. jean. yes, he---miss l. but there's something you _can_ do---jean. what? miss l. bring him to the point where he recognises that he's in our debt. jean. in _our_ debt? miss l. in debt to women. he can't repay the one he robbed---jean (_wincing and rising from her knees_). yes, yes. miss l. (_sternly_). no, he can't repay the dead. but there are the living. there are the thousands with hope still in their hearts and youth in their blood. let him help _them_. let him be a friend to women. jean (_rising on a wave of enthusiasm_). yes, yes--i understand. that too! (_the door opens. as_ stonor _enters with_ lady john, _he makes a slight gesture towards the two as much as to say, "you see."_) jean (_catching sight of him_). thank you! lady john (_in a clear, commonplace tone to_ jean). well, you rather gave us the slip. vida, i believe mr. stonor wants to see you for a few minutes (_glances at watch_)--but i'd like a word with you first, as i must get back. (_to_ stonor.) do you think the car--your man said something about re-charging. stonor (_hastily_). oh, did he?--i'll see about it. (_as_ stonor _is going out he encounters the_ butler. _exit_ stonor.) butler. mr. trent has called, miss, to take miss levering to the meeting. jean. bring mr. trent into my sitting-room. i'll tell him--you can't go to-night. [_exeunt_ butler c., jean l. lady john (_hurriedly_). i know, my dear, _you're_ not aware of what that impulsive girl wants to insist on. miss l. yes, i am aware of it. lady john. but it isn't with your sanction, surely, that she goes on making this extraordinary demand. miss l. (_slowly_). i didn't sanction it at first, but i've been thinking it over. lady john. then all i can say is i am greatly disappointed in you. you threw this man over years ago for reasons--whatever they were--that seemed to you good and sufficient. and now you come between him and a younger woman--just to play nemesis, so far as i can make out! miss l. is that what he says? lady john. he says nothing that isn't fair and considerate. miss l. i can see he's changed. lady john. and you're unchanged--is that it? miss l. i've changed even more than he. lady john. but (_pity and annoyance blended in her tone_)--you care about him still, vida? miss l. no. lady john. i see. it's just that you wish to marry somebody---miss l. oh, lady john, there are no men listening. lady john (_surprised_). no, i didn't suppose there were. miss l. then why keep up that old pretence? lady john. what pre---miss l. that to marry _at all costs_ is every woman's dearest ambition till the grave closes over her. you and i _know_ it isn't true. lady john. well, but---oh! it was just the unexpected sight of him bringing it back---_that_ was what fired you this afternoon! (_with an honest attempt at sympathetic understanding._) of course. the memory of a thing like that can never die--can never even be dimmed--_for the woman_. miss l. i mean her to think so. lady john (_bewildered_). jean! (miss levering _nods._) lady john. and it _isn't_ so? miss l. you don't seriously believe a woman with anything else to think about, comes to the end of ten years still _absorbed_ in a memory of that sort? lady john (_astonished_). you've got over it, then! miss l. if the newspapers didn't remind me i shouldn't remember once a twelvemonth that there was ever such a person as geoffrey stonor in the world. lady john (_with unconscious rapture_). oh, i'm _so_ glad! miss l. (_smiles grimly_). yes, i'm glad too. lady john. and if geoffrey stonor offered you--what's called "reparation"--you'd refuse it? miss l. (_smiles a little contemptuously_). geoffrey stonor! for me he's simply one of the far-back links in a chain of evidence. it's certain i think a hundred times of other women's present unhappiness, to once that i remember that old unhappiness of mine that's past. i think of the nail and chain makers of cradley heath. the sweated girls of the slums. i think of the army of ill-used women whose very existence i mustn't mention---lady john (_interrupting hurriedly_). then why in heaven's name do you let poor jean imagine---miss l. (_bending forward_). look--i'll trust you, lady john. i don't suffer from that old wrong as jean thinks i do, but i shall coin her sympathy into gold for a greater cause than mine. lady john. i don't understand you. miss l. jean isn't old enough to be able to care as much about a principle as about a person. but if my half-forgotten pain can turn her generosity into the common treasury---lady john. what do you propose she shall do, poor child? miss l. use her hold over geoffrey stonor to make him help us! lady john. help you? miss l. the man who served one woman--god knows how many more--very ill, shall serve hundreds of thousands well. geoffrey stonor shall make it harder for his son, harder still for his grandson, to treat any woman as he treated me. lady john. how will he do that? miss l. by putting an end to the helplessness of women. lady john (_ironically_). you must think he has a great deal of power---miss l. power? yes, men have too much over penniless and frightened women. lady john (_impatiently_). what nonsense! you talk as though the women hadn't their share of human nature. _we_ aren't made of ice any more than the men. miss l. no, but all the same we have more self-control. lady john. than men? miss l. you know we have. lady john (_shrewdly_). i know we mustn't admit it. miss l. for fear they'd call us fishes! lady john (_evasively_). they talk of our lack of self-control--but it's the last thing they _want_ women to have. miss l. oh, we know what they want us to have. so we make shift to have it. if we don't, we go without hope--sometimes we go without bread. lady john (_shocked_). vida--do you mean to say that you---miss l. i mean to say that men's vanity won't let them see it, but the thing's largely a question of economics. lady john (_shocked_). you _never_ loved him, then! miss l. oh, yes, i loved him--_once_. it was my helplessness turned the best thing life can bring, into a curse for both of us. lady john. i don't understand you---miss l. oh, being "understood!"--that's too much to expect. when people come to know i've joined the union---lady john. but you won't---miss l.--who is there who will resist the temptation to say, "poor vida levering! what a pity she hasn't got a husband and a baby to keep her quiet"? the few who know about me, they'll be equally sure that it's not the larger view of life i've gained--my own poor little story is responsible for my new departure. (_leans forward and looks into_ lady john's _face._) my best friend, she will be surest of all, that it's a private sense of loss, or, lower yet, a grudge----! but i tell you the only difference between me and thousands of women with husbands and babies is that i'm free to say what i think. _they aren't._ lady john (_rising and looking at her watch_). i must get back--my poor ill-used guests. miss l. (_rising_). i won't ring. i think you'll find mr. stonor downstairs waiting for you. lady john (_embarrassed_). oh--a--he will have left word about the car in any case. (miss levering _has opened the door_ (c.). allen trent _is in the act of saying goodbye to_ jean _in the hall._) miss l. well, mr. trent, i didn't expect to see you this evening. trent (_comes and stands in the doorway_). why not? have i ever failed? miss l. lady john, this is one of our allies. he is good enough to squire me through the rabble from time to time. lady john. well, i think it's very handsome of you, after what she said to-day about men. (_shakes hands._) trent. i've no great opinion of most men myself. i might add--or of most women. lady john. oh! well, at any rate i shall go away relieved to think that miss levering's plain speaking hasn't alienated _all_ masculine regard. trent. why should it? lady john. that's right, mr. trent! don't believe all she says in the heat of propaganda. trent. i do believe all she says. but i'm not cast down. lady john (_smiling_). not when she says---trent (_interrupting_). was there never a mysogynist of my sex who ended by deciding to make an exception? lady john (_smiling significantly_). oh, if _that's_ what you build on! trent. well, why shouldn't a man-hater on your side prove equally open to reason? miss l. that part of the question doesn't concern me. i've come to a place where i realise that the first battles of this new campaign must be fought by women alone. the only effective help men could give--amendment of the law--they refuse. the rest is nothing. lady john. don't be ungrateful, vida. here's mr. trent ready to face criticism in publicly championing you. miss l. it's an illusion that i as an individual need mr. trent. i am quite safe in the crowd. please don't wait for me, and don't come for me again. trent (_flushes_). of course if you'd rather---miss l. and that reminds me. i was asked to thank you and to tell you, too, that they--the women of the union--they won't need your chairmanship any more--though that, i beg you to believe, has nothing to do with any feeling of mine. trent (_hurt_). of course, i know there must be other men ready--better known men---miss l. it isn't that. it's simply that they find a man can't keep a rowdy meeting in order as well as a woman. (_he stares._) lady john. you aren't serious? miss l. (_to_ trent). haven't you noticed that all their worst disturbances come when men are in charge? trent. well--a--(_laughs a little ruefully as he moves to the door_) i hadn't connected the two ideas. goodbye. miss l. goodbye. (jean _takes him downstairs, right centre._) lady john (_as_ trent _disappears_). that nice boy's in love with you. (miss levering _simply looks at her._) lady john. goodbye. (_they shake hands._) i wish you hadn't been so unkind to that nice boy! miss l. do you? lady john. yes, for then i would be more certain of your telling geoffrey stonor that intelligent women don't nurse their wrongs and lie in wait to punish them. miss l. you are _not_ certain? lady john (_goes close up to_ vida). are you? (vida _stands with her eyes on the ground, silent, motionless._ lady john, _with a nervous glance at her watch and a gesture of extreme perturbation, goes hurriedly out._ vida _shuts the door. she comes slowly back, sits down and covers her face with her hands. she rises and begins to walk up and down, obviously trying to master her agitation. enter_ geoffrey stonor.) miss l. well, have they primed you? have you got your lesson (_with a little broken laugh_) _by heart_ at last? stonor (_looking at her from immeasurable distance_). i am not sure i understand you. (_pause._) however unpropitious your mood may be--i shall discharge my errand. (_pause. her silence irritates him._) i have promised to offer you what i believe is called "amends." miss l. (_quickly_). you've come to realise, then--after all these years--that you owed me something? stonor (_on the brink of protest, checks himself_). i am not here to deny it. miss l. (_fiercely_). pay, then--_pay_. stonor (_a moment's dread as he looks at her, his lips set. then stonily_). i have promised that, if you exact it, i will. miss l. ah! if i insist you'll "make it all good"! (_quite low._) then don't you know you must pay me in kind? stonor. what do you mean? miss l. give me back what you took from me: my old faith. give me that. stonor. oh, if you mean to make phrases---(_a gesture of scant patience._) miss l. (_going closer_). or give me back mere kindness--or even tolerance. oh, i don't mean _your_ tolerance! give me back the power to think fairly of my brothers--not as mockers--thieves. stonor. i have not mocked you. and i have asked you---miss l. something you knew i should refuse! or (_her eyes blaze_) did you dare to be afraid i wouldn't? stonor. i suppose, if we set our teeth, we could---miss l. i couldn't--not even if i set my teeth. and you wouldn't dream of asking me, if you thought there was the smallest chance. stonor. i can do no more than make you an offer of such reparation as is in my power. if you don't accept it---(_he turns with an air of "that's done."_) miss l. accept it? no!... go away and live in debt! pay and pay and pay--and find yourself still in debt!--for a thing you'll never be able to give me back. (_lower._) and when you come to die, say to yourself, "i paid all creditors but one." stonor. i'm rather tired, you know, of this talk of debt. if i hear that you persist in it i shall have to---miss l. what? (_she faces him._) stonor. no. i'll keep to my resolution. (_turning to the door._) miss l. (_intercepting him_). what resolution? stonor. i came here, under considerable pressure, to speak of the future--not to re-open the past. miss l. the future and the past are one. stonor. you talk as if that old madness was mine alone. it is the woman's way. miss l. i know. and it's not fair. men suffer as well as we by the woman's starting wrong. we are taught to think the man a sort of demigod. if he tells her: "go down into hell"--down into hell she goes. stonor. make no mistake. not the woman alone. _they go down together._ miss l. yes, they go down together, but the man comes up alone. as a rule. it is more convenient so--for him. and for the other woman. (_the eyes of both go to_ jean's _door._) stonor (_angrily_). my conscience is clear. i know--and so do you--that most men in my position wouldn't have troubled themselves. i gave myself endless trouble. miss l. (_with wondering eyes_). so you've gone about all these years feeling that you'd discharged every obligation. stonor. not only that. i stood by you with a fidelity that was nothing short of quixotic. if, woman like, you _must_ recall the past--i insist on your recalling it correctly. miss l. (_very low_). you think i don't recall it correctly? stonor. not when you make--other people believe that i deserted you. (_with gathering wrath._) it's a curious enough charge when you stop to consider---(_checks himself, and with a gesture of impatience sweeps the whole thing out of his way._) miss l. well, when we _do_--just for five minutes out of ten years--when we do stop to consider---stonor. we remember it was _you_ who did the deserting! since you had to rake the story up, you might have had the fairness to tell the facts. miss l. you think "the facts" would have excused you! (_she sits._) stonor. no doubt you've forgotten them, since lady john tells me you wouldn't remember my existence once a year if the newspapers didn't---miss l. ah, you minded that! stonor (_with manly spirit_). i minded your giving false impressions. (_she is about to speak, he advances on her._) do you deny that you returned my letters unopened? miss l. (_quietly_). no. stonor. do you deny that you refused to see me--and that, when i persisted, you vanished? miss l. i don't deny any of those things. stonor. why, i had no trace of you for years! miss l. i suppose not. stonor. very well, then. what _could_ i do? miss l. nothing. it was too late to do anything. stonor. it wasn't too late! you knew--since you "read the papers"--that my father died that same year. there was no longer any barrier between us. miss l. oh yes, there was a barrier. stonor. of your own making, then. miss l. i had my guilty share in it--but the barrier (_her voice trembles_)--the barrier was your invention. stonor. it was no "invention." if you had ever known my father---miss l. oh, the echoes! the echoes! how often you used to say, if i "knew your father!" but you said, too (_lower_)--you called the greatest barrier by another name. stonor. what name? miss l. (_very low_). the child that was to come. stonor (_hastily_). that was before my father died. while i still hoped to get his consent. miss l. (_nods_). how the thought of that all-powerful personage used to terrorise me! what chance had a little unborn child against "the last of the great feudal lords," as you called him. stonor. you _know_ the child would have stood between you and me! miss l. i know the child _did_ stand between you and me! stonor (_with vague uneasiness_). it _did_ stand---miss l. happy mothers teach their children. mine had to teach me. stonor. you talk as if---miss l.--teach me that a woman may do a thing for love's sake that shall kill love. (_a silence._) stonor (_fearing and putting from him fuller comprehension, rises with an air of finality_). you certainly made it plain you had no love left for me. miss l. i had need of it all for the child. stonor (_stares--comes closer, speaks hurriedly and very low_). do you mean then that, after all--it lived? miss l. no; i mean that it was sacrificed. but it showed me no barrier is so impassable as the one a little child can raise. stonor (_a light dawning_). was that why you ... was _that_ why? miss l. (_nods, speechless a moment_). day and night there it was!--between my thought of you and me. (_he sits again, staring at her._) when i was most unhappy i would wake, thinking i heard it cry. it was my own crying i heard, but i seemed to have it in my arms. i suppose i was mad. i used to lie there in that lonely farmhouse pretending to hush it. it was so i hushed myself. stonor. i never knew---miss l. i didn't blame you. you couldn't risk being with me. stonor. you agreed that for both our sakes---miss l. yes, you had to be very circumspect. you were so well known. your autocratic father--your brilliant political future---stonor. be fair. _our_ future--as i saw it then. miss l. yes, it all hung on concealment. it must have looked quite simple to you. you didn't know that the ghost of a child that had never seen the light, the frail thing you meant to sweep aside and forget--_have_ swept aside and forgotten--you didn't know it was strong enough to push you out of my life. (_lower with an added intensity._) it can do more. (_leans over him and whispers._) it can push that girl out. (stonor's _face changes._) it can do more still. stonor. are you threatening me? miss l. no, i am preparing you. stonor. for what? miss l. for the work that must be done. either with _your help_--or _that girl's_. (stonor _lifts his eyes a moment._) miss l. one of two things. either her life, and all she has, given to this new service--or a ransom, if i give her up to you. stonor. i see. a price. well----? miss l. (_looks searchingly in his face, hesitates and shakes her head_). even if i could trust you to pay--no, it would be a poor bargain to give her up for anything you could do. stonor (_rising_). in spite of your assumption--she may not be your tool. miss l. you are horribly afraid she is! but you are wrong. don't think it's merely i that have got hold of jean dunbarton. stonor (_angrily_). who else? miss l. the new spirit that's abroad. (stonor _turns away with an exclamation and begins to pace, sentinel-like, up and down before_ jean's _door._) miss l. how else should that inexperienced girl have felt the new loyalty and responded as she did? stonor (_under his breath_). "new" indeed--however little loyal. miss l. loyal above all. but no newer than electricity was when it first lit up the world. it had been there since the world began--waiting to do away with the dark. _so has the thing you're fighting._ stonor (_his voice held down to its lowest register_). the thing i'm fighting is nothing more than one person's hold on a highly sensitive imagination. i consented to this interview with the hope---(_a gesture of impotence._) it only remains for me to show her your true motive is revenge. miss l. once say that to her and you are lost! (stonor _motionless; his look is the look of a man who sees happiness slipping away._) miss l. i know what it is that men fear. it even seems as if it must be through fear that your enlightenment will come. that is why i see a value in jean dunbarton far beyond her fortune. (stonor _lifts his eyes dully and fixes them on_ vida's _face._) miss l. more than any girl i know--if i keep her from you--that gentle, inflexible creature could rouse in men the old half-superstitious fear---stonor. "fear?" i believe you are mad. miss l. "mad." "unsexed." these are the words to-day. in the middle ages men cried out "witch!" and burnt her--the woman who served no man's bed or board. stonor. you want to make that poor child believe---miss l. she sees for herself we've come to a place where we find there's a value in women apart from the value men see in them. you teach us not to look to you for some of the things we need most. if women must be freed by women, we have need of such as--(_her eyes go to_ jean's _door_)--who knows? she may be the new joan of arc. stonor (_aghast_). that _she_ should be the sacrifice! miss l. you have taught us to look very calmly on the sacrifice of women. men tell us in every tongue it's "a necessary evil." (stonor _stands rooted, staring at the ground._) miss l. one girl's happiness--against a thing nobler than happiness for thousands--who can hesitate?--_not jean._ stonor. good god! can't you see that this crazed campaign you'd start her on--even if it's successful, it can only be so through the help of men? what excuse shall you make your own soul for not going straight to the goal? miss l. you think we wouldn't be glad to go straight to the goal? stonor. i do. i see you'd much rather punish me and see her revel in a morbid self-sacrifice. miss l. you say i want to punish you only because, like most men, you won't take the trouble to understand what we do want--or how determined we are to have it. you can't kill this new spirit among women. (_going nearer._) and you couldn't make a greater mistake than to think it finds a home only in the exceptional, or the unhappy. it's so strange, geoffrey, to see a man like you as much deluded as the hyde park loafers who say to ernestine blunt, "who's hurt _your_ feelings?" why not realise (_going quite close to him_) this is a thing that goes deeper than personal experience? and yet (_lowering her voice and glancing at the door_), if you take only the narrowest personal view, a good deal depends on what you and i agree upon in the next five minutes. stonor (_bringing her farther away from the door_). you recommend my realising the larger issues. but in your ambition to attach that girl to the chariot wheels of "progress," you quite ignore the fact that people fitter for such work--the men you look to enlist in the end--are ready waiting to give the thing a chance. miss l. men are ready! what men? stonor (_avoiding her eyes, picking his words_). women have themselves to blame that the question has grown so delicate that responsible people shrink--for the moment--from being implicated in it. miss l. we have seen the "shrinking." stonor. without quoting any one else, i might point out that the new antagonism seems to have blinded you to the small fact that i, for one, am not an opponent. miss l. the phrase _has_ a familiar ring. we have heard it from four hundred and twenty others. stonor. i spoke, if i may say so, of some one who would count. some one who can carry his party along with him--or risk a seat in the cabinet. miss l. (_quickly_). did you mean you are ready to do that? stonor. an hour ago i was. miss l. ah!... an hour ago. stonor. exactly. you don't understand men. they can be led. they can't be driven. ten minutes before you came into the room i was ready to say i would throw in my political lot with this reform. miss l. and now...? stonor. now you block my way by an attempt at coercion. by forcing my hand you give my adherence an air of bargain-driving for a personal end. exactly the mistake of the ignorant agitators of your "union," as you call it. you have a great deal to learn. this movement will go forward, not because of the agitation, but in spite of it. there are men in parliament who would have been actively serving the reform to-day ... as actively as so vast a constitutional change---miss l. (_smiles faintly_). and they haven't done it because---stonor. because it would have put a premium on breaches of decent behaviour. (_he takes a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket._) look here! miss l. (_flushes with excitement as she reads the telegram_). this is very good. i see only one objection. stonor. objection! miss l. you haven't sent it. stonor. _that_ is your fault. miss l. when did you write this? stonor. just before you came in--when----(_he glances at the door._) miss l. ah! it must have pleased jean--that message. (_offers him back the paper._) (stonor _astonished at her yielding it up so lightly, and remembering_ jean _had not so much as read it. he throws himself heavily into a chair and drops his head in his hands._) miss l. i could drive a hard-and-fast bargain with you, but i think i won't. if _both_ love and ambition urge you on, perhaps----(_she gazes at the slack, hopeless figure with its sudden look of age--goes over silently and stands by his side._) after all, life hasn't been quite fair to you--- (_he raises his heavy eyes._) you fall out of one ardent woman's dreams into another's. stonor. you may as well tell me--do you mean to----? miss l. to keep you and her apart? no. stonor (_for the first time tears come into his eyes. after a moment he holds out his hand_). what can i do for you? (miss levering _shakes her head--speechless._) stonor. for the real you. not the reformer, or the would-be politician--for the woman i so unwillingly hurt. (_as she turns away, struggling with her feeling, he lays a detaining hand on her arm._) you may not believe it, but now that i understand, there is almost nothing i wouldn't do to right that old wrong. miss l. there's nothing to be done. you can never give me back my child. stonor (_at the anguish in_ vida's _face his own has changed_). will that ghost give you no rest? miss l. yes, oh, yes. i see life is nobler than i knew. there is work to do. stonor (_stopping her as she goes towards the folding doors_). why should you think that it's only you, these ten years have taught something to? why not give even a man credit for a willingness to learn something of life, and for being sorry--profoundly sorry--for the pain his instruction has cost others? you seem to think i've taken it all quite lightly. that's not fair. all my life, ever since you disappeared, the thought of you has hurt. i would give anything i possess to know you--were happy again. miss l. oh, happiness! stonor (_significantly_). why shouldn't you find it still. miss l. (_stares an instant_). i see! she couldn't help telling about allen trent--lady john couldn't. stonor. you're one of the people the years have not taken from, but given more to. you are more than ever.... you haven't lost your beauty. miss l. the gods saw it was so little effectual, it wasn't worth taking away. (_she stands looking out into the void._) one woman's mishap?--what is that? a thing as trivial to the great world as it's sordid in most eyes. but the time has come when a woman may look about her, and say, "what general significance has my secret pain? does it 'join on' to anything?" and i find it does. i'm no longer merely a woman who has stumbled on the way. i'm one (_she controls with difficulty the shake in her voice_) who has got up bruised and bleeding, wiped the dust from her hands and the tears from her face, and said to herself not merely, "here's one luckless woman! but--here is a stone of stumbling to many. let's see if it can't be moved out of other women's way." and she calls people to come and help. no mortal man, let alone a woman, _by herself_, can move that rock of offence. but (_with a sudden sombre flame of enthusiasm_) if many help, geoffrey, the thing can be done. stonor (_looks at her with wondering pity_). lord! how you care! miss l. (_touched by his moved face_). don't be so sad. shall i tell you a secret? jean's ardent dreams needn't frighten you, if she has a child. _that_--from the beginning, it was not the strong arm--it was the weakest--the little, little arms that subdued the fiercest of us. (stonor _puts out a pitying hand uncertainly towards her. she does not take it, but speaks with great gentleness._) you will have other children, geoffrey--for me there was to be only one. well, well--(_she brushes her tears away_)--since men alone have tried and failed to make a decent world for the little children to live in--it's as well some of us are childless. (_quietly taking up her hat and cloak._) yes, _we_ are the ones who have no excuse for standing aloof from the fight. stonor. vida! miss l. what? stonor. you've forgotten something. (_as she looks back he is signing the message._) _this._ (_she goes out silently with the "political dynamite" in her hand._) curtain. the gresham press, unwin brothers, limited, woking and london. corrections. the first line indicates the original, the second the correction. p. 43: we all realise it was a perfectiy lunatic proceeding we all realise it was a perfectly lunatic proceeding p. 73: the unemployed in the condition they' e the unemployed in the condition they're p. 92: you aren't going away lik that. you aren't going away like that. book was produced from images made available by the hathitrust digital library.) josiah allen on the woman question [illustration: "she made me think that minute of them big rocks when i was tryin' to plough 'round 'em" (see p. 82)] josiah allen on the woman question by marietta holley _author of "samantha on the woman question", "samantha at saratoga", "my opinions and betsy bobbett's", etc._ _illustrated._ [illustration] new york chicago toronto fleming h. revell company london and edinburgh copyright, 1914, by fleming h. revell company new york: 158 fifth avenue chicago: 125 north wabash ave. toronto: 25 richmond street, w. london: 21 paternoster square edinburgh: 100 princes street contents i. in which i resolve to write a book 9 ii. in which betsy bobbett butts in 25 iii. i talk on wimmen's duty to marry 39 iv. i talk on man's protectin' love for wimmen 59 v. wherein i prove man's courtesy towards wimmen 74 vi. i talk on females infringin' 96 vii. about wimmen's foolish love for petickulars 113 viii. i talk on wimmen's extravagance 135 ix. the danger from wimmen's exaggeration 151 x. the modern wimmen condemned 169 illustrations opposite page i. "she made me think that minute of them big rocks when i was tryin' to plough round 'em" title ii. "and she looked as if she would sink down in her tracts" 42 iii. "till she gets 'em all rousted up, and just boy cote that man till he has to keep hullsome food" 120 iv. "josiah", sez she, "a hen don't cackle till she lays her egg" 138 i in which i resolve to write a book for years and years i've been deeply wownded in my most sacred feelin's and my reason has been outraged by my pardner, samantha's, writin' agin the righteous cause of man's superiority to wimmen. but though my feelin's have been rasped and almost bleedin' from the unjust wownds i've kep' still and let her go on with other headstrong and blinded females, and argey and deny man's sole and indefrangible right to oversee and order the affairs of the universe, and specially the weak helpless female sect, the justice of which, it seems to me, a infant babe might see without spectacles. i have curbed in my wownded sperit and my mighty inteleck with almost giant strength, and never let 'em have free play in public print to dispute and overthrow them uroneous doctrines. and my reason for this course has been twofold. first, as any male filosifer and female researcher knows, that owin' to her weakness of inteleck and soft nater, a woman's mind gits ruffled up easy, and that rufflin' up affects her cookin'. and under a too severe strain a female has sometimes forgot to be promp with her meals, and not notice seemin'ly that her pies wuz runnin' out, and the cookie jar gittin' empty. such things, no matter how strong a man's inteleck is, has a deleterious effeck on his internal systern, which reacts on his branial cranium. and i've been afraid of the consequences if i onleashed the lion in me, and answered and crushed her onholy arguments in cold type. and my second reason wuz that in spite of her almost blasphemous doctrine that wimmen are equal to men, i knowed that under them mistook idees it wuz a lackage of good horse sense and not inherient depravity that ailed her. i knowed that if samantha wuz only willin' to settle down peacefully in the shelter and shade of man's powerful strength and personality, there never wuz a better woman or a neater, equinomicler housekeeper on earth than samantha smith allen, and as a maker of cream biscuit and apple dumplin's, and a frier and briler of spring chickens never outdone and seldom equalled. i've argued in private life with her till my jaws ached and my lungs wheezed with incessant labor. have experimented in various ways and appeared before her daily for years as a shinin' sample of man's superiority. but never, never have i been able to make her own up how inferior her sect is to the more opposite one. but as i say, as long as i've suffered, i have never before took my rightful place in literatoor, never took the high peak waitin' for me to set down on, while i hurled the thunderbolts of convincin' eloquence down upon the female wimmen squirmin' beneath me. but i dassent wait a minute longer. i have got to put a stop to the awful doin's goin' on around me. and if my worst forebodin's are realized, and i've got to starve it out, i will offer myself a hungry victim to duty, and die with my manly principles enfoldin' my gant form like a halo of glory. but mebby i've waited too long. i tremble to think on't. i ort to made the move sooner. for things are growin' worse and worse all the time, female wimmen are risin' up on every side claimin' to be equal to men, talkin', preachin', hikin', paradin' with lyin' banners, vowin' with brazen impudence that since they bear the financial and legal burdens of citizenship, they ort to be citizens of the u.s., and since they bear children they want to protect 'em in the house and outdoors, and so on to the end of their windy arguments. want to be citizens! how can they be? hain't the eagle a male bird? and what duz e pluribus unum mean? why, we men translated it years ago--eminent people us--us males. and every fool knows that wimmen hain't a people, hain't a citizen and never has been. jest think on't, weak wimmen, underlin's, as they've always been legally and politically considered, dashin' and hikin' about, bilin' up like foamin' billers of froth and folly threatenin' to engulf our noble ship of state. i've knowed how a strong minded man wuz needed to grasp holt of the hellum and try to steer that poor staggerin' wobblin' wimmen tosted craft into a haven of safety, into some place where men can agin enjoy their heaven born rights to rule the world and boss round the female sect, and to turn that frothy turbulent feminist tide sweepin' out into broad paths never meant for it to sweep in, into the shaller narrer safe channels it is fitted for. i had decided not to tell samantha about my great book aginst female suffrage till it wuz writ and published and the crash come. but the very day i begun my immortal work she wuz cookin' a young duck with dressin', and the delicious uroma come like incense to my nostrils, and insensibly it softened my feelin's. and i thought mebby i ort to prepare her for what would be the effect of my book on her sect, and the world at large. we'd lived together for years and outside of her uroneous beliefs she'd been a kind and agreeable companion, a fur better cook and housekeeper than any aunty suffragist i ever see or hearn on, and had been a help and comfort to me; she wuz bakin' a plum puddin' too, and some hubbard squash. and as i inhaled the delicious odors i felt more and more soft and meller towards her, most as soft as the squash. and so i broached the subject to her. sez i, "what do you think, samantha, about my great projeck of destroyin' female suffrage? what do you think of my writin' the book?" i said the words and paused for a reply. the kitchen wuz clean and cozy, the cheerful fire blazed; samantha sot with smooth hair and serene face in a new gingham dress and white apron, choppin' some cabbage and celery for a salad; all wuz peace and happiness. as i spoke the fateful words it seemed as if old nater herself wuz listenin' and peakin' in through the kitchen door to see what would happen. what would be the effect on samantha? i dreaded, yet waited for the result. would she overwhelm me with reproaches and entreaties to stop and not ruin her sect? would she be overcome and swoon away? and the appaulin' thought come to me onbid, if she did who would finish up the dinner? as i asked the question she paused with the choppin' knife in her hand and sez: "when i wuz a girl we had a debatin' school, and there wuz one feller that we always tried to git on the side opposite to us, his talk and arguments wuz such a help to us. i hain't no objections to your writin' the book, josiah." and then she resoomed her work with her linement cam as ever. i felt relieved, but couldn't see what sot her off to tellin' that old story at this juncter, and can't to this day, but set it down to female's inability to grasp holt of important questions, and answer 'em in a straightforward way as males do. i knowed when i begun my great work of stompin' out woman's suffrage that i must proceed careful; wimmen had clogged up the road to truth and reason so with their fool arguments, lectures, parades, etc., i must plough through 'em and make my way clear every step i took so no clackin' arguin' female could rise up and dispute 'em. i laid out to chase females back to the very beginin', and there in the dim light of the dawnin' day of time to grasp holt of the unanswerable argument that proves to every reasonable mind wimmen's inferiority and man's greatness. and then chase 'em back agin through the centuries up to the present time, and there corner 'em and break down their flimsy arguments of equality, and crush 'em forever. and make an end to this male disturbin', world opsettin' bizness of wimmen's rights. and in divin' back into history as fur as i've doven i want to give suitable credit to my chumb, uncle simon bentley. bein' a bacheldor without no hamperin' female ties drawin' on him and holdin' him back, he's had more time than i have to devote to arjous study and research on the subject, and has been a help to me. not but what i could have equalled him or gone ahead on him if i'd been foot-loose. but samantha and the barn stock wuz on my back, and fambly cares kep' me down. but after he mentioned to me certain things he had studied out, i told him i had thought of them very things more than one hundred times, but hadn't had time to write 'em down. why, in the very first beginin' of time, we find the great fact that smashes female equality down into the dirt where it belongs. we find that wimmen wuz made and manufactured jest because men wuz kinder lonesome. as uncle sime well sez, "it wuz jest a happen that wimmen wuz made at all. adam happened to feel kinder lonesome alone on that big farm, and probable needed wimmen's help. and he happened to have a extra rib he could spare as well as not, and so wimmen wuz made out of that spare rib. but," sez uncle sime, "adam would have been as well agin off if eve hadn't been made, and i should have told him so if i had been there." sez he bitterly, "men hain't been lonesome since wimmen wuz made. oh, no! she has kep' her clack goin', and kep' men's noses down on the grindstun ever sence." "well," sez i, "simon, it wuz noble in adam to be willin' to lose one of his ribs to make her, for who knows to what hites men might have riz up if he hadn't parted with it. if us men have riz up to such a hite with one rib lackin' who knows how fur we should have gone up with the hull on 'em." "that hain't the pint," sez uncle sime. "the pint is, how dast wimmen feel so big and claim to be equal to us men, when they think how, and why, and what out of they wuz created. wimmen ort to feel thankful and grateful to men that she wuz made at all. how would she felt if she hadn't been made? i guess she would feel pretty cheap and not put on so many airs, and be hikein' round preachin' to her superiors." in his excitement uncle sime had enunciated that crushin' argument in a ruther loud tone. we wuz settin' on the back stoop and samantha comin' out to shake the table-cloth must have hearn it. but instead of actin' humiliated and crushed by that masterly argument she looked at us kinder queer over her specs, folded her table-cloth camly and said nothin'. and after she went in uncle sime resoomed his unanswerable arguments. "why, beside bible proofs i can prove it in a scientific way. weigh up a man's bones in the stillyards and they'll weigh one hundred pounds more or less, jest the bones. and now jest think on the preposterous idee of that one little rib bone a risin' up right in the face of science and reason, and pretendin' to be equal to the hull carcass. and worse yet tryin' to stomp on him and bring him down to her level by votin'. why, if adam had hearn to me and kep' that rib bone where it wuz, jest think what the world would have escaped, think of the jealousies, angers, revenges, weariness, expenses, wars, ruin and bloodshed caused through the centuries by changin' that rib bone into a female!" i wuz astounded to see how deep uncle sime had doven into the great mysteries of human existence, not but what i'd have thought it out myself, if i'd had time from fambly cares. but uncle sime went on, "jest think, josiah, of wimmen's wild and turbulent doin's and the commotions and troubles and sufferin's wimmen has caused males, and then think how quiet and peaceable that rib wuz before it had been meddled with, and brought into the woman question. a layin' there in adam's side onquestionin' and cam. never startin' up and argyin' with the liver or diafram, never sassin' the spinal collar, or disputin' the knee jints, that one small bone risin' up, and demandin' the rights that justly belong to the hull carcass. oh, what lessons to female suffragists can be drawed from that scientific fact, and how fur they can be drawed." as long as i'd knowed uncle sime i never had realized before he wuz such a deep thinker, and had such a fund of scientific knowledge to back up his arguments. of course i had 'em too, all on 'em, layin' dormer inside on me. * * * * * of course it made a tremendous stir in jonesville when the startlin' news got out that i wuz writin' a book agin female suffrage with the settled intention and firm determination of puttin' an end to it forever. it lifted me up to such a tottlin' hite in the estimation of the male jonesvillians that it would have gin a weaker man the big head and made 'em liable to fall off. but such is my strength of mind that i kep' cool on the outside, talked in a friendly and patronizin' way to samantha and the neighborin' wimmen, associated with the folks that had the honor to live round me, and wore the same hat. the creation searchin' society of jonesville called a special meetin' to congratulate me and themselves on havin' their views on the inferiority of wimmen disseminated in my book through the entire habitable globe. i knowed my beliefs regardin' wimmen wuz the same as theirn, for we had often laid them views out side by side and compared 'em together. and uncle sime bentley when i first told him on't shed tears of joy and sez he: "at _last_, at _last_ the men of jonesville, the male men, are goin' to be hearn from, and did justice to." and he grip holt of my hand in one of hisen, and with the other he wep' onto his bandanna handkerchief tears of pure joy and thankfulness. deacon henzy, solomon sypher, deacon bobbett and a lot of other bretheren in the meetin' house, talked to me about the forthcomin' book with a solemn joy and triump in their linements and told me to consider and weigh well every word i writ, up to the very ounce, "for," sez they, "the broad onwinkin' eye of the world is on you and in that eye we male jonesvillians have been demeaned and lowered and looked down on by the abominable things that wuz writ by----" but i riz up my right hand and arm in a noble jester of warn, and sez i, "not one word agin samantha, bretheren, not a word!" they see the stern wild glare in my eye, and turned it off by sayin', "things have been writ by a female who shall be nameless, that has had a tendency to make us male jonesvillians objects of contemp. and the uroneous and blasphemous idee has been disseminted in them writin's that females are equal to males, and want rights that we know they don't need or deserve, rights that will bring 'em to the brink of ruin if not held back by a manly arm. now it is in the power of a male jonesvillian to lift his sect up on the hite he's been partially knocked off of, by them writin's, and put the weaker inferior sect down into the holler place where they belong. it is your honor and your privelige, josiah allen, to let the hull world see how superior to females, how noble, how grand is the male manhood of jonesville u.s.a." it wuz a solemn occasion, but i riz up to it and told 'em i laid out in my book to make such a change in public opinion that it would shake the very pillows of society, but sez i, "after the shake and the quake is over, things will settle down in their proper place agin. and then as of old, men will take their position as master and females their proper place as the tenderly governed class, lookin' up agin meekly to male men as their nateral gardeens and protectors." ii in which betsy bobbett butts in owing to the inclemency of the inclement weather, and the hardness of the wood (slippery ellum) i would had to split for extra fires, i did the writin' of my great work of destroyin' female suffrage in the common settin' room. i didn't feel above it. as i told samantha, many a immortal work had been writ in a garret, and even in a prison (namely by mr. keats and mr. j. bunyan and others). she didn't dispute me, she kep' right on with her usual housework, bakin', etc., and i almost thought the delicious uroma of her vittles which come in from the contagious kitchen wuz a inspiration to me. so dificult it is to tell what tiny springs feeds the great spoutin' fountain of genius. on the mornin' i made this memorable remark jest quoted, i hadn't more'n got started on my masterly work and wuz settin' almost drownded in the bottomless sea of thought while samantha wuz parin' some apples for pies, havin' fetched her pan into the settin' room, when the magestic onward and upward flow of my thought wuz arrested or dammed up, as you may say figuratively speakin', by the tall awkward obstacle of a onwelcome female figger. it wuz betsy bobbett slimpsey who came in with a red and green plaid shawl wropped round her gant form, and a yeller fascinator on her humbly head. fascinator! who wuz fascinated by it? i wuzn't, no indeed! and so lightnin' quick is my mind to ketch holt of any argument illustratin' wimmen's weakness of inteleck to transcribe in my volume, that i methought instantly how that one article of betsy's attire showed plain the inferiority of her sect that i wuz tryin' to prove to the world. as i glanced at it, my eager soul questioned my active mind, "did you ever ketch a man wearin' anything on his head with such vain silly names," and my mind thundered back to my listenin' soul, "no! no sir!" the strong brain within the manly head would spurn such a coverin', and tread it into the dust. a man's fascination consists of sunthin' inside his skull, his powerful brain, his invincible will, not in a flimsy woosted affair knit with a tattin' hook. with what hauty coldness would a man spurn it, if his wife tried to put it onto his noble head to wear to meetin' or to a neighbors. but to resoom. betsy passed a few triflin' onimportant remarks about the weather, her hens, her husband, etc., but my keen eye pierced through her outward demeanor, which she tried to make nateral, and i see she had a ulterior object in comin' out so early in the mornin'. and soon it broke forth in speech, and she uttered the bold presumptious request that i would let her insert some of her poetry writ before, and after her marriage, in my great forthcomin' volume. for a minute i wuz almost stunted and stumped by the brazen impudence of the idee, that i would let a female have any part however small in that grand work proclaimin' and provin' the superiority of my sect. and havin' a mind so powerful and many sided it can see both sides to once, i methought how onbecomin' it would be in me and how meachin' to let females take part in a work designed to be the ruination of 'em, or that is the ruination of their claims to be equal to the sect i wuz nobly representin'. how could i grant her request without sinkin' down to the low female level? no, i answered her promp in the negative. but she clung to the idee as clost as she ever clung to the various men she had paid attention to until her doom wuz sealed and she had with herculeanium efforts won simon to be her pardner. sez she pleadin'ly, "josiah allen, do let me insert some of my poetry on woman's spear in your noble volume. i feel that my poems deserve immortality, but they won't never git there if a man don't help me to lift 'em up." that idee wuz indeed grateful to me, it naterally would be to any man, but agin i answered her coldly in the negative, samantha lookin' on, but sayin' nothin'. anon betsy turned to her and sez, "josiah allen's wife, will you not help plead with him in the name of a strugglin' sister woman?" samantha kep' on parin' and slicin' her greenin's but sez coldly, "i hain't no objections to it. i guess the verses will correspond pretty well with the rest of the book." "yes, indeed!" sez betsy eagerly. "our two idees about the loftier, superior sect, and the overpowerin' need of wimmen to be protected by 'em, are perfect twins, you couldn't hardly reconize 'em apart." and agin she sez in a still more hungry axent: "do grant my request, josiah allen; poetry makes a book so interestin'. mebby it hain't necessary, but some like the tail feathers of a rooster, though they may not add to the weight of the fowl; without 'em he has a bare lonesome look. poetry may not add to the strength and matchless power of your arguments, probably nothin' could; but somehow a book looks sort o' bare and lonely without these feathery gushin's of the soul." sez i in a cold austere axent, "i have laid out to enrich the prose pages of my great work with my own poetry, some as lovely flowers might appear on the smooth side of a volcano, softenin' and amelioratin' the comin' roar and rush of the destroyin' fire and flames, that is to bust out and burn up error and mistook idees in females." "oh, what eloquence! what grand thoughts!" sez betsy claspin' her yeller cotton gloves together, and lookin' up to me in almost worship. "what a inteleck has been burnin' under that bald head for years. no wonder it is bald, no hair could live in such a fiery atmosphere." as she said this my feelin's softened towards her and i felt different than i did feel. i had never liked betsy bobbett slimpsey; she wuz always too sentimental and persistent to suit me. when i wuz a widow man she paid me a lot of attention oninvited and onrecipercated. i never responded to her ardent overtoors. i spurned her poetry from me. and she wuz a slack housekeeper, and mizuble cook, which always riles men, and i felt relieved and glad when she got round simon slimpsey and won him to be her husband. but i do like her idees on man's supremacy and her clingin' idees on marriage. such voylent and persistent efforts in that direction, by elderly onmarried females are esteemed worthy of every man's admiration, when directed in another direction than himself. i own i suffered from them clingin' idees of hern durin' my widowerhood till samantha rendered me immune. but under all them sufferin's of mine and my almost hopeless efforts to shy off from her, and avoid her, yet i felt that her adorin' love and her warm clingin' attentions to males wuz eminently becomin' to a female if only turned off from me onto some more willin' man. all these thoughts chased each other through my brain, but still i kep' the cool superiority of my sect and sez coldly: "i want no female thought to cumber and weigh down the sails of my skyward bound volume." but sez she in a humble pleadin' manner, so becomin' in a female and agreeable to males, "my poetry all breathes the weakness and inferiority of my sect, and the overwhelmin' need we have to be protected by the nobler uplifteder sect. and though simon has been bedrid for years and his brain had softened even when we wuz wed, and he and his numerous children have been hard for my emmanuel strength to support and take care on, yet i found in my union to a male man a dignity and rest i had never known in my more single state." here betsy sithed hard a few times, for she wuz indeed weary, she works hard and fares hard and shows it, but she continued: "is it not possible that in a humble way my verses may give a tiny puff of wind, that added to your mighty roarin' gusts will waft your grand craft upward and onward on its heaving sent mission of elevatin' men up, and helpin' 'em in this turrible epock of time they're passin' through. and rebukin' and lowerin' females down for their bold doin's, in opposin' and badgerin' their natural gardeens and protectors, their brazen efforts to be equal to 'em which is a crime agin nater. "for though as i said, simon can't lift his head from the piller, and his language to me is awful at times, and extremely profane, and boot-jacks have been throwed at me, and teacups and sassers smashed agin my form, and milk porridge and catnip tea have deluged me from them flyin' cups and bowls, yet, as i said, i felt through all, even when i wuz bruised and wet as sop, that when he gin me his name at the altar, he gin with it a dignity and uplifted feelin', that nothin' else could give or take away. and i would fain have them womanly idees of mine made immortal by appearin' in your noble volume as a pattern for bolder onwomanly wimmen to foller." as betsy paused i once more waded out bare legged into the sea of thought. thinkses i even a tiny drop of water helps to make the mighty ocean, and the ocean he never repels the humble drop. though a female, betsy wuz a human bein' like myself. wuz it right for me to deny her the boon of immortality in the pages of my great work? what wuz my duty in the matter? i rubbed my forward, behind which my brain wuz revolvin' with lightnin' speed, with my forefinger, gittin' considerable ink on the outside of my brain (namely my forward) which samantha reminded me of afterwards and finally i sez: "i will give this triflin' matter due consideration, betsy slimpsey, and let you know the result of my cogitations. and now," sez i, wavin' my hand towards the outside door in a noble lordly wave, "woman depart! leave me to my thoughts." she went, samantha accompanyin' her to the doorstep on which i hearn her dickerin' with betsy for some rhode island hen's eggs to set, so irresponsive and oncongenial is a female pardner ofttimes and onmindful of the great historical event happenin' so near her, and the great man she is throwed amongst. alas! how often is genius bound down and trammeled in its own environment. when samantha come in lookin' cheerful, for she could git the eggs on a even swop for our brown leghorns, i asked her agin about it, for every married man will testify that you can't depend on what a pardner will say before other wimmen on such a occasion. sez i, "would you honor betsy by lettin' her put some of her verses in my great volume? do you think," sez i anxiously, "that it will clog and weigh it down too much?" sez she, "it may be a good thing to have some weight hitched to it." i didn't really know what she meant, but as she immegiately retired into the buttery to make and roll out her pie crust, i didn't want to interrupt her, for every man knows that a woman needs the hull of what little mind she's got at such a time. such apple pies as samantha makes with tender flaky crust and delicious interior are a work of art, and requires ondivided attention. so i wuz throwed back onto my own resources and judgment, and didn't try to argy no more. duty and pity for her and her sect conquerored in the end, and the next day i gin my consent and betsy sent down by one of her various stepchildren a bran sack full of her poetry, which i emptied for convenience into a huge dish pan which wuz exempt from work by age. how tickled and full of triump betsy wuz, and it wuz enough to tickle any female to have her poetry appear in the pages of my gigantic effort. the follerin' verses of hern writ before her marriage i culled at random from the dish pan and subjoin: wimmen's spear _or whisperin's of nature to betsy bobbett_ last night as i meandered out to meditate apart, secluded in my parasol, deep subjects shook my heart. the earth, the skies, the prattling brooks all thundered in my ear- it is matrimony, it is matrimony, that is a woman's spear. day, with a red shirred bunnet on had down for china started, its yellow ribbons fluttered o'er her head as she departed- she seemed to wink her eyes on me as she did disappear- and say it is matrimony, betsy that is a woman's spear. a rustic had broke down his team, i mused almost in tears, how can a yoke be borne along by half a pair of steers? even thus in wrath did nature speak hear, betsy bobbett, hear; it is matrimony, it is matrimony, that is a woman's spear. i saw a pair of roses like wedded pardners grow, sharp thorns did pave their mortal path, yet sweetly did they blow. they seemed to blow these glorious words into my willing ear, it is matrimony, it is matrimony that is a woman's spear. two gentle sheep upon the hills, how sweet the twain did run, as i meandered gently on and sot down on a stun; they seemed to murmur sheepishly oh betsy bobbett, dear- it is matrimony, it is matrimony, that is a woman's spear. sweet wuz the honeysuckle's breath upon the ambient air, sweet wuz the tender coo of doves, yet sweeter husbands are; all nature's voices poured these words into my willing ear, b. bobbett, it is matrimony, that is a woman's spear. iii i talk on wimmen's duty to marry cephas slinker stopped yesterday mornin' and had a little talk with me over the barnyard fence. i pitied cephas; he don't live happy with his wife, she's hard on him, and they have frequent spells. they had one last night, and he got up and started for jonesville quick as he'd had his breakfast. he said he never stopped to git a stick of wood or a pail of water (they bring their water from a spring under the hill) but he hurried away he said for fear she'd begin on him agin, and aggravate him. he wanted sympathy, and i see he needed it, so he told me about it. he's been out of a job for some time, and his wife has took in washin' and worked round for the neighbors to keep 'em goin'. he said he wuz to jonesville all day yesterday lookin' for a job. he said he thought the best way to find one wuz to set right still in some place where men wuz comin' and goin' all the time, so they could see him handy if they wanted to hire him. but he said he never got a job, or no hopes of one, and he went home completely discouraged and deprested, and he said that if he ever felt the need of tender words from a comfortin' companion it wuz then; he said he felt so bad that he went in and busted these words right out to his wife, "i want to be soothed and comforted." and if you'll believe it she told him, "if he wanted to be soothed to soothe himself." jest so hash and onfeelin' she spoke. he said she wuz splittin' kindlin' wood at the time to git supper, and she struck at that wood as if she would bring the woodhouse down. and i guess from his tell that he gin it to her hot and heavy. but 'tennyrate she refused outright to soothe and comfort him, and if that hain't a wife's duty what is? it has always been called so, as i told samantha. she asked what cephas and i wuz talkin' so long about, and i had to tell her. and she said she see miss slinker go home from deacon gowdey's where she'd done a two weeks washin'. she wuz pushin' the baby carriage in front of her with her twins in it, and a bag of potatoes, and little cephas draggin' at her skirts and cryin' to be carried, and she looked as if she would sink down in her tracts. and it seemed, sez samantha, "as tired as she wuz she had to split wood to git supper. and how could she soothe and comfort anybody droudgin' round as she had all day and all wore out? under the circumstances it wuzn't reasonable in cephas to ask it." that's jest the way on't, wimmen will argy and argy and try to have the last word. i wouldn't say no more for i knowed it wuz no use. but i must say that when samantha has the time she's always ready to soothe and comfort me if i'm in trouble. she sez it is a woman's nater to want to help and comfort the man she loves, but he ort to be reasonable and not ask it of her as cephas did. under such circumstances she said it wouldn't hurt him to soothe her a spell. i see i couldn't make no headway arguin' with her, so i kep' demute and went to writin' on the subject i'd laid out to hold forth on which is as follers. when the first thought of writin' this great work bust onto my soul like the blazin' sun risin' up and pourin' down his dazzlin' beams onto jonesville and the surroundin' world, there wuz one idee that stood towerin' up like a light house. one fundamental truth i laid out to lift up so high and make so plain that even a female's feeble comprehension could grasp it, and see its first and primary importance. and that wuz that wimmen should not try to have rights, but at all hazards and under all circumstances not fail to marry a man, and secondly i laid out to prove that them two things matrimony and rights could never by any possibility be combined and run together. [illustration: "and she looked as if she would sink down in her tracts"] for truly these two great truths are what we male men have considered the very ground work and underpinnin' of our strongest and most unanswerable arguments agin wimmen's suffrage, marriage--home--clean children--housework--good vittles--oh, how sweet them words have always sounded in men's ears and are still a soundin', and how eminently fitted to wimmen's weak tender minds and patient confidin' naters. and how obnoxious and loathsome to every male ear have been and are now, the words justice--freedom--equality. oh, how continuously and loudly have my male bretheren, we and us, twanged upon them two strings on life's lyre, and tried to make females jine in the melogious song, tried to make 'em comprehend the beauty and full meanin' on 'em. and right here before i go any furder mebby i ort to stop and make it plain to the modern female who is always tryin' to pick flaws and argy, that i said l-y-r-e and not liar, which they might out of clear aggravation try to make out i meant when i made the hullsale insertion that marriage is woman's duty, and a perfect heaven on earth, and woman's suffragin' is ruination and come straight from hadees. i had writ a hull chapter full of the most beautiful and high flown eloquence on this most congenial subject, and proved i thought to every right minded person that it wuz the duty and delightful privelige of every female to stop immegiately seekin' for rights, and marry to a man to once. it wuz a lovely chapter, and very affectin' in spots, so much so i shed several tears over it, as i told samantha, when she glanced over it at my request. i longed for her appreciation of my genius, if she didn't share my idees, but she only made this remark: "no wonder you shed tears! it is enough to make a graven image weep." she didn't explain what she meant by this remark. but i most knew by the looks on her linement that she wuz makin' light on't. but i wuzn't goin' to pay no attention to slurs comin' from them that want rights. her remark only goaded me on to amplify on the beautiful subject, and i had spent i presoom to say most a teaspunful of ink, and pretty nigh half a pad of paper, besides a soul full of emotion on it, when my dear friend and literary adviser, uncle sime bentley come in, and samantha bein' then out in the buttery makin' sugar cookies and spice cake, i had a clear field and read the chapter over to him, longin' for sympathy and admiration, and feelin' sure i'd tapped the right tree to git the sweet sap of true understandin' and appreciation flow out and heal my wownded sperit, when to my great surprise (and it wouldn't been any more shock to me if i'd tapped a butnut tree and see it run blue ink) uncle sime jined in with samantha's idees, and objected to my hullsale insertion that it wuz the bounden duty of every human bein' to marry. as i read it over to him, expectin' to be interrupted by a warm hand grasp of sympathy and lovin' praise of my idees, i see a dark shadder pass over his linement and he wiggled round oneasy in his chair and finally he said: "that won't do, josiah! you've got to change that or you'll git lots of the jonesvillians down on you," sez he. "there are a good many bacheldors round here, and their feelin's will feel hurt." sez i in a sombry dissapinted axent, "i guess i can handle the subject so's not to hurt their feelin's." "id'no," sez he, "lots on 'em might have married if they'd wanted to, and there are three or four grass widowers too, or mebby i should say hay widowers, for they're pretty old for grass." and simon continued feelin'ly: "this book of yourn, josiah, is as dear to me as if it sprung like a sharp simeter from my own brain, and i can't bear to see you make any statement in it that will be called a slur on our sect." strange as it wuz i hadn't thought on that side of the subject till simon pinted it out to me, my barn chores and fambly cares are so wearin' on me that it had slipped my mind, though probable i should thought on't of my own accord when i had time. but i see the minute my attention wuz drawed to it that i must meller the chapter down for the good of my own sect. and after simon went home (he had come to borry a auger) i meditated on the other side, what you might call the off side of the argument and i see different from what i had seen. and i brung up convincin' incidents and let 'em run through my mind. firstly, i see i wuz hittin' my dear friend simon, hittin' him hard, for he wuz a bacheldor, though he thought too much on me to mention his own wownded feelin's. but when i realized what i had done it fairly stunted me, for it wuz like kickin' my own shins with a hard cowhide boot to hit simon. and i see that take it with all the grass and hay widowers, and what you might call plain bacheldors, there wuz a good many male jonesvillians who would had reason to feel riled up, and i wuzn't one to cast no slurs onto my own sect. id'no why a number of them bacheldors hadn't married, for they wuz well off and might have married if they'd wanted to. i guess it wuz jest because they didn't feel like it. and my mind is so strong and keen i see immegiately how that would spile my argument that females must turn their backs on rights, and marry at all hazards and under all circumstances. for it stands to reason that a woman can't marry if a man is not forthcomin', and hadn't ort to be blamed for it. and i could see every time a man hung back it left a female in the lurch. i see i must wiggle out on't the best i could for i'll be hanged when it come down to brass tacks and i figgered it out, i dassent print a word of what i'd writ; as beautious and eloquent as it wuz i had got to drop it onwillin'ly into the waist basket. for i see that besides a lackage of men caused by hangin' back which wuz of itself a overwhelmin' argument, i see how lots of the females wuz situated that had turned their backs on matrimony. susan jane adsit stayed to home to take care of her old father, and by the time he died she'd got off the notion of marryin'. huldah pendergrast wuz humbly as the old harry, and samantha sez that a man always puts a pretty face before reason or religion, 'tennyrate no man had ever asked her to marry i knowed, so how could she help her single state. amelia burpee wuz left a orphan with five younger children that she promised her dyin' ma to take care on, and when she got them all rared up and settled down in life, she wuz too tuckered out to think of matrimony. and serepta corkins wuz a born man hater, would git over the fence ruther than meet one in the road. she didn't want a man, and heaven knows a man didn't want her. luella pitkin's bo died durin' engagement, and she never wanted to look at a man after that. and her sister, drusilla, wuz all took up with music, and no man could ever take the place with her of b flat, or high g. and abigail mooney's feller she wuz engaged to got led off and married another girl, and abigail went into a incline and the doctor had hard work to raise her up, besides all her own folks did with spignut and wild cherry bark and other strengthenin' and soothin' herbs. and almina hagadone's feller left her because she fell and broke her hip durin' engagement. and id'no but it wuz for the best, for how could she bring up a fambly with only one hip. and so it went on, the hull train of single wimmen swep' through my brain, follered by a crowd of widders, grass, and hay, and sod. and as i mentally stared at 'em i see what i'd done on insistin' that they should every one on 'em marry a man and stay to home, when they hadn't no man and no home to stay in. why, i wuz fairly browbeat and stumped to see what a ticklish place i would stood in with the jonesvillians, if i had writ my chapter as i laid out to, that wimmen _must_ marry and must _not_ vote. i see i had got to turn round and take a new tact. but it wuz like tearin' a bulldog from a good shank bone to uproot a man from that inborn belief. and i thought it over pro and con, con and pro, till my head got fairly dizzy and in one of the dizziest spells this thought come to me that mebby simon's bein' a bacheldor had hampered him and colored his advice, and thinkses i before i lay down in the dust my old beloved belief for good and all, it won't do any hurt to jest mention the subject casually to samantha agin, which i did. i sez in a meachiner axent than i ginerally use, for i felt fur more meachin' than i had felt, sez i, "samantha, wimmen ort to marry instead of votin'." and she sez, "why can't they do both? men marry and vote." "but," sez i, recoverin' with a herculaneum effort a little of my usual feelin' of male superiority, "that is very different, samantha. men have bigger, roomier minds, wimmen and politics can sort o' run side by side through 'em without crowdin' each other. but female minds bein' more narrer and contracted they naterally can't, and hadn't ort to try to hold more'n one on 'em. "but," sez i with a last effort to put forth the beautious arguments that my sect has clung to for ages, i sez in a deep protectin' axent, "marriage is the holiest, the most beautifulest state on this earth." "yes," sez samantha reasonably, "a happy marriage is, i guess, about as nigh heaven as folks ever git on earth, but how many do you find, josiah?" "oceans on 'em," sez i, "oceans on 'em," for i wuzn't goin' to spile my argument entirely till i had to. "yes," sez samantha, "there is once in a while one that looks so from the outside, and mebby it looks so from the inside. but," sez she, "the hands of divorce lawyers are pretty busy nowadays. marriage," sez samantha, "is a divine institution, but its beauty has been dimmed by the rust of unjust and foolish idees and practices. always when time honored customs change from the old to the new, from bad to better, there is a period of upheaval and unrest, until the new becomes natural and common. "wimmen," sez samantha, "are beginin' to look upon marriage differently than they used to. they look now on both sides of the question. instead of settin' with folded hands in a shadowy bower, waitin' and listenin' for the prancin' steed that is to bring the prince to her feet to ask for her lily white hand, which she gives him with grateful, rapturous tears of joy, wimmen are now standin' up on their feet in broad daylight, lookin' on every side of the marriage question and lettin' the full light of day shine on it, the same light they've got to live under after the hazy days of the honeymoon are over." them forward practical idees of hern riled me, and i sez, "i guess men have sunthin' to complain on in the marriage question." "yes indeed they have," sez samantha (with a justice no doubt ketched from me). "lots of silly simperin' girls look upon marriage as a means to be supported without labor, an unlimited carnival of picture shows, circuses and candy. but in the good times comin' when men have learned not to look exclusively for a pretty face and kittenish ways, and seek the sterling qualities of common sense, thrift, and industry, qualities that will keep the domestic hearth bright when the honeymoon has waned, girls will begin to prize and practice these traits which men find admirable. "and another thing, josiah, thoughtful inteligent wimmen are getting so they don't admire the crop of wild oats that used to be considered inevitable, and in a way dashing and admirable. instead of blindly accepting what the prince danes to bestow upon her and asking nothing in return, she demands the same things of him he asks of her, the same purity he demands of her, and why not the same moral and legal rights, since they are both human bein's, made as all mortals are of god and clay?" i gin a deep groan here, showin' plain how distasteful them forward onwomanly idees wuz to me. but she went right on onheedin' my sithes, or the dark frown gatherin' on my eyebrows. sez she, "so many avenues of pleasant lucrative employment are open now to wimmen, and the epithet, old maid, is not as of old a badge of contumely, that wimmen won't take a ticket for the lottery of marriage, for but one reason, the only reason that ever made marriage honorable and respectable, and that is true love, not a light mental fancy, nor a short lived physical attraction, but the love that in spite of earthly shadows illuminates hovel and palace, and makes both on 'em the ante-room of paradise. the love that upholds, inspires, overlooks faults, is constant in sun and shade, and lasts down to the dark valley, and throws its light acrost it into the very land of light." them words sounded good to me, they sounded some like what i had writ more formerly on the subject, and i jined in fervently. "yes, indeed, and why can't females settle down in matrimony and stay to home with their famblys, and take care of their children?" and i quoted a few words from the dear chapter i had writ first. "there woman is a queen, the poorest female in the slummiest slum is a monark in that sacred place." "yes," sez samantha, "sometimes a good man makes a wife supremely happy. but too often nowdays a bright healthy young woman finds in the life she has pictured as the dooryard of eden a worse serpent than eve found there, a loathsome souvenir of her husband's old gay life which destroys her own health and happiness, and which she has to hand down to her children's children, makin' 'em invalids and idiots. "the poor workin' mother you speak on if she is well enough can stay at home if she has a home to stay in, and doesn't have to labor outside to sustain it. she can breathe the filthy tenement air, be frozen by its winter, choked by its summer atmosphere, she can guide and guard the youthful steps of her children as far as the doorstep and then she must drop the helpless hand, and if she is inteligent and loving hearted she can wet her pillow with vain tears thinking how her pretty innocent young girl has got to pass vile saloons full of evil men on her way to and from store and factory. the factory filled with gant childish forms, with all the care-free happiness of childhood ground from their faces by the brutal hand of incessant toil. unguarded machinery on every side that one false careless move of her girl may maim or kill. her pretty girl alone strugglin' with ontold dangers. youth's wild blood urging her to indiscreet acts, wolves of prey on one side, grim want on the other. if the mother has a mother's heart, her body may be at home where she is so eloquently urged to be, but her heart will be abroad, in the greater home wimmen want to make safer; the home where her children spend their days. it will be hantin' the factory, the grog shop, the vile picture show, the white slaver's abode, watchin', waitin', for what may happen, what has happened so often to other mothers' children." samantha goes too fur when she gits to goin', and i told her so plain and square, she aggravates me. and to let her see how much i disapproved of her talk i never dained a reply to her in verbal words. but i riz up with a hauty mean on my eyebrow, and went to pokin' the kitchen fire. i poked it with all the strength of a strong man whose arguments have been spilte and whose feelin's have been wownded by his own pardner. but i believe my soul that she thought that i did it as a hint that it wuz about dinner time, for she went out to once and hung on the teakettle. and as she did so she mentioned incidentally that she laid out to have lamb chops and green peas and mashed potatoes for dinner, with peach pie and coffee to foller. as she said this my angry emotions settled down and grew more clear and composed, some like samantha's delicious coffee, when she drops the powdered eggshells into it. iv i talk on man's protectin' love for wimmen it wuz a beautiful mornin'. i felt boyed up by the invigoration of the invigoratin' atmosphere, the boyness helped along mebby by three cups of samantha's delicious coffee with rich cream in it, three veal cutlets brown and tender, four hot rolls light as day, several flaky baked potatoes and some biled eggs. i felt well and i devoted my muse on this auspicious occasion to writin' specially on the protectin' love and care that men had always shown and delighted to show to females. it wuz a subject that i loved and my mind and tongue had often reverted to, follerin' the example of all the other good and great statesmen who have talked and writ on the feminist question. and i felt that i wuz abundantly qualified to do justice to it, havin' protected samantha and lovin'ly guarded her weak footsteps for goin' on forty years. i set with my steeled pen in hand and got so lost and wropped up in contemplation of the beautiful and inspirin' subject, and plannin' how i would handle it to the best advantage, that time passed onheeded and first i knowed i hearn by the sound of dishes rattlin' in the near and adjacent kitchen that samantha wuz beginin' to make preparations for dinner. the kitchen as i said wuz contagious to the settin' room and the door wuz open. i had laid out and intended to begin the chapter on this important and most congenial subject with some strong stern language calculated to shame wimmen for the unbelievin' remarks they had made on this beautiful and universal trait of my sect, and their seemin' teetotle inability to appreciate the constant onvaryin' and lovin' protection that men had always gin to the weaker and more inferior sect. i remembered well how in a former talk with samantha on this subject, though she had admitted willin'ly enough that there wuz lots of good generous men runnin' loose in the world. yet she tried to dispute my insertion that _all_ men _always_ cared for and tenderly protected wimmen, by bringin' up instances where she claimed men had balked and kicked over the traces, and instead of protectin' wimmen had run 'em away into ruination and destruction. she brung up white slavery, political, social and industrial dependence, and the average man's inherient objection to regard wimmen as a citizen and plain human bein', bein' inclined to regard 'em either as angels or underlin's. and a lot of other trashy arguments calculated to rile a man up, yes mad a man to the very quick, who knowed what he wuz talkin' about. one who had spent the heft of his life in protectin' and guidin' her that now turned agin him and disputed him. a man who knowed as well as he knowed the looks of his linement in the shavin' glass, that man's protectin' love and care wuz all that had held wimmen up, and wuz still a proppin' her. i spoze in my righteous indignation i may have said kinder hash things about the low down ornary traits of the inferior sect to which samantha belonged, for she begun to bring up traits that she said some of my sect had, and throw 'em at me, traits that i know no man ever had or skursley ever had hearn on. but i must say that all the while riled up as she wuz inside of her, she kep' knittin' away on my indigo blue sock, and kep' makin' honorable exceptions of good men and smart men. but she brung up vanity, said i and my sect wuz vain. sez she, "if a woman tries to talk sense and reason to a man about her needs and her rights, he will generally pay her a compliment about her eyes or her nose. 'tennyrate he will turn the subject some way and won't listen to her. but if she makes eyes at him, and talks soft nonsense, and flatters him, he will purr like a pussy cat." 'tain't so. who ever hearn a man purr? purrin' is sunthin a man's nater would rebel at and scorn with perfect contemp. but i smashed that argument about vanity to once and forever. sez i so scathin'ly that it seemed as if she must show signs of scorchin', "did you ever see a man wear a cosset? or carry a vanity bag?" and then still a knittin' and still makin' exceptions of some good and generous men, she throwed the trait of selfishness in my face, said my sect had passed along down the fields of time, gatherin' up the ripe wheat and leavin' wimmen to rake up the leavin's. 'tain't so, and even if it wuz, i presoom to say ruth got quite a good bundle of grain out of boazes' wheat field. and then she took pomposity and throwed at me (still a knittin', and still makin' exceptions of some men) said lots of men stood up on a self-made pedestal lookin' down mentally on them who in many cases wuz their superiors, but she added that wimmen wuz more to blame for this trait in men than they wuz, for they had been educated to look up to men instead of lookin' sideways where they ort to find him on a level at her side. it is needless to say to any one who knows my keenness of inteleck that i took immegiate advantage of this slip of her tongue and sez, "i am glad that you admit, samantha, that wimmen are always in the wrong. i and my sect have always knowed it, and we've always laid the blame on 'em from eve down to miss pankhurst." and that seemed to set her off agin, and she brung up my blindness. blind as a bat! them wuz her words she throwed at me, at _me_! who has got eyes as keen as a eagle's. that injustice did rankle and make me hash and say hash things. but she kep' cam on the outside, kep' on with her knittin' and intimidated agin that though there wuz lots of good generous men in the world, yet it had always been a trait of the average man from solomon to harry thaw to look upon woman as a plaything or a convenience. and then she brung up inconsistency and how men showed it in the laws they made, _criminal inconsistency_, she called it. sez she, "a girl must be twenty-one when she is considered by men lawmakers wise enough to sell them a hen, or buy a cat. but yet at the age of ten in one state, twelve in another, she is considered by them wise and prudent enough to sell them the crowning jewel of her life with the payment of lifelong shame, agony, and despair, and mebby a little candy. men make such laws," sez she, "not for their own sweet young girls, but for some other men's daughters, just like the infamous white slave traffic that sells every year thousands and thousands of young girls into a livin' death. and i think," sez she, "when men make such shameful barbarous laws it is high time for 'em to have help from angels or wimmen or sunthin' or ruther." "that hain't religious, samantha," sez i, "to speak of angels makin' laws, tendin' corkuses and such. as a deacon i object to it." sez she, "as a deacon you better object to the laws i'm talkin' about, and if clergymen, deacons and church members generally, would all rise agin 'em, they'd be stamped out pretty sudden." sez she, "when the young girls of our country are considered of equal importance with cows and clover to oversee and protect, there will be different laws, and i believe wimmen's votin' will hasten that day." there is always a time for a man if he wants to keep his dignity intack before females, to stop arguin' with 'em. that time had come to me at that juncture, and i knowed that it would be more dignified to show a manly superiority to such hullsale calumnity of my sect so i looked hautily at her, and didn't dain to reply to her in verbal words though i grated my teeth some, as i walked out of the settin' room with head erect into the kitchen, and brought in a armful of wood from the contagious woodshed with my head still held high, and hung on the teakettle with a hauty mean. for i felt that some of samantha's good vittles would soothe my wownded and perturbed sperit if anything could and they did cam me. i thought of that former interview with my pardner as i sot there preparin' my mind for the masterful effort i wuz about to make. as i said more formerly i had intended to begin the chapter at this epock of time with a few witherin' remarks calculatin' to rebuke wimmen and wither 'em. i laid out to stun 'em and skair 'em with the artillery of my brilliant eloquence, my protectin' love for the weaker sect riz up so powerful, and my anger wuz so hot agin them that had dasted to deny it. i felt that they _did_ believe in men's constant and tender protection, but held out and denied it jest to be mean, jest to carry out their sect's well known desire to argy and aggravate us. and as i meditated on these things and thought of my former talk with samantha i have jest related, i held my steeled pen in almost a iron grip, and my linement i knowed growed fearful to look upon, charged as it wuz with the awakened powers of a strong man. when jest as i wuz beginin' the turrible rebukin' words samantha opened the oven door in the contagious kitchen and the fragrant breath of a lemon custard pie floated out, accompanied with the delicious uroma of a roast chicken with dressin'. and as on so many former occasions, the delicious odor seemed to enter into and permenate my hull mental and physical systern and soften 'em and quiet my wild and dangerous emotions, i felt mellerer towards her and her sect, and i held my steeled pen in a gentler, softer grip. and instead of the thunderbolt of convincin' argument i had even begun to transcribe, i sez to samantha, who had come in with a pan of potatoes to peel, and my voice wuz as sweet as the lemon custard. "you do know, don't you, dear samantha, that it has always been men's chief aim and desire to protect the weaker inferior sect?" sez i tenderly. "any man that has the sperit of manhood within him will agree with me." agin i inhaled into my nostrils the sweet uroma comin' from the contagious kitchen, and sez i in a still tenderer axent, "men love to protect wimmen, don't you think so?" sez samantha in a cam reasonable voice peelin' away at her potatoes, "a man loves to protect and warn a woman agin every man only himself." sez she, "amanda peedick wuz protected by men and warned." and i sez kinder short, my tenderer emotions driv back into myself, "what of it, what if she wuz!" and then she had to go on and recall to my mind that triflin' incident that had occurred and took place in jonesville the fall before. sez she, "you remember, josiah, old man peedick who wuz rich as a jew, left all his money to his boys, a handsome propputy to each one on 'em, and almina who had stayed to home and took care on him, and lifted him, and rubbed him, and soaked him, and swet him, and dressed and fed him, he only left the house and apple orchard. "the boys all had splendid homes in the city, but their houses wuz either too big or too small, or too hot or too cold, to have almina live with 'em, and she wuz expected to git her livin' out of the apples. they wuz first class grafts, none so good anywhere round, and brought the very highest price, and she would got a good livin' and laid up money, if she had been left alone, if she hadn't been protected and warned. "but every single one of them brothers would come out from the city and warn her agin the other brothers, and tell her how easy it wuz for a weak innocent woman to be deceived and cheated by designin' men, her nearest relation mebby. and that a gentle female's mind wuzn't strong enough to grapple with depravity, and she must lean on him for protection, and he would see her through, so every single one on 'em told her, and warned her agin the other six brothers. "and amanda would feel real affectionate and grateful to each one on 'em in turn, and be glad she had such a strong protector and warner to take care of her. and every single time they come to protect and warn her they would take home a few bushels of them delicious apples, and when they got through protectin' and warnin' her, she didn't have apples enough left to make a mess of sass." but what of it, what had that got to do with my great work that wuz seethin' through my brain? that shows how triflin' and how ornary a woman's mind is, to bring up that old story whilst my brain wuz workin' to a almost dangerous degree inside of my forward tryin' to prove to the female masses at large the great fact of men's protectin' love and the needecessity for it, to prove to 'em as i laid out to prove to the listenin' world that wimmen wuz naterally inferior to men, their brains smaller and lighter, when weighed up in the stillyards. their emmanuel strength less, their idees more whifflin' and onstabled, and that therefore and accordin'ly wimmen needed and had got to have man's masterful mind and emmanuel strength to protect her from the evils and wickedness of the world, and specially from the awful tuckerin' and dangerous job of votin'. at this juncter i paused for a minute to collect my thoughts together and then i brought forth from my brain this convincin' argument. if wimmen don't need a man to protect her and take care on her, why is she so much more ignorant of sin and depravity? why is there five times more men in prisons and penitentiaries than there is wimmen, if they knowed as much about crime as men do? "no," sez i, soarin' up in eloquence, "what a man has been through and been educated up to in business and political life, he knows how to protect tender females from. why," sez i, fairly carried away on the wings of my own eloquence, "men can teach wimmen more in one day about criminal wickedness, graft, false witnessing, drunkenness, bribery, political corruption of all kinds, than she can learn from her own sect in months. not but what," sez i reasonably, "she can learn some from some on 'em, but not nigh so much nor nigh so fast." i didn't know but samantha would take lumbago from my cuttin' remarks, but she didn't seem to. she took up her pan of peeled potates and prepared to leave the room. but as she went out she said sunthin' agin about that old debatin' school, and the feller she always tried to git on the other side of the argument, so's to help her out. showin' as plain as the nose on your face jest how queer wimmen are, how their minds will wander, and how impossible it is to keep 'em down to the subject under discussion. v wherein i prove man's courtesy towards wimmen in my tremenjous efforts to succor my sufferin' and women-hounded sect at this awful epock of time, i have already held forth on the beautiful and congenial subject of the love and protectin' care males have always loved to show towards females. but agin i take up my steeled pen to write upon this most important subject. for i agin warn my sect solemnly that this beautiful trait in me and us, is what we should enlarge upon, and insist on makin' the female sect admit at this epock of danger and revolt. yes, my sufferin' sect, we should make 'em own up to it, peacefully if we can, but if necessary let us insert it into their obstinate craniums with a crowbar and hammer. for though a weaker inteleck may not grasp its importance and extreme needecessity, it is plain to the eagle eye of a researcher and reformer of females that if they admit this, they have got to admit all that follers, the perfect peace and rest they feel surrounded by these noble traits as by a shinin' mantilly. with this worthy end in view i've tried to warn samantha time and agin that if females insisted on risin' up and demandin' their rights they would become so obnoxious to the stronger and opposite sects that men would lose that tender courtesy they have always loved to show towards wimmen. but i've never been able to skair her, and i don't know as i ever shall. mebby this great work of mine when it is finished and lanched onto a waitin' world may dant her, but, i don't know, i feel dubersome about it. sez she when i brung it up to her agin, "men and wimmen are born with different traits; wimmen have love and tenderness and sympathy towards the helpless, babies, husbands, etc.; you insist that votin' hain't changed nor harmed men's courtesy and chivalry you talk so much about, so why should votin' break down these inborn traits in wimmen that men admire?" "but you will see that it will," sez i, "and methought i had proved it to you on a former occasion that it is a scientific fact proved by such scientific men as myself, simon bentley esq., and other deep thinkers, that the very minute a woman goes to the pole that very minute a man's courtesy and chivalry towards her is utterly destroyed." but if you'll believe it even this turrible idee didn't seem to skair her. she sez, "if i can't have but one i'd ruther have justice than courtesy, but i'd like both, and don't see why i can't have 'em." but i sez agin firmly and decisively, "you can't have both on 'em, for if a woman votes, by that brazen and onbecomin' move of hern, wimmen lose that winnin' weakness and appealin' charm for men, their helplessness before the law, and their clingin' dependence upon them to take care of them and their propputy that is so endearin' to my sect. and if they spile this by their obnoxious act of votin' they must take the awful consequences." sez samantha, "it has worked well in other states; it has helped men, wimmen and children mentally, socially and legally. if it wuz such a dangerous thing as you say it is, why have men granted suffrage to wimmen after it has been tried for twenty years or more in a neighborin' state, right in their own dooryard as you may say? would they venter if they hadn't found that it wuz a good thing?" sez i hautily, "i am not talkin' about other states or other countries, or other males or other females. i am working and writing in the interests of jonesville and its environin' environs. i am tryin' to ward off with my right hand, and my steeled pen the waves of error that i see in my own mind sweepin' down nigher and nigher onto us." and i went on with a soarin' eloquence enough to melt the heart of a salamander, "i stand at the gate of jonesville as the boy stood on the burnin' deck when all but him had flowed, and i will stand there protectin' that gate, and us male jonesvillians from infringin' and encroachin' females till i'm sot fire to." i waved out my hand in a noble jester as i spoke, and spozed mebby it would touch samantha's heart. but she looked at me over her specs from head to foot in the cool aggravatin' way wimmen have sometimes, and i read in her eyes the remark she didn't utter: "you hain't big enough to make much of a bonfire." but i didn't reply to that unuttered tant, i felt above it, and went on, "i am not the only man who takes that firm onchangeable position. england has a high official who occupies the same noble poster. he don't heed or care what females want or don't want, nor what other statesmen want or don't want. nor he don't care what is goin' on in other parts of the world, or not goin' on. his proud position is to shield england from the encroachin' army of female suffragists. to do what he's made up his mind to do, and nothin' can't stop him, not threats, nor reason, nor argument, nor broken winders, nor torn coat tails. a good hard shakin' from a female can't change him, nor shake his resolve out of him, nor hunger strikes, nor fleein' wimmen, nor pursuin' ones. he stands side by side with me. and even if it brought the towers of jonesville and england in ruins at our four feet we would not then change our two great minds. "his bizness is to not look to see what is done in other places or not done, but to protect his own green isle from what he's made up his mind is dangerous and infringin'. "oh," sez i with a deep heart felt sithe, "would that we two congenial souls might meet and sympathize with each other. but though sea and land divides our bodies, our sperits meet and flow together." i wuz almost lost in the rapped idee of the sweet conference meetin' we two could enjoy together. but anon i gin my attention to the subject momentarily broke in upon (for my mind is so large and roomy it is big enough for several trains of thought to run through it at one time). and i sez as i remarked prior and heretofore, "samantha, that courtesy in males is a most beautiful trait; you see it everywhere, to mill and to meetin', as the old sayin' is. now last week when i wuz to the conference, uncle sime and i wuz in a crowded street car and a dretful fat woman come in, heftier than you are, samantha." "is it possible?" sez she coldly (she thinks i make light of her heft but i don't; it hain't nothin' to make light of, specially when you lift her in and out the democrat). "yes," sez i, "she wuz even fatter than you are, and she come in red-faced and pantin' from the exertion. and a young chap who had been settin' with two or three other young fellers carryin' on and laughin', the very minute she come wheezin' in, he riz up and sez to her: "'i will be one of three men to give you a seat, madam.' "you see, samantha," sez i, "how that inborn courtesy in males inserted itself even in a street car." "yes, i see," sez samantha in a still colder axent, but i could tell by her linement that she wuzn't a mite convinced. and i went on a praisin' up that noble trait of my sect, and tryin' to convince her how universal it wuz, and how turrible it would be for females to lose it, but she kep' on a knittin' on my blue sock, and sez in quite a reasonable axent for a female to use: "yes, to see a great hearted noble man guard and protect a woman is a beautiful sight, but," sez she, "that trait, though sometimes seen, is not universal." sez i, "it is; it is jest as universal as--as--any universalist ever wuz." but she kep' right on in the persistent, irritatin' way wimmen have; as i've said prior and before, they can't seem to be willin' to give up to man's superior judgment, they're bound to talk and argy. and her voice wuz as firm as any rock in our medder, and if there is anything more firmer and aggravatin' than them i'd like to see 'em. she made me think that minute of them big rocks when i wuz tryin' to plough round 'em. i see i could jest as easy make a furrer through them as through her sot obstinate old mind as she said agin: "men don't always use courtesy towards wimmen." as she made that damagin' insertion agin, is it any wonder that the plough of my manly judgment struck fire from her rocky obstinacy? i acted fearful wrathy and disputed her right up and down. sez i, "that is sunthin' that no man will stand for; they will not brook bein' accused of a lack of courtesy towards wimmen." i acted dretful indignant, for in this turrible time us men have got to lay holt of every little nub of argument and hang onto it like a dog to a bone, or the lord only knows what will become on us, or how low a hole we will be ground down into by the high heels of females. sez samantha, "i admit there are beautiful instances of men protectin' and guardin' wimmen, but how wuz it with fez lanfear? he wuz always boastin' about men's courtesy and chivalry, and how did it come out?" i sot silent and scratched my head for a minute or so, not as samantha intimidated to try to dig out a favorable idee, no, it itched. and i sez, "id'no as i blame fez for always talkin' about this trait in his sect, and id'no as i blame him for what it led to." he see how necessary it wuz to insist on men's havin' these traits, and his wife would argy agin him, and he'd git riled up. he always had to be real sharp with her and boss her, for if he hadn't he would lost the upper hand of her, which every man ort to have, and she would took the advantage on him and run on him. for the propputy all belonged to her and it made fez discouraged, and took his ambition away, and he couldn't seem to set himself to work, and all the comfort he had wuz in arguin' on them traits of men and playin' on the fiddle and base drum, so she rented her place and they lived on what she got for it. but knowin' it wuz her ruff that covered him, and her chairs he sot in, and her vittles he et, and clothes he wore, made him irritated and fraxious, and he knowed he'd got to sass her and act uppish towards her or he wouldn't be nothin' nor nobody. and she would act real disagreeable and tell him she'd love to see some of the courtesy of his sect he talked so much about showed out by him to home, and she doubted he had any, and knowin' that he had oceans of it, for every man has, it naterally madded him. and one washin' day they got to arguin' and he brung up them noble traits of men, and their onvaryin' courtesy and generosity towards wimmen. and right in the midst on't she asked him to bring in two pails of water to finish her washin' on account of her havin' a lame back. he wuz practicin' a new piece entitled "woman, lovely woman," and bein' so interested in it and bein' broke off so sudden from melody and men's noble traits to act as a chore boy (he'd argyed so much he could argy and fiddle) and a smartin' i spoze from the dispute they wuz havin', he wouldn't git her the water and told her real short to git it herself. and as she started with two pails for the water--they brung it up from the creek by hand, for fez had never had time to make a cistern--she twitted him agin about that courtesy of men towards wimmen, and bein' so high strung and independent sperited, he up and hit her and knocked her down, and stood over her a hollerin': "now will you dispute me agin, and say that men don't show any courtesy towards wimmen?" and bein' browbeat and skairt (for he wuz a great strong man and she a little mite of a woman and tired out) she had to knuckle down and admit that men _did_ have courtesy, oceans of it. but he wouldn't git the water, he showed his independence there and she better kep' still and not aggravated him. lots of folks blamed him, samantha did, them that see shaller, and didn't see deep into first causes. he told uncle sime and me jest how it wuz; he said that mad and aggravated as he wuz he didn't forgit that his wife belonged to the weaker and tenderer sect, and it wuz a husband's duty and privelige to take care on her and shield her from harm. and he said he didn't hit her hard at all, only gin her a little tunk to let her know who wuz master there and that he wouldn't brook female arguin', and he said that if she hadn't been so tuckered out it wouldn't have hurt her much of any, and he wuz as surprised as she wuz when she tumbled over. but he said seein' she laid there on the floor he see it wuz his duty to his own sect to make her own up how truly superior men wuz, and how much courtesy they had, for he thought mebby he should never git so good a chance agin to make her own up to them noble traits of men. uncle sime and i both see how fez felt and what driv him to do what he did. i tell you agin it is a perilous and agonizin' epock of time for the male sect at home and abroad. men in america havin' to set curled up on a bench by the side of the road, and see weak wimmen, underlin's, a marchin' by 'em in the center of the street with brass bands and banners a flyin'. and in england the highest official of the empire held by the collar and shook by a weak female jest like a spitball thrower of a schoolboy, and couldn't resent it in court owin' to his havin' so much dignity at the stake. oh, my downtrod sect! what are we a comin' to? i do git so wrought up a meditatin' on the dretful things that are a happenin' to us men nowdays, and how browbeat and how humiliated we are by our inferiors, i git so cast down and deprested that my melancholy sperit has to bust out in poetry. for some time i've had them feelin's. now last christmas night i had such a spell, and i had to git out of bed and put samantha's crazy quilt round me (and it seemed as if that insane quilt made me feel more high strung and wild) and go out in the settin' room and ease my strugglin' sperit in verse. why, sometimes it seems if i didn't have this safety valve to my bustin', swellin' emotions it seems almost as if i should have to be hooped to keep myself together. but poetry kinder easies me a little. now last saturday night i writ the follerin' verses as late as leven p.m. we'd been to meetin' as usual, and had a splendid christmas dinner. samantha, as i have mentioned prior and before this, with all the weaknesses and shortcomin's of her inferior sect, is a masterly cook. but it is all nonsense her thinkin' i et too much; i didn't eat more'n four pieces of mince pie, and three helpin's of plum puddin', besides the turkey and vegetables and salad and such. if a strong man belongin' to a strong and superior sect can't stand that, it is a pity. she insisted that it wuz a nightmair that sot on my chist and rid me out of bed into the settin' room that time o' night. but it wuzn't no such thing, it wuz my melancholy and deprested sperit that overcome me a thinkin' of my sect and what wuzn't to be. it seems as if everything melancholy and cast down appeared right in front on me. seems as if i could see old fate a encouragin' and pompeyin' the more opposite sect, and turnin' her back and lookin' down onto me and my sect, and refusin' me and us things she might have gin us if she'd a mind to. but bein' a female we might know she'd be contrary and love to tromple on us, and on me in petickular. as i sot there in them solemn night hours, with samantha sleepin' peacefully in the next room and the old clock tickin' away as if onmindful of the sufferin' sperit near it, it seemed as if every mean jab old fate had ever gin me from her sharp elbows and hard knuckles riz right up before me, and i seemed to see all the agreable things she might have did for the benefit of me and my sect if she hadn't been so contrary, but as i said, what could you expect of a female? my feelin's wuz turrible; the verses i gin vent to relieved me a little some like prickin' a bile and after writin' 'em i went back to bed and slep' so sound that i never hearn samantha buildin' a fire and gittin' breakfast till the sweet uroma of the coffee and briled chops stole on my wakened senses and i forgot for the moment the trials of me and my sect and felt better than i did feel. the verses wuz entitled: a christmas owed _by josiah allen, esq., p.m.s.j.c.f._ yes christmas has come, it got here at last, a bringin' me memories out of the past, and a pair of galluses, a necktie sad- a gray night-shirt and a paper pad; useful presents, but nothin' gay, _useful presents_, dum 'em! i say! i wanted some jew'lry for the brethren to see, but it wuzn't to be, it wuzn't to be. ministers preach 'tis a blessed day, and so it is in a meetin' house way; but to me it has been a day of gloom, samantha i see didn't like the broom, and mop-stick, and pair of cowhide shues, it took me the heft of a hour to chuse; it made me deprested, and mournfulee i've mused on the things that wuzn't to be. weak females risin' on every hand pertendin' that they're equal to man- wantin' to stand right up by his side, instead of the place where they ort to abide down in the safety and peace at his feet; oh the dear old times, so happy so sweet, will never come back to my sect, nor to me, no, it wuzn't to be, it wuzn't to be. yes, i guess old fate made a slip of her pen, when fixin' the lot of the children of men, 'twas bad for the world and for me i ween that i wuzn't born a king or a queen; my bald head shines out bare and cold, or wears a hat, oh a crown of gold would set it off fur agreabler to me, but it wuzn't to be, it wuzn't to be. fate sets a writin' in darkness and night, 'tain't spozeable she always gits things right; to the poor she sends ten children or more crowdin' in through famine wolves round the door, while for one kid the rich may vainly sigh, but she flirts her skirts and passes 'em by; why hain't villains shot while the good go free? it wuzn't to be, it wuzn't to be. a poet comes with his dreamy way right into a nest of common clay; and in pious home a soul gits in the size of the hole in the head of a pin; so 'tain't so strange some feller and i should git mixed up on our way through the sky; if i had to be born why not been he. it wuzn't to be, it wuzn't to be. fate sort o' yanked me and throwed me down on a yankee hillside bare and brown; and gin me a chance to die or live accordin' to labor i had to give; i couldn't eat stuns or a burdock burr, so i had to hustle and make things purr, no bread-fruit round, nor no custard-tree; no, it wuzn't to be, it wuzn't to be. now that other feller that might have been me by a turn of fate's pen, oh in luxury he lays and counts up his millions in bed, with his crown on the bed-post over his head; i wonder by snum! if he thinks it straight- for me to be small and him to be great; when i might have been him and he might have been me, but it wuzn't to be, it wuzn't to be. i'd ask how he'd like it to take off his crown and to good hard hoein' knuckle down. or plantin', or hayin', or a weed pullin' bee in onion beds, (dum 'em from a to z!) i bet i could work on his feelin's so deep he'd up and divide a part of his heap, jest a thinkin' of how he might have been me- but it wuzn't to be, it wuzn't to be. now that feller's wife, i presoom to say that some of the time he has his way; he's so tarnal lucky and happy and fat, it would be jest like him to git even that. oh i'd dearly love to have it to say that _once_, jest _once_ i'd had my way when samantha and i didn't chance to agree, but it wuzn't to be, it wuzn't to be. samantha of course had to find fault with these sad but beautiful verses. and she asked me what them letters meant i had strung along after my name, showin' plain the inherient weakness of a female's brain. of course a man would see to once that they stood for path master and salesman in the jonesville cheese factory. i had talked it over with uncle sime and we both agreed that at this time, when the hull race of men wuz facin' complete insignificance, if not teetotal anhiliation, it behooved us to lay holt of every speck of dignity we could lay our hands on, and we both thought them letters made my name look more noble and riz up. but samantha didn't like the verses at all, and agin advanced the uroneous idee that it wuz my liver that ailed me instead of genius. sez she, "if folks will gorge themselves 'till their eyes stand out with fatness,' as the good book sez, how can they see plain to gratefully count over the blessin's the past year has brought 'em, and lay plans to pass on some of their good cheer to them that set in the shadders of grief and poverty?" she said i'd be all right in a day or two, and if i wuzn't she should soak my head, and doctor me, for, sez she, "i hain't goin' to have anybody round writin' such deprestin' and ongrateful verses. "lots of times," sez she, "if sentimental and melancholy poets would git their livers to workin' better they wouldn't harrer up their readers so. catnip would help 'em to look on the brighter side of life, or thoroughwort." and she didn't like the last pathetic and interestin' stanza; she said i'd had my way, or _thought_ i'd had it time and agin. and agin she said it wuz my liver that ailed me, and she even approached me with some catnip tea. good heavens! _catnip!_ to curb my soarin' sperit, and soothe the ardent emotions of my soul. a regular fool idee. you might know it sprung from a female's brain, or ruther the holler spot where brains should be--gracious heaven! _catnip!_ vi i talk on females infringin' as i've repeated time and agin it is a apaulin' epock of time us males are a passin' through. more and more, day by day and year by year the female sect is a infringin' on us. right after right, privelige after privelige, dear to our manly souls as the very apples in our eyes, are grasped holt on by encroachin' female hands and torn away from us weak and helpless men. from birth to death the infringin' goes on, you can't take up a newspaper now but you see signs on't. in the good old times when a man had a child born to him to carry on his name and his propputy to future generations, he took the credit on't. how is it told on now? instead of puttin' it in as it used to be, and ort to be, "john smith has got a son, john smith jr."--it is writ down now in this fool way: "a son is born to john and mary smith." what's the use on't? john's name is enough any fool would know there wuz a female somewhere connected with the event in a womanly onobstrusive way, but why do they have to bring her name forward to set her up, and spile her, and mention all these little petickulars? why, how wuz it in bible times, as i asked samantha, sez i, "from the very first it wuz set down as it ort to be and a sample to foller, noah begot ham, and ham begot cush, and cush begot nimrod, and they kep' on begettin' and begettin', chapter after chapter, and no female's name connected with it in any way, shape or manner." sez i, "hain't that a solemn proof, samantha, that females are inferior and wuzn't considered worth writin' about?" sez i, "you nor no other female suffragist can squirm out of that." sez samantha, "men translated the bible, but i can tell you," sez she, "that when miss ham, racked with agonizin' pain, went down to death's door for little cush, whilst mr. ham wuz santerin' round canean smart as a cricket, and probable flirtin' with some good lookin' four-mother, if miss ham had writ it up for the daily paper her name would been mentioned in the transaction." that's jest the way it is, even bible proof can't stop wimmen's clack and argyin'. yes, jest as i said, infringin' follers a man from the cradle to the grave. for i'll be hanged if you don't see it writ nowdays, "james brown, beloved husband of sarah brown." how bold, how forward! _husband of!_ it seems as if it is enough to make his grampa, old jotham brown, turn over in his grave and try to git up, to stop such doin's. he lived in a time when females knowed their place and kep' in it. he had twenty-one children by his seven different wives, and every one on 'em wuz put in the paper and the old fambly bible credited to him; ketch him havin' any female's name mixed up with it, oh no! they couldn't infringe on him, not whilst he wuz alive, they couldn't. he worked his wives hard, and when one died off, he married another. he said as long as the lord kep' takin' 'em, he should. as i said no female couldn't git the better of him whilst he wuz alive, but they played a nasty mean trick on him after he wuz dead. his last wife wuz a high headed creeter, or would have been if he hadn't broke her in, and held her head down with such a tight rain. but owin' to his disagreein' with all his children and bloody relatives she got the propputy all in her hands, and after he died she got tall noble gravestuns for every one of his different wives, almost monuments, with a long verse of poetry on each one on 'em, and their names writ down in full. "mahala eliza--mehitable jane--amanda mandana--drusilly charity--priscilla charlotte--alzina trypheena--diantha cordelia--all carved in big deep letters, and their names before they wuz married. these seven high stuns stood in a sort of a half circle with a little low stun in the center and on it printed in little letters wuz: "our husband." it looked dretful; but his children all hatin' him as they did they didn't interfere. but it wuz a mean trick and she couldn't have done it if he'd been alive, no indeed. but seein' he wuzn't there to rain her in and hold her down, she took the advantage on him as wimmen will if you give 'em the chance. folks all thought she done it to come up with him for bein' so hard on his different wives, and keepin' 'em down so, and i presoom she did. i presoom she wuz a regular female infringer and suffrager. now in the marriage notices, instead of bein' put in the newspaper in the modest becomin' way it used to be, "john smith's son married to mary brown," it has to be put in mr. and mrs. smith's son or daughter is married. where is the good horse sense on't? everybody would know that young smith had a mother somewhere in the background, but what's the use of bringin' her forward so and makin' on her? it is jest to infringe on men, that's what it is for. and when luke dingman married nancy whittle she had the money to start a store bizness, but luke bein' a man, his wuz the name that ort to been spoke on, and he went and got a handsome sign all painted "luke dingman's store." and if you'll believe it nancy made him git it painted all over agin "l. and n. dingman's store." what wuz the use of draggin' a female's initional into it? jest to infringe on us men. but lots of men made fun on't and told luke he'd ort to been man enough to stand his ground and kep' the first sign. they say it makes luke real huffy, and he takes it out on nancy, is dretful mean to her, but she's only got herself to blame, she hadn't ort to infringed on him. and last week samantha and i went to philena peedick's weddin'. and when the minister asked, "who giveth this woman to this man?" the widder peedick walked up bold as brass, and gin philena away, _she_, a _female woman_! never, as i told uncle sime, never did i see a plainer or more flagrant case of infringin' on men's rights. why, philena had a male uncle there, and ruther than see such things go on i would have gin her away myself. but thank heaven, there is one thing they hain't changed yet, females have got to knuckle down and be gin away to a man, in marriage, that's a little comfort. "who giveth this woman!" they have got to hear that, much as it may gald 'em. but as i told uncle sime, it would be jest like 'em to try to change that. and i told him the first we knew a female would snake a man up to the altar, and the minister would be made to say, who giveth this man to this woman? and the woman who walked him up there would say, "i give him." and then she'll hand him over to the bride. oh, my soul! have i ever got to see that day? uncle sime and i both said that we hoped and trusted that we would be dead and buried under our tombs before that humiliation come onto our sect. uncle sime and i sympathize a lot together and talk of the good old times and forebode about the future. and one day when my sperit seemed crushed down and deprested more than common, and the future for us men looked dark and gloomy indeed, i sez to him: "simon, i see ahead on us the time when i shall be called mr. samantha smith." uncle sime, though very smart, hain't got my mind, sort o' forebodin' and prophetic, and much as he'd worried about wimmen's infringin', he hadn't foreboded to that extent, and he trembled like a popple leaf at them dretful words and sez: "oh, gracious heavens, josiah! how can we men ever stand up under that!" but i went on, turnin' the knife in the wownd, "mr. kittie brown, mr. nellie jones! what do you think of that, simon?" he groaned and sithed but didn't say nothin'; it seemed as if the very idee had fairly stunted him, and i kep' still and meditated and my mind roamed back to the humiliatin' time when i laid my onwillin' nose on the grindstun, or ruther it wuz laid on for me and held there, and i signed a piece of poetry i had writ "samantha allen's husband." it hain't no use to go into the petickulars and tell all about the means employed to git me under such mortifyin' subjugation. vittles had sunthin' to do with it, and i hain't goin' to tell no furder. but never, never shall i forgit my meachin' and downtrod linement as i surveyed it in the glass when i wuz shavin' jest afterwards. shavin' a beard! that very act riz up and asserted the supremacy of my sect and mocked the move i had made. oh, the sufferin's of that occasion and my vain efforts to git out of it. but samantha never sympathized with me a mite. she said, "you've seen me doin' the same thing for years and enjoyed it, and what is sass for the gander ort to be sass for the goose." there is another proof of wimmen's infringin'; she turned that familiar old sayin' right round to carry her pint, and put the goose where the gander always had been, and ort to be. i tell you there hain't no length a female won't go to to carry the day and infringe on men's rights. and you might as well git blood from a white turnip as to git any pity and sympathy from 'em for my downtrod sect. for when i mentioned to samantha my turrible forebodin' about my sect havin' to take wimmen's names at the altar, and asked her if she could begin to realize what men's humiliated and despairin' feelin's would be at such a time, she up and sez: "do you realize what wimmen's feelin's are at the altar? she's had to stand it. no matter how romantic and beautiful her name wuz, miss victoria angela chesterfield has had to change it for miss ichabod tubbs, or miss peleg hogg. "and," sez she, "if she has a big propputy and married a man so poor he had to borry his weddin' shirt, she had to hear him say, 'with all my worldly goods i thee endow,' when all them goods wuz a pile of debts she had to pay for him, but she had to stand it and couldn't snicker, for it wuzn't a snickerin' time. "and a great able bodied business woman had to promise to obey a little snip of a boy, when they both knew she wuz lyin', with a priest hearin' the lie and givin' it his blessin'. my sect has had to stand considerable from yourn," sez samantha. no, i didn't git a mite of sympathy from her, and might have knowed it, and i'd better not said a word to her about my forebodin's. but uncle simon bentley always hears my prognostics with respectful sympathy, and he said after i come out of my meditations, and asked him agin how he would feel to take a woman's name, he sez: "thanks to a kind and protectin' providence, i hain't married. but never! whilst i have the sperit of manhood in me would i, simon bentley, ever be called miss polly brown. no, i would cover that alter with my goar, before i would submit to it." and to comfort me he sez, "josiah, mebby it won't take place in our day." but i sez, "simon, i see it jest ahead on us if this infringin' can't be stopped, and i don't see no way to stop it." but sez simon in his comfortin' way, "your book, josiah, that great work, you forgit that. i believe it will work wonders for our poor strugglin' sect." "no, simon," sez i, "i don't forgit that great work for a moment of time; it is the anchor throwed out into the heavin' water of woman's revolt that is a risin' all round us. sometimes i hope the anchor will touch the solid bottom of man's supremacy, and hold, and then i feel boyed up. but my feelin's ebbs and flows like the mighty ocean to which i have before fittin'ly compared my emotions. we both on us heave up, and heave down. to-day i am a heavin' down. oh, how deprested and dubersome i do feel," but i went on in tremblin' axents, "i am bound to make this tremenjous effort, and if you and i, uncle sime, and the rest of our sect have got to lay down in the dust to be trod on by the feet of underlin's, whilst layin' there under them high heels, i will have the conscientiousness that i have did what i could for my downtrod sect." my feelin's overcome me so here that i took out my bandanna and wiped my eyes, and uncle sime hisen. he looked as cast down as i did, as we both realized our danger from the turrible doin's round us, and instinctively we took holt of hands and sot there sympathizin' for quite a spell. but anon uncle sime had to go home. he lives with his niece and she sez, "if she has to support him, he has got to be promp to his meals, or go without," so he hastened off. and i summoned up the brave dantless sperit of manhood and walked upright through the kitchen (we'd been settin' on the back stoop). i trod with a firm bold step and braved samantha's onsympathizin' demeanor as she stood fryin' nut cakes, and retired into the welcome seclusion of the corner sacred to my literary pursuits. mekanically i run my hands through the dish-pan heaped with betsy's poetry. oh, how sad, when a man has to turn to another female (and one he has always detested) for the sympathy and understandin' denied him on his own hearthstun. and though i despise betsy bobbett slimpsey as a human bein' and a female, yet when torn and wownded from infringin' and cold remarks from my own pardner, i do draw a little mite of comfort from that granny iron dish-pan, and runnin' my hand through the poetry heaped up in it, and read how she looks up to my sect, and the becomin' and reverent views she takes on us, and me in petickular. and how it has always been the goal of her life and should be to every womanly female to be united by hook or by crook to one on us, it soothed me, it brought back the dear old days when man's supremacy wuz onquestioned and he wuzn't infringed on. and i read how she despises and looks down on the encroachments of the inferior sect to which she belongs, and how she loathes the great tide of the feminist movement that is risin' up all over the world, threatenin' to sweep us strong males away, as frothy water, if there is enough on't will uproot giant oaks. i read over piece after piece to cam my sperit, hurt and wownded by infringin', and my pardner's onsympathizin' words, and i picked out the follerin' one as bein' comparitively worthy a place in my great work. this poem, writ before her marriage, i consider the most touchin'ly pathetic one of all the enormous pile on 'em i had perused. what to a feelin' mind and tender heart is more pitiful than to see a patridge hidin' his head under a maple leaf, and thinkin' his hull body is hid from the hunter? what is more affectin' than to see how betsy tried to hide her lifelong pursuit of man, and matrimony, under the cold word, _duty_? "unless she see her duty plain." oh, what a soul of meanin' there is hid under that word, _unless_. a keen eye, and a tender heart can read between the lines her real meanin', her dantless resolve, as plain as the hunter sees the plump body and gray tail feathers of the patridge. but i will not keep the reader longer from the sad but beautiful poem. stanzas on duty _by betsy bobbett_ unless they do their duty see oh who would spread their sail on matrimony's cruel sea and face its angry gale? oh betsy bobbett i'll remain _unless_ i see my duty plain. shall horses calmly brook a halter who over fenceless pastures stray? shall females be dragged to the altar, and down their freedom lay? no, no, b. bobbett i'll remain, _unless_ i see my duty plain. beware! beware, oh rabid lover who pines for intellect and beauty, my heart is ice to all your overtures unless i see my duty, for betsy bobbett i'll remain _unless_ i see my duty plain. come not with keys of rank and splendor my heart's cold portals to unlock, 'tis vain to search for feelin's tender too late you'll find you've struck a rock; for betsy bobbett i'll remain _unless_ i see my duty plain. 'tis vain for you to pine and languish, i cannot soothe your bosom's pain, in vain are all your groans, your blandishments i warn you are in vain; for betsy bobbett i'll remain _unless_ i see my duty plain. you needn't lay no underhanded plots to ketch me, men desist or in the dust you will be landed for to the last i will resist. for betsy bobbett i'll remain _unless_ i see my duty plain. vii about wimmen's foolish love for petickulars how folkses emotions will sometimes rise up entirely onexpected and onbeknown to them, and git the better on 'em. of course we male americans have always foreboded and felt dretful about a certain subject. but this mornin' it come over me like a black flood, the realizin' sense of the enormous labor that votin' would bring onto weak delicate females, and how impossible it wuz for their fraguile constitution and puny strength to stand up under it. why, how many many times we statesmen have said and preached and lectured that wimmen wuzn't much more nor less than angels, and ort to be treated as such. tender delicate flowers, to be kep' from every chillin' breeze of life that tried to blow onto 'em. such talk has been one of the greatest comforts of us men, and has been very affectin' and effective with lots of females. as i say i've knowed it and held forth on it for years and years, ever since this loathsome doctrine of wimmen's rights become so prominent in jonesville. but as many different emotions as i've had about it, never wuz my feelin's so wrought up as upon this occasion i speak of. my steeled pen fairly trembled in my hands, shook by my devotion to samantha, and my determination if possible to keep her beloved and delicate form from sinkin' down under the awful fateeg of votin', and havin' rights. i wuz so excited and strung up by my feelin's, that i felt that i must warn her agin about it that very minute, and i hollered to her to come to me to once. i spoze my voice wuz skairful, my feelin's wuz such, and she come a hurryin' in wipin' her hands on her apron, and sez she, "for the land's sake! what is the matter, josiah? have you got a crick?" "no," sez i, "i've fell into fur deeper waters than any crick. it come over me like a overwhelmin' flood, the thought of the weakness of wimmen, and the arjous and tuckerin' job of votin', and how impossible it wuz for weak wimmen to not sink down under it, and i felt i had to warn you about it this very minute, and entreat you agin to shun it as you would a pizen serpent." "well," sez she, "you better forebode to yourself another time. i wuz jest rensin' out my last biler of clothes, and i've got to whitewash the summer kitchen, and paint the buttery floor, and scrape the paper off overhead in the settin' room, so's to paper it to-morrow. and i guess that whitewashin' and scrapin' off that paper with a case knife overhead is as hefty a job as liftin' up a paper ballot, to say nothin' of the biler full of clothes i'm liftin' on and off, and sweatin' over the wash-tub. and i'll thank you to keep your forebodin's and warnin's to yourself in the future, and not call me offen my work." and she went out and shet the door hard. and that's all the thanks i got for my tender feelin's and overpowerin' desire to keep hardships from her. but i knowed she wuz expectin' company, and fixin' up and preparin' for 'em, so i overlooked it in her, and i presoom to say the thought of that company and the extra good meals we wuz sure to have, had a amelioratin' effect on me. but her hashness won't stop me nor other noble tender hearted males from worryin' about the turrible hardship and labor of votin', and tryin' our best to keep the gentle delicate females we are protectin' and guardin' from plungin' into it. but i'm so sensitive and my feelin's so easy hurt, that it must have been a minute and a half before my mind settled down agin and i could hold my steeled pen in as firm a grip as heretofore, and resoom my powerful argumentative strain. another reason i've argued why wimmen should not vote wuz she would act so awkward in politics she would put in so many petickulars, wimmen's minds hain't stabled, they hain't got horse sense. and they don't nor won't appreciate that good old doctrine that has always been such a comfort to me and uncle sime and other statesmen, that what has been always will be, and to let well enough alone. no they have got to be tinkerin' and tryin' to make things better, and interfere, and talk and tell petickulars. now if a merchant sells 'em cloth for their fambly, instead of buyin' and payin' for it and keepin' their mouth shet as a man would, they'll feel of it and pull it to and fro, fro and to. and if it hain't what he claims it is, if it is shoddy and poor, they'll talk and talk till he has to hustle round and buy good stuff, or they won't trade with him, takin' off his profits jest by petickulars. and if a grocer lets his eatin' stuff lay round outdoors for the flies to roost on, do you spoze they'll buy that stuff? no, their minds not bein' bigger than them fly specks, they'll hound that man till they make him cover up that stuff or bring it into the house, and every one that has got horse sense knows it makes that man extra work, but what do they care? and if he tries to make a little more money by sellin' things that hain't jest what you might call hullsome--and of course every business man understands that he wants to make all the money he can--why, the woman that buys that stuff once, and thinks it hain't what she wants to feed her fambly on, she begins to tell petickulars; she'll call it rotten, and tell how long it has been in cold storage, she'll say "to lessen population and increase some millionaire's revenue." and she'll call his canned vegetables mouldy, and tell how his canned meat smells, and how it made her children sick, and how eben purdy's little girl died after eatin' it, and how it took off old miss lanfear. all these little petickulars she has to dwell on with other wimmen till she gits 'em all rousted up and there will be a dozen talkin' at one time, sez i, and sez he, and sez she, and sez they. and they'll keep it up and jest boycote that man till he has to keep hullsome goods that cost him most as much agin, and of course cuts down his profits, but they don't think of that. and how them wimmen found fault with the decision of the supreme court, that pizen could be used to bleach flour, when they knew the supreme court is composed of the very smartest men in the nation. and they knowed them supreme men didn't approve of usin' enough pizen in it to kill the aged and infants. but they had to argy and boast that if they wuz supreme wimmen, they wouldn't had a mite of pizen put into bread, jest as if grown folks can't stand a little pizen now and then. but you can see plain that they claim that wimmen can manage the home and food bizness better than men, and want to find fault with men and git the upper hands on 'em. and it is jest so with milk. a fool ort to know that it makes a man as much agin work to fuss and clean off his cows and his stables every day, and keep his milk absolutely clean. but what do they care if a man breaks his back cleanin' his stables and washin' off his cows' tits. they'll talk and put in every little petickular about how many babies wuz killed by his bad milk, and how many folks got tomain from it, till they carry the day and git the milk they want. another man made to toe the mark by petickulars. and it is jest so with stuff throwed into the street--why, a man can't call his soul his own, and throw a old cabbage or rotten potato into the street without their interferin' with him, and makin' him clean up his primises and keep a covered garbage can. [illustration: "till she gets 'em all rousted up, and just boycote that man till he has to keep hullsome food"] now jest imagine what that meddlin' interferin' sperit would be if carried into politics, if public officials wuz a prey to woman's petickulars. now spozin' a man wuz nominated for some high office that hain't mebby jest exactly square. for as uncle sime sez, "what man is square in public life? no," he sez, "you'll find 'em every shape and size, except 4 by 4." but wimmen can't accept that scientific statement, made by folks that know, that men are made in such a way that public life and politics wears and rubs on their square corners, and digs into and destroys their shape, so as uncle sime sez, "they can't help bein' crooked." but wimmen's brains hain't strong enough, and their naters and consciences hain't elastic enough to comprehend such matters. they always have and always will pay more attention to them little petickulars of right and wrong than men have time to. as i've said before, they can't see big, they see little. they'll talk it over together how many million dollars is made by the white slave trade every year, ketchin' sweet young girls, they'll say by the net of their love, by drink, by pizened needles, flattery, lies, treachery, takin' 'em from health, home and happiness, and throwin' 'em to the lions of lust and greed, into livin' deaths. oh, yes, they'll put in all the petickulars. and they'll ask how many millions wuz made by highway graft, tax-payers wadin' through mud, whilst high officials, contractors and public grabbers stuff the tax-payer's money in their pockets. and they'll bring up stories about all the other big corporations and money grabbers. and how much blood money is made yearly by whiskey sellin'? that is the main fountain their petickulars gush from. now if a smart hustlin' saloon keeper is nominated for some high office and wimmen could vote, what would be the consequence? why, they would jest onloose them petickulars onto him and he would be washed completely away on 'em. they wouldn't know any better than to peek and pry into his bizness, and run it down to the lowest notch. jest as if a bizness that is good enough for the u.s. govermunt isn't good enough for them. no, their naters bein' such, and they've got such itchin' ears, they'll pry round into every crook and turn of that man's bizness, and talk about it till they git the hull community riled up. the hull wimmen crew will pin on their white ribbings, and git their heads together, tellin' some story agin him, and the bizness he represents, and go into all the petickulars, sez i, and sez he, and sez she, and sez they. "le'me see," sez they, "when wuz it he got hen daggett so drunk that he went home and whipped his wife, and most killed her and her next baby wuz born a fool. "and what time o' night wuz it, wuz it ten or twelve, that he got old chawgo's boy crazy drunk and wantin' to git rid on him, histed him up on his motorcycle and started him for home, and he didn't go half a mile before he fell off and wuz killed. "and what time of year wuz it, wuz it late in the spring or early in the summer, that them two wizzel girls wuz took from his saloon drugged and unconscious, and not a hide or hair on 'em seen sence. "and le'me see, wuz it on a monday or a tuesday, that them two men got into a drunken fight in his saloon and both on 'em got killed. no, it wuz on a wednesday, for i remember i cut my bib apron wrong, i cut it ketrin ways, and jest as i wuz cuttin' it over, i hearn of that big railroad smash-up where two hundred got killed and maimed by a drunken engineer." them wimmen would bring up all them little petickulars agin that man, and his bizness lection day, jest to be mean, and to beat him. every man and woman whiskey had destroyed, all the crime and agony and poverty it has caused, every fambly wrecked by it, every young man ruined, every young girl who went through the saloon into destruction, and the one hundred thousand deaths caused by it every year. they wouldn't know enough to keep their mouths shet at this time when it wuz so important to have 'em shet up; they'd jest clutter up the road to the pole with petickulars. and no matter how flourishin' a bizness that man wuz doin', and how much money he wuz makin', and how much he wuz willin' to pay for votes, helpin' the male community in this way, they'd carry the day agin him. they can't seem to realize what a loss in propputy it is to the man they're a houndin'. and if you twit 'em of it they'll twit back and ask, what of the one billion, four hundred million dollars loss to the country every year, caused by strong drink, and ask you if you know that as many americans are killed every year by it as has been killed in all the battles of the world since time begun. havin' to ask all these little leadin' questions at jest that onconvenient time and take the advantage on him. and then when they git him turned down and some favorite religious man elected in his place, oh, how their tongues would run agin, tellin' of all the good things he'd done and would do; agin it would be sez i, and sez he, and sez she, and sez they. wimmen can't seem to learn to set still to home, and knit, no, they have got to meddle and interfere with men's bizness, as fur as they can, and woe be to us if they ever cut loose and run furder. why the hullsale liquor dealers' association will agree with every word i've said. they know what females are, and what they can do when they git their white ribbings on, and are banded together agin 'em, and they begin to tell petickulars. that's what makes 'em fight so agin woman's suffrage. they know where they and their bizness would be after a few years of wimmen's petickulars and votin', and they're willin' to pay well them that help 'em. as i've intimidated before, to a smart hustlin' bizness man who looks out for his own interest, it is absolutely appallin' to see how woman suffragists stand in their own light. but in my talk about the shiftless ways of these wimmen, and their tetotle inability to see where their interests lays, i want to make a honorable exception of the modest retirin' she auntys. them wimmen, though females, have got some good horse sense; they know which side their bread is buttered and they lay out to keep it right side up. they know who helps butter that bread. they know it is better to ride round in palace cars to their lectures agin female suffrage, helped by them who hate that cause like pizen, than it is to walk afoot. and they know enough to grasp special priveliges, and enjoy 'em, and they lay out to help the ones that help them. liquor dealers have got oceans of horse sense, and oceans of money, and they let that money flow along where it will do the most good, into female channels if necessary. anything to dam up the big waters of reform from risin' up and washin' 'em away, and stop woman suffragists from ruinin' their bizness, and tellin' petickulars and votin'. and i'll ask this question of any man or woman with the brains of a angleworm or caterpillar--hain't it easier to float along with the current, than to fight agin it and go in the other direction? why a fool ort to know it is. you won't ketch them she auntys a peekin' round huntin' for every little petickular about what the liquor dealers' association stands for, and talk and tattle about the effects of liquor sellin', no indeed. and i want to say and own up that when i find a spark of horse sense in a female, i'm willin' to own up to seein' that spark shinin' out agin the background of females' nateral ignorance and folly. we jonesvillians reconize smartness and horse sense, and i want to encourage and happify them she auntys by sayin', that the creation searchin' society of jonesville will never be found throwin' out no slurs agin them. neither will i as a male man, and a celebrated author, ever be found mockin' and sneerin' at 'em. of course they are females, but considerin' the limited amount of brains that females have and their scurcity of horse sense, they have done and are doin' the best they can. the creation searchin' society of jonesville and the liquor dealers' association stand up hand in hand, with me in the midst, and publicly reconize their humble helpfulness, and what more in the way of honor can any human female ask for? i always despised petickulars, every male man duz. it's nateral when our minds are took up with big things, big thoughts, petickulars jar on us; we hain't got the time for 'em in our busy lives. but i believe few of my bretheren can say what i can, that petickulars come within one of bein' the death on 'em. the way on't wuz samantha wuz to tirzah ann's visitin' and wuz took bed sick there, and right while i wuz stark livin' alone, i wuz took down with voylent pains runnin' up and down my spinal collar, and hull body. but the neighborin' wimmen, friends of samantha, i will say done all they could for me, they flocked in and filled me up with milk porridge, chicken broth, etc., and sot up with me nights and waited on me, helped by their various husbands. and i should got along all right if it hadn't been for the endless swarm of petickulars they driv into my room. talk, talk, talk, and tellin' petickulars, some on 'em smaller than the end of a nat's toe nail. and one day when i'd been made almost delerious by 'em, i made out to open the stand draw at the head of my bed and git out a pad and pencil, and writ the follerin' verses which come from the very bottom of my soul, heaven knows! owed to petickulars _by josiah allen, esq._ i've been bed-sick and very bad, and pains and chills and cramps i've had; and at tirzah's samantha come suddenly down with pleuresy pains from heel to crown, she couldn't git home with her plaguey crick- so they never let her know i wuz sick. but the neighbors turned out good and true and stood by me to help me through, they come alone, and they come in pairs, they come with mules, and they come with mares; and i felt the goodness that in 'em lay and treated 'em well both night and day, till they brung in them petickulars. they come from fur, and they come from near, with new wild remedies strange and queer- my mouth wuz a open and burnin' road down which the streams of their medicines flowed; streams of worm-wood and oil of tar, and onions, and warnuts, and goose, and bar; but my mean wuz a christian's all the while- i sithed and swallered and tried to smile- till they brung in them petickulars. they blistered my back, and they blistered my breast; they iled my nose, and they iled my chest, they gin me sweats of various sorts, hemlock and whiskey and corn and oats- i drinked their gruel weaker'n a cat, i drinked their whey, didn't wink at that; i stood their faith cures, and their mind, i took 'em all and acted resigned- till they brung in them petickulars. but they tried their cures to the very last, and i grew no better very fast; and i spoze they thought it would brighten my gloom, to bring some petickulars into my room. so they drove 'em in and they talked of flies- and of chicken's teeth, and muskeeter's eyes, and they talked of pins, and stalks of hay, and lettice seed, and there i lay- a victim of small petickulars. and one recounted a lengthy tale about the best way to drive a nail, and one old woman talked a hour on a pinch of salt and a spunful of flour; and jane she boasted two hours the deed she did when she pizened a pusley weed, and there i'd sweat, and there i'd groan, and pull my gray locks onbeknown- a victim to small petickulars. and a female sot with anxious frown disputin' herself right up and down- as to whether the hour wuz one or two, when their old white mare lost off its shoe- sometimes 'twas two, and then 'twas one, and so through the hours that mare wuz run, and it trompled my brain till i cried, "whoa! do shue the old mair and let her go!" but under its heels i had to lay, and sweat, and rithe, and cuss the day- they driv in them petickulars. and they wondered if jane had cloth enough for her calico apron with bib and ruff, and they mentally rent their robes and tore, for fear that sunthin' wuz wrong with the gore, till i wished that gore wuz over it rolled, and on martha's boots that had been new soled, and they almost mistrusted wuz too thin, by pretty nigh the wedth of a pin. and i vowed i could put their souls all in, and rattle 'em round in the head of a pin. and there i groaned, and turned, and lay, and sweat and sithed from day to day, a victim to small petickulars. till one day i riz and cried with might, "bring on a earthquake into my sight, fetch me a cyclone good and strong, a hurrycain, pestilence, bring 'em along, let me see 'em before i am dead; let 'em roar and romp around my bed, but ketch 'em, kill 'em, drive 'em away, this very minute of this very day every one of your dum petickulars. "let me be killed out square and rough, by a good hard kick from a elephant's huff, or let a volcano rise and bust this mortal frame, if bust it must. but i swan to man that i won't die by a kick from the off leg of a fly; and agin i swan, that i won't give in and go to my grave on the pint of a pin, killed by your dum petickulars." my eyes wuz wild, my goery meen skairt 'em almost to death, i ween the females all fled out of my sight, the two old women mad with fright, jostled each other and fell over chairs; and all on 'em said "i wuz crazier'n bears." but i settled back on my peaceful bed and most mistrusted i wuz dead and had got through the gate to beuler land, and i smiled some smiles, serene and bland, for i never had felt such peace before, as when i drove 'em out of the door, every one of them dum petickulars. viii i talk on wimmen's extravagance it wuz a cam beautiful mornin'; old mom nater seemed agreeable and serene, goin' about her mornin's work of lightin' up and warmin' the world. and samantha seemed as busy as old nater herself, and as cam, as she went about her work of makin' the house comfortable and clean. as i've mentioned prior and before this a better, cleaner housekeeper than samantha allen never trod on no shoe leather whatsoever, or went barefoot. equinomical, industrious, and as a cook beyond any compare. if these words wuz the last i should ever write i'd die solemnly declarin' as a housekeeper and home maker samantha allen can't never be beat. oh, if her principles about female suffragin', and the inferiority of her sect, and the superiority of my sect, wuz only equal to her housekeepin', what a treasure i would have in a earthen vessel (that is bible; i don't really understand what it means, but i think it looks well for a deacon to patronize the bible all he can conveniently, and bring into his literary work passages out on't). i feelt meller and agreeable in my mind, as i sot there in my favorite corner almost immersed in the parfenalia of my perfession, two paper pads, a bottle of ink, a steeled pen, two lead pencils, a pen knife and the immense granny iron dish-pan containin' betsy b.'s poetry. and as i sot there with my steeled pen in my hand ready to begin work on my remarkable book, my mind become so impressed by the inestimable value it wuz goin' to be to the world and the male and female sect, that almost onbeknown to myself i uttered the words aloud that wuz seethin' through my large active brain. sez i, "samantha, don't you believe this forthcomin' book of mine is goin' to be the greatest work of this age, or any age?" she wuz pickin' the pin feathers offen a plump spring chicken for dinner, and she looked up at me over her specs in the cool deliberate way she has sometimes, and sez, "josiah, a hen don't cackle till she lays her egg." and then she resoomed her work agin, sayin' no more. naterally my feelin's immediately hardened more hard than they had been, for i would ask any human bein' did not that one speech show what i've sot out to prove in my book, what wifflin' onstabled minds females have got, and how onfit for votin', onjinted, tottlin', wanderin' way off from the subject spoke on, flyin' down at one jump from literatoor onto poultry. for what connection, i ask, is there between the finest fruit in literature, and hens? hens which are known to be the awkwardes and stupidest of any liven critters. what jinin' link is there between the most scathin' and convincin' arguments ever writ by mortal man, and eggs? mute, onfeelin', onseein', eggs. but i only gin a moment of my valuable time to contemplate this prominent phase of wimmen's folly. and bein' driv back as i have often been by a lack of congenial sympathy into my own interior (my mind), my inteleck seemed to flow freer than ever, and i devoted this propishous time to enlargin' on a important subject i had not had time to enlarge on before, and that wuz the well known extravagance of females and how fatally fatal that trait which is exclusively confined to her own sect would be if let loose on the political world. and so harrered up my mind got in contemplatin' that gigantic danger to my sect, and my country, that before i knowed it i wuz speakin' my thoughts and forebodin's aloud. sez i, "another insurmountable objection agin female suffragin', another fearful danger facin' the country if females should have a free run in the political field, is their well known extravagance." [illustration: "josiah," sez she, "a hen don't cackle till she lays her egg."] sez i, "to a female researcher of the prudent, equinomical male sect, it is absolutely appallin' to witness the blind reckless extravagance of wimmen and their well known habits of follerin' each other's fashions blindly, like a flock of sheep jumpin' over the fence. if one woman gits a new dress the neighborin' wimmen have got to git one like it, or better, not a mite of independent sperit about 'em. why can't they take pattern of us men who always wear jest what we please, and pay no attention to what any other male wears, pay no attention whatsumever to fashion or extravagance. in fact men would hardly know there wuz any such words as them, if it wuzn't for female doin's and the dictionary." i knowed i had got samantha in a corner then that she couldn't git out on and i waited with a dignified stately look on my linement to hear her say, "i gin up, josiah; you're in the right on't." but did i hear her say this? oh, no! she lifted up the plump yeller skinned chicken in one hand, whilst she peered under its wings for a stray pin feather. and then she laid it down gently on the pages of the _world_ that wuz spread for its benefit over the table, i spoze to keep her dress clean, and as she looked down on the smooth crisp folds of gingham she sez: "yes, lots of wimmen are extravagant. but as the fashion is now, josiah, five or six yards will make a woman a dress, and have enough left to make her husband a vest, if he would wear anything so cheap. i've got enough left of this very dress, good green and white plaid gingham, costin' ten cents per yard to make you a good cool summer vest; it would wear like iron, and i stand ready to make it, and will you wear it, josiah?" she thought she had me in a corner then, but my mind works so quick i answered her almost instantaneously, "id'no as a green and white plaid vest would be becomin' to my complexion, but i will wear it if the other bretheren will." sez she, "i thought you didn't care what any one else wore." is there any limit to a female's aggravatin'? i wouldn't dane a reply. but i took up ayer's albernack with a stern cold linement, and went to readin' the advertisements, and of course she didn't see the danger ahead on her, of irritatin' too fur a strong nater. she kep' right on, "no doubt wimmen are sometimes extravagant, josiah, no doubt they spend lots of money foolishly and worse than foolishly, but before we decide that it ort to deprive her of political rights, let us compare it with men's extravagance for a few minutes." i felt above replyin' to her, but kep' my eye on the bottle of medicine, and the woman raised from the tomb by a smell of the cork, and she went on: "which party is it in a workman's home that usually wants to buy an automobile before the little home is paid for? mebby in some rare cases the woman eggs the man on, but i believe that it is safe to say that in seven cases out of ten, it is not the housekeeper and house mother that is willin' to risk losin' the ruff that covers her baby's pretty head, and councils waitin' a while before takin' on the extravagance of the added expense. and which party is it, josiah, that turns and twists every way to save money so her boy and girl can present a decent appearance before her mates? how many millions a year duz the horse races, yot races and polo games and other manly amusements amount to? how many billions a year duz the useless extravagance of tobacco cost? of course you can substract sunthin' for some wimmen's foolish habit of cigarette smoking, but in the great total it would hardly count. and in how many poor homes duz a woman toil into the night hours to mend and make so that her family may look respectable, while her husband is spendin' his spare hours and spare change in the corner saloon?" sez i, lookin' up from the albernack with a scathin' irony that must have scathed her, whether she owned up to it or not, "i thought it wuz about time for you to drag in that saloon bizness." "yes," sez she, "it is time. how many billion dollars a year is spent mostly by men, in the ruinous extravagance of strong drink, and how many billions more in payin' for the effects on't, loss of labor, jails, prisons, hospitals, police force, pauper burials, etc., etc., and i might string out them etc.'s, josiah, clear from here to grout hozleton's and then not begin to git in the perfectly useless and ruinous extravagance of the liquor bizness. and i guess that take all the wimmen's extravagance, it will count up so small in comparison as to be lost sight on. and unlike the liquor bizness if a woman dresses extravagantly, which no doubt she often duz, the dressmakers and merchants and jewelers reaps a profit, if she gives extravagant fashionable parties, the grocer, the florist, the laboring class gits some benefit from it; it is not a danger to human life, like the heart breakin', soul destroyin' extravagance and danger to the hull community of the liquor traffic." i felt above arguin' with her agin on this subject i had so often wasted my finest eloquence on. she knowed how i felt, and i wouldn't demean myself by repeatin' my crushin' arguments in that direction, for i knowed as well as i sot there that she wouldn't act crushed, no matter if she felt flat as a pan-cake. so i passed on to another faze of woman's extravagance. sez i, "it hain't enough for her to spend money like water on her bridge parties, and maskerades, and theatre and tango parties, but she has to rack what little brain she's got, tryin' to git up new follies that other wimmen hain't thought on; she has to have her dog parties, and monkey parties, when them animals come dressed like human bein's with human folks to wait on 'em. thank heaven! you can't say but what male men would look down with abhorrence on such fool doin's." but samantha sez, "id'no, take a stag party sometimes--mebby in the beginin' them stags might be able to look down on the monkeys, but after high-balls and cock-tails and gallons of shampain has been consumed, id'no whether them stags could look down on sober temperate monkeys, or the monkeys look down on them, though no doubt some of the stags behave and can see straight." i scorned to notice this slur onto my sect, brung up i knowed to make me swurve from my subject, but it didn't make me swurve a inch. i went right on and brung up wimmen's extravagance in their houses. sez i, "look at her gorgeous brussels carpets, her draperies hangin' from elegant brass poles, her superb black walnut furniture, her glossy black hair-cloth sofias and easy chairs, a perfect riot of extravagance, samantha. who can blame a man from kickin' agin it, kickin'," sez i, "with the hull strength of a outraged nater and a number nine shue." "no doubt," sez samantha, "wimmen are sometimes extravagant in makin' their homes beautiful, but their families and admirin' friends benefit by it. and how duz her velvet carpets and persian rugs, her rose-wood furniture, statuary, and costly pictures and silken draperies compare with men's outlay and extravagance in public buildings; for instance, the capitol at albany; wimmen have had nothing to do with that, and i guess her most extravagant doin's in her house will compare favorably with the millions men have spent in that house for years, and no sign of there ever bein' an end to it." i knowed by the look on her linement that she meant to intimidate that there had been shiftlessnes and stealin' goin' on in that direction, and in other public works through the country, but i refused to notice the slur on my sect. that slur that females love to sling at us and which we'd better treat with silent contemp, jest as i did now, for no knowin' if we'd stoop to argy with 'em about it, what figgers and statistics they may bring up, to prove their slurs, so as i say i passed it over with silent disdain, but i sez in a safe general way, fur removed from probable figgers she would be apt to throw at me to prove her reckless insertions, i sez, puttin' a sad look onto my linement: "wimmen's extravagance makes the heart of man to ache and often drives him to a ontimely tomb, strivin' for fashionable display, strivin' for rights she don't need." and bein' anxious to change the subject at that juncter (i always think it is best to change the flow of my thought occasionally) i put on a sort of a solemn, fraid look on my linement, "such talk as you wimmen talk is revolutionary, samantha, and is liable to lead to war." and then, if you'll believe it, so contrary and hard to conquer is females, she took advantage of that speech of mine to invay on the expenditure of war. she asked me then and there how many billions wuz spent every year by male men on the extravagance of man-made war, its preperation and consequences. i told her coldly and with a irony as iron as our old cook stove, that as much as she expected of me, she couldn't expect me to figger up to a cent what war had cost the nation. sez i, "with the barn chores on my hands, and my great work of destroyin' woman's suffrage do you expect me to keep track of every cent the nation has spent on war?" "no," sez she, "one man couldn't reckon it up if he spent his hull lifetime at it, but jest the money spent on it yearly is two billion five hundred million. but," sez she, "it seems that the enormous extravagance of man in this direction and others don't unfit him for the franchise. and if you should spend a few years tryin' to reckon up the gigantic expenditure in money and misery, the horrors and extravagance of war and its effects, you might feel like talkin' less about wimmen's extravagance and how it makes her onfit to be a citizen of the country she's born into, and helps to support with her labor and taxes." oh, how aggravatin' a woman can be when she sets out to be. much as i think of samantha and the tendrils of my great heart are wropped completely round her, as big as she is round her waist--yet sometimes on occasions like this i almost wish i wuz a bacheldor, a fur off lonely man in some distant cave, or on some lonesome mountain peak, encumbered not by a female who thinks she has a right to argy with me and irritate me. but these feelin's always come over me in the middle of the forenoon, or the middle of the afternoon. when it comes nigh meal time, my wild seethin' emotions gradually simmers down and as the appetizin' meals progress so duz my feelin's change and grow less dangerous; if they didn't i don't know what the effect would be to the world of females. i spoze it is the way the overrulin' power has fixed it as a means of safety to females, for with my strong nater and massive inteleck, if it wuzn't for them three daily safety valves to let off the steam of my indignation at female doin's, and sayin's, heaven only knows what would be the consequences. things and folks would be tore to pieces for all that i knew and utterly destroyed. for how can you curb in a outraged and high sperited nature when it is fully rousted up, and aggravation has gone too fur? it is well that good vittles stand guard between me and them. but as a man who loves peace and quiet, and despises female arguin' i wuz glad at this juncter to see the welcome form of uncle sime wendin' his way towards the barn. and i throwed down the albernack with a hauty movement of my right hand, and strode off barnward with my head erect. and then we two valiant warriors in a noble cause held a meetin' of sweet sympathy and full understandin' in the horse barn. ix the danger from wimmen's exaggeration i told samantha one day that another strong reason why wimmen hadn't ort to vote, and why they would be such a dangerous element in politics wuz that they prevaricated and exaggerated to such a alarmin' extent. sez i, "a woman can't tell a story straight to save her life--but has to put in so many exaggerations and stretch out facts so you couldn't reconize 'em when she gits 'em pulled out to the length she pulls 'em. they don't seem to have any idee of plain straightforward truthfulness such as my sect has. as long as they've seen men appearin' before 'em, tellin' the exact truth from day to day, and from year to year, they can't or won't foller his example. "that trait of theirn," sez i, "is bad enough in the home and social circle, for there their men folks can head 'em off, and cover things up and make excuses for 'em, and tell the story straight. but if it wuz carried into public life where their men folks couldn't reach 'em, and quell 'em down, and ameliorate the effects on it, where would this nation be? it would be looked down on and shawed at by foreign powers as a nation of exaggerators and false witnessors, and it ort to be. "wimmen can't seem to learn to tell the truth and 'nothin' but the truth,' and that is the reason, samantha," sez i, "that that clause wuz put in the law books; it wuz designed to try to skair female witnesses, and drive 'em into tellin' the truth. but it hain't done it." i wuz gittin' real eloquent and riz up, for nothin' pleases a man more than to teach his wimmen folks great truths and enlighten 'em about laws. but samantha had to bring me down from the hite i wuz on, in the aggravatin' way females have. and as it turned out i wuz kinder sorry i had dwelt on that trait of females that particular time, for she said in the irritatin' way wimmen have of bringin' up facts at times when there hain't no use of bringin' 'em up and when it is inconvenient for 'em to be brung. sez she, "i would talk about exaggeration in females, and men's love for exact truth, after what took place in this settin' room only last evenin'." i didn't reply to her for there are times when silent disapproval is better than argument. i knowed what she meant, and i knowed she wanted to spile my argument, in the ornary way females have, so, as i say, i treated them words with silent contemp and went out to the barn. but i spoze i may as well tell you how it wuz, for if i don't she may tell it and make it out worse than it wuz. condelick henzy come over here last night after supper to borry my neck-yoke and dr. meezik from zoar, where he used to live, went to see condelick on bizness, and his wife told him he wuz here so he stopped here on his way home (i mistrust condelick owes him though he didn't dun him before us). they're both on 'em good natered easy-goin' men, and love to talk and tell stories. and i brung up a basin of good sick-no-furder apples, and they set and et apples and talked and talked. they both on 'em love to brag about what they've seen and hearn and naterally both on 'em want to tell the biggest story about it. onfortinately samantha wuz in the room to work on a new insane bed-quilt. and of course she has to find fault and cricketcise what they said and won't make allowances for high sperits. sez dr. meezik, "when i wuz a young man my folks lived on a farm that run along one side on a creek. and one day i wuz down on the creek lot hoein' corn and a bear come down on the ice from the big woods, and i rushed right out on the ice and killed that bear with my hoe." sez condelick, "that's nothin' to what i did at about the same time. i lived on that same creek though furder south; it wuz dretful rich land. and i raised a cabbage there that wuz so big i hollered out the stem on't and made a boat of it, and used it to ferry me acrost that very stream of water." "and it wuz jest about that time," sez dr. meezik, "le'me see, it wuz on my birthday about nine minutes past four o'clock in the afternoon, or it may have been nine and a half minutes past, i always want to be perfectly exact in my statements, but we will let it go at nine minutes. "i wuz a great hunter in them days and fearless as a lion as you may know by my goin' out on the ice to meet that bear who had come to eat green corn, and killed him with my hoe handle. "i had gone a little further north than i had ever gone before, and i come out to a big clearin' that i had never seen. i should say it wuz half a degree north of where we're settin' now, or it might have been half a pint further, a man can't be too exact and particular in telling such things, for some folks if they wanted to pick flaws and find fault might doubt his statement. but i didn't have my pocket compass with me and i wuz so surprised at what i see there that i don't know that i should thought to use it if i had had it. "i must say that as many strange things as i've seen and heard i never wuz so surprised as i wuz at what i see there. "right there in that big clearin' there wuz a perfect army of tinkers makin' a immense brass kettle. there wuz jest one hundred of 'em, for i counted 'em over twice so's to be sure of gittin' the exact number. i am always so perfectly reliable in my statements, and am bound to git the smallest petickulars jest right. i spoze i got the habit partly from weighin' out my medicines so exact. "and them tinkers wuz hammerin' away for all they wuz worth on that kettle, and you may judge of the size of it when i tell you them workmen wuz so fur apart they couldn't hear each other a hammerin'." even condelick henzy wuz took back and browbeat and sez mekanically, "what do you spoze they wuz goin' to do with the kettle?" "well," sez dr. meezik, "they didn't tell me, for i didn't want to act forward and ask, but i always spozed they wuz goin' to use it to bile your cabbage in." just at this epock of time samantha gathered up her insane piece work and left the room. she didn't say nothin', but i knowed by the looks of her linement jest as well as i know now, that she'd throw that kettle and that cabbage in my face some time the most inconvenient for me, and you can see plain she's done it and now i hope she's satisfied. as i said i went out to the barn and kinder fussed round cleanin' up some, and i never see samantha agin till dinner time. i wuzn't afraid to go in and meet her and have her resoom her argument agin. no, i skorn the importation. i belong to a fearless sect, and am almost unacquainted with the word fear, though i know there is such a word in the dictionary. no, i had considerable putterin' round to do in the barn, and hen house, and so i stayed out there till i hearn the welcome sound of the dinner bell and smelt even from the barn door the agreable odors risin' from a first class dinner. the smell and taste of the tender roast lamb and lushious vegetables softened my feelin's considerable, or would have if it hadn't been for the look on samantha's face. it wuzn't a cross look nor a mean one, would that it wuz, for i could handle them looks better. no, it wuz a kind of a superior look, as if she had conquored me in the argument about exaggeration and prevarication, and wuz gloatin' over the _contrary temps_ that had occurred in the settin' room only the evenin' before, the little incident that broke down my excelent argument. and of all the looks that mankind ever read on a woman's linement, the one a man can't stand is a superior look, a look that says as plain as words, "i like you and pity you, but i can't help lookin' down on you, poor thing!" that look from a inferior sect always aggravates a man so that he hain't skursly answerable for what he sez and duz. and almost onbeknown to me i broke forth in a crushin' argument designed to crush her and change that look on her linement to one of humbleness becomin' to a female. sez i, "our sect has been the makin' of yourn, and it seems that when a female considers and thinks on all that men have done for wimmen and are willin' to do for 'em, they would have some feelin's of gratitude towards 'em, but they don't; they delight in argyin' with 'em and tryin' to git the better on 'em." instead of my smart reasonable words affectin' her favorably it seemed as if the look i despised deepened on her linement; not a sign did i see of meach, nor a sign of humble gratitude, and i wuz so irritated by it that i lanched right out in the crushin' argument that i had on my mind and that ort to bring female feathers droopin' down in the very dust. sez i, "do you ever pause to think, samantha, of the inestimable boon wimmen owe to men? why," sez i, "if it hadn't been for a man, wimmen wouldn't had no souls to-day." "how do you make that out?" sez samantha, helpin' herself camly to some more dressin'. "why, it is a matter of history that way back in the centuries the preachers of that time had a meetin' to settle the question, and when they took a vote on't, the majority on 'em stood out on the popular side and cast their votes agin 'em, and vowed and declared that females hadn't no souls. and it wuz only by the vote of one single solitary man that it wuz carried in their favor and decided that they had souls. "and i should think females would be so grateful to that noble man for what he done for 'em, for his bein' willin' to admit that they had souls, that they would honor the hull sect to which he belonged, and look up to 'em in humble and grateful gratitude, and never try to argy with 'em and aggravate 'em. for let me ask you, samantha," sez i, in a solemn axent, "where would wimmen have been if that man had held out and jined in with the rest, and decided that wimmen hadn't got any soul? where would they been then, and where would they be to-day?" "jest where they always wuz and are now," sez samantha camly helpin' herself to a apple dumplin'. "it seems that it wuz men that started the question in the first place, and i spoze that if wimmen hadn't been so wore out and hampered by her hard work of takin' care of men, cookin', mendin', and cleanin' for 'em and bringin' up their children, etc., they might have had a jury of wimmen set on men to find out if _they_ had souls. but i don't spoze they had a minute's time to spare from their hard work no more than i have, and i don't spoze it would make any difference either way. the main thing is whether men and wimmen have got souls to-day, and use them souls for the good of mankind, instead of lettin' 'em grow hard, or wither away in indifference to the woes and wants of the world, and the cause of eternal justice for every one, male and female." that is jest the way with wimmen, they've got to talk and argy and try to have the last word. you can't seem to make 'em act meachin' and beholdin' to men anyway you can work it, and it seems to me i've tried every way there is from first to last. but i wouldn't argy no more, i felt above it. i helped myself to my fourth apple dumplin' with a look of silent contemp on my linement, also i had the same look when i poured the lemon sass over it and took my third cup of coffee. and my linement still showed to a clost observer the marks of a tried though hauty sperit, as i riz up from the table and retired with a high step to my sacred corner to resoom my literary efforts. sometimes pardners are real aggravatin' to each other and a trial to be borne with. and though i don't know what i'd do if i should ever lose samantha, it don't seem as if i could ever eat another woman's vittles after livin' on the fat of the land as you may say for forty years. yet there are times when you set smartin' under wownds your pardner has gin your sperit and from arguments she no need to have brung up, and you see a widow man a passin' by, you have feelin's that can skursly be told on. you can see by the looks of his face and hands that he don't wash any oftener than he wants to, and never combs his hair and don't change his clothes till the board of health gits after him. and you know he never goes to meetin', and throws off girl blinders boldly, and stays out nights till as late as ten p.m. onquestioned and onscolded. and don't have to clean his shues when he goes in, and never curbs his appetite, but eats like a hog and enjoys himself. why, much as you love the dear pardner of your bosom, and prize the excelent food she cooks, and the clean comfortable home she makes for you--the air of freedom that seems to blow from that widow man (kinder stale air too) yet it fans your clean head and clean stiff shirt bosom like a breath from the isle of freedom. and so after samantha had hurt my feelin's and wownded my self respect by remindin' me of the incident mentioned, when if she had kep' still i should have come off victorious in my argument, i retired into the solitude of my corner in the settin' room where betsy bobbett's poetry lay heaped up in the dish-pan and i read with feelin' that i couldn't skursly describe the follerin' verses which i spoze betsy writ after her husband had wownded her feelin's. and in readin' it i dedicate it silently to my brother men who have been aggravated by their pardners. longin's of the sole _by betsy bobbett slimpsey_ oh gimlet! back again i float, with broken wings, a weary bard; i cannot write as once i wrote, i have to work so very hard; so hard my lot, so tossed about, my muse is fairly tuckered out. my muse aforesaid once hath flown, but now her back is broke, and breast; and yet she fain would crumple down; on gimlet's pages she would rest, and sing plain words as there she's sot- haply they'll rhyme, and haply not i spake plain words in former days, no guile i showed, clear was my plan; my gole it matrimony was; my earthly aim it was a man. i gained my man, i won my gole; alas! i feel not as i fole. yes, ringing through my maiden thought this clear voice rose: "oh come up higher." to speak plain truth with candor fraught, to married be was my desire- now, sweeter still this lot doth seem, to be a widder is my theme. for toil hath claimed me for her own, in wedlock i have found no ease; i've cleaned and washed for neighbors round, and took my pay in beans and pease; in boiling sap no rest i took, or husking corn in barn and stook. or picking wool from house to house, white-washing, painting, papering, in stretching carpets, boiling souse; e'en picking hops it hath a sting, for spiders there assembled be, mosquitoes, bugs and etc. i have to work oh! very hard; old toil i know your breadth and length; i'm tired to death, and in one word, i have to work beyend my strength. and mortal men are very tough to get along with, nasty, rough. yes, tribulations doomed to her who weds a man, without no doubt, in peace a man is singuler; his ways they are past findin' out, and oh! the wrath of mortal males- to paint their ire, earth's language fails. and thirteen children in our home their buttons rent their clothes they burst, much bread and such did they consume; of children they did seem the worst. and simon and i do disagree; he's prone to sin continualee. he horrors has, he oft doth kick, he prances, yells--he will not work. sometimes i think he is too sick; sometimes i think he tries to shirk; but 'tis hard for her in either case, who b. bobbett was in happier days. happier? away! such thoughts i spurn. i count it true from spring to fall, 'tis better to be wed, and groan, than never to be wed at all. i'd work my hands down to the bone rather than rest a maiden lone. this truth i cannot, will not shirk, i feel it when i sorrow most: i'd rather break _my_ back with work, and haggard look as any ghost,- rather than lonely vigils keep, i'd wed and sigh and groan and weep. yes, i can say though tears fall quick can say, while briny tear-drops start, i'd rather wed a crooked stick, than never wed no stick at all. sooner than laughed at be, as of yore i'd ruther laugh myself no more. i'd ruther go half clad and starved, and mops and dish-cloths madly wave than have the name, b. bobbett, carved on head-stun rising o'er my grave. proud thought! now, when that stun is risen 'twill bear two names--my name and hisen. methinks 'twould colder make the stun if but one name, the name of she, should linger there alone--alone. how different when the name of he does also deck the funeral urn; two wedded names, his name and hurn. and sweeter yet, oh blessed lot! oh state most dignified and blest! to be a widder calmly sot, and have both dignity and rest. oh simon, strangely sweet 'twould be to be a widder unto thee. the warfare past, the horrors done, with maiden's ease and pride of wife, the dignity of wedded one, the calm and peace of single life,- oh, strangely sweet this lot doth seem; a female widder is my theme. i would not hurt a hair of he, yet did he from earth's toil escape, i could most reconcilã©d be, could sweetly mourn e'en without crape. could say without a pang of pain that simon's loss was betsy's gain. i've told the plain tale of my woes, with no deceit or language vain, have told whereon my hopes are rose, have sung my mournful song of pain. and now i e'en will end my tale, i've sung my song, and wailed my wail. x the modern wimmen condemned the vice president of the creation searchin' society of jonesville wuz here yesterday mornin', and as soon as he'd gone through the usual neighborly talk about the weather, the hens, his wife, and the neighbors, etc., he tipped back in his chair and pushed back his hat a little furder on his head. he never took off his hat in my sight; samantha asked me once "if i spozed he took it off nights, or slep in it." but i explained it to her as a kind man is always willin' to do if a female asks him properly for information. sez i, "i hearn him say once, samantha, that the way he got in the habit of not takin' off his hat before wimmen wuz to impress 'em with the fact of male superiority, and to let 'em know that he wuzn't goin' to bow down before 'em and act meachin'. he wuz always a big feelin' feller and after he got to be such a high official in the c.s.s. he naterally is hautier actin'." well, almost to once he begun to samantha about wimmen's votin', runnin' the idee down to the very lowest notch it could go on the masculine stillyards. you see my forthcomin' great work agin wimmen rights has excited the male jonesvillians dretfully, and emboldened 'em, till they act as fierce and bold as lions when they're talkin' to females. they realize that when that immortal work is lanched onto the waitin' world the cause of woman's suffrage will collapse like the bladders we used to blow up in childhood, jest as sharp and sudden and jest as windy. they know that them that uphold such uroneous beliefs won't be nothin' nor nobody then, and so they begin beforehand to act more hauty and uppish towards suffragists, and browbeat 'em. and he poked fun at the cause and slurred at it, and sneered at it till i didn't know but samantha would take lumbago from his remarks, but she didn't seem to. she had got her mornin's work all did up slick, her gingham apron hung up behind the kitchen door, and she'd resoomed her white one trimmed with tattin'. and she sot knittin' on a pair of blue woosted socks for me, her linement as smooth and onrumpled as her hair, which wuz combed smooth round her forward. and she kep' on with her knittin', only once in a while she would look up at him over her specs in the queer way she has at times, but still kep' lookin' cam, and sayin' nothin'. and her camness and her silence seemed to spur him on and make him bolder and more aggressiver. he thought she wuz afraid on him, but i knowed she wuzn't. at last he flung out the remark to her that if wimmen could vote it would be the bad wimmen who would flock to the poles; samantha wuz jest turnin' the heel in my sock and after she made the turn she said that that wuzn't so, and she brought up statisticks and throwed at him (still a knittin' and seamin' two and two) provin' that it is the educated conscientious wimmen who want to help the good men of the country to make the laws to try to make the world a safer place for their children, a better, cleaner place for every one, and she threw some statements at him from states that had woman's suffrage for years and years to prove her insertion, but the statisticks, the figgers and the proofs piled about him onheeded, for he had got hot and excited by this time and it seemed as if samantha's very camness madded him, and her knittin', and her seamin' two and two, and her countin' "one--two," to herself once in a while. and sez he agin in a overbearin' skairful voice, intended to intimidate females, "i tell you it is the bad wimmen who will rush to the poles, and i can prove what i say." sez he, "the meaner anybody is the more and the oftener they want to vote; my father is one of the best of men and you can't hardly git him to stir his stumps 'lection day. and my wife's father is the meanest man in the country and he will vote from mornin' till night for either party and sell his vote where he can git the highest figger--(he don't live happy with his wife, and he went on) and so will her uncle josh sell his vote to anybody for a glass of whiskey, and most all the men on her side will sell their vote and make money by it. and i know more'n a dozen men right round here who do the same thing. i don't spoze you wimmen read much of any, but if you did you'd see how common graft and fraud is in politics, all the way from jonesville to washington. so you see," sez he, "i can prove right out what i said that it is the bad wimmen who would vote." samantha counted "two and two" to herself, and then said in a mild axent, "why would a bad woman's vote be worse than a bad man's?" the vice president see in a minute into what a deep hole his excitement and voylent desire to prove his argument had led him, and he acted sheepish as a sheep. but anon he revived and ketched holt of the first argument he could lay his hand on, to prop up his side of the question. it wuz a argument he had read about, he didn't believe it himself, but ketched at it in his hurry. sez he, "we expect more from wimmen than we do from men; they're naterally better than men and we want to keep 'em so, keep 'em out of the dirt of public affairs." sez samantha still a knittin' and still a lookin' cam, "you must use clean water to cleanse dirty things. i don't believe as you do. i think the good qualities of men and wimmen would heft jest about equal, and need equal treatment. but accordin' to your tell if men are so much worse than wimmen they need her help to clean up things." agin the vice president see where his hasty talk and anxiety to prove his pint had led him. he wiggled round in his chair till i trembled for the legs on it, for he wuz still leanin' back in it too fur for safety. he kinder run his hand up under his hat and scratched his head, but didn't seem to root any new idees out of his hair, and he finally give up, settled his hat back more firmly on his head agin, let his chair down sudden and got up and sez: "i come over this mornin' to borry josiah's sheep shears." and after he went out with 'em i asked samantha, "what do you spoze the vice president wanted of sheep shears this time of year?" and she sez: "he looked sheepish enough to use 'em on himself." well, it wuz gittin' along towards noon, as i reminded samantha, and she riz up and put her knittin' work on the mantelry piece, resoomed her gingham apron and went out into the kitchen and soon i hearn the welcome sounds so sweet to a man's ear whether literary or profane, that preperations wuz goin' on for a good square meal. and as i sot there peaceful and happy in my mind who should come in but my dear and congenial friend, uncle sime bentley. he had been on a visit to illenoy. and after his first words of greetin' and his anxious inquiries as to how my great work wuz progressin' and gittin' along, he went on and gin me the petickulars about his journey. he'd been on a visit to the city to see his nephew, bill bentley. bill is well off and smart, and his father-in-law is rich and sent his only child, bill's wife, to college; "jest like a fool," uncle sime said. "for what duz a female want with such a eddication." sez he, "the three r's, readin', ritin' and rithmetic are enough for her and would be for any woman if they worked and tended to things as my ma, bill's grandma did. "up at four every mornin' summer and winter, milkin' five or six cows and then gittin' breakfast for her big fambly, hired men and all, and doin' every mite of the housework, and spinnin', weavin', makin' and mendin', and takin' sole care of her eight children, in sickness and health, and takin' care of her mother who had been as big a worker and stay-at-home as she wuz, and who wuz now melancholy crazy in a little room done off the woodshed. "how ma did work," sez uncle sime in a reminescin' axent, "stiddy at it from mornin' till night, never stirrin' out of the house from year to year. oh! if she could only have lived to set a sample for bill's wife, and instruct her in a wife's duty. "i told bill so," sez uncle sime. "and if you please," sez he, "bill resented it, and said, ketch him a killin' his wife with work hard enough for four wimmen, and not stirrin' out of the house from year to year, he thought too much of her; sez he, 'if i wanted a slave i'd buy one and pay cash for her.' "he didn't seem to appreciate ma's doin's no more than nothin', though as i told him, _there_ wuz a woman whose price wuz above rubies, so different from the slack forward wimmen of to-day. so retirin', so modest and womanly, willin' to work her fingers to the bone and not complain. never puttin' forward her opinion about anything, always lookin' up to pa and knowin' he wuz always right. and if she ever did seem curious about anything outside her housework and fambly, pa would shet her up and bring her back to her duty pretty quick. yes indeed! pa wuz the head of the house, and laid out to be. but bill didn't seem to have no gumption and self respect at all, and wuz perfectly willin' to be on equal terms with his wife. and bill told him she had a household allowance and a private bank account. private bank account! i told bill it wuz enough to make his grandma rise from her grave to see such bold onwomanly doin's. "and bill said 'it would be a good thing for her to rise, if she could stay up, for mebby she would take a little comfort and rest her mind and her bones a little, at this epock of time.'" i sez, "i spoze, simon, you didn't have nothin' fit to eat there and everything goin' to rack and ruin about the house." "no," uncle sime said, "i must own up that things run pretty smooth, and bill's wife sot a good table. they had a stout woman who helped about the work and takin' care of the children, leavin' bill's wife free to go round with bill to meetin's and clubs and a fishin' and motor ridin', and picknickin' with him and the kids." "i spoze she wuz high headed and disagreable," sez i. "no," sez uncle sime, "she wuz always good natered and dressed pretty, and why shouldn't she?" sez he bitterly, "havin' her own way and runnin' things to suit herself. and why shouldn't she dress pretty? lanchin' out and buyin' everything she wanted. not curbed down by bill, nor askin' a man's advice at all about her clothes or housen stuff so fur as i could see." sez i, "mebby bill didn't like it so well as you thought, simon; mebby he wuz chafin' inside on him." "no, he wuzn't, he liked it, there's one of the pints i'm comin' at, how these modern wimmen will pull the wool over men's eyes, no matter how smart he is naterally. they did seem to have good times together, laughin' and talkin' together, settin' to the table a hour or so, a visitin' away as if they hadn't seen each other for a month. but merciful heavens! the subjects they talked on and discussed over! it seemed that she knew every crook and turn on subjects that bill's grandma never had heard on by name. hygeen, books, street cleanin', hospital work, charities, political affairs from pole to pole and scientific subjects--radium, electricity, spiritualism, woman's suffrage, which they both believed in. there seemed to be no end to the subjects they talked about. so different from pa and ma's talk. they eat their meals in perfect and solemn silence most all the time, ma always waitin' on him. and if she did venter any remarks to him they usually didn't fly no higher than hen's eggs or neighborhood doin's. do you spoze that pa would stood it havin' a wife that acted as if she knew as much as he did? not much. "but bill's wife wuz right up to snuff as well informed as bill wuz, and bill didn't seem to know enough to be jealous and mad about a wife actin' as if she wuz on a equality with him. it made me ashamed to think a male relation on my own side should act so meachin'. and in one thing she even went ahead of bill, owin' to the money men had spent on her. she sung like a bird, and evenin's bill would lay back in his chair before the open fireplace and listen to her singin' and playin' them old songs and look at her as if he worshipped her. he didn't seem to want to stir out of the house evenin's unless she went too, lost all his ambition to go out and have a good man time, seemed perfectly happy where he wuz. and he used to be a great case to be out nights and act like a man amongst men. "but," sez uncle sime, "i believe that one of the things that galded me most amongst all the galdin' things i see and hearn there, wuz bill's wife's independence in money matters. economic independence! that wuz one of her fool idees. oh, how often i thought of you, josiah, and wished you wuz there to put down what i see and hearn in the beautiful language you know so well how to use." my feelin's wuz touched and i sez solemnly, "simon, i would loved to been there, and if i couldn't help you i could have sot and sympathized with you." sez simon, "never once durin' them six weeks i wuz there did i see her ask bill for a cent, and how well i remember," sez simon, "when if ma wanted the money for a pair of shues, or a gingham dress for herself, how she would have to coax pa and git him extra vittles and pompey him and beg for the money in such a womanly and becomin' way. and sometimes pa wuz real short with her and would deny her. not but what he meant to git 'em in the end, for he wuz a noble man. but he held off, wantin' her to realize he wuz the head of the fambly, and to be looked up to." sez simon, "ma would have to manage every way for days and days to git them shues and that dress and when he did git any clothes for her pa picked 'em out himself, for ma had been brought up to think his taste wuz better'n hern." sez i, "probable it wuz better, probable he got things that wore like iron." "yes, he did," sez simon, "he did. he never cared so much for looks as he did the solid wear of anything." and for a few minutes uncle sime seemed lost in a silent contemplation of his pa's oncommon good qualities, and then he resoomed agin. "the news come right whilst i wuz there, about the leven hundred saloons closed durin' the few months since wimmen voted in that state. and bill never resented it and even jined in with the idee that it wuz owin' to wimmen's votes largely that that and the other big temperance victories of late wuz accomplished. he didn't seem to have no more self respect than a snipe. and if you'll believe it, josiah, bill's wife made a public speech right whilst i wuz there, sunthin' about school matters she thought wuz wrong and ort to be set right." "how did bill like that, simon?" sez i. "i guess that kinder opened his eyes." "like it!" sez uncle sime in a indignant axent. "why, instead of actin' ashamed and resentin' it as a man of sperit would, he went with her and made a speech too, and they carried the day and beat the side they said wuz usin' the school to make money. and i hearn 'em with my own ears comin' in at ten p.m. laughin' and jokin' together like two kids. makin' a speech before men! oh, what would bill's great-grandma thought on't? she'd say she had reason for her melancholy madness, and his grandma would say she wuz glad she wuz dead." "most probable that is so, simon," sez i, sympathizin' with him. "as i've intimidated to you before, simon, time and agin, this is a turrible epock of time us male men are a passin' through, jest like a see-saw gone crazy, wimmen up and stayin' up, and men down and held down. but wait till my great work agin female suffrage is lanched onto the world and then see what will happen, and jest as soon as i git a little ahead with my outdoor work i'm a goin' to lanch it. then will come the upheaval and the crash, follered by peace and happiness. men will resoom their heaven-born station as rulers and protectors of the weaker sect, and females will sink down agin into hern, lookin' up to man as their nateral gardeens and masters." "ma knowed it in her day and practiced it," sez simon. "and pa knowed it and acted his part nobly. ma wuz so retirin' and so womanly. why, if once in a great while she took it in her head to ask about such things as bill's wife boldly lectured about, do you spoze she'd go before any strange man to talk out about it? no, she would always ask pa to explain it to her. and i remember well how kinder wishful and wonderin' her eyes looked and yet timid and becomin'. and pa actin' his part in life as a man of sperit should, would most always tell her to tend to her housework and let men run them things. but if he did feel good natered and explain 'em to her she took his word for law and gospel and acted meek and grateful to him. "yes, pa wuz to the head of his house and kep' females down where they belonged, and her actions wuz a pattern for wimmen to foller. and it wuz such a pity and a wonder that she had to die so early, only thirty years old when the lord took her before her virtues wuz known to the world at large. "i remember well the night she passed away," sez simon, in a softer reminescener axent. "she wanted her bed drawed up to the open winder. and she lay lookin' up to the full moon and stars a shinin' in the great clear sky. she looked up and up and kinder smiled and sez in a sort of a wishful, wonderin' axents: "'oh, how big! and how free!' "and i always spozed she meant sunthin' about how big pa wuz, and how free to understand things she didn't, and hadn't ort to." sez i, "i hain't a doubt, simon, but that wuz what she meant, not a doubt on't!" printed in the united states of america by marietta holley _josiah allen on the woman question_ illustrated, 16mo, cloth net $1.00. a new volume from the pen of miss holley, marked by such quaint thoughtfulness and timely reflection as ran through "samantha". all who read it will be bound to feel better, as indeed they should, for they will have done some hearty laughing, and have been "up against" some bits of striking philosophy delivered with point, vigor, and chuckling humor. _samantha on the woman question_ illustrated, 16mo, cloth net $1.00. "this is the book we have been waiting for. what samantha doesn't know, isn't worth knowing--will throw a little humor on a situation which is becoming too intense. we hope it may have a wide circulation in england, for samantha, who believes in suffrage, does not believe in dynamite, gunpowder and mobs." --_examiner._ fiction _caroline abbot stanley_ _author of "the master of the oaks"_ the keeper of the vineyard a tale of the ozarks. illustrated, $1.25 net. this story of a "return to nature," like the author's "master of the oaks," pulsates with real life. the scene lies in the missouri ozarks, a melting pot wherein those who seek the solace of nature and a living from the soil fuse their lives with the natives of the hills in the common quest for liberty and education, love and life. _norman hinsdale pitman_ the lady elect a chinese romance. illustrated by chinese artists. 12mo, cloth, net $1.25. some of the best judges of a good story as well as some of the highest authorities on "things chinese" pronounce this story a remarkable combination of the rarest and most irresistible type of pure romance and the truest and most realistic delineation of chinese life. the novelty of the setting and the situations will win the instant approval of the lover of good fiction. _richard s. holmes_ bradford horton: man a novel. 12mo, cloth, net $1.25. dr. holmes made a distinct place for himself among lovers of good fiction with his earlier stories, "the victor," and "the maid of honor." competent critics pronounce this new story the author's best. the hero is a man's man who wins instant admiration. originality of humor, reality of pathos, comedy and heart tragedy are woven into the story. _marietta holley_ (_josiah allen's wife_) samantha on the woman question illustrated, 12mo, cloth, net $1.00. for an entire generation marietta holley has been entertaining lovers of good humor. "my opinion and betsy bobbitts" and "samantha at the centennial" made her name a household word. this last volume is not only timely but with all its facetiousness, keen and telling in it's advocacy of "votes for women" and temperance. it equals anything the author has produced. _charles h. lerrigo_ doc williams a tale of the middle west. illustrated, net $1.25. "the homely humor of the old doctor and his childlike faith in 'the cure' is so intensely human that he captures the sympathy of the layman at once--a sympathy that becomes the deepest sort of interest."--_topeka capital._ fiction, juvenile _henry otis dwight_ a muslim sir galahad a present day story of islam in turkey. 12mo, cloth, net $1.00. a story of the mohammedan world which holds the reader's attention unfailingly from beginning to end. the narration of selim, the moslem's quest for a satisfying religion has the quality of reality. dramatic interest and thrills of adventure are here in full measure. it is a worthy addition to missionary narration and in view of recent portentious events in the near east a timely and acceptable work. _charles h. lerrigo_ doc williams a tale of the middle west. 12mo, cloth, net $1.25. the story of a "doctor of the old school" with every element which makes a novel worth the reading, plot, character delineation, setting, style--all are here. intensely human, natural, humorous, pathetic, joyous. the originality of the plot piques the reader's curiosity and the most jaded devourer of novels will find himself irresistibly held in delightful suspense. the sentiment and suggestion and mellow philosophy which run through the story are altogether delightful. _i. t. thurston_ the torch bearer a camp fire girls' story. illustrated, net $1.00. the author of "the bishop's shadow" and "the scout master of troop 5," has scored another conspicuous success in this new story of girl life. she shows conclusively that she knows how to reach the heart of a girl as well as that of a boy. the beautiful ritual and practices of "the camp fire girls" are woven into a story of surpassing interest and charm. sociology and practical religion _prof. giovanni luzzi, d.d._ the struggle for christian truth in italy 8vo, cloth, net $1.50. the author traces the history of christianity in italy from its dawn in rome, through the protestant development, giving a concise history of the bible in italy, the founding of the waldensian mission among the alps, the religious revival of 1800, the exile period; up to the present movement, termed "modernism," an attempt to bring the roman catholic church back to the simplicity of christ. waste: a tragedy, in four acts, by granville barker london: sidgwick & jackson, ltd. 3 adam street, adelphi. mcmix. _entered at the library of congress, washington, u.s.a. all rights reserved._ waste 1906-7 waste at shapters, george farrant's house in hertfordshire. ten o'clock on a sunday evening in summer. _facing you at her piano by the window, from which she is protected by a little screen, sits_ mrs. farrant; _a woman of the interesting age, clear-eyed and all her face serene, except for a little pucker of the brows which shows a puzzled mind upon some important matters. to become almost an ideal hostess has been her achievement; and in her own home, as now, this grace is written upon every movement. her eyes pass over the head of a girl, sitting in a low chair by a little table, with the shaded lamplight falling on her face. this is_ lucy davenport; _twenty-three, undefeated in anything as yet and so unsoftened. the book on her lap is closed, for she has been listening to the music. it is possibly some german philosopher, whom she reads with a critical appreciation of his shortcomings. on the sofa near her lounges_ mrs. o'connell; _a charming woman, if by charming you understand a woman who converts every quality she possesses into a means of attraction, and has no use for any others. on the sofa opposite sits_ miss trebell. _in a few years, when her hair is quite grey, she will assume as by right the dignity of an old maid. between these two in a low armchair is_ lady davenport. _she has attained to many dignities. mother and grandmother, she has brought into the world and nourished not merely life but character. a wonderful face she has, full of proud memories and fearless of the future. behind her, on a sofa between the windows, is_ walter kent. _he is just what the average english father would like his son to be. you can see the light shooting out through the windows and mixing with moonshine upon a smooth lawn. on your left is a door. there are many books in the room, hardly any pictures, a statuette perhaps. the owner evidently sets beauty of form before beauty of colour. it is a woman's room and it has a certain delicate austerity. by the time you have observed everything_ mrs. farrant _has played chopin's prelude opus 28, number 20 from beginning to end._ lady davenport. thank you, my dear julia. walter kent. [_protesting._] no more? mrs. farrant. i won't play for a moment longer than i feel musical. miss trebell. do you think it right, julia, to finish with that after an hour's bach? mrs. farrant. i suddenly came over chopinesque, fanny; ... what's your objection? [_as she sits by her._] frances trebell. what ... when bach has raised me to the heights of unselfishness! amy o'connell. [_grimacing sweetly, her eyes only half lifted._] does he? i'm glad that i don't understand him. frances trebell. [_putting mere prettiness in its place._] one may prefer chopin when one is young. amy o'connell. and is that a reproach or a compliment? walter kent. [_boldly._] i do. frances trebell. or a man may ... unless he's a philosopher. lady davenport. [_to the rescue._] miss trebell, you're very hard on mere humanity. frances trebell. [_completing the reproof._] that's my wretched training as a schoolmistress, lady davenport ... one grew to fear it above all things. lucy davenport. [_throwing in the monosyllable with sharp youthful enquiry._] why? frances trebell. there were no text books on the subject. mrs. farrant. [_smiling at her friend._] yes, fanny ... i think you escaped to look after your brother only just in time. frances trebell. in another year i might have been head-mistress, which commits you to approve of the system for ever. lady davenport. [_shaking her wise head._] i've watched the education fever take england.... frances trebell. if i hadn't stopped teaching things i didn't understand...! amy o'connell. [_not without mischief._] and what was the effect on the pupils? lucy davenport. i can tell you that. amy o'connell. frances never taught you. lucy davenport. no, i wish she had. but i was at her sort of a school before i went to newnham. i know. frances trebell. [_very distastefully._] up-to-date, it was described as. lucy davenport. well, it was like a merry-go-round at top speed. you felt things wouldn't look a bit like that when you came to a standstill. amy o'connell. and they don't? lucy davenport. [_with great decision._] not a bit. amy o'connell. [_in her velvet tone._] i was taught the whole duty of woman by a parson-uncle who disbelieved in his church. walter kent. when a man at jude's was going to take orders.... amy o'connell. jude's? walter kent. at oxford. the dons went very gingerly with him over bits of science and history. [_this wakes a fruitful thought in_ julia farrant's _brain._] mrs. farrant. mamma, have you ever discussed so-called anti-christian science with lord charles? frances trebell ... cantelupe? mrs. farrant. yes. it was over appointing a teacher for the schools down here ... he was staying with us. the vicar's his fervent disciple. however, we were consulted. lucy davenport. didn't lord charles want you to send the boys there till they were ready for harrow? mrs. farrant. yes. frances trebell. quite the last thing in toryism! mrs. farrant. mamma made george say we were too _nouveau riche_ to risk it. lady davenport. [_as she laughs._] i couldn't resist that. mrs. farrant. [_catching something of her subject's dry driving manner._] lord charles takes the superior line and says ... that with his consent the church may teach the unalterable truth in scientific language or legendary, whichever is easier understanded of the people. lady davenport. is it the prospect of disestablishment suddenly makes him so accommodating? frances trebell. [_with large contempt._] he needn't be. the majority of people believe the world was made in an english week. lucy davenport. oh, no! frances trebell. no bishop dare deny it. mrs. farrant. [_from the heights of experience._] dear lucy, do you seriously think that the english spirit--the nerve that runs down the backbone--is disturbed by new theology ... or new anything? lady davenport. [_enjoying her epigram._] what a waste of persecution history shows us! walter kent _now captures the conversation with a very young politician's fervour._ walter kent. once they're disestablished they must make up their minds what they do believe. lady davenport. i presume lord charles thinks it'll hand the church over to him and his ... dare i say 'sect'? walter kent. won't it? he knows what he wants. mrs. farrant. [_subtly._] there's the election to come yet. walter kent. but now both parties are pledged to a bill of some sort. mrs. farrant. political prophecies have a knack of not coming true; but, d'you know, cyril horsham warned me to watch this position developing ... nearly four years ago. frances trebell. sitting on the opposition bench sharpens the eye-sight. walter kent. [_ironically._] has he been pleased with the prospect? mrs. farrant. [_with perfect diplomacy_] if the church must be disestablished ... better done by its friends than its enemies. frances trebell. still i don't gather he's pleased with his dear cousin charles's conduct. mrs. farrant. [_shrugging._] oh, lately, lord charles has never concealed his tactics. frances trebell. and that speech at leeds was the crowning move i suppose; just asking the nonconformists to bring things to a head? mrs. farrant. [_judicially._] i think that was precipitate. walter kent. [_giving them_ lord charles's _oratory._] gentlemen, in these latter days of radical opportunism!--you know, i was there ... sitting next to an old gentleman who shouted "jesuit." frances trebell. but supposing mallaby and the nonconformists hadn't been able to force the liberals' hand? mrs. farrant. [_speaking as of inferior beings._] why, they were glad of any cry going to the country! frances trebell. [_as she considers this._] yes ... and lord charles would still have had as good a chance of forcing lord horsham's. it has been clever tactics. lucy davenport. [_who has been listening, sharp-eyed._] contrariwise, he wouldn't have liked a radical bill though, would he? walter kent. [_with aplomb._] he knew he was safe from that. the government must have dissolved before christmas anyway ... and the swing of the pendulum's a sure thing. mrs. farrant. [_with her smile._] it's never a sure thing. walter kent. oh, mrs. farrant, look how unpopular the liberals are. frances trebell. what made them bring in resolutions? walter kent. [_overflowing with knowledge of the subject._] i was told mallaby insisted on their showing they meant business. i thought he was being too clever ... and it turns out he was. tommy luxmore told me there was a fearful row in the cabinet about it. but on their last legs, you know, it didn't seem to matter, i suppose. even then, if prothero had mustered up an ounce of tact ... i believe they could have pulled them through.... frances trebell. not the spoliation one. walter kent. well, mr. trebell dished that! frances trebell. henry says his speech didn't turn a vote. mrs. farrant. [_with charming irony._] how disinterested of him! walter kent. [_enthusiastic._] that speech did if ever a speech did. frances trebell. is there any record of a speech that ever did? he just carried his own little following with him. mrs. farrant. but the crux of the whole matter is and has always been ... what's to be done with the church's money. lucy davenport. [_visualising sovereigns._] a hundred millions or so ... think of it! frances trebell. there has been from the start a good deal of anti-nonconformist feeling against applying the money to secular uses. mrs. farrant. [_deprecating false modesty, on anyone's behalf._] oh, of course the speech turned votes ... twenty of them at least. lucy davenport. [_determined on information._] then i was told lord horsham had tried to come to an understanding himself with the nonconformists about disestablishment--oh--a long time ago ... over the education bill. frances trebell. is that true, julia? mrs. farrant. how should i know? frances trebell. [_with some mischief_] you might. mrs. farrant. [_weighing her words._] i don't think it would have been altogether wise to make advances. they'd have asked more than a conservative government could possibly persuade the church to give up. walter kent. i don't see that horsham's much better off now. he only turned the radicals out on the spoliation question by the help of trebell. and so far ... i mean, till this election is over trebell counts still as one of them, doesn't he, miss trebell? oh ... perhaps he doesn't. frances trebell. he'll tell you he never has counted as one of them. mrs. farrant. no doubt lord charles would sooner have done without his help. and that's why i didn't ask the gentle jesuit this week-end if anyone wants to know. walter kent. [_stupent at this lack of party spirit._] what ... he'd rather have had the liberals go to the country undefeated! mrs. farrant. [_with finesse._] the election may bring us back independent of mr. trebell and anything he stands for. walter kent. [_sharply._] but you asked lord horsham to meet him. mrs. farrant. [_with still more finesse._] i had my reasons. votes aren't everything. lady davenport _has been listening with rather a doubtful smile; she now caps the discussion._ lady davenport. i'm relieved to hear you say so, my dear julia. on the other hand democracy seems to have brought itself to a pretty pass. here's a measure, which the country as a whole neither demands nor approves of, will certainly be carried, you tell me, because a minority on each side is determined it shall be ... for totally different reasons. mrs. farrant. [_shrugging again._] it isn't our business to prevent popular government looking foolish, mamma. lady davenport. is that tory cynicism or feminine? _at this moment_ george farrant _comes through the window; a good natured man of forty-five. he would tell you that he was educated at eton and oxford. but the knowledge which saves his life comes from the thrusting upon him of authority and experience; ranging from the management of an estate which he inherited at twenty-four, through the chairmanship of a newspaper syndicate, through a successful marriage, to a minor post in the last tory cabinet and the prospect of one in the near-coming next. thanks to his agents, editors, permanent officials, and his own common sense, he always acquits himself creditably. he comes to his wife's side and waits for a pause in the conversation._ lady davenport. i remember mr. disraeli once said to me ... clever women are as dangerous to the state as dynamite. frances trebell. [_not to be impressed by disraeli._] well, lady davenport, if men will leave our intellects lying loose about.... farrant. blackborough's going, julia. mrs. farrant. yes, george. lady davenport. [_concluding her little apologue to_ miss trebell.] yes, my dear, but power without responsibility isn't good for the character that wields it either. [_there follows_ farrant _through the window a man of fifty. he has about him that unmistakeable air of acquired wealth and power which distinguishes many jews and has therefore come to be regarded as a solely jewish characteristic. he speaks always with that swift decision which betokens a narrowed view. this is_ russell blackborough; _manufacturer, politician ... statesman, his own side calls him._] blackborough. [_to his hostess._] if i start now, they tell me, i shall get home before the moon goes down. i'm sorry i must get back to-night. it's been a most delightful week-end. mrs. farrant. [_gracefully giving him a good-bye hand._] and a successful one, i hope. farrant. we talked education for half an hour. mrs. farrant. [_her eyebrows lifting a shade._] education! farrant. then trebell went away to work. blackborough. i've missed the music, i fear. mrs. farrant. but it's been bach. blackborough. no chopin? mrs. farrant. for a minute only. blackborough. why don't these new italian men write things for the piano! good-night, lady davenport. lady davenport. [_as he bows over her hand._] and what has education to do with it? blackborough. [_non-committal himself._] perhaps it was a subject that compromised nobody. lady davenport. do you think my daughter has been wasting her time and her tact? farrant. [_clapping him on the shoulder._] blackborough's frankly flabbergasted at the publicity of this intrigue. mrs. farrant. intrigue! mr. trebell walked across the house ... actually into your arms. blackborough. [_with a certain dubious grimness._] well ... we've had some very interesting talks since. and his views upon education are quite ... utopian. good bye, miss trebell. frances trebell. good-bye. mrs. farrant. i wouldn't be so haughty till after the election, if i were you, mr. blackborough. blackborough. [_indifferently._] oh, i'm glad he's with us on the church question ... so far. mrs. farrant. so far as you've made up your minds? the electoral cat will jump soon. blackborough. [_a little beaten by such polite cynicism._] well ... our conservative principles! after all we know what they are. good-night, mrs. o'connell. amy o'connell. good-night. farrant. your neuralgia better? amy o'connell. by fits and starts. farrant. [_robustly._] come and play billiards. horsham and maconochie started a game. they can neither of them play. we left them working out a theory of angles on bits of paper. walter kent. professor maconochie lured me on to golf yesterday. he doesn't suffer from theories about that. blackborough. [_with approval._] started life as a caddie. walter kent. [_pulling a wry face._] so he told me after the first hole. blackborough. what's this, kent, about trebell's making you his secretary? walter kent. he thinks he'll have me. blackborough. [_almost reprovingly._] no question of politics? farrant. more intrigue, blackborough. walter kent. [_with disarming candour._] the truth is, you see, i haven't any as yet. i was socialist at oxford ... but of course that doesn't count. i think i'd better learn my job under the best man i can find ... and who'll have me. blackborough. [_gravely._] what does your father say? walter kent. oh, as long as jack will inherit the property in a tory spirit! my father thinks it my wild oats. _a footman has come in._ the footman. your car is round, sir. blackborough. ah! good-night, miss davenport. good-bye again, mrs. farrant ... a charming week-end. _he makes a business-like departure_, farrant _follows him._ the footman. a telephone message from dr. wedgecroft, ma'am. his thanks; they stopped the express for him at hitchin and he has reached london quite safely. mrs. farrant. thank you. [_the footman goes out._ mrs. farrant _exhales delicately as if the air were a little refined by_ blackborough's _removal._] mrs. farrant. mr. blackborough and his patent turbines and his gas engines and what not are the motive power of our party nowadays, fanny. frances trebell. yes, you claim to be steering plutocracy. do you never wonder if it isn't steering you? mrs. o'connell, _growing restless, has wandered round the room picking at the books in their cases._ amy o'connell. i always like your books, julia. it's an intellectual distinction to know someone who has read them. mrs. farrant. that's the communion i choose. frances trebell. aristocrat ... fastidious aristocrat. mrs. farrant. no, now. learning's a great leveller. frances trebell. but julia ... books are quite unreal. d'you think life is a bit like them? mrs. farrant. they bring me into touch with ... oh, there's nothing more deadening than to be boxed into a set in society! speak to a woman outside it ... she doesn't understand your language. frances trebell. and do you think by prattling hegel with gilbert wedgecroft when he comes to physic you-mrs. farrant. [_joyously._] excellent physic that is. he never leaves a prescription. lady davenport. don't you think an aristocracy of brains is the best aristocracy, miss trebell? frances trebell. [_with a little more bitterness than the abstraction of the subject demands._] i'm sure it is just as out of touch with humanity as any other ... more so, perhaps. if i were a country i wouldn't be governed by arid intellects. mrs. farrant. manners, frances. frances trebell. i'm one myself and i know. they're either dead or dangerous. george farrant _comes back and goes straight to_ mrs. o'connell. farrant. [_still robustly._] billiards, mrs. o'connell. amy o'connell. [_declining sweetly._] i think not. farrant. billiards, lucy? lucy davenport. [_as robust as he._] yes, uncle george. you shall mark while walter gives me twenty-five and i beat him. walter kent. [_with a none-of-your-impudence air._] i'll give you ten yards start and race you to the billiard room. lucy davenport. will you wear my skirt? oh ... grandmamma's thinking me vulgar. lady davenport. [_without prejudice._] why, my dear, freedom of limb is worth having ... and perhaps it fits better with freedom of tongue. farrant. [_in the proper avuncular tone._] i'll play you both ... and i'd race you both if you weren't so disgracefully young. amy o'connell _has reached an open window._ amy o'connell. i shall go for a walk with my neuralgia. mrs. farrant. poor thing! amy o'connell. the moon's good for it. lucy davenport. shall you come, aunt julia? mrs. farrant. [_in flat protest._] no, i will not sit up while you play billiards. mrs. o'connell _goes out through the one window, stands for a moment, wistfully romantic, gazing at_ kent _are standing at the other, looking across the lawn._ farrant. horsham still arguing with maconochie. they're got to botany now. walter kent. demonstrating something with a ... what's that thing? walter _goes out._ farrant. [_with a throw of his head towards the distant_ horsham.] he was so bored with our politics ... having to give his opinion too. we could just hear your piano. _and he follows_ walter. mrs. farrant. take amy o'connell that lace thing, will you, lucy? lucy davenport. [_her tone expressing quite wonderfully her sentiments towards the owner._] don't you think she'd sooner catch cold? _she catches it up and follows the two men; then after looking round impatiently, swings off in the direction_ mrs. o'connell _took. the three women now left together are at their ease._ frances trebell. did you expect mr. blackborough to get on well with henry? mrs. farrant. he has become a millionaire by appreciating clever men when he met them. lady davenport. yes, julia, but his political conscience is comparatively new-born. mrs. farrant. well, mamma, can we do without mr. trebell? lady davenport. everyone seems to think you'll come back with something of a majority. mrs. farrant. [_a little impatient._] what's the good of that? the bill can't be brought into the lords ... and who's going to take disestablishment through the commons for us? not eustace fowler ... not mr. blackborough ... not lord charles ... not george! lady davenport. [_warningly._] not all your brilliance as a hostess will keep mr. trebell in a tory cabinet. mrs. farrant. [_with wilful avoidance of the point._] cyril horsham is only too glad. lady davenport. because you tell him he ought to be. frances trebell. [_coming to the rescue._] there is this. henry has never exactly called himself a liberal. he really is elected independently. mrs. farrant. i wonder will all the garden-cities become pocket-boroughs. frances trebell. i think he has made a mistake. mrs. farrant. it makes things easier now ... his having kept his freedom. frances trebell. i think it's a mistake to stand outside a system. there's an inhumanity in that amount of detachment ... mrs. farrant. [_brilliantly._] i think a statesman may be a little inhuman. lady davenport. [_with keenness._] do you mean superhuman? it's not the same thing, you know. mrs. farrant. i know. lady davenport. most people don't know. mrs. farrant. [_proceeding with her cynicism._] humanity achieves ... what? housekeeping and children. frances trebell. as far as a woman's concerned. mrs. farrant. [_a little mockingly._] now, mamma, say that is as far as a woman's concerned. lady davenport. my dear, you know i don't think so. mrs. farrant. we may none of us think so. but there's our position ... bread and butter and a certain satisfaction until ... oh, mamma, i wish i were like you ... beyond all the passions of life. lady davenport. [_with great vitality._] i'm nothing of the sort. it's my egoism's dead ... that's an intimation of mortality. mrs. farrant. i accept the snub. but i wonder what i'm to do with myself for the next thirty years. frances trebell. help lord horsham to govern the country. julia farrant _gives a little laugh and takes up the subject this time._ mrs. farrant. mamma ... how many people, do you think, believe that cyril's _grande passion_ for me takes that form? lady davenport. everyone who knows cyril and most people who know you. mrs. farrant. otherwise i seem to have fulfilled my mission in life. the boys are old enough to go to school. george and i have become happily unconscious of each other. frances trebell. [_with sudden energy of mind._] till i was forty i never realised the fact that most women must express themselves through men. mrs. farrant. [_looking at_ frances _a little curiously._] didn't your instinct lead you to marry ... or did you fight against it? frances trebell. i don't know. perhaps i had no vitality to spare. lady davenport. that boy is a long time proposing to lucy. _this effectually startles the other two from their conversational reverie._ mrs. farrant. walter? i'm not sure that he means to. she means to marry him if he does. frances trebell. has she told you so? mrs. farrant. no. i judge by her business-like interest in his welfare. frances trebell. he's beginning to feel the responsibility of manhood ... doesn't know whether to be frightened or proud of it. lady davenport. it's a pretty thing to watch young people mating. when they're older and marry from disappointment or deliberate choice, thinking themselves so worldly-wise.... mrs. farrant, [_back to her politely cynical mood._] well ... then at least they don't develop their differences at the same fire-side, regretting the happy time when neither possessed any character at all. lady davenport. [_giving a final douche of common sense._] my dear, any two reasonable people ought to be able to live together. frances trebell. granted three sitting rooms. that'll be the next middle-class political cry ... when women are heard. mrs. farrant. [_suddenly as practical as her mother._] walter's lucky ... lucy won't stand any nonsense. she'll have him in the cabinet by the time he's fifty. lady davenport. and are you the power behind your brother, miss trebell? frances trebell. [_gravely._] he ignores women. i've forced enough good manners on him to disguise the fact decently. his affections are two generations ahead. mrs. farrant. people like him in an odd sort of way. frances trebell. that's just respect for work done ... one can't escape from it. _there is a slight pause in their talk. by some not very devious route_ mrs. farrant's _mind travels to the next subject._ mrs. farrant. fanny ... how fond are you of amy o'connell? frances trebell. she says we're great friends. mrs. farrant. she says that of me. frances trebell. it's a pity about her husband. mrs. farrant. [_almost provokingly._] what about him? frances trebell. it seems to be understood that he treats her badly. lady davenport. [_a little malicious._] is there any particular reason he should treat her well? frances trebell. don't you like her, lady davenport? lady davenport. [_dealing out justice._] i find her quite charming to look at and talk to ... but why shouldn't justin o'connell live in ireland for all that? i'm going to bed, julia. _she collects her belongings and gets up._ mrs. farrant. i must look in at the billiard room. frances trebell. i won't come, julia. mrs. farrant. what's your brother working at? frances trebell. i don't know. something we shan't hear of for a year, perhaps. mrs. farrant. on the church business, i daresay. frances trebell. did you hear lord horsham at dinner on the lack of dignity in an irreligious state? mrs. farrant. poor cyril ... he'll have to find a way round that opinion of his now. frances trebell. does he like leading his party? mrs. farrant. [_after due consideration._] it's an intellectual exercise. he's the right man, fanny. you see it isn't a party in the active sense at all, except now and then when it's captured by someone with an axe to grind. frances trebell. [_humorously._] such as my brother. mrs. farrant. [_as humorous._] such as your brother. it expresses the thought of the men who aren't taken in by the claptrap of progress. frances trebell. sometimes they've a queer way of expressing their love for the people of england. mrs. farrant. but one must use democracy. wellington wouldn't ... disraeli did. lady davenport. [_at the door._] good-night, miss trebell. frances trebell. i'm coming ... it's past eleven. mrs. farrant. [_at the window._] what a gorgeous night! i'll come in and kiss you, mamma. frances _follows_ lady davenport _and_ mrs. farrant _starts across the lawn to the billiard room.... an hour later you can see no change in the room except that only one lamp is alight on the table in the middle._ amy o'connell _and_ henry trebell _walk past one window and stay for a moment in the light of the other. her wrap is about her shoulders. he stands looking down at her._ amy o'connell. there goes the moon ... it's quieter than ever now. [_she comes in._] is it very late? trebell. [_as he follows._] half-past twelve. trebell _is hard-bitten, brainy, forty-five and very sure of himself. he has a cold keen eye, which rather belies a sensitive mouth; hands which can grip, and a figure that is austere._ amy o'connell. i ought to be in bed. i suppose everyone has gone. trebell. early trains to-morrow. the billiard room lights are out. amy o'connell. the walk has just tired me comfortably. trebell. sit down. [_she sits by the table. he sits by her and says with the air of a certain buyer at a market._] you're very pretty. amy o'connell. as well here as by moonlight? can't you see any wrinkles? trebell. one or two ... under the eyes. but they give character and bring you nearer my age. yes, nature hit on the right curve in making you. _she stretches herself, cat-like._ amy o'connell. praise is the greatest of luxuries, isn't it, henry? ... henry ... [_she caresses the name._] trebell. quite right ... henry. amy o'connell. henry ... trebell. trebell. having formally taken possession of my name.... amy o'connell. i'll go to bed. _his eyes have never moved from her. now she breaks the contact and goes towards the door._ trebell. i wouldn't ... my spare time for love making is so limited. _she turns back, quite at ease, her eyes challenging him._ amy o'connell. that's the first offensive thing you've said. trebell. why offensive? amy o'connell. i may flirt. making love's another matter. trebell. sit down and explain the difference ... mrs. o'connell. _she sits down._ amy o'connell. quite so. 'mrs. o'connell'. that's the difference. trebell. [_provokingly._] but i doubt if i'm interested in the fact that your husband doesn't understand you and that your marriage was a mistake ... and how hard you find it to be strong. amy o'connell. [_kindly._] i'm not quite a fool though you think so on a three months' acquaintance. but tell me this ... what education besides marriage does a woman get? trebell. [_his head lifting quickly._] education.... amy o'connell. don't be business-like. trebell. i beg your pardon. amy o'connell. do you think the things you like to have taught in schools are any use to one when one comes to deal with you? trebell. [_after a little scrutiny of her-face._] well, if marriage is only the means to an end ... what's the end? not flirtation. amy o'connell. [_with an air of self-revelation._] i don't know. to keep one's place in the world, i suppose, one's self-respect and a sense of humour. trebell. is that difficult? amy o'connell. to get what i want, without paying more than it's worth to me....? trebell. never to be reckless. amy o'connell. [_with a side-glance._] one isn't so often tempted. trebell. in fact ... to flirt with life generally. now, what made your husband marry you? amy o'connell. [_dealing with the impertinence in her own fashion._] what would make you marry me? don't say: nothing on earth. trebell. [_speaking apparently of someone else._] a prolonged fit of idleness might make me marry ... a clever woman. but i've never been idle for more than a week. and i've never met a clever woman ... worth calling a woman. amy o'connell. [_bringing their talk back to herself, and fastidiously._] justin has all the natural instincts. trebell. he's roman catholic, isn't he? amy o'connell. so am i ... by profession. trebell. it's a poor religion unless you really believe in it. amy o'connell. [_appealing to him._] if i were to live at linaskea and have as many children as god sent, i should manage to make justin pretty miserable! and what would be left of me at all i should like to know? trebell. so justin lives at linaskea alone? amy o'connell. i'm told now there's a pretty housemaid ... [_she shrugs._] trebell. does he drink too? amy o'connell. oh, no. you'd like justin, i daresay. he's clever. the thirteenth century's what he knows about. he has done a book on its statutes ... has been doing another. trebell. and after an evening's hard work i find you here ready to flirt with. amy o'connell. what have you been working at? trebell. a twentieth century statute perhaps. that's not any concern of yours either. _she does not follow his thought._ amy o'connell. no, i prefer you in your unprofessional moments. trebell. real flattery. i didn't know i had any. amy o'connell. that's why you should flirt with me ... henry ... to cultivate them. i'm afraid you lack imagination. trebell. one must choose something to lack in this life. amy o'connell. not develop your nature to its utmost capacity. trebell. and then? amy o'connell. well, if that's not an end in itself ... [_with a touch of romantic piety._] i suppose there's the hereafter. trebell. [_grimly material._] what, more developing! i watch people wasting time on themselves with amazement ... i refuse to look forward to wasting eternity. amy o'connell. [_shaking her head._] you are very self-satisfied. trebell. not more so than any machine that runs smoothly. and i hope not self-conscious. amy o'connell. [_rather attractively treating him as a child._] it would do you good to fall really desperately in love with me ... to give me the power to make you unhappy. _he suddenly becomes very definite._ trebell. at twenty-three i engaged myself to be married to a charming and virtuous fool. i broke it off. amy o'connell. did she mind much? trebell. we both minded. but i had ideals of womanhood that i wouldn't sacrifice to any human being. then i fell in with a woman who seduced me, and for a whole year led me the life of a french novel ... played about with my emotion as i had tortured that other poor girl's brains. education you'd call it in the one case as i called it in the other. what a waste of time! amy o'connell. and what has become of your ideal? trebell. [_relapsing to his former mood._] it's no longer a personal matter. amy o'connell. [_with coquetry._] you're not interested in my character? trebell. oh, yes, i am ... up to kissing point. _she does not shrink, but speaks with just a shade of contempt._ amy o'connell. you get that far more easily than a woman. that's one of my grudges against men. why can't women take love-affairs so lightly? trebell. there are reasons. but make a good beginning with this one. kiss me at once. _he leans towards her. she considers him quite calmly._ amy o'connell. no. trebell. when will you, then? amy o'connell. when i can't help myself ... if that time ever comes. trebell. [_accepting the postponement in a business-like spirit._] well ... i'm an impatient man. amy o'connell. [_confessing engagingly._] i made up my mind to bring you within arms' length of me when we'd met at lady percival's. do you remember? [_his face shows no sign of it._] it was the day after your speech on the budget. trebell. then i remember. but i haven't observed the process. amy o'connell. [_subtly._] your sister grew to like me very soon. that's all the cunning there has been. trebell. the rest is just mutual attraction? amy o'connell. and opportunities. trebell. such as this. _at the drop of their voices they become conscious of the silent house._ amy o'connell. do you really think everyone has gone to bed? trebell. [_disregardful._] and what is it makes my pressing attentions endurable ... if one may ask? amy o'connell. some spiritual need or other, i suppose, which makes me risk unhappiness ... in fact, welcome it. trebell. [_with great briskness._] your present need is a good shaking.... i seriously mean that. you get to attach importance to these shades of emotion. a slight physical shock would settle them all. that's why i asked you to kiss me just now. amy o'connell. you haven't very nice ideas, have you? trebell. there are three facts in life that call up emotion ... birth, death, and the desire for children. the niceties are shams. amy o'connell. then why do you want to kiss me? trebell. i don't ... seriously. but i shall in a minute just to finish the argument. too much diplomacy always ends in a fight. amy o'connell. and if i don't fight ... it'd be no fun for you, i suppose? trebell. you would get that much good out of me. for it's my point of honour ... to leave nothing i touch as i find it. _he is very close to her._ amy o'connell. you're frightening me a little ... trebell. come and look at the stars again. come along. amy o'connell. give me my wrap ... [_he takes it up, but holds it._] well, put it on me. [_he puts it round her, but does not withdraw his arms._] be careful, the stars are looking at you. trebell. no, they can't see so far as we can. that's the proper creed. amy o'connell. [_softly, almost shyly._] henry. trebell. [_bending closer to her._] yes, pretty thing. amy o'connell. is this what you call being in love? _he looks up and listens._ trebell. here's somebody coming. amy o'connell. oh!... trebell. what does it matter? amy o'connell. i'm untidy or something.... _she slips out, for they are close to the window. the_ footman _enters, stops suddenly._ the footman. i beg your pardon, sir. i thought everyone had gone. trebell. i've just been for a walk. i'll lock up if you like. the footman. i can easily wait up, sir. trebell. [_at the window._] i wouldn't. what do you do ... just slide the bolt? the footman. that's all, sir. trebell. i see. good-night. the footman. good-night, sir. _he goes._ trebell's _demeanour suddenly changes, becomes alert, with the alertness of a man doing something in secret. he leans out of the window and whispers._ trebell. amy! _there is no answer, so he gently steps out. for a moment the room is empty and there is silence. then_ amy _has flown from him into the safety of lights. she is flushed, trembling, but rather ecstatic, and her voice has lost all affectation now._ amy o'connell. oh ... oh ... you shouldn't have kissed me like that! trebell _stands in the window-way; a light in his eyes, and speaks low but commandingly._ trebell. come here. _instinctively she moves towards him. they speak in whispers._ amy o'connell. he was locking up. trebell. i've sent him to bed. amy o'connell. he won't go. trebell. never mind him. amy o'connell. we're standing full in the light ... anyone could see us. trebell. [_with fierce egotism._] think of me ... not of anyone else. [_he draws her from the window; then does not let her go._] may i kiss you again? amy o'connell. [_her eyes closed._] yes. _he kisses her. she stiffens in his arms; then laughs almost joyously, and is commonplace._ amy o'connell. well ... let me get my breath. trebell. [_letting her stand free._] now ... go along. _obediently she turns to the door, but sinks on the nearest chair._ amy o'connell. in a minute, i'm a little faint. [_he goes to her quickly._] no, it's nothing. trebell. come into the air again. [_then half seriously._] i'll race you across the lawn. amy o'connell. [_still breathless and a little hysterical._] thank you! trebell. shall i carry you? amy o'connell. don't be silly. [_she recovers her self-possession, gets up and goes to the window, then looks back at him and says very beautifully._] but the night's beautiful, isn't it? _he has her in his arms again, more firmly this time._ trebell. make it so. amy o'connell. [_struggling ... with herself_] oh, why do you rouse me like this? trebell. because i want you. amy o'connell. want me to...? trebell. want you to ... kiss me just once. amy o'connell. [_yielding._] if i do ... don't let me go mad, will you? trebell. perhaps. [_he bends over her, her head drops back._] now. amy o'connell. yes! _she kisses him on the mouth. then he would release her, but suddenly she clings again._ oh ... don't let me go. trebell. [_with fierce pride of possession._] not yet. _she is fragile beside him. he lifts her in his arms and carries her out into the darkness._ the second act trebell's house in queen anne street, london. eleven o'clock on an october morning. trebell's _working room is remarkable chiefly for the love of sunlight it evidences in its owner. the walls are white; the window which faces you is bare of all but the necessary curtains. indeed, lack of draperies testifies also to his horror of dust. there faces you besides a double door; when it is opened another door is seen. when that is opened you discover a writing table, and beyond can discern a book-case filled with heavy volumes--law reports perhaps. the little room beyond is, so to speak, an under-study. between the two rooms a window, again barely curtained, throws light down the staircase. but in the big room, while the books are many the choice of them is catholic; and the book-cases are low, running along the wall. there is an armchair before the bright fire, which is on your right. there is a sofa. and in the middle of the room is an enormous double writing table piled tidily with much appropriate impedimenta, blue books and pamphlets and with an especial heap of unopened letters and parcels. at the table sits_ trebell _himself, in good health and spirits, but eyeing askance the work to which he has evidently just returned. his sister looks in on him. she is dressed to go out and has a housekeeping air._ frances. are you busy, henry? trebell. more or less. come in. frances. you'll dine at home? trebell. anyone coming? frances. julia farrant and lucy have run up to town, i think. i thought of going round and asking them to come in ... but perhaps your young man will be going there. amy o'connell said something vague about our going to charles street ... but she may be out of town by now. trebell. well ... i'll be in anyhow. frances. [_going to the window as she buttons her gloves._] were you on deck early this morning? it must have been lovely. trebell. no, i turned in before we got out of le havre. i left kent on deck and found him there at six. frances. i don't think autumn means to come at all this year ... it'll be winter one morning. september has been like a hive of bees, busy and drowsy. by the way, cousin mary has another baby ... a girl. trebell. [_indifferent to the information._] that's the fourth. frances. fifth. they asked me down for the christening ... but i really couldn't. trebell. september's the month for tuscany. the car chose to break down one morning just as we were starting north again; so we climbed one of the little hills and sat for a couple of hours, while i composed a fifteenth century electioneering speech to the citizens of siena. frances. [_with a half smile._] have you a vein of romance for holiday time? trebell. [_dispersing the suggestion._] not at all romantic ... nothing but figures and fiscal questions. that was the hardest commercial civilisation there has been, though you only think of its art and its murders now. frances. the papers on both sides have been very full of you ... saying you hold the moral balance ... or denying it. trebell. an interviewer caught me at basle. i offered to discuss the state of the swiss navy. frances. was that before lord horsham wrote to you? trebell. yes, his letter came to innsbruck. he "expressed" it somehow. why ... it isn't known that he will definitely ask me to join? frances. the whitehall had a leader before the elections were well over to say that he must ... but, of course, that was mr. farrant. trebell. [_knowingly._] mrs. farrant. i saw it in paris ... it just caught me up. frances. the times is very shy over the whole question ... has a letter from a fresh bishop every day ... doesn't talk of you very kindly yet. trebell. tampering with the establishment, even cantelupe's way, will be a pill to the real old tory right to the bitter end. walter kent _comes in, very fresh and happy-looking. a young man started in life._ trebell _hails him._ trebell. hullo ... you've not been long getting shaved. kent. how do you do, miss trebell? lucy turned me out. frances. my congratulations. i've not seen you since i heard the news. kent. [_glad and unembarrassed._] thank you. i do deserve them, don't i? mrs. farrant didn't come down ... she left us to breakfast together. but i've a message for you ... her love and she is in town. i went and saw lord charles, sir. he will come to you and be here at half past seven. trebell. look at these. _he smacks on the back, so to speak, the pile of parcels and letters._ kent. oh, lord! ... i'd better start on them. frances. [_continuing in her smooth oldmaidish manner._] thank you for getting engaged just before you went off with henry ... it has given me my only news of him, through lucy and your postcards. trebell. oh, what about wedgecroft? kent. i think it was he spun up just as i'd been let in. trebell. oh, well ... [_and he rings at the telephone which is on his table._] kent. [_confiding in_ miss trebell.] we're a common sense couple, aren't we? i offered to ask to stay behind but she.... simpson, _the maid, comes in._ simpson. dr. wedgecroft, sir. wedgecroft _is on her heels. if you have an eye for essentials you may tell at once that he is a doctor, but if you only notice externals you will take him, for anything else. he is over forty and in perfect health of body and spirit. his enthusiasms are his vitality and he has too many of them ever to lose one. he squeezes_ miss trebell's _hand with an air of fearless affection which is another of his characteristics and not the least loveable._ wedgecroft. how are you? frances. i'm very well, thanks. wedgecroft. [_to_ trebell, _as they shake hands._] you're looking fit. trebell. [_with tremendous emphasis._] i am! wedgecroft. you've got the motor eye though. trebell. full of dust? wedgecroft. look at kent's. [_he takes_ walter's _arm._] it's a slight but serious contraction of the pupil ... which i charge fifty guineas to cure. frances. it's the eye of faith in you and your homeopathic doses. don't you interfere with it. frances trebell, _housekeeper, goes out._ kent _has seized on the letters and is carrying them to his room._ kent. this looks like popularity and the great heart of the people, doesn't it? wedgecroft. trebell, you're not ill, and i've work to do. trebell. i want ten minutes. keep anybody out, kent. kent. i'll switch that speaking tube arrangement to my room. trebell, _overflowing with vitality, starts to face the floor._ trebell. i've seen the last of pump court, gilbert. wedgecroft. the bar ought to give you a testimonial ... to the man who not only could retire on twenty years' briefs, but has. trebell. fifteen. but i bled the city sharks with a good conscience ... quite freely. wedgecroft. [_with a pretence at grumbling._] i wish i could retire. trebell. no you don't. doctoring's a priestcraft ... you've taken vows. wedgecroft. then why don't you establish _our_ church instead of ... trebell. yes, my friend ... but you're a heretic. i'd have to give the medical council power to burn you at the stake. kent. [_with the book packages._] parcel from the s.p.c.k., sir. trebell. i know.... disestablishment a crime against god; sermon preached by the vicar of something parva in eighteen seventy three. i hope you're aware it's your duty to read all those. kent. suppose they convert me? lucy wanted to know if she could see you. trebell. [_his eyebrows up._] yes, i'll call at mrs. farrant's. oh, wait. aren't they coming to dinner? kent. to-night? no, i think they go back to shapters by the five o'clock. i told her she might come round about twelve on the chance. trebell. yes ... if cantelupe's punctual ... i'd sooner not have too long with him. kent. all right, then. _he goes, shutting the door; then you hear the door of his room shut too. the two friends face each other, glad of a talk._ trebell. well? wedgecroft. well ... you'll never do it. trebell. yes, i shall. wedgecroft. you can't carry any bill to be a credit to you with the coming tory cabinet on your back. you know the government is cursing you with its dying breath. trebell. [_rubbing his hands._] of course. they've been beaten out of the house and in now. i suppose they will meet parliament. wedgecroft. they must, i think. it's over a month since-trebell. [_his thoughts running quickly._] there'll only be a nominal majority of sixteen against them. the labour lot are committed on their side ... and now that the irish have gone-wedgecroft. but they'll be beaten on the address first go. trebell. yes ... horsham hasn't any doubt of it. wedgecroft. he'll be in office within a week of the king's speech. trebell. [_with another access of energy._] i'll pull the bill that's in my head through a horsham cabinet and the house. then i'll leave them ... they'll go to the country-wedgecroft. you know percival's pledge about that at bristol wasn't very definite. trebell. horsham means to. wedgecroft. [_with friendly contempt._] oh, horsham! trebell. anyway, it's about percival i want you. how ill is he? wedgecroft. not very. trebell. is he going to die? wedgecroft. well, i'm attending him. trebell. [_pinked._] yes ... that's a good answer. how does he stomach me in prospect as a colleague, so far? wedgecroft. sir, professional etiquette forbids me to disclose what a patient may confess in the sweat of his agony. trebell. he'll be chancellor again and lead the house. wedgecroft. why not? he only grumbles that he's getting old. trebell. [_thinking busily again._] the difficulty is i shall have to stay through one budget with them. he'll have a surplus ... well, it looks like it ... and my only way of agreeing with him will be to collar it. wedgecroft. but ... good heavens! ... you'll have a hundred million or so to give away when you've disendowed. trebell. not to give away. i'll sell every penny. wedgecroft. [_with an incredulous grin._] you're not going back to extending old-age pensions after turning the unfortunate liberals out on it, are you? trebell. no, no ... none of your half crown measures. they can wait to round off their solution of that till they've the courage to make one big bite of it. wedgecroft. we shan't see the day. trebell. [_lifting the subject off its feet._] not if i come out of the cabinet and preach revolution? wedgecroft. or will they make a tory of you? trebell. [_acknowledging that stroke with a return grin._] it'll be said they have when the bill is out. wedgecroft. it's said so already. trebell. who knows a radical bill when he sees it! wedgecroft. i'm not pleased you have to be running a tilt against the party system. [_he becomes a little dubious._] my friend ... it's a nasty windmill. oh, you've not seen that article in the nation on politics and society ... it's written at mrs. farrant and lady lurgashall and that set. they hint that the tories would never have had you if it hadn't been for this bad habit of opposite party men meeting each other. trebell. [_unimpressed._] excellent habit! what we really want in this country is a coalition of all the shibboleths with the rest of us in opposition ... for five years only. wedgecroft. [_smiling generously._] well, it's a sensation to see you become arbiter. the tories are owning they can't do without you. percival likes you personally ... townsend don't matter ... cantelupe you buy with a price, i suppose ... farrant you can put in your pocket. i tell you i think the man you may run up against is blackborough. trebell. no, all he wants is to be let look big ... and to have an idea given him when he's going to make a speech, which isn't often. wedgecroft. otherwise ... i suppose ... now i may go down to history as having been in your confidence. i'm very glad you've arrived. trebell. [_with great seriousness._] i've sharpened myself as a weapon to this purpose. wedgecroft. [_kindly._] and you're sure of yourself, aren't you? trebell. [_turning his wrist._] try. wedgecroft. [_slipping his doctor's fingers over the the pulse._] seventy, i should say. trebell. i promise you it hasn't varied a beat these three big months. wedgecroft. well, i wish it had. perfect balance is most easily lost. how do you know you've the power of recovery? ... and it's that gets one up in the morning day by day. trebell. is it? my brain works steadily on ... hasn't failed me yet. i keep it well fed. [_he breathes deeply._] but i'm not sure one shouldn't have been away from england for five years instead of five weeks ... to come back to a job like this with a fresh mind. d'you know why really i went back on the liberals over this question? not because they wanted the church money for their pensions ... but because all they can see in disestablishment is destruction. any fool can destroy! i'm not going to let a power like the church get loose from the state. a thirteen hundred years, tradition of service ... and all they can think of is to cut it adrift! wedgecroft. i think the church is moribund. trebell. oh, yes, of course you do ... you sentimental agnostic anarchist. nonsense! the supernatural's a bit blown upon ... till we re-discover what it means. but it's not essential. nor is the christian doctrine. put a jesuit in a corner and shut the door and he'll own that. no ... the tradition of self-sacrifice and fellowship in service for its own sake ... that's the spirit we've to capture and keep. wedgecroft. [_really struck._] a secular church! trebell. [_with reasoning in his tone._] well ... why not? listen here. in drafting an act of parliament one must alternately imagine oneself god almighty and the most ignorant prejudiced little blighter who will be affected by what's passed. god says: let's have done with heaven and hell ... it's the earth that shan't pass away. why not turn all those theology mongers into doctors or schoolmasters? wedgecroft. as to doctors-trebell. quite so, you naturally prejudiced blighter. that priestcraft don't need re-inforcing. wedgecroft. it needs recognition. trebell. what! it's the only thing most people believe in. talk about superstition! however, there's more life in you. therefore it's to be schoolmasters. wedgecroft. how? trebell. listen again, young man. in the youth of the world, when priests were the teachers of men.... wedgecroft. [_not to be preached at._] and physicians of men. trebell. shut up. wedgecroft. if there's any real reform going, i want my profession made into a state department. i won't shut up for less. trebell. [_putting this aside with one finger._] i'll deal with you later. there's still youth in the world in another sense; but the priests haven't found out the difference yet, so they're wasting most of their time. wedgecroft. religious education won't do now-a-days. trebell. what's now-a-days? you're very dull, gilbert. wedgecroft. i'm not duller than the people who will have to understand your scheme. trebell. they won't understand it. i shan't explain to them that education _is_ religion, and that those who deal in it are priests without any laying on of hands. wedgecroft. no matter what they teach? trebell. no ... the matter is how they teach it. i see schools in the future, gilbert, not built next to the church, but on the site of the church. wedgecroft. do you think the world is grown up enough to do without dogma? trebell. yes, i do. wedgecroft. what!... and am i to write my prescriptions in english? trebell. yes, you are. wedgecroft. lord save us! i never thought to find you a visionary. trebell. isn't it absurd to think that in a hundred years we shall be giving our best brains and the price of them not to training grown men into the discipline of destruction ... not even to curing the ills which we might be preventing ... but to teaching our children. there's nothing else to be done ... nothing else matters. but it's work for a priesthood. wedgecroft. [_affected; not quite convinced._] do you think you can buy a tradition and transmute it? trebell. don't mock at money. wedgecroft. i never have. trebell. but you speak of it as an end not as a means. that's unfair. wedgecroft. i speaks as i finds. trebell. i'll buy the church, not with money, but with the promise of new life. [_a certain rather gleeful cunning comes over him._] it'll only look like a dose of reaction at first ... sectarian training colleges endowed to the hilt. wedgecroft. what'll the nonconformists say? trebell. bribe them with the means of equal efficiency. the crux of the whole matter will be in the statutes. i'll force on those colleges. wedgecroft. they'll want dogma. trebell. dogma's not a bad thing if you've power to adapt it occasionally. wedgecroft. instead of spending your brains in explaining it. yes, i agree. trebell. [_with full voice._] but in the creed i'll lay down as unalterable there shall be neither jew nor greek.... what do you think of st. paul, gilbert? wedgecroft. i'd make him the head of a college. trebell. i'll make the devil himself head of a college, if he'll undertake to teach honestly all he knows. wedgecroft. and he'll conjure up comte and robespierre for you to assist in this little _rechauffã©e_ of their schemes. trebell. hullo! comte i knew about. have i stolen from robespierre too? wedgecroft. [_giving out the epigram with an air._] property to him who can make the best use of it. trebell. and then what we must do is to give the children power over their teachers? _now he is comically enigmatic._ wedgecroft _echoes him._ wedgecroft. and what exactly do you mean by that? trebell. [_serious again._] how positive a pedagogue would you be if you had to prove your cases and justify your creed every century or so to the pupils who had learnt just a little more than you could teach them? give power to the future, my friend ... not to the past. give responsibility ... even if you give it for your own discredit. what's beneath trust deeds and last wills and testaments, and even acts of parliament and official creeds? fear of the verdict of the next generation ... fear of looking foolish in their eyes. ah, we ... doing our best now ... must be ready for every sort of death. and to provide the means of change and disregard of the past is a secret of statesmanship. presume that the world will come to an end every thirty years if it's not reconstructed. therefore give responsibility ... give responsibility ... give the children power. wedgecroft. [_disposed to whistle._] those statutes will want some framing. trebell. [_relapsing to a chuckle._] there's an incidental change to foresee. disappearance of the parson into the schoolmaster ... and the archdeacon into the inspector ... and the bishop into--i rather hope he'll stick to his mitre, gilbert. wedgecroft. some ruskin will arise and make him. trebell. [_as he paces the room and the walls of it fade away to him._] what a church could be made of the best brains in england, sworn only to learn all they could teach what they knew without fear of the future or favour to the past ... sworn upon their honour as seekers after truth, knowingly to tell no child a lie. it will come. wedgecroft. a priesthood of women too? there's the tradition of service with them. trebell. [_with the sourest look yet on his face._] slavery ... not quite the same thing. and the paradox of such slavery is that they're your only tyrants. [_at this moment the bell of the telephone upon the table rings. he goes to it talking the while._] one has to be very optimistic not to advocate the harem. that's simple and wholesome.... yes? kent _comes in._ kent. does it work? trebell. [_slamming down the receiver._] you and your new toy! what is it? kent. i'm not sure about the plugs of it ... i thought i'd got them wrong. mrs. o'connell has come to see miss trebell, who is out, and she says will we ask you if any message has been left for her. trebell. no. oh, about dinner? well, she's round at mrs. farrant's. kent. i'll ring them up. _he goes back into his room to do so leaving_ trebell's _door open. the two continue their talk._ trebell. my difficulties will be with percival. wedgecroft. not over the church. trebell. you see i must discover how keen he'd be on settling the education quarrel, once and for all ... what there is left of it. wedgecroft. he's not sectarian. trebell. it'll cost him his surplus. when'll he be up and about? wedgecroft. not for a week or more. trebell. [_knitting his brow._] and i've to deal with cantelupe. curious beggar, gilbert. wedgecroft. not my sort. he'll want some dealing with over your bill as introduced to me. trebell. i've not cross-examined company promoters for ten years without learning how to do business with a professional high churchman. wedgecroft. providence limited ... eh? _they are interrupted by_ mrs. o'connell's _appearance in the doorway. she is rather pale, very calm; but there is pain in her eyes and her voice is unnaturally steady._ amy. your maid told me to come up and i'm interrupting business.... i thought she was wrong. trebell. [_with no trace of self-consciousness._] well ... how are you, after this long time? amy. how do you do? [_then she sees_ wedgecroft _and has to control a shrinking from him._] oh! wedgecroft. how are you, mrs. o'connell? trebell. kent is telephoning to frances. he knows where she is. amy. how are you, dr. wedgecroft? [_then to_ trebell.] did you have a good holiday? london pulls one to pieces wretchedly. i shall give up living here at all. wedgecroft. you look very well. amy. do i! trebell. a very good holiday. sit down ... he won't be a minute. _she sits on the nearest chair._ amy. you're not ill ... interviewing a doctor? trebell. the one thing wedgecroft's no good at is doctoring. he keeps me well by sheer moral suasion. kent _comes out of his room and is off downstairs._ trebell _calls to him._ trebell. mrs. o'connell's here. kent. oh! [_he comes back and into the room._] miss trebell hasn't got there yet. wedgecroft _has suddenly looked at his watch._ wedgecroft. i must fly. good bye, mrs. o'connell. amy. [_putting her hand, constrained by its glove, into his open hand._] i am always a little afraid of you. wedgecroft. that isn't the feeling a doctor wants to inspire. kent. [_to_ trebell.] david evans-trebell. evans? kent. the reverend one ... is downstairs and wants to see you. wedgecroft. [_as he comes to them._] hampstead road tabernacle ... oh, the mammon of righteousness! trebell. shut up! how long have i before lord charles--? kent. only ten minutes. mrs. o'connell _goes to sit at the big table, and apparently idly takes a sheet of paper to scribble on._ trebell. [_half thinking, half questioning._] he's a man i can say nothing to politely. wedgecroft. i'm off to percival's now. then i've another case and i'm due back at twelve. if there's anything helpful to say i'll look in again for two minutes ... not more. trebell. you're a good man. wedgecroft. [_as he goes._] congratulations, kent. kent. [_taking him to the stairs._] thank you very much. amy. [_beckoning with her eyes._] what's this, mr. trebell? trebell. eh? i beg your pardon. _he goes behind her and reads over her shoulder what she has written._ kent _comes back._ kent. shall i bring him up here? trebell _looks up and for a moment stares at his secretary rather sharply, then speaks in a matter-of-fact voice._ trebell. see him yourself, downstairs. talk to him for five minutes ... find out what he wants. tell him it will be as well for the next week or two if he can say he hasn't seen me. kent. yes. _he goes._ trebell _follows him to the door which he shuts. then he turns to face_ amy, _who is tearing up the paper she wrote on._ trebell. what is it? amy. [_her steady voice breaking, her carefully calculated control giving way._] oh henry ... henry! trebell. are you in trouble? amy. you'll hate me, but ... oh, it's brutal of you to have been away so long. trebell. is it with your husband? amy. perhaps. oh, come nearer to me ... do. trebell. [_coming nearer without haste or excitement._] well? [_her eyes are closed._] my dear girl, i'm too busy for love-making now. if there are any facts to be faced, let me have them ... quite quickly. _she looks up at him for a moment; then speaks swiftly and sharply as one speaks of disaster._ amy. there's a danger of my having a child ... your child ... some time in april. that's all. trebell. [_a sceptic who has seen a vision._] oh ... it's impossible. amy. [_flashing at him, revengefully._] why? trebell. [_brought to his mundane self_] well ... are you sure? amy. [_in sudden agony._] d'you think i want it to be true? d'you think i--? you don't know what it is to have a thing happening in spite of you. trebell. [_his face set in thought._] where have you been since we met? amy. not to ireland ... i haven't seen justin for a year. trebell. all the easier for you not to see him for another year. amy. that wasn't what you meant. trebell. it wasn't ... but never mind. _they are silent for a moment ... miles apart ... then she speaks dully._ amy. we do hate each other ... don't we! trebell. nonsense. let's think of what matters. amy. [_aimlessly._] i went to a man at dover ... picked him out of the directory ... didn't give my own name ... pretended i was off abroad. he was a kind old thing ... said it was all most satisfactory. oh, my god! trebell. [_he goes to bend over her kindly._] yes, you've had a torturing month or two. that's been wrong, i'm sorry. amy. even now i have to keep telling myself that it's so ... otherwise i couldn't understand it. any more than one really believes one will ever die ... one doesn't believe that, you know. trebell. [_on the edge of a sensation that is new to him._] i am told that a man begins to feel unimportant from this moment forward. perhaps it's true. amy. what has it to do with you anyhow? we don't belong to each other. how long were we together that night? half an hour! you didn't seem to care a bit until after you'd kissed me and ... this is an absurd consequence. trebell. nature's a tyrant. amy. oh, it's my punishment ... i see that well enough ... for thinking myself so clever ... forgetting my duty and religion ... not going to confession, i mean. [_then hysterically._] god can make you believe in him when he likes, can't he? trebell. [_with comfortable strength._] my dear girl, this needs your pluck. [_and he sits by her._] all we have to do is to prevent it being found out. amy. yes ... the scandal would smash you, wouldn't it? trebell. there isn't going to be any scandal. amy. no ... if we're careful. you'll tell me what to do, won't you? oh, it's a relief to be able to talk about it. trebell. for one thing, you must take care of yourself and stop worrying. _it soothes her to feel that he is concerned; but it is not enough to be soothed._ amy. yes, i wouldn't like to have been the means of smashing you, henry ... especially as you don't care for me. trebell. i intend to care for you. amy. love me, i mean. i wish you did ... a little; then perhaps i shouldn't feel so degraded. trebell. [_a shade impatiently, a shade contemptuously_] i can say i love you if that'll make things easier. amy. [_more helpless than ever._] if you'd said it at first i should be taking it for granted ... though it wouldn't be any more true, i daresay, than now ... when i should know you weren't telling the truth. trebell. then i'd do without so much confusion. amy. don't be so heartless. trebell. [_as he leaves her._] we seem to be attaching importance to such different things. amy. [_shrill even at a momentary desertion._] what do you mean? i want affection now just as i want food. i can't do without it ... i can't reason things out as you can. d'you think i haven't tried? [_then in sudden rebellion._] oh, the physical curse of being a woman ... no better than any savage in this condition ... worse off than an animal. it's unfair. trebell. never mind ... you're here now to hand me half the responsibility, aren't you? amy. as if i could! if i have to lie through the night simply shaking with bodily fear much longer ... i believe i shall go mad. _this aspect of the matter is meaningless to him. he returns to the practical issue._ trebell. there's nobody that need be suspecting, is there? amy. my maid sees i'm ill and worried and makes remarks ... only to me so far. don't i look a wreck? i nearly ran away when i saw dr. wedgecroft ... some of these men are so clever. trebell. [_calculating._] someone will have to be trusted. amy. [_burrowing into her little tortured self again._] and i ought to feel as if i had done justin a great wrong ... but i don't. i hate you now; now and then. i was being myself. you've brought me down. i feel worthless. _the last word strikes him. he stares at her._ trebell. do you? amy. [_pleadingly._] there's only one thing i'd like you to tell me, henry ... it isn't much. that night we were together ... it was for a moment different to everything that has ever been in your life before, wasn't it? trebell. [_collecting himself as if to explain to a child._] i must make you understand ... i must get you to realise that for a little time to come you're above the law ... above even the shortcomings and contradictions of a man's affection. amy. but let us have one beautiful memory to share. trebell. [_determined she shall face the cold logic of her position._] listen. i look back on that night as one looks back on a fit of drunkenness. amy. [_neither understanding nor wishing to; only shocked and hurt._] you beast. trebell. [_with bitter sarcasm._] no, don't say that. won't it comfort you to think of drunkenness as a beautiful thing? there are precedents enough ... classic ones. amy. you mean i might have been any other woman. trebell. [_quite inexorable._] wouldn't any other woman have served the purpose ... and is it less of a purpose because we didn't know we had it? does my unworthiness then ... if you like to call it so ... make you unworthy now? i must make you see that it doesn't. amy. [_petulantly hammering at her idã©e fixe._] but you didn't love me ... and you don't love me. trebell. [_keeping his patience._] no ... only within the last five minutes have i really taken the smallest interest in you. and now i believe i'm half jealous. can you understand that? you've been talking a lot of nonsense about your emotions and your immortal soul. don't you see it's only now that you've become a person of some importance to the world ... and why? amy. [_losing her patience, childishly._] what do you mean by the world? you don't seem to have any personal feelings at all. it's horrible you should have thought of me like that. there has been no other man than you that i would have let come anywhere near me ... not for more than a year. _he realises that she will never understand._ trebell. my dear girl, i'm sorry to be brutal. does it matter so much to you that i should have wished to be the father of your child? amy. [_ungracious but pacified by his change of tone._] it doesn't matter now. trebell. [_friendly still._] on principle i don't make promises. but i think i can promise you that if you keep your head and will keep your health, this shall all be made as easy for you as if everyone could know. and let's think what the child may mean to you ... just the fact of his birth. nothing to me, of course! perhaps that accounts for the touch of jealousy. i've forfeited my rights because i hadn't honourable intentions. you can't forfeit yours. even if you never see him and he has to grow up among strangers ... just to have had a child must make a difference to you. of course, it may be a girl. i wonder. _as he wanders on so optimistically she stares at him and her face changes. she realises...._ amy. do you expect me to go through with this? henry! ... i'd sooner kill myself. _there is silence between them. he looks at her as one looks at some unnatural thing. then after a moment he speaks, very coldly._ trebell. oh ... indeed. don't get foolish ideas into your head. you've no choice now ... no reasonable choice. amy. [_driven to bay; her last friend an enemy._] i won't go through with it. trebell. it hasn't been so much the fear of scandal then-amy. that wouldn't break my heart. you'd marry me, wouldn't you? we could go away somewhere. i could be very fond of you, henry. trebell. [_marvelling at these tangents._] marry you! i should murder you in a week. _this sounds only brutal to her; she lets herself be shamed._ amy. you've no more use for me than the use you've made of me. trebell. [_logical again._] won't you realise that there's a third party to our discussion ... that i'm of no importance beside him and you of very little. think of the child. amy _blazes into desperate rebellion._ amy. there's no child because i haven't chosen there shall be and there shan't be because i don't choose. you'd have me first your plaything and then nature's, would you? trebell. [_a little abashed._] come now, you knew what you were about. amy. [_thinking of those moments._] did i? i found myself wanting you, belonging to you suddenly. i didn't stop to think and explain. but are we never to be happy and irresponsible ... never for a moment? trebell. well ... one can't pick and choose consequences. amy. your choices in life have made you what you want to be, haven't they? leave me mine. trebell. but it's too late to argue like that. amy. if it is, i'd better jump into the thames. i've thought of it. _he considers how best to make a last effort to bring her to her senses. he sits by her._ trebell. amy ... if you were my wife-amy. [_unresponsive to him now._] i was justin's wife, and i went away from him sooner than bear him children. had i the right to choose or had i not? trebell. [_taking another path._] shall i tell you something i believe? if we were left to choose, we should stand for ever deciding whether to start with the right foot or the left. we blunder into the best things in life. then comes the test ... have we faith enough to go on ... to go through with the unknown thing? amy. [_so bored by these metaphysics._] faith in what? trebell. our vitality. i don't give a fig for beauty, happiness, or brains. all i ask of myself is ... can i pay fate on demand? amy. yes ... in imagination. but i've got physical facts to face. _but he has her attention now and pursues the advantage._ trebell. very well then ... let the meaning of them go. look forward simply to a troublesome illness. in a little while you can go abroad quietly and wait patiently. we're not fools and we needn't find fools to trust in. then come back to england.... amy. and forget. that seems simple enough, doesn't it? trebell. if you don't want the child let it be mine ... not yours. amy. [_wondering suddenly at this bond between them._] yours! what would you do with it? trebell. [_matter-of-fact._] provide for it, of course. amy. never see it, perhaps. trebell. perhaps not. if there were anything to be gained ... for the child. i'll see that he has his chance as a human being. amy. how hopeful! [_now her voice drops. she is looking back, perhaps at a past self._] if you loved me ... perhaps i might learn to love the thought of your child. trebell. [_as if half his life depended on her answer._] is that true? amy. [_irritably._] why are you picking me to pieces? i think that is true. if you had been loving me for a long, long time--[_the agony rushes back on her._] but now i'm only afraid. you might have some pity for me ... i'm so afraid. trebell. [_touched._] indeed ... indeed, i'll take what share of this i can. _she shrinks from him unforgivingly._ amy. no, let me alone. i'm nothing to you. i'm a sick beast in danger of my life, that's all ... cancerous! _he is roused for the first time, roused to horror and protest._ trebell. oh, you unhappy woman! ... if life is like death to you.... amy. [_turning on him._] don't lecture me! if you're so clever put a stop to this horror. or you might at least say you're sorry. trebell. sorry! [_the bell on the table rings jarringly._] cantelupe! _he goes to the telephone. she gets up cold and collected, steadied merely by the unexpected sound._ amy. i mustn't keep you from governing the country. i'm sure you'll do it very well. trebell. [_at the telephone._] yes, bring him up, of course ... isn't mr. kent there? [_then to her._] i may be ten minutes with him or half an hour. wait and we'll come to a conclusion. kent _comes in, an open letter in his hand._ kent. this note, sir. had i better go round myself and see him? trebell. [_as he takes the note._] cantelupe's come. kent. [_glancing at the telephone._] oh, has he! trebell. [_as he reads._] yes i think you had. kent. evans was very serious. _he goes back into his room._ amy _moves swiftly to where_ trebell _is standing and whispers._ amy. won't you tell me whom to go to? trebell. no. amy. oh, really ... what unpractical sentimental children you men are! you and your consciences ... you and your laws. you drive us to distraction and sometimes to death by your stupidities. poor women--! _the maid comes in to announce_ lord charles cantelupe, _who follows her._ cantelupe _is forty, unathletic, and a gentleman in the best and worst sense of the word. he moves always with a caution which may betray his belief in the personality of the devil. he speaks cautiously too, and as if not he but something inside him were speaking. one feels that before strangers he would not if he could help it move or speak at all. a pale face: the mouth would be hardened by fanaticism were it not for the elements of christianity in his religion: and he has the limpid eye of the enthusiast._ trebell. glad to see you. you know mrs o'connell. cantelupe _bows in silence._ amy. we have met. _she offers her hand. he silently takes it and drops it._ trebell. then you'll wait for frances. amy. is it worth while? kent _with his hat on leaves his room and goes downstairs._ trebell. have you anything better to do? amy. there's somewhere i can go. but i mustn't keep you chatting of my affairs. lord charles is impatient to disestablish the church. cantelupe. [_unable to escape a remark._] forgive me, since that is also your affair. amy. oh ... but i was received at the oratory when i was married. cantelupe. [_with contrition._] i beg your pardon. _then he makes for the other side of the room_, trebell _and_ mrs. o'connell _stroll to the door, their eyes full of meaning._ amy. i think i'll go on to this place that i've heard of. if i wait ... for your sister ... she may disappoint me again. trebell. wait. kent's _room is vacant._ amy. well ... in here? trebell. if you like law-books. amy. i haven't been much of an interruption now, have i? trebell. please wait. amy. thank you. trebell _shuts her in, for a moment seems inclined to lock her in, but he comes back into his own room and faces_ cantelupe, _who having primed and trained himself on his subject like a gun, fires off a speech, without haste, but also apparently without taking breath._ cantelupe. i was extremely thankful, mr. trebell, to hear last week from horsham that you will see your way to join his cabinet and undertake the disestablishment bill in the house of commons. any measure of mine, i have always been convinced, would be too much under the suspicion of blindly favouring church interests to command the allegiance of that heterogeneous mass of thought ... in some cases, alas, of free thought ... which now-a-days composes the conservative party. i am more than content to exercise what influence i may from a seat in the cabinet which will authorise the bill. trebell. yes. that chair's comfortable. cantelupe _takes another._ cantelupe. horsham forwarded to me your memorandum upon the conditions you held necessary and i incline to think i may accept them in principle on behalf of those who honour me with their confidences. _he fishes some papers from his pocket._ trebell _sits squarely at his table to grapple with the matter._ trebell. horsham told me you did accept them ... it's on that i'm joining. cantelupe. yes ... in principle. trebell. well ... we couldn't carry a bill you disapproved of, could we? cantelupe. [_with finesse._] i hope not. trebell. [_a little dangerously._] and i have no intention of being made the scapegoat of a wrecked tory compromise with the nonconformists. cantelupe. [_calmly ignoring the suggestion._] so far as i am concerned i meet the nonconformists on their own ground ... that religion had better be free from all compromise with the state. trebell. quite so ... if you're set free you'll look after yourselves. my discovery must be what to do with the men who think more of the state than their church ... the majority of parsons, don't you think? ... if the question's really put and they can be made to understand it. cantelupe. [_with sincere disdain._] there are more profitable professions. trebell. and less. will you allow me that it is statecraft to make a profession profitable? cantelupe _picks up his papers, avoiding theoretical discussion._ cantelupe. well now ... will you explain to me this project for endowing education with your surplus? trebell. putting appropriation, the buildings and the representation question on one side for the moment? cantelupe. candidly, i have yet to master your figures.... trebell. the roughest figures so far. cantelupe. still i have yet to master them on the first two points. trebell. [_firmly premising._] we agree that this is not diverting church money to actually secular uses. cantelupe. [_as he peeps from under his eyelids._] i can conceive that it might not be. you know that we hold education to be a church function. but.... trebell. can you accept thoroughly now the secular solution for all primary schools? cantelupe. haven't we always preferred it to the undenominational? are there to be facilities for _any_ of the teachers giving dogmatic instruction? trebell. i note your emphasis on any. i think we can put the burden of that decision on local authorities. let us come to the question of training colleges for your teachers. it's on that i want to make my bargain. cantelupe. [_alert and cautious._] you want to endow colleges? trebell. heavily. cantelupe. under public control? trebell. church colleges under church control. cantelupe. there'd be others? trebell. to preserve the necessary balance in the schools. cantelupe. not founded with church money? trebell. think of the grants in aid that will be released. i must ask the treasury for a further lump sum and with that there may be sufficient for secular colleges ... if you can agree with me upon the statutes of those over which you'd otherwise have free control. trebell _is weighing his words._ cantelupe. "you" meaning, for instance ... what authorities in the church? trebell. bishops, i suppose ... and others, [cantelupe _permits himself to smile._] on that point i shall be weakness itself and ... may i suggest ... your seat in the cabinet will give you some control. cantelupe. statutes? trebell. to be framed in the best interests of educational efficiency. cantelupe. [_finding an opening._] i doubt if we agree upon the meaning to be attached to that term. trebell. [_forcing the issue._] what meaning do you attach to it? cantelupe. [_smiling again._] i have hardly a sympathetic listener. trebell. you have an unprejudiced one ... the best you can hope for. i was not educated myself. i learnt certain things that i desired to know ... from reading my first book--don quixote it was--to mastering company law. you see, as a man without formulas either for education or religion, i am perhaps peculiarly fitted to settle the double question. i have no grudges ... no revenge to take. cantelupe. [_suddenly congenial._] shelton's translation of don quixote i hope ... the modern ones have no flavour. and you took all the adventures as seriously as the don did? trebell. [_not expecting this._] i forget. cantelupe. it's the finer attitude ... the child's attitude. and it would enable you immediately to comprehend mine towards an education consisting merely of practical knowledge. the life of faith is still the happy one. what is more crushingly finite than knowledge? moral discipline is a nation's only safety. how much of your science tends in support of the great spiritual doctrine of sacrifice! trebell _returns to his subject as forceful as ever._ trebell. the church has assimilated much in her time. do you think it wise to leave agnostic science at the side of the plate? i think, you know, that this craving for common knowledge is a new birth in the mind of man; and if your church won't recognise that soon, by so much will she be losing her grip for ever over men's minds. what's the test of godliness, but your power to receive the new idea in whatever form it comes and give it life? it is blasphemy to pick and choose your good. [_for a moment his thoughts seem to be elsewhere._] that's an unhappy man or woman or nation ... i know it if it has only come to me this minute ... and i don't care what their brains or their riches or their beauty or any of their triumph may be ... they're unhappy and useless if they can't tell life from death. cantelupe. [_interested in the digression_] remember that the church's claim has ever been to know that difference. trebell. [_fastening to his subject again._] my point is this: a man's demand to know the exact structure of a fly's wing, and his assertion that it degrades any child in the street not to know such a thing, is a religious revival ... a token of spiritual hunger. what else can it be? and we commercialise our teaching! cantelupe. i wouldn't have it so. trebell. then i'm offering you the foundation of a new order of men and women who'll serve god by teaching his children. now shall we finish the conversation in prose? cantelupe. [_not to be put down._] what is the prose for god? trebell. [_not to be put down either._] that's what we irreligious people are giving our lives to discover. [_he plunges into detail._] i'm proposing to found about seventy-two new colleges, and of course, to bring the ones there are up to the new standard. then we must gradually revise all teaching salaries in government schools ... to a scale i have in mind. then the course must be compulsory and the training time doubled-cantelupe. doubled! four years? trebell. well, a minimum of three ... a university course. remember we're turning a trade into a calling. cantelupe. there's more to that than taking a degree. trebell. i think so. you've fought for years for your tests and your atmosphere with plain business men not able to understand such lunacy. quite right ... atmosphere's all that matters. if one and one don't make two by god's grace.... cantelupe. poetry again! trebell. i beg your pardon. well ... you've no further proof. if you can't plant your thumb on the earth and your little finger on the pole star you know nothing of distances. we must do away with text-book teachers. cantelupe _is opening out a little in spite of himself._ cantelupe. i'm waiting for our opinions to differ. trebell. [_businesslike again._] i'll send you a draft of the statutes i propose within a week. meanwhile shall i put the offer this way. if i accept your tests will you accept mine? cantelupe. what are yours? trebell. i believe if one provides for efficiency one provides for the best part of truth ... honesty of statement. i shall hope for a little more elasticity in your dogmas than becket or cranmer or laud would have allowed. when you've a chance to re-formulate the reasons of your faith for the benefit of men teaching mathematics and science and history and political economy, you won't neglect to answer or allow for criticisms and doubts. i don't see why ... in spite of all the evidence to the contrary ... such a thing as progress in a definite religious faith is impossible. cantelupe. progress is a soiled word. [_and now he weighs his words._] i shall be very glad to accept on the church's behalf control of the teaching of teachers in these colleges. trebell. good. i want the best men. cantelupe. you are surprisingly inexperienced if you think that creeds can ever become mere forms except to those who have none. trebell. but teaching--true teaching--is learning, and the wish to know is going to prevail against any creed ... so i think. i wish you cared as little for the form in which a truth is told as i do. on the whole, you see, i think i shall manage to plant your theology in such soil this spring that the garden will be fruitful. on the whole i'm a believer in churches of all sorts and their usefulness to the state. your present use is out-worn. have i found you in this the beginnings of a new one? cantelupe. the church says: thank you, it is a very old one. trebell. [_winding up the interview._] to be sure, for practical politics our talk can be whittled down to your accepting the secular solution for primary schools, if you're given these colleges under such statutes as you and i shall agree upon. cantelupe. and the country will accept. trebell. the country will accept any measure if there's enough money in it to bribe all parties fairly. cantelupe. you expect very little of the constancy of my church to her faith, mr. trebell. trebell. i have only one belief myself. that is in human progress--yes, progress--over many obstacles and by many means. i have no ideals. i believe it is statesmanlike to use all the energy you find ... turning it into the nearest channel that points forward. cantelupe. forward to what? trebell. i don't know ... and my caring doesn't matter. we do know ... and if we deny it it's only to be encouraged by contradiction ... that the movement is forward and with some gathering purpose. i'm friends with any fellow traveller. cantelupe _has been considering him very curiously. now he gets up to go._ cantelupe. i should like to continue our talk when i've studied your draft of the statutes. of course the political position is favourable to a far more comprehensive bill than we had ever looked for ... and you've the advantage now of having held yourself very free from party ties. in fact not only will you give us the bill we shall most care to accept, but i don't know what other man would give us a bill we and the other side could accept at all. trebell. i can let you have more appropriation figures by friday. the details of the fabrics scheme will take a little longer. cantelupe. in a way there's no such hurry. we're not in office yet. trebell. when i'm building with figures i like to give the foundations time to settle. otherwise they are the inexactest things. cantelupe. [_smiling to him for the first time._] we shall have you finding faith the only solvent of all problems some day. trebell. i hope my mind is not afraid ... even of the christian religion. cantelupe. i am sure that the needs of the human soul ... be it dressed up in whatever knowledge ... do not alter from age to age.... _he opens the door to find_ wedgecroft _standing outside, watch in hand._ trebell. hullo ... waiting? wedgecroft. i was giving you two minutes by my watch. how are you, cantelupe? cantelupe, _with a gesture which might be mistaken for a bow, folds himself up._ trebell. shall i bring you the figures on friday ... that might save time. cantelupe, _by taking a deeper fold in himself seems to assent._ trebell. will the afternoon do? kent shall fix the hour. cantelupe. [_with an effort._] kent? trebell. my secretary. cantelupe. friday. any hour before five. i know my way. _the three phrases having meant three separate efforts,_ cantelupe _escapes._ wedgecroft _has walked to the table, his brows a little puckered. now_ trebell _notices that_ kent's _door is open; he goes quickly into the room and finds it empty. then he stands for a moment irritable and undecided before returning._ trebell. been here long? wedgecroft. five minutes ... more, i suppose. trebell. mrs. o'connell gone? wedgecroft. to her dressmaker's. trebell. frances forgot she was coming and went out. wedgecroft. pretty little fool of a woman! d'you know her husband? trebell. no. wedgecroft. says she's been in ireland with him since we met at shapters. he has trouble with his tenantry. trebell. won't he sell or won't they purchase? wedgecroft. curious chap. a don at balliol when i first knew him. warped of late years ... perhaps by his marriage. trebell. [_dismissing that subject._] well ... how's percival? wedgecroft. better this morning. i told him i'd seen you ... and in a little calculated burst of confidence what i'd reason to think you were after. he said you and he could get on though you differed on every point; but he didn't see how you'd pull with such a blasted weak-kneed lot as the rest of the horsham's cabinet would be. he'll be up in a week or ten days. trebell. can i see him? wedgecroft. you might. i admire the old man ... the way he sticks to his party, though they misrepresent now most things he believes in! trebell. what a damnable state to arrive at ... doubly damned by the fact you admire it. wedgecroft. and to think that at this time of day you should need instructing in the ethics of party government. but i'll have to do it. trebell. not now. i've been at ethics with cantelupe. wedgecroft. certainly not now. what about my man with the stomach-ache at twelve o'clock sharp! good-bye. _he is gone,_ trebell _battles with uneasiness and at last mutters._ "oh ... why didn't she wait?" _then the telephone bell rings. he goes quickly as if it were an answer to his anxiety._ "yes?" _of course, it isn't.._ "yes." _he paces the room, impatient, wondering what to do. the maid comes in to announce_ miss davenport. lucy _follows her. she has gained lately perhaps a little of the joy which was lacking and at least she brings now into this room a breath of very wholesome womanhood._ lucy. it's very good of you to let me come; i'm not going to keep you more than three minutes. trebell. sit down. _only women unused to busy men would call him rude._ lucy. what i want to say is ... don't mind my being engaged to walter. it shan't interfere with his work for you. if you want a proof that it shan't ... it was i got aunt julia to ask you to take him.... though he didn't know ... so don't tell him that. trebell. you weren't engaged then. lucy. i ... thought that we might be. trebell. [_with cynical humour._] which i'm not to tell him either? lucy. oh, that wouldn't matter. trebell. [_with decision._] i'll make sure you don't interfere. lucy. [_deliberately ... not to be treated as a child._] you couldn't, you know, if i wanted to. trebell. why, is walter a fool? lucy. he's very fond of me, if that's what you mean? trebell _looks at her for the first time and changes his tone a little._ trebell. if it was what i meant ... i'm disposed to withdraw the suggestion. lucy. and, because i'm fond of his work as well, i shan't therefore ask him to tell me things ... secrets. trebell. [_reverting to his humour._] it'll be when you're a year or two married that danger may occur ... in his desperate effort to make conversation. lucy _considers this and him quite seriously._ lucy. you're rather hard on women, aren't you ... just because they don't have the chances men do. trebell. do you want the chances? lucy. i think i'm as clever as most men i meet, though i know less, of course. trebell. perhaps i should have offered you the secretaryship instead. lucy. [_readily._] don't you think i'm taking it in a way ... by marrying walter? that's fanciful of course. but marriage is a very general and complete sort of partnership, isn't it? at least, i'd like to make mine so. trebell. he'll be more under your thumb in some things if you leave him free in others. _she receives the sarcasm in all seriousness and then speaks to him as she would to a child._ lucy. oh ... i'm not explaining what i mean quite well perhaps. walter has been everywhere and done everything. he speaks three languages ... which all makes him an ideal private secretary. trebell. quite. lucy. do you think he'd develop into anything else ... but for me? trebell. so i have provided just a first step, have i? lucy. [_with real enthusiasm._] oh, mr. trebell, it's a great thing for us. there isn't anyone worth working under but you. you'll make him think and give him ideas instead of expecting them from him. but just for that reason he'd get so attached to you and be quite content to grow old in your shadow ... if it wasn't for me. trebell. true ... i should encourage him in nothingness. what's more, i want extra brains and hands. it's not altogether a pleasant thing, is it ... the selfishness of the hard worked man? lucy. if you don't grudge your own strength, why should you be tender of other people's? _he looks at her curiously._ trebell. your ambition is making for only second-hand satisfaction though. lucy. what's a woman to do? she must work through men, mustn't she? trebell. i'm told that's degrading ... the influencing of husbands and brothers and sons. lucy. [_only half humorously._] but what else is one to do with them? of course, i've enough money to live on ... so i could take up some woman's profession ... what are you smiling at? trebell. [_who has smiled very broadly._] as you don't mean to ... don't stop while i tell you. lucy. but i'd sooner get married. i want to have children. [_the words catch him and hold him. he looks at her reverently this time. she remembers she has transgressed convention; then, remembering that it is only convention, proceeds quite simply._] i hope we shall have children. trebell. i hope so. lucy. thank you. that's the first kind thing you've said. trebell. oh ... you can do without compliments, can't you? _she considers for a moment._ lucy. why have you been talking to me as if i were someone else? trebell. [_startled._] who else? lucy. no one particular. but you've shaken a moral fist so to speak. i don't think i provoked it. trebell. it's a bad parliamentary habit. i apologise. _she gets up to go._ lucy. now i shan't keep you longer ... you're always busy. you've been so easy to talk to. thank you very much. trebell. why ... i wonder? lucy. i knew you would be or i shouldn't have come. you think life's an important thing, don't you? that's priggish, isn't it? good-bye. we're coming to dinner ... aunt julia and i. miss trebell arrived to ask us just as i left. trebell. i'll see you down. lucy. what waste of time for you. i know how the door opens. _as she goes out_ walter kent _is on the way to his room. the two nod to each other like old friends._ trebell _turns away with something of a sigh._ kent. just come? lucy. just going. kent. i'll see you at dinner. lucy. oh, are you to be here? ... that's nice. lucy _departs as purposefully as she came._ kent _hurries to_ trebell, _whose thoughts are away again by now._ kent. i haven't been long there and back, have i? the bishop gave me these letters for you. he hasn't answered the last ... but i've his notes of what he means to say. he'd like them back to-night. he was just going out. i've one or two notes of what evans said. bit of a charlatan, don't you think? trebell. evans? kent. well, he talked of his flock. there are quite fifteen letters you'll have to deal with yourself, i'm afraid. trebell _stares at him: then, apparently, making up his mind...._ trebell. ring up a messenger, will you ... i must write a note and send it. kent. will you dictate? trebell. i shall have done it while you're ringing ... it's only a personal matter. then we'll start work. kent _goes into his room and tackles the telephone there._ trebell _sits down to write the note, his face very set and anxious._ the third act at lord horsham's house in queen anne's gate, in the evening, a week later. _if rooms express their owners' character, the grey and black of_ lord horsham's _drawing room, the faded brocade of its furniture, reveal him as a man of delicate taste and somewhat thin intellectuality. he stands now before a noiseless fire, contemplating with a troubled eye either the pattern of the old french carpet, or the black double doors of the library opposite, or the moulding on the adams ceiling, which the flicker of all the candles casts into deeper relief. his grey hair and black clothes would melt into the decoration of his room, were the figure not rescued from such oblivion by the british white glaze of his shirt front and--to a sympathetic eye--by the loveable perceptive face of the man. sometimes he looks at the sofa in front of him, on which sits_ wedgecroft, _still in the frock coat of a busy day, depressed and irritable. with his back to them, on a sofa with its back to them, is_ george farrant, _planted with his knees apart, his hands clasped, his head bent; very glum. and sometimes_ horsham _glances at the door, as if waiting for it to open. then his gaze will travel back, up the long shiny black piano, with a volume of the well tempered clavichord open on its desk, to where_ cantelupe _is perched uncomfortably on the bench; paler than ever; more self-contained than ever, looking, to one who knows him as well as horsham does, a little dangerous. so he returns to contemplation of the ceiling or the carpet. they wait there as men wait who have said all they want to say upon an unpleasant subject and yet cannot dismiss it. at last_ farrant _breaks the silence._ farrant. what time did you ask him to come, horsham? horsham. eh ... o'connell? i didn't ask him directly. what time did you say, wedgecroft? wedgecroft. any time after half past ten, i told him. farrant. [_grumbling._] it's a quarter to eleven. doesn't blackborough mean to turn up at all? horsham. he was out of town ... my note had to be sent after him. i couldn't wire, you see. farrant. no. cantelupe. it was by the merest chance your man caught me, cyril. i was taking the ten fifteen to tonbridge and happened to go to james street first for some papers. _the conversation flags again._ cantelupe. but since mrs. o'connell is dead what is the excuse for a scandal? _at this unpleasant dig into the subject of their thoughts the three other men stir uncomfortably._ horsham. because the inquest is unavoidable ... apparently. wedgecroft. [_suddenly letting fly._] i declare i'd i'd have risked penal servitude and given a certificate, but just before the end o'connell would call in old fielding andrews, who has moral scruples about everything--it's his trademark--and of course about this...! farrant. was he told of the whole business? wedgecroft. no ... o'connell kept things up before him. well ... the woman was dying. horsham. couldn't you have kept the true state of the case from sir fielding? wedgecroft. and been suspected of the malpractice myself if he'd found it out? ... which he would have done ... he's no fool. well ... i thought of trying that.... farrant. my dear wedgecroft ... how grossly quixotic! you have a duty to yourself. horsham. [_rescuing the conversation from unpleasantness._] i'm afraid i feel that our position to-night is most irregular, wedgecroft. wedgecroft. still if you can make o'connell see reason. and if you all can't.... [_he frowns at the alternative._] cantelupe. didn't you say she came to you first of all? wedgecroft. i met her one morning at trebell's. farrant. actually _at_ trebell's! wedgecroft. the day he came back from abroad. farrant. oh! no one seems to have noticed them together much at any time. my wife ... no matter! wedgecroft. she tackled me as a doctor with one part of her trouble ... added she'd been with o'connell in ireland, which of course it turns out wasn't true ... asked me to help her. i had to say i couldn't. horsham. [_echoing rather than querying._] you couldn't. farrant. [_shocked._] my dear horsham! wedgecroft. well, if she'd told me the truth!... no, anyhow i couldn't. i'm sure there was no excuse. one can't run these risks. farrant. quite right, quite right. wedgecroft. there are men who do on one pretext or another. farrant. [_not too shocked to be curious._] are there really? wedgecroft. oh yes, men well known ... in other directions. i could give you four addresses ... but of course i wasn't going to give her one. though there again ... if she'd told me the whole truth!... my god, women are such fools! and they prefer quackery ... look at the decent doctors they simply turn into charlatans. though, there again, that all comes of letting a trade work mysteriously under the thumb of a benighted oligarchy ... which is beside the question. but one day i'll make you sit up on the subject of the medical council, horsham. horsham _assumes an impenetrable air of statesmanship._ horsham. i know. very interesting ... very important ... very difficult to alter the status quo. wedgecroft. then the poor little liar said she'd go off to an appointment with her dressmaker; and i heard nothing more till she sent for me a week later, and i found her almost too ill to speak. even then she didn't tell me the truth! so, when o'connell arrived, of course i spoke to him quite openly and all he told me in reply was that it wouldn't have been his child. farrant. poor devil! wedgecroft. o'connell? farrant. yes, of course. wedgecroft. i wonder. perhaps she didn't realize he'd been sent for ... or felt then she was dying and didn't care ... or lost her head. i don't know. farrant. such a pretty little woman! wedgecroft. if i could have made him out and dealt with him, of course, i shouldn't have come to you. farrant's known him even longer than i have. farrant. i was with him at harrow. wedgecroft. so i went to farrant first. _that part of the subject drops._ cantelupe, _who has not moved, strikes in again._ cantelupe. how was trebell's guilt discovered? farrant. he wrote her one letter which she didn't destroy. o'connell found it. wedgecroft. picked it up from her desk ... it wasn't even locked up. farrant. not twenty words in it ... quite enough though. horsham. his habit of being explicit ... of writing things down ... i know! _he shakes his head, deprecating all rashness. there is another pause._ farrant, _getting up to pace about, breaks it._ farrant. look here, wedgecroft, one thing is worrying me. had trebell any foreknowledge of what she did and the risk she was running and could he have stopped it? wedgecroft. [_almost ill-temperedly._] how could he have stopped it? farrant. because ... well, i'm not a casuist ... but i know by instinct when i'm up against the wrong thing to do; and if he can't be cleared on that point i won't lift a finger to save him. horsham. [_with nice judgment._] in using the term any foreknowledge, farrant, you may be more severe on him than you wish to be. farrant, _unappreciative, continues._ farrant. otherwise ... well, we must admit, cantelupe, that if it hadn't been for the particular consequence of this it wouldn't be anything to be so mightily shocked about. cantelupe. i disagree. farrant. my dear fellow, it's our business to make laws and we know the difference of saying in one of 'em you may or you must. who ever proposed to insist on pillorying every case of spasmodic adultery? one would never have done! some of these attachments do more harm ... to the third party, i mean ... some less. but it's only when a menage becomes socially impossible that a sensible man will interfere. [_he adds quite unnecessarily._] i'm speaking quite impersonally, of course. cantelupe. [_as coldly as ever._] trebell is morally responsible for every consequence of the original sin. wedgecroft. that is a hard saying. farrant. [_continuing his own remarks quite independently._] and i put aside the possibility that he deliberately helped her to her death to save a scandal because i don't believe it is a possibility. but if that were so i'd lift my finger to help him to his. i'd see him hanged with pleasure. wedgecroft. [_settling this part of the matter._] well, farrant, to all intents and purposes he didn't know and he'd have stopped it if he could. farrant. yes, i believe that. but what makes you so sure? wedgecroft. i asked him and he told me. farrant. that's no proof. wedgecroft. you read the letter that he sent her ... unless you think it was written as a blind. farrant. oh ... to be sure ... yes. i might have thought of that. _he settles down again. again no one has anything to say._ cantelupe. what is to be said to mr. o'connell when he comes? horsham. yes ... what exactly do you propose we shall say to o'connell, wedgecroft? wedgecroft. get him to open his oyster of a mind and.... farrant. so it is and his face like a stone wall yesterday. absolutely refused to discuss the matter with me! cantelupe. may i ask, cyril, why are we concerning ourselves with this wickedness at all? horsham. just at this moment when we have official weight without official responsibility, charles.... wedgecroft. i wish i could have let percival out of bed, but these first touches of autumn are dangerous to a convalescent of his age. horsham. but you saw him, farrant ... and he gave you his opinion, didn't he? farrant. last night ... yes. horsham. i suppose it's a pity blackborough hasn't turned up. farrant. never mind him. horsham. he gets people to agree with him. that's a gift. farrant. wedgecroft, what is the utmost o'connell will be called upon to do for us ... for trebell? wedgecroft. probably only to hold his tongue at the inquest to-morrow. as far as i know there's no one but her maid to prove that mrs. o'connell didn't meet her husband some time in the summer. he'll be called upon to tell a lie or two by implication. farrant. cantelupe ... what does perjury to that extent mean to a roman catholic? cantelupe's _face melts into an expression of mild amazement._ cantelupe. your asking such a question shows that you would not understand my answer to it. farrant. [_leaving the fellow to his subtleties._] well, what about the maid? wedgecroft. she may suspect facts but not names, i think. why should they question her on such a point if o'connell says nothing? horsham. he's really very late. i told ... [_he stops._] charles, i've forgotten that man's name again. cantelupe. edmunds, you said it was. horsham. edmunds. everybody's down at lympne ... i've been left with a new man here and i don't know his name. [_he is very pathetic._] i told him to put o'connell in the library there. i thought that either farrant or i might perhaps see him first and- _at this moment_ edmunds _comes in, and, with that air of discreet tact which he considers befits the establishment of a prime minister, announces_, "mr. o'connell, my lord." _as_ o'connell _follows him_, horsham _can only try not to look too disconcerted._ o'connell, _in his tightly buttoned frock coat, with his shaven face and close-cropped iron grey hair, might be mistaken for a catholic priest; except that he has not also acquired the easy cheerfulness which professional familiarity with the mysteries of that religion seems to give. for the moment, at least, his features are so impassive that they may tell either of the deepest grief or the purest indifference; or it may be, merely of reticence on entering a stranger's room. he only bows towards_ horsham's _half-proffered hand. with instinctive respect for the situation of this tragically made widower the men have risen and stand in various uneasy attitudes._ horsham. oh ... how do you do? let me see ... do you know my cousin charles cantelupe? yes ... we were expecting russell blackborough. sir henry percival is ill. do sit down. o'connell _takes the nearest chair and gradually the others settle themselves_; farrant _seeking an obscure corner. but there follows an uncomfortable silence, which_ o'connell _at last breaks._ o'connell. you have sent for me, lord horsham? horsham. i hope that by my message i conveyed no impression of sending for you. o'connell. i am always in some doubt as to by what person or persons in or out of power this country is governed. but from all i hear you are at the present moment approximately entitled to send for me. _the level music of his irish tongue seems to give finer edge to his sarcasm._ horsham. well, mr. o'connell ... you know our request before we make it. o'connell. yes, i understand that if the fact of mr. trebell's adultery with my wife were made as public as its consequences to her must be to-morrow, public opinion would make it difficult for you to include him in your cabinet. horsham. therefore we ask you ... though we have no right to ask you ... to consider the particular circumstances and forget the man in the statesman, mr. o'connell. o'connell. my wife is dead. what have i to do at all with mr. trebell as a man? as a statesman i am in any case uninterested in him. _upon this throwing of cold water_, edmunds _returns to mention even more discreetly...._ edmunds. mr. blackborough is in the library, my lord. horsham. [_patiently impatient._] no, no ... here. wedgecroft. let me go. horsham. [_to the injured_ edmunds.] wait ... wait. wedgecroft. i'll put him _au fait._ i shan't come back. horsham. [_gratefully._] yes, yes. [_then to_ edmunds _who is waiting with perfect dignity._] yes ... yes ... yes. edmunds _departs and_ wedgecroft _makes for the library door, glad to escape._ o'connell. if you are not busy at this hour, wedgecroft, i should be grateful if you'd wait for me. i shall keep you, i think, but a very few minutes. wedgecroft. [_in his most matter-of-fact tone._] all right, o'connell. _he goes into the library._ cantelupe. don't you think, cyril, it would be wiser to prevent your man coming into the room at all while we're discussing this? horsham. [_collecting his scattered tact._] yes, i thought i had arranged that he shouldn't. i'm very sorry. he's a fool. however, there's no one else to come. once more, mr. o'connell.... [_he frames no sentence._] o'connell. i am all attention, lord horsham. cantelupe _with a self-denying effort has risen to his feet._ cantelupe. mr. o'connell i remain here almost against my will. i cannot think quite calmly about this double and doubly heinous sin. don't listen to us while we make light of it. if we think of it as a political bother and ask you to smooth it away ... i am ashamed. but i believe i may not be wrong if i put it to you that, looking to the future and for the sake of your own christian dignity, it may become you to be merciful. and i pray too ... i think we may believe ... that mr. trebell is feeling need of your forgiveness. i have no more to say. [_he sits down again._] o'connell. it may be. i have never met mr. trebell. horsham. i tell you, mr. o'connell, putting aside party, that your country has need of this man just at this time. _they hang upon_ o'connell's _reply. it comes with deliberation._ o'connell. i suppose my point of view must be an unusual one. i notice, at least, that twenty four hours and more has not enabled farrant to grasp it. farrant. for god's sake, o'connell, don't be so cold-blooded. you have the life or death of a man's reputation to decide on. o'connell. [_with a cold flash of contempt._] that's a petty enough thing now-a-days it seems to me. there are so many clever men ... and they are all so alike ... surely one will not be missed. cantelupe. don't you think that is only sarcasm, mr. o'connell? _the voice is so gently reproving that_ o'connell _must turn to him._ o'connell. will you please to make allowance, lord charles, for a mediaeval scholar's contempt of modern government? you at least will partly understand his horror as a catholic at the modern superstitions in favour of popular opinion and control which it encourages. you see, lord horsham, i am not a party man, only a little less enthusiastic for the opposite cries than for his own. you appealed very strangely to my feelings of patriotism for this country; but you see even my own is--in the twentieth century--foreign to me. from my point of view neither mr. trebell, nor you, nor the men you have just defeated, nor any discoverable man or body of men will make laws which matter ... or differ in the slightest. you are all part of your age and you all voice--though in separate keys, or even tunes they may be--only the greed and follies of your age. that you should do this and nothing more is, of course, the democratic ideal. you will forgive my thinking tenderly of the statesmanship of the first edward. _the library door opens and_ russell blackborough _comes in. he has on evening clothes, complicated by a long silk comforter and the motoring cap which he carries._ horsham. you know russell blackborough. o'connell. i think not. blackborough. how d'you do? o'connell _having bowed_, blackborough _having nodded, the two men sit down_, blackborough _with an air of great attention_, o'connell _to continue his interrupted speech._ o'connell. and you are as far from me in your code of personal morals as in your politics. in neither do you seem to realise that such a thing as passion can exist. no doubt you use the words love and hatred; but do you know that love and hatred for principles or persons should come from beyond a man? i notice you speak of forgiveness as if it were a penny in my pocket. you have been endeavouring for these two days to rouse me from my indifference towards mr. trebell. perhaps you are on the point of succeeding ... but i do not know what you may rouse. horsham. i understand. we are much in agreement, mr. o'connell. what can a man be--who has any pretensions to philosophy--but helplessly indifferent to the thousands of his fellow creatures whose fates are intertwined with his? o'connell. i am glad that you understand. but, again ... have i been wrong to shrink from personal relations with mr. trebell? hatred is as sacred a responsibility as love. and you will not agree with me when i say that punishment can be the salvation of a man's soul. farrant. [_with aggressive common sense._] look here. o'connell, if you're indifferent it doesn't hurt you to let him off. and if you hate him...! well, one shouldn't hate people ... there's no room for it in this world. cantelupe. [_quietly as ever._] we have some authority for thinking that the punishment of a secret sin is awarded by god secretly. o'connell. we have very poor authority, sir, for using god's name merely to fill up the gaps in an argument, though we may thus have our way easily with men who fear god more than they know him. i am not one of those. yes, farrant, you and your like have left little room in this world except for the dusty roads on which i notice you beginning once more to travel. the rule of them is the same for all, is it not ... from the tramp and the labourer to the plutocrat in his car? this is the age of equality; and it's a fine practical equality ... the equality of the road. but you've fenced the fields of human joy and turned the very hillsides into hoardings, commercial opportunity is painted on them, i think. farrant. [_not to be impressed._] perhaps it is o'connell. my father made his money out of newspapers and i ride in a motor car and you came from holyhead by train. what has all that to do with it? why can't you make up your mind? you know in this sort of case one talks a lot ... and then does the usual thing. you must let trebell off and that's all about it. o'connell. indeed. and do they still think it worth while to administer an oath to your witnesses? _he is interrupted by the flinging open of the door and the triumphant right-this-time-anyhow voice in which_ edmunds _announces_ "mr. trebell, my lord." _the general consternation expresses itself through_ horsham, _who complains aloud and unreservedly._ horsham. good god.... no! charles, i must give him notice at once ... he'll have to go. [_he apologises to the company._] i beg your pardon. _by this time_ trebell _is in the room and has discovered the stranger, who stands to face him without emotion or anger_, blackborough's _face wears the grimmest of smiles_, cantelupe _is sorry_, farrant _recovers from the fit of choking which seemed imminent and_ edmunds, _dimly perceiving by now some fly in the perfect amber of his conduct, departs. the two men still face each other_, farrant _is prepared to separate them should they come to blows, and indeed is advancing in that anticipation when_ o'connell _speaks._ o'connell. i am justin o'connell. trebell. i guess that. o'connell. there's a dead woman between us, mr. trebell. _a tremor sweeps over_ trebell; _then he speaks simply._ trebell. i wish she had not died. o'connell. i am called upon by your friends to save you from the consequences of her death. what have you to say about that? trebell. i have been wondering what sort of expression the last of your care for her would find ... but not much. my wonder is at the power over me that has been given to something i despised. _only_ o'connell _grasps his meaning. but he, stirred for the first time and to his very depths, drives it home._ o'connell. yes.... if i wanted revenge i have it. she was a worthless woman. first my life and now yours! dead because she was afraid to bear your child, isn't she? trebell. [_in agony._] i'd have helped that if i could. o'connell. not the shame ... not the wrong she had done me ... but just fear--fear of the burden of her woman-hood. and because of her my children are bastards and cannot inherit my name. and i must live in sin against my church, as--god help me--i can't against my nature. what are men to do when this is how women use the freedom we have given them? is the curse of barrenness to be nothing to a man? and that's the death in life to which you gentlemen with your fine civilisation are bringing us. i think we are brothers in misfortune, mr. trebell. trebell. [_far from responding._] not at all, sir. if you wanted children you did the next best thing when she left you. my own problem is neither so simple nor is it yet anyone's business but my own. i apologise for alluding to it. horsham _takes advantage of the silence that follows._ horsham. shall we.... o'connell. [_measuring_ trebell _with his eyes._] and by which shall i help you to a solution ... telling lies or the truth to-morrow? trebell. [_roughly, almost insolently._] if you want my advice ... i should do the thing that comes more easily to you, or that will content you most. if you haven't yet made up your mind as to the relative importance of my work and your conscience, it's too late to begin now. nothing you may do can affect me. horsham. _[fluttering fearfully into this strange dispute._] o'connell ... if you and i were to join wedgecroft.... o'connell. you value your work more than anything else in the world? trebell. have i anything else in the world? o'connell. have you not? [_with grim ambiguity._] then i am sorry for you, mr. trebell. [_having said all he had to say, he notices_ horsham.] yes, lord horsham, by all means.... _then_ horsham _opens the library door and sees him safely through. he passes_ trebell _without any salutation, nor does_ trebell _turn after him; but when_ horsham _also is in the library and the door is closed, comments viciously._ trebell. the man's a sentimentalist ... like all men who live alone or shut away. [_then surveying his three glum companions, bursts out._] well...? we can stop thinking of this dead woman, can't we? it's a waste of time. farrant. trebell, what did you want to come here for? trebell. because you thought i wouldn't. i knew you'd be sitting round, incompetent with distress, calculating to a nicety the force of a scandal.... blackborough. [_with the firmest of touches._] horsham has called some of us here to discuss the situation. i am considering my opinion. trebell. you are not, blackborough. you haven't recovered yet from the shock of your manly feelings. oh, cheer up. you know we're an adulterous and sterile generation. why should you cry out at a proof now and then of what's always in the hearts of most of us? farrant. [_plaintively._] now, for god's sake, trebell ... o'connell has been going on like that. trebell. well then ... think of what matters. blackborough. of you and your reputation in fact. farrant. [_kindly._] why do you pretend to be callous? _he strokes_ trebell's _shoulder, who shakes him off impatiently._ trebell. do you all mean to out-face the british lion with me after to-morrow ... dare to be daniels? blackborough. bravado won't carry this off. trebell. blackborough ... it would immortalize you. i'll stand up in my place in the house of commons and tell everything that has befallen soberly and seriously. why should i flinch? farrant. my dear trebell, if your name comes out at the inquest-trebell. if it does!... whose has been the real offence against society ... hers or mine? it's i who am most offended ... if i choose to think so. blackborough. you seem to forget the adultery. trebell. isn't death divorce enough for her? and ... oh, wasn't i right?... what do you start thinking of once the shock's over? punishment ... revenge ... uselessness ... waste of me. farrant. [_with finality._] if your name comes out at the inquest, to talk of anything but retirement from public life is perfect lunacy ... and you know it. horsham _comes back from the passage. he is a little distracted; then the more so at finding himself again in a highly-charged atmosphere._ horsham. he's gone off with wedgecroft. trebell. [_including_ horsham _now in his appeal._] does anyone think he knows me now to be a worse man ... less fit, less able ... than he did a week ago? _from the piano-stool comes_ cantelupe's _quiet voice._ cantelupe. yes, trebell ... i do. trebell _wheels round at this and ceases all bluster._ trebell. on what grounds? cantelupe. unarguable ones. horsham. [_finding refuge again in his mantelpiece._] you know, he has gone off without giving me his promise. farrant. that's your own fault, trebell. horsham. the fool says i didn't give him explicit instructions. farrant. what fool? horsham. that man ... [_the name fails him._] ... my new man. one of those touches of fate's little finger, really. _he begins to consult the ceiling and the carpet once more._ trebell _tackles_ cantelupe _with gravity._ trebell. i have only a logical mind, cantelupe. i know that to make myself a capable man i've purged myself of all the sins ... i never was idle enough to commit. i know that if your god didn't make use of men, sins and all ... what would ever be done in the world? that one natural action, which the slight shifting of a social law could have made as negligible as eating a meal, can make me incapable ... takes the linch-pin out of one's brain, doesn't it? horsham. trebell, we've been doing our best to get you out of this mess. your remarks to o'connell weren't of any assistance, and.... cantelupe _stands up, so momentously that_ horsham's _gentle flow of speech dries up._ cantelupe. perhaps i had better say at once that, whatever hushing up you may succeed in, it will be impossible for me to sit in a cabinet with mr. trebell. _it takes even_ farrant _a good half minute to recover his power of speech on this new issue._ farrant. what perfect nonsense, cantelupe! i hope you don't mean that. blackborough. complication number one, horsham. farrant. [_working up his protest._] why on earth not? you really mustn't drag your personal feelings and prejudices into important matters like this ... matters of state. cantelupe. i think i have no choice, when trebell stands convicted of a mortal sin, of which he has not even repented. trebell. [_with bitterest cynicism._] dictate any form of repentance you like ... my signature is yours. cantelupe. is this a matter for intellectual jugglery? trebell. [_his defence failing at last._] i offered to face the scandal from my place in the house. that was mad, wasn't it.... blackborough--_his course mapped out--changes the tone of the discussion._ blackborough. horsham, i hope trebell will believe i have no personal feelings in this matter, but we may as well face the fact even now that o'connell holding his tongue to-morrow won't stop gossip in the house, club gossip, gossip in drawing rooms. what do the radicals really care so long as a scandal doesn't get into the papers! there's an inner circle with its eye on us. farrant. well, what does that care as long as scandal's its own copyright? do you know, my dear father refused a peerage because he felt it meant putting blinkers on his best newspaper. blackborough. [_a little subtly._] still ... now you and horsham are cousins, aren't you? farrant. [_off the track and explanatory._] no, no ... my wife's mother.... blackborough. i'm inaccurate, for i'm not one of the family circle myself. my money gets me here and any skill i've used in making it. it wouldn't keep me at a pinch. and trebell ... [_he speaks through his teeth._] ... do you think your accession to power in the party is popular at the best? who is going to put out a finger to make it less awkward for horsham to stick to you if there's a chance of your going under? trebell _smiles at some mental picture he is making._ trebell. can your cousins and aunts make it so awkward for you, horsham? horsham. [_repaying humour with humour._] i bear up against their affectionate attentions. trebell. but i quite understand how uncongenial i may be. what made you take up with me at all? farrant. your brains, trebell. trebell. he should have enquired into my character first, shouldn't he, cantelupe? cantelupe. [_with crushing sincerity._] yes. trebell. oh, the old unnecessary choice ... wisdom or virtue. we all think we must make it ... and we all discover we can't. but if you've to choose between cantelupe and me, horsham, i quite see you've no choice. horsham _now takes the field, using his own weapons._ horsham. charles, it seems to me that we are somewhat in the position of men who have overheard a private conversation. do you feel justified in making public use of it? cantelupe. it is not i who am judge. god knows i would not sit in judgment upon anyone. trebell. cantelupe, i'll take your personal judgment if you can give it me. farrant. good lord, cantelupe, didn't you sit in a cabinet with ... well, we're not here to rake up old scandals. blackborough. i am concerned with the practical issue. horsham. we know, blackborough. [_having quelled the interruption he proceeds._] charles, you spoke, i think, of a mortal sin. cantelupe. in spite of your lifted eyebrows at the childishness of the word. horsham. theoretically, we must all wish to guide ourselves by eternal truths. but you would admit, wouldn't you, that we can only deal with temporal things? cantelupe. [_writhing slightly under the sceptical cross-examination._] there are divine laws laid down for our guidance ... i admit no disbelief in them. horsham. do they place any time-limit to the effect of a mortal sin? if this affair were twenty years old would you do as you are doing? can you forecast the opinion you will have of it six months hence? cantelupe. [_positively._] yes. horsham. can you? nevertheless i wish you had postponed your decision even till to-morrow. _having made his point he looks round almost for approval._ blackborough. what had percival to say on the subject, farrant? farrant. i was only to make use of his opinion under certain circumstances. blackborough. so it isn't favourable to your remaining with us, mr. trebell. farrant. [_indignantly emerging from the trap._] i never said that. _now_ trebell _gives the matter another turn, very forcefully._ trebell. horsham ... i don't bow politely and stand aside at this juncture as a gentleman should, because i want to know how the work's to be done if i leave you what i was to do. blackborough. are we so incompetent? trebell. i daresay not. i want to know ... that's all. cantelupe. please understand, mr. trebell, that i have in no way altered my good opinion of your proposals. blackborough. well, i beg to remind you, horsham, that from the first i've reserved myself liberty to criticise fundamental points in the scheme. horsham. [_pacifically._] quite so ... quite so. blackborough. that nonsensical new standard of teachers' salaries for one thing ... you'd never pass it. horsham. quite easily. it's an administrative point, so leave the legislation vague. then, as the appropriation money falls in, the qualifications rise and the salaries rise. no one will object because no one will appreciate it but administrators past or future ... and they never cavil at money. [_he remains lost in the beauty of this prospect._] trebell. will you take charge of the bill, blackborough? blackborough. are you serious? horsham. [_brought to earth._] oh no! [_he corrects himself smiling._] i mean, my dear blackborough, why not stick to the colonies? blackborough. you see, trebell, there's still the possibility that o'connell may finally spike your gun to-morrow. you realise that, don't you? trebell. thank you. i quite realise that. cantelupe. can nothing further be done? blackborough. weren't we doing our best? horsham. yes ... if we were bending our thoughts to that difficulty now.... trebell. [_hardly._] may i ask you to interfere on my behalf no further? farrant. my dear trebell! trebell. i assure you that i am interested in the disestablishment bill. _so they turn readily enough from the more uncomfortable part of their subject._ blackborough. well ... here's farrant. farrant. i'm no good. give me agriculture. blackborough. pity you're in the lords, horsham. trebell. horsham, i'll devil for any man you choose to name ... feed him sentence by sentence.... horsham. that's impossible. trebell. well, what's to become of my bill? i want to know. blackborough. [_casting his care on providence._] we shall manage somehow. why, if you had died suddenly ... or let us say, never been born.... trebell. then, blackborough ... speaking as a dying man ... if you go back on the integrity of this scheme, i'll haunt you. [_having said this with some finality, he turns his back._] cantelupe. cyril, i agree with what trebell is saying. whatever happens there must be no tampering with the comprehensiveness of the scheme. remember you are in the hands of the extremists ... on both sides. i won't support a compromise on one ... nor will they on the other. horsham. well, i'll confess to you candidly, trebell, that i don't know of any man available for this piece of work but you. trebell. then i should say it would be almost a relief to you if o'connell tells on me to-morrow. farrant. we seem to have got off that subject altogether. [_there comes a portentous tap at the door._] good lord!... i'm getting jumpy. horsham. excuse me. _a note is handed to him through the half opened door; and obviously it is at_ edmunds _whom he frowns. then he returns fidgetting for his glasses._ oh, it turns out ... i'm so sorry you were blundered in here, trebell ... this man ... what's his name ... edwards ... had been reading the papers and thought it was a cabinet council ... seemed proud of himself. this is from wedgecroft ... scribbled in a messenger office. i never can read his writing ... it's like prescriptions. can you? _it has gradually dawned on the three men and then on_ trebell _what this note may have in it._ farrant _hand even trembles a little as he takes it. he gathers the meaning himself and looks at the others with a smile before he reads the few words aloud._ farrant. "all right. he has promised." blackborough. o'connell? farrant. thank god. [_he turns enthusiastically to_ trebell _who stands rigid._] my dear fellow ... i hope you know how glad i am. cantelupe. i am very glad. blackborough. of course we're all very glad indeed, trebell ... very glad we persuaded him. farrant. that's dead and buried now, isn't it? trebell _moves away from them all and leaves them wondering. when he turns round his face is as hard as ever; his voice, if possible, harder._ trebell. but, horsham, returning to the more important question ... you've taken trouble, and o'connell's to perjure himself for nothing if you still can't get me into your child's puzzle ... to make the pretty picture that a cabinet should be. horsham _looks at_ blackborough _and scents danger._ horsham. we shall all be glad, i am sure, to postpone any further discussion.... trebell. i shall not. blackborough. [_encouragingly._] quite so, trebell. we're on the subject, and it won't discount our pleasure that you're out of this mess, to continue it. this habit of putting off the hour of disagreement is ... well, horsham, it's contrary to my business instincts. trebell. if one time's as good as another for you ... this moment is better than most for me. horsham. [_a little irritated at the wantonness of this dispute._] there is nothing before us on which we are capable of coming to any decision ... in a technical sense. blackborough. that's a quibble. [_poor_ horsham _gasps._] i'm not going to pretend either now or in a month's time that i think trebell anything but a most dangerous acquisition to the party. i pay you a compliment in that, trebell. now, horsham proposes that we should go to the country when disestablishment's through. horsham. it's the condition of nonconformist support. blackborough. one condition. then you'd leave us, trebell? horsham. i hope not. blackborough. and carry with you the credit of our one big measure. consider the effect upon our reputation with the country. farrant. [_waking to_ blackborough's _line of action._] why on earth should you leave us, trebell? you've hardly been a liberal, even in name. blackborough. [_vigorously making his point._] then what would be the conditions of your remaining? you're not a party man, trebell. you haven't the true party feeling. you are to be bought. of course you take your price in measures, not in money. but you are preeminently a man of ideas ... an expert. and a man of ideas is often a grave embarrassment to a government. horsham. and vice-versa ... vice-versa! trebell. [_facing_ blackborough _across the room._] do i understand that you for the good of the tory party ... just as cantelupe for the good of his soul ... will refuse to sit in a cabinet with me. blackborough. [_unembarrassed._] i don't commit myself to saying that. cantelupe. no, trebell ... it's that i must believe your work could not prosper ... in god's way. trebell _softens to his sincerity._ trebell. cantelupe, i quite understand. you may be right ... it's a very interesting question. blackborough, i take it that you object first of all to the scheme that i'm bringing you. blackborough. i object to those parts of it which i don't think you'll get through the house. farrant. [_feeling that he must take part._] for instance? blackborough. i've given you one already. cantelupe. [_his eye on_ blackborough.] understand there are things in that scheme we must stand or fall by. _suddenly_ trebell _makes for the door_, horsham _gets up concernedly._ trebell. horsham, make up your mind to-night whether you can do with me or not. i have to see percival again to-morrow ... we cut short our argument at the important point. good-bye ... don't come down. will you decide to-night? horsham. i have made up my own mind. trebell. is that sufficient? horsham. a collective decision is a matter of development. trebell. well, i shall expect to hear. horsham. by hurrying one only reaches a rash conclusion. trebell. then be rash for once and take the consequences. good-night. _he is gone before_ horsham _can compose another epigram._ blackborough. [_deprecating such conduct._] lost his temper! farrant. [_ruffling considerably._] horsham, if trebell is to be hounded out of your cabinet ... he won't go alone. horsham. [_bitter-sweet._] my dear farrant ... i have yet to form my cabinet. cantelupe. you are forming it to carry disestablishment, are you not, cyril? therefore you will form it in the best interests of the best scheme possible. horsham. trebell was and is the best man i know of for the purpose. i'm a little weary of saying that. _he folds his arms and awaits further developments. after a moment_ cantelupe _gets up as if to address a meeting._ cantelupe. then if you would prefer not to include me ... i shall feel justified in giving independent support to a scheme i have great faith in. [_and he sits down again._] blackborough. [_impatiently._] my dear cantelupe, if you think horsham can form a disestablishment cabinet to include trebell and exclude you, you're vastly mistaken. i for one.... farrant. but do both of you consider how valuable, how vital trebell is to us just at this moment? the radicals trust him.... blackborough. they hate him. horsham. [_elucidating._] their front bench hates him because he turned them out. the rest of them hate their front bench. after six years of office, who wouldn't? blackborough. that's true. farrant. oh, of course, we must stick to trebell, blackborough. blackborough _is silent; so_ horsham _turns his attention to his cousin._ horsham. well, charles, i won't ask you for a decision now. i know how hard it is to accept the dictates of other men's consciences ... but a necessary condition of all political work; believe me. cantelupe. [_uneasily._] you can form your cabinet without me, cyril. _at this_ blackborough _charges down on them, so to speak._ blackborough. no, i tell you, i'm damned if he can. leaving the whole high church party to blackmail all they can out of us and vote how they like! here ... i've got my yorkshire people to think of. i can bargain for them with you in a cabinet ... not if you've the pull of being out of it. horsham. [_with charming insinuation._] and have you calculated, blackborough, what may become of us if trebell has the pull of being out of it? blackborough _makes a face._ blackborough. yes ... i suppose he might turn nasty. farrant. i should hope he would. blackborough.[_tackling_ farrant _with great ease._] i should hope he would consider the matter not from the personal, but from the political point of view ... as i am trying to do. horsham. [_tasting his epigram with enjoyment._] introspection is the only bar to such an honourable endeavour, [blackborough _gapes._] you don't suffer from that as--for instance--charles here, does. blackborough. [_pugnaciously._] d'you mean i'm just pretending not to attack him personally? horsham. [_safe on his own ground._] it's only a curious metaphysical point. have you never noticed your distaste for the colour of a man's hair translate itself ultimately into an objection to his religious opinions ... or what not? i am sure--for instance--i could trace charles's scruples about sitting in a cabinet with trebell back to a sort of academic reverence for women generally which he possesses. i am sure i could ... if he were not probably now doing it himself. but this does not make the scruples less real, less religious, or less political. we must be humanly biased in expression ... or not express ourselves. blackborough. [_whose thoughts have wandered._] the man's less of a danger than he was ... i mean he'll be alone. the liberals won't have him back. he smashed his following there to come over to us. farrant. [_giving a further meaning to this._] yes, blackborough, he did. blackborough. to gain his own ends! oh, my dear horsham, can't you see that if o'connell had blabbed to-morrow it really would have been a blessing in disguise? i don't pretend to cantelupe's standard ... but there must be something radically wrong with a man who could get himself into such a mess as that ... now mustn't there? ah! ... you have a fatal partiality for clever people. i tell you ... though this might be patched up ... trebell would fail us in some other way before we were six months older. _this speech has its effect; but_ horsham _looks at him a little sternly._ horsham. and am i to conclude that you don't want charles to change his mind? blackborough. [_on another tack._] farrant has not yet allowed us to hear percival's opinion. farrant _looks rather alarmed._ farrant. it has very little reference to the scandal. blackborough. as that is at an end ... all the more reason we should hear it. horsham. [_ranging himself with_ farrant.] i called this quite informal meeting, blackborough, only to dispose of the scandal, if possible. blackborough. well, of course, if farrant chooses to insult percival so gratuitously by burking his message to us.... _there is an unspoken threat in this_, horsham _sees it and without disguising his irritation...._ horsham. let us have it, farrant. farrant. [_with a sort of puzzled discontent._] well ... i never got to telling him of the o'connell affair at all. he started talking to me ... saying that he couldn't for a moment agree to trebell's proposals for the finance of his bill ... i couldn't get a word in edgeways. then his wife came up.... horsham _takes something in this so seriously that he actually interrupts._ horsham. does he definitely disagree? what is his point? farrant. he says disestablishment's a bad enough speculation for the party as it is. blackborough. it is inevitable. farrant. he sees that. but then he says ... to go to the country again having bolstered up education and quarrelled with everybody will be bad enough ... to go having spent fifty millions on it will dish us all for our lifetimes. horsham. what does he propose? farrant. he'll offer to draft another bill and take it through himself. he says ... do as many good turns as we can with the money ... don't put it all on one horse. blackborough. he's your man, horsham. that's one difficulty settled. horsham's _thoughts are evidently beyond_ blackborough, _beyond the absent_ percival _even._ horsham. oh ... any of us could carry that sort of a bill. cantelupe _has heard this last passage with nothing less than horror and pale anger, which he contains no longer._ cantelupe. i won't have this. i won't have this opportunity frittered away for party purposes. blackborough. [_expostulating reasonably._] my dear cantelupe ... you'll get whatever you think it right for the church to have. you carry a solid thirty eight votes with you. horsham's _smooth voice intervenes. he speaks with finesse._ horsham. percival, as an old campaigner, expresses himself very roughly. the point is, that we are after all only the trustees of the party. if we know that a certain step will decimate it ... clearly we have no right to take the step. cantelupe. [_glowing to white heat._] is this a time to count the consequences to ourselves? horsham. [_unkindly._] by your action this evening, charles, you evidently think not. [_he salves the wound._] no matter, i agree with you ... the bill should be a comprehensive one, whoever brings it in. blackborough. [_not without enjoyment of the situation._] whoever brings it in will have to knuckle under to percival over its finance. farrant. trebell won't do that. i warned percival. horsham. then what did he say? farrant. he only swore. horsham _suddenly becomes peevish._ horsham. i think, farrant, you should have given me this message before. farrant. my dear horsham, what had it to do with our request to o'connell? horsham. [_scolding the company generally._] well then, i wish he hadn't sent it. i wish we were not discussing these points at all. the proper time for them is at a cabinet meeting. and when we have actually assumed the responsibilities of government ... then threats of resignation are not things to be played about with. farrant. did you expect percival's objection to the finance of the scheme? horsham. perhaps ... perhaps. i knew trebell was to see him last tuesday. i expect everybody's objections to any parts of every scheme to come at a time when i am in a proper position to reconcile them ... not now. _having vented his grievances he sits down to recover._ blackborough _takes advantage of the ensuing pause._ blackborough. it isn't so easy for me to speak against trebell, since he evidently dislikes me personally as much as i dislike him ... but i'm sure i'm doing my duty. horsham ... here you have cantelupe who won't stand in with the man, and percival who won't stand in with his measure, while i would sooner stand in with neither. isn't it better to face the situation now than take trouble to form the most makeshift of cabinets, and if that doesn't go to pieces, be voted down in the house by your own party? _there is an oppressive silence,_ horsham _is sulky. the matter is beyond_ farrant. cantelupe _whose agonies have expressed themselves in slight writhings, at last, with an effort, writhes himself to his feet._ cantelupe. i think i am prepared to reconsider my decision. farrant. that's all right then! _he looks round wonderingly for the rest of the chorus to find that neither_ blackborough _nor_ horsham _have stirred._ blackborough. [_stealthily._] is it, horsham? horsham. [_sotto voce._] why did you ever make it? blackborough _leaves him for_ cantelupe. blackborough. you're afraid for the integrity of the bill. cantelupe. it must be comprehensive ... that's vital. blackborough. [_very forcefully._] i give you my word to support its integrity, if you'll keep with me in persuading horsham that the inclusion of trebell in his cabinet will be a blow to the whole conservative cause. horsham, i implore you not to pursue this short-sighted policy. all parties have made up their minds to disestablishment ... surely nothing should be easier than to frame a bill which will please all parties. farrant. [_at last perceiving the drift of all this._] but good lord, blackborough ... now cantelupe has come round and will stand in ... blackborough. that's no longer the point. and what's all this nonsense about going to the country again next year? horsham. [_mildly._] after consulting me percival said at bristol.... blackborough. [_quite unchecked._] i know. but if we pursue a thoroughly safe policy and the bye-elections go right ... there need be no vote of censure carried for three or four years. the radicals want a rest with the country and they know it. and one has no right, what's more, to go wantonly plunging the country into the expenses of these constant general elections. it ruins trade. farrant. [_forlornly sticking to his point._] what has all this to do with trebell? horsham. [_thoughtfully._] farrant, beyond what you've told us, percival didn't recommend me to throw him over. farrant. no, he didn't ... that is, he didn't exactly. horsham. well ... he didn't? farrant. i'm trying to be accurate! [_obviously their nerves are now on edge._] he said we should find him tough to assimilate--as he warned you. horsham _with knit brows, loses himself in thought again,_ blackborough _quietly turns his attention to_ farrant. blackborough. farrant, you don't seriously think that ... outside his undoubted capabilities ... trebell is an acquisition to the party? farrant. [_unwillingly._] perhaps not. but if you're going to chuck a man ... don't chuck him when he's down. blackborough. he's no longer down. we've got him o'connell's promise and jolly grateful he ought to be. i think the least we can do is to keep our minds clear between trebell's advantage and the party's. cantelupe. [_from the distant music-stool._] and the party's and the country's. blackborough. [_countering quite deftly._] cantelupe, either we think it best for the country to have our party in power or we don't. farrant. [_in judicious temper._] certainly, i don't feel our responsibility towards him is what it was ten minutes ago. the man has other careers besides his political one. blackborough. [_ready to praise._] clever as paint at the bar--best company lawyer we've got. cantelupe. it is not what he loses, i think ... but what we lose in losing him. _he says this so earnestly that_ horsham _pays attention._ horsham. no, my dear charles, let us be practical. if his position with us is to be made impossible it is better that he shouldn't assume it. blackborough. [_soft and friendly._] how far are you actually pledged to him? horsham _looks up with the most ingenuous of smiles._ horsham. that's always such a difficult sort of point to determine, isn't it? he thinks he is to join us. but i've not yet been commanded to form a cabinet. if neither you--nor percival--nor perhaps others will work with him ... what am i to do? [_he appeals to them generally to justify this attitude._] blackborough. he no longer thinks he's to join us ... it's the question he left us to decide. _he leaves_ horsham, _whose perplexity is diminishing._ farrant _makes an effort._ farrant. but the scandal won't weaken his position with us now. there won't be any scandal ... there won't, blackborough. horsham. there may be. though, i take it we're all guiltless of having mentioned the matter. blackborough. [_very detached._] i've only known of it since i came into this house ... but i shall not mention it. farrant. oh, i'm afraid my wife knows. [_he adds hastily._] my fault ... my fault entirely. blackborough. i tell you rumour's electric. horsham _has turned to_ farrant _with a sweet smile and with the air of a man about to be relieved of all responsibility._ horsham. what does she say? farrant. [_as one speaks of a nice woman._] she was horrified. horsham. of course. [_once more he finds refuge and comfort on the hearthrug, to say, after a moment, with fine resignation._] i suppose i must let him go. cantelupe. [_on his feet again._] cyril! horsham. yes, charles? _with this query he turns an accusing eye on_ cantelupe, _who is silenced._ blackborough. have you made up your mind to that? farrant. [_in great distress._] you're wrong, horsham. [_then in greater._] that is ... i think you're wrong. horsham. i'd sooner not let him know to-night. blackborough. but he asked you to. horsham. [_all show of resistance gone._] did he? then i suppose i must. [_he sighs deeply._] blackborough. then i'll get back to aylesbury. _he picks up his motor-cap from the table and settles it on his head with immense aplomb._ horsham. so late? blackborough. really one can get along quicker at night if one knows the road. you're in town, aren't you, farrant? shall i drop you at grosvenor square? farrant. [_ungraciously._] thank you. blackborough. [_with a conqueror's geniality._] i don't mind telling you now, horsham, that ever since we met at shapters i've been wondering how you'd escape from this association with trebell. thought he was being very clever when he crossed the house to us! it's needed a special providence. you'd never have got a cabinet together to include him. horsham. [_with much intention._] no. farrant. [_miserably.]_ yes, i suppose that intrigue was a mistake from the beginning. blackborough. well, good-night. [_as he turns to go he finds_ cantelupe _upright, staring very sternly at him._] good-night, cantelupe. cantelupe. from what motives have we thrown trebell over? blackborough. never mind the motives if the move is the right one. [_then he nods at_ horsham.] i shall be up again next week if you want me. _and he flourishes out of the room; a man who has done a good hour's work_, farrant, _who has been mooning depressedly around, now backs towards the door._ farrant. in one way, of course, trebell won't care a damn. i mean, he knows as well as we do that office isn't worth having ... he has never been a place-hunter. on the other hand ... what with one thing and the other ... blackborough is a sensible fellow. i suppose it can't be helped. horsham. blackborough will tell you so. good-night. _so_ farrant _departs, leaving the two cousins together._ cantelupe _has not moved and now faces_ horsham _just as accusingly._ cantelupe. cyril, this is tragic. horsham. [_more to himself than in answer._] yes ... most annoying. cantelupe. lucifer, son of the morning! why is it always the highest who fall? horsham _shies fastidiously at this touch of poetry._ horsham. no, my dear charles, let us above all things keep our mental balance. trebell is a most capable fellow. i'd set my heart on having him with me ... he'll be most awkward to deal with in opposition. but we shall survive his loss and so would the country. cantelupe. [_desperately._] cyril, promise me there shall be no compromise over this measure. horsham. [_charmingly candid._] no ... no unnecessary compromise, i promise you. cantelupe. [_with a sigh._] if we had done what we have done to-night in the right spirit! blackborough was almost vindictive. horsham. [_smiling without amusement._] didn't you keep thinking ... i did ... of that affair of his with mrs. parkington ... years ago? cantelupe. there was never any proof of it. horsham. no ... he bought off the husband. cantelupe. [_uneasily._] his objections to trebell were--political. horsham. yours weren't. cantelupe. [_more uneasily still._] i withdrew mine. horsham. [_with elderly reproof._] i don't think, charles, you have the least conception of what a nicely balanced machine a cabinet is. cantelupe. [_imploring comfort._] but should we have held together through trebell's bill? horsham. [_a little impatient._] perhaps not. but once i had them all round a table ... trebell is very keen on office for all his independent airs ... he and percival could have argued the thing out. however, it's too late now. cantelupe. is it? _for a moment_ horsham _is tempted to indulge in the luxury of changing his mind; but he puts satan behind him with a shake of the head._ horsham. well, you see ... percival i can't do without. now that blackborough knows of his objections to the finance he'd go to him and take chisholm and offer to back them up. i know he would ... he didn't take farrant away with him for nothing. [_then he flashes out rather shrilly._] it's trebell's own fault. he ought not to have committed himself definitely to any scheme until he was safely in office. i warned him about percival ... i warned him not to be explicit. one cannot work with men who will make up their minds prematurely. no, i shall not change my mind. i shall write to him. _he goes firmly to his writing desk leaving_ cantelupe _forlorn._ cantelupe. what about a messenger? horsham. not at this time of night. i'll post it. cantelupe. i'll post it as i go. _he seeks comfort again in the piano and this time starts to play, with one finger and some hesitation, the first bars of a bach fugue_, horsham's _pen-nib is disappointing him and the letter is not easy to phrase._ horsham. but i hate coming to immediate decisions. the administrative part of my brain always tires after half an hour. does yours, charles? cantelupe. what do you think trebell will do now? horsham. [_a little grimly._] punish us all he can. _on reaching the second voice in the fugue_ cantelupe's _virtuosity breaks down._ cantelupe. all that ability turned to destructiveness ... what a pity! that's the paradox of human activities.... _suddenly_ horsham _looks up and his face is lighted with a seraphic smile._ horsham. charles ... i wish we could do without blackborough. cantelupe. [_struck with the idea._] well ... why not? horsham. yes ... i must think about it. [_they both get up, cheered considerably._] you won't forget this, will you? cantelupe. [_the letter in_ horsham's _hand accusing him._] no ... no. i don't think i have been the cause of your dropping trebell, have i? horsham, _rid of the letter, is rid of responsibility and his charming equable self again. he comforts his cousin paternally._ horsham. i don't think so. the split would have come when blackborough checkmated my forming a cabinet. it would have pleased him to do that ... and he could have, over trebell. but now that question's out of the way ... you won't get such a bad measure with trebell in opposition. he'll frighten us into keeping it up to the mark, so to speak. cantelupe. [_a little comforted._] but i shall miss one or two of those ideas ... horsham. [_so pleasantly sceptical._] do you think they'd have outlasted the second reading? dullness in the country one expects. dullness in the house one can cope with. but do you know, i have never sat in a cabinet yet that didn't greet anything like a new idea in chilling silence. cantelupe. well, i should regret to have caused you trouble, cyril. horsham. [_his hand on the other's shoulder._] oh ... we don't take politics so much to heart as that, i hope. cantelupe. [_with sweet gravity._] i take politics very much to heart. yes, i know what you mean ... but that's the sort of remark that makes people call you cynical. [horsham _smiles as if at a compliment and starts with_ cantelupe _towards the door._ cantelupe, _who would not hurt his feelings, changes the subject._] by the bye, i'm glad we met this evening! do you hear aunt mary wants to sell the burford holbein? can she? horsham. [_taking as keen, but no keener, an interest in this than in the difficulty he has just surmounted._] yes, by the will she can, but she mustn't. dear me, i thought i'd put a stop to that foolishness. well now, we must take that matter up very seriously ... _they go out talking arm in arm._ the fourth act at trebell's again; later, the same evening. _his room is in darkness but for the flicker the fire makes and the streaks of moonlight between the curtains. the door is open, though, and you see the light of the lamp on the stairs. you hear his footstep too. on his way he stops to draw back the the curtains of the passage-way window; the moonlight makes his face look very pale. then he serves the curtains of his own window the same; flings it open, moreover, and stands looking out. something below draws his attention. after leaning over the balcony with a short_ "hullo" _he goes quickly downstairs again. in a minute_ wedgecroft _comes up._ trebell _follows, pausing by the door a moment to light up the room._ wedgecroft _is radiant._ trebell. [_with a twist of his mouth._] promised, has he? wedgecroft. suddenly broke out as we walked along, that he liked the look of you and that men must stand by one another nowadays against these women. then he said good-night and walked away. trebell. back to ireland and the thirteenth century. wedgecroft. after to-morrow. trebell. [_taking all the meaning of to-morrow._] yes. are you in for perjury, too? wedgecroft. [_his thankfulness checked a little._] no ... not exactly. trebell _walks away from him._ trebell. it's a pity the truth isn't to be told, i think. i suppose the verdict will be murder. wedgecroft. they won't catch the man. trebell. you don't mean ... me. wedgecroft. no, no ... my dear fellow. trebell. you might, you know. but nobody seems to see this thing as i see it. if i were on that jury i'd say murder too and accuse ... so many circumstances, gilbert, that we should go home ... and look in the cupboards. what a lumber of opinions we inherit and keep! wedgecroft. [_humouring him._] ought we to burn the house down? trebell. rules and regulations for the preservation of rubbish are the laws of england ... and i was adding to their number. wedgecroft. and so you shall ... to the applause of a grateful country. trebell. [_studying his friend's kindly encouraging face._] gilbert, it is not so much that you're an incorrigible optimist ... but why do you subdue your mind to flatter people into cheerfulness? wedgecroft. i'm a doctor, my friend. trebell. you're a part of our tendency to keep things alive by hook or by crook ... not a spark but must be carefully blown upon. the world's old and tired; it dreads extinction. i think i disapprove ... i think i've more faith. wedgecroft. [_scolding him._] nonsense ... you've the instinct to preserve your life as everyone else has ... and i'm here to show you how. trebell. [_beyond the reach of his kindness._] i assure you that these two days while you've been fussing around o'connell--bless your kind heart--i've been waiting events, indifferent enough to understand his indifference. wedgecroft. not indifferent. trebell. lifeless enough already, then. [_suddenly a thought strikes him._] d'you think it was horsham and his little committee persuaded o'connell? wedgecroft. on the contrary. trebell. so you need not have let them into the secret? wedgecroft. no. trebell. think of that. _he almost laughs; but_ wedgecroft _goes on quite innocently._ wedgecroft. yes ... i'm sorry. trebell. upsetting their moral digestion for nothing. wedgecroft. but when o'connell wouldn't listen to us we had to rope in the important people. trebell. with their united wisdom. [_then he breaks away again into great bitterness._] no ... what do they make of this woman's death? i saw them in that room, gilbert, like men seen through the wrong end of a telescope. d'you think if the little affair with nature ... her offence and mine against the conveniences of civilization ... had ended in my death too ... then they'd have stopped to wonder at the misuse and waste of the only force there is in the world ... come to think of it, there is no other ... than this desire for expression ... in words ... or through children. would they have thought of that and stopped whispering about the scandal? _through this_ wedgecroft _has watched him very gravely._ wedgecroft. trebell ... if the inquest to-morrow had put you out of action ... trebell. should i have grown a beard and travelled abroad and after ten years timidly tried to climb my way back into politics? when public opinion takes its heel from your face it keeps it for your finger-tips. after twenty years to be forgiven by your more broad-minded friends and tolerated as a dotard by a new generation.... wedgecroft. nonsense. what age are you now ... forty-six ... forty-seven? trebell. well ... let's instance a good man. gladstone had done his best work by sixty-five. then he began to be popular. think of his last years of oratory. _he has gone to his table and now very methodically starts to tidy his papers,_ wedgecroft _still watching him._ wedgecroft. you'd have had to thank heaven for a little that there were more lives than one to lead. trebell. that's another of your faults, gilbert ... it's a comfort just now to enumerate them. you're an anarchist ... a kingdom to yourself. you make little treaties with truth and with beauty, and what can disturb you? i'm a part of the machine i believe in. if my life as i've made it is to be cut short ... the rest of me shall walk out of the world and slam the door ... with the noise of a pistol shot. wedgecroft. [_concealing some uneasiness._] then i'm glad it's not to be cut short. you and your cabinet rank and your disestablishment bill! trebell _starts to enjoy his secret._ trebell. yes ... our minds have been much relieved within the last half hour, haven't they? wedgecroft. i scribbled horsham a note in a messenger office and sent it as soon as o'connell had left me. trebell. he'd be glad to get that. wedgecroft. he has been most kind about the whole thing. trebell. oh, he means well. wedgecroft. [_following up his fancied advantage._] but, my friend ... suicide whilst of unsound mind would never have done.... the hackneyed verdict hits the truth, you know. trebell. you think so? wedgecroft. i don't say there aren't excuses enough in this miserable world, but fundamentally ... no sane person will destroy life. trebell. [_his thoughts shifting their plane._] was she so very mad? i'm not thinking of her own death. wedgecroft. don't brood, trebell. your mind isn't healthy yet about her and-trebell. and my child. _even_ wedgecroft's _kindness is at fault before the solemnity of this._ wedgecroft. is that how you're thinking of it? trebell. how else? it's very inexplicable ... this sense of fatherhood. [_the eyes of his mind travel down--what vista of possibilities. then he shakes himself free._] let's drop the subject. to finish the list of shortcomings, you're a bit of an artist too ... therefore i don't think you'll understand. wedgecroft. [_successfully decoyed into argument._] surely an artist is a man who understands. trebell. everything about life, but not life itself. that's where art fails a man. wedgecroft. that's where everything but living fails a man. [_drifting into introspection himself._] yes, it's true. i can talk cleverly and i've written a book ... but i'm barren. [_then the healthy mind re-asserts itself._] no, it's not true. our thoughts are children ... and marry and intermarry. and we're peopling the world ... not badly. trebell. well ... either life is too little a thing to matter or it's so big that such specks of it as we may be are of no account. these are two points of view. and then one has to consider if death can't be sometimes the last use made of life. _there is a tone of menace in this which recalls_ wedgecroft _to the present trouble._ wedgecroft. i doubt the virtue of sacrifice ... or the use of it. trebell. how else could i tell horsham that my work matters? does he think so now?... not he. wedgecroft. you mean if they'd had to throw you over? _once again_ trebell _looks up with that secretive smile._ trebell. yes ... if they'd had to. wedgecroft. [_unreasonably nervous, so he thinks._] my dear fellow, horsham would have thought it was the shame and disgrace if you'd shot yourself after the inquest. that's the proper sentimental thing for you so-called strong men to do on like occasions. why, if your name were to come out to-morrow, your best meaning friends would be sending you pistols by post, requesting you to use them like a gentleman. horsham would grieve over ten dinner-tables in succession and then return to his philosophy. one really mustn't waste a life trying to shock polite politicians. there'd even be a suspicion of swagger in it. trebell. quite so ... the bomb that's thrown at their feet must be something otherwise worthless. frances _comes in quickly, evidently in search of her brother. though she has not been crying, her eyes are wide with grief._ frances. oh, henry ... i'm so glad you're still up. [_she notices_ wedgecroft.] how d'you do, doctor? trebell. [_doubling his mask of indifference._] meistersinger's over early. frances. is it? trebell. not much past twelve yet. frances. [_the little gibe lost on her._] it was tristan to-night. i'm quite upset. i heard just as i was coming away ... amy o'connell's dead. [_both men hold their breath._ trebell _is the first to find control of his and give the cue._] trebell. yes ... wedgecroft has just told me. frances. she was only taken ill last week ... it's so extraordinary. [_she remembers the doctor._] oh ... have you been attending her? wedgecroft. yes. frances. i hear there's to be an inquest. wedgecroft. yes. frances. but what has been the matter? trebell. [_sharply forestalling any answer._] you'll know to-morrow. frances. [_the little snub almost bewildering her._] anything private? i mean.... trebell. no ... i'll tell you. don't make gilbert repeat a story twice.... he's tired with a good day's work. wedgecroft. yes ... i'll be getting away. frances _never heeds this flash of a further meaning between the two men._ frances. and i meant to have gone to see her to-day. was the end very sudden? did her husband arrive in time? wedgecroft. yes. frances. they didn't get on ... he'll be frightfully upset. trebell _resists a hideous temptation to laugh._ wedgecroft. good night, trebell. trebell. good night, gilbert. many thanks. _there is enough of a caress in_ trebell's _tone to turn_ frances _towards their friend, a little remorseful for treating him so casually, now as always._ frances. he's always thanking you. you're always doing things for him. wedgecroft. good night. [_seeing the tears in her eyes._] oh, don't grieve. frances. one shouldn't be sorry when people die, i know. but she liked me more than i liked her ... [_this time_ trebell _does laugh, silently._] ... so i somehow feel in her debt and unable to pay now. trebell. [_an edge on his voice._] yes ... people keep on dying at all sorts of ages, in all sorts of ways. but we seem never to get used to it ... narrow-minded as we are. wedgecroft. don't you talk nonsense. trebell. [_one note sharper yet._] one should occasionally test one's sanity by doing so. if we lived in the logical world we like to believe in, i could also prove that black was white. as it is ... there are more ways of killing a cat than hanging it. wedgecroft. had i better give you a sleeping draught? frances. are you doctoring him for once? henry, have you at last managed to overwork yourself? trebell. no ... i started the evening by a charming little dinner at the van meyer's ... sat next to miss grace cutler, who is writing a _vie intime_ of louis quinze and engaged me with anecdotes of the same. frances. a champion of her sex, whom i do not like. wedgecroft. she's writing such a book to prove that women are equal to anything. _he goes towards the door and_ frances _goes with him._ trebell _never turns his head._ trebell. i shall not come and open the door for you ... but mind you shut it. frances _comes back._ frances. henry ... this is dreadful about that poor little woman. trebell. an unwelcome baby was arriving. she got some quack to kill her. _these exact words are like a blow in the face to her, from which, being a woman of brave common sense, she does not shrink._ trebell. what do you say to that? _she walks away from him, thinking painfully._ frances. she had never had a child. there's the common-place thing to say.... ungrateful little fool! but.... trebell. if you had been in her place? frances. [_subtly._] i have never made the mistake of marrying. she grew frightened, i suppose. not just physically frightened. how can a man understand? trebell. the fear of life ... do you think it was ... which is the beginning of all evil? frances. a woman must choose what her interpretation of life is to be ... as a man must too in his way ... as you and i have chosen, henry. trebell. [_asking from real interest in her._] was yours a deliberate choice and do you never regret it? frances. [_very simply and clearly._] perhaps one does nothing quite deliberately and for a definite reason. my state has its compensations ... if one doesn't value them too highly. i've travelled in thought over all this question. you mustn't blame a woman for wishing not to bear children. but ... well, if one doesn't like the fruit one mustn't cultivate the flower. and i suppose that saying condemns poor amy ... condemned her to death ... [_then her face hardens as she concentrates her meaning._] and brands most men as ... let's unsentimentally call it illogical, doesn't it? _he takes the thrust in silence._ trebell. did you notice the light in my window as you came in? frances. yes ... in both as i got out of the cab. do you want the curtains drawn back? trebell. yes ... don't touch them. _he has thrown himself into his chair by the fire. she lapses into thought again._ frances. poor little woman. trebell. [_in deep anger._] well, if women will be little and poor.... _she goes to him and slips an arm over his shoulder._ frances. what is it you're worried about ... if a mere sister may ask? trebell. [_into the fire._] i want to think. i haven't thought for years. frances. why, you have done nothing else. trebell. i've been working out problems in legal and political algebra. frances. you want to think of yourself. trebell. yes. frances. [_gentle and ironic._] have you ever, for one moment, thought in that sense of anyone else? trebell. is that a complaint? frances. the first in ten years' housekeeping. trebell. no, i never have ... but i've never thought selfishly either. frances. that's a paradox i don't quite understand. trebell. until women do they'll remain where they are ... and what they are. frances. oh, i know you hate us. trebell. yes, dear sister, i'm afraid i do. and i hate your influence on men ... compromise, tenderness, pity, lack of purpose. women don't know the values of things, not even their own value. _for a moment she studies him, wonderingly._ frances. i'll take up the counter-accusation to-morrow. now i'm tired and i'm going to bed. if i may insult you by mothering you, so should you. you look tired and i've seldom seen you. trebell. i'm waiting up for a message. frances. so late? trebell. it's a matter of life and death. frances. are you joking? trebell. yes. if you want to spoil me find me a book to read. frances. what will you have? trebell. huckleberry finn. it's on a top shelf towards the end somewhere ... or should be. _she finds the book. on her way back with it she stops and shivers._ frances. i don't think i shall sleep to-night. poor amy o'connell! trebell. [_curiously._] are you afraid of death? frances. [_with humorous stoicism._] it will be the end of me, perhaps. _she gives him the book, with its red cover; the '86 edition, a boy's friend evidently. he fingers it familiarly._ trebell. thank you. mark twain's a jolly fellow. he has courage ... comic courage. that's what's wanted. nothing stands against it. you be-little yourself by laughing ... then all this world and the last and the next grow little too ... and so you grow great again. switch off some light, will you? frances. [_clicking off all but his reading lamp._] so? trebell. thanks. good night, frankie. _she turns at the door, with a glad smile._ frances. good night. when did you last use that nursery name? _then she goes, leaving him still fingering the book, but looking into the fire and far beyond. behind him through the open window one sees how cold and clear the night is._ * * * * * _at eight in the morning he is still here. his lamp is out, the fire is out and the book laid aside. the white morning light penetrates every crevice of the room and shows every line on_ trebell's _face. the spirit of the man is strained past all reason. the door opens suddenly and_ frances _comes in, troubled, nervous. interrupted in her dressing, she has put on some wrap or other._ frances. henry ... simpson says you've not been to bed all night. _he turns his head and says with inappropriate politeness_-trebell. no. good morning. frances. oh, my dear ... what is wrong? trebell. the message hasn't come ... and i've been thinking. frances. why don't you tell me? [_he turns his head away._] i think you haven't the right to torture me. trebell. your sympathy would only blind me towards the facts i want to face. simpson, _the maid, undisturbed in her routine, brings in the morning's letters._ frances _rounds on her irritably._ frances. what is it, simpson? maid. the letters, ma'am. trebell _is on his feet at that._ trebell. ah ... i want them. frances. [_taking the letters composedly enough._] thank you. simpson _departs and_ trebell _comes to her for his letters. she looks at him with baffled affection._ frances. can i do nothing? oh, henry! trebell. help me to open my letters. frances. don't you leave them to mr. kent? trebell. not this morning. frances. but there are so many. trebell. [_for the first time lifting his voice from its dull monotony._] what a busy man i was. frances. henry ... you're a little mad. trebell. do you find me so? that's interesting. frances. [_with the ghost of a smile._] well ... maddening. _by this time he is sitting at his table; she near him watching closely. they halve the considerable post and start to open it._ trebell. we arrange them in three piles ... personal ... political ... and preposterous. frances. this is an invitation ... the anglican league. trebell. i can't go. _she looks sideways at him, as he goes on mechanically tearing the envelopes._ frances. i heard you come upstairs about two o'clock. trebell. that was to dip my head in water. then i made an instinctive attempt to go to bed ... got my tie off even. frances. [_her anxiety breaking out._] if you'd tell me that you're only ill.... trebell. [_forbiddingly commonplace._] what's that letter? don't fuss ... and remember that abnormal conduct is sometimes quite rational. frances _returns to her task with misty eyes._ frances. it's from somebody whose son can't get into something. trebell. the third heap ... kent's ... the preposterous. [_talking on with steady monotony._] but i saw it would not do to interrupt that logical train of thought which reached definition about half past six. i had then been gleaning until you came in. frances. [_turning the neat little note in her hand._] this is from lord horsham. he writes his name small at the bottom of the envelope. trebell. [_without a tremor._] ah ... give it me. _he opens this as he has opened the others, carefully putting the envelope to one side._ frances _has ceased for the moment to watch him._ frances. that's cousin robert's handwriting. [_she puts a square envelope at his hand._] is a letter marked private from the education office political or personal? _by this he has read_ horsham's _letter twice. so he tears it up and speaks very coldly._ trebell. either. it doesn't matter. _in the silence her fears return._ frances. henry, it's a foolish idea ... i suppose i have it because i hardly slept for thinking of her. your trouble is nothing to do with amy o'connell, is it? trebell. [_his voice strangled in his throat._] her child should have been my child too. frances. [_her eyes open, the whole landscape of her mind suddenly clear._] oh, i ... no, i didn't think so ... but.... trebell. [_dealing his second blow as remorselessly as dealt to him._] also i'm not joining the new cabinet, my dear sister. frances. [_her thoughts rushing now to the present--the future._] not! because of...? do people know? will they...? you didn't...? _as mechanically as ever he has taken up_ cousin robert's _letter and, in some sense, read it. now he recapitulates, meaninglessly, that his voice may just deaden her pain and his own._ trebell. robert says ... that we've not been to see them for some time ... but that now i'm a greater man than ever i must be very busy. the vicarage has been painted and papered throughout and looks much fresher. mary sends you her love and hopes you have no return of the rheumatism. and he would like to send me the proof sheets of his critical commentary on first timothy ... for my alien eye might possibly detect some logical lapses. need he repeat to me his thankfulness at my new attitude upon disestablishment ... or assure me again that i have his prayers. could we not go and stay there only for a few days? possibly his opinion- _she has borne this cruel kindness as long as she can and she breaks out...._ frances. oh ... don't ... don't! _he falls from his seeming callousness to the very blankness of despair._ trebell. no, we'll leave that ... and the rest ... and everything. _her agony passes._ frances. what do you mean to do? trebell. there's to be no public scandal. frances. why has lord horsham thrown you over then ... or hasn't that anything to do with it? trebell. it has to do with it. frances. [_lifting her voice; some tone returning to it._] unconsciously ... i've known for years that this sort of thing might happen to you. trebell. why? frances. power over men and women and contempt for them! do you think they don't take their revenge sooner or later? trebell. much good may it do them! frances. human nature turns against you ... by instinct ... in self-defence. trebell. and my own human-nature! frances. [_shocked into great pity, by his half articulate pain._] yes ... you must have loved her, henry ... in some odd way. i'm sorry for you both. trebell. i'm hating her now ... as a man can only hate his own silliest vices. frances. [_flashing into defence._] that's wrong of you. if you thought of her only as a pretty little fool.... bearing your child ... all her womanly life belonged to you ... and for that time there was no other sort of life in her. so she became what you thought her. trebell. that's not true. frances. it's true enough ... it's true of men towards women. you can't think of them through generations as one thing and then suddenly find them another. trebell. [_hammering at his fixed idea._] she should have brought that child into the world. frances. you didn't love her enough! trebell. i didn't love her at all. frances. then why should she value your gift? trebell. for its own sake. frances. [_turning away._] it's hopeless ... you don't understand. trebell. [_helpless; almost like a deserted child._] i've been trying to ... all through the night. frances. [_turning back enlightened a little._] that's more the trouble then than the cabinet question? _he shakes himself to his feet and begins to pace the room; his keenness coming back to him, his brow knitting again with the delight of thought._ trebell. oh ... as to me against the world ... i'm fortified with comic courage. [_then turning on her like any examining professor._] now which do you believe ... that man is the reformer, or that the time brings forth such men as it needs and lobster-like can grow another claw? frances. [_watching this new mood carefully._] i believe that you'll be missed from lord horsham's cabinet. trebell. the hand-made statesman and his hand-made measure! they were out of place in that pretty tory garden. those men are the natural growth of the time. am i? frances. just as much. and wasn't your bill going to be such a good piece of work? that can't be thrown away ... wasted. trebell. can one impose a clever idea upon men and women? i wonder. frances. that rather begs the question of your very existence, doesn't it? _he comes to a standstill._ trebell. i know. _his voice shows her that meaning in her words and beyond it a threat. she goes to him, suddenly shaking with fear._ frances. henry, i didn't mean that. trebell. you think i've a mind to put an end to that same? frances. [_belittling her fright._] no ... for how unreasonable.... trebell. in view of my promising past. i've stood for success, fanny; i still stand for success. i could still do more outside the cabinet than the rest of them, inside, will do. but suddenly i've a feeling the work would be barren. [_his eyes shift beyond her; beyond the room._] what is it in your thoughts and actions which makes them bear fruit? something that the roughest peasant may have in common with the best of us intellectual men ... something that a dog might have. it isn't successful cleverness. _she stands ... his trouble beyond her reach._ frances. come now ... you've done very well with your life. trebell. do you know how empty i feel of all virtue at this moment? _he leaves her. she must bring him back to the plane on which she can help him._ frances. we must think what's best to be done ... now ... and for the future. trebell. why, i could go on earning useless money at the bar ... think how nice that would be. i could blackmail the next judgeship out of horsham. i think i could even smash his disestablishment bill ... and perhaps get into the next liberal cabinet and start my own all over again, with necessary modifications. i shan't do any such things. frances. no one knows about you and poor amy? trebell. half a dozen friends. shall i offer to give evidence at the inquest this morning? frances. [_with a little shiver._] they'll say bad enough things about her without your blackening her good name. _without warning, his anger and anguish break out again._ trebell. all she had ... all there is left of her! she was a nothingness ... silly ... vain. and i gave her this power over me! _he is beaten, exhausted. now she goes to him, motherlike._ frances. my dear, listen to me for a little. consider that as a sorrow and put it behind you. and think now ... whatever love there may be between us has neither hatred nor jealousy in it, has it, henry? since i'm not a mistress or a friend but just the likest fellow-creature to you ... perhaps. trebell. [_putting out his hand for hers._] yes, my sister. what i've wanted to feel for vague humanity has been what i should have felt for you ... if you'd ever made a single demand on me. _she puts her arms round him; able to speak._ frances. let's go away somewhere ... i'll make demands. i need refreshing as much as you. my joy of life has been withered in me ... oh, for a long time now. we must kiss the earth again ... take interest in common things, common people. there's so much of the world we don't know. there's air to breathe everywhere. think of the flowers in a tyrol valley in the early spring. one can walk for days, not hurrying, as soon as the passes are open. and the people are kind. there's italy ... there's russia full of simple folk. when we've learned to be friends with them we shall both feel so much better. trebell. [_shaking his head, unmoved._] my dear sister ... i should be bored to death. the life contemplative and peripatetic would literally bore me into a living death. frances. [_letting it be a fairy tale._] is your mother the wide world nothing to you? can't you open your heart like a child again? trebell. no, neither to the beauty of nature nor the particular human animals that are always called a part of it. i don't even see them with your eyes. i'm a son of the anger of man at men's foolishness, and unless i've that to feed upon...! [_now he looks at her, as if for the first time wanting to explain himself, and his voice changes._] don't you know that when a man cuts himself shaving, he swears? when he loses a seat in the cabinet he turns inward for comfort ... and if he only finds there a spirit which should have been born, but is dead ... what's to be done then? frances. [_in a whisper._] you mustn't think of that woman.... trebell. i've reasoned my way through life.... frances. i see how awful it is to have the double blow fall. trebell. [_the wave of his agony rising again._] but here's something in me which no knowledge touches ... some feeling ... some power which should be the beginning of new strength. but it has been killed in me unborn before i had learnt to understand ... and that's killing me. frances. [_crying out._] why ... why did no woman teach you to be gentle? why did you never believe in any woman? perhaps even i am to blame.... trebell. the little fool, the little fool ... why did she kill my child? what did it matter what i thought her? we were committed together to that one thing. do you think i didn't know that i was heartless and that she was socially in the wrong? but what did nature care for that? and nature has broken us. frances. [_clinging to him as he beats the air._] not you. she's dead, poor girl ... but not you. trebell. yes ... that's the mystery no one need believe till he has dipped in it. the man bears the child in his soul as the woman carries it in her body. _there is silence between them, till she speaks low and tonelessly, never loosing his hand._ frances. henry, i want your promise that you'll go on living till ... till.... trebell. don't cry, fanny, that's very foolish. frances. till you've learnt to look at all this calmly. then i can trust you. trebell _smiles, not at all grimly._ trebell. but, you see, it would give horsham and blackborough such a shock if i shot myself ... it would make them think about things. frances. [_with one catch of wretched laughter._] oh, my dear, if shooting's wanted ... shoot them. or i'll do it for you. _he sits in his chair just from weariness. she stands by him, her hand still grasping his._ trebell. you see, fanny, as i said to gilbert last night ... our lives are our own and yet not our own. we understand living for others and dying for others. the first is easy ... it's a way out of boredom. to make the second popular we had to invent a belief in personal resurrection. do you think we shall ever understand dying in the sure and certain hope that it really doesn't matter ... that god is infinitely economical and wastes perhaps less of the power in us after our death than men do while we live? frances. i want your promise, henry. trebell. you know i never make promises ... it's taking oneself too seriously. unless indeed one has the comic courage to break them too. i've upset you very much with my troubles. don't you think you'd better go and finish dressing? [_she doesn't move._] my dear ... you don't propose to hold my right hand so safely for years to come. even so, i still could jump out of a window. frances. i'll trust you, henry. _she looks into his eyes and he does not flinch. then, with a final grip she leaves him. when she is at the door he speaks more gently than ever._ trebell. your own life is sufficient unto itself, isn't it? frances. oh yes. i can be pleasant to talk to and give good advice through the years that remain. [_instinctively she rectifies some little untidiness in the room._] what fools they are to think they can run that government without you! trebell. horsham will do his best. [_then, as for the second time she reaches the door._] don't take away my razors, will you? i only use them for shaving. frances. [_almost blushing._] i half meant to ... i'm sorry. after all, henry, just because they are forgetting in personal feelings what's best for the country ... it's your duty not to. you'll stand by and do what you can, won't you? trebell. [_his queer smile returning, in contrast to her seriousness._] disestablishment. it's a very interesting problem. i must think it out. frances. [_really puzzled._] what do you mean? _he gets up with a quick movement of strange strength, and faces her. his smile changes into a graver gladness._ trebell. something has happened ... in spite of me. my heart's clean again. i'm ready for fresh adventures. frances. [_with a nod and answering gladness._] that's right. _so she leaves him, her mind at rest. for a minute he does not move. when his gaze narrows it falls on the heaps of letters. he carries them carefully into_ walter kent's _room and arranges them as carefully on his table. on his way out he stops for a moment; then with a sudden movement bangs the door._ * * * * * _two hours later the room has been put in order. it is even more full of light and the shadows are harder than usual. the doors are open, showing you_ kent's _door still closed. at the big writing table in_ trebell's _chair sits_ wedgecroft, _pale and grave, intent on finishing a letter._ frances _comes to find him. for a moment she leans on the table silently, her eyes half closed. you would say a broken woman. when she speaks it is swiftly, but tonelessly._ frances. lord horsham is in the drawing room ... and i can't see him, i really can't. he has come to say he is sorry ... and i should tell him that it is his fault, partly. i know i should ... and i don't want to. won't you go in? what are you writing? wedgecroft, _with his physicianly pre-occupation, can attend, understand, sympathise, without looking up at her._ wedgecroft. never mind. a necessary note ... to the coroner's office. yes, i'll see horsham. frances. i've managed to get the pistol out of his hand. was that wrong ... oughtn't i to have touched it? wedgecroft. of course you oughtn't. you must stay away from the room. i'd better have locked the door. frances. [_pitifully._] i'm sorry ... but i couldn't bear to see the pistol in his hand. i won't go back. after all he's not there in the room, is he? but how long do you think the spirit stays near the body ... how long? when people die gently of age or weakness.... but when the spirit and body are so strong and knit together and all alive as his.... wedgecroft. [_his hand on hers._] hush ... hush. frances. his face is very eager ... as if it still could speak. i know that. mrs. farrant _comes through the open doorway._ frances _hears her steps and turning falls into her outstretched arms to cry there._ frances. oh, julia! mrs. farrant. oh my dear fanny! i came with cyril horsham ... i don't think simpson even saw me. frances. i can't go in and talk to him. mrs. farrant. he'll understand. but i heard you come in here.... wedgecroft. i'll tell horsham. _he has finished and addressed his letter, so he goes out with it._ frances _lifts her head. these two are in accord and can speak their feelings without disguise or preparation._ frances. julia, julia ... isn't it unbelievable? mrs. farrant. i'd give ... oh, what wouldn't i give to have it undone! frances. i knew he meant to ... and yet i thought i had his promise. if he really meant to ... i couldn't have stopped it, could i? mrs. farrant. walter sent to tell me and i sent round to.... frances. walter came soon after, i think. julia, i was in my room ... it was nearly breakfast time ... when i heard the shot. oh ... don't you think it was cruel of him? mrs. farrant. he had a right to. we must remember that. frances. you say that easily of my brother ... you wouldn't say it of your husband. _they are apart by this_, julia farrant _goes to her gently._ mrs. farrant. fanny ... will it leave you so very lonely? frances. yes ... lonelier than you can ever be. you have children. i'm just beginning to realise.... mrs. farrant. [_leading her from the mere selfishness of sorrow._] there's loneliness of the spirit, too. frances. ah, but once you've tasted the common joys of life ... once you've proved all your rights as a man or a woman.... mrs. farrant. then there are subtler things to miss. as well be alone like you, or dead like him, without them ... i sometimes think. frances. [_responsive, lifted from egoism, reading her friend's mind._] you demand much. mrs. farrant. i wish that he had demanded much of any woman. frances. you know how this misery began? that poor little wretch ... she's lying dead too. they're both dead together now. do you think they've met...? julia _grips both her hands and speaks very steadily to help her friend back to self control._ mrs. farrant. george told me as soon as he was told. i tried to make him understand my opinion, but he thought i was only shocked. frances. i was sorry for her. now i can't forgive her either. mrs. farrant. [_angry, remorseful, rebellious._] when will men learn to know one woman from another? frances. [_with answering bitterness._] when will all women care to be one thing rather than the other? _they are stopped by the sound of the opening of_ kent's _door._ walter _comes from his room, some papers from his table held listlessly in one hand. he is crying, undisguisedly, with a child's grief._ kent. oh ... am i in your way...? frances. i didn't know you were still here, walter. kent. i've been going through the letters as usual. i don't know why, i'm sure. they won't have to be answered now ... will they? wedgecroft _comes back, grave and tense._ wedgecroft. horsham has gone. he thought perhaps you'd be staying with miss trebell for a bit. mrs. farrant. yes, i shall be. wedgecroft. i must go too ... it's nearly eleven. frances. to the other inquest? _this stirs her two listeners to something of a shudder._ wedgecroft. yes. mrs. farrant. [_in a low voice._] it will make no difference now ... i mean ... still nothing need come out? we needn't know why he ... why he did it. wedgecroft. when he talked to me last night, and i didn't know what he was talking of.... frances. he was waiting this morning for lord horsham's note.... mrs. farrant. [_in real alarm._] oh, it wasn't because of the cabinet trouble ... you must persuade cyril horsham of that. you haven't told him ... he's so dreadfully upset as it is. i've been swearing it had nothing to do with that. wedgecroft. [_cutting her short, bitingly._] has a time ever come to you when it was easier to die than to go on living? oh ... i told lord horsham just what i thought. _he leaves them, his men grief unexpressed._ frances. [_listlessly._] does it matter why? mrs. farrant. need there be more suffering and reproaches? it's not as if even grief would do any good. [_suddenly with nervous caution._] walter, you don't know, do you? walter _throws up his tear-marked face and a man's anger banishes the boyish grief._ walter. no, i don't know why he did it ... and i don't care. and grief is no use. i'm angry ... just angry at the waste of a good man. look at the work undone ... think of it! who is to do it! oh ... the waste...! women." this hastened results. the shop assistants of both sexes organized themselves conjointly in amsterdam in 1898. there are two organizations of domestic servants. the dutch woman's rights advocates proved by investigation that for the same work the workingwomen--because they were women--were paid 50 per cent less than men. the "workingwomen's information bureau," which was made into a permanent institution as a result of the exhibition of 1898, has been concerning itself with the protection of workingwomen and with their organization. the women organizers belong to the middle class. the socialist party in the netherlands has been organizing workingwomen into trade-unions. in this the party has encountered the same difficulties as exist elsewhere; to the present time it can point only to small successes. two of the socialist woman's rights advocates are henrietta roland and roosje vos. henrietta roland is of middle-class parentage, being the daughter of a lawyer; she is the wife of an artist of repute. roosje vos, on the contrary, comes from the lower classes. both of these women played an important part in the strike of 1903. they organized the "united garment workers' union." in spite of the fact that a woman can be ruler of the netherlands, the dutch women possess only an insignificant right of suffrage. in the dike associations they have a right to vote if they are taxpayers or own property adjoining the dikes. in june, 1908, the lutheran synod gave women the same right to vote in church affairs as the men possess. the evangelical synod, on the other hand, rejected a similar measure as well as one providing for the ordaining of women preachers. an attempt to secure municipal suffrage for women failed, and resulted in the enactment of reactionary laws. in 1883 dr. aletta jacobs (the first woman doctor in the netherlands), acting on the advice of the well-known jurist--and later minister--van houten, requested an amsterdam magistrate to enter her name on the list of municipal electors. as a taxpayer she was entitled to this right. at the same time she requested parliament to grant her the suffrage in national elections. both requests were summarily refused. in order to make such requests impossible in the future, parliament inserted the word "male" in the election law.[66] these occurrences aroused in the dutch women an interest in political affairs; and in 1894 they organized a "woman's suffrage society," which soon spread to all parts of the country. the liberals, radicals, liberal democrats, and socialists admitted women members to their political clubs and frequently consulted the women concerning the selection of candidates. the clubs of the conservative and clerical parties have refused to admit women. at the general meeting in 1906 a part of the members of the "woman's suffrage society" separated from the organization and formed the "woman's suffrage league" (the _bond voor vrouwenkiesrecht_,--the older organization was called _vereeniging voor vrouenkiesrecht_). both carry on an energetic propaganda in the entire country, the older organization being the more radical. in 1908 the older organization made all necessary preparations for the amsterdam congress of the woman's suffrage alliance, which resulted in a large increase in its membership (from 3500 to 6000), and resulted, furthermore, in the founding of a men's league for woman's suffrage (modeled after the english organization). the question of woman's suffrage has aroused a lively interest throughout the netherlands; even the _bond_ increased its membership during the winter of 1908 and 1909 from 1500 to 3500. in september, 1908, there were two great demonstrations in the hague in favor of _universal_ suffrage for both men and women. the right to vote in holland is based on the payment of a property tax or ground rent; therefore numerous proposals in favor of widening the suffrage had been made previously. when a liberal ministry came into power in 1905, it undertook a reform of the suffrage laws; in 1907 the committee on the constitution, by a vote of six out of seven, recommended that parliament grant active and passive suffrage to men and women. but with the fall of the liberal ministry fell the hope of having this measure enacted, for there is nothing to be expected from the present government, composed of catholic and protestant conservatives. as has already been stated, propaganda is in the meantime being carried on with increasing vigor, and in java a woman's suffrage society has also been organized. a noted jurist, who is a member of the dutch _bond voor vrouwenkiesrecht_, has just issued a pamphlet in which he proves the necessity of granting woman's suffrage: "man makes the laws. wherever the interests of the unmarried or the married woman are in conflict with the interests of man, the rights of the woman will be set aside. this is injurious to man, woman, and child, and it blocks progress. the remedy is to be found only in woman's suffrage. the granting of woman's suffrage is an urgent demand of justice." switzerland[67] total population: 3,313,817. women: about 1,700,000. men: about 1,616,000. federation of swiss women's clubs. woman's suffrage league. switzerland's existence and welfare depend on the harmony of the german, the french, and the italian elements of the population. switzerland is accustomed to considering three racial elements; out of three different demands it produces one acceptable compromise. naturally the swiss woman's rights movement has steadily developed in the most peaceful manner. no literary manifesto, no declaration of principles of freedom is at the root of this movement. it is supported by public opinion, which is gradually being educated to the level of the demands of the movement. the woman's rights movement began in switzerland as late as 1880; in 1885 the swiss woman's club movement was started. the federation of women's clubs is made up of cantonal women's clubs in zurich, berne, geneva, st. gallen, basel, lausanne, neuchâtel, and in other cities, as well as of intercantonal clubs, such as the "swiss public utility woman's club" (_schweizer gemeinnütziger verein_), "la fraternité," the "intercantonal committee of federated women," etc. recently a catholic woman's league was formed. since 50 per cent of the swiss women remain unmarried, the woman's rights movement is a social necessity. in the field of education the authorities have been favorable to women in every way. in nine cantons the elementary schools are coeducational. there are public institutions for higher learning for girls in all cities. in german switzerland (zurich, winterthur, st. gallen, berne) girls are admitted to the higher institutions of learning for boys, or they can prepare themselves in the girls' schools for the examination required for entrance to the universities (_matura_). there are 18 seminaries that admit girls only; the seminaries in küssnacht, rorschach, and croie are coeducational. women teachers are not appointed in the elementary schools of the cantons of glarus and appenzell-outer-rhodes. on the other hand in the cantons of geneva, neuchâtel, and ticino 59 to 66 per cent of the teachers in the elementary schools are women. they are given lower salaries than the men. the canton of zurich pays (by law) equal wages to its men and women teachers, but the additional salary paid by the municipalities and rural districts to the men teachers is greater than that paid to the women. in its elementary schools the canton of vaud employs 500 women teachers, some of whom are married. the swiss universities have been open to women since the early sixties of the nineteenth century. as in france, the native women use this right far less than foreign women, especially russians and germans. the total number of women studying in the swiss universities is about 700. most of the swiss women that have studied in the universities enter the teaching profession. women are frequently employed as teachers in high schools, as clerks, and as librarians. sometimes these positions are filled by foreign women. the first woman lecturer in a university in which german is the language used has been employed in berne since 1898. she is dr. anna tumarkin, a native russian, having the right to teach in universities æsthetics and the history of modern philosophy. in 1909 she was appointed professor. in each of the universities of zurich, berne, and geneva, a woman has been appointed as university lecturer. women doctors practice in all of the larger cities. there are twelve in zurich. the city council of zurich has decided to furnish free assistance to women during confinement, and to establish a municipal maternity hospital. in zurich there has been established for women a hospital entirely under the control of women; the chief physician is frau dr. heim. the practice of law has been open to women in the canton of zurich since 1899, and in the canton of geneva since 1904. miss anna mackenroth, _dr. jur._, a native german, was the first swiss woman lawyer. miss nelly favre was the second. miss dr. brüstlein was refused admission to the bar in berne. miss favre was the first woman to plead before the federal court in berne, the capital. as yet there are no women preachers in switzerland. in lausanne there is a woman engineer. in the field of technical schools for swiss women, much remains to be done. the commercial education of women is also neglected by the state, while the professional training of men is everywhere promoted. women are employed in the postal and telegraph service. the swiss hotel system offers remunerative positions and thoroughly respectable callings to women of good family. in 1900 the number of women laborers was 233,912; they are engaged chiefly in the textile and ready-made clothing industries, in lacemaking, cabinetmaking, and the manufacture of food products, pottery, perfumes, watches and clocks, jewelry, embroidery, and brushes.[68] owing to french influence, laws for the protection of women laborers are opposed, especially in geneva. the inspection of factories is largely in the hands of men. home industry is a blessing in certain regions, a curse in others. this depends on the intensity of the work and on the degree of industrialism. the trade-union movement is still very weak among women laborers. according to the canton the movement has a purely economic or a socialist-political character. only a few organizations of workingwomen belong to the swiss federation of women's clubs. since 1891 the men's trade-unions have admitted women. the first women factory inspectors were appointed in 1908. according to the census of august 9, 1905, 92,136 persons in switzerland are engaged in home industry; this number is 28.3 per cent of the total number of persons (325,022) engaged in these industries. the foremost of the home industries is the manufacture of embroidery, engaging a total of 65,595 persons, of whom 53.5 per cent work at home. the next important home industries are silk-cloth weaving, engaging 12,478 persons (41 per cent of the total employed); watch making, engaging 12,071 persons in home industry (or 23.7 per cent of the total); silk-ribbon weaving, engaging 7557 persons (or 51.9 per cent of the total). the highest percentage of home workers is found among the straw plaiters (78.8 per cent); then follow the military uniform tailors (60.1 per cent), the embroidery makers (53.5 per cent), the wood carvers and ivory carvers (52 per cent), the silk-ribbon weavers (51.9 per cent), and the ready-made clothing workers (49.3 per cent). the international association for labor legislation, as everybody knows, is trying to ascertain whether an international regulation of labor conditions is possible in the embroidery-making industry. the statistics just given indicate the importance of this investigation for switzerland. the statistics of the home industries of switzerland will be found in the ninth issue of the second volume of the swiss statistical review (_zeitschrift für schweizerische statistik_). the new swiss law for the protection of women laborers has produced a number of genuine improvements for the workingwomen. a maximum working day of 10 hours and a working week of 60 hours have been established. women can work overtime not more than 60 days a year; they are then paid at least 25 per cent extra. the most significant innovation is the legal regulation of _vacations_. every laborer that is not doing piecework or being paid by the hour must, after one year of continuous service for the same firm, be granted six consecutive days of vacation with full pay; after two years of continuous service for the same firm the laborer must be given eight days; after three years of service ten days; and after the fourth year twelve days annually. a violation of this law renders the offending employer liable to a fine of 200 to 300 francs ($40 to $60). in 1912 a new civil code will come into force. its composition has been influenced by the german civil code. the government, however, regarded the "swiss federation of women's clubs" as the representative of the women, and charged a member of the code commission to put himself into communication with the executive committee of the federation and to express the wishes of the federation at the deliberations of the committee. this is better than nothing, but still insufficient. when the civil code had been adopted, every male elector was given a copy; the women's clubs secured copies only after prolonged effort. the property laws in the new swiss civil code provide for joint property holding,--not separation of property rights. however, even with joint property holding the wife's earnings and savings belong to her (a provision which the german cantons opposed). on the other hand, affiliation cases are admissible (the french cantons opposed them). the wife has the full status of a legal person before the law and full civil ability, and _shares parental authority with the father_. french switzerland (through the influence of the code napoleon) opposes the pecuniary responsibility of the illegal father toward the mother and child. official regulation of prostitution has been abolished in all the cantons except geneva; several years ago a measure to introduce it again was rejected by the people of the canton zurich by a vote of 40,000 to 18,000. geneva is the headquarters of the international federation for the abolition of the official regulation of prostitution. in 1909 the abolition of the official regulation of prostitution was again demanded in the city council. by a vote of the people the canton vaud accepted a measure prohibiting the manufacture, storage, and sale of absinthe. recently the swiss women have presented a petition requesting that an illicit mother be granted the right to call herself "frau" and use this designation (mrs.) before her name. the benevolent purpose of this movement is self-evident. through this measure the illicit mother is placed in a position enabling her openly to devote herself to the rearing of her child. with this purpose in view, not less than 10,000 women have signed a petition to the swiss federal council, requesting that a law be enacted compelling registrars to use the title "frau" (mrs.) when requested to do so by the person concerned. thirty-four women's clubs have collectively declared in favor of this petition. women exercise the right of municipal suffrage only in those localities whose male population is absent at work during a large part of the year (as in russia). women can be elected as members of school boards and as poor-law administrators in the canton zurich; as members of school boards in the canton neuchâtel. the question of granting women the right to vote in church affairs has long been advocated in the canton geneva by the reverend thomas müller, a member of the consistory of the national protestant church, and by herr locher, chief of the department of public instruction of the canton zurich. in the canton geneva, where there is separation of church and state, agitation in favor of the reform is being carried on. the women in the canton vaud have exercised the right to vote in the _église libre_ since 1899, and in the _église nationale_ since 1908. since 1909, women have exercised the right to vote in the _église évangélique libre_ of geneva. the woman's suffrage movement was really started by the renowned professor hilty, of berne, who declared himself (in the swiss year book of 1897) in _favor_ of woman's suffrage. the first society concerning itself exclusively with woman's suffrage originated in geneva (_association pour le suffrage feminin_). later other organizations were formed in lausanne, chaux de fonds, neuenburg, and olten. the woman's reading circle of berne had, since 1906, demanded political rights for women, and the zurich society for the reform of education for girls had worked in favor of woman's suffrage. on may 12, 1908, these seven societies organized themselves into the national woman's suffrage league, and in june affiliated with the international woman's suffrage alliance. the report of the international woman's suffrage congress, amsterdam, 1908, explains in a very lucid manner the political backwardness of the swiss women: switzerland regards itself as the model democracy; time has been required to make it clear that politically the women of this model state still have everything to achieve. the meeting of the committee of the international council of women in geneva (september, 1908) accomplished much for the movement. the swiss woman's public utility association, which had refused to join the swiss federation of women's clubs because the federation concerned itself with political affairs (the public utility association wishing to restrict itself to public utilities only), was given this instructive answer by professor hilty: "public utility and politics are not mutually exclusive; an educated woman that wishes to make a living without troubling herself about politics is incomprehensible to me. the women ought to take carlyle's words to heart: 'we are not here to submit to everything, but also to oppose, carefully to watch, and to win.'" germany total population: 61,720,529. women: 31,259,429. men: 30,461,100. german federation of women's clubs. woman's suffrage league. in no european country has the woman's rights movement been confronted with more unfavorable conditions; nowhere has it been more persistently opposed. in recent times the women of no other country have lived through conditions of war such as the german women underwent during the thirty years' war and from 1807 to 1812. such violence leaves a deep imprint on the character of a nation. moreover, it has been the fate of no other civilized nation to owe its political existence to a war triumphantly fought out in less than one generation. every war, every accentuation and promotion of militarism is a weakening of the forces of civilization and of woman's influence. "german masculinity is still so young," i once heard somebody say. a reinforcement of the woman's rights movement by a large liberal majority in the national assemblies, such as we find in england, france, and italy, is not to be thought of in germany. the theories of the rights of man and of citizens were never applied by german liberalism to woman in a broad sense, and the socialist party is not yet in the majority. the political training of the german man has in many respects not yet been extended to include the principles of the american declaration of independence or the french declaration of the rights of man; his respect for individual liberty has not yet been developed as in england; therefore he is much harder to win over to the cause of "woman's rights." hence the struggle against the official regulation of prostitution has been left chiefly to the german women; whereas in england and in france the physicians, lawyers, and members of parliament have been the chief supporters of abolition. i am reminded also of the inexpressibly long and difficult struggle that we women had to carry on in order to secure the admission of women to the universities; the establishment of high schools for girls; and the improvement of the opportunities given to women teachers. in no other country were women teachers for girls wronged to such an extent as in germany. the results of the last industrial census (1907) give to the demands of the woman's rights movement an invaluable support: _germany has nine and a half million married women, i.e._ only one half of all adult women (over 18 years of age) are married. in germany, too, marriage is not a lifelong "means of support" for woman, or a "means of support" for the whole number of women. therefore the demands of woman for a complete professional and industrial training and freedom to choose her calling appear in the history of our time with a tremendous weight, a weight that the founders of the movement hardly anticipated. the german woman's rights movement originated during the troublous times immediately preceding the revolution of 1848. the founders--augusta schmidt, louise otto-peters, henrietta goldschmidt, ottilie v. steyber, lina morgenstern--were "forty-eighters"; they believed in the right of woman to an education, to work, and to choose her calling, and as a citizen to participate directly in public life. only the first three of these demands are contained in the programme of the "german general woman's club" (founded in 1865 by four of these women, natives of leipzig, on the anniversary of the battle of leipzig). at that time woman's right to vote was put aside as something utopian. the founders of the woman's rights movement, however, from the very first included in their programme the question of women industrial laborers, and attacked the question in a practical way by organizing a society for the education of workingwomen. the energies of the middle-class women were at this time very naturally absorbed by their own affairs. they suffered want, material as well as intellectual. therefore it was a matter of securing a livelihood for middle-class women no longer provided for at home. this was the first duty of a woman's rights movement originating with the middle class. of special service in the field of education and the liberal professions[69] were the efforts of augusta schmidt, henrietta goldschmidt, marie loeper-housselle, helena lang, maria lischnewska, and mrs. kettler. kindergartens were established; also courses for the instruction of adult women, for women principals of high schools, for women in the _gymnasiums_ and _realgymnasiums_. moreover, the admission of women to the universities was secured; the general association of german women teachers was founded, also the prussian association of women public school teachers, and high schools for girls. the prussian law of 1908 for the reform of girls' high schools (providing for the education of girls over 12 years,--_realgymnasiums_ or _gymnasiums_ for girls from 12 to 16 years, women's colleges for women from 16 to 18 years) was enacted under pressure from the german woman's rights movement. both the state and city must now do more for the education of girls. the academically trained women teachers in the high schools are given consideration when the appointments of principals and teachers for the advanced classes are made. the women teachers have organized themselves and are demanding salaries equal to those of the men teachers. at the present time girls are admitted to the boys' schools (_gymnasiums_, _realgymnasiums_, etc.) in baden, hessen, the imperial provinces of alsace and lorraine, oldenburg, and wurttemberg. the german federation of women's clubs and the convention of the delegates of the rhenish cities and towns have made the same demands for prussia. the prussian association of women public school teachers is demanding that women teachers be appointed as principals, and is resisting with all its power the threatened injustice to women in the adjustment of salaries. the universities in baden and wurttemberg were the first to admit women; then followed the universities in hessen, bavaria, saxony, the imperial provinces, and finally,--in 1908,--prussia. the number of women enrolled in berlin university is 400. about 50 women doctors are practicing in germany; as yet there are no women preachers, but there are 5 women lawyers, one of whom in 1908 pleaded the case of an indicted youth before the altona juvenile court. although there are only a few women lawyers in germany, women are now permitted to act as counsel for the defendant, there being 60 such women counselors in bavaria. recently (1908) even bavaria refused women admission to the civil service. in the autumn there was appointed the first woman lecturer in a higher institution of learning,--this taking place in the mannheim school of commerce. within the last five years many new callings have been opened to women: they are librarians (of municipal, club, and private libraries) and have organized themselves into the association of women librarians; they are assistants in laboratories, clinics, and hospitals; they make scientific drawings, and some have specialized in microscopic drawing; during the season for the manufacture of beet sugar, women are employed as chemists in the sugar factories; there is a woman architect in berlin, and a woman engineer in hamburg. women factory inspectors have performed satisfactory service in all the states of the empire. but the future field of work for the german women is the sociological field. state, municipal, and private aid is demanded by the prevailing destitution. at the present time women work in the sociological field without pay. in the future much of this work must be performed by the _professional_ sociological women workers. in about 100 cities women are guardians of the poor. there are 103 women superintendents of orphan asylums; women are sought by the authorities as guardians. women's coöperation as members of school committees and deputations promotes the organized woman's rights movement. the first woman inspector of dwellings has been appointed in hessen. nurses are demanding that state examinations be made requisite for those wishing to become nurses; some cities of germany have appointed women as nurses for infant children. in hessen and ostmark [the eastern part of prussia], women are district administrators. there is an especially great demand for women to care for dependent children and to work in the juvenile courts; this will lead to the appointment of paid probation officers. in southern germany, women police matrons are employed; in prussia there are women doctors employed in the police courts. there are also women school physicians. since 1908, trained women have entered the midwives' profession. when the german general woman's club was formed in 1865, there was no german empire; berlin had not yet become the capital of the empire. but since berlin has become the seat of the imperial parliament, berlin very naturally has become the center of the woman's rights movement. this occurred through the establishment of the magazine _frauenwohl_ [_woman's welfare_] in 1888, by mrs. cauer. in this manner the younger and more radical woman's rights movement was begun. the women that organized the movement had interested themselves in the educational field. the radicals now entered the sociological and political fields. women making radical demands allied themselves with mrs. cauer; they befriended her, and coöperated with her. this is an undisputed fact, though some of these women later left mrs. cauer and allied themselves with either the "conservatives" or the "socialists." in the organization of trade-unions for women not exclusively of the middle class, minna cauer led the way. in 1889, with the aid of mr. julius meyer and mr. silberstein, she organized the "commercial and industrial benevolent society for women employees." the society has now 24,000 members. state insurance for private employees is now (1909) a question of the day. jeannette schwerin founded the information bureau of the ethical culture society, which furnished girls and women assistants for social work. at the same time jeannette schwerin demanded that women be permitted to act as poor-law guardians. the agitation in public meetings and legislative assemblies against the civil code was instituted by dr. anita augsburg and mrs. stritt. the opposition to state regulation of prostitution was begun by the "radical" hanna bieber-böhm and anna pappritz. lily v. gikycki was the first to speak publicly concerning the civic duty of women. the woman's suffrage society was organized in 1901 by mrs. cauer, dr. augsburg, miss heymann, and dr. schirmacher. in 1894 the radical section of the "german federation of women's clubs" proposed that women's trade-unions be admitted to the federation. this radical section had often given offense to the "conservatives"--in the federation, for instance--by the proposal of this measure; but the radicals in this way have stimulated the movement. as early as 1904 the berlin congress of the international council of women had shown that the federation, being composed chiefly of conservative elements, should adopt in its programme all the demands of the radicals, including woman's suffrage. the differences between the radicals and the conservatives are differences of personality rather than of principles. the radicals move to the time of _allegro_; the conservatives to the time of _andante_. in all public movements there is usually the same antagonism; it occurred also in the english and the american woman's rights movements. in no other country (with the exception of belgium and hungary) is the schism between the woman's rights movement of the middle class and the woman's rights movement of the socialists so marked as in germany. at the international woman's congress of 1896 (which was held through the influence of mrs. lina morgenstern and mrs. cauer) two social democrats, lily braun and clara zetkin, declared that they never would coöperate with the middle-class women. this attitude of the social democrats is the result of historical circumstances. the law against the german socialists has increased their antagonism to the middle class. nevertheless, this harsh statement by lily braun and clara zetkin was unnecessary. it has just been stated that the founders of the german woman's rights movement had included the demands of the workingwomen in their programme, and that the radicals (by whom the congress of 1896 had been called, and who for years had been engaged in politics and in the organization of trade-unions) had in 1894 demanded the admission of women's labor organizations to the federation of women's clubs. hence an alignment of the two movements would have been exceedingly fortunate. however, a part of the socialists, laying stress on ultimate aims, regard "class hatred" as their chief means of agitation, and are therefore on principle opposed to any peaceful coöperation with the middle class. a part of the women socialist leaders are devoting themselves to the organization of workingwomen,--a task that is as difficult in germany as elsewhere. almost everywhere in germany women laborers are paid less than men laborers. the average daily wage is 2 marks (50 cents), but there are many workingwomen that receive less. in the ready-made clothing industry there are weekly wages of 6 to 9 marks ($1.50 to $2.25). at the last congress of home workers, held at berlin, further evidence of starvation in the home industries was educed. but for these wages the german woman's rights movement is not to be held responsible. in the social-political field the woman's rights advocates hold many advanced views. almost without exception they are advocating legislation for the protection of the workingwomen; they have stimulated the organization of the "home-workers' association" in berlin; they urged the workingwomen to seek admission to the hirsch-duncker trades unions (the german national association of trade-unions); they have established a magazine for workingwomen, and have organized a league for the consideration of the interests of workingwomen. in 1907 germany had 137,000 organized workingwomen and female domestic servants.[70] most of these belong to the socialistic trade-unions. the maximum workday for women is fixed at ten hours. the protection of maternity is promoted by the state as well as by women's clubs. peculiar to germany is the denominational schism in the woman's rights movement. the precedent for this was established by the "german evangelical woman's league," founded in 1899, with paula müller, of hanover, as president. the organization of the league was due to the feeling that "it is a sin to witness with indifference how women that wish to know nothing of biblical christianity represent all the german women." the organization opposes equality of rights between man and woman; but in 1908 it joined the federation of women's clubs. in 1903 a "catholic woman's league" was formed, but it has not joined the federation. there has also been formed a "society of jewish women." we representatives of the interdenominational woman's rights movement deplore this denominational disunion. these organizations are important because they make accessible groups of people that otherwise could not be reached by us. another characteristic of the german woman's rights movement is its extensive and thorough organization. the smallest cities are to-day visited by women speakers. our "unity of spirit,"--praised so frequently, and now and then ridiculed,--is our chief power in the midst of specially difficult conditions in which we must work. with tenacity and patience we have slowly overcome unusual difficulties,--to the present without any help worth mentioning from the men. in the civil code of 1900 the most important demands of the women were not given just consideration. to be sure, woman is legally competent, but the property laws make joint property holding legal (wives control their earnings and savings), and the mother has no parental authority. relative to the impending revision of the criminal law, the women made their demands as early as 1908 in a general meeting of the federation of women's clubs, when a three days' discussion took place. since 1897 the women have progressed considerably in their knowledge of law. the german women strongly advocate the establishment of juvenile courts such as the united states are now introducing. the federation also demands that women be permitted to act as magistrates, jurors, lawyers, and judges. in the struggle against official regulation of prostitution the women were supported in the prussian landtag by deputy münsterberg, of dantzig. prussia established a more humane regulation of prostitution, but as yet has not appointed the extraparliamentary commission for the study of the control of prostitution, a measure that was demanded by the women. the most significant recent event is the admission of women to political organizations and meetings by the imperial law of may 15, 1908. thereby the german women were admitted to political life. the woman's suffrage society--founded in 1902, and in 1904 converted into a league--was able previous to 1908 to expand only in the south german states (excluding bavaria). by this imperial law the northern states of the empire were opened, and a national woman's suffrage society was formed in prussia, in bavaria, and in mecklenburg. as early as 1906, after the dissolution of the reichstag, the women took an active part in the campaign, a right granted them by the _vereinsrecht_ (law of association). in prussia, saxony, and oldenburg the women worked for universal suffrage for women in landtag elections. since 1908 the political woman's rights movement has been of first importance in germany. as the women taxpayers in a number of states can exercise municipal suffrage by proxy, and the women owners of large estates in saxony and prussia can exercise the suffrage in elections for the diet of the circle (_kreistag_) by proxy, an effort is being made to attract these women to the cause of woman's suffrage. in 1908 the protestant women of the imperial provinces (alsace and lorraine) were granted the right to vote in church elections, a right that had been granted to the women of the german congregations in paris as early as 1907[71]. luxemburg total population: 246,455. women: 120,235. men: 126,220. no federation of women's clubs. no woman's suffrage league. the woman's rights movement in luxemburg originated in december, 1905, with the organization of the "society for women's interests" (_verein für fraueninteressen_), which has worked admirably. the society has 300 members, and is in good financial condition. throughout the country it is now carrying on successful propaganda in the interest of higher education for girls and in the interest of women in the industries. in luxemburg, after girls have graduated from a convent, they have no further educational facilities. the society has established a department for legal protection, and an employment agency; it has published an inquiry into the living conditions in the capital. in the capital city there is a woman member of the poor-law commission; ten women are guardians of the poor; one woman is a school commissioner; and there is a woman inspector of the municipal hospital. the society is well supported by the liberal elements of the government and the public. its chief object must be the establishment of a secular school that will prepare women for entrance to the universities. german austria total population: about 7,000,000. women: about 3,750,000. men: about 3,250,000. federation of austrian women's clubs. no woman's suffrage league. the austrian woman's rights movement is based primarily on economic conditions. more than 50 per cent of the women in austria are engaged in non-domestic callings. this percentage is a strong argument against the theory that woman's sphere is merely domestic. unfortunately this non-domestic service of the austrian women is seldom very remunerative. austria itself is a country of low wages. this condition is due to a continuous influx of slavic workers, to large agricultural provinces, to the tenacious survivals of feudalism, etc. therefore women's wages and salaries are lower than in western europe, and low living expenses do not prevail everywhere (vienna is one of the most expensive cities to live in). the "women's industrial school society," founded in 1851, attempted to raise the industrial ability of the girls of the middle class. in accordance with the views of the time, needlework was taught. free schools for the instruction of adults were established in vienna. the economic misery following the war of 1866 led to the organization of the "woman's industrial society," which enlarged woman's sphere of activity as did the lette-society in berlin. since 1868 the woman's rights movement has secured adherents from the best educated middle-class women,--namely, women teachers. in that year the catholic women teachers organized a "catholic women teachers' society." in 1869 was organized the interdenominational "austrian women teachers' society." this society has performed excellent service. the women teachers, who since 1869 had been given positions in the public schools, were paid less than the men teachers having the same training and doing the same work. therefore the women teachers presented themselves to the provincial legislatures, demanded an increase in salary, and, in spite of the opposition of the male teachers, secured the increase by the law of 1891. in 1876 a society devoted its efforts to the improvement of the girls' high schools, which had been greatly neglected. in 1885 the women writers and the women artists organized, their male colleagues having refused to admit women to the existing professional societies. in 1888 the women music teachers likewise organized themselves. at the same time the question of higher education for women was agitated. in vienna a "lyceum" class--the first of its kind--was opened to prepare girls for entrance to the universities (_abiturientenexamen_). admission to the boys' high schools was refused to girls in vienna, but was granted in the provinces (troppau, and mährisch-schönberg). girls were at all times admitted as outsiders (_extraneae_) to the examinations held on leaving college (_abiturientenexamen_). in this way many girls passed the "leaving" examination before they began their studies in switzerland. until 1896 the austrian universities remained closed to women. the law faculties do not as yet admit women. the women's clubs are striving to secure this reform. those women that had studied medicine in switzerland previous to 1896, and wished to practice in austria, required special imperial permission, which was never withheld from them in their noble struggle. in this way dr. kerschbaumer began her practice as an oculist in salzburg. however, the countess possanner, m.d., after passing the swiss state examination, also took the austrian examination. she is now practicing in vienna. as the austrian doctors have active and passive suffrage in the election to the board of physicians (_ärztekammer_)[72] dr. possanner also requested this right. her request was refused by the magistrate in vienna because, _as a woman_, she did not have the suffrage in municipal elections, and the suffrage for the board of physicians could be exercised only by those doctors that were municipal electors.[73] thereupon dr. possanner appealed her case to the government, to the minister of the interior, and finally to the administrative court. the court decided in favor of the petition. it must be emphasized, however, that the board of physicians favored the request from the beginning. women preachers and women lawyers are as yet unknown in austria. as in former times, the teaching profession is still the chief sphere of activity for the middle-class women of german austria. according to the law of 1869 they can be appointed not only as teachers in the elementary schools for girls, but also as teachers of the lower classes in the boys' schools. their not being municipal voters has two results: if the municipality is seeking votes, it appoints men teachers that are "favorably disposed"; if the municipality is politically opposed to the male teachers, it appoints women teachers in preference. but to be the plaything of political whims is not a very worthy condition to be in. if women teachers marry, they need not withdraw from the service (except in the province of styria). more than 10 per cent of the women teachers in the whole of austria are married, more than 2 per cent are widows. the women comprise about one fourth of the total number of elementary school teachers, of whom there are 9000. their annual salaries vary from 200 to 1600 guldens ($96.40 to $771.20). the ordinary salary of 200 guldens is so insufficient that many elementary school teachers actually starve. the competition of the nuns is feared by the whole body of secular school teachers. in tyrol instruction in the elementary schools is still almost wholly in the hands of the religious orders. the sisters work for little pay; they have a community life and consume the resources of the dead hand. of the secondary schools for girls some are ecclesiastic, some are municipal, and some private. the lyceums give a very good education (mathematics is obligatory), but as yet there are no ordinary secondary schools whose leaving examinations are equivalent to the _abiturientenexamen_ of the _gymnasiums_. the "academic woman's club" in vienna is demanding this reform, and the federation of austrian women's clubs is demanding the development of the municipal girls' schools into _realschulen_. the state subsidizes various institutions. the girls' _gymnasiums_ were privately founded. dr. cecilia wendt, upon whom the degree of doctor of philosophy was conferred by vienna university, and who took the state examination for secondary school teachers in mathematics, physics, and german, was the first woman appointed as teacher in a _gymnasium_, being appointed in the vienna _gymnasium_ for girls. since 1871, women have been appointed in the postal and telegraph service. like most of the subordinate state officials, they receive poor pay, and dare not marry. the women telegraph operators in the central office in vienna are paid 30 guldens ($14.46) a month. "the woman telegraph operator can lay no claims to the pleasures of existence." "these girls starve spiritually as well as physically."[74] during the past twenty-eight years salaries have not been increased. every two years a two-week vacation is granted. since 1876 there has existed a relief society for women postal and telegraph employees. the woman stenographer, to-day so much sought after in business offices, was in 1842 _absolutely excluded_ from the courses in gabelsberger stenography[75] by the ministry of public instruction. in the courts of chancery (_advokatenkanzleien_) women stenographers are paid 20 to 30 guldens ($9.64 to $14.46) a month. they are given the same pay in the stores and offices where they are expected to use typewriters. they are regarded as subordinates, though frequently they are thorough specialists and masters of languages. in the governmental service the women subordinates that work by the day (1.50 guldens,--73 cents) have no hope for advancement or pension. the first woman chief of a government office has been appointed to the sanitary department of the ministry of the labor department, in which there is also a woman librarian. it is not easy to imagine the deplorable condition of workingwomen when women public school teachers and women office clerks are expected to live on a monthly salary of $9.64 to $14.46. the vienna inquiry into the condition of workingwomen in 1896 disclosed frightfully miserable conditions among workingwomen. since then, especially through the efforts of the socialists, the conditions have been somewhat improved. in vienna, efforts to organize women into trade-unions have been made,--especially among the bookbinders, hat makers, and tailors. outside vienna, organization has been effected chiefly among the women textile workers in silesia, as well as among the women employees of the state tobacco factories. the most thorough organization of women laborers is found in northern and western bohemia among the glassworkers and bead makers. in styria, salzburg, tyrol, and carinthia the organization of women is found only in isolated cases. everywhere the organization of women is made difficult by domestic misery, which consumes the energy, time, and interest of the women. the organized social-democratic women laborers of german austria have a permanent representation in the "women's imperial committee." of the 50,000 women organized in trade-unions, 5000 belong to the social-democratic party. the _magazine for workingwomen_ (_arbeiterinnenzeitung_) has 13,400 subscribers. women industrial inspectors have proved themselves efficient. it is to be expected as a result of the wretched economic conditions of the workingwomen that prostitution with its incidental earnings should be widespread in german austria. vienna is the refuge of those seeking work and seclusion (_verschwiegenheit_). the number of illicit births in vienna is, as in paris, one third of the total number of births. for these and other reasons the "general woman's club of austria" (_allgemeine österreiche frauenverein_), founded in 1893 under the leadership of miss augusta fickert, has frequently concerned itself with the question of prostitution, of woman's wages, and of the official regulation of prostitution,--always being opposed to the last. the international federation for the abolition of the official regulation of prostitution (_internationale abolinistische föderation_) was, however, not represented in german austria before 1903; the austrian branch of this organization being established in 1907 in vienna. the middle-class women are doing much as leaders of the charitable, industrial, educational, and woman's suffrage societies to raise the status of woman in austria. the most prominent members of these societies are: augusta fickert, marianne hainisch, mrs. v. sprung, miss herzfelder, v. wolfring, mrs. v. listrow, rosa maireder, maria lang (editor of the excellent _dokumente der frauen_, which, unfortunately, were discontinued in 1902), mrs. schwietland, elsie federn (the superintendent of the settlement in the laborers' district in north vienna), mrs. jella hertzka, (mrs.) dr. goldmann, superintendent of the cottage lyceum, and others. these women frequently coöperate with the leaders of the socialistic woman's rights movement, mrs. schlesinger, mrs. popp, and others. the disunion of the two forces of the movement is much less marked in austria than in germany, the circumstances much more resembling those in italy. in these lands it is expected that the woman's rights movement will profit greatly through the growth of socialism. this is explained by the fact that the austrian liberals are not equal to the assaults of the conservatives. universal equal suffrage, which does not as yet exist in austria, has its most enthusiastic advocates among the socialists. with the austrian socialists, universal suffrage means woman's suffrage also.[76] during the liberal era two rights were granted to the austrian women: since 1849 the women taxpayers vote by proxy in municipal elections, and since 1861 for the local legislatures (_provinciallandtagen_).[77] in lower austria the _landtag_ in 1888 deprived them of this right, and in 1889 an attempt was made to deprive them of their municipal suffrage. but the women concerned successfully petitioned that they be left in possession of their active municipal suffrage. since 1873 the austrian women owners of large estates vote also for the imperial parliament through proxy. the austrian women, supported by the socialist deputies, pernerstorfer, kronawetter, adler, and others, have on several occasions demanded the passive suffrage in the election of school boards and poor-law guardians; they have also demanded a reform of the law of organization, so that women can be admitted to political organizations. to the present these efforts have been fruitless. when universal suffrage was granted in 1906 (creating the fifth class of voters), the women were disregarded. in the previous year a woman's suffrage committee had been established with headquarters in vienna. it is endeavoring especially to secure the repeal of paragraph 30 of the law regulating organizations and public meetings. this law (like that of prussia and bavaria previous to 1908) excludes women from political organization, thus making the forming of a woman's suffrage society impossible. for this reason austria cannot join the international woman's suffrage alliance. during the consideration of the new municipal election laws in troppau (austrian silesia), it was proposed to withdraw the right of suffrage from the women taxpayers. they resisted the proposal energetically. at present the matter is before the supreme court. in voralberg the unmarried women taxpayers were also given the right to vote in elections of the _landtag_. the legal status of the austrian woman is similar to that of the french woman: the wife is under the guardianship of her husband; the property law provides for the amalgamation of property (not joint property holding, as in france). but the wife does not have control of her earnings and savings, as in germany under the civil code. the father alone has legal authority over the children. here the names of two women must be mentioned: bertha v. suttner, one of the founders of the peace movement, and marie v. ebner-eschenbach, the greatest living woman writer in the german language. both are austrians; and their country may well be proud of them. in austria the authorities are more favorably disposed toward the woman's rights movement than in germany, for example. hungary[78] total population: 19,254,559. women: 9,672,407. men: 9,582,152. federation of hungarian women's clubs. woman's suffrage league. at first the hungarian woman's rights movement was restricted to the advancement of girls' education. the attainment of national independence gave the women greater ambition; since 1867 they have striven for the establishment of higher institutions of learning for girls. in 1868 mrs. v. veres with twenty-two other women founded the "society for the advancement of girls' education." in 1869, the first class in a high school for girls was formed in budapest. an esteemed scholar, p. gyulai, undertook the superintendence of the institution. similar schools were founded in the provinces. in 1876 the budapest model school was completed; in 1878 it was turned over to a woman superintendent, mrs. v. janisch. a seminary for women teachers was established, a special building being erected for the purpose. then the admission of women to the university was agitated. a special committee for this purpose was formed with dr. coloman v. csicky as chairman. in the meantime the "society" gave domestic economy courses and courses of instruction to adults (in its girls' high school). the minister of public instruction, v. wlassics, secured the imperial decree of november 18, 1895, by which women were admitted to the universities of klausenburg and budapest (to the philosophical and medical faculties). it was now necessary to prepare women for the entrance examinations (_abiturientenexamen_). this was undertaken by the "general hungarian woman's club" (_allgemeine ungarische frauenverein_). with the aid of dr. béothy, a lecturer at the university of budapest, the club formulated a programme that was accepted by the minister of public instruction. by the rescript of july 18, 1896, he authorized the establishment of a girls' gymnasium in budapest. it is evident that such reforms, when in the hands of _intelligent_ authorities, are put into working order as easily as a letter passes through the mails. in the professional callings we find 15 women druggists, 10 women doctors, and one woman architect. erica paulus, who has chosen the calling of architect (which elsewhere in europe has hardly been opened to women), is a transylvanian. among other things she has been given the supervision of the masonry, the glasswork, the roofing, and the interior decoration of the buildings of the evangelical-reformed college in klausenburg. a second woman architect, trained in the budapest technical school, is a builder in besztercze. higher education of women was promoted in the cities, the home industries of the hungarian rural districts were fostered. this was taken up by the "rural woman's industry society" (_landes-frauenindustrieverein_). aprons, carpets, textile fabrics, slippers, tobacco pouches, whip handles, and ornamental chests are made artistically according to antique models (this movement is analogous to that in scandinavia). large expositions aroused the interest of the public in favor of the national products, for the disposal of which the women of the society have labored with enthusiasm. these home industries give employment to about 750,000 women (and 40,000 men). hungary is preëminently an agricultural country and its wages are low. the promotion of home industry therefore had a great economic importance, for hungary is a center of traffic in girls. a great number of these poor ignorant country girls, reared in oriental stupor, congregate in budapest from all parts of hungary and the balkan states, to be bartered to the brothels of south america as "madjarli and hungara."[79] an address that miss coote of the "international vigilance society" delivered in budapest resulted in the founding of the "society for combating the white slave trade." the committee was composed of countess czaky, baroness wenckheim, dr. ludwig gruber (royal public prosecutor), professor vambéry, and others. the recent draconic regulation of prostitution in pest (1906) caused the federation of hungarian women's clubs to oppose the official regulation of prostitution, and to form a department of morals, which is to be regarded as the hungarian branch of the international federation for the abolition of the official regulation of prostitution. since then, public opinion concerning the question has been aroused; the laws against the white slave traffic have been made more stringent and are being more rigidly enforced. a new development in hungary is the woman's suffrage movement (since 1904), represented in the "feminist society" (_feministenverein_). during the past five years the society has carried on a vigorous propaganda in budapest and various cities in the provinces (in budapest also with the aid of foreign women speakers); recently the society has also roused the countrywomen in favor of the movement. woman's suffrage is opposed by the clericals and the _social-democrats_, who favor only male suffrage in the impending introduction of universal suffrage[80]. on march 10, 1908, a delegation of woman's suffrage advocates went to the parliament. during the suffrage debates the women held public meetings. from the work of a. v. maclay, _le droit des femmes au travail_, i take the following statements: according to the industrial statistics of 1900 there were 1,819,517 women in hungary engaged in agriculture. industry, mining, and transportation engaged 242,951; state and municipal service, and the liberal callings engaged 36,870 women. there were 109,739 women day laborers; 350,693 domestic servants; 24,476 women pursued undefined or unknown callings; 83,537 women lived on incomes from their property. since 1890 the number of women engaged in all the callings has increased more rapidly than the number of men (26.3 to 27.9 per cent being the average increase of the women engaged in gainful pursuits). in 1900 the women formed 21 per cent of the industrial population. they were engaged chiefly in the manufacture of pottery (29 per cent), bent-wood furniture (46 per cent), matches (58 per cent), clothing (59 per cent), textiles (60 per cent). in paper making and bookbinding 68 per cent of the laborers are women. in the state mints 25 per cent of the employees are women; the state tobacco factories employ 16,720 women, these being 94 per cent of the total number of employees. of those engaged in commerce 23 per cent are women. the number of women engaged in the civil service (as private secretaries) and in the liberal callings has increased even more than the number of women engaged in industry. the women engaged in office work have organized. in 1901 the number of women public school teachers was 6529 (there being 22,840 men), _i.e._ 22.22 per cent were women. in the best public schools there are more women teachers than men, the proportion being 62 to 48; in the girls' high schools there are 273 women teachers to 145 men teachers. in 1903 the railroads employed 511 women; in 1898 the postal service employed 4516 women; in 1899 the telephone system employed 207 women (and 81 men). these women employees, unlike those of austria, are permitted to marry. chapter ii the romance countries in the romance countries the woman's rights movement is hampered by romance customs and by the catholic religion. the number of women in these countries is in many cases smaller than the number of men. in general, the girls are married at an early age, almost always through the negotiations of the parents. the education of women is in some respects very deficient. france total population: 38,466,924. women: 19,346,369. men: 18,922,651. federation of french women's clubs. woman's suffrage league. the european woman's rights movement was born in france; it is a child of the revolution of 1789. when a whole country enjoys freedom, equality, and fraternity, woman can no longer remain in bondage. the declaration of the rights of man apply to woman also. the european woman's rights movement is based on purely logical principles; not, as in the united states, on the practical exercise of woman's right to vote. this purely theoretical origin is not denied by the advocates of the woman's rights movement in france. it ought to be mentioned that the principles of the woman's rights movement were brought from france to england by mary wollstonecraft, and were stated in her pamphlet, _a vindication of the rights of women_. but enthusiastic mary wollstonecraft did not form a school in england, and the organized english woman's rights movement did not cast its lot with this revolutionist. what mary wollstonecraft did for england, olympe de gouges did for france in 1789; at that time she dedicated to the queen her little book, _the declaration of the rights of women_ (_la declaration des droits des femmes_). it happened that the declaration of the rights of man (_la declaration des droits de l'homme_) of 1789 referred only to the men. the national assembly recognized only male voters, and refused the petition of october 28, 1789, in which a number of parisian women demanded universal suffrage in the election of national representatives. nothing is more peculiar than the attitude of the men advocates of liberty toward the women advocates of liberty. at that time woman's struggle for liberty had representatives in all social groups. in the aristocratic circles there was madame de stael, who as a republican (her father was swiss) never doubted the equality of the sexes; but by her actions showed her belief in woman's right to secure the highest culture and to have political influence. madame de stael's social position and her wealth enabled her to spread these views of woman's rights; she was never dependent on the men advocates of freedom. madame roland was typical of the educated republican bourgeoisie. she participated in the revolutionary drama and was a "political woman." on the basis of historical documents it can be asserted that the men advocates of freedom have not forgiven her. the intelligent people of the lower classes are represented by olympe de gouges and théroigne de mericourt. both played a political rôle; both were woman's rights advocates; of both it was said that they had forgotten the virtues of their sex,--modesty and submissiveness. the men of freedom still thought that the home offered their wives all the freedom they needed. the populace finally made demonstrations through woman's clubs. these clubs were closed in 1793 by the committee of public safety because the clubs disturbed "public peace." the public peace of 1793! what an idyl! in short, the régime of liberty, equality, and fraternity regarded woman as unfree, unequal, and treated her very unfraternally. what harmony between theory and practice! in fact, the revolution even withdrew rights that the women formerly possessed. for example, the old régime gave a noblewoman, as a landowner, all the rights of a feudal lord. she levied troops, raised taxes, and administered justice. during the old régime in france there were women peers; women were now and then active in diplomacy. the abbesses exercised the same feudal power as the abbots; they had unlimited power over their convents. the women owners of large feudal lands met with the _provincial estates_,--for instance, madame de sévigné in the _estates general_ of brittany, where there was autonomy in the provincial administration. in the gilds the women masters exercised their professional right as voters. all of these rights ended with the old régime; beside the politically free man stood the politically unfree woman. napoleon confirmed this lack of freedom in the civil and criminal codes. napoleon's attitude toward all women (excepting his mother, _madame mère_) was such as we still find among the men in southern italy, in spain, and in the orient. his sisters and josephine beauharnais, the creole, could not give him a more just opinion of women. his fierce hatred for madame de stael indicates his attitude toward the woman's rights representatives. the great napoleon did not like intellectual women. the code napoleon places the wife completely under the guardianship of the husband. without him she can undertake no legal transaction. the property law requires joint property holding, excepting real estate (but most of the women are neither landowners nor owners of houses). the married woman has had independent control of her earnings and savings only since the enactment of the law of july 13, 1907. only the husband has legal authority over the children. such a legal status of woman is found in other codes. but the following provisions are peculiar to the code napoleon: if a husband kills his wife for committing adultery, the murder is "excusable." an illicit mother cannot file a paternity suit. in practice, however, the courts in a roundabout way give the illicit mother an opportunity to file an action for damages. no other code, above all no other germanic or slavic code,[81] has been disgraced by such paragraphs. in the first of the designated paragraphs we hear the corsican, a cousin of the moor of venice; in the second we hear the military emperor, and general of an unbridled, undisciplined troop of soldiers. no one will be astonished to learn that this same lawgiver in 1801 supplemented the code with a despotic state regulation of prostitution. what became of the woman's rights movement during this arbitrary military régime? full of fear and anxiety, the woman's rights advocates concealed their views. the restoration was scarcely a better time for advocating woman's rights. the philosopher of the epoch, de bonald, spoke very pompously against the equality of the sexes, "man and woman are not and never will be equal." it was not until the july revolution of 1830 and the february revolution of 1848 that the question of woman's rights could gain a favorable hearing. the saint simonians, the fourierists, and george sand preached the rights of man and the rights of woman. during the february revolution the women were found, just as in 1789, in the front ranks of the socialists. the french woman's rights movement is closely connected with both political movements. every time a sacrifice of republicans and democrats was demanded, women were among the banished and deported: jeanne deroin in 1848, louise michel, in 1851 and 1871. marie deraismes, belonging to the wealthy parisian middle class, appeared in the sixties as a public speaker. she was a woman's rights advocate. however, in a still greater degree she was a tribune of the people, a republican and a politician. marie deraismes and her excellent political adherent, léon richer, were the founders of the organized french woman's rights movement. as early as 1876 they organized the "society for the amelioration of the condition of woman and for demanding woman's rights"; in 1878 they called the first french woman's rights congress. the following features characterize the modern french woman's rights movement: it is largely restricted to paris; in the provinces there are only weak and isolated beginnings; even the parisian woman's rights organizations are not numerous, the greatest having 400 members. thanks to the republican and socialist movements, which for thirty years have controlled france, the woman's rights movement is for political reasons supported by the men to a degree not noticeable in any other country. the republican majority in the chamber of deputies, the republican press, and republican literature effectively promote the woman's rights movement. the federation of french women's clubs, founded in 1901, and reputed to have 73,000 members, is at present promoting the movement by the systematic organization of provincial divisions. less kindly disposed--sometimes indifferent and hostile--are the church, the catholic circles, the nobility, society, and the "liberal" capitalistic bourgeoisie. a sharp division between the woman's rights movements of the middle class and the movement of the socialists, such as exists, for example, in germany, does not exist in france. a large part of the bourgeoisie (not the great capitalists) are socialistically inclined. on the basis of principle the republicans and socialists cannot deny the justice of the woman's rights movement. hence everything now depends on the _opportuneness_ of the demands of the women. the french woman has still much to demand. however enlightened, however advanced the frenchman may regard himself, he has not yet reached the point where he will favor woman's suffrage; what the national assembly denied in 1789, the republic of 1870 has also withheld. nevertheless conditions have improved, in so far as measures in favor of woman's suffrage and the reform of the civil rights of woman have since 1848 been repeatedly introduced and supported by petitions.[82] as for the civil rights of woman,--the principles of the code napoleon, the minority of the wife, and the husband's authority over her are still unchanged. however, a few minor concessions have been made: to-day a woman can be a witness to a civil transaction, _e.g._ a marriage contract. a married woman can open a savings bank account in her maiden name; and, as in belgium, her husband can make it impossible for her to withdraw the money! a wife's earnings now belong to her. the severe law concerning adultery by the wife still exists, and affiliation cases are still prohibited. that is not exactly liberal. attempts to secure reforms of the civil law are being made by various women's clubs, the group of women students (_le groupe d'études féministes_) (madame oddo deflou), and by the committee on legal matters of the federation of french women's clubs (madame d'abbadie). in both the legal and the political fields the french women have hitherto (in spite of the republic) achieved very little. in educational matters, however, the republican government has decidedly favored the women. here the wishes of the women harmonized with the republican hatred for the priests. what was done perhaps not for the women, was done to spite the church. elementary education has been obligatory since 1882. in 1904-1905 there were 2,715,452 girls in the elementary schools, and 2,726,944 boys. state high schools, or _lycées_, for girls have existed since 1880. the programme of these schools is not that of the german _gymnasiums_, but that of a german high school for girls (foreign languages, however, are elective). in the last two years (in which the ages of the girls are 16 to 18 years) the curriculum is that of a seminary for women teachers. in 1904-1905 these institutions were attended by 22,000 girls, as compared with 100,000 boys. the french woman's rights movement has as yet not succeeded in establishing _gymnasiums_ for girls; at present, efforts are being made to introduce _gymnasium_ courses in the girls' _lycées_. the admission of girls to the boys' _lycées_, which has occurred in germany and in italy, has not even been suggested in france. to the present, the preparation of girls for the universities has been carried on privately. the right to study in the universities has never been withheld from women. from the beginning, women could take the _abiturientenexamen_ (the university entrance examinations) with the young men before an examination commission. all departments are open to women. the number of women university students in france is 3609; the male students number 38,288. women school teachers control the whole public school system for girls. in the french schools for girls most of the teachers are women; the superintendents are also women. the ecclesiastical educational system,--which still exists in secular guise,--is naturally, so far as the education of girls is concerned, entirely in the hands of women. the salaries of the secular women teachers in the first three classes of the elementary schools are equal to those of the men. the women teachers in the _lycées_ (_agrégées_) are trained in the seminary of sèvres and in the universities. their salaries are lower than those of the men. in 1907 the first woman teacher in the french higher institutions of learning was appointed,--madame curie, who holds the chair of physics in the sorbonne, in paris. in the provincial universities women are lecturers on modern languages. there are no women preachers in france. _dr. jur._ jeanne chauvin was the first woman lawyer, being admitted to the bar in 1899. to-day women lawyers are practicing in paris and in toulouse. in the government service there are women postal clerks, telegraph clerks, and telephone clerks,--with an average daily wage of 3 francs (60 cents). only the subordinate positions are open to women. the same is true of the women employed in the railroad offices. women have been admitted as clerks in some of the administrative departments of the government and in the public poor-law administration. women are employed as inspectors of schools, as factory inspectors, and as poor-law administrators. there is a woman member of each of the following councils: the superior council of education, the superior council of labor, and the superior council of public assistance (_conseil superior d'education_, _conseil superior du travail_, _conseil superior de l'assistance publique_). the first woman court interpreter was appointed in the parisian court of appeals in 1909. the french woman is an excellent business woman. however, the women employed in commercial establishments, being organized as yet to a small extent, earn no more than women laborers,--70 to 80 francs ($14 to $16) a month. in general, greater demands are made of them in regard to personal appearance and dress. there is a law requiring that chairs be furnished during working hours. there is a consumers' league in paris which probably will effect reforms in the laboring conditions of women. the women in the industries, of whom there are about 900,000, have an average wage of 2 francs (50 cents) a day. hardly 30,000 are organized into trade-unions; all women tobacco workers are organized. as elsewhere, the french ready-made clothing industry is the most wretched home industry. a part of the french middle-class women oppose legislation for the protection of women workers on the ground of "equality of rights for the sexes."[83] this attitude has been occasioned by the contrast between the typographers and the women typesetters; the men being aided in the struggle by the prohibition of night work for women. it is easy to explain the rash and unjustifiable generalization made on the basis of this exceptional case. the women that made the generalization and oppose legislation for the protection of women laborers belong to the bourgeois class. there are about 1,500,000 women engaged in agriculture, the average wage being 1 franc 50 (about 37 cents). many of these women earn 1 franc to 1 franc 20 (20 to 24 cents) a day. in paris, women have been cab drivers and chauffeurs since 1907. in 1901 women formed 35 per cent of the population engaged in the professions and the industries (6,805,000 women; 12,911,000 men: total, 19,716,000). there are three parties in the french woman's rights movement. the catholic (_le féminisme chrétien_), the moderate (predominantly protestant), and the radical (almost entirely socialistic). the catholic party works entirely independently; the two others often coöperate, and are represented in the national council of women (_conseil national des femmes_), while the _féminisme chrétien_ is not represented. the views of the catholic party are as follows: "no one denies that man is stronger than woman. but this means merely a physical superiority. on the basis of this superiority man dare not despise woman and regard her as morally inferior to him. but from the christian point of view god gave man authority over woman. this does not signify any intellectual superiority, but is simply a fact of hierarchy."[84] the _féminisme chrétien_ advocates: a thorough education for girls according to catholic principles; a reform of the marriage law (the wife should control her earnings, separate property holding should be established); the same moral standard for both sexes (abolition of the official regulation of prostitution); the same penalty for adultery for both sexes (however, there should be no divorce); the authority of the mother (_autorité maritale_) should be maintained, for only in this way can peace prevail in the family. "a high-minded woman will never wish to rule. it is her wish to sacrifice herself, to admire, to lean on the arm of a strong man that protects her."[85] in the moderate group (president, miss sara monod), these ideas have few advocates. protestantism, which is strongly represented in this party, has a natural inclination toward the development of individuality. this party is more concerned with the woman that does not find the arm of the "strong man" to lean on, or who detected him leaning upon her. this party is entirely opposed to the husband's authority over the wife and to the dogma of obligatory admiration and sacrifice. the leaders of the party are madame bonnevial, madame auclert, and others. during the five years' leadership of madame marguerite durand, the "fronde" was the meeting place of the party. the radicals demand: absolute coeducation; anti-military instruction in history; schools that prepare girls for motherhood; the admission of women to government positions; equal pay for both sexes; official regulation of the work of domestic servants; the abolition of the husband's authority; municipal and national suffrage for women. a member of the radical party presented herself in 1908 as a candidate in the parisian elections. in november, 1908, women were granted passive suffrage for the arbitration courts for trade disputes (they already possessed active suffrage). the founding of the national council of french women (_conseil national des femmes française_) has aided the woman's rights movement considerably. stimulated by the progress made in other countries, the french women have systematically begun their work. they have organized two sections in the provinces (touraine and normandy); they have promoted the organization of women into trade-unions; they have studied the marriage laws; and have organized a woman's suffrage department. since 1907 the woman's magazine, _la française_, published weekly, has done effective work for the cause. the place of publication (49 rue laffite, paris) is also a public meeting place for the leaders of the woman's rights movements. _la française_ arouses interest in the cause of woman's rights among women teachers and office clerks in the provinces. recently the management of the magazine has been converted to the cause of woman's suffrage. in the spring of 1909 the french woman's suffrage society (_union française pour le souffrage des femmes_) was organized under the presidency of madame schmall (a native of england). madame schmall is also to be regarded as the originator of the law of july 13, 1907, which pertains to the earnings of the wife. the _union_ has joined the international woman's suffrage alliance. in the house of deputies there is a group in favor of woman's rights. the french woman's rights movement seems to be spreading rapidly. émile de morsier organized the french movement favoring the abolition of the official regulation of prostitution. through this movement an extraparliamentary commission (1903-1907) was induced to recognize the evil of the existing official regulation of prostitution. this is the first step toward abolition. belgium total population: 6,815,054. women: 3,416,057. men: 3,398,997. federation of belgian women's clubs. woman's suffrage league. it is very difficult for the woman's rights movement to thrive in belgium. not that the movement is unnecessary there; on the contrary, the legal status of woman is regulated by the code napoleon, hence there is decided need for reform. the number of women exceeds that of the men; hence part of the girls cannot marry. industry is highly developed. the question of wages is a vital question for women laborers. accordingly there are reasons enough for instituting an organized woman's rights movement in belgium. but every agitation for this purpose is hampered by the following social factors: catholicism (belgium is 99 per cent catholic), clericalism in parliament, and the indifference of the rich bourgeoisie. the woman's rights movement has very few adherents in the third estate, and it is exactly the women of this estate that ought to be the natural supporters of the movement. in the fourth estate, in which there are a great many socialists, the woman's rights movement is identical with socialism. since the legal status of woman is determined by the code napoleon, we need not comment upon it here. by a law of 1900, the wife is empowered to deposit money in a savings bank without the consent of her husband; the limit of her deposit being 3000 francs ($600). the wife also controls her earnings. if, however, _she draws more than 100 francs_ (_$20_) _a month from the savings bank, the husband may protest_. women are now admitted to family councils; they can act as guardians; they can act as witnesses to a marriage. affiliation cases were made legal in 1906. on december 19, 1908, women were given active and passive suffrage in arbitration courts for labor disputes. the belgium secondary school system is exceptional because the government has established a rather large number of girls' high schools. however, these schools do not prepare for the university entrance examinations (_abiturientenexamen_). women contemplating entering the university, must prepare for these examinations privately. this was done by miss marie popelin, of brussels, who wished to study law. the universities of brussels, ghent, and liège have been open to women since 1886. hence miss popelin could execute her plans; in 1888 she received the degree of doctor of laws. she made an attempt in 1888-1889 to secure admission to the bar as a practicing lawyer, but the brussels court of appeals decided the case against her.[86] miss marie popelin is the leader of the middle-class woman's rights movement in belgium. she is in charge of the woman's rights league (_ligue du droit des femmes_), founded in 1890. with the support of mrs. denis, mrs. parent, and mrs. fontaine, miss popelin organized, in 1897, an international woman's congress in brussels. many representatives of foreign countries attended. one of the german representatives, mrs. anna simpson, was astonished by the indifference of the people of brussels. in her report she says: "where were the women of brussels during the days of the congress? they did not attend, for the middle class is not much interested in our cause. it was especially for this class that the congress was held." dr. popelin is also president of the league that has since 1908 taken up the struggle against the official regulation of prostitution. the schools and convents are the chief fields of activity for the middle-class belgian women engaged in non-domestic callings. as yet there are only a few women doctors. one of these, mrs. derscheid-delcour, has been appointed as chief physician at the brussels orphans' home. mrs. delcour graduated in 1893 at the university of berlin _summa cum laude_; in 1895 she was awarded the gold medal in the surgical sciences in a prize contest for the students of the belgian universities. in belgium 268,337 women are engaged in the industries. the socialist party has recognized the organizations of these women; it was instrumental in organizing 250,000 women into trade-unions. elsewhere this would be impossible.[87] madame vandervelde, the wife of the socialist member of parliament, and madame gatti de gammond, the publisher of the _cahiers feministes_, were the leaders of the socialist woman's rights movement, which is organized throughout the country in committees, councils, and societies. madame gatti de gammond died in 1905, and her publication, the _cahiers feministes_, was discontinued. the secretary of the federation of socialist women (_fédération de femmes socialistes_) is madame tilmans. vooruit, of ghent, publishes a woman's magazine: _de stem der vrouw_. the women are demanding the right to vote. the belgian women possessed municipal suffrage till 1830. they were deprived of this right by the constitution of 1831. a measure favoring universal suffrage (for men and women) was introduced into parliament in 1894. this bill, however, provided also for plural voting, by which the property-owning and the educated classes were given one or two additional votes. the socialists opposed this, and demanded that each person have one vote (_un homme, un vote_). the clerical majority then replied that it would not bring the bill to a vote. in this way the clericals remained assured of a majority. for tactical purposes the socialists adopted the expression--_un homme, un vote_. it harmonized with their principles and ideals. at a meeting of the party in which the matter was discussed, it was shown that universal suffrage would be detrimental to the party's interests; for the socialists were convinced that woman's suffrage would certainly insure a majority for the clericals. hence, in meeting, the women were persuaded to withdraw their demand for woman's suffrage on the grounds of opportuneness, and _in the meantime to work for the inauguration of universal male suffrage without the plural vote_.[88] in the _fronde_, audrée téry summarized the situation in the following dialogue:- _the man._ emancipate yourself and i will enfranchise you. _the woman._ give me the franchise and i shall emancipate myself. _the man._ be free, and you shall have freedom. in this manner, concludes audrée téry, this dialogue can be continued indefinitely. recently the middle-class women have begun to show an interest in woman's suffrage. a woman's suffrage organization was formed in brussels in 1908; one in ghent, in 1909. together they have organized the woman's suffrage league, which has affiliated with the international woman's suffrage alliance. woman's lack of rights and her powerlessness in public life are shown by the fact that in antwerp, in 1908, public aid to the unemployed was granted only to men,--to unmarried as well as to married men. as for the unmarried women, they were left to shift for themselves. italy total population: 32,449,754. women: about 16,190,000. men: about 16,260,000. federation of italian women's clubs. woman's suffrage league. national unification raised italy to the rank of a great power. italy's political position as a great power, her modern parliamentary life, and the liberal and socialist majority in her parliament give italy a position that spain, for example, does not possess in any way. catholicism, clericalism, and roman custom are no match for these modern liberal powers, and are therefore unable to hinder the woman's rights movement in the same degree as do these influences in spain. however, the italian woman in general is still entirely dependent on the man (see the discussion in alaremo's _una donna_), and in the unenlightened classes woman's feeling of inferiority is impressed upon her by the church, the law, the family, and by custom. naturally the woman attempts, as in spain, to take revenge in the sexual field. in italy there is no strict morality among married men. moreover, the opposition to divorce in italy comes largely from the women, who, accustomed to being deceived in matrimony, fear that if they are divorced they _will be left without means of support_. "boys make love to girls,--to mere unguided children without any will of their own,--and when these boys marry, be they ever so young, they have already had a wealth of experience that has taught them to regard woman disdainfully--with a sort of cynical authority. even love and respect for the innocent young wife is unable to eradicate from the young husband the impressions of immorality and bad examples. the wife suffers from a hardly perceptible, but unceasing depression of mind. innocently, without suspicion, uninformed as to her husband's past, the wife persists in her belief in his manly superiority until this belief has become a fixed habit of thought, and then even a cruel revelation cannot take him from her."[89] in southern italy,--especially in sicily,--arabian oriental conceptions of woman still prevail. during her whole life woman is a grown-up child. no woman, not even the most insignificant woman laborer, can be on the street without an escort. on the other hand, the boys are emancipated very early. with pity and arrogance the sons look down on the mother, who must be accompanied in the street by her sons. "close intellectual relations between man and woman cannot as yet be developed, owing to the generally low education of woman, to her subordination, and to her intellectual bondage. while still in the schools the boy is trained for political life. the average italian woman participates in politics even less than the german woman; her influence is purely moral. if the italian woman wishes to accept any office in a society, she must have the consent of her husband attested by a notary. just as in ancient times, the non-professional interests of the husband are, in great part, elsewhere than at home. the opportunity daily to discuss political and other current questions with men companions is found by the german man in the smaller cities while taking his evening pint of beer. the italian man finds this opportunity sometimes in the café, sometimes in the public places, where every evening the men congregate for hours. so the educated man in italy (even more than in germany) has no need of the intellectual qualities of his wife. moreover, his need for an educated wife is the less because his misguided precocity prevents him from acquiring anything but an essentially general education. the restricted intellectual relationship between husband and wife is explained partly by the fact that the _cicisbeo_[90] still exists. this relation ought to be, and generally is, platonic and publicly known. the wife permits her friend (the _cicisbeo_) to escort her to the theater and elsewhere in a carriage; the husband also escorts a woman friend. so husband and wife share the inwardly moral unsoundness of the medieval service of love (_minnedienst_). at any rate this custom reveals the fact that after the honeymoon the husband and wife do not have overmuch to say to each other. in this way there takes place, to a certain extent, an open relinquishment of the postulate that, in accordance with the external indissolubility of married life, there ought to be permanent intellectual bonds between man and wife,--a postulate that is the source of the most serious conscience struggles, but which has caused the great moral development of the northern woman."[91] naturally, under such circumstances, the woman's rights movement has done practically nothing for the masses. in the circles of the nobility the movement, with the consent of the clergy, has until recently confined itself to philanthropy (the forming of associations and insurance societies, the founding of homes, asylums, etc.) and to the higher education of girls.[92] in a private audience the pope has expressed himself in _favor_ of women's engaging in university studies (except theology), but he was _opposed_ to woman's suffrage. the daughters of the educated, liberal (but often poor) bourgeoisie are driven by want and conviction to acquire a higher education and to engage in academic callings. the material difficulties are not great. as in france, the government has during the past thirty-five years promoted all educational measures that would take from the clergy its power over youth. elementary education is public and obligatory. the laws are enforced rather strictly. coeducation nowhere exists. the number of women teachers is 62,643. the secondary school system is still largely in the hands of the catholic religious orders. there are about 100,000 girls and nuns enrolled in these church schools; only 25,000 girls are in the secondary state and private schools (other than the catholic schools), which cannot give instruction as _cheaply_ as the religious schools. the efforts of the state in this field are not to be criticized: it has given women every educational opportunity. girls wishing to study in the universities are admitted to the boys' classical schools (_ginnasii_) and to the boys' technical schools. this experiment in coeducation during the plastic age of youth has not even been undertaken by france. to be sure, at present the girls sit together on the front seats, and when entering and leaving class they have the school porter as bodyguard. in spite of all fears to the contrary, coeducation has been a success in northern italy (milan), as well as in southern italy (naples). the universities have never been closed to women. in recent years 300 women have attended the universities and have graduated. during the renaissance there were many women teachers in italy. this tradition has been revived; at present there are 10 women university teachers. _dr. jur._ therese labriola (whose mother is a german) is a lecturer in the philosophy of law at rome. _dr. med._ rina monti is a university lecturer in anatomy at pavia. there are many practicing women doctors in italy. _dr. med._ maria montessori (a delegate to the international congress of women in berlin in 1896) is a physician in the roman hospitals. the minister of public instruction has authorized her to deliver a course of lectures on the treatment of imbecile children to a class of women teachers in the elementary schools. the legal profession still remains closed to women, although _dr. jur._ laidi poët has succeeded in being admitted to the bar in turin. in government service (in 1901) there were 1000 women telephone employees, 183 women telegraph clerks, and 161 women office clerks. these positions are much sought after by men. the number of women employed in commerce is 18,000; the total number of persons employed in commerce being 57,087. recently women have been appointed as factory inspectors. the beginnings of the modern woman's rights movement coincide with the political upheavals that occurred between 1859 and 1870. when the kingdom of italy had been established, jessie white mario demanded a reform of the legal, political, and economic status of woman. whatever legal concessions have been made to women are due, as in france, to the liberal parliamentary majority. since 1877, women have been able to act as witnesses in civil suits. women (even married women) can be guardians. the property laws provide for separation of property. even in cases of joint property holding, the wife controls her earnings and savings. the husband can give her a general authorization (_allgemeinautorisation_), thus giving her the full status of a legal person before the law. these laws are the most radical reforms to which the code napoleon has ever been subjected,--reforms which the french did not venture to enact. the liberal majority made an attempt in 1877 to emancipate the women politically. but the attempt failed. bills providing for municipal woman's suffrage were introduced and rejected in 1880, 1883, and 1888. however, since 1890, women have been eligible as poor-law guardians. the élite among the italian men loyally supported the women in their struggle for emancipation. since 1881 the women have organized clubs. at first these were unsuccessful. free and courageous women were in the minority. in rome the woman's rights movement was at first exclusively benevolent. in milan and turin, on the other hand, there were woman's rights advocates (under the leadership of _dr. med._ paoline schiff and emilia mariani). the leadership of the national movement fell to the more active, more educated, and economically stronger northern italy. here also the movement of the workingwomen had progressed to the stage of organization, as, for example, in the case of the lombard women workers in the rice fields. there are 1,371,426 women laborers in italy. their condition is wretched. in agriculture, as well as in the industries, they are given the rough, _poorly paid_ work to do. they are exploited to the extreme. women straw plaiters have been offered 20 centimes, even as little as 10 centimes (4 to 2 cents), for twelve hours' work. the average daily wage for women is 80 centimes to 1 franc (16 to 20 cents). the maximum is 1 franc 50 centimes (30 cents). the law has fixed the maximum working day for women at twelve hours, and prohibits women under twenty years of age from engaging in work that is dangerous and injurious to health. there are maternity funds for women in confinement, financial aid being given them for four weeks after the birth of the child. under all these circumstances the organization of women is exceedingly difficult. even the socialists have neglected the organization of workingwomen. socialist propaganda among women agricultural laborers was begun in 1901. in bologna, in the autumn of 1902, there was held a meeting of the representatives of 800 agricultural organizations (having a total membership of 150,000 men and women agricultural laborers). the constitution of the society is characteristic; many of its clauses are primitive and pathetic. this society is intended to be an educational and moral organization. women members are exhorted "to live rightly, and to be virtuous and kind-hearted mothers, women, and daughters."[93] it is to be hoped that the task of the women will be made easier through the efforts of the society's male members to make themselves virtuous and kind-hearted fathers, husbands, and sons. or are moral duties, in this case also, meant only for woman? the movement favoring the abolition of the official regulation of prostitution was introduced into italy by mrs. butler. a congress in favor of abolition was held in 1898 in genoa. recently, thanks to the efforts of dr. agnes maclaren and miss buchner, the movement has been revived, and urged upon the catholic clergy. the italian branch of the international federation for the abolition of the official regulation of prostitution was founded in 1908. in the same year was held in rome the successful congress of the federation of women's clubs. this congress, representing the nobility, the middle class, and workingwomen, brought the woman's suffrage question to the attention of the public. a number of woman's suffrage societies had been organized previously, in rome as well as in the provinces. they formed the national woman's suffrage league, which, in 1906, joined the international woman's suffrage alliance. through the discussions in the women's clubs, woman's suffrage became a topic of public interest. the amsterdam report [of the congress of the international woman's suffrage alliance] says: "the women of the aristocracy wish to vote because they are intelligent; they feel humiliated because their coachman or chauffeur is able to vote. the workingwomen demand the right to vote, that they may improve their conditions of labor and be able to support their children better." a parliamentary commission for the consideration of woman's suffrage was established in 1908. in the meantime the existence of this commission enables the president of the ministry to dispose of the various proposed measures with the explanation that such matters will not be considered _until the commission has expressed itself on the whole question_. women have active and passive suffrage for the arbitration courts for labor disputes. spain[94] total population: 18,813,493. women: 9,558,896. men: 9,272,597. no federation of women's clubs. no woman's suffrage league. whoever has traveled in spain knows that it is a country still living, as it were, in the seventeenth century,--nay in the middle ages. the fact has manifold consequences for woman. in all cases progress is hindered. woman is under the yoke of the priesthood, and of a catholicism generally bigoted. the church teaches woman that she is regarded as the cause of carnal desire and of the fall of man. by law, woman is under the guardianship of man. custom forbids the "respectable" woman to walk on the street without a man escort. the spanish woman regards herself as a person of the second order, a necessary adjunct to man. such a fundamental humiliation and subordination is opposed to human nature. as the spanish woman has no power of open opposition, she resorts to cunning. by instinct she is conscious of the power of her sex; this she uses and abuses. a woman's rights advocate is filled with horror, quite as much as with pity, when she sees this mixture of bigotry, coquetry, submissiveness, cunning, and hate that is engendered in woman by such tyranny and lack of progress. the spanish woman of the lower classes receives no training for any special calling; she is a mediocre laborer. she acts as beast of burden, carries heavy burdens on her shoulders, carries water, tills the fields, and splits wood. she is employed as an industrial laborer chiefly in the manufacture of cigars and lace. "the wages of women," says professor posada,[95] "are incredibly low," being but 10 cents a day. as tailors, women make a scanty living, for many of the spanish women do their own tailoring. the mantilla makes the work of milliners in general superfluous. in commercial callings women are still novices. recently there has been talk of beginning the organization of women into trade-unions. women are employed in large numbers as teachers; teaching being their sole non-domestic calling. elementary instruction has been obligatory since 1870, however, only in theory. in 1889 28 per cent of the women were illiterate. in many cases the girls of the lower classes do not attend school at all. when they do attend, they learn very little; for owing to the lack of seminaries the training of women teachers is generally quite inadequate. a reform of the central seminary of women teachers, in madrid, took place in 1884; this reform was also a model for the seminaries in the provinces. the secondary schools for girls are convent schools. in france there are complaints that these schools are inadequate. what, then, can be expected of the spanish schools! the curriculum includes only french, singing, dancing, drawing, and needlework. but the "society for female education" is striving to secure a reform of the education for girls. preparation for entrance to the university must be secured privately. the number of women seeking entrance to universities is small. most of them, so far as i know, are medical students. however, the spanish women have a brilliant past in the field of higher education. donna galinda was the latin professor of queen isabella. isabella losa and sigea aloisia of toledo were renowned for their knowledge of latin, greek, and hebrew; sigea aloisia corresponded with the pope in arabic and syriac. isabel de rosores even preached in the cathedral of barcelona. in the literature of the present time spanish women are renowned. of first rank is emilia pardo bazan, who is called the "spanish zola." she is a countess and an only daughter, two circumstances that facilitated her emancipation and, together with her talent, assured her success. she characterizes herself as "a mixture of mysticism and liberalism." at the age of seven she wrote her first verses. her best book portrayed a "liberal monk," father fequë. _pascual loper_, a novel, was a great success. she then went to paris to study naturalism. here she became acquainted with zola, goncourt, daudet, and others. a study of francis of assisi led her again to the study of mysticism. in her recent novels liberalism is mingled with idealism. emilia pardo bazan is by conviction a woman's rights advocate. in the madrid atheneum she filled with great success the position of professor of french literature. at the pedagogical congress in madrid, in 1899, she gave a report on _woman, her education, and her rights_. in spain there are a number of well-known women journalists, authors, and poets. dr. posada enumerates a number of woman's rights publications on pages 200-202 of his book, _el feminismo_. concepcion arenal was a prominent spanish woman and woman's rights advocate. she devoted herself to work among prisoners, and wrote a valuable handbook dealing with her work. she felt the oppression of her sex very keenly. concerning woman's status, which man has forced upon her, concepcion arenal expressed herself as follows: "man despises all women that do not belong to his family; he oppresses every woman that he does not love or protect. as a laborer, he takes from her the best paid positions; as a thinker, he forbids the mental training of woman; as a lover, he can be faithless to her without being punished by law; as a husband, he can leave her without being guilty before the law." the wife is legally under the guardianship of her husband; she has no authority over her children. the property laws provide for joint property holding. in spite of these conditions concepcion arenal did not give up all hope. "women," said she, "are beginning to take interest in education, and have organized a society for the higher education of girls." the pedagogical congresses in madrid (1882 and 1889) promoted the intellectual emancipation of women. catalina d'alcala, delegate to the international congress of women in chicago in 1893, closed her report with the words, "we are emerging from the period of darkness." however, he who has wandered through spanish cathedrals knows that this darkness is still very dense! nevertheless, the woman's suffrage movement has begun: the women laborers are agitating in favor of a new law of association. a number of women teachers and women authors have petitioned for the right to vote. in march, 1908, during the discussion of a new law concerning municipal administration, an amendment in favor of woman's suffrage was introduced, but was rejected by a vote of 65 to 35. the senate is said to be more favorable to woman's suffrage than is the chamber of deputies. the fact that women of the aristocracy have opposed divorce, and that women of all classes have opposed the enactment of laws restricting religious orders, is made to operate against the political emancipation of women. a deputy in the cortez, senor pi y arsuaga, who introduced the measure in favor of the right of women taxpayers to vote in municipal elections, argued that the suffrage of a woman who is the head of a family seems more reasonable to him than the suffrage of a young man, twenty-five years old, who represents no corresponding interests. portugal total population: 5,672,237. women: 2,583,535. men: 2,520,602. no federation of women's clubs. no woman's suffrage league. portugal is smaller than spain; its finances are in better condition; therefore the compulsory education law (introduced in 1896) is better enforced. as yet there are no public high schools for girls; but there are a number of private schools that prepare girls for the university entrance examinations (_abiturientenexamen_). the universities admit women. women doctors practice in the larger cities. the women laborers are engaged chiefly in the textile industry; their wages are about two thirds of those of the men. the latin-american republics of central and south america mexico and central america[96] the condition prevailing in mexico and central america is one of patriarchal family life, the husband being the "master" of the wife. there are large families of ten or twelve children. the life of most of the women without property consists of "endless routine and domestic tyranny"; the life of the property-owning women is one of frivolous coquetry and indolence. there is no higher education for women; there are no high ideals. the education of girls is generally regarded as unnecessary. there are public elementary schools for girls,--with women teachers. the higher education of girls is carried on by convent schools, and comprises domestic science, sewing, dancing, and singing. in the mexican public high schools for girls, modern subjects and literature are taught; the work is chiefly memorizing. technical schools for girls are unknown. women do not attend the universities. women teachers in mexico are paid good salaries,--250 francs ($50) a month. women are engaged in commerce only in their own business establishments; and then in small retail businesses. the rest of the workingwomen are engaged in agriculture, domestic service, washing, and sewing. their wages are from 40 to 50 per cent lower than those of men. the legal status of women is similar to that of the french women. in mexico only does the wife control her earnings. divorce is not recognized by law, though separation is. by means of foreign teachers the initiative of the people has been slightly aroused. it will take long for this stimulus to reach the majority of the people. south america[97] in south america there are the same "patriarchal" forms of family life, the same external restrictions for woman. she must have an escort on the streets, even though the escort be only a small boy. just as in central america, the occupations of the women of the lower and middle class are agriculture, domestic service, washing, sewing, and retail business. but woman's educational opportunities in south america are greater, although through public opinion everything possible is done to prevent women from desiring an education and admission to a liberal calling. elementary education is compulsory (often in coeducational schools). secondary education is in the hands of convents. in brazil, chili, venezuela, argentine republic, paraguay, and colombia, the universities have been opened to women. as yet there are no women preachers or lawyers, although several women have studied law. women practice as physicians, obstetrics still being their special field. the beginnings of a woman's rights movement exist in chili. the chilean women learn readily and willingly. they have proved their worth in business and in the liberal callings. they have competed successfully for government positions; they have founded trade-unions and coöperative societies; many women are tramway conductors, etc. in all the south american republics women have distinguished themselves as poets and authors. in the argentine republic there is a federation of woman's clubs, which, in 1901, joined the international council of women. chapter iii the slavic and balkan states in the slavic countries there is a lack of an ancient, deeply rooted culture like that of western europe. everywhere the oriental viewpoint has had its effect on the status of woman. in general the standards of life are low; therefore, the wages of the women are especially wretched. political conditions are in part very unstable,--in some cases wholly antique. all of these circumstances greatly impede the progress of the woman's rights movement. russia total population: 94,206,195. women: 47,772,455. men: 46,433,740. federation of russian women's clubs.[98] national woman's suffrage league. the russian woman's rights movement is forced by circumstances to concern itself chiefly with educational and industrial problems. all efforts beyond these limits are, as a matter of course, regarded as revolutionary. such efforts are a part of the forbidden "political movement"; therefore they are dangerous and practically hopeless. some peculiarities of the russian woman's rights movement are: its individuality, its independence of the momentary tendencies of the government, and the companionable coöperation of men and women. all three characteristics are accounted for by the absolute government that prevails in russia, in spite of its duma. under this régime the organization of societies and the holding of meetings are made exceedingly difficult, if not impossible. individual initiative therefore works in solitude; discussion or the expression of opinions is not very feasible. when individual initiative ceases, progress usually ceases also. corporate activity, such as educates women adherents, did not exist formerly in russia. the lack of united action wastes much force, time, and money. unconsciously people compete with each other. without wishing to do so, people neglect important fields. the absolute régime regards all striving for an education as revolutionary. the educational institutions for women are wholly in the hands of the government. these institutions are tolerated; but a mere frown from above puts an end to their existence. it is the absolute régime that makes comrades of men and women struggling for emancipation. the oppression endured by both sexes is in fact the same. the government has not always been an enemy of enlightenment, as it is to-day. the first steps of the woman's rights movement were made through the influence of the rulers. although polygamy did not exist in russia, the country could not free itself from certain oriental influences. hence the women of the property-owning class formerly lived in the harem (called _terem_). the women were shut off from the world; they had no education, often no rearing whatever; they were the victims of deadly ennui, ecstatic piety, lingering diseases, and drunkenness. with a strong hand peter the great reformed the condition of russian women. the _terem_ was abolished; the russian woman was permitted to see the world. in rough, uncivilized surroundings, in the midst of a brutal, sensuous people, woman's release was not in all cases a gain for morality. it is impossible to become a woman of western europe upon demand. catherine ii saw that there must be a preparation for this emancipation. she created the _institute de demoiselles_ for girls of the upper classes. the instruction, borrowed from france, remained superficial enough; the women acquired a knowledge of french, a few _accomplishments_, polished manners, and an aristocratic bearing. for all that, it was then an achievement to educate young russian women according to the standards of western europe. the superficiality of the _institutka_ was recognized in the middle of the nineteenth century. alexander ii, the tsarina, and her aunt, helene pavlovna, favored reforms. the emancipator of the serfs could also liberate women from their intellectual bondage. thus with the protection of the highest power, the first public lyceum for girls was established in 1857 in russia. this was a day school for girls of _all_ classes. what an innovation! to-day there are 350 of these lyceums, having over 10,000 women students. the curriculums resemble those of the german high schools for girls. none of these lyceums (except the humanistic lyceum for girls in moscow), are equivalent to the german _gymnasiums_ or _realgymnasiums_, nor even to the _oberrealschulen_ or _realschulen_. this explains and justifies the refusal of the german universities to regard the leaving certificates of the russian lyceums as equivalent to the _abiturienten_ certificate of the german schools. the compulsory studies in the girls' lyceums are: russian, french, religion, history, geography, geometry, algebra, a few natural sciences, dancing, and singing. the optional studies are german, english, latin, music, and sewing. the lyceums of the large cities make foreign languages compulsory also; but these institutions are in the minority. in the natural sciences and in mathematics "much depends on the teacher." a russian woman wishing to study in the university must pass an entrance examination in latin. the first efforts to secure the higher education of women were made by a number of professors of the university of st. petersburg in 1861. they opened courses for the instruction of adult women in the town hall. simultaneously the minister of war admitted a number of women to the st. petersburg school of medicine, this school being under his control. however, the reaction began already in 1862. instruction in the school of medicine, as well as in the town hall, was discontinued. then began the first exodus of russian women students to germany and switzerland. but in st. petersburg, in 1867, there was formed a society, under the presidency of mrs. conradi, to secure the reopening of the course for adult women. the society appealed to the first congress of russian naturalists and physicians. this congress sent a petition, with the signatures of influential men, to the minister of public instruction. in two years mrs. conradi was informed that the minister would grant a two-year course for men and women in russian literature and the natural sciences. the society accepted what was offered. it was little enough. moreover, the society had to defray the cost of instruction; but it was denied the right to give examinations and confer degrees. all the teachers, however, taught without pay. in 1885 the society erected its own building in which to give its courses. the instruction was again discontinued in 1886. once more the russian women flocked to foreign countries. in 1889 the courses were again opened (swiss influence on russian youth was feared). the number of those enrolled in the courses was limited to 600 (of these only 3 per cent could be unorthodox, _i.e._ jewish). these courses are still given in st. petersburg. recently the council of ministers empowered the minister of public instruction to forbid women to attend university lectures; but those who have already been admitted, and find it impossible to attend other higher institutions of learning for girls, have been allowed to complete their course in the university. the present number of women hearers in russian universities is 2130. a russian woman doctor was admitted as a lecturer by the university of moscow, but her appointment was not confirmed by the minister of public instruction. she appealed thereupon to the senate, declaring that the russian laws nowhere prohibited women from acting as teachers in the universities; moreover, her medical degree gave her full power to do so. the decision of the senate is still pending. a recent law opens to women the calling of architect and of engineer. the work done on the trans-siberian railroad by the woman engineer has given better satisfaction than any of the other work. a bill providing for the admission of women to the legal profession has been introduced but has not yet become law. the russian women medical students shared the vicissitudes of russian university life for women. after 1862 they studied in switzerland, where miss suslowa, in 1867, was the first woman to be given the doctor's degree in zurich. however, since the lack of doctors is very marked on the vast russian plains, the government in 1872 opened special courses for women medical students in st. petersburg. (in another institution courses were given for midwives and for women regimental surgeons.) the women completing the courses in st. petersburg were not granted the doctor's degree, however. the russian women earned the doctor's degree in the russo-turkish war (1877-1878); for ten years after this war women graduates of the st. petersburg medical courses were granted degrees. then these courses were closed in 1887. they were opened again in 1898. under these difficult circumstances the russian women secured their higher education. in the elementary schools, for every 1000 women inhabitants there are only 13.1 women public school teachers. of the 2,000,000 public school children, only 650,000 are girls. the number of illiterates in russia varies from 70 to 80 per cent. the elementary school course in the country is only three years (it is five years in the cities). the number of women public school teachers is 27,000 (as compared with 40,000 men teachers). an attempt has been made by the women village school teachers to arouse the women agricultural laborers from their stupor. organization of women laborers has been attempted in the cities. for the present the task seems superhuman.[99] when graduating from the lyceum the young girl is given her _teaching diploma_, which permits her to teach in the four lower classes in the girls' lyceums. those wishing to teach in the higher classes must take a special examination in a university. the higher classes in the girls' lyceums are taught chiefly by men teachers. when a russian woman teacher marries she need not relinquish her position. in russia the women doctors have a vast field of work. for every 200,000 inhabitants there is only one doctor! however, in st. petersburg there is one doctor for every 10,000 inhabitants. according to the most recent statistics there are 545 women doctors in russia. of these, 8 have ceased to practice, 245 have official positions, and 292 have a private practice. of the 132 women doctors in st. petersburg, 35 are employed in hospitals, 14 in the sanitary department of the city; 7 are school physicians, 5 are assistants in clinics and laboratories, 2 are superintendents of maternity hospitals, 2 have charge of foundling asylums, 5 have private hospitals, and the rest engage in private practice. of the 413 women doctors not in st. petersburg, 173 have official positions, the others have a private practice. the local governments (_zemstvos_) have appointed 26 women doctors in the larger cities, 21 in the smaller, and 55 in the rural districts. there are 18 women doctors employed in private hospitals on country estates, 8 in hospitals for mohammedan women, 16 in schools, 9 in factories, 4 are employed by railroads, 4 by the red cross society, etc. the practice of the woman doctor in the country is naturally the most difficult and the least remunerative. therefore, it is willingly given over to the women. thanks to individual ability, the russian woman doctor is highly respected. there are 400 women druggists in russia. their training for the calling is received by practical work (this is true of the men druggists also). according to the last statistics (1897), there were 126,016 women engaged in the liberal professions. there are a number of women professors in the state universities. women engage in commercial callings. the schools of commerce for women were favored by witte in his capacity of minister of finance. they have since been placed under the control of the minister of instruction and religion. this will restrict the freedom of instruction. instruction in agriculture for women has not yet been established. commerce engages 299,403 women; agriculture and fisheries, 2,086,169. women have been appointed as factory inspectors since 1900. the ministry of justice and the ministry of communication employ women in limited numbers, without entitling them to pensions. the government of the province of moscow has appointed women to municipal offices, and has appointed them as fire insurance agents. the _zemstvo_ of kiew had done this previously; but suddenly it discharged them from the municipal offices. for the past nine years an institution founded by the princes liwin has trained women as managers of prisons.[100] the names of two prominent russian women must be mentioned: sonja kowalewska, the winner of a contest in mathematics, and madame sklodowska-curie, the discoverer of radium. both prove that women can excel in scientific work. it must be emphasized that the woman student in russia must often struggle against terrible want. whoever has studied in swiss, german, or french universities knows the russian-polish students who in many cases must get along for the whole year with a couple of ten ruble bills (about ten dollars). they are wonderfully unassuming; they possess inexhaustible enthusiasm. many russian women begin their university careers poorly prepared. to unfortunate, divorced, widowed, or destitute women the "university" appears to be a golden goal, a promised land. of the privations that these women endure the people of western europe have no conception. in russia the facts are better known. wealthy women endow all educational institutions for girls with relief funds and with loan and stipend funds. restaurants and homes for university women have been established. the "society for the support of university women" in moscow has done its utmost to relieve the misery of the women students.[101] the economic misery of the industrial and agricultural women (who are almost wholly unorganized) is somewhat worse than that of the university women. the statements concerning women's wages in vienna might give some idea of the misery of the russian women. in bialystock, which has the best socialistic organization of women, the women textile workers earn about 18 cents a day; under favorable circumstances $1.25 to $1.50 a week. a skillful woman tobacco worker will earn 32-1/2 cents a day. the average daily wages for russian women laborers are 18 to 20 cents. hence it is not astonishing that in the south american houses of ill-fame there are so many russian girls. the agents in the white slave trade need not make very extravagant promises of "good wages" to find willing followers.[102] a workingwomen's club has existed since 1897 in st. petersburg. there are 982,098 women engaged in industry and mining; 1,673,605 in domestic service (there being 1,586,450 men domestic servants). of the women domestic servants 53,283 are illiterate (of the men only 2172!). in 1885 the women formed 30 per cent of the laboring population; in 1900 the number had increased to 44 per cent. of the total number of criminals in russia 10 per cent are women. the legal status of the russian woman is favorable in so far as the property law provides for property rights. the russian married woman controls not only her property, but also her earnings and her savings. as survival of village communism and the feudal system, the right to vote is restricted to taxpayers and to landowners. in the rural districts the wife votes as "head of the family," if her husband is absent or dead. then she is also given her share of the village land. she votes in person. in the cities the women that own houses and pay taxes vote by proxy. the women owners of large estates (as in austria) vote also for the provincial assemblies. although constitutional liberties have a precarious existence in russia, they have now and then been beneficial to women. with great effort, and in the face of great dangers, woman's suffrage societies were formed in various parts of the empire. they united into a national woman's suffrage league. the brave russian delegates were present in copenhagen and in amsterdam. they belonged to all ranks of society and were adherents to the progressive political parties. since the dissolution of the first duma (june 9, 1906) the work of the woman's suffrage advocates has been made very difficult; in the rural districts especially all initiative has been crippled. in moscow and st. petersburg the work is continued by organizations having about 1000 members; 10,000 pamphlets have been distributed, lectures have been held, a newspaper has been established, and a committee has been organized which maintains a continuous communication with the duma. the best established center of the russian woman's rights movement is the woman's club in st. petersburg. through the tenacious efforts of the leading women of the club,--mrs. v. philosophow, (mrs.) _dr. med._ schabanoff, and others,--the government granted them, in the latter part of december, 1908, the right to hold the first national congress of women. (the stipulation was made that foreign women should not participate, and that a federation of women's clubs should not be formed.) the discussions concerned education, labor problems, and politics. publicity was much restricted; police surveillance was rigid; addresses on the foreign woman's suffrage movement were prohibited. nevertheless, this progressive declaration was made: only the right to vote can secure for the russian women a thorough education and the right to work. moreover, the congress favored: better marriage laws (a wife cannot secure a passport without the consent of her husband), the abolition of the official regulation of prostitution, the abolition of the death penalty, the struggle against drunkenness, etc. the congress was opened by the lord mayor of st. petersburg and was held in the st. petersburg town hall. this was done in a sense of obligation to the women school teachers of st. petersburg and to those women who had endeared themselves to the people through their activity in hospitals and asylums. the lord mayor stated that these activities were appreciated by the municipal officers and by all municipal institutions. although the congress was opened with praise for the women, it ended with an intentional insult to the highly talented and deserving leader, mrs. v. philosophow. mr. purischkewitch, the reactionary deputy of the duma, wrote a letter in which he expressed his pleasure at the adjournment of her "congress of prostitutes" (_bordellkongress_). mrs. v. philosophow surrendered this letter and another to the courts, which sentenced the offender to a month's imprisonment, against which he appealed. after this congress has worked over the whole field of the woman's rights movement, a special congress on the education of women will be held in the autumn of 1909.[103] since the revolution of 1905 the women of the provinces have been astir. it has been reported that the mohammedan women of the caucasus are discarding their veils, that the russian women in the rural districts are petitioning for greater privileges, etc. an organized woman's rights movement has originated in the baltic provinces; its organ is the _baltic women's review_ (_baltische frauenrundschau_), the publisher being a woman, e. schütze, riga. czechish bohemia and moravia total population: about 5,500,000. the women predominate numerically. no federation of women's clubs. no woman's suffrage league. the woman's rights movement is strongly supported among the czechs. woman is the best apostle of nationalism; the educated woman is the most valuable ally. in the national propaganda woman takes her place beside the man. the names of the czechish women patriots are on the lips of everybody. had the liberals of german austria known equally well how to inspire their women with liberalism and germanism, their cause would to-day be more firmly rooted. in inexpensive but well-organized boarding schools the czechish girls (especially country girls, the daughters of landowners and tenants) are being educated along national lines. an institute such as the "_wesna_"[104] in brünn is a center of national propaganda. prague, like brünn, has a czechish _gymnasium_ for girls as well as the german _gymnasium_. there is also a czechish university besides the german university. the first woman to be given the degree of doctor of philosophy at the czechish university was fräulein babor. the industrial conditions in czechish bohemia and in moravia differ very little from those in galicia. the lot of the workingwomen, especially in the coal mining districts, is wretched. according to a local club doctor (_kassenarzt_),[105] life is made up of hunger, whiskey, and lashes. although paragraph 30, of the austrian law of association (_vereinsgesetz_) prevents the czechish women from forming political associations, the women of bohemia, especially of prague, show the most active political interest. the women owners of large estates in bohemia voted until 1906 for members of the imperial parliament. when universal suffrage was granted to the austrian men, the voting rights of this privileged minority were withdrawn. the government's resolution, providing for an early introduction of a woman's suffrage measure, has not yet been carried out. the suffrage conditions for the bohemian _landtag_ (provincial legislature) are different. taxpayers, office-holders, doctors, and teachers vote for this body; the women, of course, voting by proxy. the same is true in the bohemian municipal elections. in prague only are the women deprived of the suffrage. the prague woman's suffrage committee, organized in 1905, has proved irrefutably that the women in prague are legally entitled to the suffrage for the bohemian _landtag_. in the _landtag_ election of 1907 the women presented a candidate, miss tumova, who received a considerable number of votes, but was defeated by the most prominent candidate (the mayor). however, this campaign aroused an active interest in woman's suffrage. in 1909 miss tumova was again a candidate. the proposed reform of the election laws for the bohemian _landtag_ (1908) (which provides for universal suffrage, although not equal suffrage) would disfranchise the women outside prague. the women are opposing the law by indignation meetings and deputations. galicia[106] total population: about 7,000,000. poles: about 3,500,000. ruthenians: about 3,500,000. the women predominate numerically. no federation of women's clubs. no woman's suffrage league. the conditions prevailing in galicia are unspeakably pathetic,--medieval, oriental, and atrocious. whoever has read emil franzo's works is familiar with these conditions. the vienna official inquiry into the industrial conditions of women led to a similar inquiry in lemberg. this showed that most of the women _cannot_ live on their earnings. the lowest wages are those of the women engaged in the ready-made clothing industry,--2 to 2-1/2 guldens ($.96 to $1.10) a _month_ as beginners; 8 to 10 guldens ($3.85 to $4.82) later. the wages (including board and room) of servant girls living with their employers are 20 to 25 cents a day. the skilled seamstress that sews linen garments can earn 40 cents a day if she works sixteen hours. as a beginner, a milliner earns 2 to 4 guldens ($.96 to $1.93) a _month_, later 10 guldens ($4.82). in the mitten industry (a home industry) a week's hard work brings 6 to 8 guldens ($2.89 to $3.88). in laundries women working 14 hours earn 80 kreuzer (30 cents) a day without board. in printing works and in bookbinderies women are employed as assistants; for 9-1/2 hours' work a day they are paid a _monthly_ wage of from 2 to 14 and 15 guldens ($.96 to $7.23). in the bookbinderies women sometimes receive 16 guldens ($7.71) a month. in lemberg, as in vienna, women are employed as brickmakers and as bricklayers' assistants, working 10 to 11 hours a day; their wages are 40 to 60 kreuzer (19 to 29 cents) a day. no attempt to improve these conditions through organizations has yet been made. the official inquiry thus far has confined itself to the christian women laborers. what miseries might not be concealed in the ghettos! an industrial women's movement in galicia is not to be thought of as yet. there is a migration of the women from the flat rural districts to the cities; _i.e._ into the nets of the white slave agents. women earning 10, 15, or 20 cents a day are easily lured by promises of higher wages. the ignorance of the lower classes (ruthenians and poles) is, according to the ideas of western europe, immeasurable. in 1897 336,000 children between six and twelve years (in a total of about 923,000) had _never attended school_. of 4164 men teachers, 139 had no qualifications whatever! of the 4159 women teachers 974 had no qualifications! the minimum salary is 500 kronen ($101.50). the women teachers in 1909 demanded that they be regarded on an equality with the men teachers by the provincial school board. there are _gymnasiums_ for girls in cracow, lemberg, and przemysl. women are admitted to the universities of cracow and lemberg. in one of the universities (mrs.) dr. dazynska is a lecturer on political economy. in cracow there is a woman's club. propaganda is being organized throughout the land. a society to oppose the official regulation of prostitution and to improve moral conditions was organized in 1908. the galician woman taxpayer votes in municipal affairs; the women owners of large estates vote for members of the _landtag_. (mrs.) dr. dazynska and mrs. kutschalska-reinschmidt of cracow are champions of the woman's rights movement in galicia. mrs. kutschalska lives during parts of the year in warsaw. she publishes the magazine _ster_. in russian poland her activities are more restricted because the forming of organizations is made difficult. in spite of this the "equal rights society of polish women" has organized local societies in kiew, radom, lublin, and other cities. the formation of a federation of polish women's clubs has been planned. in warsaw the polish branch of the international federation for the abolition of prostitution was organized in 1907. an asylum for women teachers, a loan-fund for women teachers, and a commission for industrial women are the external evidences of the activities of the polish woman's rights movement in warsaw. the field of labor for the educated woman is especially limited in poland. excluded from government service, many educated polish women flock into the teaching profession; there they have restricted advantages. the university of warsaw has been opened to women. the slovene woman's rights movement[107] total population: 1,176,672. the women preponderate numerically. the slovene woman's rights movement is still incipient; it was stimulated by zofka kveder's "the mystery of woman" (_mysterium der frau_). zofka kveder's motto is: "to see, to know, to understand.--woman is a human being." zofka kveder hopes to transform the magazine _slovenka_ into a woman's rights review. a south slavic social-democratic movement is attempting to organize trade-unions among the women. the women lace makers have been organized. seventy per cent of all women laborers cannot live on their earnings. in agricultural work they earn 70 hellers (14 cents) a day. in the ready-made clothing industry they are paid 30 hellers (6 cents) for making 36 buttonholes, 1 krone 20 hellers (25 cents) for making one dozen shirts. servia total population: 2,850,000. the number of women is somewhat greater than that of the men. servian federation of women's clubs. servia has been free from turkish control hardly forty-five years. among the people the oriental conception of woman prevails along with patriarchal family conditions. the woman's rights movement is well organized; it is predominantly national, philanthropic, and educational. elementary education is obligatory, and is supported by the "national society for public education" (_nationalen verein für volksbildung_). the girls and women of the lower classes are engaged chiefly with domestic duties; in addition they work in the fields or work at excellent home industries. these home industries were developed as a means of livelihood by the efforts of mrs. e. subotisch, the organizer of the servian woman's rights movement. the servian women are rarely domestic servants (under turkish rule they were not permitted to serve the enemy); most of the domestic servants are hungarians and austrians. all educational opportunities are open to the women of the middle class. in all of the more important cities there are public as well as private high schools for girls. the boys' _gymnasiums_ admit girls. the university has been open to women for twenty-one years; women are enrolled in all departments; recently law has attracted many. for medical training the women, like the men, go to foreign countries (france, switzerland). servia has 1020 women teachers in the elementary schools (the salary being 720 to 2000 francs--$144 to $500--a year, with lodging); there are 65 women teachers in the secondary schools (the salary being 1500 to 3000 francs,--$300 to $600). to the present no woman has been appointed as a university professor. there are six women doctors, the first having entered the profession 30 years ago; there are two women dentists; but as yet there are no women druggists. there are no women lawyers. there is a woman engineer in the service of the government. in the liberal arts there are three well-known women artists, seven women authors, and ten women poets. there are many women engaged in commercial callings, as office clerks, cashiers, bookkeepers, and saleswomen. women are also employed by banks and insurance companies. "a woman merchant is given extensive credit," is stated in the report of the secretary of the federation. in the postal and telegraph service 108 women are employed (the salaries varying from 700 to 1260 francs,--$140 to $252). there are 127 women in the telephone service (the salaries varying from 360 to 960 francs,--$72 to $192). servia is just establishing large factories; the number of women laborers is still small; 1604 are organized. prostitution is officially regulated in servia; its recruits are chiefly foreign women. each vaudeville singer, barmaid, etc., is _ex officio_ placed under control. the oldest woman's club is the "belgrade woman's club," founded in 1875; it has 34 branches. it maintains a school for poor girls, a school for weavers in pirot, and a students' kitchen (_studentenküche_). the "society of servian sisters" and the "society of queen lubitza" are patriotic societies for maintaining and strengthening the servian element in turkey, old servia, and macedonia. the "society of mothers" takes care of abandoned children. the "housekeeping society" trains domestic servants. the servian women's clubs within the kingdom have 5000 members; in the servian colonies without the kingdom they have 14,000 members. the property laws provide for joint property holding. the wife controls her earnings and savings only when this is stipulated in the marriage contract. in 1909, the federation of servian women's clubs inserted woman's suffrage in its programme, and joined the international woman's suffrage alliance. in the struggle for national existence the servian woman demonstrated her worth, and effected a recognition of her right to an education. bulgaria total population: 4,035,586. women: 1,978,457. men: 2,057,111. federation of bulgarian women's clubs. like servia, bulgaria was freed from turkish control about forty years ago. the liberation caused very little change in the life of the peasant women. but it opened new educational opportunities for the middle classes. the elementary schools naturally provide for the girls also. (in 1905-1906 there were 1800 men teachers and 800 women teachers in the villages; in the cities 415 men and 355 women.) high schools for girls have been established, but not all of them prepare for the _abiturientenexamen_. the first women entered the university of sofia in 1900. there are now about 100 women students. since 1907, through the work of a reactionary ministry, the university has excluded women; married women teachers have been discharged. women attend the schools of commerce, the technical schools, and the agricultural schools. women are active as doctors (there being 56), midwives, journalists, and authors. the men and women teachers are organized jointly. women are employed by the state in the postal and telegraph service. the wages of these women, like those of the women laborers, are lower than those of the men. there is a factory law that protects women laborers and children working in the factories. the trade-unions are socialistic and have men and women members. the laws regulating the legal status of woman have been influenced by german laws. the wife controls her earnings. politically the bulgarian woman has no rights. the federation of bulgarian women's clubs was organized in 1899; in 1908 it joined the international council of women. woman's suffrage occupies the first place on the programme of the federation; in 1908 it joined the international woman's suffrage affiance. the bulgarian women, too, have recognized woman's suffrage as the key to all other woman's rights. to the present time their demands have been supported by radicals and democrats (who are not very influential). a meeting of the federation in 1908 demanded: 1. active and passive suffrage for women in school administration and municipal councils. 2. the reopening of the university to women. (this has been granted.) 3. the increase of the salaries of women teachers. (they are paid 10 per cent less than the men teachers.) 4. the same curriculums for the boys' and girls' schools. 5. an enlargement of woman's field of labor. 6. better protection to women and children working in factories. the president of the federation is the wife of the president of the ministry, malinoff. because the federation, led by mrs. malinoff, did not oppose the reactionary measures of the ministry (of stambolavitch), mrs. anna carima, who had been president of the federation to 1906, organized the "league of progressive women." this league demands equal rights for the sexes. it admits only confirmed woman's rights advocates (men and women). it will request the political emancipation of women in a petition which it intends to present to the national parliament, which must be called after bulgaria has been converted into a kingdom. in july (1909) the progressive league will hold a meeting to draft its constitution. rumania total population: 6,585,534. no federation of women's clubs. no woman's suffrage league. the status of the rumanian women is similar to that of the servian and bulgarian women; but the legal profession has been opened to the bulgarian women. a discussion of rumania must be omitted, since my efforts to secure reliable information have been unsuccessful. greece[108] total population: 2,433,806. women: 1,166,990. men: 1,266,816. federation of greek women. no woman's suffrage league. the greek woman's rights movement concerns itself for the time being with philanthropy and education. its guiding spirit is madame kallirhoe parren (who acted as delegate in chicago in 1893, and in paris in 1900). madame parren succeeded in 1896 in organizing a federation of greek women, which has belonged to the international council of women since 1908. the presidency of the federation was accepted by queen olga. the federation has five sections: 1. the national section. this acts as a patriotic woman's club. in 1897 it rendered invaluable assistance in the turco-greek war, erecting four hospitals on the border and one in athens. the nurses belonged to the best families; the work was superintended by _dr. med._ marie kalapothaki and _dr. med._ bassiliades. 2. the educational section. this section establishes kindergartens; it has opened a seminary for kindergartners, and courses for women teachers of gymnastics.[109] 3. the section for the establishment of domestic economy schools and continuation schools. this section is attempting to enlarge the non-domestic field of women and at the same time to prepare women better for their domestic calling. the efforts of this section are quite in harmony with the spirit of the times. the greek woman's struggle for existence is exceedingly difficult; she must face a backwardness of public opinion such as was overcome in northern europe long ago. this section has also founded a home for workingwomen. 4. the hygiene section. under the leadership of dr. kalapothaki this section has organized an orthopedic and gynecological clinic. the section also gives courses on the care of children, and provides for the care of women in confinement. 5. the philanthropic section. this provides respectable but needy girls with trousseaus (_austeuern_). mrs. parren has for eighteen years been editor of a woman's magazine in athens. (miss) _dr. med._ panajotatu has since 1908 been a lecturer in bacteriology at athens university. at her inaugural lecture the students made a hostile demonstration. miss bassiliades acts as physician in the women's penitentiary. miss lascaridis and miss ionidis are respected artists; mrs. v. kapnist represents woman in literature, especially in poetry. mrs. parren has written several dramatic works (some advocating woman's rights), which have been presented in athens, smyrna, constantinople, and alexandria. mrs. parren is a director of the society of dramatists. government positions are still closed to women. as late as 1909, after great difficulties, the first women telephone clerks were appointed. chapter iv the orient and the far east in the orient and the far east woman is almost without exception a plaything or a beast of burden; and to a degree that would incense us europeans. in the uncivilized countries, and in the countries of non-european civilization, the majority of the women are insufficiently nourished; in all cases more poorly than the men. early marriages enervate the women. they are old at thirty; this is especially true of the lower classes. among us, to be sure, such cases occur also; unfortunately without sufficient censure being given when necessary. but we have abolished polygamy and the harem. both still exist almost undisturbed in the orient and the far east. turkey and egypt total population: 34,000,000. a federation of women's clubs has just been founded in each country. in all the mohammedan countries the wealthy woman lives in the harem with her slaves. the woman of the lower classes, however, is guarded or restricted no more than with us. apparently the turkish and the arabian women of the lower classes have an unrestrained existence. but because they are subject to the absolute authority of their husbands, their life is in most cases that of a beast of burden. they work hard and incessantly. for the mohammedan of the lower classes polygamy is economically a useful institution: four women are four laborers that earn more than they consume. domestic service offers workingwomen in the orient the broadest field of labor. the women slaves in the harems[110] are usually well treated, and they have sufficient to live on. they associate with women shopkeepers, women dancers, midwives, hairdressers, manicurists, pedicures, etc. these are in the pay of the wives of the wealthy. thanks to this army of spies, a turkish woman is informed, without leaving her harem, of every step of her husband. the oppression that all women must endure, and the general fear of the infidelity of husbands, have created among oriental women an _esprit de corps_ that is unknown to european women. among the upper classes polygamy is being abolished because the country is impoverished and the large estates have been squandered; moreover, each wife is now demanding her own household, whereas formerly the wives all lived together. through the influence of the european women educators, an emancipation movement has been started among the younger generation of women in constantinople. many fathers, often through vanity, have given their daughters a european education. elementary schools, secondary schools, and technical schools have existed in turkey and egypt since 1839. the women graduates of these schools are now opposing oriental marriage and life in the harem. at present this is causing tragic conflicts.[111] to the present, two turkish women have spoken publicly at international congresses of women. selma riza, sister of the "young turkish" general, ahmed riza, spoke in paris in 1900, and mrs. haïrie ben-aid spoke in berlin in 1904. the mohammedan women have a legal supporter of their demands in kassim amin bey, counselor of the court of appeals in cairo. in his pamphlet on the woman's rights question he proposes the following programme:- legal prohibition of polygamy. woman's right to file a divorce suit. (hitherto a woman is divorced if her husband, even without cause, says thee times consecutively "you are divorced.") woman's freedom to choose her husband. the training of women in independent thought and action. a thorough education for woman. in 1910 a congress of mohammedan women will be held in cairo. i may add that the koran, the mohammedan code of laws, gives a married woman the full status of a legal person before the law, and full civil ability. it recognizes separation of property as legal, and grants the wife the right to control and to dispose of her property. hence the koran is more liberal than the code napoleon or the german civil code. whether the restrictions of the harem make the exercise of these rights impossible in practice, i am unable to say. european schools, as well as the newly founded _universités populaires_, are in turkey and in egypt the centers of enlightenment among the mohammedans. the european women doctors in constantinople, alexandria, and cairo are all disseminators of modern culture. a woman lawyer practices in the cairo court, and has been admitted to the lawyers' society. the young turk movement and the reform of turkey on a constitutional basis found hearty support among the women. they expressed themselves orally and in writing in favor of the liberal ideas; they spoke in public and held public meetings; they attempted to appear in public without veils, and to attend the theater in order to see a patriotic play; they sent a delegation to the young turk committee requesting the right to occupy the spectators' gallery in parliament; and, finally, they organized the women's progress society, which comprises women of all nationalities but concerns itself only with philanthropy and education. as a consequence, the government is said to have resolved to erect a humanistic _gymnasium_ for girls in constantinople. the leader of the young turks, the present president of the chamber of deputies, is, as a result of his long stay in paris, naturally convinced of the superiority of harem life and legal polygamy (when compared with occidental practices).[112] the freedom of action of the mohammedan women, especially in the provinces, might be much hampered by traditional obstacles. nevertheless, the restrictions placed on the mohammedan woman have been abolished, as is proved by the following:-in constantinople there has been founded a "young turkish woman's league" that proposes to bring about the same great revolutionary changes in the intellectual life of woman that have already been introduced into the political life of man. knowledge and its benefits must in the future be made accessible to the turkish women. this is to be done openly. formerly all strivings of the turkish women were carried on in secret. the women revolutionists were anxiously guarded; as far as possible, information concerning their movements was secured before they left their homes. the turkish women wish to prove that they, as well as the women of other countries, have human rights. when the constitution of the "young turkish woman's league" was being drawn up, enver bey was present. he was thoroughly in favor of the demands of the new woman's rights movement. the "young turkish woman's league" is under the protection of princess refià sultana, daughter of the sultan. princess refià, a young woman of twenty-one years of age, has striven since her eighteenth year to acquire a knowledge of the sciences. she speaks several languages. the enthusiasm of the young turkish women is great. many of them appear on the streets without veils,--a thing that no prominent turkish woman could do formerly. women of all classes have joined the league. the committee daily receives requests for admission to membership. bosnia and herzegovina total population: 1,591,036. the men preponderate numerically. bosnia and herzegovina, being mohammedan countries, have harems and the restricted views of harem life. naturally, a woman's rights movement is not to be thought of. polygamy and patriarchal life are characteristic. into this mohammedan country the austrian government has sent women disseminators of the culture of western europe,[113]--the bosnian district women doctors. the first of these was dr. feodora krajevska in dolna tuszla, now in serajewo. now she has several women colleagues. the women doctors wear uniforms,--a black coat, a black overcoat with crimson facings and with two stars on the collar. persia total population: about 9,500,000. in persia hardly a beginning of the woman's rights movement exists. the report[114] that i have before me closes thus: "the persian woman lives, as it were, a negative life, but does not seem to strive for a change in her condition." certainly not. like the turkish and the arabian woman, she is bound by the koran. her educational opportunities are even less (there are very few european schools, governesses, and women doctors in persia). her field of activity is restricted to agriculture, domestic service, tailoring, and occasionally, teaching. however, she is said to be quite skillful in the management of her financial affairs. as far as i know, the persian woman took no part in the constitutional struggle of 1908-1909. india total population: 300,000,000. the indian woman's rights movement originated through the efforts of the english. the movement is as necessary and as difficult as the movement in china. the indian religions teach that woman should be despised. "a cow is worth more than a thousand women." the birth of a girl is a misfortune: "may the tree grow in the forest, but may no daughter be born to me."[115] formerly it was permissible to drown newborn girls; the english government had to abolish this barbarity (as it abolished the suttee). the indian woman lives in her apartment, the zenana; here the mother-in-law wields the scepter over the daughters-in-law, the grandchildren, and the women servants. the small girl learns to cook and to embroider; anything beyond that is iniquitous: woman has no brain. the girls that are educated in england must upon their return again don the veil and adjust themselves to native conditions. at the age of five or six the little girls are engaged, sometimes to young men of ten or twelve years, sometimes to men of forty or fifty. the marriage takes place several years later. sometimes a man has more than one wife. the wife waits on her husband while he is eating; she eats what remains. if the wife bears a son, she is reinstated. if she is widowed, she must fast and constantly offer apologies for existing. the widows and orphans were the first natives to become interested in the higher education of women. this was due to economic and social conditions. india was the cradle of mankind. even the highest civilizations still bear indelible marks of the dreadful barbarities that have just been mentioned. the indian woman has rebelled against her miserable condition. the english women considered it possible to bring health, hope, and legal aid to the women of the zenana, through women doctors, women missionaries, and women lawyers. hence in 1866 zenana missions were organized by english women doctors and missionaries. native women were soon studying medicine in order to bring an end to the superstitions of the zenana. dr. clara swain came to india in 1869 as the first woman medical missionary. as early as 1872-1873 the first hospital for women was founded; in 1885, through the work of lady dufferin, there originated the indian national league for giving medical aid to women (_nationalverband für ärztliche frauenhilfe in indien_). native women have studied law in order to represent their sex in the courts. their chief motive was to secure an opportunity of conferring with the women in the zenana, a privilege not granted the male lawyer. the first indian woman lawyer, cornelia sorabija, was admitted to the bar in poona. even in england the women have not yet been granted this privilege. this is easily explained. the indian women cannot be clients of men lawyers; what men lawyers cannot take, they generously leave to the women lawyers. india has 300,000,000 people; hence these meager beginnings of a woman's rights movement are infinitesimal when compared with the vast work that remains undone.[116] the educated indian woman is participating in the nationalist movement that is now being directed against english rule. brahmanism hinders the indian woman in making use of the educational opportunities offered by the english government. brahmanism and its priests nourish in woman a feeling of humility and the fear that she will lose her caste through contact with europeans and infidels. the parsee women and the mohammedan women do not have this fear. the parsee women (pundita ramabai, for example) have played a leading part in the emancipation of their sex in india. but the mohammedan women of india are reached by the movement only with difficulty. by the hindoo of the old régime, woman is kept in great ignorance and superstition; her education is limited to a small stock of aphorisms and rules of etiquette; her life in the zenana is largely one of idleness. "ennui almost causes them to lose their minds" is a statement based on the reports of missionaries. there are modern schools for girls in all large cities (calcutta, madras, bombay, etc.). the status of the native woman has been europeanized to the greatest extent in bengal. the best educated of the native women of all classes are the dancing girls (_bayadères_); unfortunately they are not "virtuous women" (_honnêtes femmes_), hence education among women has been in ill repute. a congress of women was held in calcutta in 1906 with a woman as chairman; this congress discussed the condition of indian women. at the medical congress of 1909, in bombay, hindoo women doctors spoke effectively. the women doctors have formed the association of medical women in india. in madras there is published the _indian ladies' magazine_.[117] china[118] total population: 426,000,000. the chinese woman of the lower classes has the same status as the mohammedan woman,--ostensible freedom of movement, and hard work. the women of the property owning classes, however, must remain in the house; here, entertaining one another, they live and eat, apart from the men. as woman is not considered in the chinese worship of ancestors, her birth is as unwished for as that of the indian woman. among the poor the birth of a daughter is an economic misfortune. who will provide for her? hence in the three most densely populated provinces the murder of girl babies is quite common. in many cases mothers kill their little girls to deliver them from the misery of later life. the father, husband, and the mother-in-law are the masters of the chinese woman. she can possess property only when she is a widow (see the much more liberal provisions of the koran). the earnings of the chinese wife belong to her husband. but in case of a dispute in this matter, no court would decide in the husband's favor, for he is supposed to be "the bread winner" of the family. polygamy is customary; but the chinese may have only _one_ legitimate wife (while the mohammedan may have four). the concubine has the status of a _hetaera_; she travels with the man, keeps his accounts, etc. the chinese woman of the property owning class lives, in contrast to the hindoo woman, a life filled with domestic duties. she makes all the clothes for the family; even the most wealthy women embroider. frequently the wife succeeds in becoming the adviser of the husband. a widow is not despised; she can remarry. the women of the lower classes engage in agriculture, domestic service, the retail business, all kinds of agencies and commission businesses, factory work (to a small extent), medical science (practiced in a purely experimental way), and midwifery; they carry burdens and assist in the loading and unloading of ships. women's wages are one half or three fourths of those of the men. the lives of the chinese women, especially among the lower classes, are so wretched that mothers believe they are doing a good deed when they strangle their little girls, or place them on the doorstep where they will be gathered up by the wagon that collects the corpses of children. many married women commit suicide. "the suffering of the women in this dark land is indescribable," says an american woman missionary. those chinese women that believe in the transmigration of souls hope "in the next world to be anything but a woman." foreign women doctors, like the women missionaries, are bringing a little cheer into these sad places. most of these women are english or american. the beginning of a real woman's rights movement is the work of the anti-foot-binding societies, which are opposing the binding of women's feet. this reform is securing supporters among men and women. for seventeen years there has existed a school for chinese women. this was founded by kang you wei, the first chinese to demand that both sexes should have the same rights. the women that have devoted themselves during these seventeen years to the emancipation of their sex must often face martyrdom. tsin king, the founder of a semimonthly magazine for women, and of a modern school for girls, met death on the scaffold in 1907 during a political persecution directed against all progressive elements. another woman's rights advocate, miss sin peng sie, donated 200,000 taëls (a taël is equivalent to 72.9 cents) for the erection of a _gymnasium_ for girls in her native city, 100,000 taëls to endow a pedagogical magazine, and 50,000 taëls for the support of minor schools for girls. still another woman's rights advocate, wu fang lan, resisted every attempt to bind her feet in the traditional manner. there exists a woman's league, through whose efforts the government, in 1908, prohibited the binding of the feet of little girls. in recent years the _women's magazines_ have increased in number. four large publications, devoted solely to women's interests, are published in canton; five are published in shanghai, and about as many in every other large city. the new system of education (adopted in 1905) grants women freedom. girls' schools have been opened everywhere; in the large cities there are girls' secondary schools in which the chinese classics, foreign languages, and other cultural subjects are taught. in tien tsin there is a seminary for women teachers. sie tou fa, a prominent chinese administrative official (who is also a governor and a lawyer), recently delivered a lecture in paris on the status of the chinese woman. this lecture contradicts the statements made above. among other things he declared that china has produced too many distinguished women (in the political as well as in other fields) for law and public opinion to restrict the freedom of woman. "the chinese admits superiority, with all its consequences, as soon as he sees it; and this, whether it is shown by man or woman."[119] according to him there can be no woman's rights movement in china, because man does not oppress woman! he declares that the progress of women in china since 1905 is a manifestation of patriotism, not of feminism. according to our experiences the opinions of sie tou fa are attributable to a peculiarly masculine way of observing things. japan and korea[120] total population: 46,732,876. women: 23,131,236. men: 23,601,640. previous to the thirteenth century the japanese woman, when compared with the other women of the far east, occupied a specially favored position,--as wife and mother, as scholar, author, and counselor in business and political affairs. all these rights were lost during the civil wars waged in the period between the thirteenth and seventeenth centuries. war and militarism are the sworn enemies of woman's rights. a further cause of the japanese woman's loss of rights was the strong influence of chinese civilization, embodied in the teachings of confucius. the japanese woman was expected to be obedient; her virtues became passive and negative. in the seaports and chief cities, european influence has during the last fifty years caused changes in the dress, general bearing, and social customs of the japanese. during the past thirty years these changes have been furthered by the government. while japan was rising to the rank of a great world power, she was also providing an excellent educational system for women. the movement began with the erection of girls' schools. the empress is the patroness of an "imperial educational society," a "secondary school for girls," and "educational institute for the daughters of nobles," and of a "seminary for women teachers." all of these institutions are in tokio. women formed in 1898 13 per cent of the total number of teachers. japanese women of wealth and women of the nobility support these educational efforts; they also support the "charity bazaar society," the orphans' home, and the red cross society. the red cross society trained an excellent corps of nurses, as the russo-japanese war demonstrated. women are employed as government officials in the railroad offices; they are also employed in banks. japanese women study medicine, pharmacy, and midwifery in special institutions,[121] which have hundreds of women enrolled. many women attend commercial and technical schools. women are engaged in industry,--at very low wages, to be sure; but this fact enables japan to compete successfully for markets. the number of women in industry exceeds that of the men; in 1900 there were 181,692 women and 100,962 men industrially engaged. in the textile industry 95 per cent of the laborers are women. women also outnumber the men in home industries. women's average daily wages are 12-1/2 cents. women remain active in commerce and industry, for the workers are recruited from the lower classes, and they have been better able to withstand chinese influence. chinese law (based on the teachings of confucius) still prevails with all its harshness for the japanese woman. the taxpaying japanese becomes a voter at the age of twenty-five. the japanese woman has no political rights. hence a petition has been presented to parliament requesting that women be granted the right to form organizations and to hold meetings. parliament favored the measure. but the government is still hesitating, hence a new petition has been sent to parliament. the modern woman's rights movement in japan is supported by the following organizations: two societies favoring woman's education, the associations for hygiene, and the society favoring dress reform. the _women's union_ and the _league of women_ can be regarded as political organizations. there are japanese women authors and journalists. since korea has belonged to japan, changes have begun there also. the korean women have neither a first name nor a family name. according to circumstances they are called daughter of a. b., wife of a., etc. it is a sign of the time and also of the awakening of woman's self-reliance that the government of korea has been presented with a petition, signed by many women, requesting that these conditions be abolished and that women be granted the right to have their own names. * * * * * we have completed our journey round the world,--from japan to the united states is only a short distance, and the intellectual relations between the two countries are quite intimate. few oriental people seem more susceptible to european culture than the japanese. but whatever woman's rights movement there is in non-european countries, it owes its origin almost without exception to the activity of educated occidentals,--to the men and women teachers, educators, doctors, and missionaries. here is an excellent field for our activities; here is a duty that we dare not forget in the midst of our own struggles. for we cannot estimate the noble work and uplifting power that the world loses in those countries where women are merely playthings and beasts of burden. conclusion in the greater part of the world woman is a slave and a beast of burden. in these countries she rules only in exceptional cases--and then through cunning. equality of rights is not recognized; neither is the right of woman to act on her own responsibility. even in most countries of european civilization woman is not free or of age. in these countries, too, she exists merely as a sexual being. woman is free and is regarded as a human being only in a very small part of the civilized world. even in these places we see daily tenacious survivals of the old barbarity and tyranny. hence it is not true that woman is the "weaker," the "protected," the "loved," and the "revered" sex. in most cases she is the overworked, exploited, and (even when living in luxury) the oppressed sex. these circumstances dwarf woman's humanity, and limit the development of her individuality, her freedom, and her responsibility. these conditions are opposed by the woman's rights movement. the movement hopes to secure the happiness of woman, of man, of the child, and of the world by establishing the equal rights of the sexes. these rights are based on the recognition of equality of merit; they provide for responsibility of action. most men do not understand this ideal; they oppose it with unconscious egotism. this book has given an accurate account of the _means_ by which men oppose woman's rights: scoffing, ridicule, insinuation; and finally, when prejudice, stubbornness, and selfishness can no longer resist the force of truth, the argument that they do not wish to grant us our rights. there is little encouragement in this; but it shall not perplex us. man, by opposing woman, caused the struggle between the sexes. only equality of rights can bring peace. _woman_ is already certain of her equality. _man_ will learn by experience that renunciation can be "manly," that business can be "feminine," and that all "privilege" is obnoxious. the emancipation of woman is synonymous with the education of man. educating is always a slow process; but it inspires limitless hope. when "ideas" have once seized the masses, these ideas become an irresistible force. this is irrefutably proved by the strong growth of our movement since 1904 in all countries of european civilization, and by the awakening of women even in the depths of oriental civilization. the events of the past five years justify us in entertaining great hopes. footnotes: [1] i have discussed the theoretical side in a pamphlet of "the german public utility association" (_deutscher gemeinnütziger verein_), prague, 1918 palackykai. [2] the presiding officers of the international council to the present time were: mrs. wright sewall and lady aberdeen. this year, june, 1909, lady aberdeen was reëlected. [3] the report of the international woman's suffrage congress, london, may, 1909, had not yet appeared, and the reader is therefore referred to it. [4] their inferiority in numbers (in australia and in the western states of the united states) has, however, often served their cause in just the same way. [5] "the right of citizens of the united states to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the united states or by any state on account of race, color, or previous condition of servitude." [6] composed of the house of representatives and the senate. [7] in many states by two consecutive legislatures. [8] on november 8, 1910, an amendment providing for woman's suffrage was adopted by the voters of washington. [tr.] [9] on november 8, 1910, both south dakota and oregon rejected amendments providing for woman's suffrage. [tr.] [10] in october, 1911, california adopted woman's suffrage by popular vote. [tr.] [11] this "conference on the care of dependent children" was called by president roosevelt, and met, january 25 and 26, 1909, in the white house. two hundred and twenty men and women,--experts in the care of children, from every state in the union,--met, and proposed, among other things, the establishment of a federal child's bureau. thus far congress has done nothing to carry out the proposal. (_charities and the commons_, vol. xxi, 643, 644; 766-768; 968-990.) [tr.] [12] the "mothers" hold special congresses in the united states to discuss educational and public questions. (mothers' congresses.) [13] here universal male suffrage is meant. [tr.] [14] in november, 1910, an amendment in favor of woman's suffrage was defeated by a referendum vote in oklahoma. [tr.] [15] the amendment passed the senate and was adopted in november, 1910, by popular vote. [tr.] [16] in november, 1910, a woman's suffrage amendment was again defeated, as was the amendment prohibiting the sale of liquor. [tr.] [17] in november, 1910, four women were elected to the house of representatives of the colorado legislature. [tr.] [18] mrs. ida husted harper, in collaboration with susan b. anthony, has written a _history of woman's suffrage_ which deals with the subject so far as the united states are concerned. [tr.] [19] equal pay has been established by law in the states having woman's suffrage. [20] it is worth mentioning that in the spanish-american war miss mcgee filled the position of assistant surgeon in the medical department, doing so with distinction. [21] a. v. máday, _le droit des femmes au travail_, paris, giardet et briere. [22] in her book, _l'ouvrière aux états-unis_, paris, juven, 1904. [23] those who cannot pay an annual tax of two dollars. [24] in _l'ouvrière aux états-unis_. [25] the organ of the national american woman's suffrage association is _progress_ and is published in warren, ohio. there, one can also secure _perhaps_ and _do you know_, two valuable propaganda pamphlets written by mrs. carrie chapman catt. other literature on woman's suffrage can be obtained from the same source. [26] although new zealand is not politically a part of the australian federation, it will for convenience be treated here as such. [27] the theological degrees are granted only in england. [28] report of the international woman's suffrage conference, washington, 1902. [29] report of the national council of women, 1908. [30] _woman suffrage in australia_, by vida goldstein. [31] both published in rotterdam, 92 kruiskade, international woman's suffrage alliance. [32] consult helen blackburn, _history of woman's suffrage in england_. [33] see the excellent little work of mrs. c. c. stopes, "the sphere of 'man' in the british constitution," _votes for women_, london, 4 clement's inn. [34] in the irish sea, between ireland and scotland, having a population of 29,272 women and 25,486 men. [35] 4 clement's inn, strand, london, w.c. [36] see e. robin's novel, _the convert_. [37] by lawrence housman, feb. 11, 18, and 26, 1909. [38] see e. c. wolstenholme elmy, _women's franchise, the need of the hour_. [39] wolstenholme elmy, _ibid._ [40] this right is possessed by women in scotland and ireland also. [41] this is in direct conflict with the statute (13 vict., c. 21, sec. 4) providing that women enjoy all those rights from which they are not expressly excluded. [42] london, like other capital cities, is regulated by a separate set of laws. [43] applying to england and wales. [44] the right to vote is a condition necessary for the holding of office. [45] see the married women's property acts of 1870 and 1883. [46] see the article by mr. pethick lawrence in _votes for women_, march 3, 1909. [47] london, s.w., 92 victoria street. [48] valuable information concerning women in the industries is given in the programme of april 4, 1909, of the london congress of the international woman's suffrage alliance. [49] ansiaux, _la réglementation du travail des femmes_. [50] see mrs. pethick lawrence, "women and administration," _votes for women_, march 12, 1909. [51] see the article of alice salmon, _zentralblatt_. [52] for a survey of english conditions affecting women we recommend _the women's charter of rights and liberties_, by lady mclaren, 1909, london. [53] in canada there are municipal elections, provincial parliamentary elections, and elections for the dominion parliament. [54] see the report of the woman's suffrage alliance congress, amsterdam, 1908. [55] see the report of the international women's suffrage alliance, amsterdam, 1908. [56] the last two arguments are easily refuted. [57] woman never reaches her majority; she must always have a male representative. [58] the husband still remains the guardian of the wife. to-day the wife controls her personal earnings, but merely as long as they are in cash; whatever she _buys_ with them falls into the control of the husband. [59] see the report of the international woman's suffrage alliance congress, amsterdam, 1908. [60] see the supplement, "opposed to alcoholism," in _one people, one school_, for april, 1909. [61] a _realschule_ teaches no classics, but is a scientific school emphasizing manual training. a _gymnasium_ prepares for the university, making the classics an essential part of the curriculum. [tr.] [62] by vera hillt, _statistics of labor_, vi, helsingfors, 1908. [63] see the complete list of measures in _jus suffragi_, september 15, 1908. this is the organ of the international woman's suffrage alliance. [64] in 1904 women were declared eligible by an official ordinance to hold university offices. [65] it might be well to mention _dansk kvindesamfund, politisk kvindeforening, landsforbund, valgretsforeningen of 1908_ (a christian association of men and women). [66] compare similar proceedings in the united states and england. [67] since switzerland contains a preponderance of the germanic element, it will be considered with the germanic countries. [68] in geneva and lausanne the men exerted every effort to exclude women from the typographical trade. the prohibition of night work made this easy. the same result will follow in the railroad and postal service. therefore in the swiss woman's rights movement there are some that are opposed to laws for the protection of women laborers. [69] industrial training was promoted chiefly by the "lette-house," founded in berlin in 1865 by president lette and his wife. [70] in germany there are one million domestic servants. [71] for information concerning the german woman's rights movement we recommend _the memorandum-book of the woman's rights movement_ (_das merkbuch der frauenbewegung_), b. g. teubner, leipzig. [72] a body having advisory powers in matters relating to the medical profession and to sanitary measures. [tr.] [73] the question was decided by the administrative court in _one_ special case. compare the case of jacobs, amsterdam. [74] see _dokumente der frauen_ (_documents concerning women_); november 15, 1899. [75] the german system of stenography. [tr.] [76] see the resolutions of the party sessions in graz, 1900; in vienna, 1903; and of the first, second, and third conferences of the international woman's suffrage alliance, in 1904, 1906, and 1908. [77] except in illyria, carinthia, and lower austria. [78] for political and practical reasons hungary will be discussed at this point. [79] _dokumente der frauen_, june 1, 1901. [80] the proposed law grants the suffrage even to male illiterates. [81] later the code napoleon infected other countries, but such horrors originated spontaneously nowhere else. [82] in the years 1848, 1851, 1871, 1874, 1882, 1885. [83] see the resolutions of the two women's congresses, paris, 1900. [84] _le mouvement féministe_, countess marie de villermont. [85] _le féminisme_, emile ollivier. [86] miss chauvin made a similar request of the french chamber of deputies; as we have seen, her request was granted. dr. popelin did not make her request of the belgian chamber of deputies, which had not a republican majority. dr. popelin may have considered such a step hopeless. [87] since 1899 special socialistic workingwomen's congresses have been held. [88] see the action of the socialists in sweden and in hungary. [89] else hasse, _neue bahnen_. [90] the recognized gallant of a married woman. [tr.] [91] marianne weber, _zentralblatt_. [92] but only the enlightened clergy--those living in rome--consent to the higher education of girls. [93] _dokumente der frauen_, june 1, 1901. [94] see stanton, _the woman's rights movement in europe_. [95] _el feminismo_, 1899. [96] see the report of the international suffrage congress, washington, 1902. [97] see the report of the international suffrage congress, washington, 1902. [98] this has just been organized. [99] the following statistics are significant: between january 1 and july 1, 1908, russia showed an increase in the consumption of alcoholic liquors. the total amount of spirits consumed was 40,887,509 _vedros_ (1 _vedro_ is 3.25 gallons), which is an increase of 600,185 _vedros_ over the amount consumed during the same months of the preceding year. these figures correspond also to the government's income from its monopoly on spirits; this was 327,795,312 rubles (a ruble is worth 51.5 cents), an increase of 3,745,836 rubles over the same months of the preceding year. [100] see the very interesting article _frauenbewegung_ (_the woman's rights movement_), by berta kes, moscow. [101] see berta kes, _frauenbewegung_. [102] see _documents concerning women_ (_dokumente der frauen_), april 15, 1900. [103] i am indebted to mrs. eudokimoff, of st. petersburg, for an english translation of the resolutions, the address of the lord mayor, and the proceedings against the deputy of the duma; also for a biography of mrs. v. philosophow. [104] springtime. [105] a doctor employed by a workingmen's association. [tr.] [106] dr. schirmacher treats russian poland here with galicia, which is austrian poland. [tr.] [107] _dokumente der frauen_, november, 15, 1901. [108] greek conditions are analogous to conditions prevailing in slavic countries; hence greece will be treated here. greece was liberated from turkish control in 1827. [109] there are elementary schools for boys and girls. the secondary schools for girls are private. the first of these was founded by dr. hill and his wife, who were americans. preparation for entrance to the university is optional and is carried on privately. athens university has admitted women since 1891. [110] the english have abolished slavery in egypt. [111] see _conseil des femmes_, october, 1902, for the romantic "désenchantées" of p. loti, and hussein rachimi's "verliebter bey." [112] compare _la crise de l'orient_, by ahmed riza. [113] see the analogous action of the english in india. [114] report of the international suffrage congress, washington, 1902. [115] _mag der baum wohl wachsen in dem walde, aber keine tochter mir geboren werden._ [116] india still retains the official regulation of prostitution (which was abolished in england in 1886). here again, militarism is playing a decisive part in blocking this reform. [117] in bangkok, in farther india (siam), there is a woman's club with the siamese princess as president. [118] report of the international suffrage conference, washington, 1902. [119] "_le chinois admet la supériorité, avec toutes ses conséquences, dès qu'il la constate, qu'elle se révèle chez un homme ou chez une femme._" [120] report of the international suffrage conference, washington, 1902. [121] the university of tokio is still closed to women. women attend the woman's university, founded in 1901 by n. naruse. index abbans, count jouffroy d', 57. aberdeen, lady, xi, note 1, 96. actresses' franchise league, 68. adams, mr. alva, 22, 23. adler, 167. adlersparre, baroness of, 106. age of consent, in woman's suffrage states of the united states, 39. in australia, 53, 54. agricultural association for women, 83. agriculturists, women, in the united states, 36. in great britain, 82-84. in sweden, 108. in france, 186. in italy, 203, 204. alcala, catalina d', 210. alexander ii, 218. alexandra house, 82. aloisia, sigea, 208. amberly, lady, 62. american commission, report on european prostitution, 37. american federation of labor, favors woman's suffrage, 10. forms organizations of workingwomen, 33. american woman's suffrage association, 12. american women, activities of, at constitutional convention (1787), 2-4. means of agitation used by, 15, 16. and political life, 18. and the protection of youth, 18 and note 1. and state legislative offices, 22, 23 and note 1. members of city councils, 22. in the colorado legislature, 22, 23 and note 1. and education, 23-27. excluded by certain universities, 24. and the teaching profession, 25. students in higher institutions of learning, 26. suffrage of, in school affairs, 27. increase of women students, 27. admitted to technical schools, 29. legal status of, 36, 37. and sports, 38, 39. amsterdam, xiii. ancketill, mr., 100. ancketill, mrs., 100. anstie, dr., 77. anthony, susan b., the napoleon of the woman's suffrage movement, 7. various facts concerning, 7, 8. joint author of a _history of woman's suffrage_, 23, note 2. anti-foot-binding societies, 258. anti-slavery congress, 5, 6. arenal, concepcion, 209, 210. argentine republic, 214. arsuaga, pi y, 211. artists' suffrage league, 68. asquith, mr., 66. association opposed to woman's suffrage (in the united states), 23. auclert, madame, 188. augsburg, dr. anita, 151. australia, member of the international woman's suffrage alliance, xiii. conditions in, 42 and ff. australian universities, 45, 46. australian women's political association, 54. austria, represented in the international woman's suffrage alliance, xiii; _see also_ german austria. austrian women teachers' society, 159. bajer, 123. _baltic women's review_, 229. bassiliades, dr., 243, 244. _bayadères_, 255. bazan, emilia pardo, 208, 209. beauharnais, josephine, 178. becker, 63. belgium, represented in the international woman's suffrage alliance, xiii. conditions in, 190, 191. ben-aid, mrs. haïrie, 247. béothy, dr., 170. beresford-hope, mrs., 71. bey, kassim amin, 247. bieber-böhm, hanna, 151. biggs, 63. birmingham, 61. björnson, 110, 117, 123. blackburn, helen, 59, note 1. blackwell, elizabeth, 28, 29. blackwell, emily, 29. blake, jex, 77. boer war, 64. bohemia, conditions in, 230-232. boise, idaho, 21. bonald, de, 180. bonnevial, madame, 188. bosnia, conditions in, 250. boston, 22, 27, 38. brabanzon house, 82. brahmanism, 254. brandes, george, 123. braun, lily, 152. bremer, frederika, 103; _see also_ fredericka bremer league. bristol, 61. brüstlein, miss dr., 136. buchner, miss, 204. bulgaria, represented in the international woman's suffrage alliance, xiii. conditions in, 239-242. butler, mrs. josephine, 95, 204. cabinet, british, and woman's suffrage, 65, 67. _cahiers feministes_, 193. california, woman's suffrage amendment adopted by, 17, note 1. efforts of women of, to secure the suffrage, 21. cambridge university, 75, 76. canada, represented in the international woman's suffrage alliance, xiii. woman's rights movement in, 96 and ff. carima, mrs., 241. carinthia, _see_ slovene woman's rights movement. carniola, _see_ slovene woman's rights movement. catharine ii, 217. catholic woman's league, 154. catholic women teachers' society, 159. catt, mrs. carrie chapman, xiii, 42. cauer, mrs., 150, 151, 152. cave, miss, 78. central america, conditions in, 212, 213. central committee for woman's suffrage (england), 63. central states (of the united states), 35. chauvin, jeanne, 185. chicago, 40. child labor, in united states, 35. children, "conference on the care of dependent children," 18 and note 1. national child labor committee, 35. laws protecting, in australia, 54. _see also_ laws protecting women and children. children, authority over, in colorado, 19, 20. in thirty-eight of the united states, 37. in australia, 49, 55. in england, 74. in finland, 115. in german austria, 169. in switzerland, 140. in france, 179. in spain, 210. chili, 214. china, conditions in, 256-260. cincinnati, 30, 37. clergy, english, 6. cleveland, president, 15. clough, anne, 75. cobden, mrs., 71. code napoleon, absence of, in australia, 44. in the netherlands, 126. in france, 178, 179. in belgium, 191. in italy, 202. coeducation, in the united states, 24, 25. in australia, 45, 46. in scotland, 75. in sweden, 105. in the netherlands, 127. in switzerland, 134, 135. in germany, 147. in italy, 200. college equal suffrage league, 10. collett, clara, 117. colorado, woman's suffrage in, 16. activities and rights of women in, 19, 20. vote of immoral women in, 18, 19. women in legislature of, 22, 23 and note 1. conditions of women and children in, 39, 40. columbia university, 24. "conference on the care of dependent children," 18 and note 1. confucius, 260. conradi, mrs., 219. conservative and unionist women's franchise association, 68. _convert, the_ (novel), 67, note 1. coote, miss, 172. copenhagen, xiii. court of appeals, 71. craigen, 63. creighton, mrs. louise, 69. curie, madame, 84, 224. czaky, 172. davies, emily, 75. dazynska, dr., 234. _de stem der vrouw_, 194. declaration of independence, woman's, 6, 7, 11. "the declaration of the rights of women," 176. deflou, madame oddo, 182. denison, mrs. macdonald, 98. denmark, represented in the international woman's suffrage alliance, xiii. conditions in, 122-126. dennis, mrs., 192. denver, colorado, 18, 19. deraismes, marie, 180. deroin, jeanne, 180. derscheid-delcour, mrs., 193. despard, mrs., 68. disraeli, 61. divorce laws, in woman's suffrage states, 39. in australia, 49, 52, 55. in england, 74. in mexico and central america, 213. in turkey and egypt, 247. dobson, mrs., 47. doctors, women, in the united states, 28, 29. in australia, 46. in great britain, 77. in sweden, 104, 107. in finland, 111. in norway, 121. in the netherlands, 128, 130, 131. in switzerland, 136. in germany, 148. in german austria, 160, 161. in hungary, 171. in belgium, 193. in italy, 201. in portugal, 212. in russia, 220, 221, 222, 223. in servia, 237. in bulgaria, 240. in rumania, 242. in bosnia, 251. in persia, 251. in india, 253. _dokumente der frauen_, 166. donohue, mrs. m., 44. _do you know?_ (pamphlet), 42. drummond, mrs., 66. dufferin, lady, 254. durand, madame marguerite, 188. ebner-eschenbach, marie v., 169. education, women and, in the united states, 23-27, 39. in australia, 45, 46. in great britain, 74 and ff. in canada, 97. in sweden, 104, 106, 107. in finland, 111. in norway, 117-119. in denmark, 123. in the netherlands, 127, 128. in switzerland, 134-136. in germany, 146-148. in luxemburg, 157, 158. in german austria, 159, 160, 161-163. in hungary, 169-171. in france, 183, 184. in belgium, 191-193. in italy, 199-201. in spain, 207, 208. in portugal, 212. in mexico and central america, 212. in south america, 214. in russia, 217-222, 225. in czechish bohemia and moravia,230. in servia, 236, 237. in bulgaria, 240. in greece, 243. in turkey and egypt, 247, 248. in india, 255. in china, 259. in japan, 261. education act, 71. egypt, conditions in, 245-250. _el feminismo_, 209. elmy, e. c. wolstenholme, 70, notes 1 and 2. _encyclopedia britannica_, 60. england, represented in the international woman's suffrage alliance, xii; _see_ great britain. english constitution, 72. enrooth, adelaide, 110. eudokimoff, mrs., 229, note 1. factory inspectors, women, in the netherlands, 128, 129. in switzerland, 137. in germany, 149. in france, 185. in italy, 201. in russia, 224. far east, conditions in the, 245-265. favre, miss nellie, 136. fawcett, 63, 69. february revolution (1848), 180. federal child's bureau, proposed in the united states, 18 and note 1. federation of french women's clubs, 181, 183. federation of labor, 10. federn, elsie, 166. _féminisme chrétien, le_, 187. "feminist society," 172. fibiger, matilda, 122. fickert, augusta, 166. fifteenth amendment, women and the, 9. finland, represented in the international woman's suffrage alliance, xiii. conditions in, 110-116. fontaine, mrs., 192. fourierists, 180. france, represented in the international woman's suffrage alliance, xiii; conditions in, 175 and ff. _frauenwohl_ (magazine), 150. "frederika bremer league," 106. french revolution, and the woman's rights movement, 175-178. french woman's suffrage society, the, 189. fries, ellen, 107. "fronde," the, 188. galicia, conditions in, 232-235. galinda, donna, 208. gammond, madame gatti de, 193. garfield, president, 15. garrison, william lloyd, 6. geneva, university of, 29. german austria, conditions in, 158 and ff. german evangelical woman's league, 154. germanic countries, modern woman's rights movement in, 1-174. germany, represented in the international woman's suffrage alliance, xiii. conditions in, 143-145. gikycki, lily v., 151. girton college, 75. goldmann, (mrs.) dr., 166. goldschmidt, henrietta, 145, 146. goldstein, vida, 49, note 1, 54, 56. gore-langton, lady anne, 62. gouges, olympe de, 176, 177. great britain, represented in the international woman's suffrage alliance, xiii. conditions in, 58 and ff. greece, conditions in, 242-244. grimke, angelina, 5. group of women students, the, in france, 182, 183. gruber, dr. ludwig, 172. gyulai, p., 170. hainisch, marianne, 166. hansteen, aasta, 117. harem, 245. harper, ida husted, 23, note 2. harvard university, 24. hayden, sophia, 29. hayes, president, 15. hein, frau dr., 136. helenius, trigg, 116. hertzka, mrs. jella, 166. herzegovina, conditions in, 250. herzfelder, miss, 166. heymann, miss, 151. hickel, rosina, 111. higinbotham, george, 50. hill, octavia, 91. hirsch-duncker trades union, 153. _history of woman's suffrage_, by harper and anthony, 23, note 1. referred to, 37. holloway college, 75, 83. house of commons, attitude toward woman's suffrage, 65. housmann, lawrence, 69. hungarian woman's club, 170. hungary, represented in the international woman's suffrage alliance, xiii. conditions in, 169 and ff. hutchins, mrs. b. l., 92. ibsen, 110, 117, 123. iceland, represented in the international woman's suffrage alliance, xiii. idaho, woman's suffrage in, 16. activities and influence of women in, 20, 21. establishes lectureship in domestic science, 27. condition of women and children in, 39, 40. illinois, and woman's suffrage, 6, 21. women jurors in, 28. india, conditions in, 252-255. _indian ladies' magazine_, 255. inspectors of schools, _see_ school inspectors (women). institute de demoiselles, 217. international council of women, x-xii. international federation for the abolition of the official regulation of prostitution, headquarters of, 140. austrian branch of, 166. hungarian branch of, 172. italian branch of, 204, 205. polish branch of, 235. international vigilance society, 172. international woman's suffrage alliance, the, various facts concerning, x, xii, xiii. ionades, miss, 244. iowa, 21. ireland, 68; _see_ great britain. isle of man, 63. italy, represented in the international woman's suffrage alliance, xiii. conditions in, 196-199. jackson, miss, 32. jacobs, dr. aletta, 130. japan, conditions in, 260-262. java, woman's suffrage society in, 132. johns hopkins university, 24. jones, miss, 29, 30. journalists, women, in the united states, 28. in great britain, 81. in spain, 209. in bulgaria, 240. july revolution (1830), 180. juvenile courts, in australia, 54. advocated in germany, 155. kalapothaki, marie, 243. kang you wei, 258. kansas, municipal woman's suffrage in, 16, 20. efforts of women of, to secure full suffrage rights, 21. kapnist, mrs. v., 244. keller, helen, 27. kelly, abby, 4, 5. kenney, annie, 66. kerschbaumer, dr., 160, 161. kettler, mrs., 146. key, ellen, 107, 108. kingsley, 63. koran, 248, 251. korea, conditions in, 262, 263. kowalewska, sonja, 107, 224. krajevska, feodora, 251. kronauwetter, 167. kutschalska-reinschmidt, mrs., 234, 235. kveder, zofka, 235, 236. labriola, therese, 201. _la française_, 189. lang, helena, 146. lang, maria, 166. lascaridis, miss, 244. lawrence, mr. pethick, 66, 74, note 1, 92, note 1. lawrence, mrs., pethick, 66. laws protecting women and children, in the united states, 39, 40. in australia, 48, 52-54. in great britain, 86, 87. in finland, 115. in norway, 121, 122. in switzerland, 138, 140, 141. in germany, 154. lack of, in france, 179. lawyers, women, in the united states, 27. in australia, 54. absence of, in great britain, 77. in canada, 97. in sweden, 107. in finland, 112. in norway, 121. in switzerland, 136. in germany, 148. in german austria, 161. in france, 185. in belgium, 192. in india, 253, 254. league for freedom of labor defense, 86. lee, mrs. mary, 53. lincoln, abraham, 15. lindsey, judge, 18. lischnewska, maria, 146. listrow, mrs. v., 166. local self-government act for england and wales, 72. loeper-houselle, marie, 146. london, xiii, 61, 81. london, university of, 77. london college for workingwomen, 89, 90. _london girls' club union magazine_, 90. lords, house of, 72. losa, isabella, 208. luxemburg, conditions in, 157. mccullock, mrs. c. waugh, 39. mcgee, miss, 29, note 1. mackenroth, miss anna, 136. maclaren, agnes, 204. maclaren, 63, 96, note 1. maclay, a. v., 173. _madame mère_, 178. mahrenholtz-bülow, countess, 127. maine, 21. maireder, rosa, 166. malinoff, mrs., 241. manchester, 61, 62. mariani, emilia, 203. mario, jessie white, 202. massachusetts, 21. meath, countess of, 82. men's league for woman's suffrage, 68. men's league opposing woman's suffrage, 68. mericourt, théroigne de, 177. mexico, conditions in, 212, 213. meyer, mr. julius, 150. michel, louise, 180. mill, john stuart, 60, 61, 123. miller, paula, 154. minnesota, 21. mohammedan countries, _see_ turkey, egypt, persia, bosnia, and herzegovina. monod, miss sara, 188. montessori, maria, 201. monti, rina, 201. moravia, conditions in, 230-232. morgenstern, lina, 145, 152. morsier, emile de, 190. mothers, school for, 94, 95. mothers' congresses, in the united states, 20, note 1. mott, lucretia, 5, 6. münsterberg, deputy, 156. _mystery of woman, the_, 236. napoleon, 178, 179. napoleonic code, _see_ code napoleon. national american woman's suffrage association, 22, 42, note 1. national anti-slavery society, 6. national child labor committee, 35. national council, xi, xii. national council of french women, 189. national council of women (in australia), 47, note 1. national trades union league, 10. national union of woman's suffrage societies, 64. national woman's antisuffrage association, 68. national woman's social and political union, 64. nebraska, 16, 21. netherlands, the, represented in the international woman's suffrage alliance, xiii. conditions in, 126. new hampshire, 21. newnham college, 75. new york, 21. new zealand, 42, note 2; _see_ australia. nightingale, florence, 91. night labor, of women, in the united states, 36. north america, the cradle of the woman's rights movement, 2. northern states (of the united states), 35. oberlin college, 24. ohio, 27. oklahoma, 21, and note 2. olga, queen of greece, 243. oregon, outlook for woman's suffrage in, 16. woman's suffrage amendment (1910) defeated in, 16, note 2; 22, note 2. opposition to woman's suffrage in, 22. failure of woman's suffrage campaign (1906) in, 22. orient, the, conditions in, 245-265. otto-peters, louise, 145. oxford university, 75, 76. panajuta, miss, 244. pankhurst, miss, 66. pankhurst, mrs., 66. pappritz, anna, 151. parent, mrs., 192. parental authority, _see_ children, authority over. parliament, act of, bearing on woman's suffrage, 62. obligation of members of, to the woman's suffrage movement, 65. women deputations and, 66, 67. parren, madame killirhoe, 243, 244. parsee women, 255. patents, taken out by women in the united states, 30. paterson, mrs., 85. paulus, erica, 171. pavlovna, helene, 218. pease, elizabeth, 5, 6. pennsylvania, 21, 27. _perhaps_ (pamphlet), 42. pernerstorfer, 167. persia, conditions in, 251, 252. peter the great, 217. petzold, miss v., 78. philosophow, mrs. v., 228, 229. "physical force fallacy, the," 69. poët, laidi, 201. police matrons, in the united states, 37. political equality league, in australia, 55. political equality league (chicago), 40. "political equality series," 12, 33. popelin, miss marie, 192. popp, mrs., 166. pornography, prohibited in woman's suffrage states of the united states, 40. suppressed in australia, 54. portland, 27. portugal, conditions in, 211, 212. posada, professor, 207, 208. possauer, dr., 161. poster, f. laurie, 40. preachers, women, in the united states, 28. in australia, 46. in great britain, 78. in canada, 97. in sweden, 104, 107. in the netherlands, 128. in german austria, 161. in france, 185. "primrose league," 63. prohibition movement, in sweden, 109, 110. in finland, 116. _progress_, 42. prostitution, laws concerning, in the united states, 37. in woman's suffrage states, 39. in england, 95. in finland, 115, 116. in norway, 117. in denmark, 126. in switzerland, 140. in germany, 144, 155, 156. in german austria, 165, 166. in hungary, 172. in france, 190. in italy, 204, 205. in galicia, 234. in servia, 238. in india, 254, note 1. purischkewitch, mr., 229. putnam, mary, 77. quakers, in the united states, 4. qualification of women act, 72. qvam, mrs., 121. ramabai, pundita, 255. red cross society, 91, 261. refia, princess, 250. rhode island, 21. richer, leon, 180. riza, selma, 247. robin, e., 67, note 1. roland, henrietta, 130. roland, madame, 177. romance countries, conditions in, 175. rookwood pottery, 30. roosevelt, theodore, and woman's suffrage, 15. calls "conference on the care of dependent children," 18, note 1. involved in conflict with american women, 34. rose, ernestine, 8. rosores, isabel de, 208. rumania, conditions in, 242-244. runeburg, frederika, 110. rural woman's industrial society, 171. russia, represented in the international woman's suffrage alliance, xiii. conditions in, 215 and ff. saint simonians, 180. salaries, women's compared with men's, in the united states, 25 and note 1, 31. in woman's suffrage states, 39. in australia, 46, 47, 55. in great britain, 78-80, 85. in canada, 97. in sweden, 105, 107, 108. in norway, 118, 119. in the netherlands, 128. in switzerland, 135. in germany, 147. in german austria, 159. in france, 184. in portugal, 212. in bulgaria, 240. salic law, absence of, in australia, 44. in england, 58. salt lake city, utah, 21. sand, george, 180. sandhurst, lady, 71. scandinavian countries, conditions in, 102, 103. schabanoff, mrs., 228. schiff, paoline, 203. schirmacher, dr., 151. schlesinger, mrs., 166. schmall, madame, 189. schmidt, augusta, 145, 146. school inspectors, women, appointment of, agitated in the united states, 27. in great britain, 79. in france, 185. schütze, e., 229. schwerin, jeanette, 151. schwietland, mrs., 166. scotland, 68; _see also_ great britain. seddon, mrs., 51, 52. servia, represented in the international woman's suffrage alliance, xiii. conditions in, 236, 239. sévigné, madame de, 178. sewall, mrs. wright, xi, note 1. sex, the sexes, relationship of the sexes, xiv. woman's use of her sex, as a weapon, 40-42. shaw, rev. anna howard, challenges mrs. humphrey ward, 18. denver elections investigated by, 18. president of the national woman's suffrage association, 22. a woman's rights advocate with theological training, 28. on the legal status of woman, 36, 37. sheldon, mrs. french, 80. siam, 255, note 1. sie, tou fa, 259. silberstein, mr., 150. simcox, miss, 85. simpson, mrs. anna, 192. sin, miss peng sie, 258. slavic countries, conditions in, 215 and ff. sloane garden houses, 81. slovene woman's rights movement, 235, 236. _slovenka_, 236. "social purity league," 37, 38. social secretaries, 35. society for jewish women, 154. society for the amelioration of the condition of woman and for demanding woman's rights, 180. soho club and home for working girls, 90. somersville hall, 75. sorabija, cornelia, 254. south africa, represented in the international woman's suffrage alliance, xiii. conditions in, 100, 101. south america, conditions in, 213, 214. south dakota, 16 and note 2, 21. southern states, conditions in, 35. spain, conditions in, 206, 207. sprung, mrs. v., 166. stael, madame de, 177, 178. stanley, hon. maude, 90. stanton, elizabeth cady, refused admission to anti-slavery congress, 5, 6. introduces woman's suffrage resolution, 7. steyber, ottilie v., 145. stone, lucy, 5, 24. stopes, mrs. c. c., 62, note 1. strindberg, 110. stritt, mrs., 151. styria, _see_ slovene woman's rights movement. suffragettes, english, influence of, in the united states, 21. importance of, 58. tactics, influence, and activities of, 65-70. support given to, 69. suslowa, miss, 221. suttner, bertha v., 169. swain, dr. clara, 253. sweden, represented in the international woman's suffrage alliance, xiii. conditions in, 103-110. switzerland, represented in the international woman's suffrage alliance, xiii. conditions in, 133-134. tasmania, _see_ australia. teachers, women, in the united states, 25. in australia, 46, 47. in great britain, 76, 81. in sweden, 104, 106, 107. in finland, 111. in norway, 118, 119. in denmark, 123. in the netherlands, 128. in switzerland, 135. in germany, 147. in german austria, 161, 162. in hungary, 174. in france, 184. in italy, 200, 201. in spain, 207, 208. in mexico and central america, 212, 213. in russia, 221, 222. in galicia, 234. in servia, 237. in bulgaria, 240. in persia, 251, 252. _terem_, 217. téry, audrée, 195. tessel benefit society (_schadeverein_), 129. thorbecke, minister, 138. tilmans, madame, 194. tod, 63. trade-unions, women in, in the united states, 32, 33. in great britain, 84-88. in sweden, 108. in finland, 112. in norway, 122. in the netherlands, 129, 130. in switzerland, 137. in germany, 150, 153, 154. in german austria, 159, 160, 164, 165. in france, 185, 186. in belgium, 193. in italy, 203, 204. in russia, 222, 225. in the slovene countries, 236. in bulgaria, 240. trinity college, 76. troy seminary, 24. tsin king, 258. tumova, miss, 232. turkey, conditions in, 245-250. turmarkin, dr. anna, 135, 136. tuszla, dolna, 251. united states, represented in the international woman's suffrage alliance, xii, xiii. conditions in, 2-42. _see also_ american women. united states, constitution of, leaves suffrage matters to the various states, 3. not opposed to woman's suffrage, 10. preamble to, 10. united states, women in, leaders in modern woman's rights movement, x. oppose slavery, 4. attitude toward negro suffrage, 9. methods of obtaining the franchise, 13-15. universities, state, in the united states, 26. utah, woman's suffrage in, 16. work of women in, 19. condition of women and children in, 39, 40. vambéry, professor, 172. vandervelde, madame, 193. vassar college, 24. veres, mrs. v., 169. victoria, represented in the international woman's suffrage alliance, xii; _see also_ australia. vooruit, 194. vorst, mrs. v., her book referred to, 31, 35. vos, roosje, 130. _votes for women_, english woman's suffrage organ, referred to, 62, note 1, 66, 69. wachtmeister, countess, 52. wales, _see_ great britain. wallis, professor, 105. war of independence (1774-1783), relation of, to woman's rights movement, 2. ward, mrs. humphry, opposed to woman's suffrage, 18. in debate, 69. warren, ohio, 42. warwick, lady, 83. washington, state of, woman's suffrage secured in, 16, note 1, 21, 22, and note 1. webb, mrs. sidney, 69. wenckheim, baroness, 172. wendt, dr, cecilia, 163. west australia, _see_ australia. white slave trade, in australia, 54. in hungary, 172. _why does the working-woman need the right to vote?_ (pamphlet), 33. willard, frances e., 38. wisconsin, 21. wolfring, v., 166. wollstonecraft, mary, 176. woman's coöperative gild, 93, 94. woman's equal suffrage league (natal), 100. woman's freedom league, 68. woman's industrial society, 159. woman's institute, 80. _woman's journal_, 34, 35. woman's rights movement, the modern, definition, leadership in, origins, ix, x. international organization of, xi, xii. chief demands of, xiii, xiv. characteristics, in germanic and romance countries compared, 1, 2. in germanic-protestant countries, 1, 2. the cradle of, 2. and american war of independence, 2. character of, in the united states, 4 and ff. in australia, 42 and ff. in great britain, 58 and ff. in canada, 96 and ff. in south africa, 100 and ff. in the scandinavian countries, 103 and ff. in the netherlands, 126 and ff. in switzerland, 133 and ff. in germany, 144 and ff. in german austria, 158 and ff. in europe, 175. in france, 176 and ff. in belgium, 191 and ff. in italy, 199 and ff. in spain, 210, 211. in south america, 214. in russia, 215 and ff. in bohemia, 230-232. in servia, 236-239. in bulgaria, 240-242. in turkey and egypt, 247-250. in persia, 251. in india, 252-255. in china, 258-260. in japan, 262. in korea, 263. _see also_ woman's suffrage movement. woman's rights movement (periodical), 20, 21. woman's suffrage alliance, _see_ international woman's suffrage alliance. _woman's suffrage in australia_ (pamphlet), 56. _woman's suffrage in new zealand_, (pamphlet), 56. woman's suffrage movement, organized internationally, xii, xiii. in the united states, 2-23. in australia, 49-58. in england, 58-74. in canada, 98, 99. in south africa, 100, 101. in sweden, 104, 108, 109. in finland, 114-116. in norway, 119-121. in denmark, 124, 125. in iceland, 125. in the netherlands, 130-133. in switzerland, 141-143. in germany, 153-157. in german austria, 166-169. in hungary, 172, 173. in france, 188 and ff. in belgium, 194, 195. in italy, 202 and ff. in russia, 227-229. in czechish bohemia and moravia, 231, 232. in japan, 262. woman's suffrage states (united states), and educational matters, 27. women jurors in, 28. laws concerning women and children in, 39, 40. women, _see also_ agriculturists, american women, coeducation, divorce laws, doctors, children (authority over), education, factory inspectors, journalists, laws protecting women and children, lawyers, patents, preachers, salaries, sex, teachers, trade-unions, working-day. women in the professions and the industries, in the united states, 25-36. in australia, 46-48. in great britain, 77-95. in canada, 97. in sweden, 104-108. in finland, 111-113. in norway, 117-121. in denmark, 123-124. in the netherlands, 128-131. in switzerland, 135-139. in germany, 147-150. in luxemburg, 157, 158. in hungary, 171-174. in france, 185-187. in belgium, 193. in italy, 200-204. in portugal, 212. in mexico and central america, 212, 213. in south america, 214. in russia, 220-226. in czechish bohemia and moravia, 230, 231. in galicia, 232, 233, 235. in the slovene countries, 236. in servia, 237, 238. in greece, 243, 244. in persia, 251, 252. in japan, 261, 262. women, legal status of, in the united states, 36, 37. in australia, 49. in england, 73, 74. in canada, 97, 98. in sweden, 105, 106. in finland, 113. in denmark, 122, 123, 124. in the netherlands, 126, 127. in switzerland, 140. in germany, 155. in german austria, 168, 169. in france, 178, 179, 182. in belgium, 191. in italy, 202. in spain, 210. in mexico and central america, 213. in russia, 226, 227. in servia, 239. in bulgaria, 240. according to the koran, 248. in china, 256, 257. women's charter of rights and liberties, the, 96, note 1. women's clubs, _see under_ the woman's rights movement of the various countries. women's colleges, in the united states, 24. in great britain, 75-77. women's enfranchisement league (in cape colony), 101. _women's franchise, the need of the hour_, 70, note 1. women's liberal federation, 63. working-day for women, in the united states, 35. in woman's suffrage states, 39. in australia, 48. in switzerland, 139. in germany, 154. in italy, 203. workingwoman's movement, not antagonistic to woman's rights movement, x. world's woman's christian temperance union, formation of, x. facts concerning, 38. advocates woman's suffrage, 38. worm, pauline, 122. writers' league, 68. wu, fang lan, 258. wyoming, woman's suffrage in, 16. elections in, 20. legal status of women in, 39, 40. yale university, 24. young turkish woman's league, 249, 250. young turk movement, women and, 248, 249. zenana, 250, 253. zetkin, clara, 152. the following pages contain advertisements of macmillan books of related interest. by miss jane addams, hull-house, chicago the newer ideals of peace _12mo, cloth, leather back, $1.25 net; by mail, $1.35_ "a clean and consistent setting forth of the utility of labor as against the waste of war, and an exposition of the alteration of standards that must ensue when labor and the spirit of militarism are relegated to their 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limitations...; in fact, are the result of actual experience in hand-to-hand contact with social problems. "the result of actual experience in hand-to-hand contact with social problems ... no more truthful description, for example, of the 'boss' as he thrives to-day in our great cities has ever been written than is contained in miss addams's chapter on 'political reform.'... the same thing may be said of the book in regard to the presentation of social and economic facts."--_review of reviews._ "the book is startling, stimulating, and intelligent"--_philadelphia ledger._ _an unusually interesting book_ the book of woman's power with an introduction by ida m. tarbell _decorated cloth, 16mo, $1.25 net; by mail, $1.35 also in limp leather, $1.75 net; by mail, $1.85_ "whether the reader favors votes for women or not, 'the book of woman's power' will make a particular appeal to all interested in that subject."--_ohio state journal._ "it is a well-made book; the purpose of it is uplifting, and the contents are certainly of the highest class. it is a book good to read, and full of instruction for every one who wishes to pursue this theme."--_salt lake tribune._ miss molly elliot seawell's the ladies' battle _cloth, 12mo, $1.00 net; by mail $1.10_ "her reasoning is clear and the arguments she presents are forcibly put ... a racy little book, logical and convincing."--_boston globe._ "the book is one which every woman, whatever her views, ought to read. it has no dull pages."--_record-herald, chicago._ "miss seawell treats a subject of universal interest soberly and intelligently. she deserves to be widely read."--_boston daily advertiser._ "the clearest and the most thorough little treatise on the theme of woman suffrage."--_chicago inter-ocean._ wage-earning women by annie marion maclean professor of sociology in adelphi college. _cloth, leather back, 12mo, $1.25 net; by mail $1.35_ "the chapters give glimpses of women wage-earners as they toil in different parts of the country. the author visited the shoeshops, and the paper, cotton, and woollen mills of new england, the department stores of chicago, the garment-makers' homes in new york, the silk mills and potteries of new jersey, the fruit farms of california, the coal fields of pennsylvania, and the hop industries of oregon. the author calls for legislation regardless of constitutional quibble, for a shorter work-day, a higher wage, the establishment of residential clubs, the closer coöperation between existing organizations for industrial betterment."--_boston advertiser._ making both ends meet: the income and outlay of new york working girls by sue ainslie clark and edith wyatt _illustrated, cloth, gilt top, 12mo, 270 pp., $1.50 net; by mail, $1.60_ "gives a vivid picture of the way the 'other half' lives, the half that is ground down by overwork, lack of home comfort and of recreation. so powerful are the facts presented that the very simplicity of their narration rouses the reader to the desperate need of safeguarding the girl workers in our cities against exhausting mental and physical demands."--_continent._ "the point of view of the book is constructive throughout, and it is safe to say that it will be for a long time, both for the practical worker and for the scientific student, the authoritative work in this field."--_detroit news._ "it is a recital of facts that makes one's heart and soul shrink up and grow small for pity and helplessness to help."--_lexington herald._ some ethical gains through legislation by florence kelley secretary of the national consumers' league. _cloth, leather back, 12mo, $1.25 net; by mail, $1.35_ this interesting volume has grown out of the author's experience in philanthropic work in chicago and new york, and her service for the state of illinois and for the federal government in investigating the circumstances of the poorer classes, and conditions in various trades. the value of the work lies in information gathered at close range in a long association with, and effort to improve the condition of, the very poor. the author is not only a lawyer of large experience in chicago, but has served that city, the state of illinois, and the federal government in many investigations of conditions among various trades, and in reference to the circumstances of the poorer classes. among the topics here treated are: the right to childhood. interpretations of the right to leisure. the right of women to the ballot. the rights of purchasers and the courts. the women of america by elizabeth mccracken _cloth, 12mo, $1.50 net; by mail, $1.61_ "a work the immediate need of which is felt everywhere. it treats of the american woman's economic condition and of women workers in various fields. it can be recommended to every one who is interested in the grave problems involved by the new and untoward conditions of women's work."--_n. y. evening sun._ the macmillan company publishers 64-66 fifth avenue new york transcriber's notes: passages in italics are indicated by _italics_. punctuation has been corrected without note. the following misprints have been corrected: "cubs" corrected to "clubs" (page 133) "classses" corrected to "classes" (page 184) "admisson" corrected to "admission" (page 250) "1 4" corrected to "184" (page 270) other than the corrections listed above, inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation have been retained from the original. from images provided by the million book project. images provided by: million book project. post-processing : wilelmina mallière. what eight million women want [illustration: convention of our women at hotel astor, new york] what eight million women want by rheta childe dorr 1910. to the american representatives of the eight million-the eight hundred thousand members of the general federation of women's clubs-this volume is dedicated many of the chapters contained in this volume appeared as special articles in _hampton's magazine_, to the editor of which the author's thanks are due for permission to republish. contents chapter i introductory ii from culture clubs to social service iii european women and the salic law iv american women and the common law v woman's demands on the rulers of industry vi making over the factory from the inside vii breaking the great taboo viii woman's helping hand for the prodigal daughter ix the servant in her house x votes for women xi in conclusion index list of illustrations convention of club women at hotel astor, new york carpenter shop, vacation school, pittsburgh captain ball on girl's field, washington park, pittsburgh story hour at vacation playground, castelar school yard, los angeles, cal. mrs. sarah platt decker lady aberdeen a "women's rights" map of the united states miss emilie bullowa mrs. frederick nathan mrs. j. borden harriman miss elizabeth maloney a department store rest-room for women miss maude e. miner in the night court, new york miss sadie american a typical dance hall an unthought-of phase of the servant question another serious contribution to the social question the servant girl and the employment agency suffragettes in london advertising a meeting mrs. harriot stanton blatch meeting a released suffragette prisoner the women's trades procession to the albert hall meeting, april 27, 1909 helen hoy greeley suffragettes in madison square the "quiet walk" of the new york suffragists, whom the police would not permit to parade suffrage demonstration in union square, new york what eight million women want chapter i introductory for the audacity of the title of this book i offer no apology. i have had it pointed out, not altogether facetiously, that it is impossible to determine with accuracy what one woman, much less what any number of women, wants. i sympathize with the first half of the tradition. the desires, that is to say, the ideals, of an individual, man or woman, are not always easy to determine. the individual is complex and exceedingly prone to variation. the mass alone is consistent. the ideals of the mass of women are wrapped in mystery simply because no one has cared enough about them to inquire what they are. men, ardently, eternally, interested in woman--one woman at a time--are almost never even faintly interested in women. strangely, deliberately ignorant of women, they argue that their ignorance is justified by an innate unknowableness of the sex. i am persuaded that the time is at hand when this sentimental, half contemptuous attitude of half the population towards the other half will have to be abandoned. i believe that the time has arrived when self-interest, if other motive be lacking, will compel society to examine the ideals of women. in support of this opinion i ask you to consider three facts, each one of which is so patent that it requires no argument. the census of 1900 reported nearly six million women in the united states engaged in wage earning outside their homes. between 1890 and 1900 the number of women in industry increased faster than the number of men in industry. _it increased faster than the birth rate._ the number of women wage earners at the present date can only be estimated. nine million would be a conservative guess. nine million women who have forsaken the traditions of the hearth and are competing with men in the world of paid labor, means that women are rapidly passing from the domestic control of their fathers and their husbands. surely this is the most important economic fact in the world to-day. within the past twenty years no less than nine hundred and fifty-four thousand divorces have been granted in the united states. two thirds of these divorces were granted to aggrieved wives. in spite of the anathemas of the church, in the face of tradition and early precept, in defiance of social ostracism, accepting, in the vast majority of cases, the responsibility of self support, more than six hundred thousand women, in the short space of twenty years, repudiated the burden of uncongenial marriage. without any doubt this is the most important social fact we have had to face since the slavery question was settled. not only in the united states, but in every constitutional country in the world the movement towards admitting women to full political equality with men is gathering strength. in half a dozen countries women are already completely enfranchised. in england the opposition is seeking terms of surrender. in the united states the stoutest enemy of the movement acknowledges that woman suffrage is ultimately inevitable. the voting strength of the world is about to be doubled, and the new element is absolutely an unknown quantity. does any one question that this is the most important political fact the modern world has ever faced? i have asked you to consider three facts, but in reality they are but three manifestations of one fact, to my mind the most important human fact society has yet encountered. women have ceased to exist as a subsidiary class in the community. they are no longer wholly dependent, economically, intellectually, and spiritually, on a ruling class of men. they look on life with the eyes of reasoning adults, where once they regarded it as trusting children. women now form a new social group, separate, and to a degree homogeneous. already they have evolved a group opinion and a group ideal. and this brings me to my reason for believing that society will soon be compelled to make a serious survey of the opinions and ideals of women. as far as these have found collective expressions, it is evident that they differ very radically from accepted opinions and ideals of men. as a matter of fact, it is inevitable that this should be so. back of the differences between the masculine and the feminine ideal lie centuries of different habits, different duties, different ambitions, different opportunities, different rewards. i shall not here attempt to outline what the differences have been or why they have existed. charlotte perkins gilman, in _women and economics_, did this before me,--did it so well that it need never be done again. i merely wish to point out that different habits of action necessarily result, after long centuries, in different habits of thought. men, accustomed to habits of strife, pursuit of material gains, immediate and tangible rewards, have come to believe that strife is not only inevitable but desirable; that material gain and visible reward are alone worth coveting. in this commercial age strife means business competition, reward means money. man, in the aggregate, thinks in terms of money profit and money loss, and try as he will, he cannot yet think in any other terms. i have in mind a certain rich young man, who, when he is not superintending the work of his cotton mills in virginia, is giving his time to settlement work in the city of washington. the rich young man is devoted to the settlement. one day he confided to a guest of the house, a social worker of note, that he wished he might dedicate his entire life to philanthropy. "there is much about a commercial career that is depressing to a sympathetic nature," he declared. "for example, it constantly depresses me to observe the effect of the cotton mills on the girls in my employ. they come in from the country, fresh, blooming, and eager to work. within a few months perhaps they are pale, anaemic, listless. not infrequently a young girl contracts tuberculosis and dies before one realizes that she is ill. it wrings the heart to see it." "i suspect," said the visitor, "that there is something wrong with your mills. are you sure that they are sufficiently well ventilated?" "they are as well ventilated as we can have them," said the rich young man. "of course we cannot keep the windows open." "why not?" persisted the visitor. "because in our mills we spin both black and white yarn, and if the windows were kept open the lint from the black yarn would blow on the white yarn and ruin it." a quick vision rose before the visitor's consciousness, of a mill room, noisy with clacking machinery, reeking with the mingled odors of perspiration and warm oil, obscure with flying cotton flakes which covered the forms of the workers like snow and choked in their throats like desert sand. "but," she exclaimed, "you can have two rooms, one for the white yarn and the other for the black." the rich young man shook his head with the air of one who goes away exceedingly sorrowful. "no," he replied, "we can't. the business won't stand it." this story presents in miniature the social attitude of the majority of men. they cannot be held entirely responsible. their minds automatically function just that way. they have high and generous impulses, their hearts are susceptible to tenderest pity, they often possess the vision of brotherhood and human kinship, but habit, long habit, always intervenes in time to save the business from loss of a few dollars profit. three years ago chicago was on the eve of one of its periodical "vice crusades," of which more later. sensational stories had been published in several newspapers, to the effect that no fewer than five thousand jewish girls were leading lives of shame in the city, a statement which was received with horror by the jewish population of chicago. a meeting of wealthy and influential men and women was called in the law library of a well known jurist and philanthropist. representatives from various social settlements in jewish quarters of the town were invited, and it was as a guest of one of these settlements that i was privileged to be present. eloquent addresses were made and an elaborate plan for investigation and relief was outlined. finally it came to a point where ways and means had to be considered. the presiding officer put this phase of the matter to the conference with smiling frankness. "you must realize, ladies and gentlemen," he said, "that we have entered upon an extensive and, i am afraid, a very expensive campaign." at this a middle aged and notably dignified man arose and said with emotion trembling in his voice: "mr. chairman, and ladies and gentlemen of the conference, this surely is no time for us to think of economy of expenditure. if the daughters of israel are losing their ancient dower of purity, the sons of israel should be willing, nay, eager to ransom them at any cost. permit me, as a privileged honor which i value highly, to offer, as a contribution towards the preliminary expenses of this campaign, my check for ten thousand dollars." he sat down to that polite little murmur of applause which goes round the room, and i whispered to the head resident of the settlement of which i was a guest, an inquiry as to the identity of the generous donor. "that gentleman," she whispered in reply, "is one of the owners of a great mail order department store in chicago." she sighed deeply, as she added: "during the first week of the panic that store discharged, without warning, five hundred girls." these typical examples of the reasoning processes of men are offered without the slightest rancor. they had to be given in order that the woman's habit of thought might be explained with clearness. women, since society became an organized body, have been engaged in the rearing, as well as the bearing of children. they have made the home, they have cared for the sick, ministered to the aged, and given to the poor. the universal destiny of the mass of women trained them to feed and clothe, to invent, manufacture, build, repair, contrive, conserve, economize. they lived lives of constant service, within the narrow confines of a home. their labor was given to those they loved, and the reward they looked for was purely a spiritual reward. a thousand generations of service, unpaid, loving, intimate, must have left the strongest kind of a mental habit in its wake. women, when they emerged from the seclusion of their homes and began to mingle in the world procession, when they were thrown on their own financial responsibility, found themselves willy nilly in the ranks of the producers, the wage earners; when the enlightenment of education was no longer denied them, when their responsibilities ceased to be entirely domestic and became somewhat social, when, in a word, women began to _think_, they naturally thought in human terms. they couldn't have thought otherwise if they had tried. they might have learned, it is true. in certain circumstances women might have been persuaded to adopt the commercial habit of thought. but the circumstances were exactly propitious for the encouragement of the old-time woman habit of service. the modern thinking, planning, self-governing, educated woman came into a world which is losing faith in the commercial ideal, and is endeavoring to substitute in its place a social ideal. she came into a generation which is reaching passionate hands towards democracy. she became one with a nation which is weary of wars and hatreds, impatient with greed and privilege, sickened of poverty, disease, and social injustice. the modern, free-functioning woman accepted without the slightest difficulty these new ideals of democracy and social service. where men could do little more than theorize in these matters, women were able easily and effectively to act. i hope that i shall not be suspected of ascribing to women any ingrained or fundamental moral superiority to men. women are not better than men. the mantle of moral superiority forced upon them as a substitute for intellectual equality they accepted, because they could not help themselves. they dropped it as soon as the substitute was no longer necessary. that the mass of women are invariably found on the side of the new ideals is no evidence of their moral superiority to men; it is merely evidence of their intellectual youth. visitors from western cities and towns are often amazed, and vastly amused, to find in new york and other eastern cities little narrow-gauge street car lines, where gaunt horses haul the shabbiest of cars over the oldest and roughest of road beds. the westerner declares that nowhere in the east does he find surface cars that equal in comfort and elegance the cars recently installed in his michigan or nebraska or washington home town. "recently installed." there you have it. the eastern city retains its horse cars and its out-of-date electric rolling stock because it has them, and because there are all sorts of difficulties in the way of replacing them. old franchises have to expire or otherwise be got rid of; corporations have to be coaxed or coerced; greed and corruption often have to be overcome; huge sums of money have to be appropriated; a whole machinery of municipal government has to be set in motion before the old and established city can change its traction system. the new western town goes on foot until it attains to a certain size and a sufficient prosperity. then it installs electric railways, and of course it purchases the newest and most modern of the available models. new social ideals are difficult for men to acquire in a practical way because their minds are filled with old traditions, inherited memories, outworn theories of law, government, and social control. they cannot get rid of these at once. they have used them so long, have found them so convenient, so satisfactory, that even when you show them something admittedly better; they are able only partially to comprehend and to accept. women, on the other hand, have very few antiques to get rid of. until recently their minds, scantily furnished with a few personal preferences and personal prejudices, were entirely bare of community ideals or any social theory. when they found themselves in need of a social theory it was only natural that they should choose the most modern, the most progressive, the most idealistic. they made their choice unconsciously, and they began the application of their new-found theory almost automatically. the machinery they employed was the long derided, misconceived, and unappreciated women's club. chapter ii from culture clubs to social service unless you have lived in a live town in the middle west--say in michigan, or indiana, or nebraska--you cannot have a very adequate idea of how ugly, and dirty, and neglected, and disreputable a town can be when nobody loves it. the railway station is a long, low, rakish thing of boards, painted a muddy maroon color. around it is a stretch of bare ground strewn with ashes. beyond lies the main street, with some good business blocks,--a first national bank in imposing granite, and a masonic temple in pressed brick. the high school occupies a treeless, grassless, windswept block by itself. in the center of the residential section of the town is a big, unsightly, hummocky vacant place, vaguely known as the park--or the place where they are going to have a park, when the city gets around to it. at present it is a convenient spot wherein to dump tin cans, empty bottles, broken crockery, old shoes, and other residue. when the wind blows, in the spring and fall, a fine assortment of desiccated rubbish is wafted up and down, and into the neighbors' dooryards. everybody is busy in these live towns. everybody is prosperous, and patriotic, and law-abiding, and respectable. the business of "getting on" absorbs the entire time and attention of the men. they "get on" so well, for the most part, that their wives have plenty of leisure on their hands, and the latter occupy a portion of their leisure by belonging to a club, organized for the study of the art of the renaissance, chinese religions before confucius, or the mystery of browning. the club meets every second wednesday, and the members read papers, after which there is tea and a social hour. the papers vary in degree alone, as the writer happens to be a skimmer, a wader, or a deep-sea diver in standard editions of the encyclopedias. the social hour, however, occasionally develops in a direction quite away from the realms of pure culture. such a town, with such a woman's club, was lake city, minnesota, a few years ago. lake city had a busy and a prosperous male population, a woman's club bent on intellectual uplift, and a place where there was going to be a park. one windy second wednesday the club members arrived with their eyes full of dust, soot on their white gloves, and indignation in their hearts. when tea and the social hour came around culture went by the board and the conversation turned to the perfectly disgraceful way in which the town's street cleaning was conducted. "the streets are bad enough," said one member, "but, after all, one expects the streets to be dusty. what i object to is having a city dump-heap at my front door. have any of you crossed my corner of the park since the snow melted?" she drew a lively picture of a state of things gravely menacing to the health of her neighborhood, and that of all the people whose homes faced the neglected square. "why doesn't somebody complain to the authorities?" she concluded. "why don't we do something about it? the next time we meet we might at least adopt resolutions, or, better still, have a committee appointed. what do you think, madam president?" madam president tapped her teaspoon on the edge of her empty cup. "i think," she said, "that we will come to order and do it now. will you put what you have just suggested in the form of a motion?" at the next meeting of the club the committee to investigate the park made its report. the club members began a lively canvass among real estate owners and business men, and before long an astonished city council found itself on its feet, receiving a deputation from the woman's club. the women came armed with a donation of fifteen hundred dollars cash, and a polite, but firm, demand that the money be used to clean up and plant the park. the council replied that it had always intended to get around to that park, and would have done it long ago but for the fact that there was no park board in existence, and could not be one, because the solons who drew up the city charter had forgotten to put in a provision for such a board. the club held more meetings, and appointed more committees. one of these unearthed a state law which seemed to cover the case, and make a park board possible without the direct assistance of a city charter. the city attorney was visited, and somehow was coaxed, or argued, or bullied into giving a favorable opinion, after which the election of a park board followed as a matter of course. the town suddenly became interested in the park. the club women's fifteen hundred dollars was doubled by popular subscription, and the work of turning a town rubbish heap into a cool and shady garden spot was brief but durable. you wouldn't know the lake city of those years if you saw it to-day. they have an attractive railroad station, paved streets, cement sidewalks, public playgrounds for children, a high school set in a shaded square, and residence streets that look like parkways. and the woman's club was the parent of them all. there is a theory which expresses itself somewhat obviously in the phrase: "whatever all the women of the country want they will get." the theory is a convenient one, because it may be used to defer action on any suggested reform, and it is harmless because of the seeming impossibility of ascertaining what all the women of the country really want. the women of the united states and the women of all the world have discovered a means through which they may express their collective opinions and desires: organization, and more organization. lake city is but one instance in a thousand. when american women began, a generation ago, to form themselves into clubs, and later to join these clubs into state federations of clubs, and finally the state federations into a national body, they did not dream that they were going to express a collective opinion. indeed, at that time not very many had opinions worth expressing. the immediate need of women's souls at the beginning of the club movement was for education; the higher education they missed by not going to college, and they formed their clubs with the sole object of self-culture. the study period did not last very long. in fact it was doomed from the beginning, for it is not in the nature of women, or at least it is not in the habit of women, to do things for themselves alone. they have _served_ for so many generations that they have learned to like serving better than anything else in the world, and they add service to the pursuit of culture, just as some of them add the important postscript to the unimportant letter. thus dallas, texas, had a women's club of the culture caste. one spring day, after the star member had read a paper on the "lake poets," and another member had rendered a chopin _étude_ on the piano, they began to talk about the stegomyia mosquito, and what a pity it was that the annual danger of contagion and death from the bite of that insect had to be faced all over again. pools of water all over town, simply swarming with little wriggling things, soon to emerge as full-armed stegomyias, merely because the city authorities hadn't the money, or said they hadn't, to cover the pools with oil. "why, oil isn't very expensive," said one of the club women. "let's buy a whole lot of it and do the work ourselves." so the work of saving hundreds of lives every year was added to the study of "lake poets" and chopin by the women's club of dallas. the members mapped the city, laid it out in districts, organized their forces, bought oil and oil-cans and set forth. they visited the schools, got teachers and pupils interested, and secured their co-operation. the study of city sanitation was soon put into the school curriculum, and oiling pools of standing water in every quarter of the town is now a regular part of the school program in the upper grades. every year the club women renew the agitation, and every year the school children go out with their teachers and cover the pools with oil. that story could be paralleled in almost any city in the united states. clubs everywhere organized for the intellectual advancement of the members, for the culture of music, art, and crafts, soon added to the original object a department of philanthropy, a department of public school decoration, a department of child labor, a department of civics. the day a women's club adopts civics as a side line to literature, that day it ceases to be a private association and becomes a public institution--and the public sometimes finds this out before the club suspects it. an eastern woman was visiting in san francisco a short time before the fire. in the complication of three streets with names almost identical, she lost her way to the reception whither she was bound. the conductor on the last car she tried before going home was deeply sympathetic. "'tis a shame, ma'am, them streets," he declared. "i've always said there was no sense at all in havin' them named like that. a stranger is bound to go wrong. i'll tell you what you do, ma'am: you go straight to mrs. lovell white, she that bosses the women's clubs, you know, ma'am. you tell her about them streets, and she'll have 'em changed." the conductor's simple faith in the women's club of san francisco did not lack justification. in the intervals of studying browning and antique art, the club found time to discover to san francisco all sorts of things that the city wanted and needed without knowing that it did. "we ought to have a flower market," pronounced the club. "nonsense," said the city council. "besides, where is the money to come from?" "we'll establish the flower market and show you," returned the club. they did. they found a centrally located square, the place where people would be likely to go for an early morning sale of potted plants and cut flowers. prices are moderate in outdoor markets, and nothing else so stimulates in an entire community the gardening instinct, usually confined to a few individuals. the city authorities discovered that the flower market filled a long-felt want. so the city took the market over. these activities were more or less local. others, begun as local affairs, ultimately became national in scope. the movement which has resulted in a national program in favor of public playgrounds for children began as a women's club movement. for a dozen years before the playgrounds association of america came into existence, women's clubs all over the country had been establishing playgrounds, supporting them out of their club treasuries, and using every power of persuasion to educate boards of education and city councils in their favor. pittsburg affords a typical instance. in 1896 there was a civic club of allegheny county, composed of women of the twin steel cities of pittsburg and allegheny. at the head of its education department there was a woman, miss beulah kennard, who loved children; not beautifully clean, well behaved, curled and polished children, but just children. children attracted miss kennard to such a degree that she couldn't bear the sight of them wallowing in the grime and soot of pittsburg streets and alleys. often she stopped in her walks to watch them, dodging wagons and automobiles; throwing stones, tossing balls, fighting, and shooting craps; stealing apples from push-carts, getting arrested and being dragged through the farce of a trial at law for the crime of playing. "those children," miss kennard told her club, "have got to have a decent place to play this summer." and the club agreed with her. the treasury yielded for a beginning the modest sum of one hundred and twenty-five dollars, and with this money the women fitted out one schoolyard, large enough for sixty children to play in. there was no trouble about getting the sixty together. they came, a noisy, joyous, turbulent, vacation set of children, and the anxious committee from the club looked at them in great trepidation of spirit and said to one another: "what on earth are we going to do with them, now that we've got them here?" with hardly a ghost of precedent to guide them, the club undertook the work, and as women have had considerable experience in taking care of children at home, they soon discovered ways of taking care of them successfully in the playground. the next summer the civic club invested six hundred dollars in playgrounds. two schoolyards were fitted up in pittsburg and two in allegheny. after that, every summer, the work was extended. more money each year was voted, and additional playgrounds were established. in the summer of 1899, three years after the first experiment, pittsburg children had nine playgrounds and allegheny children had three, all gifts of the women. by another year the committee was handling thousands of dollars and managing an enterprise of considerable magnitude. also their work was attracting the admiration of other club women, who asked for an opportunity to co-operate. in 1900 practically all the clubs of the two cities united, and formed a joint committee of the women's clubs of pittsburg and vicinity to take charge of playgrounds. [illustration: carpenter shop, vacation school, pittsburgh. established by club women and for years supported by them.] all this time the work was entirely in the hands of the club women, who bought the apparatus, organized the games, employed the trained supervisors, and supplied from their own membership the volunteer workers, without whom the enterprise would have been a failure from the start. the board of education co-operated to the extent of lending schoolyards. finally the board of education decided to vote an annual contribution of money. in 1902 the city of pittsburg woke up and gave the women fifteen hundred dollars, with which they established one more playground and a recreation park. the original one hundred and twenty-five dollars had now expanded to nearly eight thousand dollars, and pittsburg and allegheny children were not only playing in a dozen schoolyards, but they were attending vacation schools, under expert instructors in manual training, cooking, sewing, art-crafts. several recreation centers, all-the-year-round playgrounds, have been added since then. for pittsburg has adopted the women's point of view in the matter of playgrounds. this year the city voted fifty thousand, three hundred and fifty dollars, and the board of education appropriated ten thousand dollars for the vacation schools. in detroit it was the twentieth century club that began the playground agitation. mrs. clara b. arthur, some ten years ago, read a paper before the department of philanthropy and reform, and following it the chairman of the meeting appointed a committee to consider the possibility of playgrounds for detroit children. the committee visited the board of education, explained the need of playgrounds, and asked that the board conduct one trial playground in a schoolyard, during the approaching vacation. the board declined. the boards of education in most cities declined at first. the club did not give up. it talked playgrounds to the other clubs, until all the organizations of women were interested. within a year or two detroit had a council of women, with a committee on playgrounds. the committee went to the common council this time and asked permission to erect a pavilion and establish a playground on a piece of city land. this was a great, bare, neglected spot, the site of an abandoned reservoir which had been of no use to anybody for twenty years. the place had the advantage of being in a very forlorn neighborhood where many children swarmed. the common council was mildly amused at the idea of putting public property to such an absurd, such an unheard-of use. a few of the men were indignant. one germanic alderman exploded wrathfully: "vot does vimmens know about poys' play?--no!" and that settled it. the committee went to the board of education once more, this time with better success. they received permission to open and conduct, during the long vacation, one playground in a large schoolyard. for two summers the women maintained that playground, holding their faith against the opposition of the janitors, the jeers of the newspapers, and the constant hostility of tax-payers, who protested against the "ruin of school property." after two years the board of education took over the work. the mayor became personally interested, and the common council gracefully surrendered. they have plenty of playgrounds in detroit now, the latest development being winter sports. if the germanic alderman who protested that "vimmins" did not know anything about boys' play was in office at the time, one wonders what his emotions were when the playgrounds committee first appeared before the council and asked to have vacant lots flooded to give children skating ponds in winter. of course the council refused. fire plugs were for water in case of fire, not for children's enjoyment. in fact there was a city ordinance forbidding the opening of a fire plug in winter, except to extinguish fire. it took two years of constant work on the part of the club women to remove that ordinance, but they did it, and the children of detroit have their winter as well as their summer playgrounds. [illustration: captain ball on girl's field, washington park, pittsburgh. out of the persistent work of club women more than three hundred playgrounds for children have been established.] in philadelphia are fourteen splendid playgrounds and vacation schools, established in the beginning and maintained for many years by a civic club of women, the largest women's civic club in the country. the process of educating public opinion in their favor was slow, for it is difficult to make men see that the children of a modern city have different needs from the country or village children of a generation ago. men remember their own boyhood, and scoff at the idea of organized and supervised play in a made playground. women have no memories of the old swimming-hole. they simply see the conditions before them, and they instinctively know what must be done to meet them. the process of educating the others is slow, but this year in philadelphia sixty public schoolyards were opened for public playgrounds, and the city appropriated five thousand dollars towards their maintenance. in a hundred cities east and west the women's clubs have been the original movers or have co-operated in the playground movement. out of this persistent work was born the playground association of america, an organization of men and women, which in the three years of its existence has established more than three hundred playgrounds for children. in massachusetts they have secured a referendum providing that all cities of over ten thousand inhabitants shall vote upon the question of providing adequate playgrounds. the act provides that every city and town in the commonwealth which accepts the act shall after july 1, 1910, provide and maintain at least one public playground, and at least one other playground for every additional twenty thousand inhabitants. something like twenty-five cities in the state have accepted the playgrounds act. it is a good beginning. the slogan of the movement, "the boy without a playground is the father of the man without a job," has swept over the continent. [illustration: story hour at vacation playground, castelar school yard, los angeles, cal.] this surely is a not inconsiderable achievement for so humble an instrument as women's clubs. it is true that in most communities they have forgotten that the women's clubs ever had anything to do with the movement. the playgrounds association has not forgotten, however. its president, luther halsey gulick, of new york, declares that even now the work would languish if it lost the co-operation of the women's clubs. the scope of woman's work for civic betterment is wider than the interests that directly affect children. how much the women attempt, how difficult they find their task, how much opposition they encounter, and how certain their success in the end, is indicated in a modest report of the harrisburg, pennsylvania, women's civic club. that report says in part: "it is no longer necessary for us to continue, at our own cost, the practical experiment we began in street-cleaning, or to advocate the paving of a single principal street, as a test of the value of improved highways; nor is it necessary longer to strive for a pure water supply, a healthier sewerage system, or the construction of playgrounds. _this work is now being done by the city council, by the board of public works, and by the park commission._" not that the harrisburg women's civic club has gone out of business. it still keeps fairly busy with schoolhouse decoration, traveling libraries for factory employees, and inspecting the city dump. in birmingham, alabama, the women's work has been recognized officially. the club women have formed "block" clubs, composed of the women living in each block, and the mayor has invested them with powers of supervision, control of street cleaning, and disposal of waste and garbage. they really act as overseers, and can remove lazy and incompetent employees. carlisle, pennsylvania, has a ten-year-old civic club. the women have succeeded in getting objectionable billboards removed, public dumps removed from the town, in having all outside market stalls covered, and have secured ordinances forbidding spitting in public places, and against throwing litter into the streets. cranford, new jersey, is one of a dozen small cities where the women's clubs hold regular town house-cleanings. one large town in the middle west adopted a vigorous method of educating public opinion in favor of spring and fall municipal house-cleaning. the club women got a photographer and went the rounds of streets and alleys and private backyards. wherever bad or neglected conditions were found the club sent a note to the owner of the property asking him to co-operate with its members in cleaning up and beautifying the town. where no attention was paid to the notes, the photographs were posted conspicuously in the club's public exhibit. if the california women saved the big tree grove, the new jersey women, by years of persistent work, saved the palisades of the hudson from destruction and inaugurated the movement to turn them into a public park. as for the colorado club women, they saved the cliff dwellers' remains. you can no longer buy the pottery and other priceless relics of those prehistoric people in the curio-shops of denver. i am not attempting a catalogue; i am only giving a few crucial instances. the activities of women if they appeared only sporadically in lake city, dallas, san francisco, and a dozen other cities, would not necessarily carry much weight. they would possess an interest purely local. but the club women of lake city, dallas, san francisco, do not keep their interests local. once a year they travel, hundreds of them, to a chosen city in the state, and there they hold a convention which lasts a week. and every second year the club women of minnesota and texas and california, and every other state in the union, to say nothing of alaska, porto rico, and the canal zone, thousands of them, journey to a chosen center, and there they hold a convention which lasts a week. and at these state and national conventions the club women compare their work and criticise it, and confer on public questions, and decide which movements they shall promote. they summon experts in all lines of work to lecture and advise. increasingly their work is national in its scope. in round numbers, eight hundred thousand women are now enrolled in the clubs belonging to the general federation of women's clubs, holding in common certain definite opinions, and working harmoniously towards certain definite social ends. remember that these eight hundred thousand women are the educated, intelligent, socially powerful. long ago these eight hundred thousand women ceased to confine their studies to printed pages. they began to study life. leaders developed, women of intellect and experience, who could foresee the immense power an organized womanhood might some time wield, and who had courage to direct the forces under them towards vital objects. when, in 1904, mrs. sarah platt decker, of denver, was elected president of the general federation, she found a number of old-fashioned clubs still devoting themselves to shakespeare and the classic writers. mrs. decker, a voter, a full citizen, and a public worker of prominence in her state, simply laughed the musty study clubs out of existence. "ladies," she said to the delegates at the biennial meeting of 1904, "dante is dead. he died several centuries ago, and a great many things have happened since his time. let us drop the study of his 'inferno' and proceed in earnest to contemplate our own social order." [illustration: mrs. sarah platt decker] mostly they took her advice. a few clubs still devote themselves to the pursuit of pure culture, a few others exist with little motive beyond congenial association. the great majority of women's clubs are organized for social service. a glance at their national program shows the modernity, the liberal character of organized women's ideals. the general federation has twelve committees, among them being those on industrial conditions of women and children, civil service reform, forestry, pure food and public health, education, civics, legislation, arts and crafts, and household economics. every state federation has adopted, in the main, the same departments; and the individual clubs follow as many lines of the work as their strength warrants. the contribution of the women's clubs to education has been enormous. there is hardly a state in the union the public schools of which have not been beautified, inside and outside; hardly a state where kindergartens and manual training, domestic science, medical inspection, stamp savings banks, or other improvements have not been introduced by the clubs. in almost every case the clubs have purchased the equipment and paid the salaries until the boards of education and the school superintendents have been convinced of the value of the innovations. in the south, where opportunities for the higher education of women are restricted, the clubs support dozens of scholarships in colleges and institutes. many western state federations, notable among which is that of colorado, have strong committees on education which are active in the entire school system. thomas m. balliett, dean of pedagogy in the new york university, paid a deserved tribute to the massachusetts club women when he said: in massachusetts the various women's organizations have, within the past few years, made a study of schools and school conditions throughout the state with a thoroughness that has never been attempted before. dean balliett says of women's clubs in general that the most important reform movements in elementary education within the past twenty years have been due, in large measure, to the efforts of organized women. and he is right. the women's clubs have founded more libraries than mr. carnegie. early in the movement the women began the circulation among the clubs of traveling reference libraries. soon this work was extended, but the object of the libraries was diverted. instead of collections of books on special subjects to assist the club women in their studies, the traveling cases were arranged in miscellaneous groups, and were sent to schools, to factories, to lonely farms, mining camps, lumber camps, and to isolated towns and villages. iowa now has more than twelve thousand volumes, half of them reference books, in circulation. eighty-one permanent libraries have grown out of the traveling libraries in iowa alone. after the traveling cases have been coming to a town for a year or two, people wake up and agree that they want a permanent place in which to read and study. ohio has over a thousand libraries in circulation, having succeeded, a few years ago, in getting a substantial appropriation from the legislature to supplement their work. western states--colorado, wyoming, idaho--have supplied reading matter to ranches and mining camps for many years. one interesting special library is circulated in massachusetts and rhode island in behalf of the anti-tuberculosis movement. something like forty of the best books on health, and on the prevention and cure of tuberculosis, are included. this library, with a pretty complete tuberculosis exhibit, is sent around, and is shown by the local clubs of each town. usually the women try to have a mass-meeting, at which local health problems are discussed. the health department of the general federation is working to establish these health libraries and exhibits in every state. not only in the united states, but in every civilized country, have women associated themselves together with the object of reforming what seems to them social chaos. in practically every civilized country in the world to-day there exists a council of women, a central organization to which clubs and societies of women with all sorts of opinions and objects send delegates. in the united states the council is made up of the general federation of women's clubs, the woman's christian temperance union, and innumerable smaller organizations, like the national congress of mothers, and the daughters of the american revolution. more than a million and a half american women are affiliated. four hundred and twenty-six women's organizations belong to the council in great britain. in switzerland the council has sixty-four allied societies; in austria it has fifty; in the netherlands it has thirty-five. seventy-five thousand women belong to the french council. in all, the international council of women, to which all the councils send delegates, represents more than eight million women, in countries as far apart as australia, argentine, iceland, persia, south africa, and every country in europe. the council, indeed, has no formal organization in russia, because organizations of every kind are illegal in russia. but russian women attend every meeting of the international council. turkish women sent word to the last meeting that they hoped soon to ask for admission. the president of the international council of women is the countess of aberdeen. titled women in every european country belong to their councils. the queen of greece is president of the greek council. the object of this great world organization of women is to provide a common center for women of every country, race, creed, or party who are associating themselves together in altruistic work. once every five years the international council holds a great world congress of women. what eight million of the most intelligent, the most thoughtful, the most altruistic women in the world believe, what they think the world needs, what they wish and desire for the good of humanity, must be of interest. it must count. [illustration: lady aberdeen president of the international council of women.] the international council of women discusses every important question presented, but makes no decision until the opinion of the delegates is practically unanimous. it commits itself to no opinion, lends itself to no movement, until the movement has passed the controversial stage. those who cling to the old notion that women are perpetually at war with one another will learn with astonishment that eight million women of all nationalities, religions, and temperaments are agreed on at least four questions. in the course of its twenty years of existence the international council has agreed to support four movements: peace and arbitration, social purity, removing legal disabilities of women, woman suffrage. the american reader will be inclined to cavil at the last-mentioned object. woman suffrage, it will be claimed, has not passed the controversial stage, even with women themselves. that is true in the united states and in england. it is true, in a sense, in most countries of the world. but in european countries not _woman_ suffrage, but _universal_ suffrage is being struggled for. i had this explained to me in russia, in the course of a conversation with alexis aladyn, the brilliant leader of the social democratic party. i said to him that i had been informed that the conservative reformers, as well as the radicals, included woman suffrage in their programs. aladyn looked puzzled for a moment, and then he replied: "all parties desire universal suffrage. naturally that includes women." finland at that time, 1906, had recently won its independence from the autocracy and was preparing for its first general election. talking with one of the nineteen women returned to parliament a few months later, i asked: "how did you finnish women persuade the makers of the new constitution to give you the franchise?" "persuade?" she repeated; "we did not have to persuade them. there was simply no opposition. one of the demands made on the russian government was for universal suffrage." the movement for universal suffrage, that is the movement for free government, with the consent of the governed, is considered by the international council of women to have passed the controversial stage. the whole club movement, as a matter of fact, is a part of the great democratic movement which is sweeping over the whole world. individual clubs may be exclusive, even aristocratic in their tendencies, but the large organization is absolutely democratic. if the president of the international council is an english peeress, one of the vice-presidents is the wife of a german music teacher, and one of the secretaries is a self-supporting woman. the general federation in the united states is made up of women of various stations in life, from millionaires' wives to factory girls. the democracy of women's organizations was shown at the meeting in london a year ago of the international woman suffrage alliance, where delegates from twenty-one countries assembled. one of the great features of the meeting was a wonderful pageant of women's trades and professions. an immense procession of women, bearing banners and emblems of their work, marched through streets lined with spectators to albert hall, where the entire orchestra of this largest auditorium in the world was reserved for them. a published account of the pageant, after describing the delegations of teachers, nurses, doctors, journalists, artists, authors, house workers, factory women, stenographers, and others well known here, says: then the ranks opened, and down the long aisle came the chain makers who work at the forge, and the pit-brow women from the mines,--women whose faces have been blackened by smoke and coal dust until they can never be washed white.... to these women, the hardest workers in the land, were given the seats of honor, while behind them, gladly taking a subordinate place, were many women wearing gowns with scarlet and purple hoods, indicating their university degrees. every public movement--reform, philanthropic, sanitary, educational--now asks the co-operation of women's organizations. the united states government asked the co-operation of the women's clubs to save the precarious panama situation. at a moment when social discontent threatened literally to stop the building of the canal, the department of commerce and labor employed miss helen varick boswell, of new york, to go to the isthmus and organize the wives and daughters of government employees into clubs. the department knew that the clubs, once organized, would do the rest. nor was it disappointed. the government asks the co-operation of women in its latest work of conserving natural resources. at the biennial of the federation of women's clubs in 1906 mr. enos mills delivered an address on forestry, a movement which was beginning to engage the attention of the clubs. within an hour after he left the platform mr. mills had been engaged by a dozen state presidents to lecture to clubs and federations. as soon as it reached the government that the women's clubs were paying fifty dollars a lecture to learn about forestry work, the government arranged that the clubs should have the best authorities in the nation to lecture on forestry free of all expense. but the government is not alone in recognizing the power of women's organizations. if the government approves their interest in public questions, vested interests are beginning to fear it. the president of the manufacturers' association, in his inaugural address, told his colleagues that their wives and daughters invited some very dangerous and revolutionary speakers to address their clubs. he warned them that the women were becoming too friendly toward reforms that the association frowned upon. this is indeed true, and women display, in their new-found enthusiasm, a singularly obstinate spirit. all the legislatures south of the mason and dixon line cannot make the southern women believe that southern prosperity is dependent upon young children laboring in mills. the women go on working for child labor and compulsory education laws, unconvinced by the arguments of the mill owners and the votes of the legislators. the highest court in the state of new york was powerless to persuade new york club women that the united states constitution stands in the way of a law prohibiting the night work of women. the court of appeals declared the law unconstitutional, and many women at present are toiling at night. but the club women immediately began fighting for a new law. the women of every state in the union are able to work harmoniously together because they are unhampered with traditions of what the founders of the republic intended,--the sacredness of state rights, or the protective paternalism of wall street. the gloriously illogical sincerity of women is concerned only about the thing itself. i have left for future consideration women who having definite social theories have organized themselves for definite objects. this chapter has purposely been confined to the activities of average women--good wives and mothers, the eight hundred thousand american women whose collective opinion is expressed through the general federation of women's clubs. for the most part they are mature in years, these club women. their children are grown. some are in college and some are married. i have heard more than one presiding officer at a state federation meeting proudly announce from the platform that she had become a grandmother since the last convention. the present president of the general federation, mrs. philip n. moore of st. louis, missouri, is a graduate of vassar college, and served for a time as president of the national society of collegiate alumnae. there are not wanting in the club movement many women who have taken college and university honors. club women taken the country over, however, are not college products. if they had been, the club movement might have taken on a more cultural and a less practical form. as it was, the women formed their groups with the direct object of educating themselves and, being practical women used to work, they readily turned their new knowledge to practical ends. as quickly as they found out, through education, what their local communities needed they were filled with a generous desire to supply those needs. in reality they simply learned from books and study how to apply their housekeeping lore to municipal government and the public school system. nine-tenths of the work they have undertaken relates to children, the school, and the home. some of it seemed radical in the beginning, but none of it has failed, in the long run, to win the warmest approval of the people. the eight million women who form the international council of women, and express the collective opinion of women the world over, are not exceptional types, although they may possess exceptional intelligence. they are merely good citizens, wives, and mothers. their program contains nothing especially radical. and yet, what a revolution would the world witness were that program carried out? peace and arbitration; social purity; public health; woman suffrage; removal of all legal disabilities of women. this last-named object is perhaps more revolutionary in its character than the others, because its fulfillment will disturb the basic theories on which the nations have established their different forms of government. chapter iii european women and the salic law several years ago a woman of wealth and social prominence in kentucky, after pondering some time on the inferior position of women in the united states, wrote a book. in this volume the united states was compared most unfavorably with the countries of europe, where the dignity and importance of women received some measure of recognition. women, this author protested, enjoy a larger measure of political power in england than in america. in england and throughout europe their social power is greater. if a man becomes lord mayor of an english city his wife becomes lady mayoress, and she shares all her husband's official honors. on the continent women are often made honorary colonels of regiments, and take part with the men in military reviews. women frequently hold high offices at court, acting as chamberlains, constables, and the like. the writer closed her last chapter with the announcement that she meant henceforth to make her home in england, where women had more than once occupied the throne as absolute monarch and constitutional ruler. it is true that in some particulars american women do seem to be at a disadvantage with european women. with what looks like a higher regard for women's intelligence, england has bestowed upon them every measure of suffrage except the parliamentary franchise. in england, throughout the middle ages, and even down to the present century, women held the office of sheriff of the county, clerk of the crown, high constable, chamberlain, and even champion at a coronation,--the champion being a picturesque figure who rides into the hall and flings his glove to the nobles, in defense of the king's crown. in the royal pageants of european history behold the powerful figures of maria theresa, catherine the great, mary tudor, elizabeth, mary of scotland, christina of sweden, rulers in fact as well as in name; to say nothing of the long line of women regents in whose hands the state intrusted its affairs, during the minority of its kings. in the united states a woman candidate for mayor of a small town would be considered a joke. these and other inconsistencies have puzzled many ardent upholders of american chivalry. in order to understand the position of women in the united states it is necessary to make a brief survey of the laws under which european women are governed, and the social theory on which their apparent advantages are based. in the first place, the statement that in european countries a woman may succeed to the throne must be qualified. in three countries only, england, spain, and portugal, are women counted in the line of succession on terms approaching equality with men. in these three countries when a monarch dies leaving no sons his eldest daughter becomes the sovereign. if the ruling monarch die, leaving no children at all, the oldest daughter--failing sons--of the man who was in his lifetime in direct line of succession is given preference to male heirs more remote. thus queen victoria succeeded william iv, she being the only child of the late king's deceased brother and heir, the duke of kent. similar laws govern the succession in portugal and spain, although dispute on this point has more than once caused civil war in spain. in holland, greece, russia, austria, and a few german states a woman may succeed to the throne, provided every single male heir to the crown is dead. queen wilhelmina became sovereign in holland only because the house of orange was extinct in the male line, and holland lost, on account of the accession of wilhelmina, the rich and important duchy of luxemburg. luxemburg, in common with the rest of europe, except the countries described, lives under what is known as the salic law, according to which a woman may not, in any circumstances, become sovereign. a word about this salic law is necessary, because the tradition of it permeates the whole atmosphere in which the women of europe live, move, and have their legal and social being. the salic law was the code of a barbarous people, so far extinct and forgotten that it is uncertain just what territory in ancient gaul they occupied at the time the code was formulated. later the salian franks, as the tribe was designated, built on the left bank of the seine rude fortresses and a collection of wattled huts which became the ancestor of the present-day city of paris. the salic law was a complete code. it governed all matters, civil and military. it prescribed rules of war; it fixed the salaries of officials; it designated the exact amount of blood money the family of a slain man might collect from the family of the slayer; it regu lated conditions under which individuals might travel from one village to another; it governed matters of property transfer and inheritance. the salian franks are dust; their might has perished, their annals are forgotten, their cities are leveled, their mightiest kings sleep in unmarked graves, their code has passed out of existence, almost indeed out of the memory of man,--all except one paragraph of one division of one law. the law related to inheritance of property; the special division distinguished between real and personal property, and the paragraph ruled that a woman might inherit movable property, but that she might not inherit land. there was not a syllable in the law relating to the inheritance of a throne. nevertheless, centuries after the last salian king was laid in his barbarous grave a french prince successfully contested with an english prince the crown of france, his claim resting on that obscure paragraph in the salic code. the hundred years' war was fought on this issue, and the final outcome of the war established the salic law permanently in france, and with more or less rigor in most of the european states. at the time of the french revolution, when the "rights of man" were being declared with so much fervor and enthusiasm, when the old laws were being revised in favor of greater freedom of the individual, the "rights of woman" were actually revised downward. up to this time the application of the salic law was based on tradition and precedent. now a special statute was enacted forever barring women from the sovereignty of france. "founded on the pride of the french, who could not bear to be ruled by their own women folk," as the records are careful to state. the interpretation of the salic law did more, a great deal more, than exclude women from the throne. it established the principle of the inherent inferiority of women. the system of laws erected on that principle were necessarily deeply tinged with contempt for women, and with fear lest their influence in any way might affect the conduct of state affairs. that explains why, at the present time, although in most european countries women are allowed to practice medicine, they are not allowed to practice law. medicine may be as learned a profession, but it affects only human beings. the law, on the other hand, affects the state. a woman advocate, you can readily imagine, might so influence a court of justice that the laws of the land might suffer feminization. from the european point of view this would be most undesirable. the apparently superior rights possessed by english women were also bestowed upon them by a vanished system of laws. they have descended from feudalism, in which social order the _person_ did not exist. the social order consisted of _property_ alone, and the claims of property, that is to say, land, were paramount over the claims of the individual. those historic women sheriffs of counties, clerks of crown, chamberlains, and high constables held their high offices because the offices were hereditary property in certain titled families, and they had to belong to the entail, even when a woman was in possession. the offices were purely titular. no english woman ever acted as high constable. no english woman ever attended a coronation as king's champion. the rights and duties of these offices were delegated to a male relative. every once in a while, during the middle ages, some strong-minded lady of title demanded the right to administer her office in person, but she was always sternly put down by a rebuking house of lords, sometimes even by the king's majesty himself. in the same way the voting powers of the women of england are a result of hereditary privilege. local affairs in england, until a very recent period, were administered through the parish, and the only persons qualified to vote were the property owners of the parish. it was really property interests and not people who voted. those women who owned property, or who were administering property for their minor children, were entitled to vote, to serve on boards of guardians, and to dispense the poor laws. out of their right of parish vote has grown their right of municipal franchise. it carries with it a property qualification, and the proposed parliamentary franchise, for which the women of england are making such a magnificent fight, will also have a property qualification. the real position, legal and social, which women in england and continental europe have for centuries occupied, may be gauged from an examination of the feminist movement in a very enlightened country, say germany. the laws of germany were founded on the corpus juris of the romans, a stern code which relegates women to the position of chattels. and chattels they have been in germany, until very recent years, when through the intelligent persistence of strong women the chains have somewhat been loosened. a generation ago, in 1865, to be exact, a group of women in leipzig formed an association which they called the allgemeinen deutschen frauenbund, which may be anglicized into general association of german women. the stated objects of the association give a pretty clear idea of the position of women at that time. the women demanded as their rights, education, the right to work, free choice of profession. nothing more, but these three demands were so revolutionary that all masculine germany, and most of feminine germany, uttered horrified protests. needless to say nothing came of the women's demand. after the franco-prussian war the center of the women's revolt naturally moved to the capital of the new empire, berlin. from that city, during the years that followed, so much feminine unrest was radiated that in 1887 the german woman suffrage association was formed, with the demand for absolute equality with men. two remarkable women, minna cauer and anita augsberg, the latter unmarried and a doctor of laws, were the moving spirits in the first woman suffrage agitation, which has since extended throughout the empire until there is hardly a small town without its suffrage club. now the woman suffragist in germany differs from the american suffragist in that she is always a member of a political party. she is a silent member to be sure, but she adheres to her party, because, through tradition or conviction, she believes in its policies. usually the suffragist is a member of the social democratic party, allied to the international socialist party. she is a suffragist because she is a socialist, because woman suffrage, and, indeed, the full equalization of the laws governing men and women are a part of the socialist platform in every country in the world. the woman member of the social democratic party is not working primarily for woman suffrage. she is working for a complete overturning of the present economic system, and she advocates _universal adult suffrage_ as a means of bringing about the social and economic changes demanded by the socialists. these german socialist women are often very advanced spirits, who hold university degrees, who have entered the professions, and are generally emancipated from strictly conventional lives. others, in large numbers, belong to the intellectual proletarian classes. their american prototypes are to be found in the women's trade union league, described in a later chapter. the other german suffragists are members of the radical, the moderate (we should say conservative), and the clerical parties. these women are middle class, average, intelligent wives and mothers. they correspond fairly well with the women of the general federation of clubs in the united states, and like the american club women they are affiliated with the international council of women. locally they are working for the social reforms demanded by the first american suffrage convention, held in seneca falls, new york, in 1848. they are demanding the higher education, married women's property rights, free speech, and the right to choose a trade or profession. they are demanding other rights, from lack of which the american woman never suffered. the right to attend a political meeting was until recently denied to german women. although they take a far keener and more intelligent interest in national and local politics than american women as a rule have ever taken, their presence at political meetings has but yesterday been sanctioned. the civil responsibility of the father and mother in many european countries is barbarously unequal. if a marriage exists between the parents the father is the only parent recognized. he is sole guardian and authority. when divorce dissolves a marriage the rights of the father are generally paramount, even when he is the party accused. on the other hand, if no marriage exists between the parents, if the child is what is called illegitimate, the mother is alone responsible for its maintenance. not only is the father free from all responsibility, his status as a father is denied by law. inquiry into the paternity of the child is in some countries forbidden. the unhappy mother may have documentary proof that she was betrayed under promise of marriage, but she is not allowed to produce her proof. under the french code, the substance of which governs all europe, it is distinctly a principle that the woman's honor is and ought to be of less value than a man's honor. napoleon personally insisted on this principle, and more than once emphasized his belief that no importance should be attached to men's share in illegitimacy. these and other degrading laws the european progressive women are trying to remove from the codes. they have their origin in the belief in "the imprudence, the frailty, and the imbecility" of women, to quote from this code napoleon. whatever women's legal disabilities in the united states, their laws were never based on the principle that women were imprudent, frail, or imbecile. they placed women at a distinct disadvantage, it is true, but it was the disadvantage of the minor child and not of the inferior, the chattel, the property of man, as in europe. laws in the united states were founded on the assumption that women stood in perpetual need of protection. the law makers carried this to the absurd extent of assuming that protection was all the right a woman needed or all she ought to claim. they even pretended that when a woman entered the complete protection of the married state she no longer stood in need of an identity apart from her husband. the working out of this theory in a democracy was far from ideal, as we shall see. chapter iv american women and the common law a little girl sat in a corner of her father's law library watching, with wide, serious eyes, a scene the like of which was common enough a generation or two ago. the weeping old woman told a halting story of a dissipated son, a shrewish daughter-in-law, and a state of servitude on her own part,--a story pitifully sordid in its details. the farm had come to her from her father's estate. for forty years she had toiled side by side with her husband, getting a simple, but comfortable, living from the soil. then the husband died. under the will the son inherited the farm, and everything on it,--house, furniture, barns, cattle, tools. even the money in the bank was his. a clause in the will provided that the son should give his mother a home during her lifetime. so here she was, after a life of hard work and loving service, shorn of everything; a pauper, an unpaid servant in the house of another woman,--her son's wife. was it true that the law took her home away from her,--the farm that descended to her from her father, the house she had lived in since childhood? could nothing, _nothing_ be done? the aged judge shook his head, sadly. "you see, mrs. grant," he explained, "the farm has never really been yours since your marriage, for then it became by law your husband's property, precisely as if he had bought it. he had a right to leave it to whom he would. no doubt he did what he thought was for your good. i wish i could help you, but i cannot. the law is inexorable in these matters." after the forlorn old woman had gone the lawyer's child went and stood by her father's chair. "why couldn't you help her?" she asked. "why do you let them take her home away from her?" judge cady opened the sheep-bound book at his elbow and showed the little girl a paragraph. turning the pages, he pointed out others for her to read. spelling through the ponderous legal phraseology the little girl learned that a married woman had no existence, in the eyes of the law, apart from her husband. she could own no property; she could neither buy nor sell; she could not receive a gift, even from her own husband. she was, in fact, her husband's chattel. if he beat her she had no means of punishing, or even restraining him, unless, indeed, she could prove that her life was endangered. if she ran away from him the law forced her to return. paragraph after paragraph the child read through, and, unseen by her father, marked faintly with a pencil. so far as she was aware, father, and father's library of sheep-bound books, were the beginning and the end of the law, and to her mind the way to get rid of measures which took women's homes away from them was perfectly simple. that night when the house was quiet she stole downstairs, scissors in hand, determined _to cut every one of those laws out of the book_. the young reformer was restrained, but only temporarily. as elizabeth cady stanton she lived to do her part toward revising many of the laws under which women, in her day, suffered, and her successors, the organized women of the united states, are busy with their scissors, revising the rest. not alone in russia, germany, france, and england do the laws governing men and women need equalizing. in america, paradise of women, the generally accepted theory that women have "all the rights they want" does not stand the test of impartial examination. in america some women have all the rights they want. your wife and the wives of the men you associate with every day usually have all the rights they want, sometimes a few that they do not need at all. is the house yours? the furniture yours? the motor yours? the income yours? are the children yours? if you are the average fond american husband, you will return the proud answer: "no, indeed, they are _ours_." this is quite as it should be, assuming that all wives are as tenderly cherished, and as well protected as the women who live on your block. for a whole big army of women there are often serious disadvantages connected with that word "ours." in boston there lived a family of mcewans,--a man, his wife, and several half-grown children. mcewan was not a very steady man. he drank sometimes, and his earning capacity was uncertain. mrs. mcewan was an energetic, capable, intelligent woman, tolerant of her husband's failings, ambitious for her children. she took a large house, furnished it on the installment plan, and filled it with boarders. the boarders gave the family an income larger than they had ever possessed before, and mcewan's contributions fell off. he became an unpaying guest himself. all his earnings, he explained, were going into investments. the man was, in fact, speculating in mining stocks. one day mcewan came home with a face of despair. his creditors, he told his wife, had descended on him, seized his business, and threatened to take possession of the boarding house. "but it is mine," protested the woman, with spirit. "i bought every bit of furniture with the money my boarders paid me. nobody can touch my property or my earnings to satisfy a claim on you. i am not liable for your debts." one of the boarders was a lawyer, and to him that night she took the case. "a woman's earnings are her own in massachusetts, are they not?" she demanded. "you are what the law calls a free trader," replied the lawyer, "and whatever you earn is yours, certainly. that is--of course you are recorded at the city clerk's office?" "why no. why should i be?" "the law requires it. otherwise this property, and even the money your boarders pay you, are liable to attachment for your husband's debts. unless you make a specific declaration that you are in business for yourself, the law assumes that the business is your husband's." "if i went to work for a salary, should i have to be recorded in order to keep my own money?" mrs. mcewan was growing angry. "no," replied the lawyer, "not if you were careful to keep your income and your husband's absolutely separate. if you both paid installments on a piano the piano would be your husband's, not yours. if you bought a house together, the house could be seized for his debts. everything you buy with your money is yours. everything you buy with money he gives you is his. everything you buy together is his. you could not protect such property from your husband's creditors, or from his heirs." mrs. mcewan's case is mild, her wrongs faint beside those of a woman in los angeles, california. her husband was a doctor, and she had been, before her marriage, a trained nurse. the young woman had saved several hundred dollars, and she put the money into a first payment on a pretty little cottage. during the first two or three years of the marriage the doctor's wife, from time to time, attended cases of illness, usually contributing her earnings toward the payment for the house or into furniture for the house. in all she paid about a thousand dollars, or something like one-third of the cost of the house. then children came, and her earning days were over. unfortunately the domestic affairs of this household became disturbed. the doctor contracted a drug habit. he became irregular in his conduct and ended by running away with a dissolute woman. after he had gone his wife found that the house she lived in, and which she had helped to buy, had been sold, without her knowledge or consent. the transaction was perfectly legal. community property, that is, property held jointly by husband and wife, is absolutely controlled by the husband in california. in that state community property may even be given away, without the wife's knowledge or consent. it happened not many years ago that one of the most powerful millionaires in california, in a moment of generosity, conveyed to one of his sons a very valuable property. some time afterwards the father and son quarreled, and the father attempted to get back his property. his plea in court was that his wife's consent to the transaction had never been sought; but the court ruled that since the property was owned in community, the wife's consent did not have to be obtained. this particular woman happened to be rich enough to stand the experience of having a large slice of property given away without her knowledge, but the same law would have applied to the case of a woman who could not afford it at all. it is in the case of women wage earners that these laws bear the peculiar asperity. down in the cotton-mill districts of the south are scores of men who never, from one year to the next, do a stroke of work. they are supposed to be "weakly." their wives and children work eleven hours a day (or night) and every pay day the men go to the mills and collect their wages. the money belongs to them under the law. even if the women had the spirit to protest, the protest would be useless. the right of a man to collect and to spend his wife's earnings is protected in many states in the chivalric south. in texas, for example, a husband is entitled to his wife's earnings even _though he has deserted her_. i do not know that this occurs very often in texas. probably not, unless among low-class negroes. in all likelihood if a texas woman should appeal to her employer, and tell him that her husband had abandoned her, he would refuse to give the man her wages. should the husband be in a position to invoke the law, he could claim his wife's earnings, nevertheless. the kentucky lady who chose england for her future home, had she known it, selected the country to which most american women owe their legal disabilities. american law, except in louisiana and florida, is founded on english common law, and english common law was developed at a period when men were of much greater importance in the state than women. the state was a military organization, and every man was a fighter, a king's defender. women were valuable only because defenders of kings had to have mothers. english common law provided that every married woman must be supported in as much comfort as her husband's estate warranted. the mothers of the nation must be fed, clothed, and sheltered. what more could they possibly ask? in return for permanent board and clothes, the woman was required to give her husband all of her property, real and personal. what use had she for property? did she need it to support herself? in case of war and pillage could she defend it? husband and wife were one--and that one was the man. he was so much the one that the woman had literally no existence in the eyes of the law. she not only did not possess any property; she could possess none. her husband could not give her any, because there could be no contract between a married pair. a contract implies at least two people, and husband and wife were one. the husband could, if he chose, establish a trusteeship, and thus give his wife the free use of her own. but you can easily imagine that he did not very often do it. a man could, also, devise property to his wife by will. often this was done, but too often the sons were made heirs, and the wife was left to what tender mercies they owned. if a man died intestate the wife merely shared with other heirs. she had no preference. under the old english common law, moreover, not only the property, but also the services of a married woman belonged to her husband. if he chose to rent out her services, or if she offered to work outside the home, it followed logically that her wages belonged to him. what use had she for wages? on the other hand, every man was held responsible for the support of his wife. he was responsible for her debts, as long as they were the necessities of life. he was also responsible for her conduct. being propertyless, she could not be held to account for wrongs committed. if she stole, or destroyed property, or injured the person of another, if she committed any kind of a misdemeanor in the presence of her husband, and that also meant if he were in her neighborhood at the time, the law held him responsible. he should have restrained her. this was supposed to be a decided advantage to the woman. whenever a rebellious woman or group of women voiced their objection to the system which robbed them of every shred of independence they were always reminded that the system at the same time relieved them of every shred of responsibility, even, to an extent, of moral responsibility. "so great a favorite," comments blackstone, "is the female sex under the laws of england." you may well imagine that, in these circumstances, husbands were interested that their wives should be very good. the law supported them by permitting "moderate correction." a married woman might be kept in what blackstone calls "reasonable restraint" by her husband. but only with a stick no larger than his thumb. the husbandly stick was never imported into the united states. even the dour puritans forbade its use. the very first modification of the english common law, in its application to american women, was made in 1650, when the general court of massachusetts bay colony decreed that a husband beating his wife, or, for that matter, a wife beating her husband, should be fined ten pounds, or endure a public whipping. the pilgrim fathers and the other early colonists in america brought with them the system of english common law under which they and their ancestors had for centuries been governed. from time to time, as conditions made them necessary, new laws were enacted and put into force. in all cases not specifically covered by these new laws, the old english common law was applied. it did not occur to any one that women would ever need special laws. the pilgrim fathers and their successors, the puritans, simply assumed that here, as in the england they had left behind, woman's place was in the home, where she was protected, supported, and controlled. but in the new world woman's place in the home assumed an importance much greater than it had formerly possessed. labor was scarce, manufacturing and trading were undeveloped. woman's special activities were urgently needed. woman's hands helped to raise the roof-tree, her skill and industry, to a very large extent, furnished the house. she spun and wove, cured meat, dried corn, tanned skins, made shoes, dipped candles, and was, in a word, almost the only manufacturer in the country. but this did not raise her from her position as an inferior. woman owned neither her tools nor her raw materials. these her husband provided. in consequence, husband and wife being one, that one, in america, as in england, was the husband. this explanation is necessary in order to understand why the legal position of most american women to-day is that of inferiors, or, at best, of minor children. it is necessary also, in order to understand why, except in matters of law, american women are treated with such extraordinary consideration and indulgence. as long as pioneer conditions lasted women were valuable because of the need of their labor, their special activities. also, for a very long period, women were scarce, and they were highly prized not alone for their labor, but because their society was so desirable. in other words, pioneer conditions gave woman a better standing in the new world than she had in the old, and she was treated with an altogether new consideration and regard. in england no one thought very badly of a man who was moderately abusive of his wife. in america, violence against women was, from the first, an unbearable idea. laws protecting maid servants, dependent women, and, as we have seen, even wives, were very early enacted in new england. but although woman was more dearly prized in the new country than in the old, no new legislation was made for her benefit. her legal status, or rather her absence of legal status apart from her husband, remained exactly as it had been under the english common law. no legislature in the united states has deliberately made laws placing women at a disadvantage with men. whatever laws are unfair and oppressive to women have just happened--just grown up like weeds out of neglected soil. let me illustrate. no lawmaker in new mexico ever introduced a bill into the legislature making men liable for their wives' torts or petty misdemeanors. yet in new mexico, at this very minute, a wife is so completely her husband's property that he is responsible for her behavior. if she should rob her neighbor's clothesline, or wreck a chicken yard, her unfortunate husband would have to stand trial. simply because in new mexico married women are still living under laws that were evolved in another civilization, long before new mexico was dreamed of as a state. nowhere else in the united states are women allowed to shelter their weak moral natures behind the stern morality of their husbands, but in more than one state the husband's responsibility for his wife's acts is assumed. in massachusetts, for one state, if a woman owned a saloon and sold beer on sunday, she would be liable to arrest, and so also would her husband, provided he were in the house when the beer was sold. both would probably be fined. simply because it was once the law that a married woman had no separate existence apart from her husband, this absurd law, or others as absurd, remain on the statute books of almost every state in the union. the ascent of woman, which began with the abolishment of corporeal punishment of wives, proceeded very slowly. most american women married, and most american wives were kindly treated. at least public opinion demanded that they be treated with kindness. long before any other modification of her legal status was gained, a woman subjected to cruelty at the hands of her lawful spouse was at liberty to seek police protection. the reason why police protection was so seldom sought is plain enough. imagine a woman complaining of a husband who would be certain to beat her again for revenge, and to whom she was bound irrevocably by laws stronger even than the laws on the statute books. remember that the only right she had was the right to be supported, and if she left her husband's house she left her only means of living. she could hardly support herself, for few avenues of industry were open to women. she was literally a pauper, and when there is nowhere else to lay his head, even the most miserable pauper thinks twice before he runs away from the poorhouse. besides, the woman who left her husband had to give up her children. they too were the husband's property. there were some women who hesitated before they consented to pauperize themselves by marrying. widows were especially wary, if old stories are to be trusted. a story is told in the new york university law school of a woman in connecticut who took with her, as a part of her wedding outfit, a very handsome mahogany bureau, bequeathed her by her grandfather. after a few years of marriage the husband suddenly died, leaving no will. the home and all it contained were sold at auction. the widow was permitted to buy certain objects of furniture, and among them was her cherished bureau. where the poor woman found the money with which to buy is not revealed. in time this woman married again, and again her husband died without a will. again there was an auction, and again the widow purchased her beloved heirloom. it seems possible that this time she had saved money in anticipation of the necessity. a little later, for she was still young and attractive, a suitor appeared, offering his heart and "all his worldly goods." "no, i thank you," replied the sorely tried creature, "i prefer to keep my bureau." the first struggle made by women in their own behalf was against this condition of marital slavery. elizabeth cady stanton, lucretia mott, lydia maria child, and others of that brave band of rebellious women, were active for years, addressing legislative committees in new york and massachusetts, circulating petitions, writing to newspapers, agitating everywhere in favor of married women's property rights. finally it began to dawn on the minds of men that there might be a certain public advantage, as well as private justice, attaching to separate ownership by married women of their own property. in 1839 the massachusetts state legislature passed a cautious measure giving married women qualified property rights. it was not until 1848 that a really effective married women's property law was secured, by action of the new york state assembly. the law served as a model in many of the new western states just then framing their laws. these new york legislators, and the western legislators who first granted property rights to married women, were actuated less by a sense of justice towards women than by enlightened selfishness. the effect of so much freedom on women themselves was a matter for grave conjecture. it was not suggested by any of the american debaters, as it was later on the floors of the english parliament, that women, if they controlled their own property, would undoubtedly squander it on men whom they preferred to their husbands. but it was prophesied that women once in possession of money would desert their husbands by regiments,--which speaks none too flatteringly of the husbands of that day. men of property stood for the married women's property act, because they perceived plainly that their own wealth, devised to daughters who could not control it, might easily be gambled away, or wasted through improvidence, or diverted to the use of strangers. in other words, they knew that their property, when daughters inherited it, became the property of their sons-in-law. they had no guarantee that their own grandchildren would ever have the use of it, unless it was controlled by their mothers. it was the women's clubs and women's organizations in america, as it was the women's councils in europe, that actively began the agitation against women's legal disabilities. the national woman suffrage association, oldest of all women's organizations in the united states, has been calling attention to the unequal laws, and demanding their abolishment, for two generations. practically all of the state federations of women's clubs have legislative committees, and it is usually the business of these committees to codify the laws of their respective states which apply directly to women. in some cases a woman lawyer is made chairman, and the work is done under her direction. sometimes, as in texas, a well known and friendly man lawyer is retained for the task. almost invariably the report of the legislative committee contains disagreeable surprises. american women have been so accustomed to their privileges that they have taken their rights for granted, and are usually astonished when they find how limited their rights actually are. there are some states in the union where women are on terms of something like equality with men. there is one state to which all intelligent women look with a sort of envious, admiring, questioning curiosity, colorado, which is literally the woman's paradise. in colorado it would be difficult to find even the smallest inequality between men and women. they vote on equal terms, and if any woman deserves to go to the legislature, and succeeds in convincing a large enough public of the fact, nothing stands in the way of her election. one woman, mrs. alma lafferty, is a member of the present legislature, and she has had several predecessors. but colorado women have a larger influence still in legislative matters. to guard their interests they have a legislative committee of the state federation of women's clubs, consisting of thirty to forty carefully chosen women. this committee has permanent headquarters in denver during every session of the legislature, and every bill which directly affects women and children, before reaching the floor of either house, is submitted for approval to the committee. miss jane addams has declared, and miss addams is pretty good authority, that the laws governing women and children in colorado are superior to those of any other state. women receive equal pay for equal work in colorado. they are permitted to hold any office. they are co-guardians of their children, and the education of children has been placed almost entirely in the hands of women. this does not mean that colorado has weakened its schools by barring men from the teaching profession. it means that women are superintendents of schools in many counties, and that one woman was, for more than ten years, state superintendent of schools. contrast colorado with louisiana, possibly the last state in the union a well-informed woman would choose for a residence. the laws of louisiana were based, not on the english common law, but on the code napoleon, which regards women merely as a working, breeding, domestic animal. "there is one thing that is not _french_," thundered the great napoleon, closing a conference on his famous code, "and that is that a woman can do as she pleases." [illustration: a "women's rights" map of the united states] the framers of louisiana's laws were particular to guard against too great a freedom of action on the part of its women. toward the end of mrs. jefferson davis's life she added a codicil to her will, giving to a certain chapter of the daughters of the confederacy a number of very valuable relics of her husband, and of the short-lived confederate government. her action was made public, and it was then revealed that two women had signed the document as witnesses. instantly mrs. davis's attention was called to the fact that in louisiana, where she was then living, no woman may witness a document. women's signatures are worthless. in louisiana your disabilities actually begin when you become an engaged girl. from that happy moment on you are under the dominance of a man. your wedding presents are not yours, but his. if you felt like giving a duplicate pickle-fork to your mother, you could not legally do so, and after you were married, if your husband wanted that pickle-fork, he could get it. your clothing, your dowry, become community property as soon as the marriage ceremony is over, and community property in louisiana is controlled absolutely by the husband. every dollar a woman earns there is at her husband's disposal. without her husband's consent a louisiana woman may not go into a court of law, even though she may be in business for herself and the action sought is in defense of her business. nor does the louisiana woman fare any better as a mother. then, in fact, her position is nothing short of humiliating. during her husband's lifetime he is sole guardian of their children. at his death she may become their guardian, but if she marries a second time--and the law permits her to remarry, provided she waits ten months--she retains her children only by the formal consent of her first husband's family. if they dislike her, or disapprove of her second marriage, they may demand the custody of the children. it is true that many of these absurd laws in louisiana are not now often enforced. it is also true that in louisiana and other states few men are so unjust to their wives as to take advantage of unequal property rights. laws always lag behind the sense of justice which lives in man. but the point is that unequal laws still remain on our statute books, and they may be, and sometimes are, enforced. between these two extremes, colorado and louisiana, women have the other forty-six states to choose. none of them offers perfect equality. even in idaho, wyoming, and utah--the three states besides colorado where women vote--women are in such a minority that their votes are powerless to remove all their disabilities. very rarely have club women even so much felicity as the new york state federation, whose legislative chairman, miss emilie bullowa, reported that she was unable to find a single unimportant inequality in the new york laws governing the property rights of women. in most of the older states the property rights of married women are now fairly guaranteed, but the proud boast that in america no woman is the slave of her husband will have to be modified when it is known that in at least seventeen states these rights are still denied. the husband absolutely controls his wife's property and her earnings in texas, tennessee, louisiana, california, arizona, north dakota, and idaho. he has virtual control--that is to say, the wife's rights are merely provisional--in alabama, new mexico, and missouri. women to control their own business property must be registered as traders on their own account in these states: georgia, montana, nevada, massachusetts, north carolina, oregon, and virginia. nor are women everywhere permitted to work on equal terms with men. [illustration: miss emilie bullowa.] there is a current belief, often expressed, that in the united states every avenue of industry is open to women on equal terms with men. this is not quite true. in some states a married woman may not engage in any business without permission from the courts. in texas, louisiana, and georgia this is the case. in wyoming, where women vote, but where they are in such minority that their votes count for little, a married woman must satisfy the court that she is under the necessity of earning her living. if you are a woman, married or unmarried, and wish to practice law, you are barred from seven of the united states. the legal profession is closed to women in alabama, georgia, virginia, arkansas, delaware, tennessee, and south carolina. in some states they discourage women from aspiring to the learned professions by refusing them the advantages of higher education which they provide for their brothers. four state universities close their doors to women, in spite of the fact that women's taxes help support the universities. these states are georgia, virginia, louisiana, and north carolina. the last-named admits women to post-graduate courses. you can hold no kind of an elective office, you cannot be even a county superintendent of schools in alabama or arkansas, if you are a woman. in alabama, indeed, you may not be a minister of the gospel, a doctor of medicine, or a notary public. florida likewise will have nothing to do with a woman doctor. only a few women want to hold office or engage in professional work. every woman hopes to be a mother. what then is the legal status of the american mother? when the club women began the study of their position before the law they were amazed to find, in all but ten of the states and territories, that they had absolutely no control over the destinies of their own children. in ten states only, and in the district of columbia, are women co-guardians with their husbands of their children. in pennsylvania if a woman supports her children, or has money to contribute to their support, she has joint guardianship. under somewhat similar circumstances rhode island women have the same right. in all the other states and territories children belong to their fathers. they can be given away, or willed away, from the mother. that this almost never happens is due largely to the fact that, as a rule, no one except the mother of a child is especially keen to possess it. it is due also in large measure to the fact that courts of justice are growing reluctant to administer such archaic laws. the famous tillman case is an example. senator ben tillman of south carolina has one son,--a dissipated, ill-tempered, and altogether disreputable man, whose wife, after several miserable years of married life, left him, taking with her their two little girls. south carolina allows no divorce for any cause. the sanctity of the marriage tie is held so lightly in south carolina that the law permits it to be abused at will by the veriest brute or libertine. mrs. tillman could not divorce her husband, so she took her children and went to live quietly at her parent's home in the city of washington. one day the father of the children, young tillman, appeared at that home, and in a fit of drunken resentment against his wife, kidnapped the children. he could not care for the children, probably had no wish to have them near him, but he took them back to south carolina, and _gave_ them to his parents, made a present of a woman's flesh and blood and heart to people who hated her and whom she hated in return. under the laws of south carolina, under the printed statutes, young tillman had a perfect right to do this thing, and his father, a united states senator, upheld him in his act. young mrs. tillman, however, showed so little respect for the statutes that she sued her husband and his parents to recover her babies. the judge before whom the suit was brought was in a dilemma. there was the law--but also there was justice and common sense. to the everlasting honor of that south carolina judge, justice and common sense triumphed, and he ruled that _the law was unconstitutional._ there are other hardships in this law denying to mothers the right of co-guardianship of their children. two names signed to a child's working papers is a pretty good thing sometimes, for it often happens that selfish and lazy fathers are anxious to put their children to work, when the mothers know they are far too young. a woman in scranton, pennsylvania, told me, with tears filling her eyes, that her children had been taken by their father to the silk mills as soon as they were tall enough to suit a not too exacting foreman. "what could i say about it, when he went and got the papers?" she sighed. the father--not the mother--controls the services of his children. he can collect their wages, and he does. very, very often he squanders the money they earn, and no one may interfere. a family of girls in fall river, massachusetts, were met every pay day at the doors of the mill by their father, who exacted of each one her pay envelope, unopened. it was his regular day for getting drunk and indulging in an orgy of gambling. often more than half of the girls' wages would have vanished before night. twice the entire amount was wasted in an hour. this kept on until the girls passed their childhood and were mature enough to rebel successfully. it is the father and not the mother that may claim the potential services of a child. many times have these unjust laws been protested against. in every state in the union where they exist they have been protested against by organized groups of intelligent women. but their protests have been received with apathy, and, in some instances, with contempt by legislators. only last year a determined fight was made by the women of california for a law giving them equal guardianship of their children. the women's bill was lost in the california legislature, and lost by a large majority. what arguments did the california legislators use against the proposed measure? identically the same that were made in massachusetts and new york a quarter of a century ago. if women had the guardianship of their children, would anything prevent them from taking the children and leaving home? what would become of the sanctity of the home, with its lawful head shorn of his paternal dignity? in california a husband is head of the family in very fact, or at least a law of the state says so. at one time the law which made the husband the head of the home guaranteed to the family support by the husband. it does not do that now. there are laws on the statute books of many states obliging the wife to support her husband if he is disabled, and the children, if the husband defaults. there are no laws compelling the husband to support his wife. the husband is under an assumed obligation to support his family, but there exists no means of forcing him to do his duty. family desertion has become one of the commonest and one of the most baffling of modern social problems. everybody is appalled by its prevalence, but nobody seems to know what to do about it. the legal aid society of new york city reports about three new cases of family desertion for every day in the year. other agencies in other cities report a state of affairs quite as serious. laws have been passed in most states making family desertion a misdemeanor, and in new york a recent law has made it a felony. unfortunately there has been devised no machinery to enforce these laws, so they are practically non-existent. it is true that if the deserting husband is arrested he may be sent to jail or to the rock pile. but that does not cure him nor support his family. mostly he is not arrested. he has only to take himself out of the reach of the local authorities. in new york a deserting husband, though he is counted a felon, needs only to cross the river to new jersey to be reasonably safe. imagine the state of new york spending good money to chase a man whom it does not want as a citizen, and whom it can only punish by sending to jail for a short period. the state is better off without such a man. to bring him back would not even benefit his deserted family. women, far more law abiding than men, insist that a system which evolved out of feudal conditions, and has for its very basis the assumption of the weakness, ignorance, and dependence of women, has no place in twentieth century civilization. american women are no longer weak, ignorant, dependent. the present social order, in which military force is subordinated to industry and commerce, narrows the gulf between them, and places men and women physically on much the same plane. as for women's intellectual ability to decide their own legal status, they are, taken the country over, rather better educated than men. there are more girls than boys in the high schools of the united states; more girls than boys in the higher grammar grades. fewer women than men are numbered among illiterate. as for the great middle class of women, it is obvious that they are better read than their men. their specific knowledge of affairs may be less, but their general intelligence is not less than men's. increasingly women are ceasing to depend on men for physical support. increasingly even married women are beginning to think of themselves as independent human beings. their work of bearing and rearing children, of managing the household, begins to assume a new dignity, a real value, in their eyes. in new zealand at the present time statutes are proposed which shall determine exactly the share a wife may legally claim in her husband's income. american women may not need such a law, but they insist that they need something to take the place of that one which in eleven states makes it possible for a husband to claim all of his wife's income. chapter v women's demands on the rulers of industry the big elevator, crowded with shoppers to the point of actual discomfort, contained only one man. he wore a white-duck uniform, and recited rapidly and monotonously, as the car shot upward: "corsets, millinery, muslin underwear, shirt-waists, coats and suits, infants' wear, and ladies' shoes, second floor; no ma'am, carpets and rugs on the third floor; this car don't go to the restaurant; take the other side; groceries, harness, sporting goods, musical instruments, phonographs, men's shoes, trunks, traveling bags, and toys, fifth floor." buying and selling, serving and being served--women. on every floor, in every aisle, at every counter, women. in the vast restaurant, which covers several acres, women. waiting their turn at the long line of telephone booths, women. capably busy at the switch boards, women. down in the basement buying and selling bargains in marked-down summer frocks, women. up under the roof, posting ledgers, auditing accounts, attending to all the complex bookkeeping of a great metropolitan department store, women. behind most of the counters on all the floors between, women. at every cashier's desk, at the wrappers' desks, running back and forth with parcels and change, short-skirted women. filling the aisles, passing and repassing, a constantly arriving and departing throng of shoppers, women. simply a moving, seeking, hurrying mass of femininity, in the midst of which the occasional man shopper, man clerk, and man supervisor, looks lost and out of place. to you, perhaps, the statement that six million women in the united states are working outside of the home for wages is a simple, unanalyzed fact. you grasp it as an intellectual abstraction, without much appreciation of its human significance. the mere reading of statistics does not help you to realize the changed status of women, and of society. you need to see the thing with your own eyes. standing on the corner of the bowery and grand street, in new york, when the third avenue trains overhead are roaring their way uptown packed with homeward-bound humanity, or on the corner of state and madison streets, in chicago, or on the corner of front and lehigh streets, in philadelphia; pausing at the hour of six at the junction of any city's great industrial arteries, you get a full realization of the change. of the pushing, jostling, clamoring mob, which the sidewalks are much too narrow to contain, observe the preponderance of girls. from factory, office, and department store they come, thousands and tens of thousands of girls. above the roar of the elevated, the harsh clang of the electric cars, the clatter of drays and wagons, the shouting of hucksters, the laughter and oaths of men, their voices float, a shrill, triumphant treble in the orchestra of toil. you may get another vivid, yet subtle, realization of the interdependence of women and modern industry if you manage to penetrate into the operating-room of a telephone exchange. any hour will do. any day in the week. there are no nights, nor sundays, nor holidays in a telephone exchange. the city could not get along for one single minute in one single hour of the twenty-four without the telephone girl. her hands move quickly over the face of the switch board, picking up long, silk-wound wires, reaching high, plugging one after another the holes of the switch board. the wires cross and recross, until the switch board is like a spider web, and in the tangle of lines under the hands of the telephone girl are enmeshed the business affairs of a city. what would happen if this army of women was suddenly withdrawn from the telephone exchanges? men could not take their places. that experiment has been tried more than once, and it has always failed. having seen how well women serve industry, go back to the department store and see how they dominate it also. the department store apparently exists for women. the architect who designed the building studied her necessities. the makers of store furniture planned counters, shelves, and seats to suit her stature. buyers of goods know that their jobs are forfeit unless they can guess what her taste in gowns and hats is going to be six months hence. women's demand on industry woman dominates the department store for the plain reason that she supports it. whoever earns the income, and that point has been somewhat in question lately, there is no doubt at all as to who spends it. she does. hence, she is able to control the conditions under which this business is conducted. you can see for yourself that this is so. walk through any large department store and observe how much valuable space is devoted to making women customers comfortable. there is always a drawing-room with easy-chairs and couches; plenty of little desks with handsome stationery where the customer may write notes; here, and in the retiring-room adjoining, are uniformed maids to offer service. but these things are not all that the women who support industry demand of the men in power. they demand that industry be carried on under conditions favorable to the health and comfort of the workers. not until the development of the department store were women able to observe at close range the conduct of modern business. not unnaturally it was in the department store that they began one of the most ambitious of their present-day activities,--that of humanizing industry. it was just twenty years ago that new york city was treated to a huge joke. it was such a joke that even the miserable ones with whom it was concerned were obliged to smile. an obscure group of women, calling themselves the working women's society, came out with the announcement that they proposed to form the women clerks of the city into a labor union. these women said that the girls in the department stores were receiving wages lower than the sweat-shop standard. they said that a foreign woman in a downtown garment shop could earn seven dollars a week, whereas an american girl in a fashionable store received about four dollars and a half. they also charged that the city ordinance providing seats for saleswomen was habitually violated, and that the girls were forced to stand from ten to fourteen hours a day. they said that sanitary conditions in the cloak rooms and lunch rooms of some of the stores were such as to endanger health and life. they said that the whole situation was so bad that no clerk endured it for a longer period than five years. mostly they were used up in two years. they proposed a labor union of retail clerks as the only possible resource. their effort failed. the trades union idea at that time had not reached the girl behind the counter. as a matter of fact it has not reached her yet, and it probably never will. the department-store clerk considers herself a higher social being than the ordinary working-girl, and in a way she is justified. the exceptionally intelligent department-store clerk has one chance in a thousand of rising to the well-paid, semi-professional post of buyer. also the exceptionally attractive girl has possibly one chance in five thousand of marrying a millionaire. it is a long chance now, and it was a longer chance a dozen years ago, because there were fewer millionaires then than now, but it served well enough to cause the failure of the trades union plan. there is one thing that never fails, however, and that is a righteous protest. out of the protest of that little, obscure group of working women in new york city was born a movement which has spread beyond the atlantic ocean, which has effected legislation in many states of the union, which has even determined an extremely important legal decision in the supreme court of the united states. a group of rich and influential women, prominent in many philanthropic efforts, became interested in the working women's society. they investigated the charges brought against the department stores, and what they discovered made them resolve that conditions must be changed. in may, 1890, the late mrs. josephine shaw lowell, mrs. frederick nathan, and others, called a large mass meeting in chickering hall. mrs. nathan had a constructive plan for raising the standard in shop conditions, especially those affecting women employees. if women would simply withdraw their patronage from the stores where, during the christmas season, women and children toiled long hours at night without any extra compensation, sooner or later the night work would cease. a few stores, said mrs. nathan, maintained a standard above the average. it was within the power of the women of new york to raise all the others to that standard, and afterwards it might be possible to go farther and establish a standard higher than the present highest. "we do not desire to blacklist any firm," declared mrs. nathan, "but we can _whitelist_ those firms which treat their employees humanely. we can make and publish a list of all the shops where employees receive fair treatment, and we can agree to patronize only those shops. by acting openly and publishing our white list we shall be able to create an immense public opinion in favor of just employers." thus was the consumers' league of new york ushered into existence. eight months after the chickering hall meeting the committee appointed to co-operate with the working women's society in preparing its list of fair firms had finished its work and made its report. the new league was formally organized on january 1, 1891. [illustration: mrs. frederick nathan] the consumers' league "white list" the first white list issued in new york contained only eight firm names. the number was disappointingly small, even to those who knew the conditions. still more disappointing was the indifference of the other firms to their outcast position. far from evincing a desire to earn a place on the white list, they cast aspersions on a "parcel of women" who were trying to "undermine business credit," and scouted the very idea of an organized feminine conscience. "wait until the women want easter bonnets," sneered one merchant. "do you think they will pass up anything good because the store is not on their white list?" clearly something stronger than moral suasion was called for. even as far back as 1891 a few women had begun to doubt the efficacy of that indirect influence, supposed to be woman's strongest weapon. what was the astonishment of the merchants when the league framed, and caused to be introduced into the new york assembly, a bill known as the mercantile employers' bill, to regulate the employment of women and children in mercantile establishments, and to place retail stores, from the smallest to the largest, under the inspection of the state factory department. the bill was promptly strangled, but the next year, and the next, and still the next, it obstinately reappeared. finally, in 1896, four years after it was first introduced, the bill struggled through the lower house. in spite of powerful commercial influences the bill was reported in the senate, and some of the senators became warmly interested in it. a commission was appointed to make an official investigation into conditions of working women in new york city. the findings of this rheinhard commission, published afterwards in two large volumes, were sensational enough. merchants reluctantly testified to employing grown women at a salary of _thirty-three cents a day_. they confessed to employing little girls of eleven and twelve years, in defiance of the child-labor law. they declared that pasteboard and wooden stock boxes were good enough seats for saleswomen; that they should not expect to sit down in business hours anyhow. they defended, on what they called economic grounds, their long hours and uncompensated overtime. they defended their systems of fines, which sometimes took away from a girl almost the entire amount of her weekly salary. they threatened, if a ten-hour law for women under twenty-one years old were passed, to employ older women. thus thousands of young and helpless girls would be thrown out of employment into the hands of charity. the senate heard the report of the rheinhard commission, and in spite of the merchants' protests the women's bill was passed without a dissenting vote. the most important provision of the bill was the ten-hour limit which it placed on the work of women under twenty-one. the overwhelming majority of department-store clerks are girls under twenty-one. the bill also provided seats for saleswomen, and specified the number of seats,--one to every three clerks. it forbade the employment of children, except those holding working certificates from the authorities. these, and other minor provisions, affected all retail stores, as far as the law was obeyed. as a matter of fact the consumers' league's bill carried a "joker" which made its full enforcement practically impossible. the matter of inspection of stores was given over to the local boards of health, supposedly experts in matters of health and sanitation, but, as it proved, ignorant of industrial conditions. in new york city, after a year of this inadequate inspection, political forces were brought to bear, and then there were no store inspectors. year after year, for twelve years, the consumers' league tried to persuade the legislature that department and other retail stores needed inspection by the state factory department. a little more than a year ago they succeeded. after the bill placing all retail stores under factory inspection was passed, a committee from the merchants' association went before governor hughes and appealed to him to veto what they declared was a vicious and wholly superfluous measure. governor hughes, however, signed the bill. in the first three months of its enforcement over twelve hundred infractions of the mercantile law were reported in greater new york. no less than nine hundred and twenty-three under-age children were taken out of their places as cash girls, stock girls, and wrappers, and were sent back to their homes or to school. the contention of the con sumers' league that retail stores needed regulation seems to have been justified. to the business man capital and labor are both abstractions. to women capital may be an abstraction, but labor is a purely human proposition, a thing of flesh and blood. the department-store owners who so bitterly fought the mercantile law, and for years afterwards fought its enforcement, were not monsters of cruelty. they were simply business men, with the business man's contracted vision. they could think only in terms of money profit and money loss. in spite of this radical difference in the point of view, women have succeeded, in a measure, in controlling the business policy of the stores supported by their patronage. the white list would be immensely larger if the consumers' league would concede the matter of uncompensated overtime at the christmas season. hundreds of stores fill every condition of the standard except this one. the league stands firm on the point, and up to the present so do the stores. only the long, slow process of public education will remove the custom whereby _thousands of young girls and women are compelled every holiday season to give their employers from thirty to forty hours of uncompensated labor_. no one has ever tried to compute the amount of unpaid overtime extorted in the business departments of nearly all city stores during three to five months of every winter. the customer, by declining to purchase after a certain hour, is able to release the weary saleswoman at six o'clock. she is not able to release the equally weary girls who toil in the bookkeeping and auditing departments. that, in these days of adding and tabulating machines, accounting in most stores is still done by cheap hand labor, is a statement which strains credulity. merely from the standpoint of business economy it seems absurd. but it is a fact easily verified. i tested it by obtaining employment in the auditing department of one of the largest and most respectable stores in new york. in this store, and, according to the best authorities, in most other stores, the accounting force is made up of girls not long out of grammar school, ignorant and incapable--but cheap. they work slowly, and as each day's sales are posted and audited before the close of the day following, the business force has to work until nine and ten o'clock several nights in the week. in some cases they work every night. only the enlightening power of education of employers, education of public opinion, can be expected to overcome this blight, and the consumers' league, realizing this, is preparing the way for education. the consumers' league began with a purely benevolent motive, and in this early philanthropic stage it gained immediate popularity. city after city, state after state, formed consumers' leagues, until, in 1899, a national league, with branches in twenty-two states, was organized. the national league, far from being a philanthropic society, has be come a scientific association for the study of industrial economics. when the original consumers' league undertook its first piece of legislation in behalf of women workers the members knew that they were right, but they had very few reasons to offer in defense of their claim. the new york league and all of the others have been collecting reasons ever since. to-day they have a comprehensive and systematized collection of reasons why women should not work long hours; why they should not work at night; why manufacturing should not be carried on in tenements; why all home wage-earning should be forbidden; why the speed of machines should be regulated by law; why pure-food laws should be extended; why minimum wage rates should be established. in the headquarters of the national league in new york city a group of trained experts work constantly, collecting and recording a vast body of facts concerning the human side of industry. it is ammunition which tells. one single blast of it, fired in the direction of a laundry in portland, oregon, two years ago, performed the wonderful feat of blowing a large hole through the fourteenth amendment to the constitution of the united states. there was a law in oregon which decreed that the working day of women in factories and laundries should be ten hours long. the law was constantly violated, especially in the steam laundries of portland. one night a factory inspector walked into the laundry of one curt muller, and found working there, long after closing time, one mrs. gotcher. the inspector promptly sent mrs. gotcher home and arrested mr. muller. the next day in court mr. muller was fined ten dollars. instead of paying the fine he appealed, backed up in his action by the other laundrymen of portland, on the ground that the ten-hour law for women workers was unconstitutional. the fourteenth amendment to the constitution guarantees to every adult member of the community the right freely to contract. a man or a woman may contract with an employer to work as many hours a day, or a night, for whatever wages, in whatever dangerous or unhealthful or menacing conditions, _unless_ "there is fair ground to say that there is material danger to the public health or safety, or to the health and safety of the employee, or to the general welfare...." this is the legal decision on which most protective legislation in the united states has been based. several years ago, in illinois, a law providing an eight-hour day for women was declared unconstitutional because nobody's health or safety was endangered; and on the same grounds the same fate met a new york law forbidding all-night employment of women. so mr. curt muller and the laundrymen of portland, oregon, had reason to believe that they could attack the oregon law. the case was appealed, and appealed again, by the laundrymen, and finally reached the supreme court of the united states. then the consumers' league took a hand. the brief for the state of oregon, "defendant in error," was prepared by louis d. brandeis, of boston, assisted by josephine goldmark, one of the most effective workers in the league's new york headquarters. this brief is probably one of the most remarkable legal documents in existence. it consists of one hundred and twelve printed pages, of which a few paragraphs were written by the attorney for the state. all the rest was contributed, under miss goldmark's direction, from the consumers' league's wonderful collection of reasons why women workers should be protected. the league's reply to the oregon laundrymen who asked leave to work their women employees far into the night was, "the world's experience upon which the legislation limiting the hours of labor for women is based." it is simply a mass of testimony taken from hearings before the english parliament, before state legislatures, state labor boards; from the reports of factory inspectors in many countries; from reports of industrial commissions in the united states and elsewhere; from medical books; from reports of boards of health. reasons for protecting women workers the brief included a short and interesting chapter, containing a number of things the league had collected on the subject of laundries. supreme court judges cannot be expected to know that laundry work is classed by experts among the dangerous trades. that washing clothes, from a simple home or backyard occupation, has been transformed into a highly-organized factory trade full of complicated and often extremely dangerous machinery; that the atmosphere of a steam laundry is more conducive to tuberculosis and the other occupational diseases than cotton mills; that the work in laundries, being irregular, is conducive to a general low state of morals; that, on the whole, women should not be required to spend more time than necessary in laundries; all this was set forth. medical testimony showed the physical differences between men and women; the lesser power of women to endure long hours of standing; the heightened susceptibility of women to industrial poisons--lead, naphtha, and the like. a long chapter of testimony on the effect of child-bearing in communities where the women had toiled long hours before marriage, or afterwards, was included. the testimony of factory inspectors, of industrial experts, of employers in england, germany, france, america, revealed the bad effect of long hours on women's safety, both physical and moral. it revealed the good effect, on the individual health, home life, and general welfare, of short hours of labor. nor was the business aspect of the case neglected. that people accomplish as much in an eight-hour day as in a twelve-hour day has actually been demonstrated. the brief stated, for one instance, the experience of a bicycle factory in massachusetts. in this place young women were employed to sort the ball bearings which went into the machines. they did this by touch, and no girl was of use to the firm unless her touch was very sensitive and very sure. the head of this firm became convinced that the work done late in the afternoon was of inferior quality, and he tried the experiment of cutting the hours from ten to nine. the work was done on piece wages, and the girls at first protested against the nine-hour day, fearing that their pay envelopes would suffer. to their astonishment they earned as much in nine hours as they had in ten. in time the employer cut the working day down to eight hours and a half, and in addition gave the girls ten-minute rests twice a day. still they earned their full wages, and they continued to earn full wages after the day became eight hours long. the employer testified before the united states industrial commission of 1900 that he believed he could successfully shorten the day to seven hours and a half and get the same amount of work accomplished. what can you do against testimony like that? the consumers' league convinced the supreme court of the united states, and the oregon ten-hour law was upheld. the importance of this decision cannot be overestimated. on it hangs the validity of nearly all the laws which have been passed in the united states for the protection of women workers. if the oregon law had been declared unconstitutional, laws in twenty states, or practically all the states where women work in factories, would have been in perpetual danger, and the united states might easily have sunk to a position occupied now by no leading country in europe. great britain has had protective legislation for women workers since 1844. in 1847 the labor of women in english textile mills was limited to ten hours a day, the period we are now worrying about, as being possibly contrary to our constitution. france, within the past five years, has established a ten-hour day, broken by one hour of rest. switzerland, germany, holland, austria, italy, limit the hours of women's labor. in several countries there are special provisions giving extra time off to women who have household responsibilities. what would our constitution-bound law makers say to such a proposition, if any one had the hardihood to suggest it? if this law had not been upheld by the united states supreme court the women of no state could have hoped to secure further legislation for women workers. as it is, women in many states are preparing to establish what is now known as "the oregon standard," that is, a ten-hour day for all working women. nothing in connection with the woman movement is more significant, certainly nothing was more unexpected, than the voluntary abandonment, on the part of women, of class prejudice and class distinctions. where formerly the interest of the leisured woman in her wage-earning sisters was of a sentimental or philanthropic character, it has become practical and democratic. the young women's christian association has had an industrial department, which up to a recent period concerned itself merely with the spiritual welfare of working girls. prayer meetings in factories, clubs, and classes in the association headquarters, working-girls' boarding homes, and other philanthropic efforts were the limits of the association's activities. the entire policy has changed of late, and under the capable direction of miss annie marian maclean, of brooklyn, new york, the industrial department of the association is doing scientific investigation of labor conditions of women. in a cracker factory i once saw a paid worker in the young women's christian association pause above a young girl lying on the floor, crimson with fever, and apparently in the throes of a serious illness. with angelic pity on her face the association worker stooped and slipped a tract into the sick girl's hand. the kind of industrial secretary the association now employs would send for an ambulance and see that the girl had the best of hospital care. she would inquire whether the girl's illness was caused by the conditions under which she worked, and she would know if it were possible to have those conditions changed. women's clubs studying labor problems nearly every state federation of women's clubs has its industrial committee, and many large clubs have a corresponding department. it is these industrial sections of the women's clubs which are such a thorn in the flesh of mr. john kirby, jr., the new president of the national manufacturers' association. in his inaugural address mr. kirby warned his colleagues that women's clubs were not the ladylike, innocuous institutions that too-confiding man supposed them to be. in those clubs, he declared, their own wives and daughters were listening to addresses by the worst enemies of the manufacturers' association, the labor leaders. by which he meant that the club women were inviting trade-union men and women to present the worker's side of industrial subjects. "soon," exclaimed mr. kirby, "we shall have to fight the women as well as the unions." the richest and most aristocratic woman's club in the country is the colony club of new york. the colony club was organized by a number of women from the exclusive circles of new york society, after the manner of men's clubs. the women built a magnificent clubhouse on madison avenue, furnished it with every luxury, including a wonderful roof-garden. for a time the colony club appeared to be nothing more than a beautiful toy which its members played with. but soon it began to develop into a sort of a woman's forum, where all sorts of social topics were discussed. visiting women of distinction, artists, writers, lecturers, were entertained there. last year the club inaugurated a wednesday afternoon course in industrial economics. the women did not invite lecturers from columbia university to address them. they asked john mitchell and many lesser lights of the labor world. they wanted to learn, at first hand, the facts concerning conditions of industry. most of them are stockholders in mills, factories, mines, or business establishments. many own real estate on which factories stand. "it is not fair," they have openly declared, "that we should enjoy wealth and luxury at the cost of illness, suffering, and death. we do not want wealth on such terms." the colony club members, and the women who form the auxiliary to the national civic federation, have for their object improvement in the working and living conditions of wage earners in industries and in governmental institutions. a few conscientious employers have spent a part of their profits to make their employees comfortable. they have given them the best sanitary conditions, good air, strong light, and comfortable seats. they have provided rest rooms, lunch rooms, vacation houses, and the like. no one should belittle such efforts on the part of employers. equally, no one should regard them as a solution of the industrial problem. nor should they be used as a substitute for justice. too often this so-called welfare work has been clumsily managed, untactfully administered. too often it has been instituted, not to benefit the workers, but to advertise the business. too often its real object was a desire to play the philanthropist's role, to exact obsequience from the wage earner. [illustration: mrs. j. borden harriman president of the colony club, new york, the most exclusive women's club in the country] i know a corset factory which makes a feature in its advertising of the perfect sanitary condition of its works; when visitors are expected, the girls are required to stop work and clean the rooms. since they work on a piece-work scale, the "perfect sanitary conditions" exist at their expense. in a department store i know, employees are required to sign a printed expression of gratitude for overtime pay or an extra holiday. this kind of welfare work simply alienates employees from their employers. it always fails. it seems to the women who have studied these things that proper sanitary conditions, lunch rooms, comfortable seats, provision for rest, vacations with pay, and the like are no more than the wage earner's due. they are a part of the laborer's hire, and should be guaranteed by law, exactly as wages are guaranteed. an employer deserves gratitude for overtime pay no more than for fire escapes. testimony gathered from all sources by the consumers' league, women's clubs, and women's labor organizations has proved beyond doubt that good working conditions, reasonable hours of work, and living wages vastly increase the efficiency of the workers, and thus increase the profits of the employers. the new york telephone company does not set itself up to be a benevolent institution. its directors know that its profits depend on the excellence of its service. there is one exchange in the borough of brooklyn which handles a large part of the long island traffic. this traffic is very heavy in summer on account of the number of summer resorts along the coast. in the fall and winter the traffic is very light. six months in the year the operators at this exchange work only half the day, yet the company keeps them on full salary the year round. "we cannot afford to do anything else," explains the traffic manager. "we cannot afford operators who would be content with half wages." [illustration: miss elizabeth maloney] the old-time dry-goods merchant sincerely believed that his business would suffer if he provided seats for his saleswomen. he believed that he would go into bankruptcy if he allowed his women clerks human working conditions. then came the consumers' league and mercantile laws, and a new pressure of public opinion, and the dry-goods merchant found out that a clerk in good physical condition sells more goods than one that is exhausted and uncomfortable. the fact is that welfare work, carefully shorn of its name, has proved itself to be such good business policy that in future all intelligent employers will advocate it; public opinion will demand it; laws will provide for it. it used to be the invariable custom in stores--it is so still in a few--to lay off many clerks during the dull seasons. now the best stores find that they can better afford to give all their employees vacations with pay. a clerk coming home after a vacation can sell goods, even in dull times. more and more employers are coming to appreciate the money value of the saturday half-holiday in summer. hearn, in new york, closes his department store all day saturday during july and august. the store sells more goods in five days than it previously sold in six. the filene system of developing efficient workers there is one department store which has demonstrated that it is profitable to pay higher wages than its competitors, and that it pays to allow the employees to fix the terms of their own employment. this is the filene store in boston, which has developed within the past ten years from a conservative, old-fashioned dry-goods business into an extremely original and interesting experiment station in commercial economics. the entire policy of the filene management is bent on developing to the highest possible point the efficiency of each individual clerk. the best possible material is sought. no girl under sixteen is employed, and no girl of any age who has not graduated with credit from the grammar schools. there are a number of college-bred men and women in the filene employ. [illustration: a department store rest-room for women] good wages are paid, even to beginners, and experienced employees are rewarded, not according to a fixed rate of payment, but according to earning capacity. taken throughout the store, wages, plus commissions, which are allowed in all departments, average about two dollars a week higher than in other department stores in boston. no irresponsible, automatic employee can develop high efficiency. she does not want to become efficient; she wants merely to receive a pay envelope at the end of the week. in order to develop responsibility and initiative in their employees the filenes have put them on a self-governing basis. the workers do not literally make their own rules, but the vote of the majority can change any rule made by the firm. the firm furnishes its employees with a printed book of rules, in which the policy of the store is set forth. if the employees object to any of the rules, or any part of the policy, they can vote a change. the medium through which the clerks express their opinions and desires is the filene co-operative association, of which every clerk and every employee in the place is a member. no dues are exacted, as is the custom in the usual employees' association. the executive body, called the store council, and all other officers are elected by the members. all matters of grievance, all subjects of controversy, are referred to the store council, which, as often as occasion demands, calls a meeting of the entire association after business hours. for example: christmas happens on a friday. the firm decides to keep the store open on the following day--saturday. there is an expression of dissatisfaction from a number of clerks. a meeting of the association is called, and a vote taken as to whether the majority want the extra holiday or not; whether the majority are willing to lose the commissions on a day's sales, for, of course, salaries continue. the vote reveals that the majority want the holiday. the store council so reports to the firm, and the firm must grant the holiday. all matters of difficulty arising between employers and employed, in the filene store, are settled not by the firm, but by the arbitration board of employees, also elected by popular vote. all disagreements as to wages, position, promotion, all questions of personal issue between saleswomen and aislemen, or others in authority, are referred to the board of arbitration, and the board's decision is final. there is no tyranny of the buyer, no arbitrary authority of the head of a department. every clerk knows that her tenure is secure as long as she is an efficient saleswoman. surely it is not too much to hope that, in a future not too far distant, all women who earn their bread will serve a system of industry adjusted by law to human standards. in enlightened america the courts, presided over by men to whom manual labor is known only in theory, have persistently ruled that the _constitution forbade the state to make laws protecting women workers_. it has seemed to most of our courts and most of our judges that the state fulfilled its whole duty to its women citizens when it guaranteed them the right freely to contract--even though they consented, or their poverty consented, to contracts which involved irreparable harm to themselves, the community, and future generations. the women of this country have done nothing more important than to educate the judiciary of the united states out of and beyond this terrible delusion. chapter vi making over the factory from the inside the decision of the united states supreme court, establishing the legality of restricted hours of labor for oregon working women, was received with especial satisfaction in the state of illinois. the illinois working women, or that thriving minority of them organized in labor unions, had been waiting sixteen years for a favorable opportunity to get an eight-hour day for themselves. sixteen years ago the illinois state legislature gave the working women such a law, and two years later the illinois supreme court took it away from them, on the ground that it was unconstitutional. the action of the illinois supreme court was by no means without precedent. many similar decisions had been handed down in other states, until it had become almost a principle of american law that protective legislation for working women was invalid. the process of reasoning by which learned judges reach the conclusion that an eight-hour day for men may be decreed without depriving anybody of his constitutional rights, and at the same time rule that women would be outrageously wronged by having their working hours limited, may appear obscure. the explanation is, after all, simple. the learned judges are men, and they know something--not much, but still something--about the men of the working classes. they know, for example, something about the conditions under which coal miners work, and they can see that it is contrary to public interests that men should toil underground, at arduous labor, twelve hours a day. accidents result with painful frequency, and these are bad things,--bad for miners and mine owners alike. they are bad for the whole community. therefore the regulation of miners' hours of labor comes legitimately under the police powers of the law. the learned judges, i say this with all due respect, do not know anything about working women. their own words prove it. the texts of their decisions, denying the constitutionality of protective measures, are amazing in the ignorance they display,--ignorance of industrial conditions surrounding women; ignorance of the physical effects of certain kinds of labor on young girls; ignorance of the effect of women's arduous toil on the birth rate; ignorance of moral conditions in trades which involve night work; ignorance of the injury to the home resulting from the sweated labor of tenement women. in brief, the learned judges, when they write opinions involving the health, the happiness, the very lives of women workers, might be writing about the inhabitants of another planet, so little knowledge do they display of the real facts. we have seen how the women of the consumers' league taught the united states supreme court something about working women; showed them a few of the calamities resulting from the unrestricted labor of women and immature girls. the supreme court's decision forever abolished the old fallacy that the american constitution _forbids_ protective legislation for women workers. it remains for women's organizations in the various states to educate local courts up to the knowledge that community interest _demands_ protective legislation. following the decision of the supreme court in the oregon case, which flatly contradicted the decision of the illinois supreme court, the working women of illinois began their educational campaign. they had now, for the first time, a fighting chance to secure the restoration of their shortened work day. the women of fifteen organized trades in the city of chicago determined to take that chance. the women first appealed to the industrial commission, appointed early in 1908 by governor dineen, to investigate the need of protective legislation for workers, men and women alike. the women were given a courteous hearing, but were told frankly that limited hours of work for women was not one of protective measures to be recommended by the commission. the waitresses' union, local no. 484, of chicago, entered the lists, led by a remarkable young woman, elizabeth maloney, financial secretary of the union. miss maloney and her associates drafted and introduced into the illinois legislature a bill providing an eight-hour working day for every woman in the state, working in shop, factory, retail store, laundry, hotel, or restaurant, and providing also ample machinery for enforcing the measure. the "girls' bill," as it immediately became known, was the most hotly contested measure passed by the illinois legislature during the session. over five hundred manufacturers appeared at the public hearing on the bill to protest against it. one man brought a number of meek and tired women employees, who, he declared, were opposed to having their working day made shorter. another presented a petition signed by his women employees, appealing against being prevented from working eleven hours a day! nine working girls appeared in support of the bill, and after learned counsel for the manufacturers' association had argued against the measure, two of the girls were allowed to speak. the manufacturers' association presented the business aspect of the question, the girls confined themselves to the human side. agnes nestor, secretary of the glove makers' union of the united states and canada, was one of the two girls who spoke. miss nestor, whose eyes are blue, whose manners are gentle, and whose best weight is ninety-five pounds, had to stand on a chair that the law makers might see her when she made her plea: elizabeth maloney, of the waitresses' union, was the other speaker. they described details in the daily lives of working women not generally known except to the workers themselves. among these was the piece-work system, which too often means a system whereby the utmost possible speed is extorted from the toiler, in order that she may earn a living wage. the legislators were asked to imagine themselves operating a machine whose speed was gauged up to nine thousand stitches a minute; to consider how many stitches the operator's hand must guide in a week, a month, a year, in order to earn a living; working thus eleven, twelve hours a day, knowing that the end was nervous breakdown, and decrease of earning power. "i am a waitress," said miss maloney, "and i work ten hours a day. in that time a waitress who is tolerably busy _walks_ ten miles, and the dishes she carries back and forth aggregate in weight fifteen hundred to two thousand pounds. don't you think eight hours a day is enough for a girl to walk?" only one thing stood in the way of the passage of the bill after that day. the doubt of its constitutionality proved an obstacle too grave for the friends of the workers to overcome. it was decided to substitute a ten-hour bill, an exact duplicate of the "oregon standard" established by the supreme court of the united states. the principle of limitation upon the hours of women's work once established in illinois, the workers could proceed with their fight for an eight-hour day. the manufacturers lost their fight, and the ten-hour bill became a law of the state of illinois. the manufacturers' association, through the w.c. ritchie paper box manufactory, of chicago, immediately brought suit to test the constitutionality of the law. two ritchie employees, anna kusserow and dora windeguth, made appeal to the illinois courts. their appeal declared that they could not make enough paper boxes in ten hours to earn their bread, and that their constitutional rights freely to contract, as well as their human rights, had been taken away from them by the ten-hour law. there was a terrible confession, on the part of the employers, involved in this protest against the ten-hour day, a confession of the wretched state of women's wages in the state of illinois. if women of mature years--one of the petitioners had been an expert box maker for over thirty years--are unable, in a day of ten hours, to earn enough to keep body and soul together, is it not proved that women workers are in no position freely to contract? for who, of her own free will, would contract to work ten hours a day for less than the price of life? there was sitting in the circuit court of illinois at that time judge r.s. tuthill. when judge tuthill, in old age, reviews the events of his career, i think he will not remember with pride that he was blind to the real meaning of that petition of anna kusserow and dora windeguth. for judge tuthill issued an injunction against the state factory department, forbidding them to enforce the ten-hour law. immediately a number of women's organizations joined hands with the women's trade unions in the fight to save the bill. when it came up in the december term of the illinois supreme court, louis d. brandeis of boston, the same able jurist who had argued the oregon case, was on hand. this time his brief was a book of six hundred and ten printed pages, over which miss pauline goldmark, of the national consumers' league, and a large corps of trained investigators and students had toiled for many months. the world's experience against the illinois circuit court, this document might well have been called. it was simply a digest of the evidence of governmental commissions, laboratories, and bodies of scientific research, on the effects of overwork, and especially of overtime work, on girls and women, and through them on the succeeding generation. incidentally the brief contained three pages of law. the most striking part of the argument contained in the brief was the testimony of physicians on the toxin of fatigue. "medical science has demonstrated," says this most important paragraph, "that while fatigue is a normal phenomenon ... excessive fatigue or exhaustion is abnormal.... it has discovered that fatigue is due not only to actual poisoning, but to a specific poison or toxin of fatigue, entirely analogous in chemical and physical nature to other bacterial toxins, such as the diphtheria toxin. it has been shown that when artificially injected into animals in large amounts the fatigue toxin causes death. the fatigue toxin in normal quantities is said to be counteracted by an antidote or antitoxin, also generated in the body. but as soon as fatigue becomes abnormal the antitoxin is not produced fast enough to counteract the poison of the toxin." the supreme court of the state of illinois decided that the american constitution was never intended to shield manufacturers in their willingness to poison women under pretense of giving them work. the ten-hour law was sustained. that the "girls' bill" passed, or that it was even introduced, was due in large measure to an organization of women, more militant and more democratic than any other in the united states. this is the women's trade union league. formed in new york about seven years ago, the league consists of women members of labor unions, a few men in organized trades, and many women outside the ranks of wage earners. some of these latter are women of wealth, who are believers in the trade-union principle, but more are women who work in the professional ranks,--teachers, lawyers, physicians, writers, artists, settlement workers. these are the first professional workers, men or women, who ever asked for and were given affiliation with the american federation of labor. they are the first people, outside the ranks of wage earners, to appear in labor day parades. the object of the league, which now has branches in five cities,--new york, boston, chicago, st. louis, and cleveland,--is to educate women wage earners in the doctrine of trade unionism. the league trains and supports organizers among all classes of workers. as quickly as a group in any trade seems ready for organizing the league helps them. it raises funds to assist women in their trade struggles. it acts as arbitrator between employer and wage earners in case of shop disputes. the women's tracle union league reaches not only women in factory trades, but it has succeeded in organizing women who until lately believed themselves to be a grade above this social level. one hundred and fifty dressmakers in new york city belong to a union. seventy stenographers have organized in the same city. the teachers' federation of chicago is a labor union, and although it was formed before the women's trade union league came into existence, it is now affiliated. the women telegraphers all over the united states are well organized. the businesslike, resourceful, and fearless policy of the league was brilliantly demonstrated during the famous strike of the shirt-waist makers in new york and philadelphia in the winter of 1910. the story of this strike will bear retelling. on the evening of november 22, 1909, there was a great mass meeting of workers held at cooper union in new york. samuel gompers, president of the american federation of labor, presided, and the stage was well filled with members of the women's trade union league. the meeting had been called by the league in conjunction with shirt-waist makers' union, local 25, to consider the grievances of shirt-waist makers in general, and especially of the shirt-waist makers in the triangle factory, who had been, for more than two months, on strike. the story of the strike, the causes that led up to it, and the bitter injustice which followed it were rehearsed in a dozen speeches. it was shown that for four to five dollars a week the girl shirt-waist makers worked from eight in the morning until half-past five in the evening two days in the week; from eight in the morning until nine at night four days in the week; and from eight in the morning until noon one day in the week--sunday. the shirt-waist makers in the triangle factory, in hope of bettering their conditions, had formed a union, and had informed their employers of their action. the employers promptly locked them out of the shop, and the girls declared a strike. the strike was more than two months old when the cooper union meeting was held, and the employers showed no signs of giving in. it was agreed that a general strike of shirt-waist makers ought to be declared. but the union was weak, there were no funds, and most of the shirt-waist makers were women and unused to the idea of solidarity in action. could they stand together in an industrial struggle which promised to be long and bitter? president gompers was plainly fearful that they could not. suddenly a very small, very young, very intense jewish girl, known to her associates as clara lemlich, sprang to her feet, and, with the assistance of two young men, climbed to the high platform. flinging up her arms with a dramatic gesture she poured out a flood of speech, entirely unintelligible to the presiding gompers, and to the members of the women's trade union league. the yiddish-speaking majority in the audience understood, however, and the others quickly caught the spirit of her impassioned plea. the vast audience rose as one man, and a great roar arose. "yes, we will all strike!" "and will you keep the faith?" cried the girl on the platform. "will you swear by the old jewish oath of our fathers?" two thousand jewish hands were thrust in air, and two thousand jewish throats uttered the oath: "if i turn traitor to the cause i now pledge, may this hand wither and drop off from this arm i now raise." clara lemlich's part in the work was accomplished. within a few days forty thousand shirt-waist makers were on strike. the women's trade union league, under the direction of miss helen marot, secretary, at once took hold of the strike. there were two things to be done at once. the forty thousand had to be enrolled in the union, and those manufacturers who were willing to accept the terms of the strikers had to be "signed up." clinton hall, one of the largest buildings on the lower east side, was secured, and for several weeks the rooms and hallways of the building and the street outside were crowded almost to the limit of safety with men and women strikers, anxious and perspiring "bosses," and busy, active associates of the women's trade union league. the immediate business needs of the organization being satisfied the league members undertook the work of picketing the shops. picketing, if this activity has not been revealed to you, consists in patrolling the neighborhood of the factories during the hours when the strike breakers are going to and from their nefarious business, and importuning them to join the strike. peaceful picketing is legal. the law permits a striker to speak to the girl who has taken her place, permits her to present her cause in her most persuasive fashion, but if she lays her hand, ever so gently on the other's arm or shoulder, this constitutes technical violence. up to the time when the league began picketing there had been a little of this technical, and possibly an occasional act of real, violence. after the league took a hand there was none. each group of union girls who went forth to picket was accompanied by one or more league members. some of these amateur pickets were girls fresh from college, and among these were elsie cole, the brilliant daughter of albany's superintendent of schools, inez milholland, the beautiful and cherished daughter of a millionaire father, leader of her class, of 1909, in vassar college, elizabeth dutcher and violet pike, both prominent in the association of collegiate alumnae. these young women went out day after day with girl strikers, endured the insults and threats of the police, suffered arrest on more than one occasion, and faced the scorn and indignation of magistrates who--well, who did not understand. the strike received an immense amount of publicity, and organizations of women other than the women's trade union league began to take an interest in it. they sent for miss marot, miss cole, miss gertrude barnum, and other women known to be familiar with the industrial world of women, and begged for enlightenment on the subject of the strike. they particularly asked to hear the story from the striking women in person. the exclusive colony club, to which only women of the highest social eminence are eligible, was called together by miss anne morgan and several others, including mrs. egerton winthrop, wife of the president of the new york board of education, to hear the story from the strikers' own lips. the colony club was swept into the shirt-waist strike. more than thirteen hundred dollars was collected in a few minutes. a dozen women promised influence and personal service in behalf of the strikers. a week later mrs. o.h.p. belmont, mother of the duchess of marlborough, leader of a large woman suffrage association, engaged the hippodrome, and packed it to the roof with ten thousand interested spectators. something like five thousand dollars was donated by this meeting. at the beginning of the strike fully five hundred waist houses were involved. many of these settled within a few days on the basis of increased pay, a fifty-two-hour working week, and recognition of the union. others settled later, and under the influence of the "uptown scum," as the employers' association gallantly termed the women's trade union league, the colony club, and the suffragists, still others reluctantly gave in. late in january all except about one hundred out of the five hundred had settled with the union, and only about three thousand of the workers were still out of work. women have been called the scabs of the labor world. that they would ever become trade unionists, ever evolve the class consciousness of the intelligent proletarian men, was deemed an impossible dream. above all, that their progress towards industrial emancipation would ever be helped along by the wives and daughters of the employing classes was unthinkable. that the releasing of one class of women from household labor by sending another class of women into the factory, there to perform their historic tasks of cooking, sewing, and laundry work, was to result in the humanizing of industry, no mind ever prophesied. yet these things are coming. the scabs of the labor world are becoming the co-workers instead of the competitors of men. the women of the leisure classes, almost as fast as their eyes are opened to the situation, espouse the cause of their working sisters. the woman in the factory is preparing to make over that factory or to close it. the history of a recent strike, in a carpet mill in roxbury, massachusetts, is a perfect history, in miniature, of the progress of the working women. that particular mill is very old and very well known. when it was established, more than a generation ago, the owner was a man who knew every one of his employees by name, was especially considerate of the women operatives, and was loved and respected by every one. hours of labor were long, but the work was done in a leisurely fashion, and wages were good enough to compensate for the long day's labor. the original owner died, and in time the new firm changed to a corporation. the manager knew only his office force and possibly a few floor superintendents and foremen. the rest of the force were "hands." the whole state of the industry was altered. new and complicated machinery was introduced. the shortened work day was a hundred times more fatiguing to the workers because of the increased speed and nerve-racking noise and jar of the machinery. other grievances developed. the quality of the yarn furnished the weavers was often so bad that they spent hours of unpaid labor mending a broken warp or manipulating a rotten shuttle full of yarn. wages, fixed according to the piece system, declined, it is said, at least one-fourth. women who had formerly earned thirteen dollars a week were reduced to seven and eight dollars. the women formed a union and struck. some of them had been in the mills as long as forty years, but they walked out with the girls. there you have the story of women's realization of themselves as a group. next you encounter the realization of the sisterhood of women. the boston branch of the women's trade union league, through its secretary, mabel gillespie, radcliffe graduate, joined the strikers. backed up by the boston central labor union, and the united textile workers of fall river, the strikers fought their fight during ten weeks of anxiety and deprivation. the employers were firm in their determination to go out of business before treating with the strikers as a group. a hand, mind you, exists as an individual, a very humble individual, but one to be received and conferred with. hands, considered collectively, have no just right to exist. an employers' association is a necessity of business life. a labor union is an insult to capital. this was the situation at the end of ten weeks. one day a motor car stopped in front of the offices of the mills and a lady emerged. mrs. glendower evans, conservative, cultured, one might say back bay personified, had come to roxbury to see the carpet manufacturer. her powers of persuasion, plus her social position and her commercial connections, were sufficient to wring consent from the firm to receive john golden, president of the united textile workers. john golden, intelligent, honest, a fine type of workingman, educated in the english school of unionism, held two conferences with the firm. he was able to make the employers see the whole situation in an entirely new light. they were men of probity; they wanted to be fair; and when they saw the human side of the struggle they surrendered. when they perceived the justice of the collective bargain, the advantages to both sides of a labor organization honestly conducted, they consented to recognize the union. and the women went back, their group unbroken. thus are women working, women of all classes, to humanize the factory. from the outside they are working to educate the legislatures and the judiciary. they are lending moral and financial support to the women of the toiling masses in their struggle to make over the factory from the inside. together they are impressing the men of the working world, law makers and judges, with the justice of protecting the mothers of the race. now that the greatest stumbling block to industrial protective legislation has been removed, we may hope to see a change in legal decisions handed down in our courts. the educational process is not yet complete. not every judge possesses the prophetic mind of the late justice brewer, who wrote the decision in the oregon case. not every court has learned that healthy men and women are infinitely more valuable to a nation than mere property. but in time they will learn. in distant new zealand, not long ago, there was a match factory in which a number of women worked for low wages. after fruitless appeals to the owner for better wages the workers resorted to force. they did not strike. in new zealand you do not have to strike, because in that country a substitute for the strike is provided by law. to this substitute, a court of arbitration, the women took their grievance. the employer in his answer declared, just as employers in this country might have done, that his business would not stand an increase in wages. he explained that the match industry was newly established in new zealand, and that, until it was on a secure basis, factory owners could not afford to pay high wages. the judge ordered an inquiry. in this country it would have been an inquiry into the state of the match industry. there it was an inquiry into the cost of living in the town where the match factory was located. and then the judge summoned the factory owner to the court of arbitration, and this is what he said to the man: "it is impossible for these girls to live decently or healthfully on the wages you are now paying. it is of the utmost importance that they should have wholesome and healthful conditions of life. the souls and bodies of the young women of new zealand are of more importance than your profits, and if you cannot pay living wages it will be better for the community for you to close your factory. _it would be better to send the whole match industry to the bottom of the ocean, and go back to flints and firesticks, than to drive young girls into the gutter._ my award is that you pay what they ask." does that sound like justice to you? it does to me; it does to the eight million women in the world who have learned to think in human terms. chapter vii breaking the great taboo at the threshold of that quarter of old new york called greenwich village stands jefferson market court. almost concealed behind the towering structure of the sixth avenue elevated, the building by day is rather inconspicuous. but when night falls, swallowing up the neighborhood of tangled streets and obscure alleyways, jefferson market assumes prominence. high up in the square brick tower an illuminated clock seems perpetually to be hurrying its pointing hands toward midnight. from many windows, barred for the most part, streams an intense white light. above an iron-guarded door at the side of the building floats a great globe of light, and beneath its glare, through the iron-guarded door, there passes, every week-day night in the year, a long procession of prodigals. the guarded door seldom admits any one as important, so to speak, as a criminal. the criminal's case waits for day. the night court in jefferson market sits in judgment only on the small fry caught in the dragnet of the police. tramps, vagrants, drunkards, brawlers, disturbers of the peace, speeding chauffeurs, licenseless peddlers, youths caught red-handed shooting craps or playing ball in the streets,--these are the men with whom the night court deals. but it is not the men we have come to see. [illustration: miss maude e. miner] the women of the night court. prodigal daughters! between december, 1908, and december, 1909, no less than five thousand of them passed through the guarded door, under the blaze of the electric lights. there is never an hour, from nine at night until three in the morning, when the prisoners' bench in jefferson market court is without its full quota of women. old--prematurely old, and young--pitifully young; white and brown; fair and faded; sad and cynical; starved and prosper ous; rag-draped and satin-bedecked; together they wait their turn at judgment. quietly moving back and forth before the prisoners' bench you see a woman, tall, graceful, black-gowned. she is the salaried probation officer, modern substitute for the old-time volunteer mission worker. the probation officer's serious blue eyes burn with no missionary zeal. there is no spark of sentimental pity in the keen gaze she turns on each new arrival. when the bench is full of women the judge turns to her to inquire: "anybody there you want, miss miner?" miss miner usually shakes her head. she diagnoses her cases like a physician, and she wastes no time on incurables. once in a while, perhaps several times in the course of a night, miss miner touches a girl on the arm. at once the girl rises and follows the probation officer into an adjoining room. if she is what she appears, young in evil, if she has a story which rings true, a story of poverty and misfortune, rather than of depravity, she goes not back to the prisoners' bench. when her turn at judgment comes miss miner stands beside her, and in a low voice meant only for the judge, she tells the facts. the girl weeps as she listens. to hear one's troubles told is sometimes more terrible than to endure them. court adjourns at three in the morning, and this girl, with the others--if others have been claimed by the probation officer--goes out into the empty street, under the light of the tall tower, whose clock has begun all over again its monotonous race toward midnight. no policeman accompanies the group. the girls are under no manner of duress. they have promised to go home with miss miner, and they go. the night's adventure, entered into with dread, with callous indifference, or with thoughtless mirth, ends in a quiet bedroom and a pillow wet with tears. [illustration: in the night court, new york.] waverley house, as miss miner's home is known, has sheltered, during the past year, over three hundred girls. out of that number one hundred and nineteen have returned to their homes, or are earning a living at useful work. one hundred and nineteen saved out of five thousand prodigals! in point of numbers this is a melancholy showing, but in comparison with other efforts at rescue work it is decidedly encouraging. nothing quite like waverley house has appeared in other american cities, but it is a type of detention home for girls which is developing logically out of the probation system. delinquent girls under sixteen are now considered, in all enlightened communities, subjects for the juvenile court. they are hardly ever associated with older delinquents. but a girl over sixteen is likely to be committed to prison, and may be locked in cells with criminal and abandoned women of the lowest order. waverley house is the first practical protest against this stupid and evil-encouraging policy. the house, which stands a few blocks distant from the night court, was established and is maintained by the probation association of new york, consisting of the probation officers in many of the city courts, and of men and women interested in philanthropy and social reform. the district attorney of new york county, charles s. whitman, is president of the association, maude e. miner is its secretary, mrs. russell sage, miss anne morgan, miss mary dreier, president of the new york women's trade union league, mrs. richard aldrich, formerly president of the women's municipal league, andrew carnegie, edward t. devine, head of new york's organized charities, homer folks, and fulton cutting are among the supporters of waverley house. miss stella miner is the capable and sympathetic superintendent of the house. the place is in no sense a reformatory. it is an experiment station, a laboratory where the gravest and most baffling of all the diseases which beset society is being studied. girls arrested for moral delinquency and paroled to probation officers are taken to waverley house, where they remain, under closest study and searching inquiry, until the best means of disposing of them is devised. some are sent to their homes, some to hospitals, some to institutions, some placed on long probation. maude e. miner, who declined a chair of mathematics in a woman's college to work in the night court, is one of an increasing number of women who are attempting a great task. they are trying to solve a problem which has baffled the minds of the wisest since civilization dawned. they have set themselves to combat an evil fate which every year overtakes countless thousands of young girls, dragging them down to misery, disease, and death. at the magnitude of the effort these women have undertaken one stands appalled. will they ever reach the heart of the problem? can they ever hope to do more than reclaim a few individuals? this much did the missionaries before them. "we could reclaim fully seventy-five per cent," declares miss miner, "if only we could find a way to begin nearer the beginning." to begin the reform of any evil at the beginning, or near the beginning, instead of near the end is now regarded as an economy of effort. that is what educators are trying to do with juvenile delinquency; what physicians are doing with disease; what philanthropists are beginning to do with poverty. hardly any one has suggested that the social evil might have a cause, and that it might be possible to attack it at its source. yet that any large number of girls enter upon such a horrible career, willingly, voluntarily, is unbelievable to one who knows anything of the facts. there must be strong forces at work on these girls, forces they find themselves entirely powerless to resist. miss miner and her fellow probation officers are the visible signs of a very important movement among women to discover what these forces are. meager, indeed, are the facts at hand. we have had, and we still have, in cities east and west, committees and societies and law and order leagues earnestly engaged in "stamping out" the evil. it is like trying to stamp out a fire constantly fed with inflammables and fanned by a strong gale. the protests of most of these leagues amount to little more than vain clamor against a thing which is not even distantly comprehended. the _personnel_ of these agencies organized to "stamp out" the evil differs little in the various cities. it is largely if not wholly masculine in character, and the evil is usually dealt with from the point of view of religion and morals. women, when they appear in the matter at all, figure as missionaries, "prison angels," and the like. as evangelists to sinners women have been permitted to associate with their fallen sisters without losing caste. likewise, when elderly enough, they have been allowed to serve on governing boards of "homes" and "refuges." their activities were limited to rescue work. they might extend a hand to a repentant magdalene. a phryne they must not even be aware of. in other words, this evil as a subject of investigation and intelligent discussion among women was absolutely prohibited. it has ever been their great taboo. nevertheless, when eight million women, in practically every civilized country in the world, organized themselves into an international council of women, and began their remarkable survey of the social order in which they live, one of their first acts was to break the great taboo. [illustration: miss sadie american] at early congresses of the international council miss sadie american, mrs. kate waller barrett, mrs. elizabeth grannis, among american delegates, miss elizabeth janes of england, miss elizabeth gad of denmark, dr. agnes bluhm of germany, and others interested in the moral welfare of girls, urged upon the council action against the "white slave" traffic. no extensive argument was required to convince the members of the council that the "white slave" traffic and the whole subject of the moral degradation of women was a social phenomenon too long neglected by women. these women declared with refreshing candor that it was about time that the social evil was dealt with intelligently, and if it was to be dealt with intelligently women must do the work. the fussy old gentlemen with white side whiskers and silk-stocking reformers and the other well meaning amateurs, who are engaged in "stamping out" the evil, deserve to be set aside. in their places the women propose to install social experts who shall deal scientifically with the problem. the double standard of morals, accepted in fact if not in principle, in every community, and so rigidly applied that good women are actually forbidden to have any knowledge of their fallen sisters, was for the first time repudiated by a body of organized women. the arguments on which the double standard of morals is based was, for the first time, seriously scrutinized by women of intelligence and social importance. the desirability of the descent of property in legal paternal line seemed to these women a good enough reason for applying a rigid standard of morals to women. but they found reasons infinitely greater why the same rigid standard should be applied to men. the international council of women and women's organizations in every country number among their members and delegates women physicians, and through these physicians they have been able to consider the social evil from an altogether new point of view. certain very ugly facts, which touch the home and which intimately concern motherhood and the welfare of children, were brought forth--facts concerning infantile blindness, almost one-third of which is caused by excesses on the part of the fathers; facts concerning certain forms of ill health in married women, and the increase of sterility due to the spread of specific diseases among men. the horrible results to innocent women and children of these maladies, and their frightful prevalence,--seventy-five per cent of city men, according to reliable authority, being affected,--aroused in the women a sentiment of indignation and revolt. the international council of women put itself on record as protesting against the responsibility laid upon women, the unassisted task of preserving the purity of the race. in the united states, women's clubs, women's societies, women's medical associations, special committees of women in many cities have courageously undertaken the study of this problem, intending by means of investigation and publicity to lay bare its sources and seek its remedy. the sources of the evil are about the only phase of the problem which has never been adequately examined. it is true that we have suspected that the unsteady and ill-adjusted economic position of women furnished some explanation for its existence, but even now our information is vague and unsatisfactory. a number of years ago, in 1888 to be exact, the massachusetts bureau of labor statistics made an interesting investigation. this was an effort to determine how far the entrance of women into the industrial world, usually under the disadvantage of low wages, was contributing to profligacy. the bureau gathered statistics of the previous occupations of nearly four thousand fallen women in twenty-eight american cities. of these unfortunates over eight hundred had worked in low-waged trades such as paper-box making, millinery, laundry work, rope and cordage making, cigar and cigarette making, candy packing, textile factory and shoe factory work. about five hundred women had been garment workers, dressmakers, and seamstresses, but how far these were skilled or unskilled was not stated. the department store, at that time little more than a sweat shop so far as wages and long hours of work were concerned, contributed one hundred and sixteen recruits to the list. on the whole, these groups were what the investigators had expected to find. there were two other large groups of prodigals, and these were entirely unexpected by the investigators. of the 3,866 girls examined 1,236, or nearly thirty-two per cent, reported no previous occupation. the next largest group, 1,115, or nearly thirty per cent, had been domestic servants. the largest group of all had gone straight from their homes into lives of evil. a group nearly as large had gone directly from that occupation which is constantly urged upon women as the safest and most suitable means of earning their living--housework. now you may, if you want to drop the thing out of your mind as something too disagreeable to think about, infer from this that at least sixty-two per cent of those 3,866 women deserved their fate. some of them were too lazy to work, and the rest preferred a life of soiled luxury to one of honest toil in somebody's nice kitchen. apparently this was the view taken by the massachusetts bureau of labor statistics, because it never carried the investigation any farther. it never tried to find out _why_ so many girls left their homes to enter evil lives. it never tried to find out _why_ housework was a trade dangerous to morals. fortunately it did occur to the women's organizations to examine the facts a little more carefully. in this article i am going to take you over some of the ground they have covered and show you where their investigations have led them. south chicago is a fairly good place to begin. its ugliness and forlornness can be matched in the factory section of almost any large city. south chicago is dominated by its steel mills,--enormous drab structures, whose every crevice leaks quivering heat and whose towering chimneys belch forth unceasingly a pall of ashes and black smoke. the steel workers and their families live as a rule in two and three family houses, built of wood, generally unpainted, and always dismally utilitarian as to architectural details. in south chicago, four years ago, there was not such a thing as a park, or a playground, or a recreation center. one lone social settlement was just seeking a home for itself. there were public schools, quite imposing buildings. but these were closed and locked and shuttered for the day as soon as the classes were dismissed. in a certain neighborhood of south chicago there lived a number of young girls, healthy, high-spirited, and full of that joy of life which always must be fed--if not with wholesome food, then husks. for parents these girls had fathers who worked twelve hours a day in the steel mills and came home at night half dead from lack of rest and sleep; and mothers who toiled equally long hours in the kitchen or over the washtub and were too weary to know or care what the girls did after school. for social opportunity the girls had "going downtown." perhaps you know what that means. it means trooping up and down the main street in lively groups, lingering near a saloon where a phonograph is bawling forth a cheerful air, visiting a nickel theater, or looking on at a street accident or a fight. about this time the panic of 1907 descended suddenly on south chicago and turned out of the steel mills hundreds of boys and men. some of these were mere lads, sixteen to eighteen years old. they, too, went "downtown." there was no other place for them to go. as a plain matter of cause and effect, what kind of a moral situation would you expect to evolve out of these materials? eventually a woman probation officer descended on the neighborhood. many of the girls whom she rescued from conditions not to be described in these pages were so young that their cases were tried in the juvenile court. most of them went to rescue homes, reformatories, or hospitals. some slipped away permanently, in all human probability to join the never-ceasing procession of prodigals. this is what "no previous occupation" really means in nine cases out of ten. it means that the girl lived in a home which was no home at all, according to the ideals of you who read these pages. sometimes it was a cellar where the family slept on rags. sometimes it was an attic where ten or twelve people herded in a space not large enough for four. some of these homes were never warm in winter. in some there was hardly any furniture. but we need not turn to these extreme cases in order to show that in many thousands of american homes virtue and innocence are lost because no facilities for preserving them are possible. annie donnelly's case will serve as further illustration. annie donnelly's father was a sober, decent man of forty, who drove a cab from twelve to fifteen hours every day in the year, sundays and holidays included. before the cab drivers' strike, a year or two ago, donnelly's wages were fifteen dollars a week, and the family lived in a four-room tenement, for which they paid $5.50 a week. you pay rent weekly to a tenement landlord. since the strike wages are fourteen dollars a week for cab drivers, and this fall the donnelly rent went up fifty cents a week. the donnelly tenement was a very desirable one, having but a single dark, windowless room, instead of two or three, like most new york tenements. there were three children younger than annie, who was fourteen. the family of five made a fairly tight fit in four rooms. nevertheless, when the rent went up to six dollars mrs. donnelly took a lodger. she had to or move and, remember, this was a desirable tenement because it had only one dark room. one day the lodger asked annie if she did not want to go to a dance. annie did want to, but she knew very well that her mother would not allow her to go. once a year the entire family, including the baby, attended the annual ball of the coachman's union, but that was another thing. annie was too young for dances her mother declared. the donnellys paid for and occupied three rooms, but they really lived in one room, the others being too filled with beds to be habitable except at night. the kitchen, the one living-room, was uncomfortably crowded at meal times. at no time was there any privacy. it was impossible for annie to receive her girl friends in her home. every bit of her social life had to be lived out of the house. when the weather was warm she often stayed in the street, walking about with the other girls or sitting on a friend's doorstep, until ten or even eleven o'clock at night. every one does the same in a crowded city neighborhood. there comes a time in a girl's life when this sort of thing becomes monotonous. the time came when annie found sitting on the doorstep and talking about nothing in particular entirely unbearable. so one balmy, inviting spring night she slipped away and went with the lodger to a dance. the dance hall occupied a big, low-ceiled basement room in a building which was a combination of saloon and tenement house. in one of the front windows of the basement room was hung a gaudy placard: "the johnny sullivan social club." the lodger paid no admission, but he deposited ten cents for a hat check, after which they went in. about thirty couples were swinging in a waltz, their forms indistinctly seen through the clouds of dust which followed them in broken swirls through air so thick that the electric lights were dimmed. somewhere in the obscurity a piano did its noisiest best with a popular waltz tune. in a few minutes annie forgot her timidity, forgot the dust and the heat and the odor of stale beer, and was conscious only that the music was piercing, sweet, and that she was swinging in blissful time to it. when the waltz tune came to an end at last the dancers stopped, gasping with the heat, and swaying with the giddiness of the dance. "come along," said the lodger, "and have a beer." when annie shook her head he exclaimed: "aw, yuh have to. the sullivans gets the room rent free, but the fellers upstairs has bar privileges, and yuh have to buy a beer off of 'em oncet in a while. they've gotta get something out of it." i do not know whether annie yielded then or later. but ultimately she learned to drink beer for the benefit of philanthropists who furnish dance halls rent free, and also to quench a thirst rendered unbearable by heat and dust. they seldom open the windows in these places. sometimes they even nail the windows down. a well-ventilated room means poor business at the bar. annie donnelly became a dance-hall _habitué_. not because she was viciously inclined; not because she was abnormal; but because she was decidedly normal in all her instincts and desires. besides, it is easy to get the dance-hall habit. at almost every dance invitations to other dances are distributed with a lavish hand. these invitations, on cheap printed cards, are scattered broadcast over chairs and benches, on the floors, and even on the bar itself. they are locally known as "throw-aways." here are a few specimens, from which you may form an idea of the quality of dance halls, and the kind of people--almost the only kind of people--who offer pleasure to the starved hearts of girls like annie donnelly. these are actual invitations picked up in an east side dance hall by the head worker of the new york college settlement: "_second annual reception and ball, given by jibo and jack, at new starlight hall, 143 suffolk street, december 25. music by our favorite. gents ticket 25 cents, ladies 15 cents._" "_don't miss the ball given by joe the greaser, and sam rosenstock, at odd fellows' hall, january 29th._" "_see the devil dance at the reception and ball given by max pascal and little whity, at tutonia hall, tuesday evening, november 20th."_ _ "reception and ball given by two well known friends, max turk and sam lande, better known as mechuch, at appollo hall, chrystmas night. floor manager, young louis. ticket admit one 25 cents._" in addition to these private affairs which are arranged purely for the profit of "jibo and jack" and their kind, men who make a living in this and in yet more unspeakable ways, there are hundreds of saloon dance halls, not only in new york, but in other cities. these are simply annexes to drinking places, and people are not welcome there unless they drink. no admission is charged. there are also numberless dancing academies. dancing lessons are given four nights in the week, as a rule, and the dancing public buys admission the other three nights and on sunday afternoons. some dancing academies, even in tenement house quarters, are reputable institutions, but to most of them the lowest of the low, both men and women, resort. there, as in the dance halls, the "white slaver" plies his trade, and the destroyer of womanliness lays his nets. annie donnelly soon learned the ways of all these places. she learned to "spiel." you spiel by holding hands with your partner at arms' length, and whirling round and round at the highest possible speed. the girl's skirts are blown immodestly high, which is a detail. the effect of the spiel is a species of drunkenness which creates an instant demand for liquor, and a temporary recklessness of the possible results of strong drink. annie also learned to dance what is known as the "half time," or the "part time" waltz. this is a dance accompanied by a swaying and contorting of the hips, most indecent in its suggestion. it is really a very primitive form of the dance, and probably goes back to the pagan harvest and bacchic festivals. you may see traces of it in certain crude peasant dances in out-of-the-way corners of europe. now they teach it to immigrant girls in new york dancing academies and dance halls, and tell the girls that it is the _american_ fashion of waltzing. annie donnelly's destruction was accomplished in less than a year. it was the more rapid because of the really superior character of her home. there was nothing the matter with that home except that it was too crowded for the family to stay in it. father and mother were respectable, hard-working people, and after annie's first real misadventure, into which she fell almost unwittingly, she was afraid to go home. the dance hall, as we have permitted it to exist, practically unregulated, has become a veritable forcing house of vice and crime in every city in the united states. it is a straight chute down which, every year, thousands of girls descend to the way of the prodigal. no one has counted their number. all we know of the unclassed is that they exist, apparently in ever-increasing masses. it was estimated in chicago, not long ago, that there were about six thousand unfortunate women known to the police, and something like twenty thousand who managed to avoid actual collision with the law. that is, the latter lived quietly and plied their trade on the street so unostentatiously that they were seldom arrested. how many of these unfortunates reached the streets through the dance hall is impossible to know--we only know that it constantly recruits the ranks of the unclassed. [illustration: a dance hall] the dance hall may be in the rear of a saloon, or over a saloon; it may occupy a vacant store building, or a large loft. somewhere in its immediate vicinity there is a saloon. a dance lasts about five minutes, and the interval between dances is from ten to twenty minutes. waiters circle among the dancers, importuning them to drink. the dance hall without a bar, or some source of liquid supply, does not often exist, except as it has been established by social workers to offset the influence of the commercial dance hall. some dance halls are small and wretchedly lighted. others are large and pretentious. some of them have direct connections with raines law hotels and their prototypes. of hardly a single dance hall can a good word be said. they are almost entirely in the hands of the element lowest in society, in business, and in politics. from the old-fashioned german family picnic park to coney island in new york, revere beach in boston, the white city in chicago, savin rock in new haven, and their like, is a far cry. some of these summer parks try to keep their amusements clean and decent, and some, notably euclid park, cleveland, succeed. but drink and often worse evils are characteristic of most of them. there are parts of coney island where no beer is sold, where the vaudeville and the moving pictures are clean and wholesome, where dancing is orderly. but the nearest side street has its "tough joint." the same thing is true of the big summer resorts of other cities. the dance hall, both winter and summer types, have had a deteriorating effect upon the old-fashioned dancing academy. formerly these were respectable establishments where people paid for dancing lessons. now they are a _mélange_ of dancing classes and public entertainments. the dancing masters, unable to compete with the dance hall proprietors, have been obliged to transfer many of the dance hall features to their establishments. oddly enough it is rather an unusual thing for a girl to be escorted to a dance in any kind of a dance hall. the girls go alone, with a friend, or with a group of girls. the exceptional girl, who is attended by a man, must dance with him, or if she accepts another part ner, she must ask his permission. an escort is deemed a somewhat doubtful advantage. those who go unattended are always sure of partners. often they meet "fellows" they know, or have seen on the streets. introductions are not necessary. even if a girl is unacquainted with any "fellows," if she possesses slight attractions, she is still sure of partners. the amount of money spent by working girls for dance-hall admissions is considerable. a girl receiving six or seven dollars a week in wages thinks nothing of reserving from fifty cents to a dollar for dancing. in going about among the dance halls one is struck with the number of black-gowned girls. the black gown might almost be called the mark of the dance-hall _habitué_, the girl who is dance mad and who spends all her evenings going from one resort to another. she wears black because light evening gowns soil too rapidly for a meager purse to renew. an indispensable feature of the dancing academy is the "spieler." this is a young man whose strongest recommendation is that he is a skilled and untiring dancer. the business of the spieler is to look after the wall-flowers. he seeks the girl who sits alone against the wall; he dances with her and brings other partners to her. it would not do for a place to get the reputation of slowness. the girls go back to those dance halls where they have had the best time. the spieler is not uncommonly a worthless fellow; sometimes he is a sinister creature, who lives on the earnings of unfortunate girls. the dance hall, and especially the dancing academy, because of the youth of many of its patrons, is a rich harvest field for men of this type. beginning with the saloon dance hall, unquestionably the most brutally evil type, and ending with the dancing academy, where some pretense of chaperonage is made, the dance hall is a vicious institution. it is vicious because it takes the most natural of all human instincts, the desire of men and women to associate together, and distorts that instinct into evil. the boy and girl of the tenement-dwelling classes, especially where the foreign element is strong, do not share their pleasures in the normal, healthy fashion of other young people. the position of the women of this class is not very high. men do not treat her as an equal. they woo her for a wife. in the same manner the boy does not play with the girl. the relations between young people very readily degenerate. the dance hall, with its curse of drink, its lack of chaperonage and of reasonable discipline, helps this along its downward course. sadie greenbaum, as i will call her, was an exceptionally attractive young jewish girl of fifteen when i first knew her. although not remarkably bright in school she was industrious, and aspired to be a stenographer. she was not destined to realize her ambition. as soon as she finished grammar school she was served, so to speak, with her working papers. the family needed additional income, not to meet actual living expenses, for the greenbaums were not acutely poor, but in order that the only son of the family might go to college. max was seventeen, a selfish, overbearing prig of a boy, fully persuaded of his superiority over his mother and sisters, and entirely willing that the family should toil unceasingly for his advancement. sadie accepted the situation meekly, and sought work in a muslin underwear factory. at eighteen she was earning seven dollars a week as a skilled operator on a tucking machine. she sat down to her work every morning at eight o'clock, and for four hours watched with straining eyes a tucking foot which carried eight needles and gathered long strips of muslin into eight fine tucks, at the rate of four thousand stitches a minute. the needles, mere flickering flashes of white light above the cloth, had to be watched incessantly lest a thread break and spoil the continuity of a tuck. when you are on piece wages you do not relish stopping the machine and doing over a yard or two of work. so sadie watched the needle assiduously, and ignored the fact that her head ached pretty regularly, and she was generally too weary when lunch time came to enjoy the black bread and pickles which, with a cup of strong tea, made her noon meal. after lunch she again sat down to her machine and watched the needles gallop over the cloth. at the end of each year sadie greenbaum had produced for the good of the community _four miles_ of tucked muslin. in return, the community had rendered her back something less than three hundred dollars, for the muslin underwear trade has its dull seasons, and you do not earn seven dollars every week in the year. each week sadie handed her pay envelope unopened to her mother. the mother bought all sadie's clothes and gave her food and shelter. consequently, sadie's unceasing vigil of the needle paid for her existence and purchased also the proud consciousness of an older brother who would one day own a doctor's buggy and a social position. the one joy of this girl's life, in fact all the real life she lived, was dancing. regularly every saturday night sadie and a girl friend, rosie by name, put on their best clothes and betook themselves to silver's casino, a huge dance hall with small rooms adjoining, where food and much drink were to be had. there was a good floor at silver's and a brass band to dance to. it was great! the girls never lacked partners, and they made some very agreeable acquaintances. in the dressing room, between dances, all the girls exchanged conversation, views on fashions, confidences about the young men and other gossip. some of the girls were nice and some, it must be admitted, were "tough." what was the difference? the tough girls, with their daring humor, their cigarettes, their easy manners, and their amazingly smart clothes, furnished a sort of spice to the affair. sadie and rosie sometimes discussed the tough girls, and the conversation nearly always ended with one remarking: "well, if they don't get anything else out of livin', look at the clothes they put on their backs." perhaps you can understand that longing for pretty gowns, perhaps you can even sympathize with it. of course, if you have a number of other resources, you can keep the dress hunger in its proper place. but if you have nothing in your existence but a machine--at which you toil for others' benefit; sadie and rosie continued to spend their saturday evenings and their sunday evenings at silver's casino. at first they went home together promptly at midnight. after midnight these casino dance halls change their character. often professional "pace makers" are introduced, men and women of the lowest class, who are paid to inspire the other dancers to lewd conduct. these wretched people are immodestly clothed, and they perform immodest or very tough dances. they are usually known as "twisters," a descriptive title. when they make their appearance the self-respecting dancers go home, and a much looser element comes in. the pace becomes a rapid one. manners are free, talk is coarse, laughter is incessant. the bar does a lively business. the dancing and the revels go on until daylight. the first time sadie and rosie allowed themselves to be persuaded to stay at silver's after midnight they were rather horrified by the abandoned character of the dancing, the reckless drinking, and the fighting which resulted in several men being thrown out. the second time they were not quite so horrified, but they decided not to stay so late another time. then came a great social event, the annual "mask and shadow dance" of a local political organization. sadie and rosie attended. a "mask and shadow dance" is as important a function to girls of sadie's and rosie's class as a cotillion is to girls of your class. such affairs are possible only in large dance halls, and to do them impressively costs the proprietor some money. the guests rent costumes and masks and appear in very gala fashion indeed. they dance in the rays of all kinds of colored lights thrown upon them from upper galleries. during part of a waltz the dancers are bathed in rose-colored lights, which change suddenly to purple, a blue, or a green. some very weird effects are made, the lights being so manipulated that the dancers' shadows are thrown, greatly magnified, on walls and floor. at intervals a rain of bright-colored confetti pours down from above. the scene becomes bacchanalian. color, light, music, confetti, the dance, together combine to produce an intense and voluptuous intoxication which the revelers deepen with drink. the events of the latter part of that night were very vague in sadie's memory when she awoke late the next morning. she remembered that she had tolerated familiarities which had been foreign to her experience heretofore, and that she had been led home by some friendly soul, at daylight, almost helpless from liquor. frightened, haunted by half-ashamed memories of that dance, sadie spoiled a good bit of her work on monday morning. the forewoman descended on her with a torrent of coarse abuse, whereupon sadie rose suddenly from her machine, and in a burst of hysterical profanity and tears rushed out of the factory, vowing never to return. there was only one course, she decided, for her to take, and she took it. "sadie, why did you do it?" wailed rosie the next time they met. "it's better than the factory," said sadie. tucking muslin underwear is dull work, but it is, in most ways, a more agreeable task than icing cakes in a st. louis biscuit factory. all day edna m---stood over a tank filled with thick chocolate icing. the table beside edna's tank was kept constantly supplied with freshly baked "lady-fingers," and these in delicate handfuls edna seized and plunged into the hot ooze of the chocolate. her arms, up to the elbows, went into the black stuff, over and over again all day. at noon, over their lunch, the girls talked of their recreations, their clothes, their "fellows." edna had not very much to contribute to the girls' stories of gayety and adventure. she led a quieter existence than most of the other girls, although her leanings were toward lively pleasures. she was engaged to a young man who worked in a foundry and who was steady and perhaps rather too serious. he was very jealous of edna and exacted a stern degree of fidelity of her. before her engagement edna had gone to a decent dancing school and dearly loved the dance. now she was not permitted to dance with any one but her prospective husband. the bright talk at the noon hour made edna feel that she was a very poor sport. the young man's work in the foundry alternated weekly between day and night duty. it occurred to edna that her young man could not possibly know what she did with those evenings he remained in the foundry. if she chose to go with a group of girls to a dance hall, what harm? the long years of married life stretched themselves out somewhat drably to edna. she decided to have a good time beforehand. this girl from now on literally lived a double life. evenings of the weeks her young man was free from the foundry, she spent at home with him, placidly playing cards, reading aloud, or talking. on the other evenings she danced, madly, incessantly. her mother thought she spent the evenings with her girl friends. the dancing, plus the deceit, soon had its effect on edna. she began to visit livelier and livelier resorts, curious to see all phases of pleasure. suspicion entered into the mind of her affianced. he questioned her; she lied, and he was unconvinced. a night or two later the young man stayed away from the foundry and followed edna to a suburban resort. she went, as usual, with a group of girls, but their men were waiting for them near the door of the open-air dancing pavilion. standing just outside, the angry lover watched the girl "spiel" round and round with a man of doubtful respectability. soon she joined a noisy, beer-drinking group at one of the tables, and her behavior grew more and more reckless. finally, amid laughter, she and another girl performed a suggestive dance together. walking swiftly up to her, the outraged foundryman grasped her by the shoulder, called her a name she did not yet deserve, and threw her violently to the floor. a terrific fight followed, and the police soon cleared the place. edna did not dare go home. an over-rigid standard of morals, an over-repressive policy, an over-righteous judgment, plus a mother ignorant of the facts of life, plus a girl's longing for joy--the sum of these equaled ruin in edna's case. chapter viii woman's helping hand to the prodigal daughter annie, sadie, edna, thousands of girls like them, girls of whom almost identical stories might be told, help to swell the long procession of prodigals every succeeding year. they joined that procession ignorantly because they thirsted for pleasure. their days were without interest, their minds were unfurnished with any resources. at fourteen most of them left public school. reading and writing are about as much intellectual accomplishments as the school gives them, and the work waiting for them in factory, mill, or department store is rarely of a character to increase their intelligence. ask a girl, "why do you go to the dance hall? why don't you stay home evenings?" nine times in ten her answer will be: "what should i do with myself, sitting home and twirling my fingers?" if you suggest reading, she will reply: "you can't be reading all the time." in other words, there is no intellectual impulse, but instead an instinct for action. the crowded tenement, the city slum, an oppressive system of ill-paid labor, these are evils which a gradually developing social conscience must one day eliminate. their tenure will not be disturbed to-day, to-morrow, or next day. their evil influence can be offset, in some measure, by a recognition on the part of the community of a debt,--a debt to youth. the joy of life, inherent in every young creature, including the young human creature, seeks expression in play, in merriment, and will not be denied. the oldest, the most persistent, the most attractive, the most satisfying expression of the joy of life is the dance. other forms of recreation come in for brief periods, but their vogue is always transitory. the roller skating craze, for example, waxed, waned, and disappeared. moving pictures and the nickelodeon have had their day, and are now passing. the charm, the passion, the lure of the dance remains perennial. it never wholly disappears. it always returns. in new york city alone there are three hundred saloon dance halls. three hundred dens of evil where every night in the year gallons of liquid damnation are forced down the throats of unwilling drinkers! where the bodies and souls of thousands of girls are annually destroyed, because the young are irresistibly drawn toward joy, and because we, all of us, good people, busy people, indifferent people, unseeing people, have permitted joy to become commercialized, have turned it into a commodity to be used for money profit by the worst elements in society. could a more inverted scheme of things have been devised in a madhouse? new york is by no means unique. every city has its dance hall problem; every small town its girl and boy problem; every country-side its tragedy of the girl who, for relief from monotony, goes to the city and never returns. it is strange that nowhere, until lately, in city, town, or country, has it occurred to any one that the community owed anything to this insatiable thirst for joy. consider, for instance, the age-long indifference of the oldest of all guardians of virtue, the christian church. to the demand for joy the evangelical church has returned the stern reply: "to play cards, to go to the theater, above all, to dance, is wicked." the methodist church, for one, has this baleful theory written in its book of discipline, and persistent efforts on the part of enlightened clergy and lay members have utterly failed to expurgate it. the catholic, episcopalian, and lutheran churches utter no such strictures, but in effect they defend the theory that joy, if not in itself an evil, at least is no necessity of life. to meet the growing social discontent, the increasing indifference to old forms of religion, the open dissatisfaction with religious organizations which had degenerated into clubs for rich men, there was developed some years ago in america the "institutional church." this was an honest effort to give to church members, and to those likely to become church members, opportunity for social and intellectual diversion. parish houses and settlements were established, and these were furnished with splendid gymnasiums, club rooms, committee rooms, auditoriums for concerts and lectures, kitchens for cooking lessons, and provision besides for basketry, sewing, and embroidery classes. these are all good, and so are the numberless reading, debating, and study clubs good, as far as they go. but what a pitifully short way they go! they have built up congregations somewhat, but they have made not the slightest impression on the big social problem. the reason is plain. the appeal of the institutional church is too intellectual. it reaches only that portion of the masses who stand least in need of social opportunity. to this accusation the church, man instituted and man controlled since the beginning of the christian era, replies that it does all that can be done for the uplift of humanity. that the church seems to be losing its hold on the masses of people is attributed to a general drift of degenerate humanity towards atheism and unbelief. the people, the great world of people,--what a field for the church to work in, if it only chose! the great obstacle is that the church (leaving out the institutional church), on sunday a vital, living force, is content to exist all the other days in the week merely as a building. six days and more than half six evenings in the week the churches stand empty and deserted. simply from the point of view of material economy this waste in church property, reduced to dollars and cents, would appear deplorable. from the point of view of social economy, reduced to terms of humanity, the waste is heartbreaking. what would happen if something should loose those churches, or, at any rate, their big sunday-school rooms and their ample basements from this icy exclusiveness, this week-day aloofness from humanity? can you picture them at night, streaming with light, gay with music, filled with dancing crowds? not crowds from homes of wealth and comfort, but crowds from streets and byways; crowds for which, at present, the underworld spreads its nets? the great mass of the people, packed in dreary tenements, slaves of machinery by day, slaves of their own starved souls by night, must go somewhere for relaxation and forgetfulness. what would happen if the church should invite them, not to pray but to play? some of the results might be a decrease in vice, in drinking, gambling, and misery. at least we may infer as much from the success of the occasional experiments which have been tried. we have a few examples to prove that human nature is not the low, brutish thing it has too often been described. it does not invariably choose wrong ways, but, on the contrary, when a choice between right ways and wrong ways is presented, the right is almost always preferred. a year ago in chicago there was witnessed a spectacle which, for utter brutality and blindness of heart, i hope never to see duplicated. chicago had for some time been in the midst of a vigorous crusade against organized vice. too long neglected by the authorities and the public, the so-called levee districts of the city had fallen into the hands of grafting police officials, who, working with the lowest of degraded of men, had created an open and most brazen vice syndicate. without going into details, it is enough to say that conditions finally became so scandalous that all chicago rose in horror and rebellion. the police department was thoroughly overhauled, and a new chief appointed who undertook in all earnestness to suppress the worst features of the system. he had no new weapons it is true, and he probably had no notion that he could make any impression on the evil of prostitution. but he might have restored external decency and order, and he might possibly have prepared the way for some scientific examination of the problem. but a thing happened: one of those shocking blunders we too often let happen. the efforts of the chief of police were set back, because of that blunder, no one can tell how far. a new hysteria of vice and disorder dates from the hour the blunder was made. in october of 1909 "gypsy" smith, a noted evangelical preacher of the itinerant order, was holding revival meetings in an armory on the south side of chicago. with mistaken zeal this man announced that he was going down into the south side levee and with one effort would reclaim every one of the wretched inhabitants. he invited his immense congregation to follow him there, and assist in the greatest crusade against vice the world had ever seen. in chicago, as in other cities, no procession or parade is allowed to march without permission from police headquarters. to the sorrow of all those who believed that reform had really begun, chief of police steward issued a permit to "gypsy" smith. it is probable that the chief feared the effect of a refusal. to lift up the fallen has ever been one of the functions of religious bodies. before issuing the permit, it is said that he used all his powers of persuasion against the parade. by orders from headquarters every house in the district was closed, shuttered, and pitch dark on the night of the parade. every door was locked, and the most complete silence reigned within. it was into a city of silence that the procession of nearly five thousand men, women, and young people of both sexes marched on that october midnight. in the glare of red fire and flaming torches, to the confused blare of many salvation army brass bands, the quavering of hymn tunes, including the classic, "where is my wandering boy to-night," and the constant explosion of photographers' flashlights, the long procession stumbled and jostled its way through streets that gave back for answer darkness and silence. but afterwards! the affair had been widely advertised, and it drew a throng of spectators, not only from every quarter of the city, but from every suburb and surrounding country town. young men brought their sweethearts, their sisters, to see the "show." as "gypsy" smith's procession wound its noisy way out of the district, and back into the armory, this great mob of people surged into the streets pruriently eager to watch the awakening of the levee. it came. lights flashed up in almost every house. the women appeared at the windows and even in the street. saloon doors were flung open. the sound of pianos and phonographs rose above the clamor of the mob. pandemonium broke loose as the crowds flung themselves into the saloons and other resorts. the police had to beat people back from the doors with their clubs. a riot, an orgy, impossible to describe, impossible to forget, ensued. many of those who took part in it had never been in such a district before. this horrible scene somehow typified to my mind the whole blind, chaotic, senseless attitude which society has preserved toward the most baffling of all its problems. nothing done to prevent the evil, because no one knew what to do. after the evil was an established fact, after the hearts of the victims were thoroughly hardened, after the last hope of return had perished, then a "vice crusade"--led by a man! another scene witnessed about the same time seems to me to typify the new attitude which society--led by women--is assuming towards its problem. it was in the large kindergarten room of one of the oldest of chicago's social centers,--the ely bates settlement. a group of little italian girls, peasant clad in the red and green colors of their native land, swung around the room at a lively pace singing the familiar "santa lucia." as the song ended the children suddenly broke into the maddest of dances, a tarantella. led by a graceful young girl, one of the settlement workers, they danced with the joyous abandon of youthful spirits untrammeled, ending the dance with a chorus of happy laughter. this was only one group of many hundreds in every quarter of chicago,--in schools, settlements, kindergartens, and other centers,--who were rehearsing for the third of the annual play festivals given out of doors each year in chicago. the festivals are held in the most spacious of the seventeen wonderful public gardens and playgrounds established of late throughout the city. lasting all day, this annual carnival of play is shared by school children, working girls and boys, and young men and women. in the morning the children play and perform their costume dances. in the afternoon the fields are given up to athletic sports of older children, and in the evening young men and women, of all nationalities, many wearing their old-world peasant dresses, revive the plays and the dances of their native lands. tens of thousands view the beautiful spectacle, which each year excites more interest and assumes an added importance in the civic life of chicago. each of the large parks in chicago's system is provided with a municipal dance hall, spacious buildings with perfect floors, good light, and ventilation. any group of young people are at liberty to secure a hall, rent free, for dancing parties. the city imposes only one condition,--that the dances be chaperoned by park supervisors. beautifully decorated with growing plants from the park greenhouses these municipal dance halls are scenes of gayety almost every night in the year. park restaurants in connection with the halls furnish good food at low prices. of course no liquor is sold. nobody wants it. this is proved by the fact that saloon dance halls in the neighborhood of the parks have been deserted by their old patrons. women have recognized the debt to youth and the joy of life, and they are preparing to pay it. in this latest form of social service they have entered a battlefield where the powers of righteousness have ever fought a losing fight. men have grappled with the social evil without success. they have labored to discover a substitute for the saloon, and they have failed. they have tried to suppress the dance hall and they have failed. they have made laws against evil resorts, and they have sent agents of the police to enforce their laws, but to no effect. the failure of the men does not dishearten or discourage the women who have taken up the work. they believe that they have discovered an altogether new way in which to fight the social evil. they propose to turn against it its own most powerful weapons. the joy of life is to be fed with proper food instead of poison. girls and young men are to be offered a chance to escape the nets stretched for them by the underworld. in many cities women's clubs and women's societies are establishing on a small scale amusement and recreation centers for young people. in new york miss virginia potter, niece of the late bishop potter, and miss potter's colleagues in the association of working girls' clubs, have opened a public dance hall. the use of the large gymnasium of the manhattan trade school for girls was secured, and every saturday evening, from eight until eleven, young men and women come in and dance to excellent music, under the instruction, if they need it, of a skilled dancing-master. a small fee is charged, partly to defray expenses, and partly to attract a class of people who disdain philanthropy and settlements. the experiment is new, but it is undoubtedly successful. as many as two hundred couples have been admitted in an evening. in half a dozen cities women's clubs and women's committees are at work on this matter of establishing amusement and recreation centers for young people. in new york a committee on amusement and vacation resources of working girls has for its president a social worker of many years, mrs. charles m. israels. associated with the committee are many other well-known social economists,--women of wealth and influence who have given years to the service of working girls. the committee began its work by a scientific investigation into the dance halls of new york, the summer parks and picnic grounds in the outlying districts, and of the summer excursion boats which ply up and down the hudson river and long island sound. the revelations made by this investigation, carried on under the supervision of miss julia schoenfeld, were terrible enough. they were made to appear still more terrible when it was known that men of the highest social and commercial standing were profiting hugely from the most vicious forms of amusement. a state senator is one of the largest stockholders in coney island resorts of bad character. an ex-governor of the state controls a popular excursion boat, on which staterooms are rented by the hour, for immoral purposes no one can possibly doubt. the women of the committee submitted the findings of their investigators to the managers of these amusement places and to the directors of the steamboat lines, and in many instances reforms have been promised. the point is that a committee of women had to finance an investigation to show these business men the conditions which were adding to their wealth, and into which they had never even inquired. another investigation made by the committee revealed the meagerness of the provision made by churches, settlements, and business establishments for working girls' vacations. there are, in round numbers, four hundred thousand working women in greater new york. of these, something like three hundred thousand are unmarried girls between the ages of fourteen and thirty. in all, only 6,874 of these young toilers, who earn on an average six dollars a week, are provided with vacation outings. they are usually given vacations, with or without pay, but they spend the idle time at coney island, on excursion boats, or in the dance hall. of the 1,257 churches and synagogues of new york, only six report organized vacation work for girls and women. of the twenty or more large department stores, employing thousands of women, only three have vacation houses in the country. of the hundred or more social settlements in new york only fifteen provide summer homes. there are several vacation societies which do good work with limited resources, but they are able to care for comparatively few. we have heard much of fresh air work for children, and we can afford to hear more. but that the fresh air work for young girls and women who toil long hours in factory and shop must be extended, this committee's investigation definitely establishes. the first practical work of the committee, after the investigation of amusement and recreation places, was a bill introduced into the state legislature providing for the licensing and regulation of public dancing academies, prohibiting the sale of liquor in such establishments, and holding the proprietor responsible for indecent dancing and improper behavior. against the bitter opposition of the dancing academy proprietors the bill became a law and went into effect in september, 1909. almost immediately it was challenged on constitutional grounds. the committee promptly introduced another bill, this one to regulate dance halls. this bill, which passed the legislature and is now a law, aims to wipe out the saloon dance hall absolutely, and so to regulate the sale of liquor in all dancing places that the drink evil will be cut down to a minimum. the license fee of fifty dollars a year will eliminate the lowest, cheapest resorts, and a rigid system of inspection will not only go far towards preserving good order, but will do away with the wretchedly dirty, ill-smelling, unsanitary fire traps in which many halls are located. the dance-hall proprietor who encourages or even tolerates "tough" dancing, or who admits to the floor "white slavers," procurers, or persons of open immorality, will be liable to forfeiture of his license. the committee has done more than try to reform existing dance halls. it has taken steps to establish, in neighborhoods where evil resorts abound, attractive dance halls, where a decent standard of conduct is combined with all the best features of the evil places--good floors, lively music, bright lights. two corporations have been organized for the maintenance, in various parts of the city, of model dance halls, and one hall has already been opened. the patrons of the model dance hall do not know that it is a social experiment paid for by a committee of women. it is run exactly like any public dancing place, only in an orderly fashion. every extension of use of public places, schools, parks, piers, as recreation places for young people between fifteen and twenty is encouraged and supported by the committee. already two public schools have organized dancing classes, and several settlements have thrown open their dances to the public where formerly they were attended only by settlement club members. by helping working girls to find cheap vacation homes in the country, and by establishing vacation banks to help the girls save for their summer outings, the committee hopes to discourage some of the haphazard picnic park dissipation. in summer many trades are slack, girls are idle, and out of sheer boredom they hang around the parks seeking amusement. it is only a theory, perhaps, but mrs. israels and the others on her committee believe that if many of these girls knew that a country vacation were within the possibilities, they would gladly save money towards it. at present the vacation facilities of working girls in large cities are small. in new york, where at least three hundred thousand girls and women earn their bread, only about six thousand are helped to summer vacations in the country. what these women are doing now on a small scale, experimentally, will soon be adopted, as their children's playgrounds, their kindergartens, their vacation schools, and other enterprises have been adopted, by the municipalities. their probation officers, long paid out of club treasuries, have already been transferred to many cities, east and west. soon municipal dance halls, municipal athletic grounds, municipal amusement and recreation centers for all ages and all classes will be provided. already new york is preparing for such a campaign. the newly-appointed parks commissioner, charles b. stover, looking over his office force, dismissed one secretary whose function seemed largely ornamental, and diverted his salary of four thousand dollars to recreation purposes for young people. commissioner stover desires the appointment of a city officer who shall be a supervisor of recreations, a man or a woman whose entire time shall be devoted to discovering where recreation parks, dancing pavilions, music, and other forms of pleasure are needed, and how they may be made to do the most good. a neighborhood that thirsts for concerts ought to have them. a community that desires to dance deserves a dance hall. in the long run, how infinitely better, how much more economical for the city to furnish these recreations, normally and decently conducted, than to bear the consequences of an order of things like the present one. the new order must come. it is the only way yet pointed out by which we may hope to close those other avenues, where the joy of youth is turned into a cup of trembling, and the dancing feet of girlhood are led into mires of shame. chapter ix the servant in her house according to the findings of the massachusetts state bureau of labor statistics, whose investigation into previous occupation of fallen women was described in a former chapter, domestic service is a dangerous trade. of the 3,966 unfortunates who came under the examination of the bureau's investigators, 1,115, or nearly thirty per cent, had been in domestic service. no other single industry furnished anything like this proportion. from time to time reformatories and institutions dealing with delinquent women and girls examine the industrial status of their charges, always with results which agree with or even exceed the massachusetts statistics. bedford reformatory, one of the two new york state institutions for delinquent women, in an examination of a group of one thousand women, found four hundred and thirty general houseworkers, twenty-four chamber-maids, thirteen nursemaids, eight cooks, and thirty-six waitresses. as some of the waitresses may have been restaurant workers, we will eliminate them. even so, it will be seen that four hundred and seventy-five--nearly half of the bedford women--had been servants. in 1908 the albion house of refuge, new york, admitted one hundred and sixty-eight girls. of these ninety-two were domestics, one was a lady's maid, and nine were nursemaids. of one hundred and twenty-seven girls in the industrial school at rochester, new york, in 1909, only fifty-one were wage earners. of that number twenty-nine had worked in private homes as domestics. bedford reformatory receives mostly city girls; albion and rochester are supplied from small cities and country towns. it appears that domestic service is a dangerous trade in small communities as well as in large ones. on the face of it, the facts are wonderfully puzzling. domestic service is constantly urged upon women as the safest, healthiest, most normal profession in which they can possibly engage. assuredly it seems to possess certain unique advantages. domestic service is the only field of industry where the demand for workers permanently exceeds the supply. the nature of the work is essentially suited, by habit, tradition, and long experiment, to women. it offers economic independence within the shelter of the home. lastly, housework pays extremely well. a girl totally ignorant of the art of cooking, of any household art, one whose function is to clean, scrub, and assist her employer to prepare meals, can readily command ten dollars a month, with board. the same efficiency, or lack of efficiency, in a factory or department store would be worth about ten dollars a month, without board. the wages of a competent houseworker, in any part of the country, average over eighteen dollars a month. add to this about thirty dollars a month represented by food, lodging, light, and fire, and you will see that the competent houseworker's yearly income amounts to five hundred and seventy-six dollars. this is a higher average than the school-teacher or the stenographer receives; it is almost double the average wage of the shop girl, or the factory girl. it is, in fact, about as high as the usual income of the american workingman. it is true that the social position of the domestic worker is lower than that of the teacher, stenographer, or factory worker. this undoubtedly affects the attractiveness of domestic service as a profession. but the lower social position is in itself no explanation of the high rate of immorality. at least there are no figures to prove that the rate of morality rises or falls with the social status of the individual. in the contemplation of what is known as the "servant problem," i think we have been less scientific and more superficial than in any other social or industrial problem. for the increasing dearth of domestic workers, for the lowered standard of efficiency, for the startling amount of immorality alleged to belong to the class, we have given every explanation except the right one. at the bottom of the "servant problem" lies the fact that it exists in the privacy of the home. now, we have reached a point of social consciousness where we allow that it is right to intrude some homes and ask questions for the good of the community. "how many children have you?" "are they all in school?" "does your husband drink?" we have not yet reached the point of sending agents to inquire: "how many servants do you keep; what are their hours of work, and what kind of sleeping accommodations do you furnish them?" some intelligent inquiry has been made into surface conditions. the sociological department of vassar college, under professor lucy maynard salmon, during the years 1889 and 1890, made an exhaustive study of wages, hours of work, difficulties, advantages, and disadvantages of domestic service. professor salmon's book, "domestic service," giving the results of the inquiry, is a classic on the subject. it deals, however, almost entirely with the ethical side of the problem, the social relation between mistress and maid. the relation between the worker and the industry is hardly examined at all. a later inquiry into the servant problem was conducted in 1903, in half a dozen cities, by organizations of women which associated themselves for the purpose, under the name of the intermunicipal committee on household research. the woman's municipal league of new york, the educational and industrial union of boston, the housekeepers' alliance, and the civic club of philadelphia were the moving elements in the investigation. co-operating with them were the college settlements association and the association of collegiate alumnae, which together established a scholar ship for the research. this research was most ably conducted by miss frances kellor, a vassar graduate, and nine assistant workers, all of whom were college women. the report of the investigation was published a year later in the volume "out of work."[1] this investigation by organizations of educated and expert women was the first survey ever made of domestic service _as an industry_, the first scientific study of domestic workers _as an industrial group_. it was the first intelligent attempt to review housework as if it were a trade. the most important conclusion of the investigators was that housework, domestic service, although carried on as a trade, is really no trade at all. the domestic worker is no more a part of modern industry than the italian woman who finishes "pants" in a tenement, or the child who stays from school to fasten hooks and eyes on paper cards. do not let us make a mistake concerning the underlying cause of the servant problem. let us face the truth that we have two institutions which are back numbers in twentieth century civilization: two left-overs from a past-and-gone domestic system of industry. one of these is the tenement sweat shop, where women combine, or try to combine, manufacturing and housekeeping. the other is the private kitchen--the home--where the last stand of conservatism and tradition, the last lingering remnant of hand labor, continues to exist. no woman who is free enough, strong enough, intelligent enough to seek work in a factory or shop, is ever found in a sweat shop or seen carrying bundles of coats to finish at home. exactly for the same reason the average american working woman shuns housework as a means of livelihood. you will find in every community a few women of intelligence who are naturally so domestic in their tastes and inclinations that they shrink from any work outside the home. such women do adhere to domestic service, but, broadly speaking, you behold in the servant group merely the siftings of the real industrial class. in a tentative, halting sort of fashion we are learning to humanize the factory and shop. factory workers, mill hands, department store clerks, have been granted legislation in almost every state of the union, regulating hours of work, sanitary conditions, ventilation, and in some cases they have been given protection from dangerous machinery. in department stores they have been granted even certain special comforts, such as seats on which to rest while not actually working. of course, we have done no more than make a beginning in this matter of humanizing the factory and the shop. but we have made a beginning, and the movement toward securing better and juster and healthier conditions for workers in all the industries is bound to continue. so long as manufacturing was carried on in the home, no such protective legislation as workers now enjoy was dreamed of. we had to wait until the workers came together in large groups before we could see their conditions and understand their needs. housework, because it is performed in isolation, because it is purely individual labor, has never been classed among the industries. it has rather been looked upon as a normal feminine function, a form of healthy exercise. no one has ever suggested to legislators that sweeping and beating rugs might be included among the dusty trades; that bending over steaming washtubs, and almost immediately afterwards going out into frosty air to hang the clothes, might be harmful to throat and lungs; that remaining within doors days at a time, as houseworkers almost invariably do, reacts on nerves and the entire physical structure; that steady service, if not actual labor, from six in the morning until nine and ten at night makes excessive demands on mind and body. such conditions exist because the workers are too weak, too inefficient, too unintelligent to change them. yet the demand for servants so far exceeds the supply that they are in a position, theoretically, to dictate the terms of their own employment. if they elected to demand pianos and private baths they could get them; that is, if instead of remaining isolated individuals they could form themselves into an industrial class, like plumbers, or bricklayers, or carpenters. even as isolated individuals they are able to command a better money wage than more efficient workers, which proves how great is the need for their services. the housekeeper clings to her archaic kitchen, firmly believing that if she gave it up, tried to replace it by any form of co-operative living, the pillars of society would crumble and the home pass out of existence. yet so strong is her instinctive repugnance to the medieval system on which her household is conducted, that she shuns it, runs away from it whenever she can. housekeeping as a business is a dark mystery to her. the mass of women in the united states probably hold, almost as an article of religion, the theory that woman's place is in the home. but the woman who can organize and manage a home as her husband manages his business, systematically, profitably, professionally--well, how many such women do you know? it would seem as if in the newer generations, the average housekeeper is not in the professional class at all. usually she lacks professional training. if she was brought up in a well-to-do home where there were several servants, she knows literally nothing of cooking, or of any department of housekeeping. even when she has had some instruction in household tasks, she almost never connects cooking with chemistry, food with dietetics, cleanliness with sanitation, buying with bookkeeping. she is an amateur. and she takes into her household to do work she herself is incapable of doing, another amateur, a woman who might, in many cases, do well under a capable commander, but who is hopelessly at sea when expected to evolve a system of housekeeping all by herself. this irregular state of affairs in what should be a carefully studied, well-organized industry is reflected in the conditions commonly meted out to domestics. take housing conditions, for example. some housekeepers provide their servants with good beds; of course, not quite as good as other members of the household enjoy, but good enough. some set aside pleasant, warm, well-furnished rooms for the servants. but miss kellor's investigators reported that it was common to find the only unheated room in a house or apartment set aside for the servant. they found great numbers of servants' rooms in basements, having no sunlight or heat. at one home, where an investigator applied for a "place," the housekeeper complained that her last maid was untidy. then she showed the applicant to the servant's room. this was a little den partitioned off from the coal bin! in another place, the maid was required to sleep on an ironing board placed over the bathtub. in still another, the maid spent her night of rest on a mattress laid over the wash tubs in a basement. a bed for two servants, consisting of a thin mattress on the dining-room table, was also found. unventilated closets, rooms opening off from the kitchen, small and windowless, are very commonly provided in city flats. even in spacious country homes the servants' rooms are considered matters of little importance. "one woman," writes miss kellor, "planned her new three-story house with the attic windows so high that no one could see out of them. when the architect remonstrated she said: 'oh, those are for the maids; i don't expect them to spend their time looking out.'" i remember a young girl who waited on table at a woman's hotel where i made my home. one morning i sent this girl for more cream for my coffee. she was gone some time and i spoke to her a little impatiently when she returned. she was silent for a moment, then she said: "do you know that every time you send me to the pantry it means a walk of three and a half blocks? this dining-room and the kitchens and pantries are a block apart, and are separated by three flights of stairs. i have counted the distance there and back, and it is more than three blocks." "but, kittie," i said to her, "why do you work in a hotel, if it's like that? why don't you take a place in a private family?" "i've tried that," said the girl. "i had a place with the ----family," mentioning an historic name. "they had sickness in the family, and they stopped in town all summer. my room was up in the attic, with only a skylight for ventilation. during the day, except for the time i spent sitting on the area steps after nine o'clock, i was waiting on the cook in a hot kitchen. they let me out of the house once every two weeks. here i have some freedom, at least." i have told this story to dozens of domestics, many of them from homes of wealth, and they agree that it is a common case. it is very rare, these girls say, to find a mistress who is willing to allow her maids to leave the house except on their days out. they concede certain hours of rest, it is true, but those hours must be spent within doors. "why, if you went out i should be sure to need you," is the usual explanation. imagine a factory girl or a stenographer being required to remain after hours on the chance of being needed for extra work. there is an aspect to this phase of the servant question which is generally overlooked by employers. this is an isolation from human intercourse to be found in no other industry. when the household employs only one servant the isolation is absolute. the girl is marooned, within full sight of others' happy life. even when kindness is her portion she is an outsider from the family circle. important as her function is in the life of the household, she is socially the lowest unit in it. during the course of a great strike of mill operatives in fall river, massachusetts, a few years ago, a considerable group of weaver and spinner girls were induced, by members of the women's trade union league, to take up domestic service until the close of the strike. as the girls were in acute financial distress they agreed to try the experiment. these were mostly american or english girls, some of them above the average of intelligence and good sense. housework with its great variety of tasks made severe draughts on the strength of girls accustomed to using one set of muscles. the long hours and the confinement of domestic service affected nerves adjusted to a legal fifty-eight-hour week. but the girls' real objection to housework was its loneliness. hardly a single house in boston, or the surrounding suburbs, where the girls found places, was provided with a servants' sitting room. there was absolutely no provision made for callers. for a servant is supposed not to have friends except on her days out. on those occasions she is assumed to meet her friends on the street. in england people recognize the fact that they have a servant class. every house of any pretentions provides a servants' hall. in the united states a sitting room for servants, even in millionaires' homes, is a rarity. more than this, in many city households, especially in apartment households, the servants are prohibited from receiving their friends even in the kitchen. "are we allowed to receive men visitors in the house?" chorused a group of girls, questioned in a fashionable employment agency. "mostly our friends are not allowed to step inside the areaway while we are putting on our hats to go out." there is no escaping the conclusion that a large part of the social evil, or that branch of it recruited every year from domestic service, is traceable to american methods of dealing with servants. the domestic, belonging, as a rule, to a weak and inefficient class, is literally driven into paths where only strength and efficiency could possibly protect her from evil. servants share, in common with all other human beings, the necessity for human intercourse. they must have associates, friends, companions. if they cannot meet them in their homes they must seek them outside. walk through the large parks in any city, late in the evening, and observe the couples who occupy obscurely placed benches. you pity them for their immodest behavior in a public place. but most of them have no other place to meet. and it is not difficult to comprehend that clandestine appointments in dark corners as a rule do not conduce to proper behavior. most of the women you see on park benches are domestic servants. some of them, it is safe to assume, work in new york's fifth avenue, or in mansions on chicago's lake shore drive. [illustration: an unthought-of phase of the servant question] the social opportunity of the domestic worker is limited to the park bench, the cheap theater, the summer excursion boat, and the dance hall. hardly ever does a settlement club admit a domestic to membership; rarely does a working girls' society or a young women's christian association circle bid her welcome. the girls' friendly association of the protestant episcopal church is a notable exception to this rule. in a large new england city, not long ago, a member of the woman's club proposed to establish a club especially for domestics, since no other class of women seemed willing to associate with them. the proposal was voted down. "for," said the women, "if they had a clubroom they would be sure to invite men, and immorality might result." but there is no direct connection between a clubroom and immorality, whereas the park bench after dark and the dance hall and its almost invariable accompaniment of strong drink are positive dangers. the housekeeper simply does not realize that her domestics are _girls_, exactly like other girls. they need social intercourse, they need laughter and dancing and healthy pleasure just as other girls need them, as much as the young ladies of the household need them. perhaps they need them even more. the girl upstairs has mental resources which the girl downstairs lacks. the girl upstairs has the protection of family, friends, social position. the last is of greatest importance, because the woman without a social position has ever been regarded by a large class of men as fair game. the domestic worker sometimes finds this out within the shelter, the supposed shelter, of her employer's home. [illustration: another serious contribution to the social question] tolstoy's terrible story "resurrection" has for its central anecdote in the opening chapter a court-room scene in which a judge is called upon to sentence to prison a woman for whose downfall he had, years before, been responsible. a somewhat similar story in real life, with a happier ending, was told me by the head of a woman's reformatory. this official received a visit from a lawyer, who told her with much emotion that he had, several days before, been present when a young girl was sentenced to a term in a reformatory. "she lived in my home," said the man. "i believe that she was a good girl up to that time. my wife died, my home was given up, and of course i forgot that poor girl. she never made any claim on me. when i saw her there in court, among the dregs of humanity, her face showing what her life had become, i wanted to shoot myself. now she is here, with a chance to get back her health and a right state of mind. will you help me to make amends?" the head of the reformatory rather doubted the man's sincerity at first. she feared that his repentance was superficial. she refused to allow him to see or to communicate with the girl, but she wrote him regularly of her progress. several times in the course of the year the man visited the reformatory, and at the end of that period he was allowed to see the girl. this institution happens to be one of the few where a rational and a humane system of outdoor work is in vogue. the girl, who a year back had been almost a physical wreck from drugs and the life of the streets, was again strong, healthy, and sane. the two forgave each other and were married. if the position of the domestic, while living in the shelter of a family, is sometimes precarious, her situation, when out of a job, is often actually perilous. if a girl has a home she goes to that home, and regards her temporary period of unemployment as a pleasant vacation. but in most cases, in cities, at any rate, few girls have homes of which they can avail themselves. "in no city," says miss kellor's report, "are adequate provisions made for such homeless women, and their predicament is peculiarly acute, for their friends are often household workers who cannot extend the hospitality of their rooms." i think i hear a chorus of protesting voices: "we don't have anything to do with the servant class you are describing. our girls are respectable. they meet their friends at church. they come to us from reputable employment offices, which would not deal with them if they were not all right." are you sure you know this? what, after all, do you really know about your servants? what do you know about the employment office that sent her to you? what do you know of the world inhabited by servants and the people who deal in servants? can you not imagine that it might be different from the one you live in so safely and comfortably? are you willing to know the facts about the world, the underworld, from which the girl who cooks your food and takes care of your children is drawn? do you care to know how a domestic spends the time between places, how she gets to your kitchen or nursery, the kind of homes she may have been in before she came to you? make a little descent into that underworld with a girl whose experience is matched with those of many others. nellie b---was an irish girl, strong, pretty of face, and joyful of temperament. the quiet indiana town where she earned her living as a cook offered nellie so little diversion that she determined to go to chicago to live. she gave up her place, and with a month's wages in her pocket went to the city. it was late in the afternoon when her train reached the station. nellie alighted, bewildered and lonely. she had the address of an employment agency, furnished her by an acquaintance. nellie slept that night, or rather tossed sleepless in the agency lodging house, on a dirty bed occupied by two women besides herself. in all her life she had never been inside such a filthy room, or heard such frightful conversation. therefore next morning she gladly paid her exorbitant bill of one dollar and seventy-five cents, besides a fee of two dollars and a half for obtaining employment, and accepted the first place offered her. the house she was taken to seemed to be conducted rather strangely. meals were at unusual hours, and the household consisted largely of young women who received many men callers. for about a week nellie did her work unmolested. at the end of the week her mistress presented her with a low-necked satin dress and asked her if she would not like to assist in entertaining the men. simple-minded nellie had to have the nature of the entertaining explained to her, and she had great difficulty in leaving the house after she had declined the offer. she had hardly any money left, and the woman refused to pay her for her week's work. nellie knew of no other employment agency, so she was obliged to return to the one she left. when she reproached the agent for sending her to a disreputable house he shrugged his shoulders and replied: "well, i send girls where they're wanted. if they don't like the place they can leave." the fact is, they cannot always leave when they want to. miss kellor's investigators found an office in chicago which sent girls to a resort in wisconsin which was represented as a summer hotel. this notorious place was surrounded by a high stockade which rendered escape impossible. the investigators found offices in other cities which operate disreputable houses in summer places. to these the proprietors send the handsomest of their applicants for honest work. three girls sent to a house of this kind found themselves prisoners. one girl made such a disturbance by screaming and crying that the proprietor literally kicked her out of the house. the investigators for the intermunicipal committee on household research saw this girl in a hospital, insane and dying from the treatment she had received. another of the three escaped from the place. she, too, was discovered in a state of dementia. the fate of the third girl is obscure. [illustration: the servant girl and the employment agency] not all employment agencies cater to this trade. not all would consent to be accessory to women's degradation. but the employment agency business, taken by and large, is disorganized, haphazard, out of date. it is operated on a system founded in lies and extortion. the offices want fees--fees from servants and fees from employers. they encourage servants to change their employment as often as possible. often a firm will send a girl to a place, and a week or two later will send her word that they have a better job for her. sometimes they arrange with her to leave her place after a certain period, promising her an easier position or a better wage. they favor the girl who changes often. "you're a nice kind of a customer!" jeered one proprietor to a girl who boasted that she had been in a family for five years. the girl was a _customer_ to him, and she was nothing more. to his profitable customer the agent is often very accommodating. if she lacks references he writes her flattering ones, or loans her a reference written by some woman of prominence. references, indeed, are often handed around like passports among russian revolutionists. many of these unpleasant facts were brought to light in the course of the investigation made by the intermunicipal committee on household research. the result of their report was a model employment agency law, passed by the new york state legislature, providing for a strict licensing system, rigid forms of contract, regulation of fees, and inspection by special officers of the bureau of licenses. the law applies only to cities of the first class, and unfortunately has never been very well enforced. perhaps it has not been possible to enforce it. in all the cities examined by the intermunicipal committee on household research the investigators found the majority of employment agencies in close connection with the homes of the agents. in new york, of three hundred and thirteen offices visited, one hundred and twenty were in tenements, one hundred and seven in apartment houses, thirty-nine in residences and only forty-nine in business buildings. in philadelphia, only three per cent of employment agencies were found in business buildings. chicago made a little better showing, with nineteen per cent in business houses. the difficulty of properly regulating a business which is carried on in the privacy of a home is apparent. when an agency is in a business building it usually has conspicuous signs, and often the rooms are well equipped with desks, comfortable chairs, and other office furnishings. but the majority of agencies are of another description. those dealing with immigrant girls are sometimes filthy rooms in some rear tenement, reached through a saloon or a barber shop facing the street. often the other tenants of the building are fortune tellers, palmists, "trance mediums," and like undesirables. a large number of these agencies operate lodging houses for their patrons. there is hardly a good word to say for most of these, except that they are absolutely necessary. dirty, unsanitary, miserable as they usually are, if they were closed by law, hundreds, perhaps thousands of domestics temporarily out of work, would be turned into the streets. many are unfamiliar with the cities they live in. many more are barred from hotels on account of small means. often a girl finding it impossible to bring herself to lie down on the wretched beds provided by these lodging houses, leaves her luggage and goes out, not to return until morning. she spends the night in dance halls and other resorts. according to miss kellor's report this description of employment agencies and lodging houses attached to them applies to about seventy-five per cent of all offices in the four cities examined. for greater accuracy the investigators made a brief survey of conditions in cities, such as st. louis, new haven, and columbus, ohio. the differences were slight, showing that the employment agency problem is much the same east and west. domestic servants have their industrial ups and downs like other workers. sometimes they are able to pay the fees required in a high-class employment office, while at other times they are obliged to have recourse to the cheaper places, where standards of honesty, and perhaps also, of propriety, are low. domestic workers are the nomads of industry. their lives are like their work,--impermanent, detached from others', unobserved. it is for the housekeepers of america to consider the plain facts concerning domestic service. some of the conditions they can change. others they cannot. no one can alter the economic status of the kitchen. like the sweat shop, it must ultimately disappear. what system of housekeeping will take the place of the present system cannot precisely be foretold. we know that the whole trend of things everywhere is toward co-operation. within the past ten years think how much cooking has gone into the factory, how much washing into the steam laundry, how much sewing into the shop. as the cost of living increases, more and more co-operation will be necessary, especially for those of moderate income. at the present time millions of city dwellers have given up living in their own houses, or even in rented houses. they cannot afford to maintain individual homes, but must live in apartment houses, where the expenses of heat, and other expenses, notably water, hall, and janitor service, are reduced to a minimum because shared by all the tenants. there may come a time when the private kitchen will be a luxury of the very rich. for a time, however, the private kitchen and the servant in the kitchen will remain. that is one servant problem. but the housekeeper still has another "servant problem," and i have tried to make it clear that this problem pretty closely involves the morals of the community. now this matter of community morals has begun to interest women profoundly. in many of their organizations women are studying and endeavoring to understand the causes of evil. they are securing the appointment of educated women as probation officers in the courts which deal with delinquent women and girls. sincerely they are working toward a better understanding of the problem of the prodigal daughter. since about one-third of all these prodigals are recruited from the ranks of domestic workers it is possible for the housekeepers of the country to play an important part in this work. every woman in the united states who employs one servant has a contribution to make to the movement. the power to humanize domestic service in her own household is in every woman's hand. loneliness, social isolation, the ban of social inferiority,--these cruel and unreasonable restrictions placed upon an entire class of working women are out of tune with democracy. the right of the domestic worker to regular hours of labor, to freedom after her work is done, to a place to receive her friends, must be recognized. the self-respect of the servant must in all ways be encouraged. above all, the right of the domestic worker to social opportunity must be admitted. it must be provided for. yonkers, new york, a large town on the hudson river, points out one way toward this end. in yonkers there has been established a women's institute for the exclusive use of domestics. it has an employment agency and supports classes in domestic science for those girls who wish to become more expert workers. there are club rooms and recreation parlors where the girls receive and meet their friends--including their men friends. a group of liberal-minded women established this unique institution, which is well patronized by the superior class of domestic workers in yonkers. the dues are small, and members are allowed to share club privileges with friends. it is not unusual for employers to present their domestics with membership cards. it cannot be said that the women's institute has solved the servant problem for yonkers, but many women testify to its happy effects on their own individual problems. the committee on amusements and vacation resources of working girls in new york is collecting a long list of farmhouses and village homes in the mountains and near the sea where working girls, and this includes domestics, may spend their vacations for very little money. every summer, as families leave the city for country and seaside, domestics are thrown out of employment. a department in the women's club can examine vacation possibilities for domestics. the clubs can also deal with the employment agency. some women's organizations have already taken hold of this department. the women's educational and industrial union of boston conducts a very large and flourishing employment agency. women's clubs can study the laws of their own community in regard to public employment agencies. they can investigate homes for immigrant girls and boarding-houses for working women. preventive work is better than reform measures, but both are necessary in dealing with this problem. women have still much work to do in securing reformatories for women. new york is the first state to establish such reformatories for adult women. private philanthropy has offered refuges and semipenal institutions. the state stands aloof. even in new york public officials are strangely skeptical of the possibilities of reform. last year the courts of new york city sent three thousand delinquent women to the workhouse on blackwell's island,--a place notorious for the low state of its _morale_. they sent only seventeen women to bedford reformatory, where a healthy routine of outdoor work, and a most effective system administered by a scientific penologist does wonders with its inmates. nothing but the will and the organized effort of women will ever solve the most terrible of all problems, or remove from society the reproach of ruined womanhood which blackens it now. notes: note 1: g.p. putnam's sons, 1904. chapter x votes for women although woman suffrage has been for a number of years a part of the program of the international council of women, the american branch, represented by the general federation of women's clubs, at first displayed little interest in the subject. although many of the club women were strong suffragists, there were many others, notably women from the southern states, who were violently opposed to suffrage. early in the club movement it was agreed that suffrage, being a subject on which there was an apparently hopeless difference of opinion, was not a proper subject for club consideration. the position of the women in regard to suffrage was precisely that of the early labor unions toward politics. the unions, fearing that the labor leaders would use the men for their own political advancement, resolved that no question of politics should ever enter into their deliberations. in the same way the club women feared that even a discussion of woman suffrage in their state and national federation meetings would result in their movement becoming purely political. they wanted to keep it a non-partisan benevolent and social affair. [illustration: suffragettes in london advertising a meeting] somehow, in what mysterious manner no one can precisely tell, the reserve of the club women towards the suffrage question began some years ago to break down. at the st. louis biennial of 1904 part of a morning session was given up to the suffrage organizations. several remarkable speeches in favor of the suffrage were made, and there is no doubt that a very deep impression was made, even upon those women openly opposed to the movement. six years later, at the biennial meeting held in cincinnati, ohio, in june, 1910, an entire evening was given up to an exhaustive discussion of both sides of the question. dating from that evening a stranger visiting the convention might almost have thought that the sole object of the gathering was a discussion of the right of women to the ballot. women floated through the corridors of the hotel talking suffrage. they talked suffrage in little groups in the dining-room, they discussed it in the street cars going to and from the convention. the local suffrage clubs had planned a banquet to the visiting suffragists and had calculated a maximum of one hundred and fifty applications for tickets. three days before the banquet they had had nearly three hundred applications, and when the hour for the banquet arrived every available seat, the room's limit of three hundred and seventy-five, was occupied. outside were women offering ten dollars a plate and clamoring for the privilege of merely listening to the after-dinner speakers. something must have happened in the course of those eight years to make such an astounding change in the attitude of the club women. the fact is that until the club women had been at work at practical things for a long period of years, they did not realize the social value of their own activities. they thought of their work as benevolent and philanthropic. that they were performing community service, _citizens_' service, they did not remotely dream. there is nothing surprising in their _naïveté_. it is a fact that in this country, although every one knows that women own property, pay taxes, successfully manage their own business affairs, and do an astonishing amount of community work as well, no one ever thinks of them as citizens. american men are accustomed to women in almost all trades and professions. it doesn't astonish a new yorker to see a hospital ambulance tearing down the street with a white-clad woman surgeon on the back seat. a woman lawyer, architect, editor, manufacturer, excites no particular notice. in the western states men are beginning to elect women county treasurers, county superintendents of schools, and in chicago, second largest city in the country, a board of education, overwhelmingly masculine, recently appointed a woman city superintendent of schools. yet to the vast majority of american men women do not look like citizens. as for the majority of american women they have always until recently thought of themselves as a class,--a favored and protected class. they cherished a sentimental kind of delusion that the american man was only too anxious to give them everything that their hearts desired. when they got out into the world of action, when they began to ask for something more substantial than bonbons, the club women found that the american man was not so very generous after all. a typical instance occurred down in georgia. a few years ago the women of georgia found a way to introduce into the legislature a child-labor law. it was really a very modest little bill and it protected only a fraction of the pitiful army of cotton-mill children, but still it was worth having. the women worked hard and they got some very powerful backing and a barrel or two of petitions. nevertheless, the bill was defeated. one legislative orator rose to explain his vote. "mr. speaker," he said eloquently, "i am devoted to the good women of my state. if i thought that the women of my state wanted this bill passed i would vote for it; but, sir, i have every reason to believe that the good women of my state are opposed to this bill, and therefore;" at this juncture another member handed to the orator a petition bearing the name of five thousand of the best known women in georgia. the orator stammered, turned red, felt for his handkerchief, mopped his brow, and continued: "mr. speaker, i deeply regret that i did not see this petition yesterday. as it is, my vote is pledged." incidents of this kind have occurred too frequently for the women of the united states to escape their meaning. they have learned that they cannot have everything they want merely by asking for it. also they have learned, or a large number of them have learned that the old theory of women being represented at the polls by their husbands is very largely a delusion. the entrance of women in large numbers into labor unions, and into membership in the women's trade union league is another factor in the increasing interest of american women in suffrage. after a decision of the new york court of appeals that the law prohibiting night work of women was unconstitutional, nearly one thousand women book-binders in new york city made a public announcement that they would thenceforth work for the ballot. they had been indifferent before, but this close application of politics to their industrial situation--bookbinding is one of the night trades--made them alive to their own helplessness. the shirt-waist strike and the garment workers' strike in new york and philadelphia, waged so bitterly in 1910, brought great numbers of women into the suffrage ranks. not only were the women strikers convinced that the magistrates and the police treated them with more contempt than they did the voting men, but they perceived the need of securing better labor laws for themselves. the conviction that women of the wealthier classes would stand by them in securing favorable laws, as they stood by the strikers in the industrial struggle, was a strong lever to turn them towards the suffrage ranks. [illustration: mrs. harriot stanton blatch] the women's trade union league building, used as strike headquarters in all strikes involving women workers, is a veritable center of suffrage sentiment in new york! one floor houses the offices of the equality league of self supporting women, of which harriot stanton blatch is founder and president. this society, which is entirely made up of trade and professional workers, claims an approximate membership of twenty-two thousand. a number of unions belong to the league, and there is also a very large individual membership. in chicago the suffrage movement and the labor movement is more closely associated than in any other american city. in chicago, it will be remembered, the teachers' federation is a trade union and is allied to the central labor union. teachers, almost everywhere denied equal pay with men for equal work, are eager seekers for political power. when, as in chicago, they are associated with labor, they become convinced suffragists. organized labor has always been friendly to woman suffrage, but in chicago not only the union women but the union men are actively friendly towards the cause. the original moving spirit in the chicago organization was a remarkable young working girl, josephine casey. miss casey sold tickets at one of the stations of the chicago elevated, and she formed her first woman suffrage club among the women members of the union of street and elevated railway employees. later she organized on a larger scale the women's political equality union, with membership open to men and women alike. the interest shown in the union by workingmen, many of whom had never before given the matter a moment's thought, was, from the first, extraordinary. during the first winter of the society's existence, union after union called for woman suffrage speakers. addresses were made before fifty or more. some of the more popular speakers often made four addresses in an evening. mrs. raymond robins, president of the national women's trade union league, and miss alice henry, secretary of the chicago branch of the league, won many converts by their expositions of the exceedingly favorable labor laws of australia and new zealand, where women vote. [illustration: meeting a released suffragette prisoner.] unquestionably the mighty battle which is waging in england made a deep impression on american women of all classes. the visits made in this country by mrs. cobden sanderson, mrs. borrman wells, mrs. philip snowden, and, most of all, mrs. pankhurst, leader of the militant english suffragists, aroused tremendous enthusiasm from one end of the country to the other. never, until these women appeared, telling, with rare eloquence, their stories of struggle, of arrest and imprisonment, had the vote appeared such an incomparable treasure. never before, except among a few enthusiasts, had there existed any feeling that the suffrage was a thing to fight for, suffer for, even to die for. up to this time the suffrage was a theory, an academic question of right and justice. after the visits of the english women, american suffragists everywhere began to view their cause in the light of a political movement. they began to adopt political methods. instead of private meetings where suffrage was discussed before a select audience of the already convinced, the women began to mount soap boxes on street corners and to talk suffrage to the man in the street. the first suffrage demonstration was held in new york in february, 1908. the members of a small but enthusiastic equal suffrage club announced their intention of having a parade. most of the women being wage earners they planned to have their parade on a sunday. when they applied at police headquarters for the necessary permit they found to their disgust that sunday parades were forbidden by law. "not unless you are a funeral procession," said the stern captain of the police. the woman replied that they were anything but a funeral procession, and threatened darkly to hold their parade in spite of police regulations. they got plenty of newspaper publicity in the succeeding days, and on the following sunday a huge crowd of men, a sprinkling of women, a generous number of plain clothes men, and new york's famous "camera squad" assembled in union square, where all incendiary things happen. the dauntless seven who made up the suffrage club were there, and at the psychological moment one of the women ran up the steps of a park pavilion and spoke in a ringing voice, yet so quietly that the police made no move to stop her. "friends," she said, "we are not allowed to have our parade, so we are going to hold a meeting of protest at no. 209 east 23d street. we invite you to go over there with us." she and the others walked calmly out of the square, and the crowd followed. they turned into fifth avenue, and the crowd grew larger. before three blocks were passed there were literally thousands of people marching in the wake of ingenious suffragists. the sight aroused the indignation of many respectable citizens. "officer," exclaimed one of these, addressing an attendant policeman, "i thought you had orders that those females were not to parade." "that ain't no parade," said the policeman, serenely; "them folks is just takin' a quiet walk." the suffragists have taken more than one quiet walk since then. street speaking has become an almost daily occurrence. at first there was some rioting, or, rather, some display of rowdyism on the part of the spectators and some show of interference from the police. the crowds listen respectfully now, and the police are friendly. the most practical move the new york suffragists have made was the organization, early in 1910, of the woman suffrage party, a fusion of nearly all the suffrage clubs in the greater city into an association exactly along the lines of a regular political party. at the head of the party as president is mrs. carrie chapman catt, president of the international woman suffrage association. each of the five boroughs of the city has a chairman, and each senatorial and assembly district is either organized or is in process of organization. [illustration: the women's trades procession to the albert hall meeting, april 27, 1909] absolutely democratic in its spirit and its organization, the party leaders are drawn from every rank of society. the chairman of the borough of manhattan is mrs. james lees laidlaw, wife of a prominent wall street banker. mrs. frederick nathan, president of the new york state consumers' league, is chairman of the assembly district in which she lives. mrs. melvil dewey, whose husband is head of a department at columbia university, is chairman of her own district. other chairmen are helen hoy greeley, lawyer; lavinia dock, trained nurse; anna mercy, an east side physician; maud flowerton, buyer in a department store; gertrude barnum, sociologist and writer. practically every trade and profession are represented in the party's ranks. the object of the woman suffrage party is organization for political work. last winter the party made the first aggressive move towards forcing the judiciary committee of the assembly to report on the bill to give women votes by constitutional amendment. they succeeded in getting a motion made for the discharge of the committee, sixteen legislators voting for the women. new york is the present center of the progressive suffrage movement, with chicago not very far behind. in rather amazing fashion are women in many american communities beginning to realize that politics are as much their business as men's. in salt lake city when a city council undertakes to give away a valuable water franchise, or extend gamblers' privileges, or otherwise follow the example of many another city council in bending before the god of greed, the women of salt lake send the word around. when the council meets the women are in the room. they don't say anything. they don't have to say anything. they can vote, these women. more than once the deep-laid plans of the most powerful politicians in salt lake city have been completely frustrated by a silent warning from the women. the city council has not dared to pass grafting measures with a roomful of women looking on. [illustration: helen hoy greeley] even the non-voting woman has discovered the power which attaches to her presence, in certain circumstances. in san francisco during the second ruef trial, when the decent element of the city was fighting to down one of the worst bosses that ever cursed a community, the women, under the leadership of mrs. elizabeth gerberding, performed this new kind of picket duty. the courtroom where the trial was held was, by order of the boss's attorney, packed with hired toughs whose duty it was to make a mockery of the prosecution. every point against the ruef side was received by these toughs with jeers and hootings. the district attorney was insulted, badgered, and openly threatened with violence. mrs. gerberding, whose husband is editor of a newspaper opposed to boss rule, attended several sessions, and induced a large number of women of social importance to attend with her. these women went daily to the courtroom, occupying seats to the exclusion of many of the tough characters, and by their presence doing much to preserve order and to assist the efforts of the district attorney. when the assassin's bullet was fired at the district attorney a number of the women were present. out of the horror and detestation of this crime was organized the women's league of justice, which soon had a membership of five hundred. the league fought stoutly for the reelection of heney as district attorney. heney was defeated, and the league became the women's civic club of san francisco, pledged to work for political betterment and a clean city government. in four states of the union, washington, oregon, south dakota, and oklahoma, the voters will this autumn vote for or against constitutional amendments giving women the right to vote. it is not very probable that the suffragists will win in any of these states, not because the voters are opposed to suffrage, but because they are, for the most part, uninformed. the suffrage advocates have not yet learned enough political wisdom to further their cause through education of the voters. although enormous sums of money have been spent in suffrage campaigns, in no one has enough money been available to do the work thoroughly. in the four states where the question is at present before the voters, complaint is made that there is not enough money in the treasuries properly to circulate literature. many of the wisest leaders in the national woman suffrage association, including dr. anna shaw, ida husted harper, and others, are advising an altogether new method of conducting the struggle for the ballot. they advocate selecting a state, possibly nebraska, where conditions seem uncommonly favorable, and concentrating the entire strength of the national organization, every dollar of money in the national treasury, all the speakers and organizers, all the literature, in a mighty effort to give the women of that one state the ballot. the vote won in nebraska, the national association should pass on to the next most favorable state and win a victory there. the moral effect of such campaigns would no doubt be very great. one of the principal reasons why men hesitate in this country to give the voting power to women is that they do not know, and they rather fear to guess, how far women would unite in forcing their own policies on the country. if an irish vote, or a german vote, or a catholic vote, or a hebrew vote is to be dreaded, say the men, how much more of a menace would a woman vote be. i heard a man, a delegate from an anti-suffrage association, solemnly warn the new york state legislature, at a suffrage hearing, against this danger of a woman vote. "when the majority of women and the minority of men vote together," he declared, "there will be no such thing as personal liberty left in the united states." [illustration: suffragettes in madison square.] under certain conditions a woman vote is not an unthinkable contingency. it has even occurred. for the edification of the possible reader who is entirely uninformed, it may be explained that women are not entirely disenfranchised in the united states. women vote on equal terms with men, in four states. they have voted in wyoming since 1869; in colorado since 1894; in utah and idaho since 1896. they vote at school elections and on certain questions of taxation in twenty-eight states. while it is true that in the states which have a small measure of suffrage the women show little interest in voting, in the four so-called suffrage states, they vote conscientiously and in about the same proportion as men. but here is a notable thing. the women of the suffrage states differ so little from the women of other states, and women in general, that the chief concerns of their lives are the home, the school, and the baby,--the kaiser's "kirche, küche, und kinder" over again. they vote with enthusiasm on all questions which relate to domestic interests, that is, which directly relate to them and their children. aside from this, the woman vote has made a deep impression on the moral character of candidates and that is about all it has meant. in general politics women have counted scarcely more than have the women of other states. but the new interest in suffrage, the new realization of themselves as citizens that has been aroused all over the united states within the past two years have seriously affected the women voters of at least one suffrage state, colorado. the women of colorado, especially the women of denver, have for several years taken an active part in legislation directly affecting themselves and their children. the legislative committee of the colorado state federation of clubs has held regular meetings during the sessions of the state legislature, and it has been a regular custom to submit to that committee for approval all bills relating to women and children. this never seemed to the politicians to be anything very dangerous to their interests. it was, in a manner of speaking, a chivalric acknowledgment of women's virtue as wives and mothers. but lately the women of colorado have begun to wake up to the fact that not only special legislation, but all legislation, is of direct interest to them. it has lately dawned upon them that the matter of street railway franchise affects the home as directly as a proposition to erect a high school. also it has dawned on them that without organization, and more organization, the woman vote was more or less powerless. so, about a year ago they formed in denver an association of women which they called the public service league. nothing quite like it ever existed before. it is a political but non-partisan association of women, pledged to work for the civic betterment of denver, pledged to fight the corrupt politicians, determined that the city government shall be well administered even if the women have to take over the offices themselves. the league is, in effect, a secret society of women. it has an inflexible rule that its proceedings are to be kept inviolable. there is a perfect understanding that any woman who divulges one syllable of what occurs at a meeting of the league will be instantly dropped from membership. no woman has yet been dropped. it may well be understood that this secret society of women, this non-partisan league of voters, is a thing to strike terror into the heart of a ward boss. as a matter of fact, the corrupt politicians and the equally corrupt heads of corporations who had long held denver in bondage regard the public service league in mingled dread and detestation. equally as a matter of fact politicians of a better class are anxious to enlist the good will of the league. last summer a denver election involved a question of granting a twenty years' franchise to a street railway company. opposed to the granting of the franchise was a newly formed citizens' party. opposed also was the women's public service league. in gratitude for the co-operation of the league the citizens' party offered a place on the electoral ticket to any woman chosen by the league. it was the first time in the history of colorado that a municipal office had been offered to a woman, and the league promptly took advantage of it. they named as a candidate for election commissioner miss ellis meredith, one of the best known, best loved women in the state. as journalist and author and club woman miss meredith is known far beyond her own state, and her nomination created intense interest not only among the women of her own city and state, but among club women everywhere. on the evening of may 3, 1910, there was a meeting held in the broadway theater, denver, the like of which no american city ever before witnessed. it was a women's political mass meeting to endorse the candidacy of a woman municipal official. the meeting was entirely in the hands of women. presiding over the immense throng was mrs. sarah platt decker, formerly president, and still leader of the general federation of women's clubs. beside her sat mrs. helen grenfell, for thirteen years county and state superintendent of schools, mrs. helen ring robinson, mrs. martha a.b. conine, and miss gail laughlin, all women of note in their community. the enthusiasm aroused by that meeting did not subside, and on the day of the election miss meredith ran so far ahead of her ticket that it seemed as if every woman in denver, as well as most of the men, had voted for her. she took her place in the board of election commissioners, and was promptly elected chairman of the board. there is nothing especially attractive about the office of election commissioner. in accepting the nomination miss meredith said frankly that she was influenced mainly by two things: first a desire to test the loyalty of the women voters, and second, because, while women had been held accountable for elections which have disgraced the city of denver, they have never before been given a chance to manage the elections. nothing is more certain that women, when they become enfranchised, will never, in any large numbers, appear as office seekers. it is probable that office will be thrust upon the ablest of them. mrs. sarah platt decker has been spoken of as a possible future mayor of denver, and it is certain that she could be elected to congress if she would allow herself to be placed in nomination. a few women have been elected to the legislatures in the suffrage states, and they have held high office in educational departments. in suffrage and nonsuffrage states they have been elected to many county offices. miss gertrude jordan is treasurer of cherry county, nebraska. in idaho, texas, louisiana, and several other states women have filled the same position. the state of kansas is a true believer in women office-holders, even though it refuses its women complete suffrage. women can vote in kansas only at municipal elections, but in forty counties men have elected women school superintendents. they are clerks of four counties, treasurers of three, and commissioners of one. in one county of kansas a woman is probate judge. the good and faithful work done by these women ought to go a long way towards educating men of their community to the idea of political association with women. the attitude of men towards suffrage has undergone an enormous change within the past two years. a large number of the thinking men of the country have openly enlisted in the suffrage ranks. it is said that almost every member of the faculty of columbia university signed the suffrage petition presented to the congress of 1909. well-known professors of many western universities and colleges have spoken and written in favor of equal suffrage. in new york city a flourishing voters' league for equal suffrage has been formed, with a membership running into the hundreds. [illustration: the "quiet walk" of the new york suffragists, whom the police would not permit to parade] to the average unprejudiced man the old arguments against political equality have almost entirely lost weight. the theory that women should not vote because they cannot fight is now rarely argued. municipal governments certainly no longer rest on physical force. the same is true of state governments, and it is probably true of national governments. at all events we are sincerely trying to make it true. for the rest it would be extremely difficult to prove that women would make undesirable citizens. to the anxious inquiry, what will women do with their votes? the answer is simple. they will do with their votes precisely what they do, or try to do, without votes. this has been proven in every country in the world where they have received the franchise. in australia, new zealand, finland, and in the english municipalities the ideal of the common good has been reflected in the woman vote. social legislation alone interests women, and so far they have confined their efforts to matters of education, child labor, pure food, sanitation, control of liquor traffic, and public morals. the organized non-voting women of this country have devoted themselves for years to precisely these objects. without votes, without precedents, and without very much money they instituted the playground movement, and the juvenile court movement, two of the greatest reforms this country has contributed to civilization. they have instituted a dozen reforms in our educational system. they practically invented the town and village improvement idea. they have co-operated with every social reform advocated by men, and it is to be noted that wherever their judgment has been in error they have conscientiously erred in favor of a wider democracy, a more exalted social ideal. [illustration: suffrage demonstration in union square, new york] however long-deferred woman suffrage may prove to be, it is pretty generally conceded that women will inevitably vote some day. the evolution of society will bring them into political equality with men just as it has brought them into intellectual and industrial equality. the first woman who followed her spinning-wheel out of her home into the factory was the natural ancestress of the first woman who demanded the ballot. the application of steam to machinery took women's trades out of the home and placed them in the factory. the effect of this was that men were confronted with a singular dilemma. they had to choose between two courses; they had to support their women in idleness, or else they had to allow them to leave the home and go where their trades had gone. the first course involving the intolerable burden of doing their own and their women's work, they were obliged to choose the second. the jealously-guarded doors of the home were opened, and little by little, grudgingly, the men admitted women to full industrial freedom. women's housekeeping, or most of it, has gradually been withdrawn from the home and transferred to the municipality. there was a time when women could ensure their families pure food, good milk, clean ice, proper sanitation. they cannot do that now. the city hall governs all such matters. again the men find themselves facing the old dilemma. they must either support their women in idleness--do all their own as well as the women's housekeeping--or they must allow their women to leave the home and follow their housekeeping to the place where it is now being done,--the polls. women are beginning to understand the situation. they are even beginning to understand how badly the men are providing for the municipal family. they are demanding their old housekeeping tasks back again. to this point has the suffrage movement, begun in 1848 by a band of women called fanatics, arrived. chapter xi in conclusion i have tried to set down in these pages the collective opinion of women, as far as it has expressed itself through deeds. i have not succeeded if any reader lays down the book with the impression that he has merely been reading the story of the american club woman. i have not succeeded at all if my readers imagine that i have been writing only about a selected group of women. what i have meant to do is to show the instinctive bent of the universal woman mind in all ages, reflected in the actions of the freest group of women the world has ever seen. i might have reanimated ages of stone and of bronze; might have shown you women, through slow centuries, inventing the arts of spinning and weaving, and pottery molding; learning to build, to till the earth, to grind and to cook grains, to tan skins for clothing against the cold. no one taught them these things. out of their brains, as undeveloped and as primitive as the brains of men, they would never have conceived so much wisdom. the vague mind of the savage woman never sent her to the spider, the nesting bird, and the burrowing squirrel to learn to weave and to build and to store. when we find exactly what it was that taught primitive woman how to lay the first stones of civilization, we have a perfect philosophical understanding of all women. i chose to interpret the woman mind through the modern american woman, partly because she has learned the great lesson of organization, and has thus been able to work more effectively, and to impress her will on the community more strikingly than other women in other ages. what she has done is apparent and easy to prove. also, i chose the american club woman because she represents, not an unusually gifted type, but the average intelligent, well-educated, energetic, wife-and-mother type of woman. the club woman is not radical, or at least not consciously radical. she has not, like the progressive german and russian woman, theories of political regeneration or of family reconstruction. what she desires, what ideals she has formed, i think must fairly represent the desires and ideals of the great mass of women of the twentieth century. when we survey the activities the club women have engaged in, when we discover why they chose exactly these activities, we have a perfect philosophical understanding, not only of the modern woman mind, but of the cave woman mind and all the woman mind in between. the woman mind is the most unchangeable thing in the world. it has turned on identically the same pivot since the present race began. perhaps before. turn back and count over the club women's achievements, the things they have chosen to do, the things they want. observe first of all that they want very little for themselves. even their political liberty they want only because it will enable them to get other things--things needed, directly or indirectly, by children. most of the things are directly needed,--playgrounds, school gardens, child-labor laws, juvenile courts, kindergartens, pure food laws, and other visible tokens of child concern. many of the other things are indirectly needed by children,--ten-hour working days, seats for shop girls, protection from dangerous machinery, living wages, opportunities for safe and wholesome pleasures, peace and arbitration, social purity, legal equality with men, all objects which tend to conserve the future mothers of children. these are the things women want. in my introductory chapter i cited three extremely grave and significant facts which confront modern civilization. the first was the fact of women's growing economic freedom, their emancipation from domestic slavery. i believe that women would not wish to be economically free if their instinct gave them any warning that freedom for them meant danger to their children. but no observer of social conditions can have failed to observe the oceans of misery endured by women and children because of their economic dependence on the fortunes of husbands and fathers. whatever may be the solution of poverty, whatever be the future status of the family, it seems certain to me that some way will be devised whereby motherhood will cease to be a privately supported profession. in some way society will pay its own account. if producing citizens to the state be the greatest service a woman citizen can perform, the state will ultimately recognize the right of the woman citizen to protection during her time of service. the first step towards solving the problem is for women to learn to support themselves before the time comes for them to serve the state. through the educating process of productive labor the woman mind may devise a means of protecting the future mothers of the race. the second fact, the growing prevalence of divorce, on the face of it seems to menace the security of the home and of children. so deeply overlain with prejudice, conventionalities, and theological traditions is the average woman as well as the average man that it is difficult to argue in favor of a temporary tolerance of divorce that a permanent high standard of marriage may be established. but to my mind any state of affairs, even a reno state of affairs, looks more encouraging than the old conditions under which innocent girls married to rakes and drunkards were forbidden to escape their chains. it is not for the good of children to be born of disease and misery and hatred. it is not for their good to be brought up in an atmosphere of hopeless inharmony. what is happening in this country is not a weakening of the marriage bond, but a strengthening of it. for soon there will grow up in the american man's mind a desire for a marriage which will be at least as equitable as a business partnership; as fair to one party as to the other. he will cease to regard marriage as a state of bondage for the wife and a state of license for the husband. he will not venture to suggest to a bright woman that cooking in his kitchen is a more honorable career than teaching, or painting, or writing, or manufacturing. marriage will not mean extinction to any woman. it will mean to the well-to-do wife freedom to do community service. it will mean to the industrial woman an economic burden shared. when that time comes there will be no divorce problem. there will be no longer a class of women who avoid the risk of divorce by refusing to marry. the third fact, the increasing popularity of woman suffrage, i disposed of in the preceding chapter. nothing that the women who vote have ever done indicates, in the remotest degree, that they are not just as mindful of children's interests at the polls as other women are in their nurseries and kitchens. on the contrary, wherever women have left their kitchens and nurseries, whenever they have gone out into the world of action and of affairs, they have increased their effectiveness as mothers. i do not mean by this that the girl who enters a factory at fourteen and works there ten hours a day until she marries increases her effectiveness as a mother. industrial slavery unfits a woman for motherhood as certainly as intellectual and moral slavery unfits her. women who are free, who look on life through their own eyes, who think their own thoughts, who live in the real world of striving, struggling, suffering humanity, are the most effective mothers that ever lived. they know how to care for their own children, and more than that, they know how to care for the community's children. the child at his mother's knee, spelling out the words of a psalm, stands for the moral education of the race--or it used to. a group of chicago club women walking boldly into the city bridewell and the cook county jail and demanding that children of ten and twelve should no longer be locked up with criminals; these same women, after the children were segregated, establishing a school for them, and finally these same women achieving a juvenile court, is the modern edition of the old ideal. woman's place is in the home. this is a platitude which no woman will ever dissent from, provided two words are dropped out of it. woman's place is home. her task is homemaking. her talents, as a rule, are mainly for homemaking. but home is not contained within the four walls of an individual home. home is the community. the city full of people is the family. the public school is the real nursery. and badly do the home and the family and the nursery need their mother. i dream of a community where men and women divide the work of governing and administering, each according to his special capacities and natural abilities. the division of labor between them will be on natural and not conventional lines. no one will be rewarded according to sex, but according to work performed. the city will be like a great, well-ordered, comfortable, sanitary household. everything will be as clean as in a good home. every one, as in a family, will have enough to eat, clothes to wear, and a good bed to sleep on. there will be no slums, no sweat shops, no sad women and children toiling in tenement rooms. there will be no babies dying because of an impure milk supply. there will be no "lung blocks" poisoning human beings that landlords may pile up sordid profits. no painted girls, with hunger gnawing at their empty stomachs, will walk in the shadows. all the family will be taken care of, taught to take care of themselves, protected in their daily tasks, sheltered in their homes. the evil things in society are simply the result of half the human race, with only half the wisdom, and not even half the moral power contained in the race, trying to rule the world alone. men's government rests on force, on violence. everything evil, everything bad, everything selfish, is a form of violence. poverty itself is a form of violence. women will not tolerate violence. they loathe waste. they cannot bear to see illness and suffering and starvation. alone, they are no more capable of coping with these evils than men are. but they have the very resources that men lack. working with men they could accomplish miracles. note the inventiveness of women, most of which goes to waste because they lack the wonderful constructive ability of men. women invented spinning. they could never have harnessed the lightning to their wheels. women established the first public playgrounds. men extended the public playgrounds across the country. women established the juvenile court. men took it over and worked out a new system of criminal jurisprudence for children. women have cleaned up a hundred cities. men are rebuilding them. slowly men and women are learning to live and work together. reluctantly men are coming to accept women as their co-workers. woman's place is home, and she must not be forbidden to dwell there. who would be so selfish, so blind, so reactionary, as to forbid her her fullest freedom to do her work, must surrender opposition in the end. for woman's work is race preservation, race improvement, and who opposes her, or interferes with her, simply fights nature, and nature never loses her battles. index aberdeen, countess of, addams, jane, alabama, aladyn, alexis, albert hall, london, albion house of refuge, n.y., aldrich, mrs. richard, allegheny, pa., allgemeinen deutschen frauenbund, american, sadie, american federation of labor american women and common law arbitration, argentine, arizona, arkansas arthur, mrs. clara b., association of collegiate alumnae, association of working girls' clubs, augsberg, anita, australia, austria balliett, thomas m., barnum, gertrude barrett, mrs. kate waller, bedford reformatory, n.y., belmont, mrs. o.h.p., berlin, birmingham, ala., blackstone blackwell's island, blatch, harriot stanton, bluhm, agnes, boston, mass boston central labor union, boswell, helen v., brandeis, louis d. brewer, justice, brooklyn, n.y., bullowa, emilie, california carlisle, pa., carnegie, andrew, casey, josephine, catt, mrs. carrie chapman, cauer, minna, chicago child, lydia maria, church, the christian, its relation to social problems, civic club of allegheny county civic club of philadelphia, cleveland, o. cliff dwellers' remains, cobden sanderson, mrs., code napoleon cole, elsie college settlements association, colony club, colorado, colorado state federation of clubs, columbia university, columbus, ohio, common law, coney island conine, mrs. martha a.b., consumers' league of n.y., consumers' leagues conventions of women's clubs, corpus juris, cotton mills, women and girls in council of women cranford, n.j., cutting, fulton, dallas, tex., dance halls, daughters of the american revolution, daughters of the confederacy, davis, mrs. jefferson, decker, mrs. sarah platt, delaware, denver, colo., department stores, detroit, devine, edward t., dewey, mrs. melvil, dineen, governor, district of columbia, divorce dock, lavinia, domestic service, _domestic service_, professor salmon's, donnelly, annie, dreier, mary, dutcher, elizabeth, eight-hour day, ely bates settlement, employment agencies, england equality league of self-supporting women, europe, european women, evans, mrs. glendower, factories, fall river, mass. festivals, play, feudalism filene system, finland florida flowerton, maud, folks, homer, france, franks, salian french code, gad, elizabeth, general federation of women's clubs, georgia gerberding, mrs. elizabeth, german woman suffrage association, germany, gillespie, mabel, gilman, charlotte perkins, her _women and economics_, "girls' bill," girls' friendly association, golden, john, goldmark, josephine, goldmark, pauline, gompers, samuel grannis, mrs. elizabeth, greece, greece, queen of, greeley, helen hoy, greenbaum, sadie, grenfell, mrs. helen, gulick, luther h., harper, ida husted, harrisburg, pa., hearn, henry, alice, holland, housekeepers' alliance, hughes, governor, hundred years' war, iceland, idaho, illinois, inheritance, intermunicipal committee on household research, international council of women, international woman suffrage alliance iowa, israels, mrs. charles m. italy, janes, elizabeth, jefferson market court, jordan, gertrude, kansas kellor, frances, kennard, beulah, kirby, john, jr., kusserow, anna lafferty, mrs. alma, laidlaw, mrs. james lees, lake city, minn., laughlin, gail, laundries, law, american legal aid society of n.y. city, legal disabilities of women leipzig, lemlich, clara, libraries, los angeles, cal., louisiana lowell, mrs. josephine shaw, luxemburg, maclean, annie marian, maloney, elizabeth, marot, helen massachusetts massachusetts bureau of labor statistics mcewans, the, men, their attitude toward women mercantile employers' bill merchants' association of n.y., mercy, anna, meredith, ellis milholland, inez, mills, mills, enos, miner, maude e., miner, stella, missouri, mitchell, john, montana, moore, mrs. philip n., morgan, anne mott, lucretia, muller, curt napoleon, napoleon code nathan, mrs. frederick national civic federation, national congress of mothers, national manufacturers' association national society of collegiate alumnae, national woman suffrage association nebraska nestor, agnes, nevada, new england, new haven, conn. new jersey, new mexico, new york, new york, n.y., new york telephone co., new zealand, night court. see _jefferson market court_ night work of women, north carolina north dakota, ohio, oklahoma, orange, house of, oregon, oregon case, oregon standard,_out of work_, miss kellor's palisades of the hudson, panama canal, pankhurst, mrs., paris, peace pennsylvania, persia, philadelphia, pike, violet, pittsburg, playgrounds, playgrounds association of america portland, ore., portugal potter, virginia, probation association of n.y., property law, married women's, public service league of denver, colo. puritans _resurrection_, tolstoy's, revere beach, rheinhard commission, rhode island "rights of man," ritchie paper box manufactory, robins, mrs. raymond, robinson, mrs. helen ring, rochester, n.y., industrial school, roxbury, mass., carpet mill strike, russia, sage, mrs. russell, st. louis, mo. salic law, salmon, prof. lucy maynard salt lake city, san francisco, schoenfeld, julia, scranton, pa., seneca falls convention, servant problem. see _domestic service_ shaw, dr. anna, shirt-waist makers' strike, smith, "gypsy," snowden, mrs. philip, social evil, social purity socialist party south africa, south carolina, south chicago, south dakota, spain stanton, elizabeth cady stover, charles b., succession to throne by women, sweat shop, the switzerland teacher's federation of chicago ten-hour day, tennessee texas, tillman case, turkey, tuthill, judge r.s., twentieth century club of detroit, united states government united states industrial commission, united textile workers utah vassar college, victoria, queen, virginia, voters' league for equal suffrage, wage earning, women in, washington (state), waverley house, white, mrs. lovell, "white slave" traffic whitman, charles s., wilhelmina, queen, windeguth, dora winthrop, mrs. egerton, _woman and economics_, gilman's, woman suffrage, woman suffrage party woman's christian temperance union, woman's municipal league of n.y., women, their ideals, in europe, in america, in industry, their fight against the social evil, in domestic service, collective opinion of, women's civic club of san francisco, women's club, of lake city, minn., of dallas, tex., of san francisco, of pittsburg of detroit, of philadelphia, of harrisburg, pa., of birmingham, ala., of carlisle, pa., of cranford, n.j., women's clubs women's educational and industrial union of bostonwomen's league of justice, women's political equality union, women's property act, women's trade union league working women's society wyoming, yonkers, n.y., young women's christian association proofreaders autobiographical sketches. by annie besant 1885. autobiographical sketches. i am so often asked for references to some pamphlet or journal in which may be found some outline of my life, and the enquiries are so often couched in terms of such real kindness, that i have resolved to pen a few brief autobiographical sketches, which may avail to satisfy friendly questioners, and to serve, in some measure, as defence against unfair attack. i. on october 1st, 1847, i made my appearance in this "vale of tears", "little pheasantina", as i was irreverently called by a giddy aunt, a pet sister of my mother's. just at that time my father and mother were staying within the boundaries of the city of london, so that i was born well "within the sound of bow bells". though born in london, however, full three quarters of my blood are irish. my dear mother was a morris--the spelling of the name having been changed from maurice some five generations back--and i have often heard her tell a quaint story, illustrative of that family pride which is so common a feature of a decayed irish family. she was one of a large family, and her father and mother, gay, handsome, and extravagant, had wasted merrily what remained to them of patrimony. i can remember her father well, for i was fourteen years of age when he died. a bent old man, with hair like driven snow, splendidly handsome in his old age, hot-tempered to passion at the lightest provocation, loving and wrath in quick succession. as the family grew larger and the moans grew smaller, many a pinch came on the household, and the parents were glad to accept the offer of a relative to take charge of emily, the second daughter. a very proud old lady was this maiden aunt, and over the mantel-piece of her drawing-room ever hung a great diagram, a family tree, which mightily impressed the warm imagination of the delicate child she had taken in charge. it was a lengthy and well-grown family tree, tracing back the morris family to the days of charlemagne, and branching out from a stock of "the seven kings of france". was there ever yet a decayed. irish family that did not trace itself back to some "kings"? and these "milesian kings"--who had been expelled from france, doubtless for good reasons, and who had sailed across the sea and landed in fair erin, and there had settled and robbed and fought--did more good 800 years after their death than they did, i expect, during their ill-spent lives, if they proved a source of gentle harmless pride to the old maiden lady who admired their names over her mantel-piece in the earlier half of the present century. and, indeed, they acted as a kind of moral thermometer, in a fashion that would much have astonished their ill-doing and barbarous selves. for my mother has told me how when she would commit some piece of childish naughtiness, her aunt would say, looking gravely over her spectacles at the small culprit: "emily, your conduct is unworthy of the descendant of the seven kings of france." and emily, with her sweet grey irish eyes, and her curling masses of raven-black hair, would cry in penitent shame over her unworthiness, with some vague idea that those royal, and to her very real ancestors, would despise her small sweet rosebud self, as wholly unworthy of their disreputable majesties. but that same maiden aunt trained the child right well, and i keep ever grateful memory of her, though i never knew her, for her share in forming the tenderest, sweetest, proudest, purest, noblest woman i have ever known. i have never met a woman more selflessly devoted to those she loved, more passionately contemptuous of all that was mean or base, more keenly sensitive on every question of honor, more iron in will, more sweet in tenderness, than the mother who made my girlhood sunny as dreamland, who guarded me until my marriage from every touch of pain that she could ward off, or could bear for me, who suffered more in every trouble that touched me in later life than i did myself, and who died in the little house i had taken for our new home in norwood, worn out ere old age touched her, by sorrow, poverty and pain, in may, 1874. of my father my memory is less vivid, for he died when i was but five years old. he was of mixed race, english on his father's side, irish on his mother's, and was born in galway, and educated in ireland; he took his degree at dublin university, and walked the hospitals as a medical student. but after he had qualified as a medical man a good appointment was offered him by a relative in the city of london, and he never practised regularly as a doctor. in the city his prospects were naturally promising; the elder branch of the wood family, to which he belonged, had for many generations been settled in devonshire, farming their own land. when the eldest son william, my father, came of age, he joined with his father to cut off the entail, and the old acres were sold. meanwhile members of other branches had entered commercial life, and had therein prospered exceedingly. one of them had become lord mayor of london, had vigorously supported the unhappy queen caroline, had paid the debts of the duke of kent, in order that that reputable individual might return to england with his duchess, so that the future heir to the throne might be born on english soil; he had been rewarded with a baronetcy as a cheap method of paying his services. another, my father's first cousin once removed, a young barrister, had successfully pleaded a suit in which was concerned the huge fortune of a miserly relative, and had thus laid the foundations of a great success; he won for himself a vice-chancellorship and a knighthood, and then the lord chancellorship of england, with the barony of hatherley. a third, a brother of the last, western wood, was doing good service in the house of commons. a fourth, a cousin of the last two, had thrown himself with such spirit and energy into mining work, that he had accumulated a fortune. in fact all the scattered branches had made their several ways in the world, save that elder one to which my father belonged. that had vegetated on down in the country, and had grown poorer while the others grew richer. my father's brothers had somewhat of a fight for life. one has prospered and is comfortable and well-to-do. the other led for years a rough and wandering life, and "came to grief" generally. some years ago i heard of him as a store-keeper in portsmouth dock-yard, occasionally boasting in feeble fashion that his cousin was lord chancellor of england, and not many months since i heard from him in south africa, where he has secured some appointment in the commissariat department, not, i fear, of a very lucrative character. let us come back to pheasantina, who, i am told, was a delicate and somewhat fractious infant, giving to both father and mother considerable cause for anxiety. her first attempts at rising in the world were attended with disaster, for as she was lying in a cradle, with carved iron canopy, and was for a moment left by her nurse in full faith that she could not rise from the recumbent position, miss pheasantina determined to show that she was capable of unexpected independence, and made a vigorous struggle to assume that upright position which is the proud prerogative of man. in another moment the recumbent position was re-assumed, and the nurse returning found the baby's face covered with blood, streaming from a severe wound on the forehead, the iron fretwork having proved harder than the baby's head. the scar remains down to the present time, and gives me the valuable peculiarity of only wrinkling up one side of my forehead when i raise my eyebrows, a feat that i defy any of my readers to emulate. the heavy cut has, i suppose, so injured the muscles in that spot that they have lost the normal power of contraction. my earliest personal recollections are of a house and garden that we lived in when i was three and four years of age, situated in grove road, st. john's wood. i can remember my mother hovering round the dinner-table to see that all was bright for the home-coming husband; my brother--two years older than myself--and i watching "for papa"; the loving welcome, the game of romps that always preceded the dinner of the elder folks. i can remember on the first of october, 1851, jumping up in my little cot, and shouting out triumphantly: "papa! mamma! i am four years old!" and the grave demand of my brother, conscious of superior age, at dinner-time: "may not annie have a knife to-day, as she is four years old?" it was a sore grievance during that same year 1851, that i was not judged old enough to go to the great exhibition, and i have a faint memory of my brother consolingly bringing me home one of those folding pictured strips that are sold in the streets, on which were imaged glories that i longed only the more to see. far-away, dusky, trivial memories, these. what a pity it is that a baby cannot notice, cannot observe, cannot remember, and so throw light on the fashion of the dawning of the external world on the human consciousness. if only we could remember how things looked when they were first imaged on the retinae; what we felt when first we became conscious of the outer world; what the feeling was as faces of father and mother grew out of the surrounding chaos and became familiar things, greeted with a smile, lost with a cry; if only memory would not become a mist when in later years we strive to throw our glances backward into the darkness of our infancy, what lessons we might learn to help our stumbling psychology, how many questions might be solved whose answers we are groping for in vain. ii. the next scene that stands out clearly against the background of the past is that of my father's death-bed. the events which led to his death i know from my dear mother. he had never lost his fondness for the profession for which he had been trained, and having many medical friends, he would now and then accompany them on their hospital rounds, or share with them the labors of the dissecting room. it chanced that during the dissection of the body of a person who had died of rapid consumption, my father cut his finger against the edge of the breast-bone. the cut did not heal easily, and the finger became swollen and inflamed. "i would have that finger off, wood, if i were you," said one of the surgeons, a day or two afterwards, on seeing the state of the wound. but the others laughed at the suggestion, and my father, at first inclined to submit to the amputation, was persuaded to "leave nature alone". about the middle of august, 1852, he got wet through, riding on the top of an omnibus, and the wetting resulted in a severe cold, which "settled on his chest". one of the most eminent doctors of the day, as able as he was rough in manner, was called to see him. he examined him carefully, sounded his lungs, and left the room followed by my mother. "well?" she asked, scarcely anxious as to the answer, save as it might worry her husband to be kept idly at home. "you must keep up his spirits", was the thoughtless answer. "he is in a galloping consumption; you will not have him with you six weeks longer." the wife staggered back, and fell like a stone on the floor. but love triumphed over agony, and half an hour later she was again at her husband's side, never to leave it again for ten minutes at a time, night or day, till he was lying with closed eyes asleep in death. i was lifted on to the bed to "say good-bye to dear papa" on the day before his death, and i remember being frightened at his eyes which looked so large, and his voice which sounded so strange, as he made me promise always to be "a very good girl to darling mamma, as papa was going right away". i remember insisting that "papa should kiss cherry", a doll given me on my birthday, three days before, by his direction, and being removed, crying and struggling, from the room. he died on the following day, october 5th, and i do not think that my elder brother and i--who were staying at our maternal grandfather's--went to the house again until the day of the funeral. with the death, my mother broke down, and when all was over they carried her senseless from the room. i remember hearing afterwards how, when she recovered her senses, she passionately insisted on being left alone, and locked herself into her room for the night; and how on the following morning her mother, at last persuading her to open the door, started back at the face she saw with the cry: "good god! emily! your hair is white!" it was even so; her hair, black, glossy and abundant, which, contrasting with her large grey eyes, had made her face so strangely attractive, had turned grey in that night of agony, and to me my mother's face is ever framed in exquisite silver bands of hair as white as the driven unsullied snow. i have heard that the love between my father and mother was a very beautiful thing, and it most certainly stamped her character for life. he was keenly intellectual, and splendidly educated; a mathematician and a good classical scholar, thoroughly master of french, german, italian, spanish, and portuguese, with a smattering of hebrew and gaelic, the treasures of ancient and of modern literature were his daily household delight. nothing pleased him so well as to sit with his wife, reading aloud to her while she worked; now translating from some foreign poet, now rolling forth melodiously the exquisite cadences of queen mab. student of philosophy as he was, he was deeply and steadily sceptical; and a very religious relative has told me that he often drove her from the room by his light playful mockery of the tenets of the christian faith. his mother and sister were strict roman catholics, and near the end forced a priest into his room, but the priest was promptly ejected by the wrath of the dying man, and by the almost fierce resolve of the wife that no messenger of the creed he detested should trouble her darling at the last. this scepticism of his was not wholly shared by his wife, who held to the notion that women should be "religious," while men might philosophise as they would; but it so deeply influenced her own intellectual life that she utterly rejected the most irrational dogmas of christianity, such as eternal punishment, the vicarious atonement of christ, the doctrine that faith is necessary to salvation, the equality of christ with god, the infallibility of the bible; she made morality of life, not orthodoxy of belief, her measure of "religion"; she was "a christian", in her own view of the matter, but it was a christian of the school of jowett, of colenso, and of stanley. the latter writer had for her, in after years, the very strongest fascination, and i am not sure that his "variegated use of words", so fiercely condemned by dr. pusey, did not exactly suit her own turn of mind, which shrank back intellectually from the crude dogmas of orthodox christianity, but clung poetically to the artistic side of religion, to its art and to its music, to the grandeur of its glorious fanes, and the solemnity of its stately ritual. she detested the meretricious show, the tinsel gaudiness, the bowing and genuflecting, the candles and the draperies, of romanism, and of its pinchbeck imitator ritualism; but i doubt whether she knew any keener pleasure than to sit in one of the carved stalls of westminster abbey, listening to the polished sweetness of dean stanley's exquisite eloquence; or to the thunder of the organ mingled with the voices of the white-robed choristers, as the music rose and fell, as it pealed up to the arched roof and lost itself in the carven fretwork, or died away softly among the echoes of the chapels in which kings and saints and sages lay sleeping, enshrining in themselves the glories and the sorrows of the past. to return to october, 1852. on the day of the funeral my elder brother and i were taken back to the house where my father lay dead, and while my brother went as chief mourner, poor little boy swamped in crape and miserable exceedingly, i sat in an upstairs room with my mother and her sisters; and still comes back to me her figure, seated on a sofa, with fixed white face and dull vacant eyes, counting the minutes till the funeral procession would have reached kensal green, and then following in mechanical fashion, prayer-book in hand, the service, stage by stage, until to my unspeakable terror, with the words, dully spoken, "it is all over", she fell back fainting. and here comes a curious psychological problem which has often puzzled me. some weeks later she resolved to go and see her husband's grave. a relative who had been present at the funeral volunteered to guide her to the spot, but lost his way in that wilderness of graves. another of the small party went off to find one of the officials and to enquire, and my mother said: "if you will take me to the chapel where the first part of the service was read, i will find the grave". to humor her whim, he led her thither, and, looking round for a moment or two, she started from the chapel, followed the path along which the corpse had been borne, and was standing by the newly-made grave when the official arrived to point it out. her own explanation was that she had seen all the service; what is certain is, that she had never been to kensal green before, and that she walked steadily to the grave from the chapel. whether the spot had been carefully described to her, whether she had heard others talking of its position or not, we could never ascertain; she had no remembrance of any such description, and the matter always remained to us a problem. but after the lapse of years a hundred little things may have been forgotten which unconsciously served as guides at the time. she must have been, of course, at that time, in a state of abnormal nervous excitation, a state of which another proof was shortly afterwards given. the youngest of our little family was a boy about three years younger than myself, a very beautiful child, blue-eyed and golden haired--i have still a lock of his hair, of exquisite pale golden hue--and the little lad was passionately devoted to his father. he was always a delicate boy, and had i suppose, therefore, been specially petted, and he fretted continually for "papa". it is probable that the consumptive taint had touched him, for he pined steadily away, with no marked disease, during the winter months. one morning my mother calmly stated: "alf is going to die". it was in vain that it was urged on her that with the spring strength would return to the child. "no", she persisted. "he was lying asleep in my arms last night, and william came to me and said that he wanted alf with him, but that i might keep the other two." she had in her a strong strain of celtic superstition, and thoroughly believed that this "vision"--a most natural dream under the circumstances--was a direct "warning", and that her husband had come to her to tell her of her approaching loss. this belief was, in her eyes, thoroughly justified by the little fellow's death in the following march, calling to the end for "papa! papa!" my brother and i were allowed to see him just before he was placed in his coffin; i can see him still, so white and beautiful, with a black spot in the middle of the fair waxen forehead, and i remember the deadly cold which startled me when i was told to kiss my little brother. it was the first time that i had touched death. that black spot made a curious impression on me, and long afterwards, asking what had caused it, i was told that at the moment after his death my mother had passionately kissed the baby brow. pathetic thought, that the mother's kiss of farewell should have been marked by the first sign of corruption on the child's face. and now began my mother's time of struggle and of anxiety. hitherto, since her marriage, she had known no money troubles, for her husband was earning a good income; he was apparently vigorous and well: no thought of anxiety clouded their future. when he died, he believed that he left his wife and children safe, at least, from pecuniary distress. it was not so. i know nothing of the details, but the outcome of all was that nothing was left for the widow and children, save a trifle of ready money. the resolve to which, my mother came was characteristic. two of her husband's relatives, western and sir william wood, offered to educate her son at a good city school, and to start him in commercial life, using their great city influence to push him forward. but the young lad's father and mother had talked of a different future for their eldest boy; he was to go to a public school, and then to the university, and was to enter one of the "learned professions"--to take orders, the mother wished; to go to the bar, the father hoped. on his death-bed there was nothing more earnestly urged by my father than that harry should receive the best possible education, and the widow was resolute to fulfil that last wish. in her eyes, a city school was not "the best possible education", and the irish pride rebelled against the idea of her son not being "a university man". many were the lectures poured out on the young widow's head about her "foolish pride", especially by the female members of the wood family; and her persistence in her own way caused a considerable alienation between herself and them. but western and william, though half-disapproving, remained her friends, and lent many a helping hand to her in her first difficult struggles. after much cogitation, she resolved that the boy should be educated at harrow, where the fees are comparatively low to lads living in the town, and that he should go thence to cambridge or to oxford, as his tastes should direct. a bold scheme for a penniless widow, but carried out to the letter; for never dwelt in a delicate body a more resolute mind and will than that of my dear mother. in a few months' time--during which we lived, poorly enough, in richmond terrace, clapham, close to her father and mother--to harrow, then, she betook herself, into lodgings over a grocer's shop, and set herself to look for a house. this grocer was a very pompous man, fond of long words, and patronised the young widow exceedingly, and one day my mother related with much amusement how he had told her that she was sure to get on if she worked hard. "look at me!" he said swelling visibly with importance; "i was once a poor boy, without a penny of my own, and now i am a comfortable man, and have my submarine villa to go to every evening". that "submarine villa" was an object of amusement when we passed it in our walks for many a long day. "there is mr. ----'s submarine villa", some one would say, laughing: and i, too, used to laugh merrily, because my elders did, though my understanding of the difference between suburban and submarine was on a par with that of the honest grocer. my mother had fortunately found a boy, whose parents were glad to place him in her charge, of about the age of her own son, to educate with him; and by this means she was able to pay for a tutor, to prepare the two boys for school. the tutor had a cork leg, which was a source of serious trouble to me, for it stuck out straight behind when we knelt down to family prayers--conduct which struck me as irreverent and unbecoming, but which i always felt a desire to imitate. after about a year, my mother found a house which she thought would suit her scheme, namely, to obtain permission from dr. vaughan, the then head master of harrow, to take some boys into her house, and so gain means of education for her own son. dr. vaughan, who must have been won by the gentle, strong, little woman, from that time forth became her earnest friend and helper; and to the counsel and active assistance both of himself and of his wife, was due much of the success that crowned her toil. he made only one condition in granting the permission she asked, and that was, that she should also have in her house one of the masters of the school, so that the boys should not suffer from the want of a house-tutor. this condition, of course, she readily accepted, and the arrangement lasted for ten years, until after her son had left school for cambridge. the house she took is now, i am sorry to say, pulled down, and replaced by a hideous red-brick structure. it was very old and rambling, rose-covered in front, ivy-covered behind; it stood on the top of harrow hill, between the church and the school, and had once been the vicarage of the parish, but the vicar had left it because it was so far removed from the part of the village where all his work lay. the drawing-room opened by an old-fashioned half-window, half-door--which proved a constant source of grief to me, for whenever i had on a new frock i always tore it on the bolt as i flew through it--into a large garden which sloped down one side of the hill, and was filled with the most delightful old trees, fir and laurel, may, mulberry, hazel, apple, pear, and damson, not to mention currant and gooseberry bushes innumerable, and large strawberry beds spreading down the sunny slopes. there was not a tree there that i did not climb, and one, a widespreading portugal laurel, was my private country house. i had there my bedroom and my sitting-rooms, my study, and my larder. the larder was supplied by the fruit-trees, from which i was free to pick as i would, and in the study i would sit for hours with some favorite book--milton's "paradise lost" the chief favorite of all. the birds must often have felt startled, when from the small swinging form perching on a branch, came out in childish tones the "thrones, dominations, princedoms, virtues, powers", of milton's stately and sonorous verse. i liked to personify satan, and to declaim the grand speeches of the hero-rebel, and many a happy hour did i pass in milton's heaven and hell, with for companions satan and "the son", gabriel and abdiel. then there was a terrace running by the side of the churchyard, always dry in the wettest weather, and bordered by an old wooden fence, over which clambered roses of every shade; never was such a garden for roses as that of the old vicarage. at the end of the terrace was a little summer-house, and in this a trap-door in the fence, which swung open and displayed one of the fairest views in england. sheer from your feet downwards went the hill, and then far below stretched the wooded country till your eye reached the towers of windsor castle, far away on the horizon. it was the view at which byron was never tired of gazing, as he lay on the flat tombstone close by--byron's tomb, as it is still called--of which he wrote: "again i behold where for hours i have pondered, as reclining, at eve, on yon tombstone i lay, or round the steep brow of the churchyard i wandered, to catch the last gleam of the sun's setting ray." reader mine, if ever you go to harrow, ask permission to enter the old garden, and try the effect of that sudden burst of beauty, as you swing back the small trap-door at the terrace end. into this house we moved on my eighth birthday, and for eleven years it was "home" to me, left always with regret, returned to always with joy. almost immediately afterwards i left my mother for the first time; for one day, visiting a family who lived close by, i found a stranger sitting in the drawing-room, a lame lady with, a strong face, which softened marvellously as she smiled at the child who came dancing in; she called me to her presently, and took me on her lap and talked to me, and on the following day our friend came to see my mother, to ask if she would let me go away and be educated with this lady's niece, coming home for the holidays regularly, but leaving my education in her hands. at first my mother would not hear of it, for she and i scarcely ever left each other; my love for her was an idolatry, hers for me a devotion. [a foolish little story, about which i was unmercifully teased for years, marked that absolute idolatry of her, which has not yet faded from my heart. in tenderest rallying one day of the child who trotted after her everywhere, content to sit, or stand, or wait, if only she might touch hand or dress of "mamma," she said: "little one (the name by which she always called me), if you cling to mamma in this way, i must really get a string and tie you to my apron, and how will you like that?" "o mamma darling," came the fervent answer, "do let it be in a knot." and, indeed, the tie of love between us was so tightly knotted that nothing ever loosened it till the sword of death cut that which pain and trouble never availed to slacken in the slightest degree.] but it was urged upon her that the advantages of education offered were such as no money could purchase for me; that it would be a disadvantage for me to grow up in a houseful of boys--and, in truth, i was as good a cricketer and climber as the best of them--that my mother would soon be obliged to send me to school, unless she accepted an offer which gave me every advantage of school without its disadvantages. at last she yielded, and it was decided that miss marryat, on returning home, should take me with her. miss marryat--the favorite sister of captain marryat, the famous novelist--was a maiden lady of large means. she had nursed her brother through the illness that ended in his death, and had been living with her mother at wimbledon park. on her mother's death she looked round for work which would make her useful in the world, and finding that one of her brothers had a large family of girls, she offered to take charge of one of them, and to educate her thoroughly. chancing to come to harrow, my good fortune threw me in her way, and she took a fancy to me and thought she would like to teach two little girls rather than one. hence her offer to my mother. miss marryat had a perfect genius for teaching, and took in it the greatest delight. from time to time she added another child to our party, sometimes a boy, sometimes a girl. at first, with amy marryat and myself, there was a little boy, walter powys, son of a clergyman with a large family, and him she trained for some years, and then sent him on to school admirably prepared. she chose "her children"--as she loved to call us--in very definite fashion. each must be gently born and gently trained, but in such position that the education freely given should be a relief and aid to a slender parental purse. it was her delight to seek out and aid those on whom poverty presses most heavily, when the need for education for the children weighs on the proud and the poor. "auntie" we all called her, for she thought "miss marryat" seemed too cold and stiff. she taught us everything herself except music, and for this she had a master, practising us in composition, in recitation, in reading aloud english and french, and later, german, devoting herself to training us in the soundest, most thorough fashion. no words of mine can tell how much i owe her, not only of knowledge, bit of that love of knowledge which has remained with me ever since as a constant spur to study. her method of teaching may be of interest to some, who desire to train children with the least pain, and the most enjoyment to the little ones themselves. first, we never used a spelling-book--that torment of the small child--nor an english grammar. but we wrote letters, telling of the things we had seen in our walks, or told again some story we had read; these childish compositions she would read over with us, correcting all faults of spelling, of grammar, of style, of cadence; a clumsy sentence would be read aloud, that we might hear how unmusical it sounded; an error in observation or expression pointed out. then, as the letters recorded what we had seen the day before, the faculty of observation was drawn out and trained. "oh, dear! i have nothing to say!" would come from a small child, hanging over a slate. "did you not go out for a walk yesterday?" auntie would question. "yes", would be sighed out; "but there's nothing to say about it". "nothing to say! and you walked in the lanes for an hour and saw nothing, little no-eyes? you must use your eyes better to-day." then there was a very favorite "lesson", which proved an excellent way of teaching spelling. we used to write out lists of all the words we could think of, which sounded the same but were differently spelt. thus: "key, quay," "knight, night," and so on; and great was the glory of the child who found the largest number. our french lessons--as the german later--included reading from the very first. on the day on which we began german we began reading schiller's "wilhelm tell," and the verbs given to us to copy out were those that had occurred in the reading. we learned much by heart, but always things that in themselves were worthy to be learned. we were never given the dry questions and answers which lazy teachers so much affect. we were taught history by one reading aloud while the others worked--the boys as well as the girls learning the use of the needle. "it's like a girl to sew," said a little fellow, indignantly, one day. "it is like a baby to have to run after a girl if you want a button sewn on," quoth auntie. geography was learned by painting skeleton maps--an exercise much delighted in by small fingers--and by putting together puzzle maps, in which countries in the map of a continent, or counties in the map of a country, were always cut out in their proper shapes. i liked big empires in those days; there was a solid satisfaction in putting down russia, and seeing what a large part of the map was filled up thereby. the only grammar that we ever learned as grammar was the latin, and that not until composition had made us familiar with the use of the rules therein given. auntie had a great horror of children learning by rote things they did not understand, and then fancying they knew them. "what do you mean by that expression, annie?" she would ask me. after feeble attempts to explain, i would answer: "indeed, auntie, i know in my own head, but i can't explain". "then, indeed, annie, you do not know in your own head, or you could explain, so that i might know in my own head." and so a healthy habit was fostered of clearness of thought and of expression. the latin grammar was used because it was more perfect than the modern grammars, and served as a solid foundation for modern languages. miss marryat took a beautiful place, fern hill, near charmouth, in dorsetshire, on the borders of devon, and there she lived for some five years, a centre of beneficence in the district. she started a sunday-school, and a bible-class after a while for the lads too old for the school, who clamored for admission to her class in it. she visited the poor, taking help wherever she went, and sending food from her own table to the sick. it was characteristic of her that she would never give "scraps" to the poor, but would have a basin brought in at dinner, and would cut the best slice to tempt the invalid appetite. money she rarely, if ever, gave, but she would find a day's work, or busy herself to seek permanent employment for anyone asking aid. stern in rectitude herself, and iron to the fawning or the dishonest, her influence, whether she was feared or loved, was always for good. of the strictest sect of the evangelicals, she was an evangelical. on the sunday no books were allowed save the bible or the "sunday at home"; but she would try to make the day bright by various little devices; by a walk with her in the garden; by the singing of hymns, always attractive to children; by telling us wonderful missionary stories of moffat and livingstone, whose adventures with savages and wild beasts were as exciting as any tale of mayne reid's. we used to learn passages from the bible and hymns for repetition; a favorite amusement was a "bible puzzle", such as a description of some bible scene, which was to be recognised by the description. then we taught in the sunday-school, for auntie would tell us that it was useless for us to learn if we did not try to help those who had no one to teach them. the sunday-school lessons had to be carefully prepared on the saturday, for we were always taught that work given to the poor should be work that cost something to the giver. this principle, regarded by her as an illustration of the text, "shall i give unto the lord my god that which has cost me nothing?" ran through all her precept and her practice. when in some public distress we children went to her crying, and asking whether we could not help the little children who were starving, her prompt reply was: "what will you give up for them?" and then she said that if we liked to give up the use of sugar, we might thus each save 6d. a week to give away. i doubt if a healthier lesson can be given to children than that of personal self-denial for the good of others. daily, when our lessons were over, we had plenty of fun; long walks and rides, rides on a lively pony, who found small children most amusing, and on which the coachman taught us to stick firmly, whatever his eccentricities of the moment; delightful all-day picnics in the lovely country round charmouth, auntie our merriest playfellow. never was a healthier home, physically and mentally, made for young things than in that quiet village. and then the delight of the holidays! the pride of my mother at the good report of her darling's progress, and the renewal of acquaintance with every nook and corner in the dear old house and garden. iii. the strong and intense evangelicalism of miss marryat colored the whole of my early religious thought. i was naturally enthusiastic and fanciful, and was apt to throw myself strongly into the current of the emotional life around me, and hence i easily reflected the stern and narrow creed which ruled over my daily life. it was to me a matter of the most intense regret that christians did not go about as in the "pilgrim's progress", armed to do battle with apollyon and giant despair, or fight through a whole long day against thronging foes, until night brought victory and release. it would have been so easy, i used to think, to do tangible battle of that sort, so much easier than to learn lessons, and keep one's temper, and mend one's stockings. quick to learn, my lessons of bible and prayer book gave me no trouble, and i repeated page after page with little labor and much credit. i remember being praised for my love of the bible, because i had learned by heart all the epistle of st. james's, while, as a matter of fact, the desire to distinguish myself was a far more impelling motive than any love of "the holy book;" the dignified cadences pleased my ear, and were swiftly caught and reproduced, and i was proud of the easy fashion in which i mastered and recited page after page. another source of "carnal pride"--little suspected, i fear, by my dear instructress--was found in the often-recurring prayer meetings. in these the children were called on to take a part, and we were bidden pray aloud; this proceeding was naturally a sore trial, and being endued with an inordinate amount of "false pride"--the fear of appearing ridiculous, _i.e._, with self conceit--it was a great trouble when the summons came: "annie dear, will you speak to our lord". but the plunge once made, and the trembling voice steadied, enthusiasm and facility for cadenced speech always swallowed up the nervous "fear of breaking down", and i fear me that the prevailing thought was more often that god must think i prayed very nicely, than that i was a "miserable sinner", asking "pardon for the sake of jesus christ". the sense of sin, the contrition for man's fallen state, which are required by evangelicalism, can never be truly felt by any child; but whenever a sensitive, dreamy, and enthusiastic child comes under strong evangelistic influence, it is sure to manifest "signs of saving grace". as far as i can judge now, the total effect of the calvinistic training was to make me somewhat morbid, but this tendency was counteracted by the healthier tone of my mother's thought, and the natural gay buoyancy of my nature rose swiftly whenever the pressure of the teaching that i was "a child of sin", and could "not naturally please god", was removed. in the spring of 1861, miss marryat announced her intention of going abroad, and asked my dear mother to let me accompany her. a little nephew whom she had adopted was suffering from cataract, and she desired to place him under the care of the famous dã¼sseldorf oculist. amy marryat had been recalled home soon after the death of her mother, who had died in giving birth to the child adopted by miss marryat, and named at her desire after her favorite brother frederick (captain marryat). her place had been taken by a girl a few months older than myself, emma mann, one of the daughters of a clergyman who had married a miss stanley, closely related, indeed if i remember rightly, a sister of the miss mary stanley who did such noble work in nursing in the crimea. for some months we had been diligently studying german, for miss marryat thought it wise that we should know a language fairly well before we visited the country of which it was the native tongue. we had been trained also to talk french daily during dinner, so we were not quite "helpless foreigners" when we steamed away from st. catherine's docks, and found ourselves on the following day in antwerp, amid what seemed to us a very babel of conflicting tongues. alas for our carefully spoken french, articulated laboriously. we were lost in that swirl of disputing luggage-porters, and could not understand a word! but miss marryat was quite equal to the occasion, being by no means new to travelling, and her french stood the test triumphantly, and steered us safely to a hotel. on the morrow we started again through aix-la-chapelle to bonn, the town which lies on the borders of the exquisite scenery of which the siebengebirge and rolandseck serve as the magic portal. our experiences in bonn were not wholly satisfactory. dear auntie was a maiden lady, looking on all young men as wolves to be kept far from her growing lambs. bonn was a university town, and there was a mania just then prevailing there for all things english. emma was a plump, rosy, fair-haired typical english maiden, full of frolic and harmless fun; i a very slight, pale, black-haired girl, alternating between wild fun and extreme pensiveness. in the boarding-house to which we went at first--the "chã¢teau du rhin", a beautiful place overhanging the broad blue rhine--there chanced to be staying the two sons of the late duke of hamilton, the marquis of douglas and lord charles, with their tutor. they had the whole drawing-room floor: we a sitting-room on the ground floor and bedrooms above. the lads discovered that miss marryat did not like her "children" to be on speaking terms with any of the "male sect". here was a fine source of amusement. they would make their horses caracole on the gravel in front of our window; they would be just starting for their ride as we went for walk or drive, and would salute us with doffed hat and low bow; they would waylay us on our way downstairs with demure "good morning"; they would go to church and post themselves so that they could survey our pew, and lord charles--who possessed the power of moving at will the whole skin of the scalp--would wriggle his hair up and down till we were choking with laughter, to our own imminent risk. after a month of this, auntie was literally driven out of the pretty _chã¢teau_, and took refuge in a girls' school, much to our disgust, but still she was not allowed to be at rest. mischievous students would pursue us wherever we went; sentimental germans, with gashed cheeks, would whisper complimentary phrases as we passed; mere boyish nonsense of most harmless kind, but the rather stern english lady thought it "not proper", and after three months of bonn we were sent home for the holidays, somewhat in disgrace. but we had some lovely excursions during those months; such clambering up mountains, such rows on the swift-flowing rhine, such wanderings in exquisite valleys. i have a long picture-gallery to retire into when i want to think of something fair, in recalling the moon as it silvered the rhine at the foot of drachenfels, or the soft mist-veiled island where dwelt the lady who is consecrated for ever by roland's love. a couple of months later we rejoined miss marryat in paris, where we spent seven happy workful months. on wednesdays and saturdays we were free from lessons, and many a long afternoon was passed in the galleries of the louvre, till we became familiar with the masterpieces of art gathered there from all lands. i doubt if there was a beautiful church in paris that we did not visit during those weekly wanderings; that of st. germain de l'auxerrois was my favorite--the church whose bell gave the signal for the massacre of st. bartholomew--for it contained such marvellous stained glass, deepest purest glory of color that i had ever seen. the solemn beauty of notre dame, the somewhat gaudy magnificence of la sainte chapelle, the stateliness of la madeleine, the impressive gloom of st. roch, were all familiar to us. other delights were found in mingling with the bright crowds which passed along the champs elysã©es and sauntered in the bois de boulogne, in strolling in the garden of the tuileries, in climbing to the top of every monument whence view of paris could be gained. the empire was then in its heyday of glitter, and we much enjoyed seeing the brilliant escort of the imperial carriage, with plumes and gold and silver dancing and glistening in the sunlight, while in the carriage sat the exquisitely lovely empress with the little boy beside her, touching his cap shyly, but with something of her own grace, in answer to a greeting--the boy who was thought to be born to an imperial crown, but whose brief career was to find an ending from the spears of savages in a quarrel in which he had no concern. in the spring of 1862 it chanced that the bishop of ohio visited paris, and mr. forbes, then english chaplain at the church of the rue d'aguesseau, arranged to have a confirmation. as said above, i was under deep "religious impressions", and, in fact, with the exception of that little aberration in germany, i was decidedly a pious girl. i looked on theatres (never having been to one) as traps set by satan for the destruction of foolish souls; i was quite determined never to go to a ball, and was prepared to "suffer for conscience sake"--little prig that i was--if i was desired to go to one. i was consequently quite prepared to take upon myself the vows made in my name at my baptism, and to renounce the world, the flesh, and the devil, with a heartiness and sincerity only equalled by my profound ignorance of the things i so readily resigned. that confirmation was to me a very solemn matter; the careful preparation, the prolonged prayers, the wondering awe as to the "sevenfold gifts of the spirit", which were to be given by "the laying on of hands", all tended to excitement. i could scarcely control myself as i knelt at the altar rails, and felt as though the gentle touch of the aged bishop, which fluttered for an instant on my bowed head, were the very touch of the wing of that "holy spirit, heavenly dove", whose presence had been so earnestly invoked. is there anything easier, i wonder, than to make a young and sensitive girl "intensely religious". my mother came over for the confirmation and for the "first communion" on easter sunday, and we had a delightful fortnight together, returning home after we had wandered hand-in-hand over all my favorite haunts. the summer of 1862 was spent with miss marryat at sidmouth, and, wise woman that she was, she now carefully directed our studies with a view to our coming enfranchisement from the "school-room." more and more were we trained to work alone; our leading-strings were slackened, so that we never felt them save when we blundered; and i remember that when i once complained, in loving fashion, that she was "teaching me so little", she told me that i was getting old enough to be trusted to work by myself, and that i must not expect to "have auntie for a crutch all through life". and i venture to say that this gentle withdrawal of constant supervision and teaching was one of the wisest and kindest things that this noble-hearted woman ever did for us. it is the usual custom to keep girls in the school-room until they "come out"; then, suddenly, they are left to their own devices, and, bewildered by their unaccustomed freedom, they waste time that might be priceless for their intellectual growth. lately, the opening of universities to women has removed this danger for the more ambitious; but at the time of which i am writing no one dreamed of the changes soon to be made in the direction of the "higher education of women". during the winter of 1862-1863 miss marryat was in london, and for a few months i remained there with her, attending the admirable french classes of m. roche. in the spring i returned home to harrow, going up each week to the classes; and when these were over, auntie told me that she thought all she could usefully do was done, and that it was time that i should try my wings alone. so well, however, had she succeeded in her aims, that my emancipation from the school-room was but the starting-point of more eager study, though now the study turned into the lines of thought towards which my personal tendencies most attracted me. german i continued to read with a master, and music, under the marvellously able teaching of mr. john farmer, musical director of harrow school, took up much of my time. my dear mother had a passion for music, and beethoven and bach were her favorite composers. there was scarcely a sonata of beethoven's that i did not learn, scarcely a fugue of bach's that i did not master. mendelssohn's "lieder" gave a lighter recreation, and many a happy evening did we spend, my mother and i, over the stately strains of the blind titan, and the sweet melodies of the german wordless orator. musical "at homes", too, were favorite amusements at harrow, and at these my facile fingers made me a welcome guest. a very pleasant place was harrow to a light-hearted serious-brained girl. the picked men of the schools of oxford and cambridge came there as junior masters, so that one's partners at ball and croquet and archery could talk as well as flirt. never girl had, i venture to say, a brighter girlhood than mine. every morning and much of the afternoon spent in eager earnest study: evenings in merry party or quiet home-life, one as delightful as the other. archery and croquet had in me a most devoted disciple, and the "pomps and vanities" of the ballroom found the happiest of votaries. my darling mother certainly "spoiled" me, so far as were concerned all the small roughnesses of life. she never allowed a trouble of any kind to touch me, and cared only that all worries should fall on her, all joys on me. i know now what i never dreamed then, that her life was one of serious anxiety. the heavy burden of my brother's school and college-life pressed on her constantly, and her need of money was often serious. a lawyer whom she trusted absolutely cheated her systematically, using for his own purposes the remittances she made for payment of liabilities, thus keeping upon her a constant drain. yet for me all that was wanted was ever there. was it a ball to which we were going? i need never think of what i would wear till the time for dressing arrived, and there laid out ready for me was all i wanted, every detail complete from top to toe. no hand but hers must dress my hair, which, loosed, fell in dense curly masses nearly to my knees; no hand but hers must fasten dress and deck with flowers, and if i sometimes would coaxingly ask if i might not help by sewing in laces, or by doing some trifle in aid, she would kiss me and bid me run to my books or my play, telling me that her only pleasure in life was caring for her "treasure". alas! how lightly we take the self-denying labor that makes life so easy, ere yet we have known what life means when the protecting mother-wing is withdrawn. so guarded and shielded had been my childhood and youth from every touch of pain and anxiety that love could bear for me, that i never dreamed that life might be a heavy burden, save as i saw it in the poor i was sent to help; all the joy of those happy years i took, not ungratefully i hope, but certainly with as glad unconsciousness of anything rare in it as i took the sunlight. passionate love, indeed, i gave to my darling, but i never knew all i owed her till i passed out of her tender guardianship, till i left my mother's home. is such training wise? i am not sure. it makes the ordinary roughnesses of life come with so stunning a shock, when one goes out into the world, that one is apt to question whether some earlier initiation into life's sterner mysteries would not be wiser for the young. yet it is a fair thing to have that joyous youth to look back upon, and at least it is a treasury of memory that no thief can steal in the struggles of later life. during those happy years my brain was given plenty of exercise. i used to keep a list of the books i read, so that i might not neglect my work; and finding a "library of the fathers" on the shelves, i selected that for one _piã©ce de rã©sistance_. soon those strange mystic writers won over me a great fascination, and i threw myself ardently into a study of the question: "where is now the catholic church?". i read pusey, and liddon, and keble, with many another of that school, and many of the seventeenth century english divines. i began to fast--to the intense disapproval of my mother, who cared for my health far more than for all the fathers the church could boast of--to use the sign of the cross, to go to weekly communion. indeed, the contrast i found between my early evangelical training and the doctrines of the primitive christian church would have driven me over to rome, had it not been for the proofs afforded by pusey and his co-workers, that the english church might be catholic although non-roman. but for them i should most certainly have joined the papal communion; for if the church of the early centuries be compared with rome and with geneva, there is no doubt that rome shows marks of primitive christianity of which geneva is entirely devoid. i became content when i found that the practices and doctrines of the anglican church could be knitted on to those of the martyrs and confessors of the early church, for it had not yet struck me that the early church might itself be challenged. to me, at that time, the authority of jesus was supreme and unassailable; his apostles were his infallible messengers; clement of rome, polycarp, and barnabas, these were the very pupils of the apostles themselves. i never dreamed of forgeries, of pious frauds, of writings falsely ascribed to venerated names. nor do i now regret that so it was; for, without belief, the study of the early fathers would be an intolerable weariness; and that old reading of mine has served me well in many of my later controversies with christians, who knew the literature of their church less well than i. to this ecclesiastical reading was added some study of stray scientific works, but the number of these that came in my way was very limited. the atmosphere surrounding me was literary rather than scientific. i remember reading a translation of plato that gave me great delight, and being rather annoyed by the insatiable questionings of socrates. lord derby's translation of the iliad also charmed me with its stateliness and melody, and dante was another favorite study. wordsworth and cowper i much disliked, and into the same category went all the 17th and 18th century "poets," though i read them conscientiously through. southey fascinated me with his wealth of oriental fancies, while spencer was a favorite book, put beside milton and dante. my novel reading was extremely limited; indeed the "three volume novel" was a forbidden fruit. my mother regarded these ordinary love-stories as unhealthy reading for a young girl, and gave me scott and kingsley, but not miss braddon or mrs. henry wood. nor would she take me to the theatre, though we went to really good concerts. she had a horror of sentimentality in girls, and loved to see them bright and gay, and above all things absolutely ignorant of all evil things and of premature love-dreams. happy, healthy and workful were those too brief years. iv. my grandfather's house, no. 8, albert square, clapham road, was a second home from my earliest childhood. that house, with its little strip of garden at the back, will always remain dear and sacred to me. i can see now the two almond trees, so rich in blossom every spring, so barren in fruit every autumn; the large spreading tufts of true irish shamrock, brought from ireland, and lovingly planted in the new grey london house, amid the smoke; the little nooks at the far end, wherein i would sit cosily out of sight reading a favorite book. inside it was but a commonplace london house, only one room, perhaps, differing from any one that might have been found in any other house in the square. that was my grandfather's "work-room", where he had a lathe fitted up, for he had a passion and a genius for inventive work in machinery. he took out patents for all sorts of ingenious contrivances, but always lost money. his favorite invention was of a "railway chair", for joining the ends of rails together, and in the ultimate success of this he believed to his death. it was (and is) used on several lines, and was found to answer splendidly, but the old man never derived any profit from his invention. the fact was he had no money, and those who had took it up and utilised it, and kept all the profit for themselves. there were several cases in which his patents dropped, and then others took up his inventions, and made a commercial success thereof. a strange man altogether was that grandfather of mine, whom i can only remember as a grand-looking old man, with snow-white hair and piercing hawk's eyes. the merriest of wild irishmen was he in his youth, and i have often wished that his biography had been written, if only as a picture of dublin society at the time. he had an exquisite voice, and one night he and some of his wild comrades went out singing through the streets as beggars. pennies, sixpences, shillings, and even half-crowns came showering down in recompense of street music of such unusual excellence; then the young scamps, ashamed of their gains, poured them all into the hat of a cripple they met, who must have thought that all the blessed saints were out that night in the irish capital. on another occasion he went to the wake of an old woman who had been bent nearly double by rheumatism, and had been duly "laid out", and tied down firmly, so as to keep the body straight in the recumbent position. he hid under the bed, and when the whisky was flowing freely, and the orgie was at its height, he cut the ropes with a sharp knife, and the old woman suddenly sat up in bed, frightening the revellers out of their wits, and, luckily for my grandfather, out of the room. many such tales would he tell, with quaint irish humor, in his later days. he died, from a third stroke of paralysis, in 1862. the morrises were a very "clannish" family, and my grandfather's house was the london centre. all the family gathered there on each christmastide, and on christmas day was always held high festival. for long my brother and i were the only grandchildren within reach, and were naturally made much of. the two sons were out in india, married, with young families. the youngest daughter was much away from home, and a second was living in constantinople, but three others lived with their father and mother. bessie, the eldest of the whole family, was a woman of rigid honor and conscientiousness, but poverty and the struggle to keep out of debt had soured her, and "aunt bessie" was an object of dread, not of love. one story of her early life will best tell her character. she was engaged to a young clergyman, and one day when bessie was at church he preached a sermon taken without acknowledgment from some old divine. the girl's keen sense of honor was shocked at the deception, and she broke off her engagement, but remained unmarried for the rest of her life. "careful and troubled about many things" was poor aunt bessie, and i remember being rather shocked one day at hearing her express her sympathy with martha, when her sister left her to serve alone, and at her saying: "i doubt very much whether jesus would have liked it if martha had been lying about on the floor as well as mary, and there had been no supper. but there! it's always those who do the work who are scolded, because they have not time to be as sweet and nice as those who do nothing." nor could she ever approve of the treatment of the laborers in the parable, when those who "had borne the burden and heat of the day" received but the same wage as those that had worked but one hour. "it was not just", she would say doggedly. a sad life was hers, for she repelled all sympathy, and yet later i had reason to believe that she half broke her heart because none loved her well. she was ever gloomy, unsympathising, carping, but she worked herself to death for those whose love she chillily repulsed. she worked till, denying herself every comfort, she literally dropped. one morning, when she got out of bed, she fell, and crawling into bed again, quietly said she could do no more; lay there for some months, suffering horribly with unvarying patience; and died, rejoicing that at last she would have "rest". two other "aunties" were my playfellows, and i their pet. minnie, a brilliant pianiste, earned a precarious livelihood by teaching music. the long fasts, the facing of all weathers, the weary rides in omnibuses with soaked feet, broke down at last a splendid constitution, and after some three years of torture, commencing with a sharp attack of english cholera, she died the year before my marriage. but during my girlhood she was the gayest and merriest of my friends, her natural buoyancy re-asserting itself whenever she could escape from her musical tread-mill. great was my delight when she joined my mother and myself for our spring or summer trips, and when at my favorite st. leonards--at the far unfashionable end, right away from the gay watering-place folk--we settled down for four or five happy weeks of sea and country, and when minnie and i scampered over the country on horseback, merry as children set free from school. my other favorite auntie was of a quieter type, a soft pretty loving little woman. "co" we called her, for she was "such a cosy little thing", her father used to say. she was my mother's favorite sister, her "child", she would name her, because "co" was so much her junior, and when she was a young girl the little child had been her charge. "always take care of little co", was one of my mother's dying charges to me, and fortunately "little co" has--though the only one of my relatives who has done so--clung to me through change of faith, and through social ostracism. her love for me, and her full belief that, however she differed from me, i meant right, have never varied, have never been shaken. she is intensely religious--as will be seen in the later story, wherein her life was much woven with mine--but however much "darling annie's" views or actions might shock her, it is "darling annie" through it all; "you are so good" she said to me the last time i saw her, looking up at me with all her heart in her eyes; "anyone so good as you must come to our dear lord at last!" as though any, save a brute, could be aught but good to "little co". on the christmas following my eighteenth birthday, a little mission church in which minnie was much interested, was opened near albert square. my high church enthusiasm was in full bloom, and the services in this little mission church were "high", whereas those in all the neighboring churches were "low". a mr. hoare, an intensely earnest man, was working there in most devoted fashion, and was glad to welcome any aid; we decorated his church, worked ornaments for it, and thought we were serving god when we were really amusing ourselves in a small place where our help was over-estimated, and where the clergy, very likely unconsciously, flattered us for our devotion. among those who helped to carry on the services there, was a young undermaster of stockwell grammar school, the rev. frank besant, a cambridge man, who had passed as 28th wrangler in his year, and who had just taken orders. at easter we were again at albert square, and devoted much time to the little church, decking it on easter eve with soft yellow tufts of primrose blossom, and taking much delight in the unbounded admiration bestowed on the dainty spring blossoms by the poor who crowded in. i made a lovely white cross for the super-altar with camelias and azaleas and white geraniums, but after all it was not really as spring-like, as suitable for a "resurrection", as the simple sweet wild flowers, still dewy from their nests in field and glade and lane. that easter was memorable to me for another cause. it saw waked and smothered my first doubt. that some people did doubt the historical accuracy of the bible i knew, for one or two of the harrow masters were friends of colenso, the heretic bishop of natal, but fresh from my patristic studies, i looked on heretics with blind horror, possibly the stronger from its very vagueness, and its ignorance of what it feared. my mother objected to my reading controversial books which dealt with the points at issue between christianity and freethought, and i did not care for her favorite stanley, who might have widened my views, regarding him (on the word of pusey) as "unsound in the faith once delivered to the saints". i had read pusey's book on "daniel the prophet", and, knowing nothing of the criticisms he attacked, i felt triumphant at his convincing demonstrations of their error, and felt sure that none but the wilfully blind could fail to see how weak were the arguments of the heretic writers. that stately preface of his was one of my favorite pieces of reading, and his dignified defence against all novelties of "that which must be old because it is eternal, and must be unchangeable because it is true", at once charmed and satisfied me. the delightful vagueness of stanley, which just suited my mother's broad views, because it _was_ vague and beautiful, was denounced by pusey--not unwarrantably-as that "variegated use of words which destroys all definiteness of meaning". when she would bid me not be uncharitable to those with whom i differed in matters of religion, i would answer in his words, that "charity to error is treason to truth", and that to speak out the truth unwaveringly as it was revealed, was alone "loyalty to god and charity to the souls of men". judge, then, of my terror at my own results when i found myself betrayed into writing down some contradictions from the bible. with that poetic dreaming which is one of the charms of catholicism, whether english or roman, i threw myself back into the time of the first century as the "holy week" of 1866 approached. in order to facilitate the realisation of those last sacred days of god incarnate on earth, working out man's salvation, i resolved to write a brief history of that week, compiled from the four gospels, meaning then to try and realise each day the occurrences that had happened on the corresponding date in a.d. 33, and so to follow those "blessed feet" step by step, till they were "... nailed for our advantage to the bitter cross." with the fearlessness which springs from ignorance i sat down to my task. my method was as follows: matthew. | mark. | luke. | john. | | | palm sunday. | palm sunday. | palm sunday. | palm sunday. | | | rode into | rode into | rode into | rode into jerusalem. | jerusalem. | jerusalem. | jerusalem. spoke purified the | returned to | purified the | in the temple. temple. returned | bethany. | temple. note: | to bethany. | | "taught daily | | | in the temple". | | | | monday. | monday. | monday. | monday. | | | cursed the fig | cursed the fig | like matthew. | tree. taught in | tree. purified | | the temple, and | the temple. | | spake many | went out of | | parables. no | city. | | breaks shown, | | | but the fig tree | | | (xxi., 19) did | | | not wither till | | | tuesday (see | | | mark). | | | | | | tuesday. | tuesday. | tuesday. | tuesday. | | | all chaps, xxi., | saw fig tree | discourses. no | 20, xxii.-xxv., | withered up. | date shown. | spoken on tues | then discourses.| | day, for xxvi., 2 | | | gives passover as | | | "after two days". | | | | | | wednesday. | wednesday. | wednesday. | wednesday. | | | blank. | | | (possibly remained in bethany; the alabaster box of ointment.) | | | thursday. | thursday. | thursday. | thursday. | | | preparation of | same as matt. | same as matt. | discourses with passover. eating | | | disciples, but of passover, | | | _before_ the and institution | | | passover. washes of the holy eu | | | the disciples' charist. gesthse| | | feet. nothing said mane. betrayal | | | of holy eucharist, by judas. led | | | nor of agony in captive to caia | | | gethsemane. phas. denied by | | | malchus' ear. st. peter. | | | led captive to | | | annas first. then | | | to caiaphas. denied | | | by st. peter. | | | friday. | friday. | friday. | friday. | | | led to pilate. | as matthew, | led to pilate. | taken to pilate. judas hangs | but hour of | sent to herod. | jews would not himself. tried. | crucifixion | sent back to | enter, that they condemned to | given, 9 a.m. | pilate. rest as | might eat the death. scourged | | in matthew; but | passover. and mocked. | | _one_ male | scourged by piled to cruci | | factor repents. | late before confixion. darkness | | | demnation, and from 12 to 3. | | | mocked. shown by died at 3. | | | pilate to jews | | | at 12. at this point i broke down. i had been getting more and more uneasy and distressed as i went on, but when i found that the jews would not go into the judgment hall lest they should be defiled, because they desired to eat the passover, having previously seen that jesus had actually eaten the passover with his disciples the evening before; when after writing down that he was crucified at 9 a.m., and that there was darkness over all the land from 12 to 3 p.m., i found that three hours after he was crucified he was standing in the judgment hall, and that at the very hour at which the miraculous darkness covered the earth; when i saw that i was writing a discord instead of a harmony, i threw down my pen and shut up my bible. the shock of doubt was, however only momentary. i quickly recognised it as a temptation of the devil, and i shrank back horror-stricken and penitent for the momentary lapse of faith. i saw that these apparent contradictions were really a test of faith, and that there would be no credit in believing a thing in which there were no difficulties. _credo quia impossibile_; i repeated tertullian's words at first doggedly, at last triumphantly. i fasted as penance for my involuntary sin of unbelief. i remembered that the bible must not be carelessly read, and that st. peter had warned us that there were in it "some things hard to be understood, which they that are unlearned and unstable wrest unto their own destruction". i shuddered at the "destruction" to the edge of which my unlucky "harmony" had drawn me, and resolved that i would never again venture on a task for which i was so evidently unfitted. thus the first doubt was caused, and though swiftly trampled down, it had none the less raised its head. it was stifled, not answered, for all my religious training had led me to regard a doubt as a sin to be repented of, not examined. and it left in my mind the dangerous feeling that there were some things into which it was safer not to enquire too closely; things which must be accepted on faith, and not too narrowly scrutinised. the awful threat: "he that believeth not shall be damned," sounded in my ears, and, like the angel with the flaming sword, barred the path of all too curious enquiry. v. the spring ripened into summer in uneventful fashion, so far as i was concerned, the smooth current of my life flowing on untroubled, hard reading and merry play filling the happy days. i learned later that two or three offers of marriage reached my mother for me; but she answered to each: "she is too young. i will not have her troubled." of love-dreams i had absolutely none, partly, i expect, from the absence of fiery novels from my reading, partly because my whole dream-tendencies were absorbed by religion, and all my fancies ran towards a "religious life". i longed to spend my time in worshipping jesus, and was, as far as my inner life was concerned, absorbed in that passionate love of "the savior" which, among emotional catholics, really is the human passion of love transferred to an ideal--for women to jesus, for men to the virgin mary. in order to show that i am not here exaggerating, i subjoin a few of the prayers in which i found daily delight, and i do this in order to show how an emotional girl may be attracted by these so-called devotional exercises. "o crucified love, raise in me fresh ardors of love and consolation, that it may henceforth be the greatest torment i can endure ever to offend thee; that it may be my greatest delight to please thee." "let the remembrance of thy death, o lord jesu, make me to desire and pant after thee, that i may delight in thy gracious presence." "o most sweet jesu christ, i, unworthy sinner, yet redeemed by thy precious blood.... thine i am and will be, in life and in death." "o jesu, beloved, fairer than the sons of men, draw me after thee with the cords of thy love." "blessed are thou, o most merciful god, who didst vouchsafe to espouse me to the heavenly bridegroom in the waters of baptism, and hast imparted thy body and blood as a new gift of espousal and the meet consummation of thy love." "o most sweet lord jesu, transfix the affections of my inmost soul with that most joyous and most healthful wound of thy love, with true, serene, most holy, apostolic charity; that my soul may ever languish and melt with entire love and longing for thee. let it desire thee and faint for thy courts; long to be dissolved and be with thee." "oh, that i could embrace thee with that most burning love of angels." "let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth; for thy love is better than wine. draw me, we will run after thee. the king hath brought me into his chambers.... let my soul, o lord, feel the sweetness of thy presence. may it taste how sweet thou art.... may the sweet and burning power of thy love, i beseech thee, absorb my soul." to my dear mother this type of religious thought was revolting. but then, she was a woman who had been a wife and a devoted one, while i was a child awaking into womanhood, with emotions and passions dawning and not understood, emotions and passions which craved satisfaction, and found it in this "ideal man". thousands of girls in england are to-day in exactly this mental phase, and it is a phase full of danger. in america it is avoided by a frank, open, unsentimental companionship between boys and girls, between young men and young women. in england, where this wisely free comradeship is regarded as "improper", the perfectly harmless and natural sexual feeling is either dwarfed or forced, and so we have "prudishness" and "fastness". the sweeter and more loving natures become prudes; the more shallow as well as the more high-spirited and merry natures become flirts. often, as in my own case, the merry side finds its satisfaction in amusements that demand active physical exercise, while the loving side finds its joy in religious expansion, in which the idealised figure of jesus becomes the object of passion, and the life of the nun becomes the ideal life, as being dedicated to that one devotion. to the girl, of course, this devotion is all that is most holy, most noble, most pure. but analysing it now, after it has long been a thing of the past, i cannot but regard it as a mere natural outlet for the dawning feelings of womanhood, certain to be the more intense and earnest as the nature is deep and loving. one very practical and mischievous result of this religious feeling is the idealisation of all clergymen, as being the special messengers of, and the special means of communication with, the "most high". the priest is surrounded by the halo of deity. the power that holds the keys of heaven and of hell becomes the object of reverence and of awe. far more lofty than any title bestowed by earthly monarch is that patent of nobility straight from the hand of the "king of kings", which seems to give to the mortal something of the authority of the immortal, to crown the head of the priest with the diadem which belongs to those who are "kings and priests unto god". swayed by these feelings, the position of a clergyman's wife seems second only to that of the nun, and has therefore a wonderful attractiveness, an attractiveness in which the particular clergyman affected plays a very subordinate part; it is the "sacred office", the nearness to "holy things", the consecration involved, which seem to make the wife a nearer worshipper than those who do not partake in the immediate "services of the altar"--it is all these that shed a glamor over the clerical life which attracts most those who are most apt to self-devotion, most swayed by imagination. i know how incomprehensible this will seem to many of my readers, but it is a fact none the less, and the saddest pity of it is that the glamor is most over those whose brains are quick and responsive to all forms of noble emotions, all suggestions of personal self-sacrifice; and if such later rise to the higher emotions whose shadows have attracted them, and to that higher self-sacrifice whose whispers reached them in their early youth, then the false prophet's veil is raised, and the life is either wrecked, or through storm-wind and surge of battling billows, with loss of mast and sail, is steered by firm hand into the port of a higher creed. my mother, minnie, and i passed the summer holidays at st. leonards, and many a merry gallop had we over our favorite fields, i on a favorite black mare, gipsy queen, as full of life and spirits as i was myself, who danced gaily over ditch and hedge, thinking little of my weight, for i rode barely eight stone. at the end of those, our last free summer holidays, we returned as usual to harrow, and shortly afterwards i went to switzerland with some dear friends of ours named roberts. everyone about manchester will remember mr. roberts, the solicitor, the "poor man's lawyer". close friend of ernest jones, and hand-in-hand with him through all his struggles, mr. roberts was always ready to fight a poor man's battle for him without fee, and to champion any worker unfairly dealt with. he worked hard in the agitation which saved women from working in the mines, and i have heard him tell how he had seen them toiling, naked to the waist, with short petticoats barely reaching to their knees, rough, foul-tongued, brutalised out of all womanly decency and grace; and how he had seen little children working there too, babies of three and four set to watch a door, and falling asleep at their work to be roused by curse and kick to the unfair toil. the old man's eye would begin to flash and his voice to rise as he told of these horrors, and then his face would soften as he added that, after it was all over and the slavery was put an end to, as he went through a coal-district the women standing at their doors would lift up their children to see "lawyer roberts" go by, and would bid "god bless him" for what he had done. this dear old man was my first tutor in radicalism, and i was an apt pupil. i had taken no interest in politics, but had unconsciously reflected more or less the decorous whiggism which had always surrounded me. i regarded "the poor" as folk to be educated, looked after, charitably dealt with, and always treated with most perfect courtesy, the courtesy being due from me, as a lady, to all equally, whether they were rich or poor. but to mr. roberts "the poor" were the working-bees, the wealth producers, with a right to self-rule, not to looking after, with a right to justice, not to charity, and he preached his doctrines to me, in season and out of season. "what do you think of john bright?" he demanded of me one day. "i have never thought of him at all," i answered lightly. "isn't he a rather rough sort of man, who goes about making rows?" "there, i thought so," he broke out fiercely. "that's just what they say. i believe some of you fine ladies would not go to heaven if you had to rub shoulders with john bright, the noblest man god ever gave to the cause of the poor." and then he launched out into stories of john bright's work and john bright's eloquence, and showed me the changes that work and eloquence had made in the daily lives of the people. with mr. roberts, his wife, and two daughters, i went to switzerland as the autumn drew near. it would be of little interest to tell how we went to chamounix and worshipped mont blanc, how we crossed the mer de glace and the mauvais pas, how we visited the monastery of st. bernard (i losing my heart to the beautiful dogs), how we went by steamer down the lake of thun, how we gazed at the jungfrau and saw the exquisite staubbach, how we visited lausanne, and berne, and geneva, how we stood beside the wounded lion, and shuddered in the dungeon of chillon, how we walked distances we never should have attempted in england, how we younger ones lost ourselves on a sunday afternoon, after ascending a mountain, and returned footsore and weary, to meet a party going out to seek us with lanterns and ropes. all these things have been so often described that i will not add one more description to the list, nor dwell on that strange feeling of awe, of wonder, of delight, that everyone must have felt, when the glory of the peaks clad in "everlasting snow" is for the first time seen against the azure sky on the horizon, and you whisper to yourself, half breathless: "the alps! the alps!" during that autumn i became engaged to the rev. frank besant, giving up with a sigh of regret my dreams of the "religious life", and substituting for them the work which would have to be done as the wife of a priest, laboring ever in the church and among the poor. a queer view, some people may think, for a girl to take of married life, but it was the natural result of my living the life of the early church, of my enthusiasm for religious work. to me a priest was a half-angelic creature, whose whole life was consecrated to heaven; all that was deepest and truest in my nature chafed against my useless days, longed for work, yearned to devote itself, as i had read women saints had done, to the service of the church and the poor, to the battling against sin and misery. "you will have more opportunity for doing good as a clergyman's wife than as anything else," was one of the pleas urged on my reluctance. my ignorance of all that marriage meant was as profound as though i had been a child of four, and my knowledge of the world was absolutely _nil_. my darling mother meant all that was happiest for me when she shielded me from all knowledge of sorrow and of sin, when she guarded me from the smallest idea of the marriage relation, keeping me ignorant as a baby till i left her home a wife. but looking back now on all, i deliberately say that no more fatal blunder can be made than to train a girl to womanhood in ignorance of all life's duties and burdens, and then to let her face them for the first time away from all the old associations, the old helps, the old refuge on the mother's breast. that "perfect innocence" maybe very beautiful, but it is a perilous possession, and eve should have the knowledge of good and of evil ere she wanders forth from the paradise of a mother's love. when a word is never spoken to a girl that is not a caress; when necessary rebuke comes in tone of tenderest reproach; when "you have grieved me" has been the heaviest penalty for a youthful fault; when no anxiety has ever been allowed to trouble the young heart--then, when the hothouse flower is transplanted, and rough winds blow on it, it droops and fades. the spring and summer of 1867 passed over with little of incident, save one. we quitted harrow, and the wrench was great. my brother had left school, and had gone to cambridge; the master, who had lived with us for so long, had married and had gone to a house of his own; my mother thought that as she was growing older, the burden of management was becoming too heavy, and she desired to seek an easier life. she had saved money enough to pay for my brother's college career, and she determined to invest the rest of her savings in a house in st. leonard's, where she might live for part of the year, letting the house during the season. she accordingly took and furnished a house in warrior square, and we moved thither, saying farewell to the dear old vicarage, and the friends loved for so many happy years. at the end of the summer, my mother and i went down to manchester, to pay a long visit to the roberts's; a very pleasant time we passed there, a large part of mine being spent on horseback, either leaping over a bar in the meadow, or scouring the country far and wide. a grave break, however, came in our mirth. the fenian troubles were then at their height. on september 11th, colonel kelly and captain deasy, two fenian leaders, were arrested in manchester, and the irish population was at once thrown into a terrible ferment. on the 18th, the police van containing them was returning from the court to the county gaol at salford, and as it reached the railway arch which crosses the hyde road at bellevue, a man sprang out, shot one of the horses, and thus stopped the van. in a moment it was surrounded by a small band, armed with revolvers and with crowbars, and the crowbars were wrenching at the locked door. a reinforcement of police was approaching, and there was no time to be lost. the rescuers called to brett, a sergeant of police who was in charge inside the van, to pass the keys out, and, on his refusal, there was a cry: "blow off the lock!". the muzzle of a revolver was placed against the lock, and the revolver was discharged. unhappily, poor brett had stooped down to try and see through the keyhole what was going on outside, and the bullet, fired to blow open the lock, entered his head, and he fell dying on the floor. the rescuers rushed in, and one allen, a lad of seventeen, opened the doors of the compartments in which were kelly and deasy, and hurriedly pulled them out. two or three of the band, gathering round them, carried them off across the fields to a place of safety, while the rest gallantly threw themselves between their rescued friends and the strong body of police which charged down after the fugitives. with their revolvers pointed, they kept back the police, until they saw that the two fenian leaders were beyond all chance of capture, and then they scattered, flying in all directions. young william allen, whose one thought had been for his chiefs, was the earliest victim. as he fled, he raised his hand and fired his revolver straight in the air; he had been ready to use it in defence of others, he would not shed blood for himself. disarmed by his own act, he was set upon by the police, brutally struck down, kicked and stoned by his pursuers, and then, bruised and bleeding, he was dragged off to gaol, to meet there some of his comrades in much the same plight. the whole city of manchester went mad over the story, and the fiercest race-passions at once blazed out into flame; it became dangerous for an irish workman to be alone in a group of englishmen, for an englishman to venture into the irish quarter of the city. the friends of the arrested irishmen went straight to "lawyer roberts", and begged his aid, and he threw himself heart and soul into their defence. he soon found that the man who had fired the fatal shot was safe out of the way, having left manchester at once, and he trusted that it would at least be possible to save his clients from the death-penalty. a special commission was issued, with mr. justice blackburn at its head. "they are going to send that hanging judge," groaned mr. roberts when he heard it, and we felt there was small chance of escape for the prisoners. he struggled hard to have the _venue_ of the trial changed, protesting that in the state of excitement in which manchester was, there was no chance of obtaining an impartial jury. but the cry for blood and for revenge was ringing through the air, and of fairness and impartiality there was no chance. on the 25th of october, the prisoners were actually brought up before the magistrates _in irons_, and mr. ernest jones, the counsel briefed to defend them, after a vain protest against the monstrous outrage, threw down his brief and quitted the court. the trial was hurried on, and on october 29th, allen, larkin, gould (o'brien), maguire, and condon, stood before their judges. we drove up to the court; the streets were barricaded; soldiers were under arms; every approach was crowded by surging throngs. at last, our carriage was stopped in the midst of excited irishmen, and fists were shaken in the window, curses levelled at the "d----d english who were going to see the boys murdered". for a moment things were uncomfortable, for we were five women of helpless type. then i bethought myself that we were unknown, and, like the saucy girl i was, i leant forward and touched the nearest fist. "friends, these are mr. roberts' wife and daughters." "roberts! lawyer roberts! god bless roberts. let his carriage through." and all the scowling faces became smile-wreathen, and cheers sounded out for curses, and a road was cleared for us to the steps. very sad was that trial. on the first day mr. roberts got himself into trouble which threatened to be serious. he had briefed mr. digby seymour, q.c. as leader, with mr. ernest jones, for the defence, and he did not think that the jurymen proposed were challenged as they should be. we knew that many whose names were called were men who had proclaimed their hostility to the irish, and despite the wrath of judge blackburn, mr. roberts would jump up and challenge them. in vain he threatened to commit the sturdy solicitor. "these men's lives are at stake, my lord," he said indignantly. at last the officers of the court were sharply told: "remove that man," but as they advanced reluctantly--for all poor men loved and honored him--judge blackburn changed his mind and let him remain. at last the jury was empanelled, containing one man who had loudly proclaimed that he "didn't care what the evidence was, he would hang every d----d irishman of the lot". in fact, the verdict was a foregone conclusion. the most disreputable evidence was admitted; the suppositions of women of lowest character were accepted as conclusive; the _alibi_ for maguire-clearly proved, and afterwards accepted by the crown, a free pardon being issued on the strength of it--was rejected with dogged obstinacy; how premeditated was the result may be guessed from the fact that i saw--with what shuddering horror may be estimated--some official in the room behind the judges' chairs, quietly preparing the black caps before the verdict had been given. the verdict of "guilty" was repeated in each of the five cases, and the prisoners were asked by the presiding judge if they had anything to say why sentence should not be passed on them. allen spoke briefly and bravely; he had not fired a shot, but he had helped to free kelly and deasy; he was willing to die for ireland. the others followed in turn, maguire protesting his innocence, and condon declaring also that he was not present (he also was reprieved). then the sentence of death was passed, and "god save ireland"! rang out in five clear voices in answer from the dock. we had a sad scene that night; the young girl to whom poor allen was engaged was heartbroken at her lover's doom, and bitter were her cries to "save my william!". no protests, no pleas, however, availed to mitigate the doom, and on november 23rd, allen, larkin, and o'brien were hanged outside salford gaol. had they striven for freedom in italy, england would have honored them as heroes; here she buried them as common murderers in quicklime in the prison yard. i have found, with a keen sense of pleasure, that mr. bradlaugh and myself were in 1867 to some extent co-workers, although we knew not of each other's existence, and although he was doing much, and i only giving such poor sympathy as a young girl might, who was only just awakening to the duty of political work. i read in the _national reformer_ for november 24, 1867, that in the preceding week, he was pleading on clerkenwell green for these men's lives: "according to the evidence at the trial, deasy and kelly were illegally arrested. they had been arrested for vagrancy of which no evidence was given, and apparently remanded for felony without a shadow of justification. he had yet to learn that in england the same state of things existed as in ireland; he had yet to learn that an illegal arrest was sufficient ground to detain any of the citizens of any country in the prisons of this one. if he were illegally held, he was justified in using enough force to procure his release. wearing a policeman's coat gave no authority when the officer exceeded his jurisdiction. he had argued this before lord chief justice erle in the court of common pleas, and that learned judge did not venture to contradict the argument which he submitted. there was another reason why they should spare these men, although he hardly expected the government to listen, because the government sent down one of the judges who was predetermined to convict the prisoners; it was that the offence was purely a political one. the death of brett was a sad mischance, but no one who read the evidence could regard the killing of brett as an intentional murder. legally, it was murder; morally, it was homicide in the rescue of a political captive. if it were a question of the rescue of the political captives of varignano, or of political captives in bourbon, in naples, or in poland, or in paris, even earls might be found so to argue. wherein is our sister ireland less than these? in executing these men, they would throw down the gauntlet for terrible reprisals. it was a grave and solemn question. it had been said by a previous speaker that they were prepared to go to any lengths to save these irishmen. they were not. he wished they were. if they were, if the men of england, from one end to the other, were prepared to say, "these men shall not be executed," they would not be. he was afraid they had not pluck enough for that. their moral courage was not equal to their physical strength. therefore he would not say that they were prepared to do so. they must plead _ad misericordiam_. he appealed to the press, which represented the power of england; to that press which in its panic-stricken moments had done much harm, and which ought now to save these four doomed men. if the press demanded it, no government would be mad enough to resist. the memory of the blood which was shed in 1798 rose up like a bloody ghost against them to-day. he only feared that what they said upon the subject might do the poor men more harm than good. if it were not so, he would coin words that should speak in words of fire. as it was, he could only say to the government: you are strong to-day; you hold these men's lives in your hands; but if you want to reconcile their country to you, if you want to win back ireland, if you want to make her children love you--then do not embitter their hearts still more by taking the lives of these men. temper your strength with mercy; do not use the sword of justice like one of vengeance; for the day may come when it shall be broken in your hands, and you yourselves brained by the hilt of the weapon you have so wickedly wielded." in october he had printed a plea for ireland, strong and earnest, asking:-"where is our boasted english freedom when you cross to kingstown pier? where has it been for near two years? the habeas corpus act suspended, the gaols crowded, the steamers searched, spies listening at shebeen shops for sedition, and the end of it a fenian panic in england. oh, before it be too late, before more blood shall stain the pages of our present history, before we exasperate and arouse bitter animosities, let us try and do justice to our sister land. abolish once and for all the land laws, which in their iniquitous operation have ruined her peasantry. sweep away the leech-like church which has sucked her vitality, and has given her back no word even of comfort in her degradation. turn her barracks into flax mills, encourage a spirit of independence in her citizens, restore to her people the protection of the law, so that they may speak without fear of arrest, and beg them to plainly and boldly state their grievances. let a commission of the best and wisest amongst irishmen, with some of our highest english judges added, sit solemnly to hear all complaints, and then let us honestly legislate, not for the punishment of the discontented, but to remove the causes of the discontent. it is not the fenians who have depopulated ireland's strength and increased her misery. it is not the fenians who have evicted tenants by the score. it is not the fenians who have checked cultivation. those who have caused the wrong at least should frame the remedy." vi. in december, 1867, i was married at st. leonards, and after a brief trip to paris and southsea, we went to cheltenham where mr. besant had obtained a mastership. we lived at first in lodgings, and as i was very much alone, my love for reading had full swing. quietly to myself i fretted intensely for my mother, and for the daily sympathy and comradeship that had made my life so fair. in a strange town, among strangers, with a number of ladies visiting me who talked only of servants and babies--troubles of which i knew nothing--who were profoundly uninterested in everything that had formed my previous life, in theology, in politics, in questions of social reform, and who looked on me as "strange" because i cared more for the great struggles outside than for the discussions of a housemaid's young man, or the amount of "butter when dripping would have done perfectly well, my dear," used by the cook--under such circumstances it will not seem marvellous that i felt somewhat forlorn. i found refuge, however, in books, and energetically carried on my favorite studies; next, i thought i would try writing, and took up two very different lines of composition; i wrote some short stories of a very flimsy type, and also a work of a much more ambitious character, "the lives of the black letter saints". for the sake of the unecclesiastically trained it may be well to mention that in the calendar of the church of england there are a number of saints' days; some of these are printed in red, and are red letter days, for which services are appointed by the church; others are printed in black, and are black letter days, and have no special services fixed for them. it seemed to me that it would be interesting to take each of these days and write a sketch of the life of the saint belonging to it, and accordingly i set to work to do so, and gathered various books of history and legend wherefrom to collect my "facts". i don't in the least know what became of that valuable book; i tried macmillans with it, and it was sent on by them to someone who was preparing a series of church books for the young; later i had a letter from a church brotherhood offering to publish it, if i would give it as an "act of piety" to their order; its ultimate fate is to me unknown. the short stories were more fortunate. i sent the first to the _family herald_, and some weeks afterwards received a letter from which dropped a cheque as i opened it. dear me! i have earned a good deal of money since by my pen, but never any that gave me the intense delight of that first thirty shillings. it was the first money i had ever earned, and the pride of the earning was added to the pride of authorship. in my childish delight and practical religion, i went down on my knees and thanked god for sending it to me, and i saw myself earning heaps of golden guineas, and becoming quite a support of the household. besides, it was "my very own", i thought, and a delightful sense of independence came over me. i had not then realised the beauty of the english law, and the dignified position in which it placed the married woman; i did not understand that all a married woman earned by law belonged to her owner, and that she could have nothing that belonged to her of right.[1] i did not want the money: i was only so glad to have something of my own to give, and it was rather a shock to learn that it was not really mine at all. [footnote 1: this odious law has now been altered, and a married woman is a person, not a chattel.] from time to time after that, i earned a few pounds for stories in the same journal; and the _family herald,_ let me say, has one peculiarity which should render it beloved by poor authors; it pays its contributor when it accepts the paper, whether it prints it immediately or not; thus my first story was not printed for some weeks after i received the cheque, and it was the same with all others accepted by the same journal. encouraged by these small successes, i began writing a novel! it took a long time to do, but was at last finished, and sent off to the _family herald._ the poor thing came back, but with a kind note, telling me that it was too political for their pages, but that if i would write one of "purely domestic interest", and up to the same level, it would probably be accepted. but by that time i was in the full struggle of theological doubt, and that novel of "purely domestic interest" never got itself written. i contributed further to the literature of my country a theological pamphlet, of which i forget the exact title, but it dealt with the duty of fasting incumbent on all faithful christians, and was very patristic in its tone. in january, 1869, my little son was born, and as i was very ill for some months before,--and was far too much interested in the tiny creature afterwards, to devote myself to pen and paper, my literary career was checked for a while. the baby gave a new interest and a new pleasure to life, and as we could not afford a nurse i had plenty to do in looking after his small majesty. my energy in reading became less feverish when it was done by the side of the baby's cradle, and the little one's presence almost healed the abiding pain of my mother's loss. i may pass very quickly over the next two years. in august, 1870, a little sister was born to my son, and the recovery was slow and tedious, for my general health had been failing for some time. i was, among other things, fretting much about my mother, who was in sore trouble. a lawyer in whom she had had the most perfect confidence betrayed it; for years she had paid all her large accounts through him, and she had placed her money in his hands. suddenly he was discovered by his partners to have been behaving unfairly; the crash came, and my mother found that all the money given by her for discharge of liabilities had vanished, while the accounts were unpaid, and that she was involved in debt to a very serious extent. the shock was a very terrible one to her, for she was too old to begin the world afresh. she sold off all she had, and used the money, as far as it would go, to pay the debts she believed to have been long ago discharged, and she was thus left penniless after thinking she had made a little competence for her old age. lord hatherley's influence obtained for my brother the post of undersecretary to the society of arts, and also some work from the patent office, and my mother went to live with him. but the dependence was intolerable to her, though she never let anyone but myself know she suffered, and even i, until her last illness, never knew how great her suffering had been. the feeling of debt weighed on her, and broke her heart; all day long while my brother was at his office, through the bitter winter weather, she would sit without a fire, lighting it only a little before his home-coming, so that she might save all the expense she could; often and often she would go out about half-past twelve, saying that she was going out to lunch, and would walk about till late in the afternoon, so as to avoid the lunch-hour at home. i have always felt that the winter of 1870-1 killed her, though she lived on for three years longer; it made her an old broken woman, and crushed her brave spirit. how often i have thought since: "if only i had not left her! i should have seen she was suffering, and should have saved her." one little chance help i gave her, on a brief visit to town. she was looking very ill, and i coaxed out of her that her back was always aching, and that she never had a moment free from pain. luckily i had that morning received a letter containing â£2 2s. from my liberal _family herald_ editor, and as, glancing round the room, i saw there were only ordinary chairs, i disregarded all questions as to the legal ownership of the money, and marched out without saying a word, and bought for â£1 15s. a nice cushiony chair, just like one she used to have at harrow, and had it sent home to her. for a moment she was distressed, but i told her i had earned the money, and so she was satisfied. "oh, the rest!" she said softly once or twice during the evening. i have that chair still, and mean to keep it as long as i live. in the spring of 1871 both my children were taken ill with hooping-cough. the boy, digby, vigorous and merry, fought his way through it with no danger, and with comparatively little suffering; mabel, the baby, had been delicate since her birth; there had been some little difficulty in getting her to breathe after she was born, and a slight tendency afterwards to lung-delicacy. she was very young for so trying a disease as hooping-cough, and after a while bronchitis set in, and was followed by congestion of the lungs. for weeks she lay in hourly peril of death; we arranged a screen round the fire like a tent, and kept it full of steam to ease the panting breath, and there i sat all through those weary weeks with her on my lap, day and night. the doctor said that recovery was impossible, and that in one of the fits of coughing she must die; the most distressing thing was that at last the giving of a drop or two of milk brought on the terrible convulsive choking, and it seemed cruel to torture the apparently dying child. at length, one morning when the doctor was there, he said that she could not last through the day; i had sent for him hurriedly, for her body had swollen up rapidly, and i did not know what had happened; the pleura of one lung had become perforated, and the air escaping into the cavity of the chest had caused the swelling; while he was there, one of the fits of coughing came on, and it seemed as though it would be the last; the doctor took a small bottle of chloroform out of his pocket, and putting a drop on a handkerchief, held it near the child's face, till the drug soothed the convulsive struggle. "it can't do any harm at this stage," he said, "and it checks the suffering." he went away, saying that he would return in the afternoon, but he feared he would never see the child alive again. one of the kindest friends i had in my married life was that same doctor, mr. lauriston winterbotham; he was as good as he was clever, and, like so many of his noble, profession, he had the merits of discretion and of silence. that chance thought of his about the chloroform, verily, i believe, saved the child's life. whenever one of the convulsive fits was coming on i used it, and so not only prevented to a great extent the violence of the attacks, but also the profound exhaustion that followed them, when of breath at the top of the throat showing that she still lived. at last, though more than once we had thought her dead, a change took place for the better, and the child began slowly to mend. for years, however, that struggle for life left its traces on her, not only in serious lung-delicacy but also in a form of epileptic fits. in her play she would suddenly stop, and become fixed for about a minute, and then go on again as though nothing had occurred. on her mother a more permanent trace was left. not unnaturally, when the child was out of danger, i collapsed from sheer exhaustion, and i lay in bed for a week. but an important change of mind dated from those silent weeks with a dying child on my knees. there had grown up in my mind a feeling of angry resentment against the god who had been for weeks, as i thought, torturing my helpless baby. for some months a stubborn antagonism to the providence who ordained the sufferings of life had been steadily increasing in me, and this sullen challenge, "is god good?" found voice in my heart during those silent nights and days. my mother's sufferings, and much personal unhappiness, had been, intensifying the feeling, and as i watched my baby in its agony, and felt so helpless to relieve, more than once the indignant cry broke from my lips: "how canst thou torture a baby so? what has she done that she should suffer so? why dost thou not kill her at once, and let her be at peace?" more than once i cried aloud: "o god, take the child, but do not torment her." all my personal belief in god, all my intense faith in his constant direction of affairs, all my habit of continual prayer and of realisation of his presence, were against me now. to me he was not an abstract idea, but a living reality, and all my mother-heart rose up in rebellion against this person in whom i believed, and whose individual finger i saw in my baby's agony. at this time i met a clergyman--i do not give his name lest i should injure him--whose wider and more liberal views of christianity exercised much influence over me during the months of struggle that followed. mr. besant had brought him to me while the child was at her worst, and i suppose something of the "why is it?" had, unconsciously to me, shown itself to his keen eyes. on the day after his visit, i received from him the following letter, in which unbeliever as well as believer may recognise the deep human sympathy and noble nature of the writer:-"april 21st, 1871. "my dear mrs. besant,--i am painfully conscious that i gave you but little help in your trouble yesterday. it is needless to say that it was not from want of sympathy. perhaps it would be nearer the truth to say that it was from excess of sympathy. i shrink intensely from meddling with the sorrow of anyone whom i feel to be of a sensitive nature. 'the heart hath its own bitterness, and the stranger meddleth not therewith.' it is to me a positively fearful thought that i might await a reflection as 'and common was the common place, and vacant chaff well meant for grain'. conventional consolations, conventional verses out of the bible and conventional prayers are, it seems to me, an intolerable aggravation of suffering. and so i acted on a principle that i mentioned to your husband, that 'there is no power so great as that of one human faith looking upon another human faith'. the promises of god, the love of christ for little children, and all that has been given to us of hope and comfort, are as deeply planted in your heart as in mine, and i did not care to quote them. but when i talk face to face with one who is in sore need of them, my faith in them suddenly becomes so vast and heart-stirring that i think i must help most by talking naturally, and letting the faith find its own way from soul to soul. indeed i could not find words for it if i tried. and yet i am compelled, as a messenger of the glad tidings of god, to solemnly assure you that all is well. we have no key to the 'mystery of pain', excepting the cross of christ. but there is another and a deeper solution in the hands of our father. and it will be ours when we can understand it. there is--in the place to which we travel--some blessed explanation of your baby's pain and your grief, which will fill with light the darkest heart. now you must believe without having seen; that is true faith. you must 'reach a hand through time to catch the far-oft interest of tears'. that you may have strength so to do is part of your share in the prayers of yours very faithfully, w. d----." during the summer months i saw much of this clergyman, mr. d---and his wife. we grew into closer intimacy in consequence of the dangerous illness of their only child, a beautiful boy a few months old. i had gained quite a name in cheltenham as a nurse--my praises having been sung by the doctor--and mrs. d---felt she could trust me even with her darling boy while she snatched a night's sorely needed rest. my questionings were not shirked by mr. d----, nor discouraged; he was neither horrified nor sanctimoniously rebuking, but met them all with a wide comprehension inexpressibly soothing to one writhing in the first agony of real doubt. the thought of hell was torturing me; somehow out of the baby's pain through those seemingly endless hours had grown a dim realisation of what hell might be, full of the sufferings of the beloved, and my whole brain and heart revolted from the unutterable cruelty of a creating and destroying god. mr. d---lent me maurice and robertson, and strove to lead me into their wider hope for man, their more trustful faith in god. everyone who has doubted after believing knows how, after the first admitted and recognised doubt, others rush in like a flood, and how doctrine after doctrine starts up in new and lurid light, looking so different in aspect from the fair faint outlines in which it had shone forth in the soft mists of faith. the presence of evil and pain in the world made by a "good god", and the pain falling on the innocent, as on my seven months' old babe; the pain here reaching on into eternity unhealed; these, while i yet believed, drove me desperate, and i believed and hated, instead of like the devils, "believed and trembled". next, i challenged the righteousness of the doctrine of the atonement, and while i worshipped and clung to the suffering christ, i hated the god who required the death sacrifice at his hands. and so for months the turmoil went on, the struggle being all the more terrible for the very desperation with which i strove to cling to some planks of the wrecked ship of faith on the tossing sea of doubt. after mr. d---left cheltenham, as he did in the early autumn of 1871, he still aided me in my mental struggles. he had advised me to read mcleod campbell's work on the atonement, as one that would meet many of the difficulties that lay on the surface of the orthodox view, and in answer to a letter dealing with this really remarkable work, he wrote (nov. 22, 1871): "(1) the two passages on pp. 25 and 108 you doubtless interpret quite rightly. in your third reference to pp. 117, 188, you forget one great principle--that god is impassive; cannot suffer. christ, qu㢠_god_, did not suffer, but as son of _man_ and in his _humanity_. still, it may be correctly stated that he felt to sin and sinners 'as god eternally feels'--_i.e., abhorrence of sin and love of the sinner_. but to infer from that that the father in his godhead feels the sufferings which christ experienced solely in humanity, and because incarnate, is, i think, wrong. "(2) i felt strongly inclined to blow you up for the last part of your letter. you assume, i think quite gratuitously, that god condemns the major part of his children to objectless future suffering. you say that if he does not, he places a book in their hands which threatens what he does not mean to inflict. but how utterly this seems to me opposed to the gospel of christ. all christ's reference to eternal punishment may be resolved into reference to the valley of hinnom, by way of imagery; with the exception of the dives parable, where is distinctly inferred a moral amendment beyond the grave. i speak of the unselfish desire of dives to save his brothers. the more i see of the controversy the more baseless does the eternal punishment theory appear. it seems, then, to me, that instead of feeling aggrieved and shaken, you ought to feel encouraged and thankful that god is so much better than you were taught to believe him. you will have discovered by this time, in maurice's 'what is revelation' (i suppose you have the 'sequel' too?) that god's truth _is_ our truth, and his love is our love, only more perfect and full. there is no position more utterly defeated in modern philosophy and theology, than dean mansel's attempt to show that god's justice, love, etc., are different in kind from ours. mill and maurice, from totally alien points of view, have shown up the preposterous nature of the notion. "(3) a good deal of what you have thought is, i fancy, based on a strange forgetfulness of your former experience. if you have known christ (whom to know is eternal life)--and that you have known him i am certain--can you really say that a few intellectual difficulties, nay, a few moral difficulties if you will, are able at once to obliterate the testimony of that higher state of being? "why, the keynote of all my theology is that christ is loveable because, and _just_ because, he is the perfection of all that i know to be noble and generous, and loving, and tender, and true. if an angel from heaven brought me a gospel which contained doctrines that would not stand the test of such perfect loveableness--doctrines hard, or cruel, or unjust--i should reject him and his trumpery gospel with scorn, knowing that neither could be christ's. "know christ and judge religions by him; don't judge him by religions, and then complain because you find yourself looking at him through a blood-colored glass.... "i am saturating myself with maurice, who is the antidote given by god to this age against all dreary doubtings and temptings of the devil to despair." on these lines weary strife went on for months, until at last brain and health gave way completely, and for weeks i lay prostrate and helpless, in terrible ceaseless head-pain, unable to find relief in sleep. the doctor tried every form of relief in vain; he covered my head with ice, he gave me opium--which only drove me mad--he used every means his skill could dictate to remove the pain, but all failed. at last he gave up the attempt to cure physically, and tried mental diversion; he brought me up books on anatomy and persuaded me to study them; i have still an analysis made by me at that time of luther holden's "human osteology ". he was wise enough to see that if i were to be brought back to reasonable life, it could only be by diverting thought from the currents in which it had been running to a dangerous extent. no one who has not felt it knows the fearful agony caused by doubt to the earnestly religious mind. there is in this life no other pain so horrible. the doubt seems to shipwreck everything, to destroy the one steady gleam of happiness "on the other side" that no earthly storm could obscure; to make all life gloomy with a horror of despair, a darkness that may verily be felt. fools talk of atheism as the outcome of foul life and vicious thought. they, in their shallow heartlessness, their brainless stupidity, cannot even dimly imagine the anguish of the mere penumbra of the eclipse of faith, much less the horror of that great darkness in which the orphaned soul cries out into the infinite emptiness: "is it a devil who has made this world? are we the sentient toys of an almighty power, who sports with our agony, and whose peals of awful mocking laughter echo the wailings of our despair?" vii. on recovering from that prostrating physical pain, i came to a very definite decision. i resolved that, whatever might be the result, i would take each dogma of the christian religion, and carefully and thoroughly examine it, so that i should never again say "i believe" where i had not proved. so, patiently and steadily, i set to work. four problems chiefly at this time pressed for solution. i. the eternity of punishment after death. ii. the meaning of "goodness" and "love" as applied to a god who had made this world with all its evil and its misery. iii. the nature of the atonement of christ, and the "justice" of god in accepting a vicarious suffering from christ, and a vicarious righteousness from the sinner. iv. the meaning of "inspiration" as applied to the bible, and the reconciliation of the perfection of the author with the blunders and the immoralities of the work. maurice's writings now came in for very careful study, and i read also those of robertson, of brighton, and of stopford brooke, striving to find in these some solid ground whereon i might build up a new edifice of faith. that ground, however, i failed to find; there were poetry, beauty, enthusiasm, devotion; but there was no rock on which i might take my stand. mansel's bampton lectures on "the limits of religious thought" deepened and intensified my doubts. his arguments seemed to make certainty impossible, and i could not suddenly turn round and believe to order, as he seemed to recommend, because proof was beyond reach. i could not, and would not, adore in god as the highest righteousness that which, in man was condemned as harsh, as cruel, and as unjust. in the midst of this long mental struggle, a change occurred in the outward circumstances of my life. i wrote to lord hatherley and asked him if he could give mr. besant a crown living, and he offered us first one in northumberland, near alnwick castle, and then one in lincolnshire, the village of sibsey, with a vicarage house, and an income of â£410 per annum. we decided to accept the latter. the village was scattered over a considerable amount of ground, but the work was not heavy. the church was one of the fine edifices for which the fen country is so famous, and the vicarage was a comfortable house, with large and very beautiful gardens and paddock, and with outlying fields. the people were farmers and laborers, with a sprinkling of shopkeepers; the only "society" was that of the neighboring clergy, tory and prim to an appalling extent. there was here plenty of time for study, and of that time i vigorously availed myself. but no satisfactory light came to me, and the suggestions and arguments of my friend mr. d---failed to bring conviction to my mind. it appeared clear to me that the doctrine of eternal punishment was taught in the bible, and the explanations given of the word "eternal" by men like maurice and stanley, did not recommend themselves to me as anything more than skilful special pleading-evasions, not clearings up, of a moral difficulty. for the problem was: given a good god, how can he have created mankind, knowing beforehand that the vast majority of those whom he had created were to be tortured for evermore? given a just god, how can he punish people for being sinful, when they have inherited a sinful nature without their own choice and of necessity? given a righteous god, how can he allow sin to exist for ever, so that evil shall be as eternal as good, and satan shall reign in hell, as long as christ in heaven? the answer of the broad church school was, that the word "eternal" applied only to god and to life which was one with his; that "everlasting" only meant "lasting for an age", and that while the punishment of the wicked might endure for ages it was purifying, not destroying, and at last all should be saved, and "god should be all in all". these explanations had (for a time) satisfied mr. d----, and i find him writing to me in answer to a letter of mine dated march 25th, 1872: "on the subject of eternal punishment i have now not the remotest doubt. it is impossible to handle the subject exhaustively in a letter, with a sermon to finish before night. but you _must_ get hold of a few valuable books that would solve all kinds of difficulties for you. for most points read stopford brooke's sermons--they are simply magnificent, and are called (1) christian modern life, (2) freedom in the church of england, (3) and (least helpful) 'sermons'. then again there is an appendix to llewellyn davies' 'manifestation of the son of god', which treats of forgiveness in a future state as related to christ and bible. as to that special passage about the blasphemy against the holy ghost (to which you refer), i will write you my notions on it in a future letter." a little later, according, he wrote: "with regard to your passage of difficulty about the unpardonable sin, i would say: (1) if that sin is not to be forgiven in the world to come, it is implied that all other sins _are forgiven in the world to come_. (2) you must remember that our lord's parables and teachings mainly concerned contemporary events and people. i mean, for instance, that in his great prophecy of _judgment_ he simply was speaking of the destruction of the jewish polity and nation. the _principles_ involved apply through all time, but he did not apply them except to the jewish nation. he was speaking then, not of 'the end of the _world_, (as is wrongly translated), but of 'the end of the _age_'. (every age is wound up with a judgment. french revolutions, reformations, etc., are all ends of ages and judgments.) [greek aion] does not, cannot, will not, and never did mean _world_, but _age_. well, then, he has been speaking of the jewish people. and he says that all words spoken against the son of man will be forgiven. but there is a blasphemy against the holy spirit of god--there is a confusion of good with evil, of light with darkness--which goes deeper down than this. when a nation has lost the faculty of distinguishing love from hatred, the spirit of falsehood and hypocrisy from the spirit of truth, god from the devil--_then its doom is pronounced_--the decree is gone forth against it. as the doom of judaism, guilty of this sin, _was then_ pronounced. as the _decree against it had already gone forth. it is a national warning, not an individual one. it applies to two ages of this world, and not to two worlds_. all its teaching was primarily _national_, and is only thus to be rightly read-if not all, rather _most of it_. if you would be sure of this and understand it, see the parables, etc., explained in maurice's 'gospel of the kingdom of heaven' (a commentary on s. luke). i can only indicate briefly in a letter the line to be taken on this question. "with regard to the [greek: elui, elui, lama sabbachthani]. i don't believe that the father even momentarily hid his face from him. the life of sonship was unbroken. remark: (1) it is a quotation from a psalm. (2) it rises naturally to a suffering man's lips as expressive of agony, though not exactly framed for _his_ individual _agony_. (3) the spirit of the psalm is one of trust, and hope, and full faith, notwithstanding the 1st verse. (4) our lord's agony was very extreme, not merely of body but of _soul_. he spoke out of the desolation of one forsaken, not by his divine father but by his human brothers. i have heard sick and dying men use the words of beloved psalms in just such a manner. "the impassibility of god (1) with regard to the incarnation, this presents no difficulty. christ suffered simply and entirely as man, was too truly a man not to do so. (2) with regard to the father, the key of it is here. 'god _is_ love.' he does not need suffering to train into sympathy, because his nature is sympathy. he can afford to dispense with hysterics, because he sees ahead that his plan is working to the perfect result. i am not quite sure whether i have hit upon your difficulty here, as i have destroyed your last letter but one. but the 'gospel of the kingdom' is a wonderful 'eye-opener'." worst of all the puzzles, perhaps, was that of the existence of evil and of misery, and the racking doubt whether god _could_ be good, and yet look on the evil and the misery of the world unmoved and untouched. it seemed so impossible to believe that a creator could be either cruel enough to be indifferent to the misery, or weak enough to be unable to stop it: the old dilemma faced me unceasingly. "if he can prevent it, and does not, he is not good; if he wishes to prevent it, and cannot, he is not almighty;" and out of this i could find no way of escape. not yet had any doubt of the existence of god crossed my mind. in august, 1872 mr. d---tried to meet this difficulty. he wrote: "with regard to the impassibility of god, i think there is a stone wrong among your foundations which causes your difficulty. another wrong stone is, i think, your view of the nature of the _sin_ and _error_ which is supposed to grieve god. i take it that sin is an absolutely necessary factor in the production of the perfect man. it was foreseen and allowed as a means to an end--as in fact an _education_. "the view of all the sin and misery in the world cannot grieve god, any more than it can grieve you to see digby fail in his first attempt to build a card-castle or a rabbit-hutch. all is part of the training. god looks at the ideal man to which all tends. the popular idea of the fall is to me a very absurd one. there was never an ideal state in the past, but there will be in the future. the genesis allegory simply typifies the first awakening of consciousness of good and evil--of two _wills_ in a mind hitherto only animal-psychic. "well then--there being no occasion for grief in watching the progress of his own perfect and unfailing plans--your difficulty in god's impassibility vanishes. christ, _quã¢_ god, was, of course, impassible too. it seems to me that your position implies that god's 'designs' have partially (at least) failed, and hence the grief of perfect benevolence. now i stoutly deny that any jot or tittle of god's plans can fail. i believe in the ordering of all for the best. i think that the pain consequent on broken law is only an inevitable necessity, over which we shall some day rejoice. "the indifference shown to god's love cannot pain him. why? because it is simply a sign of defectiveness in the creature which the ages will rectify. the being who is indifferent is not yet educated up to the point of love. but he _will be_. the pure and holy suffering of christ was (pardon me) _wholly_ the consequence of his human nature. true it was because of the _perfection_ of his humanity. but his divinity had nothing to do with it. it was his _human heart_ that broke. it was because he entered a world of broken laws and of incomplete education that he became involved in suffering with the rest of his race..... "no, mrs. besant; i never feel at all inclined to give up the search, or to suppose that the other side may be right. i claim no merit for it, but i have an invincible faith in the morality of god and the moral order of the world. i have no more doubt about the falsehood of the popular theology than i have about the unreality of six robbers who attacked me three nights ago in a horrid dream. i exult and rejoice in the grandeur and freedom of the little bit of truth it has been given me to see. i am told that 'present-day papers', by bishop ewing (edited) are a wonderful help, many of them, to puzzled people: i mean to get them. but i am sure you will find that the truth will (even so little as we may be able to find out) grow on you, make you free, light your path, and dispel, at no distant time, your _painful_ difficulties and doubts. i should say on no account give up your reading. i think with you that you could not do without it. it will be a wonderful source of help and peace to you. for there are struggles far more fearful than those of intellectual doubt. i am keenly alive to the gathered-up sadness of which your last two pages are an expression. i was sorrier than i can say to read them. they reminded me of a long and very dark time in my own life, when i thought the light never would come. thank god it came, or i think i could not have held out much longer. but you have evidently strength to bear it now. the more dangerous time, i should fancy, has passed. you will have to mind that the fermentation leaves clear spiritual wine, and not (as too often) vinegar. "i wish i could write something more helpful to you in this great matter. but as i sit in front of my large bay window, and see the shadows on the grass and the sunlight on the leaves, and the soft glimmer of the rosebuds left by the storms, i cannot but believe that all will be very well. 'trust in the lord; wait patiently for him'--they are trite words. but he made the grass, the leaves, the rosebuds, and the sunshine, and he is the father of our lord jesus christ. and now the trite words have swelled into a mighty argument." despite reading and argument, my scepticism grew only deeper and deeper. the study of w.r. greg's "creed of christendom", of matthew arnold's "literature and dogma", helped to widen the mental horizon, while making a return to the old faith more and more impossible. the church services were a weekly torture, but feeling as i did that i was only a doubter, i spoke to none of my doubts. it was possible, i felt, that all my difficulties might be cleared up, and i had no right to shake the faith of others while in uncertainty myself. others had doubted and had afterwards believed; for the doubter silence was a duty; the blinded had better keep their misery to themselves. i found some practical relief in parish work of a non-doctrinal kind, in nursing the sick, in trying to brighten a little the lot of the poor of the village. but here, again, i was out of sympathy with most of those around me. the movement among the agricultural laborers, due to the energy and devotion of joseph arch, was beginning to be talked of in the fens, and bitter were the comments of the farmers on it, while i sympathised with the other side. one typical case, which happened some months later, may stand as example of all. there was a young man, married, with two young children, who was wicked enough to go into a neighboring county to a "union meeting", and who was, further, wicked enough to talk about it when he returned. he became a marked man; no farmer would employ him. he tramped about vainly, looking for work, grew reckless, and took to drink. visiting his cottage one day i found his wife ill, a dead child in the bed, a sick child in her arms; yes, she "was pining; there was no work to be had". "why did she leave the dead child on the bed? because there was no other place to put it." the cottage consisted of one room and a "lean-to", and husband and wife, the child dead of fever and the younger child sickening with it, were all obliged to lie on the one bed. in another cottage i found four generations sleeping in one room, the great-grandfather and his wife, the grandmother (unmarried), the mother (unmarried), and the little child, while three men-lodgers completed the tale of eight human beings crowded into that narrow, ill-ventilated garret. other cottages were hovels, through the broken roofs of which poured the rain, and wherein rheumatism and ague lived with the dwellers. how could i do aught but sympathise with any combination that aimed at the raising of these poor? but to sympathise with joseph arch was a crime in the eyes of the farmers, who knew that his agitation meant an increased drain on their pockets. for it never struck them that, if they paid less in rent to the absent landlord, they might pay more in wage to the laborers who helped to make their wealth, and they had only civil words for the burden that crushed them, and harsh ones for the builders-up of their ricks and the mowers of their harvests. they made common cause with their enemy, instead of with their friend, and instead of leaguing themselves with the laborers, as forming together the true agricultural interest, they leagued themselves with the landlords against the laborers, and so made fratricidal strife instead of easy victory over the common foe. in the summer and autumn of 1872, i was a good deal in london with my mother.--my health had much broken down, and after a severe attack of congestion of the lungs, my recovery was very slow. one sunday in london, i wandered into st. george's hall, in which mr. charles voysey was preaching, and there i bought some of his sermons. to my delight i found that someone else had passed through the same difficulties as i about hell and the bible and the atonement and the character of god, and had given up all these old dogmas, while still clinging to belief in god. i went to st. george's hall again on the following sunday, and in the little ante-room, after the service, i found myself in a stream of people, who were passing by mr. and mrs. voysey, some evidently known to him, some strangers, many of the latter thanking him for his morning's work. as i passed in my turn i said: "i must thank you for very great help in what you have said this morning", for indeed the possibility opened of a god who was really "loving unto every man", and in whose care each was safe for ever, had come like a gleam of light across the stormy sea of doubt and distress on which i had been tossing for nearly twelve months. on the following sunday, i saw them again, and was cordially invited down to their dulwich home, where they gave welcome to all in doubt. i soon found that the theism they professed was free from the defects which revolted me in christianity. it left me god as a supreme goodness, while rejecting all the barbarous dogmas of the christian faith. i now read theodore parker's "discourse on religion", francis newman's "hebrew monarchy", and other works, many of the essays of miss frances power cobbe and of other theistic writers, and i no longer believed in the old dogmas and hated while i believed; i no longer doubted whether they were true or not; i shook them off, once for all, with all their pain, and horror, and darkness, and felt, with relief and joy inexpressible, that they were all but the dreams of ignorant and semi-savage minds, not the revelation of a god. the last remnant of christianity followed swiftly these cast-off creeds, though, in parting with this, one last pang was felt. it was the doctrine of the deity of christ. the whole teaching of the broad church school tends, of course, to emphasise the humanity at the expense of the deity of christ, and when the eternal punishment and the substitutionary atonement had vanished, there seemed to be no sufficient reason left for so stupendous a miracle as the incarnation of the deity. i saw that the idea of incarnation was common to all eastern creeds, not peculiar to christianity; the doctrine of the unity of god repelled the doctrine of the incarnation of a portion of the godhead. but the doctrine was dear from association; there was something at once soothing and ennobling in the idea of a union between man and god, between a perfect man and divine supremacy, between a human heart and an almighty strength. jesus as god was interwoven with all art, with all beauty in religion; to break with the deity of jesus was to break with music, with painting, with literature; the divine child in his mother's arms, the divine man in his passion and in his triumph, the human friend encircled with the majesty of the godhead--did inexorable truth demand that this ideal figure, with all its pathos, its beauty, its human love, should pass into the pantheon of the dead gods of the past? viii. the struggle was a sharp one ere i could decide that intellectual honesty demanded that the question of the deity of christ should be analysed as strictly as all else, and that the conclusions come to from an impartial study of facts should be faced as steadily as though they dealt with some unimportant question. i was bound to recognise, however, that more than intellectual honesty would be here required, for if the result of the study were--as i dimly felt it would be--to establish disbelief in the supernatural claims of christ, i could not but feel that such disbelief would necessarily entail most unpleasant external results. i might give up belief in all save this, and yet remain a member of the church of england: views on inspiration, on eternal torture, on the vicarious atonement, however heterodox, might be held within the pale of the church; many broad church clergymen rejected these as decidedly as i did myself, and yet remained members of the establishment; the judgment on "essays and reviews" gave this wide liberty to heresy within the church, and a laywoman might well claim the freedom of thought legally bestowed on divines. the name "christian" might well be worn while christ was worshipped as god, and obeyed as the "revealer of the father's will", the "well-beloved son", the "savior and lord of men". but once challenge that unique position, once throw off that supreme sovereignty, and then it seemed to me that the name "christian" became a hypocrisy, and its renouncement a duty incumbent on an upright mind. but i was a clergyman's wife; my position made my participation in the holy communion a necessity, and my withdrawal therefrom would be an act marked and commented upon by all. yet if i lost my faith in christ, how could i honestly approach "the lord's table", where christ was the central figure and the recipient of the homage paid there by every worshipper to "god made man"? hitherto mental pain alone had been the price demanded inexorably from the searcher after truth; now to the inner would be added the outer warfare, and how could i tell how far this might carry me? one night only i spent in this struggle over the question: "shall i examine the claims to deity of jesus of nazareth?". when morning broke the answer was clearly formulated: "truth is greater than peace or position. if jesus be god, challenge will not shake his deity; if he be man, it is blasphemy to worship him." i re-read liddon's "bampton lectures" on this controversy and renan's "vie de jesus". i studied the gospels, and tried to represent to myself the life there outlined; i tested the conduct there given as i should have tested the conduct of any ordinary historical character; i noted that in the synoptics no claim to deity was made by jesus himself, nor suggested by his disciples; i weighed his own answer to an enquirer, with its plain disavowal of godhood: "why callest thou me good? there is none good save one, that is god" (matt, xix., 17); i conned over his prayers to "my father", his rest on divine protection, his trust in a power greater than his own; i noted his repudiation of divine knowledge: "of that day and that hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels which are in heaven, _neither the son_, but the father" (mark xiii., 32); i studied the meaning of his prayer of anguished submission: "o my father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me! nevertheless, not as i will, but as thou wilt" (matt, xxvi., 39); i dwelt on his bitter cry in his dying agony: "my god, my god, why hast thou forsaken me?" (matt, xxvii., 46); i asked the meaning of the final words of rest: "father, into thy hands i commend my spirit" (luke xxiii., 46). and i saw that, if there were any truth in the gospels at all, they told the story of a struggling, suffering, sinning, praying man, and not of a god at all and the dogma of the deity of christ followed the rest of the christian doctrines into the limbo of past beliefs. yet one other effort i made to save myself from the difficulties i foresaw in connexion with this final breach with christianity. there was one man who had in former days wielded over me a great influence, one whose writings had guided and taught me for many years--dr. pusey, the venerable leader of the catholic party in the church, the learned patristic scholar, full of the wisdom of antiquity. he believed in christ as god; what if i put my difficulties to him? if he resolved them for me i should escape the struggle i foresaw; if he could not resolve them, then no answer to them was to be hoped for. my decision was quickly made; being with my mother, i could write to him unnoticed, and i sat down and put my questions clearly and fully, stating my difficulties and asking him whether, out of his wider knowledge and deeper reading, he could resolve them for me. i wish i could here print his answer, together with two or three other letters i received from him, but the packet was unfortunately stolen from my desk and i have never recovered it. dr. pusey advised me to read liddon's "bampton lectures", referred me to various passages, chiefly from the fourth gospel, if i remember rightly, and invited me to go down to oxford and talk over my difficulties. liddon's "bampton lectures" i had thoroughly studied, and the fourth gospel had no weight with me, the arguments in favor of its alexandrian origin being familiar to me, but i determined to accept his invitation to a personal interview, regarding it as the last chance of remaining in the church. to oxford, accordingly, i took the train, and made my way to the famous doctor's rooms. i was shown in, and saw a short, stout gentleman, dressed in a cassock, and looking like a comfortable monk; but the keen eyes, steadfastly gazing straight into mine, told me of the power and subtlety hidden by the unprepossessing form. the head was fine and impressive, the voice low, penetrating, drilled into a somewhat monotonous and artificially subdued tone. i quickly found that no sort of enlightenment could possibly result from our interview. he treated me as a penitent going to confession, seeking the advice of a director, not as an enquirer struggling after truth, and resolute to obtain some firm standing-ground in the sea of doubt, whether on the shores of orthodoxy or of heresy. he would not deal with the question of the deity of jesus as a question for argument; he reminded me: "you are speaking of your judge," when i pressed some question. the mere suggestion of an imperfection in jesus' character made him shudder in positive pain, and he checked me with raised hand, and the rebuke: "you are blaspheming; the very thought is a terrible sin". i asked him if he could recommend to me any books which would throw light on the subject: "no, no, you have read too much already. you must pray; you must pray." then, as i said that i could not believe without proof, i was told: "blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed," and my further questioning was checked by the murmur: "o my child, how undisciplined! how impatient!". truly, he must have found in me--hot, eager, passionate in my determination to know, resolute not to profess belief while belief was absent--but very little of that meek, chastened, submissive spirit to which he was accustomed in the penitents wont to seek his counsel as their spiritual guide. in vain did he bid me pray as though i believed; in vain did he urge the duty of blind submission to the authority of the church, of yielding, unreasoning faith, which received but questioned not. he had no conception of the feelings of the sceptical spirit; his own faith was solid as a rock-firm, satisfied, unshakeable; he would as soon have committed suicide as have doubted of the infallibility of the "universal church". "it is not your duty to ascertain the truth," he told me sternly. "it is your duty to accept and to believe the truth as laid down by the church; at your peril you reject it; the responsibility is not yours so long as you dutifully accept that which the church has laid down for your acceptance. did not the lord promise that the presence of the spirit should be ever with his church, to guide her into all truth?" "but the fact of the promise and its value are the very points on which i am doubtful," i answered. he shuddered. "pray, pray," he said. "father, forgive her, for she knows not what she says." it was in vain i urged that i had everything to gain and nothing to lose by following his directions, but that it seemed to me that fidelity to truth forbade a pretended acceptance of that which was not believed. "everything to lose? yes, indeed. you will be lost for time and lost for eternity." "lost or not," i rejoined, "i must and will try to find out what is true, and i will not believe till i am sure." "you have no right to make terms with god," he answered, "as to what you will believe and what you will not believe. you are full of intellectual pride." i sighed hopelessly. little feeling of pride was there in me just then, and i felt that in this rigid unyielding dogmatism there was no comprehension of my difficulties, no help for me in my strugglings. i rose and, thanking him for his courtesy, said that i would not waste his time further, that i must go home and just face the difficulties out, openly leaving the church and taking the consequences. then for the first time his serenity was ruffled. "i forbid you to speak of your disbelief," he cried. "i forbid you to lead into your own lost state the souls for whom christ died." slowly and sadly i took my way back to the station, knowing that my last chance of escape had failed me. i recognised in this famous divine the spirit of the priest, which could be tender and pitiful to the sinner, repentant, humble, submissive, craving only for pardon and for guidance, but which was iron to the doubter, to the heretic, and would crush out all questionings of "revealed truth", silencing by force, not by argument, all challenge of the traditions of the church. out of such men were made the inquisitors of the middle ages, perfectly conscientious, perfectly rigid, perfectly merciless to the heretic. to them heretics were and are centres of infectious disease, and charity to them "the worst cruelty to the souls of men". certain that they hold "by no merit of our own, but by the mercy of our god the one truth which he hath revealed", they can permit no questionings, they can accept nought but the most complete submission. but while man aspires after truth, while his brain yearns after knowledge, while his intellect soars upward into the heaven of speculation and "beats the air with tireless wing", so long shall those who demand faith be met by challenge for proof, and those who would blind him shall be defeated by his determination to gaze unblenching on the face of truth, even though her eyes should turn him into stone. during this same visit to london i saw mr. and mrs. thomas scott for the first time. i had gone down to dulwich to see mr. and mrs. voysey, and after dinner we went over to upper norwood, and i was introduced to one of the most remarkable men i have ever met. at that time mr. scott was an old man, with beautiful white hair, and eyes like those of a hawk gleaming from under shaggy eyebrows; he had been a man of magnificent physique, and though his frame was then enfeebled, the splendid lion-like head kept its impressive strength and beauty, and told of a unique personality. of scotch descent and wellborn, thomas scott had, as a boy, been a page at the french court; his manhood was spent in many lands, for he "was a mighty hunter", though not "before the lord". he had lived for months among the north american indians, sharing the hardships of their wild life; he had hunted and fished all over the world. at last, he came home, married, and ultimately settled down at ramsgate, where he made his home a centre of heretical thought. he issued an enormous number of tracts and pamphlets, and each month he sent out a small packet to hundreds of subscribers and friends. this monthly issue of heretical literature soon made itself a power in the world of thought; the tracts were of various shades of opinion, but were all heretical: some moderate, some extreme; all were well-written, cultured and polished in tone--this was a rule to which mr. scott made no exceptions; his writers might say what they liked, but they must have something real to say, and they must say that something in good english. the little white packets found their way into many a quiet country parsonage, into many a fashionable home. his correspondence was world-wide and came from all classes--now a letter from a prime minister, now one from a blacksmith. all were equally welcome, and all were answered with equal courtesy. at his house met people of the most varying opinions. colenso, bishop of natal, edward maitland, e. vansittart neale, charles bray, sara hennell, w.j. birch, r. suffield, and hundreds more, clerics and laymen, scholars and thinkers, all gathered in this one home, to which the right of _entrã©e_ was gained only by love of truth and desire to spread freedom among men. mr. scott devoted his fortune to this great work. he would never let publishers have his pamphlets in the ordinary way of trade, but issued them all himself and distributed them gratuitously. if anyone desired to subscribe, well and good, they might help in the work, but make it a matter of business he would not. if anyone sent money for some tracts, he would send out double the worth of the money enclosed, and thus for years he carried on this splendid propagandist work. in all he was nobly seconded by his wife, his "right hand" as he well named her, a sweet, strong, gentle, noble woman, worthy of her husband, and than that no higher praise can be spoken. of both i shall have more to say hereafter, but at present we are at the time of my first visit to them at upper norwood, whither they had removed from ramsgate. kindly greeting was given by both, and on mr. voysey suggesting that judging by one essay of mine that he had seen--an essay which was later expanded into the one on "inspiration", in the scott series--my pen would be useful for propagandist work, mr. scott bade me try what i could do, and send him for criticism anything i thought good enough for publication; he did not, of course, promise to accept an essay, but he promised to read it. a question arose as to the name to be attached to the essay, in case of publication, and i told him that my name was not my own to use, and that i did not suppose that mr. besant could possibly, in his position, give me permission to attach it to a heretical essay; we agreed that any essays i might write should for the present be published anonymously, and that i should try my hand to begin with on the subject of the "deity of jesus of nazareth". and so i parted from those who were to be such good friends to me in the coming time of struggle. ix. my resolve was now made, and henceforth there was at least no more doubt so far as my position towards the church was concerned. i made up my mind to leave it, but was willing to make the leaving as little obtrusive as possible. on my return to sibsey i stated clearly the ground on which i stood. i was ready to attend the church services, joining in such parts as were addressed to "the supreme being", for i was still heartily theistic; "the father", shorn of all the horrible accessories hung round him by christianity, was still to me an object of adoration, and i could still believe in and worship one who was "righteous in all his ways, and holy in all his works", although the moloch to whom was sacrificed the well-beloved son had passed away for ever from my creed. christian i was not, though theist i was, and i felt that the wider and more generous faith would permit me to bow to the common god with my christian brethren, if only i was not compelled to pay homage to that "son of man" whom christians believed divine, homage which to me had become idolatry, insulting to the "one god", to him of whom jesus himself had spoken as of "my god and your god". simply enough was the difficulty arranged for the moment. it was agreed that i should withdraw myself from the "holy communion"--for in that service, full of the recognition of jesus as deity, i could not join without hypocrisy. the ordinary services i would attend, merely remaining silent during those portions of them in which i could not honestly take part, and while i knew that these changes in a clergyman's wife could not pass unnoticed in a country village, i yet felt that nothing less than this was consistent with barest duty. while i had merely doubted, i had kept silence, and no act of mine had suggested doubt to others. now that i had no doubt that christianity was a delusion, i would no longer act as though i believed that to be of god which heart and intellect rejected as untrue. for awhile all went smoothly. i daresay the parishioners gossipped about the absence of their vicar's wife from the sacrament, and indeed i remember the pain and trembling wherewith, on the first "sacrament sunday" after my return, i rose from my seat and walked quietly from the church, leaving the white-spread altar. that the vicar's wife should "communicate" was as much a matter of course as that the vicar should "administer"; i had never in my life taken public part in anything that made me noticeable in any way among strangers, and still i can recall the feeling of deadly sickness that well nigh overcame me, as rising to go out i felt that every eye in the church was on me, and that my exit would be the cause of unending comment. as a matter of fact, everyone thought that i was taken suddenly ill, and many were the calls and enquiries on the following day. to any direct question, i answered quietly that i was unable to take part in the profession of faith required from an honest communicant, but the statement was rarely necessary, for the idea of heresy in a vicar's wife did not readily suggest itself to the ordinary bucolic mind, and i did not proffer information when it was unasked for. it happened that, shortly after that (to me) memorable christmas of 1872, a sharp epidemic of typhoid fever broke out in the village of sibsey. the drainage there was of the most primitive type, and the contagion spread rapidly. naturally fond of nursing, i found in this epidemic work just fitted to my hand, and i was fortunate enough to be able to lend personal help that made me welcome in the homes of the stricken poor. the mothers who slept exhausted while i watched beside their darlings' bedsides will never, i like to fancy, think over harshly of the heretic whose hand was as tender and often more skilful than their own. i think mother nature meant me for a nurse, for i take a sheer delight in nursing anyone, provided only that there is peril in the sickness, so that there is the strange and solemn feeling of the struggle between the human skill one wields and the supreme enemy, death. there is a strange fascination in fighting death, step by step, and this is of course felt to the full where one fights for life as life, and not for a life one loves. when the patient is beloved, the struggle is touched with agony, but where one fights with death over the body of a stranger, there is a weird enchantment in the contest without personal pain, and as one forces back the hated foe there is a curious triumph in the feeling which marks the death-grip yielding up its prey, as one snatches back to earth the life which had well-nigh perished. meanwhile, the promise to mr. scott was not forgotten, and i penned the essay on "the deity of jesus of nazareth" which stands first in the collection of essays published later under the title, "my path to atheism". the only condition annexed to my sending it to mr. scott was the perfectly fair one that if published it should appear without my name. mr. scott was well pleased with the essay, and before long it was printed as one of the "scott series", to my great delight. but unfortunately a copy sent to a relative of mr. besant's brought about a storm. that gentlemen did not disagree with it--indeed he admitted that all educated persons must hold the views put forward--but what would society say? what would "the county families" think if one of the clerical party was known to be a heretic. this dreadful little paper bore the inscription "by the wife of a beneficed clergyman"; what would happen if the "wife of the beneficed clergyman" were identified with mrs. besant of sibsey? after some thought i made a compromise. alter or hide my faith i would not, but yield personal feelings i would. i gave up my correspondence with mr. and mrs. voysey, which might, it was alleged, he noticed in the village and so give rise to mischievous gossip. in this mr. and mrs. voysey most generously helped me, bidding me rest assured of their cordial friendship while counselling me for awhile to cease the correspondence which was one of the few pleasures of my life, but was not part of my duty to the higher and freer faith which we had all embraced. with keen regret i bade them for awhile farewell, and went back to my lonely life. in that spring of 1873, i delivered my first lecture. it was delivered to no one, queer as that may sound to my readers. and indeed, it was queer altogether. i was learning to play the organ, and was in the habit of practising in the church by myself, without a blower. one day, being securely locked in, i thought i would like to try how "it felt" to speak from the pulpit. some vague fancies were stirring in me, that i could speak if i had the chance; very vague they were, for the notion that i might ever speak on the platform had never dawned on me; only the longing to find outlet in words was in me; the feeling that i had something to say, and the yearning to say it. so, queer as it may seem? i ascended the pulpit in the big, empty, lonely church, and there and then i delivered my first lecture! i shall never forget the feeling of power and of delight which came upon me as my voice rolled down the aisles, and the passion in me broke into balanced sentences, and never paused for rhythmical expression, while i felt that all i wanted was to see the church full of upturned faces, instead of the emptiness of the silent pews. and as though in a dream the solitude became peopled, and i saw the listening faces and the eager eyes, and as the sentences came unbidden from my lips, and my own tones echoed back to me from the pillars of the ancient church, i knew of a verity that the gift of speech was mine, and that if ever--and it seemed then so impossible--if ever the chance came to me of public work, that at least this power of melodious utterance should win hearing for any message i had to bring. but that knowledge remained a secret all to my own self for many a long month, for i quickly felt ashamed of that foolish speechifying in an empty church, and i only recall it now because, in trying to trace out one's mental growth, it is only fair to notice the first silly striving after that expression in spoken words, which, later, has become to me one of the deepest delights of life. and indeed none can know save they who have felt it what joy there is in the full rush of language which, moves and sways; to feel a crowd respond to the lightest touch; to see the faces brighten or graven at your bidding; to know that the sources of human passion and human emotion gush at the word of the speaker, as the stream from the riven rock; to feel that the thought that thrills through a thousand hearers has its impulse from you and throbs back to you the fuller from a thousand heart-beats; is there any joy in life more brilliant than this, fuller of passionate triumph, and of the very essence of intellectual delight? my pen was busy, and a second pamphlet, dealing with the johannine gospel, was written and sent up to mr. scott under the same conditions of anonymity as before, for it was seen that my authorship could in nowise be suspected, and mr. scott paid me for my work. i had also made a collection of theistic, but non-christian, hymns, with a view of meeting a want felt by mr. voysey's congregation at st. george's hall, and this was lying idle, while it might be utilised. so it was suggested that i should take up again my correspondence with mr. and mrs. voysey, and glad enough was i to do so. during this time my health was rapidly failing, and in the summer of 1873 it broke down completely. at last i went up to london to consult a physician, and was told i was suffering from general nervous exhaustion, which, was accompanied by much disturbance of the functions of the heart. "there is no organic disease yet," said dr. sibson, "but there soon will be, unless you can completely change your manner of life." such a change was not possible, and i grew rapidly worse. the same bad adviser who had before raised the difficulty of "what will society say?" again interfered, and urged that pressure should be put on me to compel me at least to conform to the outward ceremonies of the church, and to attend the holy communion. this i was resolved not to do, whatever might be the result of my "obstinacy ", and the result was not long in coming. i had been with the children to southsea, to see if the change would restore my shattered health, and stayed in town with my mother on my return under dr. sibson's care. very skilful and very good to me was dr. sibson, giving me for almost nothing all the wealthiest could have bought with their gold, but he could not remove all then in my life which made the re-acquiring of health impossible. what the doctor could not do, however, others did. it was resolved that i should either resume attendance at the communion, or should not return home; hypocrisy or expulsion--such was the alternative; i chose the latter. a bitterly sad time followed; my dear mother was heartbroken; to her, with her wide and vague form of christianity, loosely held, the intensity of my feeling that where i did not believe i would not pretend belief, was incomprehensible. she recognised far more fully than i all that a separation from my home meant for me, and the difficulties which would surround a young woman not yet six-and-twenty, living alone. she knew how brutally the world judges, and how the mere fact that a woman is young and alone justifies any coarseness of slander. then, i did not guess how cruel men and women could be, but knowing it from eleven years' experience, i deliberately say that i would rather go through it all again with my eyes wide open from the first, than have passed those eleven years "in society" under the burden of an acted lie. but the struggle was hard when she prayed me for her sake to give way; against harshness i had been rigid as steel, but to remain steadfast when my darling mother, whom i loved as i loved nothing else on earth, begged me on her knees to yield, was indeed hard. i felt as though it must be a crime to refuse submission when she urged it, but still--to live a lie? not even for her was that possible. then there were the children, the two little ones who worshipped me, i who was to them mother, nurse, and playfellow. were these also to be resigned? for awhile, at least, this complete loss was spared me, for facts (which i have not touched on in this record) came accidentally to my brother's knowledge, and he resolved that i should have the protection of legal separation, and should not be turned wholly penniless and alone into the world. so, when everything was arranged, i found myself possessed of my little girl, of complete personal freedom, and of a small monthly income sufficient for respectable starvation. x. the "world was all before us where to choose", but circumstances narrowed the choice down to hobson's. i had no ready money beyond the first month's payment of my annuity; furnished lodgings were beyond my means, and i had nothing wherewith to buy furniture. my brother offered me a home, on condition that i should give up my "heretical friends" and keep quiet; but, being freed from one bondage, nothing was further from my thoughts than to enter another. besides, i did not choose to be a burden on anyone, and i resolved to "get something to do", to rent a tiny house, and to make a nest where my mother, my little girl, and i could live happily together. the difficulty was the "something"; i spent various shillings in agencies, with a quite wonderful unanimity of failures. i tried to get some fancy needlework, advertised as an infallible source of income to "ladies in reduced circumstances"; i fitted the advertisement admirably, for i was a lady, and my circumstances were decidedly reduced, but i only earned 4s. 6d. by weeks of stitching, and the materials cost nearly as much as the finished work. i experimented with a birmingham firm, who generously offered everyone an opportunity of adding to their incomes, and received in answer to the small fee demanded a pencil-case, with an explanation that i was to sell little articles of that description--going as far as cruet-stands--to my friends; i did not feel equal to springing pencil-cases and cruet-stands casually on my acquaintances, so did not start in that business. it would be idle to relate all the things i tried, and failed in, until i began to think that the "something to do" was not so easy to find as i had expected. i made up my mind to settle at upper norwood, near mr. and mrs. scott, who were more than good to me in my trouble; and i fixed on a very little house in colby road, gipsy hill, to be taken from the ensuing easter. then came the question of furniture; a friend of mr. scott's gave me an introduction to a manufacturer, who agreed to let me have furniture for a bedroom and sitting-room, and to let me pay him by monthly instalments. the next thing was to save a few months' annuity, and so have a little money in hand, wherewith to buy necessaries on starting, and to this end i decided to accept a loving invitation to folkestone, where my grandmother was living with two of my aunts, and there to seek some employment, no matter what, provided it gave me food and lodging, and enabled me to put aside my few pounds a month. relieved from the constant strain of fear and anxiety, my health was quickly improving, and the improvement became more rapid after i went down with my mother to folkestone. the hearty welcome offered to me there was extended with equal warmth to little mabel, who soon arrived, a most forlorn little maiden. she was only three years old, and she had not seen me for some weeks; her passion of delight was pitiful; she clung to me, in literal fashion, for weeks afterwards, and screamed if she lost sight of me for a moment; it was long before she got over the separation and the terror of her lonely journey from sibsey and london in charge only of the guard. but she was a "winsome wee thing", and danced into everyone's heart; after "mamma", "granny" was the prime favorite, and my dear mother worshipped her first grand-daughter; never was prettier picture than the red-golden hair nestled against the white, the baby-grace contrasting with the worn stateliness of her tender nurse. from that time forward-with the exception of a few weeks of which i shall speak presently and of the yearly stay of a month with her father--little mabel was my constant companion, until sir george jessel's brutality robbed me of my child. she would play contentedly while i was working, a word now and again enough to make her happy; when i had to go out without her she would run to the door with me, and the "good-bye" came from down-curved lips, and she was ever watching at the window for my return, and the sunny face was always the first to welcome me home. many and many a time have i been coming home, weary and heart-sick, and the glimpse of the little face watching has reminded me that i must not carry in a grave face to sadden my darling, and the effort to throw off the dreariness for her sake shook it off altogether, and brought back the sunshine. i have never forgiven sir george jessel, and i never shall, though his death has left me only his memory to hate. at folkestone, i continued my search for "something to do", and for some weeks sought for pupils, thinking i might thus turn my heresy to account. but pupils are not readily attainable by a heretic woman, away from her natural home, and with a young child as "encumbrance". it chanced, however, that the vicar of folkestone, mr. woodward, was then without a governess, and his wife was in very delicate health. my people knew him well, and as i had plenty of spare time, i offered to teach the children for a few hours a day. the offer was gladly accepted, and i soon arranged to go and stay at the house for awhile, until he could find a regular governess. i thought that at least i could save my small income while i was there, and mabel and i were to be boarded and lodged in exchange for my work. this work was fairly heavy, but i did not mind that; it soon became heavier. some serious fault on the part of one or both servants led to their sudden retirement, and i became head cook as well as governess and nurse. on the whole, i think i shall not try to live by cooking, if other trades fail; i don't mind boiling and frying, and making pie-crust is rather pleasant, but i do object to lifting saucepans and blistering my hands over heavy kettles. there is a certain charm in making a stew, especially to the unaccustomed cook, because of the excitement of wondering what the result of such various ingredients will be, and whether any flavor save that of onions will survive the competition in the mixture. on the whole my services as cook were voted very successful; i did my cooking better than i did my sweeping: the latter was a failure from sheer want of muscular strength. this curious episode came to an end abruptly. one of my little pupils fell ill with diptheria, and i was transformed from cook into sick-nurse. i sent my mabel off promptly to her dear grandmother's care, and gave myself up to my old delight in nursing. but it is a horrible disease, diptheria, and the suffering of the patient is frightful to witness. i shall never forget the poor little girl's black parched lips and gasping breath. scarcely was she convalescent, when the youngest boy, a fine, strong, healthy little fellow, sickened with scarlet fever. we elders held a consultation, and decided to isolate the top floor from the rest of the house, and to nurse the little lad there; it seemed almost hopeless to prevent such a disease from spreading through a family of children, but our vigorous measures were successful, and none other suffered. i was voted to the post of nurse, and installed myself promptly, taking up the carpets, turning out the curtains, and across the door ways hanging sheets which i kept always wet with chloride of lime. my meals were brought upstairs and put on the landing outside; my patient and i remained completely isolated, until the disease had run its course; and when all risk was over, i proudly handed over my charge, the disease touching no other member of the flock. it was a strange time, those weeks of the autumn and early winter in mr. woodward's house. he was a remarkably good man, very religious and to a very remarkable extent not "of this world". a "priest" to the tips of his finger-nails, and looking on his priestly office as the highest a man could fill, he yet held it always as one which put him at the service of the poorest who needed help. he was very good to me, and, while deeply lamenting my "perversion", held, by some strange unpriestlike charity, that my "unbelief" was but a passing cloud, sent as trial by "the lord", and soon to vanish again, leaving me in the "sunshine of faith". he marvelled much, i learned afterwards, where i gained my readiness to work heartily for others, and to remain serenely content amid the roughnesses of my toiling life. to my great amusement i heard later that his elder daughters, trained in strictest observance of all church ceremonies, had much discussed my non-attendance at the sacrament, and had finally arrived at the conclusion that i had committed some deadly sin, for which the humble work which i undertook at their house was the appointed penance, and that i was excluded from "the blessed sacrament" until the penance was completed! very shortly after the illness above-mentioned, my mother went up to town, whither i was soon to follow her, for now the spring had arrived, and it was time to prepare our new home. how eagerly we had looked forward to taking possession; how we had talked over our life together and knitted on the new one we anticipated to the old one we remembered; how we had planned out mabel's training and arranged the duties that should fall to the share of each! day-dreams, that never were to be realised! but a brief space had passed since my mother's arrival in town, when i received a telegram from my brother, stating that she was dangerously ill, and summoning me at once to her bedside. as swiftly as express train could carry me to london i was there, and found my darling in bed, prostrate, the doctor only giving her three days to live. one moment's sight i caught of her face, drawn and haggard; then as she saw me it all changed into delight; "at last! now i can rest." the brave spirit had at length broken down, never again to rise; the action of her heart had failed, the valves no longer performed their duty, and the bluish shade of forehead and neck told that the blood was no longer sent pure and vivifying through the arteries. but her death was not as near as the doctor had feared; "i do not think she can live four-and-twenty hours," he said to me, after i had been with her for two days. i told her his verdict, but it moved her little; "i do not feel that i am going to die just yet," she said resolutely, and she was right. there was an attack of fearful prostration, a very wrestling with death, and then the grim shadow drew backwards, and she struggled back to life. soon, as is usual in cases of such disease, dropsy intervened, with all its weariness of discomfort, and for week after week her long martyrdom dragged on. i nursed her night and day, with a very desperation of tenderness, for now fate had touched the thing that was dearest to me in life. a second horrible crisis came, and for the second time her tenacity and my love beat back the death-stroke. she did not wish to die--the love of life was strong in her; i would not let her die; between us we kept the foe at bay. at this period, after eighteen months of abstention, and for the last time, i took the sacrament. this statement will seem strange to my readers, but the matter happened in this wise: my dear mother had an intense longing to take it, but absolutely refused to do so unless i partook of it with her. "if it be necessary to salvation," she persisted doggedly, "i will not take it if darling annie is to be shut out. i would rather be lost with her than saved without her." in vain i urged that i could not take it without telling the officiating clergyman of my heresy, and that under such circumstances the clergyman would be sure to refuse to administer to me. she insisted that she could not die happy if she did not take it with me. i went to a clergyman i knew well, and laid the case before him; as i expected, he refused to allow me to communicate. i tried a second; the result was the same. i was in despair; to me the service was foolish and superstitious, but i would have done a great deal more for my mother than eat bread and drink wine, provided that the eating and drinking did not, by pretence of faith on my part, soil my honesty. at last a thought struck me; there was dean stanley, my mother's favorite, a man known to be of the broadest school within the church of england; suppose i asked him? i did not know him, though as a young child i had known his sister as my mother's friend, and i felt the request would be something of an impertinence. yet there was just the chance that he might consent, and then my darling's death-bed would be the easier. i told no one, but set out resolutely for the deanery, westminster, timidly asked for the dean, and followed the servant upstairs with a very sinking heart. i was left for a moment alone in the library, and then the dean came in. i don't think i ever in my life felt more intensely uncomfortable than i did in that minute's interval, as he stood waiting for me to speak, his clear, grave, piercing eyes gazing right into mine. very falteringly i preferred my request, stating baldly that i was not a believer in christ, that my mother was dying, that she was fretting to take the sacrament, that she would not take it unless i took it with her, that two clergymen had refused to allow me to take part in the service, that i had come to him in despair, feeling how great was the intrusion, but--she was dying. "you were quite right to come to me," he said as i concluded, in that soft musical voice of his, his keen gaze having changed into one no less direct, but marvellously gentle: "of course, i will go and see your mother, and i have little doubt that if you will not mind talking over your position with me, we may see our way clear to doing as your mother wishes." i could barely speak my thanks, so much did the kindly sympathy move me; the revulsion from the anxiety and fear of rebuff was strong enough to be almost pain. but dean stanley did more than i asked. he suggested that he should call that afternoon, and have a quiet chat with my mother, and then come again on the following day to administer the sacrament. "a stranger's presence is always trying to a sick person," he said, with rare delicacy of thought; "and joined to the excitement of the service it might be too much for your dear mother. if i spend half-an-hour with her to-day, and administer the sacrament to-morrow, it will, i think, be better for her." so dean stanley came that afternoon, and remained talking with my mother for about half-an-hour, and then set himself to understand my own position. he finally told me that conduct was far more important than theory, and that he regarded all as "christians" who recognised and tried to follow the moral law. on the question of the absolute deity of jesus he laid but little stress; jesus was, "in a special sense", the "son of god", but it was folly to jangle about words with only human meanings when dealing with the mysteries of divine existence, and above all it was folly to make such words into dividing lines between earnest souls. the one important matter was the recognition of "duty to god and man", and all who were one in that recognition might rightfully join in an act of worship, the essence of which was not acceptance of dogma, but love of god and self-sacrifice for man. "the holy communion", he said, in his soft tones, "was never meant to divide from each other hearts that are searching after the one true god; it was meant by its founder as a symbol of unity, not of strife". on the following day he came again, and celebrated the "holy communion" by the bedside of my dear mother. well was i repaid for the struggle it had cost me to ask so great a kindness from a stranger, when i saw the comfort that gentle noble heart had given to my mother. he soothed away all her anxiety about my heresy with tactful wisdom, bidding her have no fear of differences of opinion where the heart was set on truth. "remember", she told me he had said to her, "remember that our god is the god of truth, and that therefore the honest search for truth can never be displeasing in his eyes". once again after that he came, and after his visit to my mother we had another long talk. i ventured to ask him, the conversation having turned that way, how, with views so broad as his own, he found it possible to remain in communion with the church of england. "i think", he said gently, "that i am of more service to true religion by remaining in the church and striving to widen its boundaries from within, than if i left it and worked from without". and he went on to explain how, as dean of westminster, he was in a rarely independent position, and could make the abbey of a wider national service than would otherwise be possible. in all he said on this his love for and his pride in the glorious abbey were manifest, and it was easy to see that old historical associations, love of music, of painting, and of stately architecture, were the bonds that held him bound to the "old historic church of england". his emotions, not his intellect, kept him churchman, and he shrunk with the over-sensitiveness of the cultured scholar from the idea of allowing the old traditions, to be handled roughly by inartistic hands. naturally of a refined and delicate nature, he had been rendered yet more sensitive by the training of the college and the court; the exquisite courtesy of his manners was but the high polish of a naturally gentle and artistic spirit, a spirit whose gentleness sometimes veiled its strength. i have often heard dean stanley harshly spoken of, i have heard his honesty roughly challenged, but never in my presence has he been attacked that i have not uttered my protest against the injustice done him, and thus striven to repay some small fraction of that great debt of gratitude which i shall owe to his memory as long as i live. as the spring grew warmer, my mother rallied wonderfully, and we began to dare to hope. at last it was decided to move her down to norwood; she was wearying for change, and it was thought that the purer air of the country might aid the system to recover tone and strength. the furniture was waiting for me to send for it, and it was soon, conveyed to colby road; it only furnished two rooms, but i could easily sleep on the floor, and i made the two rooms on the ground floor into bedroom and sitting-room for my dear invalid. one little servant-maid was all our slender resources could afford, and a very charming one was found for me by mrs. scott. through the months of hard work and poor living that followed, mary was the most thoughtful and most generous of comrades. and, indeed, i have been very fortunate in my servants, always finding in them willingness to help, and freely-rendered, ungrudging kindness. i have just said that i could only furnish two rooms, but on my next visit to complete all the arrangements for my mother's reception, i found the bedroom that was to be mine neatly and prettily furnished. the good fairy was mrs. scott, who, learning the "nakedness of the land" from mary, had determined that i should not be as uncomfortable as i had expected. it was the beginning of may, and the air was soft and bright and warm. we hired an invalid carriage and drove slowly down to norwood. my mother seemed to enjoy the drive, and when we lifted her into the bright cosy room prepared for her, she was delighted with the change. on the following morning the improvement was continued, but in the evening she was taken suddenly worse, and we lifted her into bed and telegraphed for the doctor. but now the end had come; her strength completely failed, and she felt that death was upon her; but selfless to the last, her only fear was for me. "i am leaving you alone," she would sigh from time to time, and truly i felt, with an anguish i dared not realise, that when she died i should indeed be alone on earth. for two days longer she was with me, and, miser with my last few hours, i never left her side for five minutes. at last on the 10th of may the weakness passed into delirium, but even then the faithful eyes followed me about the room, until at length they closed for ever, and as the sun sank low in the heavens, the breath came slower and slower, till the silence of death came down upon us and she was gone. all that followed was like a dream. i would have none touch my dead save myself and her favorite sister, who was with us at the last; she wept over her, but i could not, not even when they hid her beneath the coffin-lid, nor all that weary way to kensal green, whither we took her to lay her with her husband and her baby-son. i could not believe that our day-dream was dead and buried, and the home destroyed ere it was fairly made. my "house was left unto" me "desolate", and the rooms filled with sunshine, but unlighted by her presence, seemed to reiterate to me: "you are all alone ". xi. the two months after my mother's death were the dreariest my life has known, and they were months of tolerably hard struggle. the little house in colby road taxed my slender resources heavily, and the search for work was not yet successful. i do not know how i should have managed but for the help, ever at hand, of mr. and mrs. thomas scott. during this time i wrote for mr. scott pamphlets on inspiration, atonement, mediation and salvation, eternal torture, religious education of children, natural _v._ revealed religion, and the few guineas thus earned were very valuable. their house, too, was always open to me, and this was no small help, for often in those days the little money i had was enough to buy food for two but not enough to buy it for three, and i would go out and study all day at the british museum, so as to "have my dinner in town", the said dinner being conspicuous by its absence. if i was away for two evenings running from the hospitable house in the terrace, mrs. scott would come down to see what had happened, and many a time the supper there was of real physical value to me. well might i write, in 1879, when thomas scott lay dead: "it was thomas scott whose house was open to me when my need was sorest, and he never knew, this generous noble heart, how sometimes, when i went in, weary and overdone, from a long day's study in the british museum, with scarce food to struggle through the day--he never knew how his genial 'well, little lady', in welcoming tone, cheered the then utter loneliness of my life. to no living man or woman--save one--do i owe the debt of gratitude that i owe to thomas scott." the small amount of jewellery i possessed, and all my superfluous clothes, were turned into more necessary articles, and the child, at least, never suffered a solitary touch of want. mary was a wonderful contriver, and kept house on the very slenderest funds that could be put into a servant's hands, and she also made the little place so bright and fresh-looking that it was always a pleasure to go into it. recalling those days of "hard living", i can now look on them without regret. more, i am glad to have passed through them, for they have taught me how to sympathise with those who are struggling as i struggled then, and i never can hear the words fall from pale lips: "i am hungry", without remembering how painful a thing hunger is, and without curing that pain, at least for the moment. but i turn from this to the brighter side of my life, the intellectual and social side, where i found a delight unknown in the old days of bondage. first, there was the joy of freedom, the joy of speaking out frankly and honestly each thought. truly, i had the right to say: "with a great price obtained i this freedom," and having paid the price, i revelled in the liberty i had bought. mr. scott's valuable library was at my service; his keen brain challenged my opinions, probed my assertions, and suggested phases of thought hitherto untouched. i studied harder than ever, and the study now was unchecked by any fear of possible consequences. i had nothing left of the old faith save belief in "a god", and that began slowly to melt away. the theistic axiom: "if there be a god at all he must be at least as good as his highest creature", began with an "if", and to that "if" i turned my attention. "of all impossible things", writes miss frances power cobbe, "the most impossible must surely be that a man should dream something of the good and the noble, and that it should prove at last that his creator was less good and less noble than he had dreamed." but, i questioned, are we sure that there is a creator? granted that, if there is, he must be above his highest creature, but--is there such a being? "the ground", says the rev. charles voysey, "on which our belief in god rests is man. man, parent of bibles and churches, inspirer of all good thoughts and good deeds. man, the master-piece of god's thought on earth. man, the text-book of all spiritual knowledge. neither miraculous nor infallible, man is nevertheless the only trustworthy record of the divine mind in things perhaps pertaining to god. man's reason, conscience, and affections are the only true revelation of his maker." but what if god were only man's own image reflected in the mirror of man's mind? what if man were the creator, not the revelation of his god? it was inevitable that such thoughts should arise after the more palpably indefensible doctrines of christianity had been discarded. once encourage the human mind to think, and bounds to the thinking can never again be set by authority. once challenge traditional beliefs, and the challenge will ring on every shield which is hanging in the intellectual arena. around me was the atmosphere of conflict, and, freed from its long repression, my mind leapt up to share in the strife with a joy in the intellectual tumult, the intellectual strain. at this time i found my way to south place chapel, to which mr. moncure d. conway was attracting many a seeker after truth. i was fortunate enough to be introduced to this remarkable religious leader, and to his charming wife, one of the sweetest and steadiest natures which it has been my lot to meet. it was from. mrs. conway that i first heard of mr. bradlaugh as a speaker that everyone should hear. she asked me one day if i had been to the hall of science, and i said, with the stupid, ignorant reflexion of other people's prejudices which is but too common: "no, i have never been. mr. bradlaugh is rather a rough sort of speaker, is he not?" "he is the finest speaker of saxon english that i have ever heard," mrs. conway answered, "except, perhaps, john bright, and his power over a crowd is something marvellous. whether you agree with him or not, you should hear him." i replied that i really did not know what his views were, beyond having a vague notion that he was an atheist of a rather pronounced type, but that i would go and hear him when i had an opportunity. mr. conway had passed beyond the emotional theism of mr. voysey, and talk with him did something towards widening my views on the question of a divine existence. i re-read carefully mansel's bampton lectures, and found in them much to provoke doubt, nothing to induce faith. take the following phrases, and think whither they carry us. dean mansel is speaking of god as infinite, and he says: "that a man can be conscious of the infinite is, then, a supposition which, in the very terms in which it is expressed, annihilates itself.... the infinite, if it is to be conceived at all, must be conceived as potentially everything and actually nothing; for if there is anything in general which it cannot become, it is thereby limited; and if there is anything in particular which it actually is, it is thereby excluded from being any other thing. but again, it must also be conceived as actually everything and potentially nothing: for an unrealised potentiality is likewise a limitation. if the infinite can be that which it is not, it is by that very possibility marked out as incomplete and capable of a higher perfection. if it is actually everything, it possesses no characteristic feature by which it can be distinguished from anything else and discerned as an object of consciousness." could any argument more thoroughly atheistic be put before a mind which dared to think out to the logical end any train of thought? such reasoning can lead but to one of two ends: despair of truth and consequent acceptance of the incomprehensible as divine, or else the resolute refusal to profess belief where reason is helpless, and where faith is but the credulity of ignorance. in my case, it had the latter effect. at the same time i re-read mill's "examination of sir w. hamilton's philosophy", and also went through a pretty severe study of comte's _philosophic positive_. i had entirely given up the use of prayer, not because i was an atheist but because i was still a theist. it seemed to me to be absurd to pray, if i believed in a god who was wiser and better than myself. an all-wise god did not need my suggestions: an all-good god would do all that was best without my prompting. prayer appeared to me to be a blasphemous impertinence, and for a considerable time i had discontinued its use. but god fades gradually out of the daily life of those who never pray; a god who is not a providence is a superfluity; when from the heaven does not smile a listening father, it soon becomes an empty space whence resounds no echo of man's cry. at last i said to mr. scott: "mr. scott, may i write a tract on the nature and existence of god?" he glanced at me keenly: "ah, little lady; you are facing then that problem at last? i thought it must come. write away." the thought that had been driving me forward found its expression in the opening words of the essay (published a few months later, with one or two additions that were made after i had read two of mr. bradlaugh's essays, his "plea for atheism", and "is there a god?"): "it is impossible for those who study the deeper religious problems of our time to stave off much longer the question which lies at the root of them all, 'what do you believe in regard to god?' we may controvert christian doctrines one after another; point by point we may be driven from the various beliefs of our churches; reason may force us to see contradictions where we had imagined harmony, and may open our eyes to flaws where we had dreamed of perfection; we resign all idea of a revelation; we seek for god in nature only: we renounce for ever the hope (which glorified our former creed into such alluring beauty) that at some future time we should verily 'see' god; that 'our eyes should behold the king in his beauty', in that fairy 'land which is very far off'. but every step we take onwards towards a more reasonable faith and a surer light of truth, leads us nearer and nearer to the problem of problems: 'what is that which men call god?". i sketched out the plan of my essay and had written most of it when on returning one day from the british museum i stopped at the shop of mr. edward truelove, 256 high holborn. i had been working at some comtist literature, and had found a reference to mr. truelove's shop as one at which comtist publications might be bought. lying on the counter was a copy of the _national reformer_, and attracted by the title i bought it. i had never before heard of nor seen the paper, and i read it placidly in the omnibus; looking up, i was at first puzzled and then amused to see an old gentleman gazing at me with indignation and horror printed on his countenance; i realised that my paper had disturbed his peace of mind, and that the sight of a young woman, respectably dressed in crape, reading an atheistic journal in an omnibus was a shock too great to be endured by the ordinary philistine without sign of discomposure. he looked so hard at the paper that i was inclined to offer it to him for his perusal, but repressed the mischievous inclination, and read on demurely. this first copy of the paper with which i was to be so closely connected bore date july 19th, 1874, and contained two long letters from a mr. arnold of northampton, attacking mr. bradlaugh, and a brief and singularly self-restrained answer from the latter. there was also an article on the national secular society, which made me aware that there was an organisation devoted to the propagandism of free thought. i felt that if such a society existed, i ought to belong to it, and i consequently wrote a short note to the editor of the _national reformer_, asking whether it was necessary for a person to profess atheism before being admitted to the society. the answer appeared in the _national reformer_:-"s.e.--to be a member of the national secular society it is only necessary to be able honestly to accept the four principles, as given in the _national reformer_ of june 14th. this any person may do without being required to avow himself an atheist. candidly, we can see no logical resting-place between the entire acceptance of authority, as in the roman catholic church, and the most extreme nationalism. if, on again looking to the principles of the society, you can accept them, we repeat to you our invitation." i sent my name in as an active member, and find it recorded in the _national reformer_ of august 9th. having received an intimation that londoners could receive their certificates at the hall of science from mr. bradlaugh on any sunday evening, i betook myself thither, and it was on the 2nd august, 1874, that i first set foot in a freethought hall. as i sat, much crushed, surveying the crowded audience with much interest and longing to know which were members of the brotherhood i had entered, a sudden roar of cheering startled me. i saw a tall figure passing swiftly along and mounting the stairs, and the roar deepened and swelled as he made a slight acknowledgment of the greeting and sat down. i remember well my sensations as i looked at charles bradlaugh for the first time. the grave, quiet, _strong_ look, as he sat facing the crowd, impressed me strangely, and most of all was i surprised at the breadth of forehead, the massive head, of the man i had heard described as a mere ignorant demagogue. the lecture was on "the ancestry and birth of jesus", and was largely devoted to tracing the resemblance between the christ and krishna myths. as this ground was well-known to me, i was able to judge of the lecturer's accuracy, and quickly found that his knowledge was as sound as his language was splendid. i had never before heard eloquence, sarcasm, fire, and passion brought to bear on the christian superstition, nor had i ever before felt the sway of the orator, nor the power that dwells in spoken words. after the lecture, mr. bradlaugh came down the hall with some certificates of membership of the national secular society in his hand, and glancing round for their claimants caught, i suppose, some look of expectancy in my face, for he paused and handed me mine, with a questioning, "mrs. besant?". then he said that if i had any doubt at all on the subject of atheism, he would willingly discuss it with me, if i would write making an appointment for that purpose. i made up my mind to take advantage of the opportunity, and a day or two later saw me walking down commercial road, looking for turner street. my first conversation with mr. bradlaugh was brief, direct, and satisfactory. we found that there was little real difference between our theological views, and my dislike of the name "atheist" arose from my sharing in the vulgar error that the atheist asserted, "there is no god". this error i corrected in the draft of my essay, by inserting a few passages from pamphlets written by acknowledged atheists, to which mr. bradlaugh drew my attention; with this exception the essay remained as it was sketched, being described by mr. bradlaugh as "a very good atheistic essay", a criticism which ended with the smiling comment: "you have thought yourself into atheism without knowing it." very wise were some of the suggestions made: "you should never say you have an opinion on a subject until you have tried to study the strongest things said against the view to which you are inclined". "you must not think you know a subject until you are acquainted with all that the best minds have said about it." "no steady work can be done in public unless the worker study at home far more than he talks outside." and let me say here that among the many things for which i have to thank mr. bradlaugh, there is none for which i owe him more gratitude than for the fashion in which he has constantly urged the duty of all who stand forward as teachers to study deeply every subject they touch, and the impetus he has given to my own love of knowledge by the constant spur of criticism and of challenge, criticism of every weak statement, challenge of every hastily-expressed view. it will be a good thing for the world when a friendship between a man and a woman no longer means protective condescension on one side and helpless dependence on the other, but when they meet on equal ground of intellectual sympathy, discussing, criticising, studying, and so aiding the evolution of stronger and clearer thought-ability in each. a few days after our first discussion, mr. bradlaugh offered me a place on the staff of the _national reformer_ at a small weekly salary; and my first contribution appeared in the number for august 30th, over the signature of "ajax"; i was obliged to use a _nom de guerre_ at first, for the work i was doing for mr. scott would have been injured had my name appeared in the columns of the terrible _national reformer_, and until the work commenced and paid for was concluded i did not feel at liberty to use my own name. later, i signed my _national reformer_ articles, and the tracts written for mr. scott appeared anonymously. the name was suggested by the famous statue of "ajax crying for light", a cast of which stands in the centre walk of the crystal palace. the cry through the darkness for light, even if light brought destruction, was one that awoke the keenest sympathy of response from my heart: "if our fate be death, give light, and let us die!" to see, to know, to understand, even though the seeing blind, though the knowledge sadden, though the understanding shatter the dearest hopes, such has ever been the craving of the upward-striving mind of man. some regard it as a weakness, as a folly, but i am sure that it exists most strongly in some of the noblest of our race; that from the lips of those who have done most in lifting the burden of ignorance from the overstrained and bowed shoulders of a stumbling world has gone out most often into the empty darkness the pleading, impassioned cry :-"give light." xii. my first lecture was delivered at the co-operative society's hall, 55, castle street, on august 25, 1873. twice before this, i had ventured to raise my voice in discussion, once at a garden-party at which i was invited to join in a brief informal debate, and discovered that words came readily and smoothly, and the second time at the liberal social union, in a discussion on a paper read by a member--i forget by whom-dealing with the opening of museums and art galleries on sunday. my membership of that same "liberal" social union was not, by the way, of very long duration. a discussion arose, one night, on the admissibility of atheists to the society. dr. zerffi declared that he would not remain a member if avowed atheists were admitted. i declared that i was an atheist, and that the basis of the union was liberty. the result was that i found myself coldshouldered, and those who had been warmly cordial to me as a theist looked askance at me after i had avowed that my scepticism had advanced beyond their "limits of religious thought". the liberal social union knew me no more, but in the wider field of work open before me the narrowmindedness of this petty clique troubled me not at all. to return from this digression to my first essay in lecturing work. an invitation to read a paper before the co-operative society came to me from mr. greenwood, who was, i believe, the secretary, and as the subject was left to my own choice, i determined that my first public attempt at speech should be on behalf of my own sex, and selected for it, "the political status of women". with much fear and trembling was that paper written, and it was a very nervous person who presented herself at the co-operative hall. when a visit to the dentist is made, and one stands on the steps outside, desiring to run away ere the neat little boy in buttons opens the door and beams on one with a smile of compassionate contempt and implike triumph, then the world seems dark and life is as a huge blunder. but all such feelings are poor and weak when compared with the sinking of the heart, and the trembling of the knees, which, seize upon the unhappy lecturer as he advances towards his first audience, and as before his eyes rises a ghastly vision of a tongue-tied would-be speaker facing rows of listening faces, listening to--silence. all this miserable feeling, however, disappeared the moment i rose to my feet and looked at the faces before me. no tremor of nervousness touched me from the first word to the last. and a similar experience has been mine ever since. i am still always nervous before a lecture, and feel miserable and ill-assured, but, once on my feet, i am at my ease, and not once on the platform after the lecture has commenced have i experienced the painful feeling of hesitancy and "fear of the sound of my own voice" of which i have often heard people speak. the death of mr. charles gilpin in september left vacant one of the seats for northampton, and mr. bradlaugh at once announced his intention of again presenting himself to the constituency as a candidate. he had at first stood for the borough in 1868, and had received 1086 votes; on february 5th, 1874, he received 1653 votes, and of these 1060 were plumpers; the other candidates were messrs. merewether, phipps, gilpin, and lord henley; mr. merewether had 12 plumpers; mr. phipps, 113; mr. gilpin, 64; lord henley, 21. thus signs were already seen of the compact and personally loyal following which was to win the seat for its chief in 1880, after twelve years of steady struggle. in 1868, mr. john stuart mill had strongly supported mr. bradlaugh's candidature, and had sent a donation to his election fund. mr. mill wrote in his autobiography (pp. 311,312): "he had the support of the working classes; having heard him speak i knew him to be a man of ability, and he had proved that he was the reverse of a demagogue by placing himself in strong opposition to the prevailing opinion of the democratic party on two such important subjects as malthusianism. and personal representation. men of this sort, who, while sharing the democratic feelings of the working classes, judge political questions for themselves, and have courage to assert their individual convictions against popular opposition, were needed, as it seemed to me, in parliament; and i did not think that mr. bradlaugh's anti-religious opinions (even though he had been intemperate in the expression of them) ought to exclude him." when the election was over, and after mr. mill had himself been beaten at westminster, he wrote, referring to his donation: "it was the right thing to do, and if the election were yet to take place, i would do it again". the election in february, 1874 took place while mr. bradlaugh was away in america, and this second one in the same year took place on the eve of his departure on another american lecturing tour. i went down to northampton to report electioneering incidents for the _national reformer_, and spent some days there in the whirl of the struggle. the whig party was more bitter against mr. bradlaugh than was the tory, and every weapon that could be forged out of slander and falsehood was used against him by "liberals", who employed their christianity as an electioneering dodge to injure a man whose sturdy radicalism they feared. over and over again mr. bradlaugh was told that he was an "impossible candidate", and gibe and sneer and scoff were flung at the man who had neither ancestors nor wealth to recommend him, who fought his battle with his brain and his tongue, and whose election expenses were paid by hundreds of contributions from poor men and women in every part of the land. strenuous efforts were made to procure a "liberal" candidate, who should be able at least to prevent mr. bradlaugh's return by obtaining the votes of the liberal as against the radical party. messrs. bell and james and dr. pearce came on the scene only to disappear. mr. jacob bright and mr. arthur arnold were suggested. mr. ayrton's name was whispered. major lumley was recommended by mr. bernal osborne. dr. kenealy proclaimed himself ready to rescue the liberal party in their dire strait. mr. tillet of norwich, mr. cox of belper, were invited, but neither of these would consent to oppose a sound radical, who had fought two elections at northampton and who had been before the constituency for six years. at last mr. william fowler, a banker, was invited, and accepted the task of handing over the representation of a radical borough to a tory. october 6th was fixed as the election day, and at 7.30 on that day mr. merewether, the tory, was declared elected with 2,171 votes. mr. bradlaugh polled 1,766, having added another 133 voters to those who had polled for him in the previous february. the violent abuse levelled against mr. bradlaugh by the whigs, and the foul and wicked slanders circulated against him, had angered almost to madness those who knew and loved him, and when it was found that the unscrupulous whig devices had succeeded in turning the election against him, the fury broke out into open violence. as mr. bradlaugh was sitting well-nigh exhausted in the hotel, the landlord rushed in, crying to him to go out and try to stop the people, or there would be murder done at the "palmerston", mr. fowler's head-quarters; the crowd was charging the door, and the windows were being broken, with showers of stones. weary as he was, mr. bradlaugh sprang to his feet and swiftly made his way to the rescue of those who had defeated him. flinging himself before the door, he drove the crowd back, scolded them into quietness and dispersed them. but at nine o'clock he had to leave the town to catch the mail for queenstown, where he was to join the steamer for america, and after he had left, the riot he had quelled broke out afresh. the soldiers were called out, the riot act was read, stones flew freely, heads and windows were broken, but no very serious harm was done. the "palmerston" and the printing office of the _mercury_, the whig organ, were the principal sufferers, windows and doors vanishing somewhat completely. in this same month of october i find i noted in the _national reformer_ that it was rumored "that on hearing that the prince of wales had succeeded the earl of ripon as grand master of the grand lodge of england, mr. bradlaugh immediately sent in his resignation". "the report", i added demurely, "seems likely to be a true one". i had not much doubt of the fact, having seen the cancelled certificate. my second lecture was delivered on september 27th, during the election struggle, at mr. moncure d. conway's chapel in st. paul's road, camden town, and was on "the true basis of morality.". the lecture was re-delivered a few weeks later at a unitarian chapel, where the minister was the rev. peter dean, and gave, i was afterwards told, great offence to some of the congregation, especially to miss frances power cobbe, who declared that she would have left the chapel had not the speaker been a woman. the ground of complaint was that the suggested "basis" was utilitarian and human instead of intuitional and theistic. published as a pamphlet, the lecture has reached its seventh thousand. in october i had a severe attack of congestion of the lungs, and soon after my recovery i left norwood to settle in london. i found that my work required that i should be nearer head-quarters, and i arranged to rent part of a house--19, westbourne park terrace, bayswater--two lady friends taking the remainder. the arrangement proved a very comfortable one, and it continued until my improved means enabled me, in 1876, to take a house of my own. in january, 1875, i made up my mind to lecture regularly, and in the _national reformer_ for january 17th i find the announcement that "mrs. annie besant (ajax) will lecture at south place chapel, finsbury, on 'civil and religious liberty'", mr. conway took the chair at this first identification of "ajax" with myself, and sent a very kindly notice of the lecture to the _cincinnati commercial_. mr. charles watts wrote a report in the _national reformer_ of january 24th. dr. maurice davies also wrote a very favorable article in a london journal, but unfortunately he knew mr. walter besant, who persuaded him to suppress my name, so that although the notice appeared it did me no service. my struggle to gain my livelihood was for some time rendered considerably more difficult by this kind of ungenerous and underhand antagonism. a woman's road to the earning of her own living, especially when she is weighted with the care of a young child, is always fairly thorny at the outset, and does not need to be rendered yet more difficult by secret attempts to injure, on the part of those who trust that suffering and poverty may avail to bend pride to submission. my next lecture was given in the theatre royal, northampton, and in the _national reformer_ of february 14th appears for the first time my list of lecturing engagements, so that in february next i shall complete my first decade of lecturing for the freethought and republican cause. never, since first i stood on the freethought platform, have i felt one hour's regret for the resolution taken in solitude in january, 1875, to devote to that sacred cause every power of brain and tongue that i possessed. not lightly was that resolution taken, for i know no task of weightier responsibility than that of standing forth as teacher, and swaying thousands of hearers year after year. but i pledged my word then to the cause i loved that no effort on my part should be wanting to render myself worthy of the privilege of service which i took; that i would read, and study, and would train every faculty that i had; that i would polish my language, discipline my thought, widen my knowledge; and this, at least, i may say, that if i have written and spoken much i have studied and thought more, and that at least i have not given to my mistress, liberty, that "which hath cost me nothing". a queer incident occurred on february 17th. i had been invited by the dialectical society to read a paper, and selected for subject "the existence of god". the dialectical society had for some years held their meetings in a room in adam street rented from the social science association. when the members gathered as usual on this 17th february, the door was found closed, and they were informed that ajax's paper had been too much for the social science nerves, and that entrance to the ordinary meeting-place was henceforth denied. we found refuge in the charing cross hotel, where we speculated merrily on the eccentricities of religious charity. on february 12th, i started on my first lecturing tour in the provinces. after lecturing at birkenhead on the evening of that day, i started by the night mail for glasgow. some races--dog races, i think--had been going on, and very unpleasant were many of the passengers waiting on the platform. some birkenhead friends had secured me a compartment, and watched over me till the train began to move. then, after we had fairly started, the door was flung open by a porter and a man was thrust in who half tumbled on to the seat. as he slowly recovered, he stood up, and as his money rolled out of his hand on to the floor and he gazed vaguely at it, i saw, to my horror, that he was drunk. the position was pleasant, for the train was an express and was not timed to stop for a considerable time. my odious fellow-passenger spent some time on the floor hunting for his scattered coins. then he slowly gathered himself up, and presently became conscious of my presence. he studied me for some time and then proposed to shut the window. i assented quietly, not wanting to discuss a trifle, and feeling in deadly terror. alone at night in an express, with a man not drunk enough to be helpless but too drunk to be controlled. never, before or since, have i felt so thoroughly frightened, but i sat there quiet and unmoved, only grasping a penknife in my pocket, with a desperate resolve to use my feeble weapon as soon as the need arose. the man had risen again to his feet and had come over to me, when a jarring noise was heard and the train began to slacken. "what is that?" stammered my drunken companion. "they are putting on the brakes to stop the train," i said very slowly and distinctly, though a very passion of relief made it hard to say quietly the measured words. the man sat down stupidly, staring at me, and in a minute or two more the train pulled up at a station. it had been stopped by signal. in a moment i was at the window, calling the guard. i rapidly explained to him that i was travelling alone, that a half-drunken man was with me, and i begged him to put me into another carriage. with the usual kindliness of a railway official, the guard at once moved my baggage and myself into an empty compartment, into which he locked me, and he kept a friendly watch over me at every station at which we stopped until he landed me safely at glasgow. at glasgow a room had been taken for me at a temperance hotel, and it seemed to me a new and lonely sort of thing to be "on my own account" in a strange city in a strange hotel. by the way, why are temperance hotels so often lacking in cleanliness? surely abstinence from wine and superfluity of "matter in the wrong place" need not necessarily be correlated in hotel-life, and yet my experience leads me to look for the twain together. here and there i have been to temperance hotels in which water is used for other purposes than that of drinking, but these are, i regret to say, the exceptions to a melancholy rule. from glasgow i went north to aberdeen, and from aberdeen home again to london. a long weary journey that was, in a third-class carriage in the cold month of february, but the labor had in it a joy that outpaid all physical discomfort, and the feeling that i had found my work in the world gave a new happiness to my life. i reported my doings to the chief of our party in america, and found them only half approved. "you should have waited till i returned, and at least i could have saved you some discomforts," he wrote; but the discomforts troubled me little, and i think i rather preferred the independent launch out into lecturing work, trusting only to my own courage and ability to win my way. so far as health was concerned, the lecturing acted as a tonic. my chest had always been a little delicate, and when i consulted a doctor on the possibility of my lecturing he answered: "it will either kill you or cure you". it has entirely cured the lung weakness, and i have grown strong and vigorous instead of being frail and delicate as of old. on february 28th i delivered my first lecture at the hall of science, london, and was received with that warmth of greeting which freethinkers are ever willing to extend to one who sacrifices aught to join their ranks. from that day to this that hearty welcome at our central london hall has never failed me, and the love and courage wherewith freethinkers have ever stood by me have overpaid a thousandfold any poor services i have been fortunate enough to render to the common cause. it would be wearisome to go step by step over the ten years' journeys and lectures; i will only select, here and there, incidents illustrative of the whole. some folk say that the lives of freethought lecturers are easy, and that their lecturing tours are lucrative in the extreme. on one occasion i spent eight days in the north lecturing daily, with three lectures on the two sundays, and made a deficit of 11s. on the journey! i do not pretend that such a thing would happen now, but i fancy that every freethought lecturer could tell of a similar experience in the early days of "winning his way". there is no better field for freethought and radical work than northumberland and durham; the miners there are as a rule shrewd and hard-headed men, and very cordial is the greeting given by them to those whom they have reason to trust. at seghill and at bedlington i have slept in their cottages and have been welcomed to their tables, and i remember one evening at seghill, after a lecture, that my host invited about a dozen miners to supper to meet me; the talk ran on politics, and i soon found that my companions knew more of english politics and had a far shrewder notion of political methods than i had found among the ordinary "diners-out" in "society". they were of the "uneducated" class despised by "gentlemen" and had not the vote, but politically they were far better educated than their social superiors, and were far better fitted to discharge the duties of citizenship. on may 16th i attended, for the first time, the annual conference called by the national secular society. it was held at manchester, in the society's rooms in grosvenor street, and it is interesting and encouraging to note how the society has grown and strengthened since that small meeting held nearly ten years ago. mr. bradlaugh was elected president; messrs. a. trevelyan, t. slater, c. watts, c.c. cattell, r.a. cooper, p.a.v. le lubez, n. ridgway, g.w. foote, g.h. reddalls, and mrs. besant vice presidents. messrs. watts and standring were elected as secretary and assistant-secretary--both offices were then honorary, for the society was too poor to pay the holders--and mr. le lubez treasurer. the result of the conference was soon seen in the energy infused into the freethought propaganda, and from that time to this the society has increased in numbers and in influence, until that which was scarcely more than a skeleton has become a living power in the land on the side of all social and political reforms. the council for 1875 consisted of but thirty-nine members, including president, vice-presidents, and secretary, and of these only nine were available as a central executive. let freethinkers compare this meagre list with the present, and then let them "thank" man "and take courage". lecturing at leicester in june, i came for the first time across a falsehood of which i have since heard plenty. an irate christian declared that i was responsible for a book entitled the "elements of social science", which was, he averred, the "bible of secularists". i had never heard of the book, but as he insisted that it was in favor of the abolition of marriage, and that mr. bradlaugh agreed with it, i promptly contradicted him, knowing that mr. bradlaugh's views on marriage were conservative rather than revolutionary. on enquiry afterwards i found that the book in question had been written some years before by a doctor of medicine, and had been sent for review by its publisher to the _national reformer_ among other papers. i found further that it consisted of three parts; the first dealt with the sexual relation, and advocated, from the standpoint of an experienced medical man, what is roughly known as "free love"; the second was entirely medical, dealing with diseases; the third consisted of a very clear and able exposition of the law of population as laid down by malthus, and insisted--as john stuart mill had done--that it was the duty of married persons to voluntarily limit their families within their means of subsistence. mr. bradlaugh, in the _national reformer_, in reviewing the book, stated that it was written "with honest and pure intent and purpose", and recommended to working men the exposition of the law of population. because he did this christians and tories who desire to injure him still insist that he shares the author's views on sexual relations, and despite his reiterated contradictions, they quote detached pieces of the work, speaking against marriage, as containing his views. anything more meanly vile and dishonest than this it would be difficult to imagine, yet such are the weapons used against atheists in a christian country. unable to find in mr. bradlaugh's own writings anything to serve their purpose, they take isolated passages from a book he neither wrote nor published, but once reviewed with a recommendation of a part of it which says nothing against marriage. that the book is a remarkable one and deserves to be read has been acknowledged on all hands. personally, i cordially dislike a large part of it, and dissent utterly from its views on the marital relation, but none the less i feel sure that the writer is an honest, good, and right meaning man. in the _reasoner_, edited by mr. george jacob holyoake, i find warmer praise of it than in the _national reformer_; in the review the following passage appears:-"in some respects all books of this class are evils: but it would be weakness and criminal prudery--a prudery as criminal as vice itself--not to say that such a book as the one in question is not only a far lesser evil than the one that it combats, but in one sense a book which it is a mercy to issue and courage to publish." the _examiner_, reviewing the same book, declared it to be "a very valuable, though rather heterogeneous book.... this is, we believe, the only book that has fully, honestly, and in a scientific spirit recognised all the elements in the problem--how are mankind to triumph over poverty, with its train of attendant evils?--and fearlessly endeavored to find a practical solution." the _british journal of homã¦opathy_ wrote: "though quite out of the province of our journal, we cannot refrain from stating that this work is unquestionably the most remarkable one, in many respects, we have ever met with. though we differ _toto coelo_ from the author in his views of religion and morality, and hold some of his remedies to tend rather to a dissolution than a reconstruction of society, yet we are bound to admit the benevolence and philanthropy of his motives. the scope of the work is nothing less than the whole field of political economy." ernest jones and others wrote yet more strongly, but out of all these charles bradlaugh alone has been selected for reproach, and has had the peculiar views of the anonymous author fathered on himself. why? the reason is not far to seek. none of the other writers are active radical politicians, dangerous to the luxurious idleness of the non-producing but all-consuming "upper classes" of society. these know how easy it is to raise social prejudice against a man by setting afloat the idea that he desires to "abolish marriage and the home". it is the most convenient poniard and the one most certain to wound. therefore those whose profligacy is notorious, who welcome into their society the blandfords, aylesburys, and st. leonards, rave against a man as a "destroyer of marriage" whose life is pure, and whose theories on this, as it happens, are "orthodox", merely because his honest atheism shames their hypocritical professions, and his sturdy republicanism menaces their corrupt and rotting society. xiii. sometimes my lecturing experiences were not of the smoothest. in june, 1875, i visited darwen in lancashire, and found that stone-throwing was considered a fair argument to be addressed to "the atheist lecturer". on my last visit to that place in may, 1884, large and enthusiastic audiences attended the lectures, and not a sign of hostility was to be seen outside the hall. at swansea, in march, 1876, the fear of violence was so great that no local friend had the courage to take the chair for me (a guarantee against damage to the hall had been exacted by the proprietor). i had to march on to the platform in solitary state, introduce myself, and proceed with my lecture. if violence had been intended, none was offered: it would have needed much brutality to charge on to a platform occupied by a solitary woman. (by the way, those who fancy that a lecturer's life is a luxurious one may note that the swansea lecture spoken of was one of a series of ten, delivered within eight days at wednesbury, bilston, kidderminster, swansea, and bristol, most of the travelling being performed through storm, rain, and snow.) on september, 4th, 1876, i had rather a lively time at hoyland, a village near barnsley. a mr. hebblethwaite, a primitive methodist minister, "prepared the way of the" atheist by pouring out virulent abuse on atheism in general, and this atheist in particular; two protestant missionaries aided him vigorously, exhorting the pious christians to "sweep secularists out". the result was a very fair row; i got through the lecture, despite many interruptions, but when it was over a regular riot ensued; the enraged christians shook their fists at me, swore at me, and finally took to kicking as i passed out to the cab; only one kick, however, reached me, and the attempts to overturn the cab were foiled by the driver, who put his horse at a gallop. a somewhat barbarous village, that same village of hoyland. congleton proved even livelier on september 25th and 26th. mr. bradlaugh lectured there on september 25th to an accompaniment of broken windows; i was sitting with mrs. wolstenholme elmy in front of the platform, and received a rather heavy blow at the back of the head from a stone thrown by someone in the room. we had a mile and a half to walk from the hall to mrs. elmy's house, and this was done in the company of a mud-throwing crowd, who yelled curses, hymns, and foul words with delightful impartiality. on the following evening i was to lecture, and we were escorted to the hall by a stone-throwing crowd; while i was lecturing a man shouted "put her out!" and a well-known wrestler of the neighborhood, named burbery, who had come to the hall with seven friends, stood up in the front row and loudly interrupted. mr. bradlaugh, who was in the chair, told him to sit down, and as he persisted in making a noise, informed him that he must either be quiet or go out. "put me out!" said burbery, striking an attitude. mr. bradlaugh left the platform and walked up to the noisy swashbuckler, who at once grappled with him and tried to throw him; but mr. burbery had not reckoned on his opponent's strength, and when the "throw" was complete mr. burbery was underneath. amid much excitement mr. burbery was propelled to the door, where he was handed over to the police, and the chairman resumed his seat and said "go on", whereupon on i went and finished the lecture. there was plenty more stone-throwing outside, and mrs. elmy received a cut on the temple, but no serious harm was done-except to christianity. in the summer of 1875 a strong protest was made by the working classes against the grant of â£142,000 for the prince of wales visit to india, and on sunday, july 18th, i saw for the first time one of the famous "hyde park demonstrations". mr. bradlaugh called a meeting to support messrs. taylor, macdonald, wilfrid lawson, burt, and the other fourteen members of the house of commons who voted in opposition to the grant, and to protest against burdening the workers to provide for the amusement of a spendthrift prince. i did not go into the meeting, but, with mr. bradlaugh's two daughters, hovered on the outskirts. a woman is considerably in the way in such a gathering, unless the speakers reach the platform in carriages, for she is physically unfitted to push her way through the dense mass of people, and has therefore to be looked after and saved from the crushing pressure of the crowd. i have always thought that a man responsible for the order of such huge gatherings ought not to be burdened in addition with the responsibility of protecting his female friends, and have therefore preferred to take care of myself outside the meetings both at hyde park and in trafalgar square. the method of organisation by which the london radicals have succeeded in holding perfectly orderly meetings of enormous size is simple but effective. a large number of "marshals" volunteer, and each of these hands in to mr. bradlaugh a list of the "stewards" he is prepared to bring; the "marshals" and "stewards" alike are members of the radical and secular associations of the metropolis. these officials all wear badges, a rosette of the northampton election colors; directions are given to the marshals by mr. bradlaugh himself, and each marshal, with his stewards, turns up at the appointed place at the appointed time, and does the share of the work allotted to him. a ring two or three deep is formed round the place whence the speakers are to address the meeting, and those who form the ring stand linked arm-in-arm, making a living barrier round this empty spot. there a platform, brought thither in pieces, is screwed together, and into this enclosure only the chosen speakers and newspaper reporters are admitted. the marshals and stewards who are not told off for guarding the platform are distributed over the ground which the meeting is to occupy, and act as guardians of order. the hyde park meeting against the royal grant was a thoroughly successful one, and a large number of protests came up from all parts of the country. being from the poorer classes, they were of course disregarded, but none the less was a strong agitation against royal grants carried on throughout the autumn and winter months. the national secular society determined to gather signatures to a "monster petition against royal grants", and the superintendence of this was placed in my hands. the petition was drafted by mr. bradlaugh, and ran as follows:-"to the honorable the commons of great britain and ireland, in parliament assembled. "the humble petition of the undersigned, "prays,--that no further grant or allowance may be made to any member of the royal family until an account shall have been laid before your honorable house, showing the total real and personal estates and incomes of each and every member of the said royal family who shall be in receipt of any pension or allowance, and also showing all posts and places of profit severally held by members of the said royal family, and also showing all pensions, if any, formerly charged on any estates now enjoyed by any member or members of the said royal family, and in case any such pensions shall have been transferred, showing how and at what date such transfer took place." day after day, week after week, month after month, the postman delivered rolls of paper, little and big, each roll containing names and addresses of men and woman who protested against the waste of public money on our greedy and never-satisfied royal house. the sheets often bore the marks of the places to which they had been carried; from a mining district some would come coal-dust-blackened, which had been signed in the mines by workers who grudged to idleness the fruits of toil; from an agricultural district the sheets bore often far too many "crosses", the "marks" of those whom church and landlord had left in ignorance, regarding them only as machines for sowing and reaping. from september, 1875, to march, 1876, they came in steady stream, and each was added to the ever-lengthening roll which lay in one corner of my sitting-room and which assumed ever larger and larger proportions. at last the work was over, and on june 16th, 1876, the "monster"--rolled on a mahogany pole presented by a london friend, and encased in american cloth--was placed in a carriage to be conveyed to the house of commons; the heading ran: "the petition of the undersigned charles bradlaugh, annie besant, charles watts, and 102,934 others". unrolled, it was nearly a mile in length, and a very happy time we had in rolling the last few hundred yards. when we arrived at the house, mr. bradlaugh and mr. watts carried the petition up westminster hall, each holding one end of the mahogany pole. messrs. burt and macdonald took charge of the "monster" at the door of the house, and, carrying it in, presented it in due form. the presentation caused considerable excitement both in the house and in the press, and the _newcastle daily chronicle_ said some kindly words of the "labor and enthusiasm" bestowed on the petition by myself. at the beginning of august, 1875, the first attempt to deprive me of my little daughter, mabel, was made, but fortunately proved unsuccessful. the story of the trick played is told in the _national reformer_ of august 22nd, and i quote it just as it appeared there :-"personal.--mrs. annie besant, as some of our readers are aware, was the wife of a church of england clergyman, the rev. frank besant, vicar of sibsey, near boston, in lincolnshire. there is no need, _at present_, to say anything about the earlier portion of her married life; but when mrs. besant's opinions on religious matters became liberal, the conduct of her husband rendered a separation absolutely necessary, and in 1873 a formal deed of separation was drawn up, and duly executed. under this deed mrs. besant is entitled to the sole custody and control of her infant daughter mabel until the child becomes of age, with the proviso that the little girl is to visit her father for one month in each year. having recently obtained possession of the person of the little child under cover of the annual visit, the rev. mr. besant sought to deprive mrs. besant entirely of her daughter, on the ground of mrs. besant's atheism. vigorous steps were at once taken by messrs. lewis and lewis (to whom our readers will remember we entrusted the case of mr. lennard against mr. woolrych), by whose advice mrs. besant at once went down herself to sibsey to demand the child; the little girl had been hidden, and was not at the vicarage, but we are glad to report that mrs. besant has, after some little difficulty, recovered the custody of her daughter. it was decided against percy bysshe shelley that an atheist father could not be the guardian of his own children. if this law be appealed to, and anyone dares to enforce it, we shall contest it step by step; and while we are out of england, we know that in case of any attempt to retake the child by force we may safely leave our new advocate to the protection of the stout arms of our friends, who will see that no injustice of this kind is done her. so far as the law courts are concerned, we have the most complete confidence in mr. george henry lewis, and we shall fight the case to house of lords if need be. charles bradlaugh." the attempt to take the child from me by force indeed failed, but later the theft was successfully carried out by due process of law. it is always a blunder from a tactical point of view for a christian to use methods of illegal violence in persecuting an atheist in this christian land; legal violence is a far safer weapon, for courage can checkmate the first, while it is helpless before the second. all christians who adopt the sound old principle that "no faith need be kept with the heretic" should remember that they can always guard themselves against unpleasant consequences by breaking faith under cover of the laws against heresy, which still remain on our statute book _ad majorem dei gloriam_. in september, 1875, mr. bradlaugh again sailed for america, leaving plenty of work to be done by his colleagues before he returned. the executive of the national secular society had determined to issue a "secular song book", and the task of selection and of editing was confided to me. the little book was duly issued, and ran through two editions; then, feeling that it was marred by many sins both of commission and omission, i set my face against the publication of a third edition, hoping that a compilation more worthy of free thought might be made. i am half inclined to take the matter up again, and set to work at a fresh collection. the delivery and publication of a course of six lectures on the early part of the french revolution was another portion of that autumn's work; they involved a large amount of labor, as i had determined to tell the story from the people's point of view, and was therefore compelled to read a large amount of the current literature of the time, as well as the great standard histories of louis blanc, michelet, and others. fortunately for me, mr. bradlaugh had a splendid collection of works on the subject, and before he left england he brought to me two cabs full of books, french and english, from all points of view, aristocratic, ecclesiastical, democratic, and i studied these diligently and impartially until the french revolution became to me as a drama in which i had myself taken part, and the actors therein became personal friends and foes. in this, again, as in so much of my public work, i have to thank mr. bradlaugh for the influence which led me to read fully all sides of a question, and to read most carefully those from which i differed most, ere i judged myself competent to write or to speak thereon. the late autumn was clouded by the news of mr. bradlaugh's serious illness in america. after struggling for some time against ill-health he was struck down by an attack of pleurisy, to which soon was added typhoid fever, and for a time lay at the brink of the grave. dr. otis, his able physician, finding that it was impossible to give him the necessary attendance at the fifth avenue hotel, put him into his own carriage and drove him to the hospital of st. luke's, where he confided him to the care of dr. leaming, himself also visiting him daily. of this illness the _baltimore advertiser_ wrote: "mr. charles bradlaugh, the famous english radical lecturer, has been so very dangerously ill that his life has almost been despaired of. he was taken ill at the fifth avenue hotel, and partially recovered; but on the day upon which a lecture had been arranged from him before the liberal club he was taken down a second time with a relapse, which has been very near proving fatal. the cause was overwork and complete nervous prostration which brought on low fever. his physician has allowed one friend only to see him daily for five minutes, and removed him to st. luke's hospital for the sake of the absolute quiet, comfort, and intelligent attendance he could secure there, and for which he was glad to pay munificently. this long and severe illness has disappointed the hopes and retarded the object for which he came to this country; but he is gentleness and patience itself in his sickness in this strange land, and has endeared himself greatly to his physicians and attendants by his gratitude and appreciation of the slightest attention." there is no doubt that the care so willingly lavished on the english stranger saved his life, and those who in england honor charles bradlaugh as chief and love him as friend must always keep in grateful memory those who in his sorest need served him so nobly well. those who think that an atheist cannot calmly face the prospect of death might well learn a lesson from the fortitude and courage shown by an atheist as he lay at the point of death, far from home and from all he loved best. the rev. mr. frothingham bore public and admiring testimony in his own church to mr. bradlaugh's perfect serenity, at once fearless and unpretending, and, himself a theist, gave willing witness to the atheist's calm strength. mr. bradlaugh returned to england at the end of december, worn to a shadow and terribly weak, and for many a long month he bore the traces of his wrestle with death. indeed, he felt the effect of the illness for years, for typhoid fever is a foe whose weapons leave scars even after the healing of the wounds it inflicts. the first work done by mr. bradlaugh on resuming the editorial chair of the _national reformer_, was to indite a vigorous protest against the investment of national capital in the suez canal shares. he exposed the financial condition of egypt, gave detail after detail of the khedive's indebtedness, unveiled the rottenness of the egyptian government, warned the people of the danger of taking the first steps in a path which must lead to continual interference in egyptian finance, denounced the shameful job perpetrated by mr. disraeli in borrowing the money for the purchase from the rothschilds at enormous interest. his protest was, of course, useless, but its justice has been proved by the course of events. the bombarding of alexandria, the shameful repression of the national movement in egypt, the wholesale and useless slaughter in the soudan, the waste of english lives and english money, the new burden of debt and of responsibility now assumed by the government, all these are the results of the fatal purchase of shares in the suez canal by mr. disraeli; yet against the chorus of praise which resounded from every side when the purchase was announced, but one voice of disapproval and of warning was raised at first; others soon caught the warning and saw the dangers it pointed out, but for awhile charles bradlaugh stood alone in his opposition, and to him belongs the credit of at once seeing the peril which lay under the purchase. the 1876 conference of the national secular society held at leeds showed the growing power of the organisation, and was made notable by a very pleasant incident--the presentation to a miner, william washington, of a silver tea-pot and some books, in recognition of a very noble act of self-devotion. an explosion had occurred on december 6th, 1875, at swaithe main pit, in which 143 miners were killed; a miner belonging to a neighboring pit, named william washington, an atheist, when every one was hanging back, sprang into the cage to descend into the pit in forlorn hope of rescue, when to descend seemed almost certain death. others swiftly followed the gallant volunteer, but he had set the example, and it was felt by the executive of the national secular society that his heroism deserved recognition, william washington set his face against any gift to himself, so the subscription to a testimonial was limited to 6d., and a silver teapot was presented to him for his wife and some books for his children. at this same conference a committee was appointed, consisting of messrs. charles bradlaugh, g.j. holyoake, c. watts, r.a. cooper,--gimson, t. slater, and mrs. besant, to draw up a fresh statement of the principles and objects of the national secular society; it was decided that this statement should be submitted to the ensuing conference, that the deliberation on the report of the committee should "be open to all freethinkers, but that only those will be entitled to vote on the ratification who declare their determination to enter the society on the basis of the ratified constitution". it was hoped that by this means various scattered and independent societies might be brought into union, and that the national secular society might he thereby strengthened. the committee held a very large number of meetings and finally decided on the following statement, which was approved of at the conference held at nottingham in 1877, and stands now as the "principles and object of the national secular society":-"the national secular society has been formed to maintain the principles and rights of freethought, and to direct their application to the secular improvement of this life. "by the principle of freethought is meant the exercise of the understanding upon relevant facts, and independently of penal or priestly intimidation. "by the rights of freethought are meant the liberty of free criticism for the security of truth, and the liberty of free publicity for the extension of truth. "secularism relates to the present existence of man, and to actions the issue of which can be tested by experience. "it declares that the promotion of human improvement and happiness is the highest duty, and that morality is to be tested by utility. "that in order to promote effectually the improvement and happiness of mankind, every individual of the human family ought to be well placed and well instructed, and that all who are of a suitable age ought to be usefully employed for their own and the general good. "that human improvement and happiness cannot be effectually promoted without civil and religious liberty; and that, therefore, it is the duty of every individual to actively attack all barriers to equal freedom of thought and utterance for all, upon political, theological, and social subjects. "a secularist is one who deduces his moral duties from considerations which pertain to this life, and who, practically recognising the above duties, devotes himself to the promotion of the general good. "the object of the national secular society is to disseminate the above principles by every legitimate means in its power." at this same conference of leeds was inaugurated the subscription to the statue to be erected in rome to the memory of giordano bruno, burned in that city for atheism in 1600; this resulted in the collection of â£60. the executive appointed by the leeds conference made great efforts to induce the freethinkers of the country to work for the repeal of the blasphemy laws, and in october 1876 they issued a copy of a petition against those evil laws to every one of the forty branches of the society. the effort proved, however, of little avail. the laws had not been put in force for a long time, and were regarded with apathy as being obsolete, and it has needed the cruel imprisonments inflicted by mr. justice north on messrs. foote, ramsey, and kemp, to arouse the freethought party to a sense of their duty in the matter. the year 1877 had scarcely opened ere we found ourselves with a serious fight on our hands. a pamphlet written early in the present century by charles knowlton, m.d., entitled "the fruits of philosophy", which had been sold unchallenged in england for nearly forty years, was suddenly seized at bristol as an obscene publication. the book had been supplied in the ordinary course of business by mr. charles watts, but the bristol bookseller had altered its price, had inserted some indecent pictures in it, and had sold it among literature to which the word obscene was fairly applied. in itself, dr. knowlton's work was merely a physiological treatise, and it advocated conjugal prudence and parental responsibility; it argued in favor of early marriage, but as over-large families among persons of limited incomes imply either pauperism, or lack of necessary food, clothing, education, and fair start in life for the children, dr. knowlton advocated the restriction of the number of the family within the means of existence, and stated the means by which this restriction should be carried out. on hearing of the prosecution, mr. watts went down to bristol, and frankly announced himself as the publisher of the book. soon after his return to london he was arrested on the charge of having published an obscene book, and was duly liberated on bail. mr. and mrs. watts, mr. bradlaugh and myself met to arrange our plan of united action on friday, january 12th, and it was decided that mr. watts should defend the book, that a fund should at once be raised for his legal expenses, and that once more the right of publication of useful knowledge in a cheap form should be defended by the leaders of the freethought party. after long and friendly discussion we separated with the plan of the campaign arranged, and it was decided that i should claim the sympathy and help of the plymouth friends, whom i was to address on the following sunday, january 14th. i went down to plymouth on january 13th, and there received a telegram from mr. watts, saying that a change of plan had been decided on. i was puzzled, but none the less i appealed for help as i had promised to do, and a collection of â£8 1s. 10d. for mr. watts' defence fund was made after my evening lecture. to my horror, on returning to london, i found that mr. watts had given way before the peril of imprisonment, and had decided to plead guilty to the charge of publishing an obscene book, and to throw himself on the mercy of the court, relying on his previous good character and on an alleged ignorance of the contents of the incriminated work. the latter plea we knew to be false, for mr. watts before going down to bristol to declare himself responsible for the pamphlet had carefully read it and had marked all the passages which, being physiological, might be attacked as "obscene". this marked copy he had sent to the bristol bookseller, before he himself went to bristol to attend the trial, and under these circumstances any pretence of ignorance of the contents of the book was transparently inaccurate. mr. watts' surrender, of course, upset all the arrangements we had agreed on; mr. bradlaugh and myself were prepared to stand by him in battle, but not in surrender. i at once returned to the secretary of the plymouth branch the money collected for defence, not for capitulation, and mr. bradlaugh published the following brief statement in the _national reformer_ for january 21st: "prosecution of mr. charles watts.--mr. charles watts, as most of our readers will have already learned, has been committed for trial at the central criminal court for february 5th, for misdemeanor, for publication of a work on the population question, entitled "fruits of philosophy", by charles knowlton, m.d. this book has been openly published in england and america for more than thirty years. it was sold in england by james watson, who always bore the highest repute. on james watson's retirement from business it was sold by holyoake & co., at fleet street house, and was afterwards sold by mr. austin holyoake until the time of his death; and a separate edition was, up till last week, still sold by mr. brooks, of 282, strand, w.c. when mr. james watson died, mr. charles watts bought from james watson's widow a large quantity of stereotype plates, including this work. if this book is to be condemned as obscene, so also in my opinion must be many published by messrs. w.h. smith & son, and other publishers, against whose respectability no imputation has been made. such books as darwin's 'origin of species' and 'descent of man' must immediately be branded as obscene, while no medical work must be permitted publication; and all theological works, like those of dulaure, inman, etc., dealing with ancient creeds, must at once be suppressed. the bulk of the publications of the society for the repeal of the contagious diseases acts, together with its monthly organ, the _shield_, would be equally liable. the issue of the greater part of classic authors, and of lempriã¨re, shakspere, sterne, fielding, richardson, rabelais, etc., must be stopped: while the bible--containing obscene passages omitted from the lectionary--must no longer be permitted circulation. all these contain obscenity which is either inserted to amuse or to instruct, and the medical work now assailed deals with physiological points purely to instruct, and to increase the happiness of men and women. "if the pamphlet now prosecuted had been brought to me for publication, i should probably have declined to publish it, not because of the subject-matter, but because i do not like its style. if i had once published it, i should defend it until the very last. here mr. watts and myself disagree in opinion; and as he is the person chiefly concerned, it is, of course, right that his decision should determine what is done. he tells me that he thinks the pamphlet indefensible, and that he was misled in publishing it without examination as part of james watson's stock. i think it ought to be fought right through. under these circumstances i can only leave mr. watts to speak for himself, as we so utterly differ in opinion on this case that i cease to be his proper interpreter. i have, therefore, already offered mr. watts the columns of the _national reformer_, that he may put before the party his view of the case, which he does in another column."--c. bradlaugh. xiv. up to this time (january, 1877) mr. watts had acted as sub-editor of the _national reformer_, and printer and publisher of the books and pamphlets issued by mr. bradlaugh and myself. the continuance of this common work obviously became impossible after mr. watts had determined to surrender one of his publications under threat of prosecution. we felt that for two main reasons we could no longer publicly associate ourselves with him: (1) we could not retain on our publications the name of a man who had pleaded guilty to the publication of an obscene work; (2) many of our writings were liable to prosecution for blasphemy, and it was necessary that we should have a publisher who could be relied on to stand firm in time of peril; we felt that if mr. watts surrendered one thing he would be likely to surrender others. this feeling on my part was strengthened by the remembrance of a request of his made a few months before, that i would print my own name instead of his as publisher of a political song i had issued, on the ground that it might come within the law of seditious libel. i had readily acceded at the time, but when absolute surrender under attack followed on timid precaution against attack, i felt that a bolder publisher was necessary to me. no particular blame should be laid on persons who are constitutionally timid; they have their own line of usefulness, and are often pleasant and agreeable folk enough; but they are out of place in the front rank of a fighting movement, for their desertion in face of the enemy means added danger for those left to carry on the fight. we therefore decided to sever ourselves from mr. watts; and mr. bradlaugh, in the _national reformer_ of january 28th, inserted the following statement: "the divergence of opinion between myself and mr. charles watts is so complete on the knowlton case, that he has already ceased to be sub-editor of this journal, and i have given him notice determining our connexion on and from march 25th. my reasons for this course are as follows. the knowlton pamphlet is either decent or indecent. if decent it ought to be defended; if indecent it should never have been published. to judge it indecent is to condemn, with the most severe condemnation, james watson whom i respected, and austin holyoake with whom i worked. i hold the work to be defensible, and i deny the right of any one to interfere with the full and free discussion of social questions affecting the happiness of the nation. the struggle for a free press has been one of the marks of the freethought party throughout its history, and as long as the party permits me to hold its flag, i will never voluntarily lower it. i have no right and no power to dictate to mr. watts the course he should pursue, but i have the right and duty to refuse to associate my name with a submission which is utterly repugnant to my nature, and inconsistent with my whole career." after a long discussion, mr. bradlaugh and i made up our minds as to the course we would pursue. we decided that we would never again place ourselves at a publisher's mercy, but would ensure the defence of all we published by publishing everything ourselves; we resolved to become printers and publishers, and to take any small place we could find and open it as a freethought shop. i undertook the sub-editorship of the _national reformer_, and the weekly summary of news, which had hitherto been done by mr. watts, was placed in the hands of mr. bradlaugh's daughters. the next thing to do was to find a publishing office. somewhere within reach of fleet street the office must be; small it must be, as we had no funds and the risk of starting a business of which we knew nothing was great. still "all things are possible to" those who are resolute; we discovered a tumble-down little place in stonecutter street and secured it by the good offices of our friend, mr. charles herbert; we borrowed a few hundred pounds from personal friends, and made our new tenement habitable; we drew up a deed of partnership, founding the "freethought publishing company", mr. bradlaugh and myself being the only partners; we engaged mr. w.j. ramsey as manager of the business; and in the _national reformer_ of february 25th we were able to announce: "the publishing office of the _national reformer_ and of all the works of charles bradlaugh and annie besant is now at 28, stonecutter street, e.c., three doors from farringdon street, where the manager, mr. w.j. ramsey, will be glad to receive orders for the supply of any freethought literature". a week later we issued the following address: "address from the freethought publishing company to the readers of the 'national reformer'. "when the prospectus of the _national reformer_ was issued by the founder, charles bradlaugh, in 1859, he described its policy as 'atheistic in theology, republican in politics, and malthusian in social economy', and a free platform was promised and has been maintained for the discussion of each of these topics. in ventilating the population question the stand taken by mr. bradlaugh, both here and on the platform, is well known to our old readers, and many works bearing on this vital subject have been advertised and reviewed in these columns. in this the _national reformer_ has followed the course pursued by mr. george jacob holyoake, who in 1853 published a 'freethought directory', giving a list of the various books supplied from the 'fleet street house', and which list contained amongst others: "'anti-marcus on the population question.' "fowler's tracts on physiology, etc. "dr. c. knowlton's 'fruits of philosophy'. "'moral physiology: a plain treatise on the population question.' "in this directory mr. g.j. holyoake says: "'no. 147 fleet street is a central secular book depot, where all works extant in the english language on the side of freethought in religion, politics, morals, and culture are kept in stock, or are procured at short notice.' "we shall try to do at 28 stonecutter street that which mr. holyoake's directory promised for fleet street house. "the partners in the freethought publishing company are annie besant and charles bradlaugh, who have entered into a legal partnership for the purpose of sharing the legal responsibility of the works they publish. "we intend to publish nothing that we do not think we can morally defend. all that we do publish we shall defend. we do not mean that we shall agree with all we publish, but we shall, so far as we can, try to keep the possibility of free utterance of earnest, honest opinion. "it may not be out of place here to remind new readers of this journal of that which old readers well know, that no articles are editorial except those which are unsigned or bear the name of the editor, or that of the sub-editor; for each and every other article the author is allowed to say his own say in his own way; the editor only furnishes the means to address our readers, leaving to him or to her the right and responsibility of divergent thought. "annie besant "charles bradlaugh." thus we found ourselves suddenly launched on a new undertaking, and with some amusement and much trepidation i realised that i was "in business", with business knowledge amounting to _nil_. i had, however, fair ability and plenty of goodwill, and i determined to learn my work, feeling proud that i had become one of the list of "freethought publishers", who published for love of the cause of freedom, and risked all for the triumph of a principle ere it wore "silver slippers and walked in the sunshine with applause". on february 8th mr. watts was tried at the old bailey. he withdrew his plea of "not guilty", and pleaded "guilty". his counsel urged that he was a man of good character, that mr. george jacob holyoake had sold the incriminated pamphlet, that mr. watts had bought the stereo-plates of it in the stock of the late mr. austin holyoake, which he had taken over bodily, and that he had never read the book until after the bristol investigation. "mr. watts pledges himself to me", the counsel stated, "that he was entirely ignorant of the contents of this pamphlet until he heard passages read from it in the prosecution at bristol". the counsel for the prosecution pointed out that this statement was inaccurate, and read passages from mr. watts' deposition made on the first occasion at bristol, in which mr. watts stated that he had perused the book, and was prepared to justify it as a medical work. he, however, did not wish to press the case, if the plates and stock were destroyed, and mr. watts was accordingly discharged on his own recognisances in â£500 to come up for judgment when called on. while this struggle was raging, an old friend of mr. bradlaugh's, mr. george odger, was slowly passing away; the good old man lay dying in his poor lodgings in high street, oxford street, and i find recorded in the _national reformer_ of march 4th, that on february 28th we had been to see him, and that "he is very feeble and is, apparently, sinking fast; but he is as brave and bright, facing his last enemy, as he has ever been facing his former ones". he died on march 4th, and was buried in brompton cemetery on the 10th of the same month. a grave question now lay before us for decision. the knowlton pamphlet had been surrendered; was that surrender to stand as the last word of the freethought party on a book which had been sold by the most prominent men in its ranks for forty years? to our minds such surrender, left unchallenged, would be a stain on all who submitted to it, and we decided that faulty as the book was in many respects it had yet become the symbol of a great principle, of the right to circulate physiological knowledge among the poor in pamphlets published at a price they could afford to pay. deliberately counting the risk, recognising that by our action we should subject ourselves to the vilest slander, knowing that christian malice would misrepresent and ignorance would echo the misrepresentation --we yet resolved that the sacrifice must be made, and made by us in virtue of our position in the freethought party. if the leaders flinched how could the followers be expected to fight? the greatest sacrifice had to be made by mr. bradlaugh. how would an indictment for publishing an obscene book affect his candidature for northampton? what a new weapon for his foes, what a new difficulty for his friends! i may say here that our worst forebodings were realised by the event; we have been assailed as "vendors of obscene literature", as "writers of obscene books", as "living by the circulation of filthy books". and it is because such accusations have been widely made that i here place on permanent record the facts of the case, for thus, at least, some honest opponents will learn the truth and will cease to circulate the slanders they may have repeated in ignorance. on february 27th our determination to republish the knowlton pamphlet was announced by mr. bradlaugh in an address delivered by him at the hall of science on "the right of publication". extracts from a brief report, published in the _national reformer_ of march 11th, will show the drift of his statement: "mr. bradlaugh was most warmly welcomed to the platform, and reiterated cheers greeted him as he rose to make his speech. few who heard him that evening will forget the passion and the pathos with which he spoke. the defence of the right to publish was put as strongly and as firmly as words could put it, and the determination to maintain that right, in dock and in jail as on the platform, rang out with no uncertain sound. truly, as the orator said: 'the bold words i have spoken from this place would be nothing but the emptiest brag and the coward's boast, if i flinched now in the day of battle'. every word of praise of the fighters of old would fall in disgrace on the head of him who spoke it, if when the time came to share in their peril he shrunk back from the danger of the strife.... mr. bradlaugh drew a graphic picture of the earlier struggles for a free press, and then dealt with the present state of the law; from that he passed on to the pamphlet which is the test-question of the hour; he pointed out how some parts of it were foolish, such as the 'philosophical proem', but remarked that he knew no right in law to forbid the publication of all save wisdom; he then showed how, had he originally been asked to publish the pamphlet, he should have raised some objections to its style, but that was a very different matter from permitting the authorities to stop its sale; the style of many books might be faulty without the books being therefore obscene. he contended the book was a perfectly moral medical work, and was no more indecent than every other medical work dealing with the same subject. the knowledge it gave was useful knowledge; many a young man might be saved from disease by such a knowledge as was contained in the book; if it was argued that such books should not be sold at so cheap a rate, he replied that it was among the masses that such physiological knowledge was needed, 'and if there is one subject above all others', he exclaimed, 'for which a man might gladly sacrifice his hopes and his life, surely it is for that which would relieve his fellow-men from poverty, the mother of crimes, and would make happy homes where now only want and suffering reign'. he had fully counted the cost; he knew all he might lose; but carlile before him had been imprisoned for teaching the same doctrine, 'and what carlile did for his day, i, while health and strength remain, will do for mine'." the position we took up in republishing the pamphlet was clearly stated in the preface which we wrote for it, and which i here reprint, as it gives plainly and briefly the facts of the case: "publishers' preface to dr. knowlton's 'fruits of philosophy'. "the pamphlet which we now present to the public is one which has been lately prosecuted under lord campbell's act, and which we now republish in order to test the right of publication. it was originally written by charles knowlton, m.d., an american physician, whose degree entitles him to be heard with respect on a medical question. it is openly sold and widely circulated in america at the present time. it was first published in england, about forty years ago, by james watson, the gallant radical who came to london and took up richard carlile's work when carlile was in jail. he sold it unchallenged for many years, approved it, and recommended it. it was printed and published by messrs. holyoake and co., and found its place, with other works of a similar character, in their 'freethought directory' of 1853, and was thus identified with freethought literature at the then leading freethought _depã´t_ . mr. austin holyoake, working in conjunction with mr. bradlaugh at the _national reformer_ office, johnson's court, printed and published it in his turn, and this well-known freethought advocate, in his 'large or small families'. selected this pamphlet, together with r.d. owen's 'moral physiology' and the 'elements of social science', for special recommendation. mr. charles watts, succeeding to mr. austin holyoake's business, continued the sale, and when mr. watson died in 1875, he bought the plates of the work (with others) from mrs. watson, and continued to advertise and to sell it until december 23rd, 1876. for the last forty years the book has thus been identified with freethought, advertised by leading freethinkers, published under the sanction of their names, and sold in the head-quarters of freethought literature. if during this long period the party has thus--without one word of protest--circulated an indecent work, the less we talk about freethought morality the better; the work has been largely sold, and if leading freethinkers have sold it--profiting by the sale--in mere carelessness, few words could be strong enough to brand the indifference which thus scattered obscenity broadcast over the land. the pamphlet has been withdrawn from circulation in consequence of the prosecution instituted against mr. charles watts, but the question of its legality or illegality has not been tried; a plea of 'guilty' was put in by the publisher, and the book, therefore, was not examined, nor was any judgment passed upon it; no jury registered a verdict, and the judge stated that he had not read the work. "we republish this pamphlet, honestly believing that on all questions affecting the happiness of the people, whether they be theological, political, or social, fullest right of free discussion ought to be maintained at all hazards. we do not personally endorse all that dr. knowlton says: his 'philosophical proem' seems to us full of philosophical mistakes, and--as we are neither of us doctors--we are not prepared to endorse his medical views; but since progress can only be made through discussion, and no discussion is possible where differing opinions are suppressed, we claim the right to publish all opinions, so that the public, enabled to see all sides of a question, may have the materials for forming a sound judgment. "the alterations made are very slight; the book was badly printed, and errors of spelling and a few clumsy grammatical expressions have been corrected; the sub-title has been changed, and in one case four lines have been omitted, because they are repeated word for word further on. we have, however, made some additions to the pamphlet, which are in all cases kept distinct from the original text. physiology has made great strides during the past forty years, and not considering it right to circulate erroneous physiology, we submitted the pamphlet to a doctor in whose accurate knowledge we have the fullest confidence, and who is widely known in all parts of the world as the author of the "elements of social science"; the notes signed "g.r." are written by this gentleman. references to other works are given in foot notes for the assistance of the reader, if he desires to study the subject further. "old radicals will remember that richard carlile published a work entitled 'every woman's book', which deals with the same subject, and advocates the same object, as dr. knowlton's pamphlet. e.d. owen objected to the 'style and tone' of carlile's 'every woman's book' as not being 'in good taste', and he wrote his 'moral physiology', to do in america what carlile's work was intended to do in england. this work of carlile's was stigmatised as 'indecent' and 'immoral' because it advocated, as does dr. knowlton's, the use of preventive checks to population. in striving to carry on carlile's work, we cannot expect to escape carlile's reproach, but whether applauded or condemned we mean to carry it on, socially as well as politically and theologically. "we believe, with the rev. mr. malthus, that population has a tendency to increase faster than the means of existence, and that _some_ checks must therefore exercise control over population; the checks now exercised are semi-starvation and preventible disease; the enormous mortality among the infants of the poor is one of the checks which now keeps down the population. the checks that ought to control population are scientific, and it is these which we advocate. we think it more moral to prevent the conception of children, than, after they are born, to murder them by want of food, air, and clothing. we advocate scientific checks to population, because, so long as poor men have large families, pauperism is a necessity, and from pauperism grow crime and disease. the wage which would support the parents and two or three children in comfort and decency is utterly insufficient to maintain a family of twelve or fourteen, and we consider it a crime to bring into the world human beings doomed to misery or to premature death. it is not only the hand-working classes which are concerned in this question. the poor curate, the struggling man of business, the young professional man, are often made wretched for life by their inordinately large families, and their years are passed in one long battle to live; meanwhile the woman's health is sacrificed and her life embittered from the same cause. to all of these, we point the way of relief and of happiness; for the sake of these we publish what others fear to issue, and we do it, confident that if we fail the first time, we shall succeed at last, and that the english public will not permit the authorities to stifle a discussion of the most important social question which can influence a nation's welfare. "charles bradlaugh. "annie besant." we advertised the sale of the pamphlet in the _national reformer_ of march 25th (published march 22nd) in the following words: fruits of philosophy. by charles knowlton, m.d. price sixpence. this pamphlet will be republished on saturday, march 24th, _in extenso_, with some additional medical notes by a london doctor of medicine. it will be on sale at 28, stonecutter street, e.g., after 4 p.m. until close of shop. no one need apply before this time, as none will be on sale. mr. charles bradlaugh and mrs. annie besant will be in attendance from that hour, and will sell personally the first hundred copies. freethought publishing company, 28, stonecutter street, e.c. in addition to this we ourselves delivered copies on march 23rd to mr. martin, the chief clerk of the magistrates at guildhall, to the officer in charge at the city police office in old jewry, and to the solicitor for the city of london. with each pamphlet we handed in a notice that we should attend personally to sell the book on march 24th, at stonecutter street, from 4 to 5 p.m. these precautions were taken in order to force the authorities to prosecute us, and not any of our subordinates, if they prosecuted at all. the account of the first sale will interest many: "on saturday we went down to stonecutter street, accompanied by the misses bradlaugh and mr. and mrs. touzeau parris; we arrived at no. 28 at three minutes to four, and found a crowd awaiting us. we promptly filled the window with copies of the pamphlet, as a kind of general notice of the sale within, and then opened the door. the shop was filled immediately, and in twenty minutes over 500 copies were sold. no one sold save mr. bradlaugh and myself, but miss bradlaugh sorted dozens with a skill that seemed to stamp her as intended by nature for the business, while her sister supplied change with a rapidity worthy of a bank clerk. several detectives favored us with a visit, and one amused us by coming in and buying two copies from mr. bradlaugh, and then retiring gracefully; after an interval of perhaps a quarter of an hour he reappeared, and purchased one from me. two policemen outside made themselves useful; one patrolled the street calmly, and the other very kindly aided norrish, mr. eamsey's co-worker, in his efforts to keep the stream flowing quietly, without too much pressure. mr. bradlaugh's voice was heard warningly from time to time, bidding customers not to crowd, and everything went well and smoothly, save that i occasionally got into fearful muddles in the intricacies of 'trade price'; i disgusted one customer, who muttered roughly 'ritchie', and who, when i gave him two copies, and put his shilling in the till, growled: 'i shan't take them'. i was fairly puzzled, till mr. bradlaugh enlightened me as to the difficulty, 'ritchie' to me being unknown; it appeared that 'ritchie', muttered by the buyer, meant that the copies were wanted by a bookseller of that name, and his messenger was irate at being charged full price. friends from various parts appeared to give a kindly word; a number of the members of the dialectical society came in, and many were the congratulations and promises of aid in case of need. several who came in offered to come forward as bail, and their names were taken by mr. parris. the buyer that most raised my curiosity was one of mr. watts' sons, who came in and bought seven copies, putting down only trade-price on the counter; no one is supplied at trade-price unless he buys to sell again, and we have all been wondering why mr. watts should intend to sell the knowlton pamphlet, after he has proclaimed it to be obscene and indecent. at six o'clock the shutters were put up, and we gave up our amateur shop-keeping; our general time for closing on saturday is 2 p.m., but we kept the shop open on saturday for the special purpose of selling the knowlton pamphlet. we sold about 800 copies, besides sending out a large number of country parcels, so that if the police now amuse themselves in seizing the work, they will entirely have failed in stopping its circulation. the pamphlet, during the present week, will have been sold over england and scotland, and the only effect of the foolish police interference will be to have sold a large edition. we must add one word of thanks to them for the kindly aid given us by their gratuitous advertisement." [i may note here, in passing, that we printed our edition verbatim from that issued by james watson, not knowing that various editions were in circulation. it was thereupon stated by mr. watts that we had not reprinted the pamphlet for which he was prosecuted, so we at once issued another edition, printed from his own version.] the help that flowed in to us from all sides was startling both in quantity and quality; a defence committee was quickly formed, consisting of the following persons: "c.r. drysdale, m.d., miss vickery, h.r.s. dalton, b.a., w.j. birch, m.a., j. swaagman, mrs. swaagman, p.a.v. le lubez, mdme. le lubez, miss bradlaugh, miss h. bradlaugh, mrs. parris, t. allsop, e. truelove, mark e. marsden, f.a. ford, mrs. fenwick miller, g.n. strawbridge, w.w. wright, mrs. rennick, mrs. lowe, w. bell, thomas slater, g. f. forster, j. scott, g. priestley, j.w. white, j. hart, h. brooksbank, mrs. brooksbank, g. middleton, j. child, ben. w. elmy, elizabeth wolstenholme elmy, touzeau parris (hon. sec.), captain r.h. dyas, thomas roy (president of the scottish secular union), r.a. cooper, robert forder, william wayham, mrs. elizabeth wayham, professor emile acollas (ancien professeur de droit franã§ais ã  l'universitã© de berne), w. reynolds, c. herbert, j.f. haines, h. rogers (president of the trunk and portmanteau makers' trade society), yves guyot (redacteur en chef du _radical_ et du _bien public),_ w.j. ramsey, j. wilks, mrs. wilks, j.e. symes, e. martin, w.e. adams, mrs. adams, john bryson (president of the northumberland miners' mutual confident association), ralph young, j. grout, mrs. grout, general cluseret, a. talandier (member of the chamber of deputies), j. baxter langley, ll.d., m.r.c.s., f.l.s." mrs. fenwick miller's letter of adhesion is worthy republication; it puts so tersely the real position: "59, francis terrace. victoria park. "march 31st. "my dear mrs. besant,--i feel myself privileged in having the opportunity of expressing both to you and to the public, by giving you my small aid to your defence, how much i admire the noble position taken up by mr. bradlaugh and yourself upon this attempt to suppress free discussion, and to keep the people in enforced ignorance upon the most important of subjects. it is shameful that you should have to do it through the cowardice of the less important person who might have made himself a hero by doing as you now do, but was too weak for his opportunities. since you have had to do it, however, accept the assurance of my warm sympathy, and my readiness to aid in any way within my power in your fight. please add my name to your committee. you will find a little cheque within: i wish i had fifty times as much to give. "under other circumstances, the pamphlet might well have been withdrawn from circulation, since its physiology its obsolete, and consequently its practical deductions to some extent unsound. but it must be everywhere comprehended that _this is not the point_. the book would have been equally attacked had its physiology been new and sound; the prosecution is against the right to issue a work upon the special subject, and against the freedom of the press and individual liberty.--believe me, yours very faithfully, r. fenwick miller." among the many received were letters of encouragement from general garibaldi, m. talandier, professor emile acollas, and the rev. s.d. headlam. as we did not care to be hunted about london by the police, we offered to be at stonecutter street daily from 10 to 11 a.m. until we were arrested, and our offer was readily accepted. friends who were ready to act as bail came forward in large numbers, and we arranged with some of them that they should be within easy access in case of need. there was a little delay in issuing the warrants for our arrest. a deputation from the christian evidence society waited on mr. (now sir richard) cross, to ask that the government should prosecute us, and he acceded to their request. the warrants were issued on april 3rd, and were executed on april 5th. the story of the arrest i take from my own article in the _national reformer,_ premising that we had been told that "the warrants were in the hands of simmons". "thursday morning found us again on our way to stonecutter street, and as we turned into it we were aware of three gentlemen regarding us affectionately from beneath the shelter of a ladder on the off-side of farringdon street. 'that's simmons,' quoth mr. bradlaugh, as we went in, and i shook my head solemnly, regarding 'simmons' as the unsubstantial shadow of a dream. but as the two misses bradlaugh and myself reached the room above the shop, a gay--'i told you so', from mr. bradlaugh downstairs, announced a visit, and in another moment mr. bradlaugh came up, followed by the three unknown. 'you know what we have come for,' said the one in front; and no one disputed his assertion. detective-sergeant r. outram was the head officer, and he produced his warrant at mr. bradlaugh's request; he was accompanied by two detective officers, messrs. simmons and williams. he was armed also with a search warrant, a most useful document, seeing that the last copy of the edition (of 5,000 copies) had been sold on the morning of the previous day, and a high pile of orders was accumulating downstairs, orders which we were unable to fulfil. mr. bradlaugh told him, with a twinkle in his eye, that he was too late, but offered him every facility for searching. a large packet of 'text books'--left for that purpose by norrish, if the truth were known-whose covers were the same color as those of the 'fruits', attracted mr. outram's attention, and he took off some of the brown paper wrapper, but found the goods unseizable. he took one copy of the 'cause of woman', by ben elmy, and wandered up and down the house seeking for goods to devour, but found nothing to reward him for his energy. meanwhile we wrote a few telegrams and a note or two, and after about half-an-hour's delay, we started for the police-station in bridewell place, arriving there at 10.25. the officers, who showed us every courtesy and kindness consistent with the due execution of their duty, allowed mr. bradlaugh and myself to walk on in front, and they followed us across the roar of fleet street, down past ludgate hill station, to the police office. here we passed into a fair-sized room, and were requested to go into a funny iron-barred place; it was a large oval railed in, with a brightly polished iron bar running round it, the door closing with a snap. here we stood while two officers in uniform got out their books; one of these reminded mr. bradlaugh of his late visits there, remarking that he supposed the 'gentleman you were so kind to will do you the same good turn now'. mr. bradlaugh dryly replied that he didn't think so, accepting service and giving it were two very different things. our examination then began; names, ages, abodes, birth-places, number of children, color of hair and eyes, were all duly enrolled; then we were measured, and our heights put down; next we delivered up watches, purses, letters, keys--in fact emptied our pockets; then i was walked off by the housekeeper into a neighboring cell and searched--a surely most needless proceeding; it strikes me this is an unnecessary indignity to which to subject an uncondemned prisoner, except in cases of theft, where stolen property might be concealed about the person. it is extremely unpleasant to be handled, and on such a charge as that against myself a search was an absurdity. the woman was as civil as she could be, but, as she fairly enough said, she had no option in the matter. after this, i went back to the room and rejoined my fellow prisoner and we chatted peaceably with our guardians; they quite recognised our object in our proceedings, and one gave it as his opinion that we ought to have been summoned, and not taken by warrant. taken, however, we clearly were, and we presently drove on to guildhall, mr. outram in the cab with us, and mr. williams on the box. "at guildhall, we passed straight into the court, through the dock, and down the stairs. here mr. outram delivered us over to the gaoler, and the most uncomfortable part of our experiences began. below the court are a number of cells, stone floored and whitewashed walled; instead of doors there are heavy iron gates, covered with thick close grating; the passages are divided here and there with similar strong iron gates, only some of which are grated. the rules of the place of course divided the sexes, so mr. bradlaugh and myself were not allowed to occupy the same cell; the gaoler, however, did the best he could for us, by allowing me to remain in a section of the passage which separated the men's from the women's cells, and by putting mr. bradlaugh into the first of the men's. then, by opening a little window in the thick wall, a grating was discovered, through which we could dimly see each other. mr. bradlaugh's face, as seen from my side, scored all over with the little oblong holes in the grating reflected by the dull glimmer of the gas in the passage, was curious rather than handsome; mine was, probably, not more attractive. in this charming place we passed two hours-and-a-half, and it was very dull and very cold. we solaced ourselves, at first, by reading the _secular review_, mr. bradlaugh tearing it into pages, and passing them one by one through the grating. by pushing on his side and pulling on mine, we managed to get them through the narrow holes. our position when we read them was a strange satire on one article (which i read with great pain), which expressed the writer's opinion that the book was so altered as not to be worth prosecuting. neither the police nor the magistrate recognised any difference between the two editions. as i knew the second edition, taken from mr. watts', was almost ready for delivery as i read, i could not help smiling at the idea that no one 'had the courage' to reprint it. "mr. bradlaugh paced up and down his limited kingdom, and after i had finished correcting an _n.r._, i sometimes walked and sometimes sat, and we chatted over future proceedings, and growled at our long detention, and listened to names of prisoners being called, until we were at last summoned to 'go up higher', and we joyfully obeyed. it was a strange sort of place to stand in, the dock of a police-court the position struck one as really funny, and everyone who looked at us seemed to feel the same incongruity: officials, chief clerk, magistrate, all were equally polite, and mr. bradlaugh seemed to get his own way from the dock as much as everywhere else. the sitting magistrate was alderman figgins, a nice, kindly old gentleman, robed in marvellous, but not uncomely, garments of black velvet, purple, and dark fur. below the magistrate, on either hand, sat a gentleman writing, one of whom was mr. martin, the chief clerk, who took the purely formal evidence required to justify the arrest. the reporters all sat at the right, and mr. touzeau parris shared their bench, sitting on the corner nearest us. just behind him mr. outram had kindly found seats for the two misses bradlaugh, who surveyed us placidly, and would, i am sure, had their duty called them to do so, have gladly and willingly changed places with us. the back of the court was filled with kindly faces, and many bright smiles greeted us; among the people were those who so readily volunteered their aid, those described by an official as 'a regular waggon-load of bail'. their presence there was a most useful little demonstration of support, and the telegrams that kept dropping in also had their effect. 'another of your friends, mr. bradlaugh,' quoth the chief clerk, as the fourth was handed to him, and i hear that the little buff envelopes continued to arrive all the afternoon. i need not here detail what happened in the court, as a full report by a shorthand writer appears in another part of the paper, and i only relate odds and ends. it amused me to see the broad grin which ran round when the detective was asked whether he had executed the seizure warrant, and he answered sadly that there was 'nothing to seize'. when bail was called for, dr. drysdale, messrs. swaagman, truelove, and bell were the first summoned, and no objections being raised to them, nor further securities asked for, these four gentlemen were all that were needed. we were then solemnly and severally informed that we were bound over in our own recognizances of â£200 each to appear on tuesday, april 17th, at eleven o'clock in the forenoon, to answer, etc., etc., etc., to which adjuration i only replied by a polite little bow. after all this we passed into a small room at one side, and there waited till divers papers were delivered unto us, and we were told to depart in peace. a number of people had gathered outside and cheered us warmly as we came out, one voice calling: 'bravo! there's some of the old english spirit left yet'. being very hungry (it was nearly three o'clock), we went off to luncheon, very glad that the warrant was no longer hanging over our heads, and on our way home we bought a paper announcing our arrest. the evening papers all contained reports of the proceedings, as did also the papers of the following morning. i have seen the _globe, standard, daily news, times, echo, daily telegraph_, and they all give perfectly fair reports of what took place. it is pleasant that they all seem to recognise that our reason for acting as we have done is a fair and honorable desire to test the right of publication." xv. the preliminary investigation before the magistrates at guildhall duly came on upon april 17th, the prosecution being conducted by mr. douglas straight and mr. f. mead. the case was put by mr. straight with extreme care and courtesy, the learned counsel stating, "i cannot conceal from myself, or from those who instruct me, that everything has been done in accordance with fairness and _bona fides_ on the part of mr. bradlaugh and the lady sitting by the side of him". mr. straight contended that the good intentions of a publisher could not be taken as proving that a book was not indictable, and laid stress on the cheapness of the work, "the price charged is so little as sixpence". mr. bradlaugh proved that there was no physiological statement in knowlton, which was not given in far fuller detail in standard works on physiology, quoting carpenter, dalton, acton, and others; he showed that malthus, professor fawcett, mrs. fawcett, and others, advocated voluntary limitation of the family, establishing his positions by innumerable quotations. a number of eminent men were in court, subpoenaed to prove their own works, and i find on them the following note, written by myself at the time:-"we necessarily put some of our medical and publishing witnesses to great inconvenience in summoning them into court, but those who were really most injured were the most courteous. mr. trã¼bner, although suffering from a painful illness, and although, we had expressed our willingness to accept in his stead some member of his staff, was present, kindly and pleasant as usual. dr. power, a most courteous gentleman, called away from an examination of some 180 young men, never thought of asking that he should be relieved from the citizen's duty, but only privately asked to be released as soon as possible. dr. parker was equally worthy of the noble profession to which he belonged, and said he did not want to stay longer than he need, but would be willing to return whenever wanted. needless to say that dr. drysdale was there, ready to do his duty. dr. w.b. carpenter was a strange contrast to these; he was rough and discourteous in manner, and rudely said that he was not responsible for 'human physiology, by dr. carpenter', as his responsibility had ceased with the fifth edition. it seems a strange thing that a man of eminence, presumably a man of honor, should disavow all responsibility for a book which bears his name as author on the title-page. clearly, if the 'human physiology' is not dr. carpenter's, the public is grossly deceived by the pretence that it is, and if, as dr. carpenter says, the whole responsibility rests on dr. power, then that gentleman should have the whole credit of that very useful book. it is not right that dr. carpenter should have all the glory and dr. power all the annoyance resulting from the work." among all the men we came into contact with during the trial, dr. carpenter and professor fawcett were the only two who shrank from endorsing their own written statements. the presiding magistrate, mr. alderman figgins, devoted himself gallantly to the unwonted task of wading through physiological text books, the poor old gentleman's hair sometimes standing nearly on end, and his composure being sadly ruffled when he found that dr. carpenter's florid treatise, with numerous illustrations of a, to him, startling character, was given to young boys and girls as a prize in government examinations. he compared knowlton with the work of dr. acton's submitted to him, and said despondingly that one was just the same as the other. at the end of the day the effect made on him by the defence was shown by his letting us go free without bail. mr. bradlaugh finished his defence at the next hearing of the case on april 19th, and his concluding remarks, showing the position we took, may well find their place here: "the object of this book is to circulate amongst the masses of the poor and wretched (as far as my power will circulate it), and to seek to produce in their minds such prudential views on the subject of population as shall at least hinder some of the horrors to be witnessed amongst the starving. i have not put you to the trouble of hearing proof--even if i were, in this court, permitted to do so--of facts on the population question, because the learned counsel for the prosecution, with the frankness which characterises this prosecution, admitted there was the tendency on the part of animated nature to increase until checked by the absence or deficiency of the means of subsistence. this being so, some checks must step in; these checks must be either positive or preventive and prudential. what are positive checks? the learned counsel has told you what they are. they are war, disease, misery, starvation. they are in china--to take a striking instance--accompanied by habits so revolting that i cannot now allude to them. see the numbers of miserable starving children in the great cities and centres of population. is it right to go to these people and say, 'bring into the world children who cannot live', who all their lives are prevented by the poverty-smitten frames of their parents, and by their own squalid surroundings, from enjoying almost every benefit of the life thrust on them! who inherit the diseases and adopt the crimes which poverty and misery have provided for them? the very medical works i have put in in this case show how true this is in too many cases, and if you read the words of dr. acton, crime is sometimes involved of a terrible nature which the human tongue governed by training shrinks from describing. we justly or erroneously believe that we are doing our duty in putting this information in the hands of the people, and we contest this case with no kind of bravado; the penalty we already have to pay is severe enough, for even while we are defending this, some portion of the public press is using words of terrorism against the witnesses to be called, and is describing myself and my co-defendant in a fashion that i feel sure will find no sanction here, and that i hope will never occur again. we contest this because the advocacy of such views on population has been familiar to me for many years. the _public journal of health_, edited by dr. hardwicke, the coroner for central middlesex, will show you that in 1868 i was known, in relation to this question, to men high in position in the land as original thinkers and political economists; that the late john stuart mill has left behind him, in his autobiography, testimony concerning me on this subject, according unqualified praise to me for the views thereon which i had labored to disseminate; and that lord amberley thanked me, in a society of which we were then both associates, for having achieved what i had in bringing these principles to the knowledge of the poorer classes of the people. with taxation on every hand extending, with the cost of living increasing, and with wages declining--and, as to the last element, i am reminded that recently i was called upon to arbitrate in a wages' dispute in the north of england for a number of poor men, and, having minutely scrutinised every side of the situation, was compelled to reduce their wages by 15 per cent., there having been already a reduction of 35 per cent, in the short space of some twenty months previously--i say, with wages declining, with the necessaries of life growing dearer and still dearer, and with the burden of rent and taxation ever increasing-if, in the presence of such a condition of life among the vast industrial and impoverished masses of this land, i am not to be allowed to tell them how best to prevent or to ameliorate the wretchedness of their lot--if, with all this, i may not speak to them of the true remedy, but the law is to step in and say to me, 'your mouth is closed'; then, i ask you, what remedy is there remaining by which i am to deal with this awful misery?" the worthy magistrate duly committed us for trial, accepting our own recognizances in â£200 each to appear at the central criminal court on may 7th. to the central criminal court, however, we had not the smallest intention of going, if we could possibly avoid it, so mr. bradlaugh immediately took steps to obtain a writ of _certiorari_ to remove the indictment to the court of queen's bench. on april 27th mr. bradlaugh moved for the writ before lord chief justice cockburn and mr. justice mellor, and soon after he began his argument the judge stopped him, saying that he would grant the writ if, "upon, looking at it we think its object is the legitimate one of promoting knowledge on a matter of human interest, then, lest there should be any miscarriage resulting from any undue prejudice, we might think it is a case for trial by a judge and a special jury. i do not say it is so, mark, but only put it so, that if, on the other hand, science and philosophy are merely made the pretence of publishing a book which is calculated to arouse the passions of those who peruse it, then it follows that we must not allow the pretence to prevail, and treat the case otherwise than as one which may come before anybody to try. if we really think it is a fair question as to whether it is a scientific work or not, and its object is a just one, then we should be disposed to accede to your application, and allow it to be tried by a judge and special jury, and for that purpose allow the proceedings to be removed into this court. but, before we decide that, we must look into the book and form our own judgment as to the real object of the work." two copies of the book were at once handed up to the bench, and on april 30th the court granted the writ, the lord chief justice saying: "we have looked at the book which is the subject-matter of the indictment, and we think it really raises a fair question as to whether it is a scientific production for legitimate purposes, or whether it is what the indictment alleged it to be, an obscene publication." further, the court accepted mr. bradlaugh's recognisances for â£400 for the costs of the prosecution. some, who have never read the knowlton pamphlet, glibly denounce it as a filthy and obscene publication. the lord chief justice of england and mr. justice mellor, after reading it, decided to grant a writ which they had determined not to grant if the book had merely a veneer of science and was "calculated to arouse the passions". christian bigotry has ever since 1877 striven to confound our action with the action of men who sell filth for gain, but only the shameless can persist in so doing when their falsehoods are plainly exposed, as they are exposed here. the most touching letters from the poor came to us from all parts of the kingdom. one woman, who described herself as "very poor", and who had had thirteen children and was expecting another, wrote saying, "if you want money we will manage to send you my husband's pay one week". an army officer wrote thanking us, saying he had "a wife, seven children, and three servants to keep on 11s. 8d. a day; 5d. per head per diem keeps life in us. the rest for education and raiment." a physician wrote of his hospital experience, saying that it taught him that "less dangerous preventive checks to large families [than over-lactation] should be taught to the lower classes". many clergymen wrote of their experience among the poor, and their joy that some attempt was being made to teach them how to avoid over-large families, and letter after letter came to me from poor curates' wives, thanking me for daring to publish information of such vital importance. in many places the poor people taxed themselves so much a week for the cost of the defence, because they could not afford any large sum at once. as soon as we were committed for trial, we resigned our posts on the executive of the national secular society, feeling that we had no right to entangle the society in a fight which it had not authorised us to carry on. we stated that we did not desire to relinquish our positions, "but we do desire that the members of the executive shall feel free to act as they think wisest for the interest of freethought". the letter was sent to the branches of the society, and of the thirty-three who answered all, except burnley and nottingham, refused to accept our resignation. on the executive a very clever attempt was made to place us in a difficult position by stating that the resignations were not accepted, but that, as we had resigned, and as the council had no power to renew appointments made by the conference, it could not invite us to resume our offices. this ingenious proposal was made by mr. george jacob holyoake, who all through the trial did his best to injure us, apparently because he had himself sold the book long before we had done so, and was anxious to shield himself from condemnation by attacking us. his resolution was carried by five votes to two. mr. haines and mr. ramsey, detecting its maliciousness, voted against it. the votes of the branches, of course, decided the question overwhelmingly in our favor, but we declined to sit on the executive with such a resolution standing, and it was then carried--mr. holyoake and mr. watts only voting against--that "this council acknowledge the consideration shown by mr. bradlaugh and mrs. besant for the public repute of the national secular society by tendering their resignations, and whilst disclaiming all responsibility for the book, 'fruits of philosophy', decline to accept such resignations". so thoroughly did we agree that the society ought not to be held responsible for our action, that we published the statement: "the freethought party is no more the endorser of our malthusianism than it is of our republicanism, or of our advocacy of woman suffrage, or of our support of the north in america, or of the part we take in french politics". i may add that at the nottingham conference mr. bradlaugh was re-elected president with only four dissentients, the party being practically unanimous in its determination to uphold a free press. the next stage of the prosecution was the seizure of our book packets and letters in the post-office by the tory government. the "freethinker's text book", the _national reformer_, and various pamphlets were seized, as well as the "fruits of philosophy", and sealed letters were opened. many meetings were held denouncing the revival of a system of government _espionage_ which, it was supposed, had died out in england, and so great was the commotion raised that a stop was soon put to this form of government theft, and we recovered the stolen property. on may 15th mr. edward truelove was attacked for the publication of robert dale owen's "moral physiology", and of a pamphlet entitled "individual, family, and national poverty", and as both were pamphlets dealing with the population question, mr. truelove's case was included in the general defence. among the witnesses we desired to subpoena was charles darwin, as we needed to use passages from his works; he wrote back a most interesting letter, telling us that he disagreed with preventive checks to population on the ground that over-multiplication was useful, since it caused a struggle for existence in which only the strongest and the ablest survived, and that he doubted whether it was possible for preventive checks to serve as well as positive. he asked us to avoid calling him if we could: "i have been for many years much out of health, and have been forced to give up all society or public meetings, and it would be great suffering to me to be a witness in court.... if it is not asking too great a favor, i should be greatly obliged if you would inform me what you decide, as apprehension of the coming exertion would prevent the rest which i require doing me much good." needless to add that i at once wrote to mr. darwin that we would not call him, but his gentle courtesy has always remained a pleasant memory to me. another kind act was that of the famous publisher, mr. h.g. bohn, who volunteered himself as a witness, and drew attention to the fact that every publisher of serious literature was imperilled by the attempt to establish a police censorship. the trial commenced on june 18th, in the court of queen's bench at westminster, before the lord chief justice of england and a special jury. sir hardinge giffard, the solicitor-general of the tory government, mr. douglas straight, and mr. mead, were the prosecuting counsel. the special jury consisted of the following: alfred upward, augustus voelcker, captain alfred henry waldy, thomas richard walker, robert wallace, edmund waller, arthur walter, charles alfred walter, john ward, arthur warre; the two talesmen, who were afterwards added to make up the number, were george skinner and charles wilson. the solicitor-general made a bitter and violent speech, full of party hate and malice, endeavoring to prejudice the jury against the work by picking out bits of medical detail and making profuse apologies for reading them, and shuddering and casting up his eyes with all the skill of a finished actor. for a man accustomed to old bailey practice he was really marvellously easily shocked; a simple physiological fact brought him to the verge of tears, while the statement that people often had too large families covered him with such modest confusion that he found it hard to continue his address. it fell to my lot to open the defence, and to put the general line of argument by which we justified the publication; mr. bradlaugh dealt with the defence of the book as a medical work--until the lord chief justice suggested that there was no "redundancy of details, or anything more than it is necessary for a medical man to know"--and strongly urged that the knowledge given by the pamphlet was absolutely necessary for the poor. we called as witnesses for the defence miss alice vickery--the first lady who passed the examination of the pharmaceutical society of great britain, and who has since passed the examinations qualifying her to act as a physician--dr. charles drysdale, and mr. h.g. bohn. dr. drysdale bore witness to the medical value of the pamphlet, stating that "considering it was written forty years ago ... the writer must have been a profound student of physiology, and far advanced in the medical science of his time". "i have always considered it an excellent treatise, and i have found among my professional brethren that they have had nothing to say against it." mr. bohn bore witness that he had published books which "entirely covered your book, and gave a great deal more." mr. bradlaugh and myself then severally summed up our case, and the solicitor-general made a speech for the prosecution very much of the character of his first one, doing all he could to inflame the minds of the jury against us. the lord chief justice, to quote a morning paper, "summed up strongly for an acquittal". he said that "a more ill-advised and more injudicious proceeding in the way of a prosecution was probably never brought into a court of justice". he described us as "two enthusiasts, who have been actuated by the desire to do good in a particular department of society". he bade the jury be careful "not to abridge the full and free right of public discussion, and the expression of public and private opinion on matters which are interesting to all, and materially affect the welfare of society." then came an admirable statement of the law of population, and of his own view of the scope of the book which i present in full as our best justification. "the author, doctor knowlton, professes to deal with the subject of population. now, a century ago a great and important question of political economy was brought to the attention of the scientific and thinking world by a man whose name everybody is acquainted with, namely, malthus. he started for the first time a theory which astonished the world, though it is now accepted as an irrefragable truth, and has since been adopted by economist after economist. it is that population has a strong and marked tendency to increase faster than the means of subsistence afforded by the earth, or that the skill and industry of man can produce for the support of life. the consequence is that the population of a country necessarily includes a vast number of persons upon whom poverty presses with a heavy and sad hand. it is true that the effects of over-population are checked to a certain extent by those powerful agencies which have been at work since the beginning of the world. great pestilences, famines, and wars have constantly swept away thousands from the face of the earth, who otherwise must have contributed to swell the numbers of mankind. the effect, however, of this tendency to increase faster than the means of subsistence, leads to still more serious evils amongst the poorer classes of society. it necessarily lowers the price of labor by reason of the supply exceeding the demand. it increases the dearth of provisions by making the demand greater than the supply, and produces direful consequences to a large class of persons who labor under the evils, physical and moral, of poverty. you find it, as described by a witness called yesterday, in the overcrowding of our cities and country villages, and the necessarily demoralising effects resulting from that over-crowding. you have heard of the way in which women--i mean child-bearing women--are destroyed by being obliged to submit to the necessities of their position before they are fully restored from the effects of child-birth, and the effects thus produced upon the children by disease and early death. that these are evils--evils which, if they could be prevented, it would be the first business of human charity to prevent--there cannot be any doubt. that the evils of over-population are real, and not imaginary, no one acquainted with the state of society in the present day can possibly deny. malthus suggested, years ago, and his suggestion has been supported by economists since his time, that the only possible way of keeping down population was by retarding marriage to as late a period as possible, the argument being that the fewer the marriages the fewer would be the people. but another class of theorists say that that remedy is bad, and possibly worse than the disease, because, although you might delay marriage, you cannot restrain those instincts which are implanted in human nature, and people will have the gratification and satisfaction of passions powerfully implanted, if not in one way, in some other way. so you have the evils of prostitution substituted for the evils of over-population. now, what says dr. knowlton? there being this choice of evils--there being this unquestioned evil of over-population which exists in a great part of the civilised world--is the remedy proposed by malthus so doubtful that probably it would lead to greater evils than the one which it is intended to remedy? dr. knowlton suggests--and here we come to the critical point of this inquiry--he suggests that, instead of marriage being postponed, it shall be hastened. he suggests that marriage shall take place in the hey-day of life, when the passions are at their highest, and that the evils of over-population shall be remedied by persons, after they have married, having recourse to artificial means to prevent the procreation of a numerous offspring, and the consequent evils, especially to the poorer classes, which the production of a too numerous offspring is certain to bring about. now, gentlemen, that is the scope of the book. with a view to make those to whom these remedies are suggested understand, appreciate, and be capable of applying them, he enters into details as to the physiological circumstances connected with the procreation of the species. the solicitor-general says--and that was the first proposition with which he started--that the whole of this is a delusion and a sham. when knowlton says that he wishes that marriage should take place as early as possible--marriage being the most sacred and holy of all human relations--he means nothing of the kind, but means and suggests, in the sacred name of marriage, illicit intercourse between the sexes, or a kind of prostitution. now, gentlemen, whatever may be your opinion about the propositions contained in this work, when you come to weigh carefully the views of this undoubted physician and would-be philosopher, i think you will agree with me that to say that he meant to depreciate marriage for the sake of prostitution, and that all he says about marriage is only a disguise, and intended to impress upon the mind sentiments of an entirely different character for the gratification of passion, otherwise than by marriage, is a most unjust accusation. (applause in court.) i must say that i believe that every word he says about marriage being a desirable institution, and every word he says with reference to the enjoyments and happiness it engenders, is said as honestly and truly as anything probably ever uttered by any man. i can only believe that when the solicitor-general made that statement he had not half studied the book. but i pass that by. i come to the plain issue before you. knowlton goes into physiological details connected with the functions of the generation and procreation of children. the principles of this pamphlet, with its details, are to be found in greater abundance and distinctness in numerous works to which your attention has been directed, and, having these details before you, you must judge for yourselves whether there is anything in them which is calculated to excite the passions of man and debase the public morals. if so, every medical work is open to the same imputation." the lord chief justice then dealt with the question whether conjugal prudence was in itself immoral, and pointed out to the jury that the decision of this very serious question was in their hands: "a man and woman may say, 'we have more children than we can supply with the common necessaries of life: what are we to do? let us have recourse to this contrivance.' then, gentlemen, you should consider whether that particular course of proceeding is inconsistent with morality, whether it would have a tendency to degrade and deprave the man or woman. the solicitor-general, while doubtless admitting the evils and mischiefs of excessive population, argues that the checks proposed are demoralising in their effects, and that it is better to bear the ills we have than have recourse to remedies having such demoralising results. these are questions for you, twelve thinking men, probably husbands and fathers of families, to consider and determine. that the defendants honestly believe that the evils that this work would remedy, arising from over-population and poverty, are so great that these checks may be resorted to as a remedy for the evils, and as bettering the condition of humanity, although there might be things to be avoided, if it were possible to avoid them, and yet remedy the evils which they are to prevent--that such is the honest opinion of the defendants, we, who have read the book, and who have heard what they have said, must do them the justice of believing. i agree with the solicitor-general if, with a view to what is admitted to be a great good, they propose something to the world, and circulate it especially among the poorer classes, if they propose something inconsistent with public morals, and tending to destroy the domestic purity of women, that it is not because they do not see the evils of the latter, while they see the evils of the former, that they must escape; if so, they must abide the consequences of their actions, whatever may have been their motive. they say, 'we are entitled to submit to the consideration of the thinking portion of mankind the remedies which we propose for these evils. we have come forward to challenge the inquiry whether this is a book which we are entitled to publish.' they do it fairly, i must say, and in a very straightforward manner they come to demand the judgment of the proper tribunal. you must decide that with a due regard and reference to the law, and with an honest and determined desire to maintain the morals of mankind. but, on the other hand, you must carefully consider what is due to public discussion, and with an anxious desire not, from any prejudiced view of this subject, to stifle what may be a subject of legitimate inquiry. but there is another view of this subject, that knowlton intended to reconcile with marriage the prevention of over-population. upon the perusal of this work, i cannot bring myself to doubt that he honestly believed that the remedies he proposed were less evils than even celibacy or over-population on the one hand, or the prevention of marriage on the other hand--in that honesty of intention i entirely concur. but whether, in his desire to reconcile marriage with a check on over-population, he did not overlook one very important consideration connected with that part of society which should abuse it, is another and a very serious consideration." when the jury retired there was but one opinion in court, namely, that we had won our case. but they were absent for an hour and thirty-five minutes, and we learned afterwards that several were anxious to convict, not so much because of the book as because we were freethinkers. at last they agreed to a compromise, and the verdict delivered was: "we are unanimously of opinion that the book in question is calculated to deprave public morals, but at the same time we entirely exonerate the defendants from any corrupt motives in publishing it." the lord chief justice looked troubled, and said gravely that he would have to direct them to return a verdict of guilty on such a finding. the foreman, who was bitterly hostile, jumped at the chance without consulting his colleagues, some of whom had turned to leave the box, and thus snatched a technical verdict of "guilty" against us. mr. george skinner, of 27, great chapel gate, westminster, wrote to me on the following day to say that six of the jurymen did not consent to the verdict of "guilty", and that they had agreed that if the judge would not accept the verdict as handed in they would then retire again, and that they would never have given a verdict of guilty; but the stupid men had not the sense to speak out at the right time, and their foreman had his way. the lord chief justice at once set us free to come up for judgment on that day week, june 28th--the trial had lasted till the 21st--and we went away on the same recognizances given before by mr. bradlaugh, an absolutely unprecedented courtesy to two technically "convicted prisoners".[1] [footnote 1: a report of the trial can be obtained from the freethought publishing company, price 5s. it contains an exact report of all that was said and done.] xvi. the week which intervened between the verdict of the jury and the day on which we were ordered to appear in court to receive sentence was spent by us in arranging all our affairs, and putting everything in train for our anticipated absence. one serious question had to be settled, but it did not need long consideration. what were we to do about the knowlton pamphlet? we promptly decided to ignore the verdict and to continue the sale. recognising that the fact of this continued sale would be brought up against us in court and would probably seriously increase our sentence, we none the less considered that as we had commenced the fight we were bound to maintain it, and we went on with the sale as before. on june 28th we attended the court of queen's bench to receive judgment, the lord chief justice and mr. justice mellor being on the bench. we moved to quash the indictment, on arrest of judgment, and for a new trial, the first on the ground that the indictment did not set out the words complained of. the judges were against us on this, but it is interesting to note that the lord chief justice remarked that "the language of the book is not open to any particular objection". i argued that the jury, having exonerated us from any corrupt motive, could not be regarded as having found us guilty on an indictment which charged us with a corrupt motive: the lord chief justice held that "in the unnecessary and superfluous part of the indictment, there is no judgment against you", and refused to believe that anyone would be found afterwards so base as to accuse us of evil intent, because of the formal words of the indictment, the jury having acquitted us of any corrupt intention. the judge unfortunately imputed to others his own uprightness, and we have found many--among them sir w.t. charley, the present common sergeant-vile enough to declare what he thought impossible, that we were found guilty of wilfully corrupting the morals of the people. the judges decided against us on all the points raised, but it is due to them to say that in refusing to quash the indictment, as mr. bradlaugh asked, they were misled by the misrepresentation of an american case by sir hardinge giffard, and, to quote the words of the lord chief justice, they sheltered themselves "under the decisions of the american courts, and left this matter to be carefully gone into by the court of error". the question of sentence then arose, and two affidavits were put in, one by a reporter of the _morning advertiser_, named lysaght. this individual published in the _advertiser_ a very garbled report of a meeting at the hall of science on the previous sunday, evidently written to anger the lord chief justice, and used by sir hardinge giffard with the same object. in one thing, however, it was accurate, and that was in stating that we announced our intention to continue the sale of the book. on this arose an argument with the lord chief justice; he pointed out that we did not deny that the circulation of the book was going on, and we assented that it was so. it was almost pathetic to see the judge, angry at our resolution, unwilling to sentence us, but determined to vindicate the law he administered. "the question is," he urged, "what is to be the future course of your conduct? the jury have acquitted you of any intention to deliberately violate the law; and that, although you did publish this book, which was a book that ought not to have been published, you were not conscious of the effect it might have, and had no intention to violate the law. that would induce the court, if it saw a ready submission on your part, to deal with the case in a very lenient way. the jury having found that it was a violation of the law, but with a good motive or through ignorance, the court, in awarding punishment upon such a state of things, would, of course, be disposed to take a most indulgent view of the matter. but if the law has been openly set at defiance, the matter assumes a very different aspect, and it must be dealt with as a very grave and aggravated case." we could not, however, pledge ourselves to do anything more than stop the sale pending the appeal on the writ of error which we had resolved to go for. "have you anything to say in mitigation?" was the judge's last appeal; but mr. bradlaugh answered: "i respectfully submit myself to the sentence of the court"; and i: "i have nothing to say in mitigation of punishment". the sentence and the reason for its heavy character have been so misrepresented, that i print here, from the shorthand report taken at the time, the account of what passed:-"the lord chief justice, after having conferred for some minutes with mr. justice mellor, said: the case has now assumed a character of very, very grave importance. we were prepared, if the defendants had announced openly in this court that having acted in error as the jury found--of which finding i think they are entitled to the benefit--but still having been, after a fair and impartial trial, found by the jury guilty of doing of that which was an offence against the law, they were ready to submit to the law and to do everything in their power to prevent the further publication and circulation of a work which has been declared by the jury to be a work calculated to deprave public morals, we should have been prepared to discharge them on their own recognizances to be of good behavior in the future. but we cannot help seeing in what has been said and done pending this trial, and since the verdict of the jury was pronounced, that the defendants, instead of submitting themselves to the law, have set it at defiance by continuing to circulate this book. that being so i must say that that which before was an offence of a comparatively slight character--looking to what the jury have found in reference to the contention of the defendants--now assumes the form of a most grave and aggravated offence, and as such we must deal with it. the sentence is that you, charles bradlaugh, and you, annie besant, be imprisoned for the term of six calendar months; that you each pay a fine of â£200 to the queen; and that you enter further into your own recognizances in a sum of â£500 each to be of good behavior for the term of two years; and i tell you at the same time that you will not be of 'good behavior' and will be liable to forfeit that sum if you continue to publish this book. no persuasion or conviction on your part that you are doing that which is morally justifiable can possibly warrant you in violating the law or excuse you in doing so. no one is above the law; all owe obedience to the law from the highest to the lowest, and if you choose to set yourself at defiance against the law--to break it and defy it--you must expect to be dealt with accordingly. i am very sorry indeed that such should be the result, but it is owing to your being thus contumacious, notwithstanding that you have had a fair trial, and the verdict of a competent jury, which ought to have satisfied you that you ought to abstain from doing what has been clearly demonstrated and shown to be wrong. "mr. bradlaugh: would your lordship entertain an application to stay execution of the sentence? "the lord chief justice: certainly not. on consideration, if you will pledge yourselves unreservedly that there shall be no repetition of the publication of the book, at all events, until the court of appeal shall have decided contrary to the verdict of the jury and our judgment; if we can have that positive pledge, and you will enter into your recognizances that you will not avail yourselves of the liberty we extend to continue the publication of this book, which it is our bounden duty to suppress, or do our utmost to suppress, we may stay execution; but we can show no indulgence without such a pledge. "mr. bradlaugh: my lord, i meant to offer that pledge in the fullest and most unreserved sense, because, although i have my own view as to what is right, i also recognise that the law having pronounced sentence, that is quite another matter so far as i, as a citizen, am concerned. i do not wish to ask your lordship for a favor without yielding to the court during the time that i take advantage of its indulgence. "the lord chief justice: i wish you had taken this position sooner. "mr. bradlaugh: if the sentence goes against us, it is another matter; but if you should consent to give us time for the argument of this writ of error, we would bind ourselves during that time. i should not like your lordship to be induced to grant this request on the understanding that in the event of the ultimate decision being against me i should feel bound by that pledge. "the lord chief justice: i must do you the justice to say that throughout the whole of this battle our conduct has been straightforward since you took it up. "mr. bradlaugh: i would not like your lordship to think that, in the event of the ultimate decision being against us, there was any sort of pledge. i simply meant that the law having pronounced against us, if your lordship gives us the indulgence of fighting it in the higher court, no sort of direct or indirect advantage shall be taken of the indulgence. "the lord chief justice: you will not continue the publication? "mr. bradlaugh: not only will i stop the circulation of the book myself, but i will do all in my power to prevent other people circulating it. "the lord chief justice: then you can be discharged on your own recognizances for â£100, 'to be of good behavior,' which you will understand to mean, that you will desist from the publication of this work until your appeal shall have been heard, and will engage to prosecute the appeal without delay. "mr. bradlaugh: certainly; until the present, i have undoubtedly circulated the book. although there is a blunder in the affidavits i do not disguise the matter of fact. i shall immediately put the thing under my own control, and i will at once lock up every copy in existence, and will not circulate another copy until the appeal is decided. "mr. justice mellor: it must be that you will really, to the best of your ability, prevent the circulation of this book until this matter has been determined. "the lord chief justice: and what mr. bradlaugh says, i understand that you, mrs. besant, also assent to? "mrs. besant: yes: that is my pledge until the writ of error has been decided. i do not want to give a pledge which you may think was not given honestly. i will give my pledge, but it must be understood that the promise goes no further than that decision. "mr. justice mellor: you will abstain yourself from circulating the book, and, so far as you can, suppress its circulation? "mr. bradlaugh: every copy that is unsold shall be at once put under lock and key until the decision of the case. "the solicitor-general: my lord, i think there should be no misunderstanding upon this; i understand that the defendants have undertaken that during the pendency of the appeal this book shall not be circulated at all. but if the decision should be against them they are under no pledge not to publish. "mr. bradlaugh: i hope your lordship will not ask us what we shall do in future. "the lord chief justice: we have meted out the amount of punishment upon the assumption--there being no assertion to the contrary, but rather an admission--that they do intend to set the law at defiance. if we had understood that they were prepared to submit themselves to the law, we should have been disposed to deal with them in the most indulgent manner; but as we understood that they did not intend this, we have meted out to them such a punishment as we hope, when undergone, will have a deterrent effect upon them, and may prevent other people offending in like manner. we have nothing to do with what may happen after the defendants obtain a judgment in their favor, if they do so, or after the sentence is carried out, if they do not. our sentence is passed, and it will stand, subject only to this, that we stay execution until a writ of error may be disposed of, the defendants giving the most unqualified and unreserved pledge that they will not allow another copy of the book to be sold. "mr. bradlaugh: quite so, my lord; quite so." we were then taken into custody, and went down to the crown office to get the form for the recognizances, the amount of which, â£100, after such a sentence, was a fair proof of the view of the court as to our good faith in the whole matter. as a married woman, i was unable to give recognizances, being only a chattel, not a person cognisable by law; the court mercifully ignored this--or i should have had to go to prison--and accepted mr. bradlaugh's sole recognizance as covering us both. it further inserted in the sentence that we were "to be placed in the first class of misdemeanants", but as the sentence was never executed, we did not profit by this alleviation. the rest of the story of the knowlton pamphlet is soon told. we appeared in the court of appeal on january 29th, 30th, and 31st, 1878. mr. bradlaugh argued the case, i only making a brief speech, and on february 12th the court, composed of lords justices bramwell, brett, and cotton, gave judgment in our favor and quashed the indictment. thus we triumphed all along the line; the jury acquitted us of all evil motive, and left us morally unstained; the court of appeal quashed the indictment, and set us legally free. none the less have the ignorant, the malicious, and the brutal, used this trial and sentence against us as a proof of moral obliquity, and have branded us as "vendors of obscene books" on this sole ground. with the decision of the court of appeal our pledge not to sell the knowlton pamphlet came to an end, and we at once recommenced the sale. the determination we came to was announced in the _national reformer_ of march 3rd, and i reprint here the statement i wrote at the time in mr. bradlaugh's name as well as my own. "the plan of the campaign. "the first pitched battle of the new campaign for the liberty of the press has, as all our readers know, ended in the entire defeat of the attacking army, and in the recapture of the position originally lost. there is no conviction--of ours--registered against the knowlton pamphlet, the whole of the proceedings having been swept away; and the prosecutors are left with a large sum out of pocket, and no one any the worse for all their efforts. the banker's account of the unknown prosecutor shows a long and melancholy catalogue of expenses, and there is no glory and no success to balance them on the other side of the ledger. on the contrary, our prosecutors have advertised the attacked pamphlet, and circulated it by thousands and by hundreds of thousands; they have caused it to be reprinted in holland and in america, and have spread it over india, australia, new zealand, and the whole continent of europe; they have caused the population question to be discussed, both at home and abroad, in the press and in the public meeting; they have crammed the largest halls in england and scotland to listen to the preaching of malthusianism; they have induced the publication of a modern pamphlet on the question which is selling by thousands; they have enormously increased the popularity of the defendants, and made new friends for them in every class of society; in the end, knowlton is being circulated as vigorously as ever, and since the case was decided more copies have been sold than would have been disposed of in ten years at the old rate of sale. truly, our prosecutors must feel delighted at the results of their labors. "so much for the past: what as to the future? some, fancying we should act as they themselves would do under the like circumstances, dream that we shall now give way. we have not the smallest intention of doing anything of the kind. we said, nearly a year ago, that so long as knowlton was prosecuted we should persist in selling him; we repeated the same determination in court, and received for it a heavy sentence; we repeat the same to-day, in spite of the injudicious threat of lord justice brett. before we went up for judgment in the court of appeal we had made all preparations for the renewal of the struggle; parcels were ready to be forwarded to friends who had volunteered to sell in various towns; if we had gone to jail from the court these would at once have been sent; as we won our case, they were sent just the same. on the following day orders were given to tell any wholesale agents who inquired that the book was again on sale, and the bills at 28, stonecutter street, announcing the suspension, of the sale, were taken down; from that day forward all orders received have been punctually attended to, and the sale has been both rapid and steady. there is, however, one difference between the sale of knowlton and that of our other literature: knowlton is not sold across the counter at stonecutter street. when we were arrested in april 1877, we stopped the sale across counter, and we do not, at present, intend to recommence it. our reason is very simple. the sale across counter does not, in any fashion, cause us any additional risk; the danger of it falls entirely on mr. ramsey and on mr. and mrs. norrish; we fail to see that there is any courage in running other people into danger, and we prefer, therefore, to take the risk on ourselves. we do not intend to go down again and personally sell behind the counter; we thought it right to challenge a prosecution once, but, having done so, we intend now to go quietly on our ordinary way of business, and wait for any attack that may come. "meanwhile, we are not only selling the 'fruits of philosophy', but we also are striving to gain the legal right to do so. in the appeal from mr. vaughan's decision mr. bradlaugh again raises all the disputed questions, and that appeal will be argued as persistently as was the one just decided in our favor. we are also making efforts to obtain an alteration of the law of libel, and we hope soon to be able to announce the exact terms of the proposed bill. "my own pamphlet, on 'the law of population', is another effort in the same direction. at our trial the lord chief justice said, that it was the advocacy of the preventive checks which was the assailable part of knowlton; that advocacy is strongly and clearly to be found in the new pamphlet, together with facts useful to mothers, as to the physical injury caused by over-rapid child-bearing, which knowlton did not give. the pamphlet has the advantage of being written fifty years later than the 'fruits of philosophy', and is more suitable, therefore, for circulation at the present day. we hope that it may gradually replace knowlton as a manual for the poor. while we shall continue to print and sell knowlton as long as any attempt is made to suppress it, we hope that the more modern pamphlet may gradually supersede the old one. "if another prosecution should be instituted against us, our prosecutors would have a far harder task before them than they had last time. in the first place, they would be compelled to state, clearly and definitely, what it is to which they object; and we should, therefore, be able to bring our whole strength to bear on the assailed point. in the second place, they would have to find a jury who would be ready to convict, and after the full discussion of the question which has taken place the finding of such a jury would be by no means an easy thing to do. lastly, they must be quite sure not to make any legal blunders, for they may be sure that such sins will find them out. perhaps, on the whole, they had better leave us alone. "i believe that our readers will be glad to have this statement of our action, and this assurance that we feel as certain of winning the battle of a free press as when we began it a year ago, and that our determination is as unwavering as when serjeant outram arrested us in the spring of last year.--annie besant." several purchases were made from us by detectives, and we were more than once threatened with prosecution. at last evidence for a new prosecution was laid before the home office, and the government declined to institute fresh proceedings or to have anything more to do with the matter. the battle was won. as soon as we were informed of this decision, we decided to sell only the copies we had in stock, and not to further reprint the pamphlet. out-of-date as was much of its physiology, it was defended as a symbol, not for its intrinsic worth. we issued a circular stating that-"the knowlton pamphlet is now entirely out of print, and, 185,000 having been printed, the freethought publishing company do not intend to continue the publication, which has never at any time been advertised by them except on the original issue to test the question. 'the law of population', price 6d., post free 8d., has been specially written by mrs. besant to supersede the knowlton pamphlet." thus ended a prolonged resistance to an unfair attempt to stifle discussion, and, much as i have suffered in consequence of the part i took in that fight, i have never once regretted that battle for the saving of the poor. in july, 1877, a side-quarrel on the pamphlet begun which lasted until december 3rd, 1878, and was fought through court after court right out to a successful issue. we had avoided a seizure warrant by removing all our stock from 28, stonecutter street, but 657 of the pamphlets had been seized at mr. truelove's, in holborn, and that gentleman was also proceeded against for selling the work. the summons for selling was withdrawn, and mr. bradlaugh succeeded in having his name and mine inserted as owners of the books in the summons for their destruction. the books remained in the custody of the magistrate until after the decision of the court of queen's bench, and on february 12th, 1878, mr. bradlaugh appeared before mr. vaughan at bow street, and claimed that the books should be restored to him. mr. collette, of the vice society, argued on the other hand that the books were obscene, and ought therefore to be destroyed. mr. vaughan reserved his decision, and asked for the lord chief justice's summing-up in the queen _v._ bradlaugh and besant. on february 19th he made an order for the destruction of the pamphlets, against which mr. bradlaugh appealed to the general sessions on the following grounds: "1st. that the said book is not an obscene book within the meaning of the 20th and 21st victoria, cap. 83. 2nd. that the said book is a scientific treatise on the law of population and its connexion with poverty, and that there is nothing in the book which is not necessary and legitimate in the description of the question. 3rd. that the advocacy of non-life-destroying checks to population is not an offence either at common law or by statute, and that the manner in which that advocacy is raised in the said book, 'the fruits of philosophy', is not such as makes it an indictable offence. 4th. that the discussion and recommendation of checks to over-population after marriage is perfectly lawful, and that there is in the advocacy and recommendations contained in the book 'fruits of philosophy' nothing that is prurient or calculated to inflame the passions. 5th. that the physiological information in the said book is such as is absolutely necessary for understanding the subjects treated, and such information is more fully given in carpenter's treatises on physiology, and kirke's 'handbook of physiology', which later works are used for the instruction of the young under government sanction. 6th. that the whole of the physiological information contained in the said book, 'the fruits of philosophy', has been published uninterruptedly for fifty years, and still is published in dear books, and that the publication of such information in a cheap form cannot constitute an offence." after a long argument before mr. edlin and a number of other middlesex magistrates, the bench affirmed mr. vaughan's order, whereupon mr. bradlaugh promptly obtained from the lord chief justice and mr. justice mellor a writ of _certiorari_, removing their order to the queen's bench division of the high court of justice with a view to quashing it. the matter was not argued until the following november, on the 9th of which month it came on before mr. justice mellor and mr. justice field. the court decided in mr. bradlaugh's favor and granted a rule quashing mr. vaughan's order, and with this fell the order of the middlesex magistrates. the next thing was to recover the pamphlets thus rescued from destruction, and on december 3rd mr. bradlaugh appeared before mr. vaughan at bow street in support of a summons against mr. henry wood, a police inspector, for detaining 657 copies of the "fruits of philosophy". after a long argument mr. vaughan ordered the pamphlets to be given up to him, and he carried them off in triumph, there and then, on a cab. we labelled the rescued pamphlets and sold every one of them, in mocking defiance of the vice society. the circulation of literature advocating prudential checks to population was not stopped during the temporary suspension of the sale of the knowlton pamphlet between june, 1877, and february, 1878. in october, 1877, i commenced in the _national reformer_ the publication of a pamphlet entitled: "the law of population, its consequences, and its bearing upon human conduct and morals". this little book included a statement of the law, evidence of the serious suffering among the poor caused by over-large families, and a clear statement of the checks proposed, with arguments in their favor. the medical parts were omitted in the _national reformer_ articles, and the pamphlet was published complete early in november, at the price of sixpence--the same as knowlton's--the first edition consisting of 5,000 copies. a second edition of 5,000 was issued in december, but all the succeeding editions were of 10,000 copies each. the pamphlet is now in its ninetieth thousand, and has gone all over the civilised world. it has been translated into swedish, danish, dutch, french, german, and italian, and 110,000 copies have been sold of an american reprint. on the whole, the prosecution of 1877 did not do much in stopping the circulation of literature on the population question. the "law" has been several times threatened with prosecution, and the initial steps have been taken, but the stage of issuing a warrant for its seizure has never yet been reached. twice i have had the stock removed to avoid seizure, but on each occasion the heart of the prosecutors has failed them, and the little book has carried its message of mercy unspeeded by the advertisement of prosecution. the struggle on the right to discuss the prudential restraint of population did not, however, conclude without a martyr. mr. edward truelove, alluded to above, was prosecuted for selling a treatise by robert dale owen on "moral physiology", and a pamphlet entitled, "individual, family, and national poverty". he was tried on february 1st, 1878, before the lord chief justice in the court of queen's bench, and was most ably defended by professor w.a. hunter. the jury spent two hours in considering their verdict, and then returned into court and stated that they were unable to agree. the majority of the jury were ready to convict, if they felt sure that mr. truelove would not be punished, but one of them boldly declared in court: "as to the book, it is written in plain language for plain people, and i think that many more persons ought to know what the contents of the book are". the jury was discharged, in consequence of this one man's courage, but mr. truelove's persecutors-the wretched vice society--were determined not to let their victim free. they proceeded to trial a second time, and wisely endeavored to secure a special jury, feeling that as prudential restraint would raise wages by limiting the supply of labor, they would be more likely to obtain a verdict from a jury of "gentlemen" than from one composed of workers. this attempt was circumvented by mr. truelove's legal advisers, who let a _procedendo_ go which sent back the trial to the old bailey. the second trial was held on may 16th at the central criminal court before baron pollock and a common jury, professor hunter and mr. j.m. davidson appearing for the defence. the jury convicted, and the brave old man, sixty-eight years of age, was condemned to four months' imprisonment and â£50 fine for selling a pamphlet which had been sold unchallenged, during a period of forty-five years, by james watson, george jacob holyoake, austin holyoake, and charles watts. mr. grain, the counsel employed by the vice society, most unfairly used against mr. truelove my "law of population", a pamphlet which contained, baron pollock said, "the head and front of the offence in the other [the knowlton] case". i find an indignant protest against this odious unfairness in the _national reformer_ for may 19th: "'my law of population' was used against mr. truelove as an aggravation of his offence; passing over the utter meanness--worthy only of collette--of using against a prisoner a book whose author has never been attacked for writing it--does mr. collette, or do the authorities, imagine that the severity shown to mr. truelove will in any fashion deter me from continuing the malthusian propaganda? let me here assure them, one and all, that it will do nothing of the kind; i shall continue to sell the 'law of population' and to advocate scientific checks to population, just as though mr. collette and his vice society were all dead and buried. in commonest justice they are bound to prosecute me, and if they get, and keep, a verdict against me, and succeed in sending me to prison, they will only make people more anxious to read my book, and make me more personally powerful as a teacher of the views which they attack." a persistent attempt was made to obtain a writ of error in mr. truelove's case, but the tory attorney-general, sir john holker, refused it, although the ground on which it was asked was one of the grounds on which a similar writ had been granted to mr. bradlaugh and myself. mr. truelove was therefore compelled to suffer his sentence, but memorials, signed by 11,000 persons, asking for his release, were sent to the home secretary from every part of the country, and a crowded meeting in st. james' hall, london, demanded his liberation with only six dissentients. the whole agitation did not shorten mr. truelove's sentence by a single day, and he was not released from coldbath fields' prison until september 5th. on the 12th of the same month the hall of science was crowded with enthusiastic friends, who assembled to do him honor, and he was presented with a beautifully-illuminated address and a purse containing â£177 (subsequent subscriptions raised the amount to â£197 16s. 6d.). it is scarcely necessary to say that one of the results of the prosecution was a great agitation throughout the country, and a wide popularisation of malthusian views. some huge demonstrations were held in favor of free discussion; on one occasion the free trade hall, manchester, was crowded to the doors; on another the star music hall, bradford, was crammed in every corner; on another the town hall, birmingham, had not a seat or a bit of standing-room unoccupied. wherever we went, separately or together, it was the same story, and not only were malthusian lectures eagerly attended, and malthusian literature eagerly bought, but curiosity brought many to listen to our radical and freethought lectures, and thousands heard for the first time what secularism really meant. the press, both london and provincial, agreed in branding the prosecution as foolish, and it was widely remarked that it resulted only in the wider circulation of the indicted book, and the increased popularity of those who had stood for the right of publication. the furious attacks since made upon us have been made chiefly by those who differ from us in theological creed, and who have found a misrepresentation of our prosecution served them as a convenient weapon of attack. during the last few years public opinion has been gradually coming round to our side, in consequence of the pressure of poverty resulting from widespread depression of trade, and during the sensation caused in 1884 by "the bitter cry of outcast london", many writers in the _daily news_--notably mr. g.r. sims--boldly alleged that the distress was to a great extent due to the large families of the poor, and mentioned that we had been prosecuted for giving the very knowledge which would bring salvation to the sufferers in our great cities. among the useful results of the prosecution was the establishment of the malthusian league, "to agitate for the abolition of all penalties on the public discussion of the population question", and "to spread among the people, by all practicable means, a knowledge of the law of population, of its consequences, and of its bearing upon human conduct and morals". the first general meeting of the league was held at the hall of science on july 26th, 1877, and a council of twenty persons was elected, and this council on august 2nd elected dr. c.r. drysdale, m.d. president, mr. swaagman treasurer, mrs. besant secretary, mr. shearer assistant secretary, and mr. hember financial secretary. since 1877 the league, under the same indefatigable president, has worked hard to carry out its objects; it has issued a large number of leaflets and tracts; it supports a monthly journal, the _malthusian_; numerous lectures have been delivered under its auspices in all parts of the country; and it has now a medical branch, into which none but duly qualified medical men and women are admitted, with members in all european countries. another result of the prosecution was the accession of "d." to the staff of the _national reformer_. this able and thoughtful writer came forward and joined our ranks as soon as he heard of the attack on us, and he further volunteered to conduct the journal during our imprisonment. from that time to this--a period of eight years--articles from his pen have appeared in our columns week by week, and during all that time not one solitary difficulty has arisen between editors and contributor. in public a trustworthy colleague, in private a warm and sincere friend, "d." has proved an unmixed benefit bestowed upon us by the prosecution. nor was "d." the only friend brought to us by our foes. i cannot ever think of that time without remembering that the prosecution brought me first into close intimacy with mrs. annie parris--the wife of mr. touzeau parris, the secretary of the defence committee throughout all the fight-a lady who, during that long struggle, and during the, for me, far worse struggle that succeeded it, over the custody of my daughter, proved to me the most loving and sisterly of friends. one or two other friendships which will, i hope, last my life, date from that same time of strife and anxiety. the amount of money subscribed by the public during the knowlton and succeeding prosecutions gives some idea of the interest felt in the struggle. the defence fund committee in march, 1878, presented a balance-sheet, showing subscriptions amounting to â£1,292 5s. 4d., and total expenditure in the queen _v._ bradlaugh and besant, the queen _v._ truelove, and the appeal against mr. vaughan's order (the last two up to date) of â£1,274 10s. this account was then closed and the balance of â£17 15s. 4d. passed on to a new fund for the defence of mr. truelove, the carrying on of the appeal against the destruction of the knowlton pamphlet, and the bearing of the costs incident on the petition lodged against myself. in july this new fund had reached â£196 16s. 7d., and after paying the remainder of the costs in mr. truelove case, a balance of â£26 15s. 2d. was carried on. this again rose to â£247 15s. 2-1/2d., and the fund bore the expenses of mr. bradlaugh's successful appeal on the knowlton pamphlet, the petition and subsequent proceedings in which i was concerned in the court of chancery, and an appeal on mr. truelove's behalf, unfortunately unsuccessful, against an order for the destruction of the dale owen pamphlet. this last decision was given on february 21st, 1880, and on this the defence fund was closed. on mr. truelove's release, as mentioned above, a testimonial to the amount of â£197 16s. 6d. was presented to him, and after the close of the struggle some anonymous friend sent to me personally â£200 as "thanks for the courage and ability shown". in addition to all this, the malthusian league received no less than â£455 11s. 9d. during the first year of its life, and started on its second year with a balance in hand of â£77 5s. 8d. the propaganda of freethought was not forgotten while this malthusian quarrel was raging, and in august 1877 the freethought publishing company issued the first english edition of lectures by colonel robert ingersoll, the eminent freethought advocate of the united states. since that time various other publishers have circulated thousands of his lectures, but it has always been to me a matter of satisfaction that we were the first to popularise the eloquent american in england. the ruling of the lord chief justice that a book written with pure intention and meant to convey useful knowledge might yet be obscene, drew from me a pamphlet entitled, "is the bible indictable?", in which i showed that the bible came clearly within the judge's ruling. this turning of the tables on our persecutors caused considerable sensation at the time, and the pamphlet had, and still has, a very wide circulation. it is needless to add that the sunday freethought lectures were carried on despite the legal toils of the week, and, as said above, the large audiences attracted by the prosecution gave a splendid field for the inculcation of freethought views. the national secular society consequently increased largely in membership, and a general impulse towards freethought was manifest throughout the land. the year 1878, so far as lecturing work was concerned, was largely taken up with a crusade against the beaconsfield government and in favor of peace. lord beaconsfield's hired roughs broke up several peace meetings during the winter, and on february 24th mr. bradlaugh and mr. auberon herbert, at the request of a meeting of working-class delegates, held in hyde park a "demonstration in favor of peace". the war party attacked the meeting and some sharp fighting took place, but a resolution "that this meeting declares in favor of peace" was carried despite them. a second meeting was called by the working men's committee for march 10th, and a large force of medical students, roughs, militia-men, and "gentlemen", armed with loaded bludgeons, heavy pieces of iron, sticks with metal twisted round them, and various sharp-cutting weapons, went to hyde park to make a riot. the meeting was held and the resolution carried, but after it had dissolved there was some furious fighting. we learned afterwards that a large money reward had been offered to a band of roughs if they would disable mr. bradlaugh, and a violent organised attack was made on him. the stewards of the meeting carried short policemen's truncheons to defend themselves, and a number of these gathered round their chief and saved his life. he and his friends had to fight their way out of the park; a man, armed with some sharp instrument, struck at mr. bradlaugh from behind, and cut one side of his hat from top to brim; his truncheon was dinted with the jagged iron used as weapon; and his left arm, with which he guarded his head, was one mass of bruises from wrist to elbow. lord beaconsfield's friends very nearly succeeded in their attempt at murder, after all, for a dangerous attack of erysipelas set in, in the injured arm, and confined mr. bradlaugh to his room for sixteen days. the provinces were far more strongly against war than was the capital, and in them we held many large and enthusiastic meetings in favor of peace. at huddersfield the great drill hall was crammed for a lecture by me against war, and throughout yorkshire and lancashire scarcely a voice was ever raised in crowded meetings in defence of the beaconsfieldian policy. a leaflet of mine, entitled "rushing into war", was reprinted in various parts of the country, and was circulated in tens of thousands, and each freethought leader worked with tongue and pen, on platform and in press, to turn the public feeling against war. the freethought party may well take credit to itself for having been first in the field against the tory policy, and for having successfully begun the work later carried on by mr. gladstone in his midlothian campaign. they did more than any other party in the country to create that force of public opinion which overthrew the tory government in 1880. xvii. the year 1878 was a dark one for me; it saw me deprived of my little daughter, despite the deed of separation by which the custody of the child had been assigned to me. the first notice that an application was to be made to the high court of chancery to deprive me of this custody reached me in january, 1878, while the decision on the knowlton case was still pending, but the petition was not filed till april. the time was ill-chosen; mabel had caught scarlet fever at a day-school she was attending, and for some days was dangerously ill. the fact of her illness was communicated to her father, and while the child was lying ill in bed, and i had cancelled all engagements so that i might not leave her side, i received a copy of the petition to deprive me of her custody. this document alleged as grounds for taking away the child: "the said annie besant is, by addresses, lectures, and writings, endeavoring to propagate the principles of atheism, and has published a book intituled: 'the gospel of atheism'. she has also associated herself with an infidel lecturer and author, named charles bradlaugh, in giving lectures and in publishing books and pamphlets, whereby the truth of the christian religion is impeached, and disbelief in all religion is inculcated. "the said annie besant has also, in conjunction with the said charles bradlaugh, published an indecent and obscene pamphlet called 'the fruits of philosophy'. "the said pamphlet has recently been the subject of legal proceedings, in the course of which the said annie besant publicly justified its contents and publication, and stated, or inferred, that in her belief it would be right to teach young children the physiological facts contained in the said pamphlet. [this was a deliberate falsehood: i had never stated or inferred anything of the kind.] the said annie besant has also edited and published a pamphlet intituled 'the law of population; its consequences, and its bearing upon human conduct and morals', to which book or pamphlet your petitioners crave leave to refer." the petition was unfortunately heard before the master of the rolls, sir george jessel, a man animated by the old spirit of hebrew bigotry, and who had superadded to this the coarse time-serving morality of "a man of the world", sceptical of all sincerity, and contemptuous of all self-devotion to a cause that did not pay, as of a weakness by which he was himself singularly unassailable. the treatment i received at his hands on my first appearance in court told me what i had to expect. after my previous experience of the courtesy of english judges, i was startled to hear a harsh, loud voice exclaim, in answer to a statement from mr. ince. q.c., that i appeared in person: "appear in person? a lady appear in person? never heard of such a thing! does the lady really appear in person?" after a variety of similar remarks, delivered in the most grating tones and with the roughest manner, sir george jessel tried to attain his object by browbeating me directly. "is this the lady?" "i am the respondent to the petition, my lord--mrs. besant." "then i advise you, mrs. besant, to employ counsel to represent you, if you can afford it, and i suppose you can." "with all submission to your lordship, i am afraid i must claim my right of arguing my case in person." "you will do so if you please, of course, but i think you had much better appear by counsel. i give you notice that, if you do not, you must not expect to be shown any consideration. you will not be heard by me at any greater length than the case requires, nor allowed to go into irrelevant matter, as persons who argue their own cases generally do." "i trust i shall not do so, my lord; but in any case i shall be arguing under your lordship's complete control." this encouraging beginning may be taken as a sample of the case. mr. ince, the counsel on the other side, was constantly practising in the rolls' court, knew all the judge's peculiarities, how to flatter and humor him on the one hand, and how to irritate him against his opponent on the other. nor was mr. ince above using his influence with the master of the rolls to obtain an unfair advantage, knowing that whatever he said would be believed against any contradiction of mine: thus he tried to obtain costs against me on the ground that the public helped me, whereas his client received no subscriptions in aid of his suit; yet as a matter of fact subscriptions had been collected for his client, and the bishop of lincoln, and many of the principal clergy and churchmen of the diocese had contributed liberally towards the persecution of the atheist. mr. ince and mr. bardswell argued that my atheism and malthusianism made me an unfit guardian for my child; mr. ince declared that mabel, educated by me, would "be helpless for good in this world", and "hopeless for good hereafter"; outcast in this life and damned in the next; mr. bardswell implored the judge to consider that my custody of her "would be detrimental to the future prospects of the child in society, to say nothing of her eternal prospects". i could have laughed, had not the matter been so terribly serious, at the mixture of mrs. grundy, marriage-establishment, and hell, presented as an argument for robbing a mother of her child. once only did judge and counsel fall out; mr. bardswell had carelessly forgotten that sir george jessel was a jew, and lifting eyes to heaven said: "your lordship, i think, will scarcely credit it, but mrs. besant says in a later affidavit that she took away the testament from the child, because it contained coarse passages unfit for a child to read." to his horror, sir george jessel considered there were "some passages which a child had better not read in the new testament", and went on: "it is not true to say there are no passages that are unfit for a child's reading, because i think there are a great many. "mr. bardswell: i do not know of any passages that could fairly be called coarse. "sir g. jessel: i cannot quite assent to that." with the exception of this little outburst of religious feeling against the book written by apostate jews, jewish judge and christian counsel were united in their hatred of the atheist. my argument fell on deaf ears; i distinctly admitted that i was an atheist, that i had withdrawn the child from religious instruction at school, that i was the author of the "gospel of atheism", "the fruits of christianity", "the freethinkers' text book, part ii.", and "the law of population", produced against me: i claimed her custody on the ground that it was given me by the deed of separation executed by the father who was trying to set it aside, and that no pretence was made that the child was neglected, the admission being, on the contrary, that she was admirably cared for: i offered lastly, if she were taken from me, to devote â£110 a-year to her maintenance and education, provided that she were placed in the hands of a third person, not of her father. sir george jessel decided against me, as he had clearly intended to do from the very outset, and as the part of his judgment affecting freethinkers as parents is of continued interest i reprint it here. "i am glad to say that, so far as i can see, mrs. besant has been kind and affectionate in her conduct and behavior towards the child, and has taken the greatest possible care of her so far as regards her physical welfare. i have no doubt she entertains that sincere affection for the child which a mother should always feel, and which no merely speculative opinions can materially affect. but, unfortunately, since her separation from her husband, mrs. besant has taken upon herself not merely to ignore religion, not merely to believe in no religion, but to publish and avow that non-belief--to become the publisher of pamphlets written by herself, and to deliver lectures composed by herself, stating her disbelief in religion altogether, and stating that she has no belief in the existence of a providence or a god. she has endeavored to convince others, by her lectures and by her pamphlets, that the denial of all religion is a right and proper thing to recommend to mankind at large. it is not necessary for me to express any opinion as to the religious convictions of any one, or even as to their non-religious convictions. but i must, as a man of the world, consider what effect on a woman's position this course of conduct must lead to. i know, and must know as a man of the world, that her course of conduct must quite cut her off, practically, not merely from the sympathy of, but from social intercourse with, the great majority of her sex. i do not believe a single clergyman's wife in england living with her husband would approve of such conduct, or associate with mrs. besant; and i must take that into consideration in considering what effect it would have upon the child if brought up by a woman of such reputation. but the matter does not stop there. not only does mrs. besant entertain those opinions which are reprobated by the great mass of mankind--whether rightly or wrongly i have no business to say, though i, of course, think rightly--but she carries those speculative opinions into practice as regards the education of the child, and from the moment she does that she brings herself within the lines of the decisions of lord chancellors and eminent judges with reference to the custody of children by persons holding speculative opinions, and in those cases it has been held that before giving the custody of a child to those who entertain such speculative opinions the court must consider what effect infusing those opinions as part of its practical education would have upon the child. that is undoubtedly a matter of the greatest importance. upon this point there is no conflict of testimony whatever. mrs. besant herself says that she prohibited the governess from giving any religious education to the child, and has prevented the child from obtaining any religious education at all. when the child went to school-a day school, as i understand--mrs. besant prohibited the governess of that school from imparting any religious education, in the same way that she had prohibited the former governess, who was a home governess, from giving any religious education, and mrs. besant gave none herself. it is, therefore, not only the entertaining and publishing these opinions, but she considers it her duty so to educate the child as to prevent her having any religious opinions whatever until she attains a proper age. i have no doubt that mrs. besant is conscientious in her opinions upon all these matters, but i also have a conscientious opinion, and i am bound to give effect to it. i think such a course of education not only reprehensible but detestable, and likely to work utter ruin to the child, and i certainly should upon this ground alone decide that this child ought not to remain another day under the care of her mother." as to the publication of the knowlton pamphlet, sir george jessel decided that that also was a good ground for separating mother and child. he committed himself to the shameful statement, so strongly condemned by the lord chief justice, that dr. knowlton was in favor of "promiscuous intercourse without marriage", and then uttered the gross falsehood that his view "was exactly the same as was entertained by the lord chief justice of england". after this odious misrepresentation, i was not surprised to hear from him words of brutal insult to myself. i print here an article on him written at the time, not one word of which i now regret, and which i am glad to place on record in permanent form, now that only his memory remains for me to hate. "sir george jessel. "during the long struggle which began in march, 1877, no word has escaped me against the respective judges before whom i have had to plead. some have been harsh, but, at least, they have been fairly just, and even if a sign of prejudice appeared, it was yet not sufficient to be a scandal to the bench. of sir george jessel, however, i cannot speak in terms even of respect, for in his conduct towards myself he has been rough, coarse, and unfair, to an extent that i never expected to see in any english judge. sir george jessel is subtle and acute, but he is rude, overbearing, and coarse; he has the sneer of a mephistopheles, mingled with a curious monkeyish pleasure in inflicting pain. sir george jessel prides himself on being 'a man of the world', and he expresses the low morality common to that class when the phrase is taken in its worst sense; he holds, like the 'men of the world', who 'see life' in leicester square and the haymarket, that women are kept chaste only through fear and from lack of opportunity; that men may be loose in morals if they will, and that women are divided into two classes for their use--one to be the victims and the toys of the moment, the others to be kept ignorant and strictly guarded, so as to be worthy of being selected as wives. sir george jessel considers that a woman becomes an outcast from society because she thinks that women would be happier, healthier, safer, if they had some slight acquaintance with physiology, and were not condemned, through ignorance, to give birth to human lives foredoomed to misery, to disease, and to starvation. sir george jessel says that no 'modest woman' will associate with one who spreads among her sex the knowledge which will enable her sisters to limit their families within their means. the old brutal jewish spirit, regarding women as the mere slaves of men, breaks out in the coarse language which disgraced himself rather than the woman at whom it was aimed. sir george jessel might have been surprised, had he been in the free trade hall, manchester, on the following day, and had seen it filled with men and women, quiet looking, well dressed, and respectable, and had heard the cries of 'shame on him!' which rang round the hall, when his brutal remark was quoted. such language only causes a re-action towards the insulted person even among those who would otherwise be antagonistic, and sir george jessel has ranged on my side many a woman who, but for him, would have held aloof. "sir george jessel is a jew; he thinks that a parent should be deprived of a child if he or she withholds from it religious training. two hundred years ago, sir george jessel's children might have been taken from him because he did not bring them up as christians; sir george jessel and his race have been relieved from disabilities, and he now joins the persecuting majority, and deals out to the atheist the same measure dealt to his forefathers by the christians. the master of the rolls pretended that by depriving me of my child he was inflicting no punishment on me! if the master of the rolls have any children, he must be as hard-hearted in the home as he is on the bench, if he would not feel that any penalty was inflicted on him if his little ones were torn from him and handed over to a christian priest, who would teach them to despise him as a jew, and hate him as a denier of christ. even now, jews are under many social disabilities, and even when richly gilt, christian society looks upon them with thinly-concealed dislike. the old wicked prejudice still survives against them, and it is with shame and with disgust that liberals see a jew trying to curry favor with christian society by reviving the obsolete penalties once inflicted on his own people. "sir george jessel was not only brutally harsh; he was also utterly unfair. he quoted the lord chief justice as agreeing with him in his judgment on knowlton, on points where the chief had distinctly expressed the contrary opinion, and he did this not through ignorance, but with the eloquent words of sir alexander cockburn lying in front of him, and after i had pointed out to him, and he had deliberately read, or professed to read, the passages which contained the exact contrary of that which he put into the chief's mouth. "of one thing sir george jessel and his christian friends may be sure: that neither prosecution nor penalty will prevent me from teaching both atheism and malthusianism to all who will listen to me, and since christianity is still so bigoted as to take the child from the mother because of a difference of creed, i will strain every nerve to convert the men and women around me, and more especially the young, to a creed more worthy of humanity. "sir george jessel pretended to have the child's interests at heart: in reality he utterly ignored them. i offered to settle â£110 a year on the child if she was placed in the charge of some trustworthy and respectable person, but the master did not even notice the offer. he takes away the child from plenty and comfort, and throws her into comparative poverty; he takes her away from most tender and watchful care, and places her under the guardianship of a man so reckless of her health, that he chose the moment of her serious illness to ask for her removal; he takes her away from cultured and thoughtful society to place her among half-educated farmers. nay, he goes further: dr. drysdale's affidavit stated that it was absolutely necessary at present that she should have her mother's care; and sir george jessel disregards this, and, in her still weak state, drags her from her home and from all she cares for, and throws her into the hands of strangers. if any serious results follow, sir george jessel will be morally, though not legally, responsible for them. in her new home she can have no gentle womanly attendance. no christian lady of high character will risk the misconstruction to which she would be exposed by living alone at sibsey vicarage with a young clergyman who is neither a bachelor nor a widower; the child will be condemned either to solitary neglect at home, or to the cold strictness of a boarding-school. she is bright, gay, intelligent, merry now. what will she be at a year's end? my worst wish for sir george jessel is that the measure he has meted out to me may, before he dies, be measured out to him or his." there is little to add to the story. i gave the child up, as i was compelled to do, and gave notice of appeal to the court of appeal against the order of the master of the rolls. meanwhile, as all access to the children was denied me by the father, i gave him notice that unless access were given i would sue for a restitution of conjugal rights, merely for the sake of seeing my children. as the deed of separation had been broken by his action, i supposed that the courts would not permit it to be broken for his advantage while holding it binding on me. unhappily, at this critical point, my health gave way; the loneliness and silence of the house, of which my darling had always been the sunshine and the music, weighed on me like an evil dream: at night i could not sleep, missing in the darkness the soft breathing of the little child; her cries as she clung to me and was forcibly carried away rang ever in my ears; at last, on july 25th, i was suddenly struck down with fever, and had the rest of pain and delirium instead of the agony of conscious loss. while i was lying there prostrate an order was served on me from the master of the rolls, granted on mr. besant's application, to restrain me from bringing any suit against him. as soon as i recovered, i took steps for contesting this order, but no definite action could be taken until after the long vacation. the case came on for hearing first in november, 1878, and then in january, 1879. all access to the children had been denied me, and the money due to me had been withheld. by this my opponent had put himself so completely in the wrong that even the master of the rolls uttered words of severe condemnation of the way in which i had been treated. then a curious interlude took place. the master of the rolls advised me to file a counter-claim for divorce or for judicial separation, and i gladly agreed to do so, feeling very doubtful as to the master of the rolls' power to do anything of the kind, but very glad that he should think he had the authority. while the claim was being prepared, i obtained access to the children under an interim order, as well as the money owing to me, and at the end of march the case again came before the master of the rolls. the claim filed alleged distinct acts of cruelty, and i brought witnesses to support the claim, among them the doctor who had attended me during my married life. mr. ince filed an answer of general denial, adding that the acts of cruelty, if any, were "done in the heat of the moment". he did not, however, venture to contest the case, although i tendered myself for cross-examination, but pleaded the deed of separation as a bar to further proceedings on my part; i argued on the other hand that as the deed had been broken by the plaintiff's act, all my original rights revived. sir george jessel held that the deed of separation condoned all that had gone before it, if it was raised as a bar to further proceedings, and expressed his regret that he had not known there would be "any objection on the other side", when he advised a claim for a judicial separation. on the final hearing of the case in april in the rolls' court sir george jessel decided that the deed of separation was good as protecting mr. besant from any suit on my part to obtain a decree for the restitution of conjugal rights, although it had been set aside on the one matter of value to me--the custody of my child. the net result of the proceedings was that had i gone to the divorce court in 1873, i might at least have obtained a divorce _a mensa e thoro_; that in my desire to avoid publicity, and content in what i believed to be secure possession of my child, i had agreed to a deed which fully protected mr. besant against any action on my part, but which could be set aside by him for the purpose of robbing me of my child. the argument in the court of appeal came on during april, and was, as i expected, decided against me, the absolute right of the father being declared, and a married mother held to have no sort of claim over her own children. the worst stigma affixed to marriage by the law of england is this ignoring of any right of the married mother to her child; the law protects the unmarried, but insults the married, mother, and places in the hands of the legal husband an instrument of torture whose power to agonise depends on the tenderness and strength of the motherliness of the wife. in fact the law says to every woman: "choose which of these two positions you will have: if you are legally your husband's wife you can have no legal claim to your children; if legally you are your husband's mistress, then your rights as mother are secure". but one thing i gained in the court of appeal. the court expressed a strong view as to my right of access, and directed me to apply to sir george jessel for it, stating that it could not doubt that he would give it. i made the application and obtained an order of access to the children, seeing them alone, once a month; of a visit of the children to london twice a year, with their governess, for a week each time; of a week at the seaside in similar fashion once a year; of a weekly letter from each of them with the right of reply. this order, obtained after such long struggle, has proved useless. the monthly visit so upset my poor little daughter, and made her fret so constantly after me, that in mercy to her i felt compelled to relinquish it; on the first visit to the seaside, i was saddled with the cost of maintaining the rev. mr. and mrs. child, who were placed as guardians of the children, and who treated me in their presence as though i were a dangerous animal from whom they were to be protected. to give but an instance of the sort of treatment i received, i wished mabel to have the benefit of sea-bathing, and was told that she could not be allowed to bathe with me, and this with a suggestiveness that sorely taxed my self-control. i could not apply to the court against the ingenious forms of petty insult employed, while i felt that they must inevitably estrange the children from me if practised always in their presence. after a vain appeal that some sort of consideration should be shown to me, an appeal answered by a mocking suggestion that i should complain to the master of the rolls, i made up my mind as to my future course. i resolved neither to see nor to write to my children until they were old enough to understand and to judge for themselves, and i know that i shall win my daughter back in her womanhood, though i have been robbed of her childhood. by effacing myself then, i saved her from a constant and painful struggle unfitted for childhood's passionate feelings, and left her only a memory that she loves, undefaced by painful remembrances of her mother insulted in her presence. unhappily sir george jessel has terribly handicapped her future; left to me she would have had the highest education now open to girls; left to her present guardian she receives only fifth-rate teaching, utterly unfitted for the present day. twice i have offered to bear the whole expense of her education in the high school at cheltenham, or in some london college, without in any way appearing in the matter, but each time my offer has been roughly and insultingly refused, and the influence that marred the mother's life is undermining the future happiness of the child's. but i am not without hope that i may be able to obtain from the court of chancery an order for the benefit of its ward, and i trust before very long that i shall be able to insure to my child an education which will fit her to play her part worthily when she reaches womanhood. i had hoped to save her from the pain of rejecting a superstitious faith, but that is now impossible, and she must fight her way out of darkness into light as her mother did before her. but in order that she may do so, education now is of vital importance, and that i am striving to obtain for her. i live in the hope that in her womanhood she may return to the home she was torn from in her childhood, and that, in faithful work and noble endeavor, she may wear in future years in the freethought ranks a name not wholly unloved or unhonored therein, for the sake of the woman who has borne it in the van through eleven years of strife. the end. proofreaders a short history of women's rights from the days of augustus to the present time. with special reference to england and the united states by eugene a. hecker _second edition revised, with additions_ to my mother preface to the second edition in this edition a chapter has been added, bringing down to date the record of the contest for equal suffrage. the summary on pages 175-235 is now largely obsolete; but it has been retained as instructive evidence of the rapid progress made during the last four years. e.a.h. cambridge, mass. _august, 1914_. preface while making some researches in the evolution of women's rights, i was impressed by the fact that no one had ever, as far as i could discover, attempted to give a succinct account of the matter for english-speaking nations. indeed, i do not believe that any writer in any country has essayed such a task except laboulaye; and his _recherches sur la condition civile et politique des femmes_, published in 1843, leaves much to be desired to one who is interested in the subject to-day. i have, therefore, made an effort to fill a lack. this purpose has been strengthened as i have reflected on the great amount of confused information which is absorbed by those who have no time to make investigations for themselves. accordingly, in order to present an accurate historical review, i have cited my authorities for all statements regarding which any question could be raised. this is particularly so in the chapters which deal with the condition of women under roman law, under the early christian church, and under canon law. in all these instances i have gone directly to primary sources, have investigated them myself, and have admitted no secondhand evidence. in connection with women's rights in england and in the united states i have either consulted the statutes or studied the commentaries of jurists, like messrs. pollock and maitland, whose authority cannot be doubted. to such i have given the exact references whenever they have been used. in preparing the chapter on the progress of women's lights in the united states i derived great assistance from the very exhaustive _history of woman suffrage_, edited by miss susan b. anthony, mrs. ida h. harper, and others to whose unselfish labours we are for ever indebted. from their volumes i have drawn freely; but i have not given each specific reference. the tabulation of the laws of the several states which i have given naturally cannot be entirely adequate, because the laws are being changed constantly. it is often difficult to procure the latest revised statutes. however, these laws are recent enough to illustrate the evolution of women's rights. finally, this volume was written in no hope that all readers would agree with the author, who is zealous in his cause. his purpose will be gained if he induces the reader to reflect for himself on the problem in the light of its historical development. e.a.h. cambridge, mass., 1910. contents chapter i women's rights under roman law, 27 b.c.-527 a.d. originally women were always under guardianship--but under the empire the entire equality of the sexes was recognised--women in marriage--their power over their property--divorce--women engaged in all business pursuits--instances of women suing and pleading in law--partiality of the law towards women--rights of inheritance--rights to higher education fully allowed--provision made for poor children to be educated--the vestals--female slaves--remarkable growth of humanitarianism towards slaves under the empire--sources chapter ii women and the early christian church christ laid down ethical principles but not minute regulations--the apostles affected by jewish and oriental or greek conceptions of women--examples of these--st. paul and st. peter on the position of women--the church fathers elaborated these teachings--examples of their contempt for women--mingled with admiration for particular types of women--their views of marriage--their strictures on unbecoming dress--summary of their views and how the status of women was affected by them--sources chapter iii rights of women as modified by the christian emperors old roman law not abrogated suddenly--divorce--adultery--second marriages--engagements--donations between husband and wife--sundry enactments on marriage--inheritance--guardianship--bills of attainder of christian emperors merciless, in contrast to acts of pagan predecessors--sources chapter iv women among the germanic peoples a second world force to modify the status of women--accounts of caesar and tacitus on position of women among germanic peoples--the written laws of the barbarians--guardianship--marriage--power of the husband--divorce--adultery--the church indulgent to kings--remarriage--property rights--peculiarities of the criminal law--minutely-graded fines--compurgation and ordeals--innocence tested by the woman walking over red-hot ploughshares--women in slavery--comparison of position of women under roman and under germanic laws--influence of theology--sources chapter v digression on the later history of roman law explanation of the various social and political forces which affected the position of women in the middle ages chapter vi the canon law and the attitude of the roman catholic church canon law reaffirms the subjection of women--women and marriage--protection to women--divorce--cardinal gibbons on protection of injured wives by popes--catholic church has no divorce--but it allows fourteen reasons for declaring marriage null and void and leaving a husband or wife free to remarry--some of these explained--diriment impediments and dispensations--historical instances of the roman church's inconsistency--attitude towards women at present day--opinions of cardinals gibbon and moran, and rev. david barry and rev. william humphrey--sources chapter vii women's rights in england single women have always had private rights--but males preferred in inheritance--examples--power of parents--husband and wife--wife completely controlled by husband--he could beat her and own all her property--recent abrogation of the husband's power--divorce--jeremy taylor and others on duty of women to bear husband's sins with meekness--injustice of the present law of divorce--rape and the age of legal consent--progress of the rights to an education--women in the professions--woman suffrage--sources chapter viii women's rights in the united states examples of the early opposition to women's rights--age of consent--single women--history of agitation for women's rights--convention of 1848--progress after the civil war--beginnings of higher education--first women in medicine--and in law, the ministry, journalism, and industry--status of women in all the states in 1910--sources chapter ix general considerations the five arguments commonly used against equal suffrage--the theological--the physiological--the social or political--the intellectual--the moral--lecky on the nature of women--the old and the new conception--thomas on the power of custom--taboo--all evolution accompanied by some extravagance--macaulay on liberty--the double standard of morality--co-operation--the proper sphere for a human being--discrepancies of wages--legal evolution in the interpretation of labour laws--the alarmist view of divorce chapter x further considerations the rapid spread of suffrage throughout the world--table of suffrage gains from early times to present date--in national politics in the united states--attack on the suffrage parade and colloquy between mr. hobson and mr. mann on the subject--suffrage amendment defeated in the senate--mr. heflin's remarks in the house--mr. falconer replies--president wilson refuses to take a stand--amendment lost--mr. bryan on suffrage--examples of legislation to protect women passed recently--the tendency is to complete equality of the sexes--suffrage in england--a delayed reform in divorce--women's rights on the continent--especially in germany--schopenhauer's views of women--further remarks on the philosophy of suffrage--"woman's sphere"--ultimate results of women entering all businesses and professions--feminism--the home is not necessarily every woman's sphere and neither is motherhood nor is it her congenital duty to make herself attractive to men--unreasonableness of gratuitous advice to women and none to men--what we don't know--fallacy of the argument that the fall of the roman empire was due to the liberty given to woman--official organs of various suffrage societies index a short history of women's rights chapter i women's rights under roman law, from augustus to justinian--27 b.c. to 527 a.d. [sidenote: guardianship.] the age of legal capability for the roman woman was after the twelfth year, at which period she was permitted to make a will.[1] however, she was by no means allowed to do so entirely on her own account, but only under supervision.[2] this superintendence was vested in the father or, if he was dead, in a guardian[3]; if the woman was married, the power belonged to the husband. the consent of such supervision, whether of father, husband, or guardian, was essential, as ulpian informs us,[4] under these circumstances: if the woman entered into any legal action, obligation, or civil contract; if she wished her freedwoman to cohabit with another's slave; if she desired to free a slave; if she sold any things _mancipi_, that is, such as estates on italian soil, houses, rights of road or aqueduct, slaves, and beasts of burden. throughout her life a woman was supposed to remain absolutely under the power[5] of father, husband, or guardian, and to do nothing without their consent. in ancient times, indeed, this authority was so great that the father and husband could, after calling a family council, put the woman to death without public trial.[6] the reason that women were so subjected to guardianship was "on account of their unsteadiness of character,"[7] "the weakness of the sex," and their "ignorance of legal matters."[8] under certain circumstances, however, women became _sui iuris_ or entirely independent: i. by the birth of three children (a freedwoman by four)[9]; ii. by becoming a vestal virgin, of whom there were but six[10]; iii. by a formal emancipation, which took place rarely, and then often only with a view of transferring the power from one guardian to another.[11] even when _sui iuris_ a woman could not acquire power over any one, not even over her own children[12]; for these an agnate--a male relative on the father's side--was appointed guardian, and the mother was obliged to render him and her children an account of any property which she had managed for them.[13] on the other hand, her children were bound to support her.[14] [sidenote: digression on the growth of respect for women] so much for the laws on the subject. they seem rigorous enough, and in early times were doubtless executed with strictness. a marked feature, however, of the roman character, a peculiarity which at once strikes the student of their history as compared with that of the greeks, was their great respect for the home and the _materfamilias_. the stories of lucretia, cloelia, virginia, cornelia, arria, and the like, familiar to every roman schoolboy, must have raised greatly the esteem in which women were held. as rome became a world power, the romans likewise grew in breadth of view, in equity, and in tolerance. the political influence wielded by women[15] was as great during the first three centuries after christ as it has ever been at any period of the world's history; and the powers of a livia, an agrippina, a plotina, did not fail to show pointedly what a woman could do. in the early days of the republic women who touched wine were severely punished and male relatives were accustomed solemnly to kiss them, if haply they might discover the odour of drink on their breath.[16] valerius maximus tells us that egnatius mecenas, a roman knight, beat his wife to death for drinking wine.[17] cato the censor (234-149 b.c.) dilated with joy on the fact that a woman could be condemned to death by her husband for adultery without a public trial, whereas men were allowed any number of infidelities without censure.[18] the senator metellus (131 b.c.) lamented that nature had made it necessary to have women.[19] the boorish cynicism of a cato and a metellus--though it never expressed the real feelings of the majority of romans--gave way, however, under the empire to a generous expression of the equality of the sexes in the realms of morality and of intellect. "i know what you may say," writes seneca to marcia,[20] "'you have forgotten that you are consoling a woman; you cite examples of fortitude on the part of men.' but who said that nature had acted scurvily with the characters of women and had contracted their virtues into a narrow sphere? equal force, believe me, is possessed by them; equal capability for what is honorable, if they so wish." the emperor marcus aurelius gratefully recalls that from his mother he learned piety and generosity, and to refrain not only from doing ill, but even from thinking it, and simplicity of life, far removed from the ostentatious display of wealth.[21] the passionate attachment of men like quintilian and pliny to their wives exhibits an equality based on love that would do honour to the most christian households.[22] all roman historians speak with great admiration of the many heroic deeds performed by women and are fond of citing conspicuous examples of conjugal affection.[23] the masterly and sympathetic delineation of dido in the _aeneid_ shows how deeply a roman could appreciate the character of a noble woman. in the numerous provisions for the public education at the state's expense girls were given the same opportunities and privileges as boys; there were five thousand boys and girls educated by trajan alone.[24] [sidenote: decay of the power or the guardian.] such are a few examples of the growth of respect for women; and we should naturally conclude that, as time progressed, the unjust laws of guardianship would no longer be executed to the letter, even though the hard statutes were not formally expunged. this was the case during the first three centuries after christ, as is patent from many sources. it is to be borne in mind that because a law is on the books, does not mean necessarily that it is enforced. a law is no stronger than public opinion. of this anomaly there are plenty of instances even to-day--the blue laws of massachusetts, for example. "that women of mature age should be under guardianship," writes the great jurist gaius[25] in the second century, "seems to have no valid reason as foundation. for what is commonly believed, to the effect that on account of unsteadiness of character they are generally hoodwinked, and that, therefore, it is right for them to be governed by the authority of a guardian, seems rather specious than true. as a matter of fact, women of mature age do manage their own affairs, and in certain cases the guardian interposes his authority as a mere formality; frequently, indeed, he is forced by the supreme judge to lend his authority against his will." ulpian, too, hints at the really slight power of the guardian in his day, that is, the first three decades of the third century. "in the case of male and female wards under age, the guardians both manage their affairs and interpose their authority; but in the case of mature women they merely interpose their authority."[26] the woman had, in practice, become free to manage her property as she wished; the function of the legal guardian was simply to see to it that no one should attempt a fraud against her. adequately to observe the decay of the vassalage of women, we must investigate the story of their rights in all its forms; and the position of women in marriage will next occupy our attention. [sidenote: women and marriage.] as in all southern countries where women mature early, the roman girl usually married young; twelve years were required by custom for her to reach the marriageable age.[27] in the earlier period a woman was acquired as wife in three different ways: i. by _coemptio_--a mock sale to her husband[28]; ii. by _confarreatio_--a solemn marriage with peculiar sacred rites to qualify men and women and their children for certain priesthoods[29]; iii. by _usus_, or acquisition by prescription. a woman became a man's legal wife by _usus_ if he had lived with her one full year and if, during that time, she had not been absent from him for more than three successive nights.[30] all these forms, however, had either been abolished by law or had fallen into desuetude during the second century of our era, as is evident from gaius.[31] a man could marry even if not present personally; a woman could not.[32] the woman's parents or guardians were accustomed to arrange a match for her,[33] as they still do in many parts of europe. yet the power of the father to coerce his daughter was limited. her consent was important. "a marriage cannot exist," remarks paulus, "unless all parties consent."[34] julianus writes also that the daughter must give her permission[35]; yet the statement of ulpian which immediately follows in the digest shows that she had not complete free will in the matter: "it is understood that she who does not oppose the wishes of her father gives consent. but a daughter is allowed to object only in case her father chooses for her a man of unworthy or disgraceful character."[36] the son had an advantage here, because he could never be forced into a marriage against his will.[37] the consent of the father was always necessary for a valid marriage.[38] he could not by will compel his daughter to marry a certain person.[39] after she was married, he still retained power over her, unless she became independent by the birth of three children; but this was largely to protect her and represent her in court against her husband if necessity should arise.[40] a father was not permitted to break up a harmonious[41] marriage; he could not get back his daughter's dowry without her consent,[42] nor force her to return to her husband after a divorce[43]; and he was punished with loss of citizenship if he made a match for a widowed daughter before the legal time of mourning for her husband had expired.[44] a daughter passed completely out of the power of her father only if she became _sui iuris_ by the birth of three children or if she became a vestal, or again if she married a special priest of jupiter (_flamen dialis_), in which case, however, she passed completely into the power of her husband. under all circumstances a daughter must not only show respect for her father, but also furnish him with the necessaries of life if he needed them.[45] [sidenote: "breach of promise."] under the empire no such thing as a "breach of promise" suit was permitted, although in the days of the republic the party who broke a promise to marry had been liable to a suit for damages.[46] but this had now disappeared, and either party could break off the betrothal at pleasure without prejudice.[47] whatever gifts had been given might be demanded back.[48] the engagement had to be formally broken off before either party could enter into marriage or betrothal with another; otherwise he or she lost civil status.[49] while an engagement lasted, the man could bring an action for damages against any one who insulted or injured his fiancã©e.[50] [sidenote: husband and wife.] the roman marriage was a purely civil contract based on consent.[51] the definition given by the law was a noble one. "marriage is the union of a man and a woman and a partnership of all life; a mutual sharing of laws human and divine."[52] the power of the husband over the wife was called _manus_; and the wife stood in the same position as a daughter.[53] no husband was allowed to have a concubine.[54] he was bound to support his wife adequately, look out for her interests,[55] and strictly to avenge any insult or injury offered her[56]; any abusive treatment of the wife by the husband was punished by an action for damages[57]. a wife was compelled by law to go into solemn mourning for a space of ten months upon the death of a husband[58]. during the period of mourning she was to abstain from social banquets, jewels, and crimson and white garments[59]. if she did not do so, she lost civil status. the emperor gordian, in the year 238, remitted these laws so far as solemn clothing and other external signs of mourning above enumerated were concerned.[60] but a husband was not compelled to do any legal mourning for the death of his wife.[61] the wife was, as i have said, in the power of her husband. originally, no doubt, this power was absolute; the husband could even put his wife to death without a public trial. but the world was progressing, and that during the first three centuries after christ the power of the husband was reduced in practice to absolute nullity i shall make clear in the following pages. i shall, accordingly, first investigate the rights of the wife over her dowry, that is, the right of managing her own property. even from earliest times it is clear that the wife had complete control of her dowry. the henpecked husband who is afraid of offending his wealthy wife is a not uncommon figure in the comedies of plautus and terence; and cato the censor growled in his usual amiable manner at the fact that wives even in his day controlled completely their own property.[62] the attitude of the roman law on the subject is clearly expressed. "it is for the good of the state that women have their dowries inviolate."[63] "the dowry is always and everywhere a chief concern; for it is for the public good that dowries be retained for women, since it is highly necessary that they be dowered in order to bring forth offspring and replenish the state with children."[64] "it is just that the income of the dowry belong to the husband; for inasmuch as it is he who stands the burdens of the married state, it is fair that he also acquire the interest."[65] "nevertheless, the dowry belongs to the woman, even though it is in the goods of the husband."[66] "a husband is not permitted to alienate his wife's estate against her will."[67] a wife could use her dowry during marriage to support herself, if necessary, or her kindred, to buy a suitable estate, to help an exiled parent, or to assist a needy husband, brother, or sister. the numerous accounts in various authors of the first three centuries after christ confirm the statement that the woman's power over her dowry was absolute.[68] then as now, a man might put his property in his wife's name to escape his creditors,[69]--a useless proceeding, if she had not had complete control of her own property. when the woman died, her dowry, if it had been given by the father (_dos profecticia_) returned to the latter; but if any one else had given it (_dos adventicia_), the dowry remained with the husband, unless the donor had expressly stipulated that it was to be returned to himself at the woman's death (_dos recepticia_),[70] in the case of a dowry of the first kind, the husband might retain what he had expended for his wife's funeral.[71] the dowry was confiscated to the state if the woman was convicted of lã¨se majestã©, violence against the state, or murder.[72] if she suffered punishment involving loss of civil status under any other law which did not assess the penalty of confiscation, the husband acquired the dowry just as if she were dead. banishment operated as no impediment; if the woman wished to leave her husband under these circumstances, her father could recover the dowry.[73] a further confirmation of the power of the wife over her property is the law that prohibited gifts between husband and wife; obviously, a woman could not be said to have the power of making a gift if she had no right of property of her own. the object of the law mentioned was to prevent the husband and wife from receiving any lasting damage to his or her property by giving of it under the impulse of conjugal affection.[74] this statute acted powerfully to prevent a husband from wheedling a wife out of her goods; and in case the latter happened to be of a grasping disposition the law was a protection to the husband and hence to the children, his heirs, for whose interests the roman law constantly provided. gifts between husband and wife were nevertheless valid under certain conditions. it was permissible to make a present of clothing and to bestow various tokens of affection, such as ornaments. the husband could present his wife with enough money to rebuild a house of hers which had burned.[75] the emperor marcus aurelius permitted a wife to give her husband the sum necessary to obtain public office or to become a senator or knight or to give public games.[76] a gift was also legal if made by the husband in apprehension that death might soon overtake him; if, for instance, he was very sick or was setting out to war, or to exile, or on a dangerous journey.[77] the point in all gifts was, that neither party should become richer by the donation.[78] some further considerations of the relation of husband and wife will aid in setting forth the high opinion which roman law entertained of marriage and its constant effort to protect the wife as much as possible. a wife could not be held in a criminal action if she committed theft against her husband. the various statements of the jurists make the matter clear. thus paulus[79]: "a special action for the recovery of property removed [_rerum amotarum iudicium_] has been introduced against her who was a wife, because it has been decided that it is not possible to bring a criminal action for theft against her [_quid non placuit cum ea furti agere posse_]. some--as nerva cassius--think she cannot even commit theft, on the ground that the partnership in life made her mistress, as it were. others--like sabinus and proculus--hold that the wife can commit theft, just as a daughter may against her father, but that there can be no criminal action by established law." "as a mark of respect to the married state, an action involving disgrace for the wife is refused."[80] "therefore she will be held for theft if she touches the same things after being divorced. so, too, if her slave commits theft, we can sue her on the charge. but it is possible to bring an action for theft even against a wife, if she has stolen from him whose heirs we are or before she married us; nevertheless, as a mark of respect we say that in each case a formal claim for restitution alone is admissible, but not an action for theft."[81] "if any one lends help or advice to a wife who is filching the property of her husband, he shall be held for theft. if he commits theft with her, he shall be held for theft, although the woman herself is not held."[82] a husband who did not avenge the murder of his wife lost all claims to her dowry, which was then confiscated to the state; this by order of the emperor severus.[83] the laws on adultery are rather more lenient to the woman than to the man. in the first place, the roman law insisted that it was unfair for a husband to demand chastity on the part of his wife if he himself was guilty of infidelity or did not set her an example of good conduct,[84]--a maxim which present day lawyers may reflect upon with profit. a father was permitted to put to death his daughter and her paramour if she was still in his power and if he caught her in the act at his own house or that of his son-in-law; otherwise he could not.[85] he must, however, put both man and woman to death at once, when caught in the act; to reserve punishment to a later date was unlawful. the husband was not permitted to kill his wife; he might kill her paramour if the latter was a man of low estate, such as an actor, slave, or freedman, or had been convicted on some criminal charge involving loss of citizenship.[86] the reason that the father was given the power which was denied the husband was that the latter's resentment would be more likely to blind his power of judging dispassionately the merits of the case.[87] if now the husband forgot himself and slew his wife, he was banished for life if of noble birth, and condemned to perpetual hard labour if of more humble rank.[88] he must at once divorce a wife guilty of adultery; otherwise he was punished as a pander, and that meant loss of citizenship.[89] women convicted of adultery were, when not put to death, punished by the loss of half their dowry, a third part of their other goods, and relegation to an island; guilty men suffered the loss of half of their possessions and similar relegation to an island; but the guilty parties were never confined in the same place.[90] we have mention also in several writers of some curious and vicious punishments that might be inflicted on men guilty of adultery.[91] now, all this seems rigorous enough; but, as i have already remarked, we must beware of imagining that a statute is enforced simply because it stands in the code. as a matter of fact, public sentiment had grown so humane in the first three centuries after christ that it did not for a moment tolerate that a father should kill his daughter, no matter how guilty she was; and in all our records of that period no instance occurs. as to husbands, we have repeated complaints in the literature of the day that they had grown so complaisant towards erring wives that they could not be induced to prosecute them.[92] a typical instance is related by pliny.[93] pliny was summoned by the emperor trajan to attend a council where, among other cases, that of a certain gallitta was discussed. she had married a military tribune and had committed adultery with a common captain (_centurio_). trajan sent the captain into exile. the husband took no measures against his wife, but went on living with her. only by coercion was he finally induced to prosecute. pliny informs us that the guilty woman had to be condemned, even against the will of her accuser. a woman guilty of incest received no punishment, but the guilty man was deported to an island.[94] if the incest involved adultery, the woman was of course held on that charge. [sidenote: divorce] we come now to a matter where the growing freedom of women reached its highest point--the matter of divorce. here again we have to note the progress of toleration and humanitarianism. in the early days of the republic the family tie was rarely severed. valerius maximus tells us[95] of a quaint custom of the olden days, to the effect that "whenever any quarrel arose between husband and wife, they would proceed to the chapel of the goddess viriplaca ["reconciler of husbands"], which is on the palatine, and there they would mutually express their feelings; then, laying aside their anger, they returned home reconciled." during these days a woman could never herself take the initiative in divorce; the husband was all-powerful. the first divorce of which we have any record took place in the year 231 b.c., when spurius carvilius ruga put away his wife for sterility. public opinion censured him severely for it "because people thought that not even the desire for children ought to have been preferred to conjugal fidelity and affection."[96] as the empire extended and rome became more worldly and corrupt, the reasons for divorce became more trivial. sempronius sophus divorced his wife because she had attended some public games without his knowledge.[97] cicero, who was a lofty moralist--on paper,--put away his wife terentia in order to marry a rich young ward and get her money if he could. maecenas, the great prime-minister of augustus, sent away and took back his wife repeatedly at caprice--perhaps he believed that variety is the spice of life. but during all this time the husband alone could annul marriage.[98] gradually, however, the status of women changed and they were given greater and greater liberty. inasmuch as roman marriage was a civil contract based on consent, strict justice had to allow that on this basis either party to the contract might annul the marriage at his or her pleasure. the result was that during the first three centuries after christ the wife had absolute freedom to take the initiative and send her husband a divorce whenever and for whatever reason she wished. the proof of this fact is positively established not only from the statements of the jurists, but also from numberless accounts in the other writers of the day.[99] divorce became, at least among the higher strata of society, extraordinarily frequent. that a lady of the upper four hundred should have been content with only one husband was deemed worthy of special mention on her tomb; the word _univira_ (a woman of one husband) may still be read on certain inscriptions. the satirists are fond of dwelling on the license allowed to women in the case of divorce. martial, for instance,[100] says that one theselina married ten husbands in one month. still, allowing for the natural exaggeration of satirists, we are yet reasonably sure that divorce had reached great heights in the upper classes. whether it was as bad among the middle classes is very improbable. there was one kind of marriage which, originally at least, did not admit of dissolution.[101] this was the solemn marriage by _confarreatio_, already described, which qualified the husband and wife for the special priesthood of jupiter. women soon grew to value their freedom too highly to enter it; as early as 23 a.d. the senate had to relax some of the rigour of the old laws on the matter as a special inducement for women to consent to enter this union.[102] we may now observe what became of the wife's property after divorce and what her rights were under such circumstances. if it was the husband who had taken the initiative and had sent his wife a divorce, and if the divorce was not the fault of the woman, she at once had an action in law for complete recovery of her dowry; on her own responsibility if she was _sui iuris_, otherwise with the help of her father.[103] but even the woman still under guardianship could act by herself if her father was too sick or infirm or if she had no other agent to act for her.[104] for the offence of adultery a husband had to pay back the dowry at once; for lesser guilt he might return it in instalments at intervals of six months.[105] if, now, the divorce was clearly the fault of the woman, her husband could retain certain parts of the dowry in these proportions: for adultery, a sixth part for each of the children up to one half of the whole; for lighter offences, an eighth part; if the husband had gone to expense or had incurred civil obligations for his wife's benefit or if she had removed any of his property, he could recover the amount.[106] a year and six months must elapse after a divorce before the woman was allowed to marry again.[107] if at the time of the divorce she was pregnant, her husband was obliged to support her offspring, provided that within thirty days after the separation she informed him of her condition.[108] she could sue her former husband for damages if he insulted her.[109] whether the children should stay with the mother or father was left to the discretion of the judge.[110] [sidenote: property rights of widows and single women.] the married woman had, as i have shown, complete disposal of her own property. let us see next what rights those women had over their possessions who were widows or spinsters. roman law constantly strove to protect the children and laid it down as a maxim that the property of their parents belonged to them.[111] a widow could not therefore, except by special permission from the emperor,[112] be the legal guardian of her children, but must ask the court to appoint one upon the death of her husband.[113] this was to prevent possible mismanagement and because "to undertake the legal defence of others is the office of men."[114] but she was permitted to assume complete charge of her children's property during their minority and enjoy the usufruct; only she must render an account of the goods when the children arrived at maturity.[115] we have many instances of women who managed their children's patrimony and did it exceedingly well. "you managed our patrimony in such wise," writes seneca to his mother,[116] "that you exerted yourself as if it were yours and yet abstained from it as if it belonged to others."[117] agricola, father-in-law of tacitus, had such confidence in his wife's business ability that he made her co-heir with his daughter and the emperor domitian.[118] a mother could get an injunction to restrain extravagance on the part of her children.[119] women could not adopt.[120] married women, spinsters, and widows had as much freedom as men in disposing of property by will. if there were children, the roman law put certain limitations on the testator's powers, whether man or woman. by the falcidian law no one was allowed to divert more than three fourths of his estate from his (or her) natural heirs.[121] but for any adequate cause a woman could disinherit her children completely; and there are many instances of this extant both in the law books and in the literature of the day.[122] single women had grown absolutely unshackled and even their guardians had become a mere formality, as the words of gaius, already quoted (page 8) prove. that they had complete disposal of their property is proved furthermore by the numerous complaints in roman authors about the sycophants who flattered and toadied the wealthy ladies with an eye to being remembered in their wills.[123] for it is evident that if these women had not had the power freely to dispose of their own property, there would have been no point in paying them such assiduous court. the legal age of maturity was now twenty-five for both male and female. [sidenote: women engaged in business pursuits.] women engaged freely in all business pursuits. we find them in all kinds of retail trade and commerce,[124] as members of guilds,[125] in medicin[126] innkeeping,[127] in vaudevil[128]; there were even female barbers[129] and charioteer[130]. examples of women who toiled for a living with their own hands are indeed very old, as the widow, described by homer, who worked for a scanty wage to support her fatherless children, or the wreathmaker, mentioned by aristophanes.[131] but such was the case only with women of the lower classes; the lady of high birth acted through her agents.[132] [sidenote: the right of women to sue.] when so many women were engaged in business, occasions for lawsuits would naturally arise; we shall see next what power the woman had to sue. it was a standing maxim of the law that a woman by herself could not conduct a case in court.[133] she had to act through her agent, if she was independent, otherwise through her guardian. the supreme judge at rome and the governor in a province assigned an attorney to those who had no agent or guardian.[134] but in this case again custom and the law were at variance. various considerations will make it clear that women who sued had, in practice, complete disposal of the matter. i.--a woman who was still under the power of her father must, according to law, sue with him as her agent or appoint an agent to act with him. nevertheless, a father could do nothing without the consent of his daughter.[135] obviously, then, so far as the power of the father was concerned, a woman had practically the management of her suit. ii.--the husband had no power. if he tried to browbeat her as to what to do, she could send him a divorce, a privilege which she had at her beck and call, as we have seen; and then she could force him to give her any guardian she wanted.[136] iii.--that the authority of other guardians was in practice a mere formality, i have already proved (pp. 7 and 8). from these considerations it is clear that the woman's wishes were supreme in the conduct of any suit. moreover, the law expressly states that women may appoint whatever attorneys or agents they desire, without asking the consent of their legal guardians[137]; and thus they were at liberty to select a man who would manage things as they might direct. there were cases where even the strict letter of the law permitted women to lay an action on their own responsibility alone: if, when a suit for recovery of dowry was brought, the father was absent or hindered by infirmities[138]; if the woman sued or was sued to get or render an account of property managed in trust[139]; to avenge the death of a parent or children, or of patron or patroness and their children[140]; to lay bare any matter pertaining to the public grain supply[141]; and to disclose cases of treason.[142] [sidenote: instances of women pleading in public and suing.] we read of many cases of women pleading publicly and bringing suit. indeed, according to juvenal--who is, however, a pessimist by profession--the ladies found legal proceedings so interesting that bringing suit became a passion with them as strong as it had once been among the athenians. thus juvenal[143]: "there is almost no case in which a woman wouldn't bring suit. manilia prosecutes, when she isn't a defendant. they draw up briefs quite by themselves, and are ready to cite principles and authorities to celsus [a celebrated lawyer of that time]." of pleading in public one of the celebrated instances was that of hortensia, daughter of the great orator quintus hortensius, cicero's rival. on an occasion when matrons had been burdened with heavy taxes and none of their husbands would fight the measure, hortensia pleaded the case publicly with great success. all writers speak of her action and the eloquence of her speech with great admiration.[144] we hear also of a certain gaia afrania, wife of a senator; she always conducted her case herself before the supreme judge, "not because there was any lack of lawyers," adds her respectable and scandalised historian,[145] "but because she had more than enough of impudence." quintilian mentions several cases of women being sued[146]; pliny tells how he acted as attorney for some[147]; and the law books will supply any one curious in the matter with abundant examples.[148] a quotation from pliny[149] will give an idea of the kind of suit a woman might bring, and the great interest aroused thereby: "attia viriola, a woman of illustrious birth and married to a former supreme judge, was disinherited by her eighty-year-old father within eleven days after he had brought attia a stepmother. attia was trying to regain her share of her father's estate. one hundred and eighty jurors sat in judgment. the tribunal was crowded, and from the higher part of the court both men and women strained over the railings in their eagerness to hear (which was difficult), and to see (which was easy)." [sidenote: partiality of the law to women.] there were many legal qualifications designed to help women evade the strict letter of the law when this, if enforced absolutely, would work injustice. ignorance of the law, if there was no criminal offence involving good morals, was particularly accepted in the case of women "on account of the weakness of the sex."[150] a typical instance of the growth of the desire to help women, protect them as much as possible, and stretch the laws in their favour, may be taken from the senatorial decree known as the senatus consultum velleianum.[151] this was an order forbidding females to become sureties or defendants for any one in a contract. but at the end of the first century of our era the senate voted that the law be emended to help women and to give them special privileges in every class of contract. "we must praise the farsightedness of that illustrious order," comments the great jurist ulpian,[152] "because it brought aid to women on account of the weakness of the sex, exposed, as it is, to many mishaps of this sort." [sidenote: rights of women to inherit.] the rights of women to inherit under roman law deserve some mention. here again we may note a steady growth of justice. some general examples will make this clearer, before i treat of the specific powers of inheritance. i.--in the year 169 b.c. the tribune quintus voconius saxa had a law passed which restricted greatly the rights of women to inherit.[153] according to dio[154] no woman was, by this statute, permitted to receive more than 25,000 sesterces--1250 dollars. in the second century after christ, this law had fallen into complete desuetude.[155] ii.--by the falcidian law, passed in the latter part of the first century b.c., no citizen was allowed to divert more than three fourths of his estate from his natural heirs.[156] the romans felt strongly against any man who disinherited his children without very good reason; the will of such a parent was called _inofficiosum_, "made without a proper feeling of duty," and the disinherited children had an action at law to recover their proper share.[157] a daughter was considered a natural heir no less than a son and had equal privileges in succession[158]; and so women were bound to receive some inheritance at least. iii.--it is a sad commentary on christian rulers that for many ages they allowed the crimes of the father to be visited upon his children and by their bills of attainder confiscated to the state the goods of condemned offenders. now, the roman law stated positively that "the crime or punishment of a father can inflict no stigma on his child."[159] so far as the goods of the father were concerned, the property of three kinds of criminals escheated to the crown: (1) those who committed suicide while under indictment for some crime,[160] (2) forgers,[161] (3) those guilty of high treason[162]. yet it seems reasonable to doubt whether these laws were very often carried out strictly to the letter. for example, the law did indeed hold that the estate of a party guilty of treason was confiscated to the state[163]; but even here it was expressly ordained that the goods of the condemned man's freedmen be reserved for his children.[164] moreover, in actual practice we can find few instances where the law was executed in its literal severity even under the worst tyrants. it was julius caesar who first set the splendid example of allowing to the children of his dead foes full enjoyment of their patrimonies.[165] succeeding emperors followed the precedent.[166] tyrants like tiberius and nero, strangely enough, in a majority of cases overruled the senate when it proposed to confiscate the goods of those condemned for treason, and allowed the children a large part or all of the paternal estate.[167] hadrian gave the children of proscribed offenders the twelfth part of their father's goods.[168] antoninus pius gave them all.[169] there was a strong public feeling against bills of attainder and this sentiment is voiced by all writers of the empire. the law forbade wives to suffer any loss for any fault of their husbands.[170] since we have now noticed that women could inherit any amount, that they were bound to receive something under their fathers' wills, and that the guilt of their kin could inflict no prejudice upon them in the way of bills of attainder involving physical injury or civil status and, in practice, little loss so far as inheriting property was concerned, we may pass to a contemplation of the specific legal rights of inheritance of women. if women were to be disinherited, it was sufficient to mention them in an aggregate; but males must be mentioned specifically.[171] if, however, they were disinherited in an aggregate (_inter ceteros_), some legacy had to be left them that they might not seem to have been passed over through forgetfulness.[172] i shall not concern myself particularly with testate succession, because here obviously the will of the testator could dispose as he wished, except in so far as he was limited by the falcidian law. the matter of intestate succession may well claim our attention; for therein we shall see what powers of inheritance were given the female sex. the general principles are explained by gaius (iii, 1-38); and these principles followed, in the main, the law as laid down in the twelve tables (451 b.c.). according to these, the estates of those who died intestate belonged first of all to the children who were in the power of the deceased at the time of his death; there was no distinction of sex; the daughters were entitled to precisely the same amount as the sons.[173] if the children of the testator had died, the grandson or granddaughter _through the son_ succeeded; or the great-grandson or great-granddaughter through the _grandson_. if a son a daughter were alive, as well as grandsons and granddaughters through the _son_, they were all equally called to the estate. the estate was not divided per capita, but among families as a whole; for example, if of two sons one only was alive, but the other had left children, the testator's surviving son received one half of the patrimony and his grandchildren through his other son the other half, to be divided among them severally. if, then, there were six grandchildren, each received one twelfth of the estate. here the powers of women to inherit stopped. beyond the tie of _consanguinitas_, that is, that of daughter to father, or granddaughter through a _son_, the female line must at once turn aside, and had no powers; the estate descended to the _agnati_, that is, male relatives on the father's side. hence a mother was shut out by a brother of the deceased or by that brother's children. if there were no _agnati_, the goods were given to the _gentiles_, male relatives of the clan bearing the same name. in fact, under this rã©gime we may say that of the female line the daughter alone was sure of inheriting something. in the days of the empire some attempts were made to be more just. it was enacted[174] that all the children should be called to the estate, whether they had been under the power of the testator at the time of his death or not; and female relatives were now allowed to come in for their share "in the third degree," that is, if there was neither a child or an agnate surviving. this was not much of an improvement; and the principle of agnate succession is the only point in which roman law failed to give to women those equal rights which it allowed them in other cases. [sidenote: protection of property of children.] there is no point on which roman law laid more stress than that the children, both male and female, were to be constantly protected and must receive their legal share of their father's or mother's goods. after a husband's divorce or death his wife could, indeed, enjoy possession of the property and the usufruct; but the principal had to be conserved intact for the children until they arrived at maturity. in the same way a father was obliged to keep untouched for the children whatever had been left them by the mother on her decease[175]; and he must also leave them that part, at least, of his own property prescribed by the falcidian law. a case--and it was common enough in real life--such as that described by dickens in _david copperfield_, where, by the english law, a second husband acquired absolute right over his wife's property and shut out her son, would have been impossible under roman law. neither husband nor wife could succeed to one another's intestate estate absolutely unless there were no children, parents, or other relatives living.[176] [sidenote: punishment of crimes against women.] rape of a woman was punished by death; accessories to the crime merited the same penalty.[177] indecent exposure before a virgin met with punishment out of course.[178] kidnapping was penalised by hard labour in the mines or by crucifixion in the case of those of humble birth, and by confiscation of half the goods and by perpetual exile in the case of a noble.[179] temporary exile was visited upon those guilty of abortion themselves[180]; if it was caused through the agency of another, the agent, even though he or she did so without evil intent, was punished by hard labour in the mines, if of humble birth, and by relegation to an island and confiscation of part of their goods, if of noble rank.[181] if the victim died, the person who caused the abortion was put to death.[182] [sidenote: rights of women to an education.] the rights of women to an education were not questioned. that sulpicia could publish amatory poems in honour of her husband and receive eulogies from writers like martial[183] shows that she and ladies like her occupied somewhat the same position as olympia morata and tarquinia molza later in italy during the renaissance, or like some of the celebrated frenchwomen, such as madame de staã«l. seneca addresses a _dialogue on consolation_ to one marcia; such an idea would have made the hair of any athenian gentleman in the time of socrates stand on end. aspasia was obliged to be a courtesan in order to become educated and to frequent cultivated society[184]; sulpicia was a noble matron in good standing. the world had not stood still since socrates had requested some one to take xanthippe home, lest he be burdened by her sympathy in his last moments. pains were taken that the roman girl of wealth should have special tutors.[185] "pompeius saturninus recently read me some letters," writes pliny[186] to one of his correspondents, "which he insisted had been written by his wife. i believed that plautus or terence was being read in prose. whether they are really his wife's, as he maintains; or his own, which he denies; he deserves equal honour, either because he composes them, or because he has made his wife, whom he married when a mere girl, so learned and polished." the enthusiasm of the ladies for literature is attested by persius.[187] according to juvenal, who, as an orthodox satirist, was not fond of the weaker sex, women sometimes became over-educated. he growls as follows[188]: "that woman is a worse nuisance than usual who, as soon as she goes to bed, praises vergil; makes excuses for doomed dido; pits bards against one another and compares them; and weighs homer and maro in the balance. teachers of literature give way, professors are vanquished, the whole mob is hushed, and no lawyer or auctioneer will speak, nor any other woman." the prospect of a learned wife filled the orthodox roman with peculiar horror.[189] no roman woman ever became a public professor as did hypatia or, ages later, bitisia gozzadina, who, in the thirteenth century, became doctor of canon and civil law at the university of bologna. i have been speaking of women of the wealthier classes; but the poor were not neglected. as far back as the time of the twelve tables--450 b.c.--parents of moderate means were accustomed to club together and hire a schoolroom and a teacher who would instruct the children, girls no less than boys, in at least the proverbial three r's. virginia was on her way to such a school when she encountered the passionate gaze of appius claudius. such grammar schools, which boys and girls attended together, flourished under the empire as they had under the republic.[190] they were not connected with the state, being supported by the contributions of individual parents. to the end we cannot say that there was a definite scheme of public education for girls at the state's expense as there was for boys.[191] still, the emperors did something. trajan, hadrian, antoninus pius, marcus aurelius, and alexander severus, for example, regularly supplied girls and boys with education at public expense[192]; under trajan there were 5000 children so honoured. public-spirited citizens were also accustomed to contribute liberally to the same cause; pliny on one occasion[193] gave the equivalent of $25,000 for the support and instruction of indigent boys and girls. [sidenote: the vestals.] it may not be out of place to speak briefly of the vestal virgins, the six priestesses of vesta, who are the only instances in pagan antiquity of anything like the nuns of the christians. the vestals took a vow of perpetual chastity.[194] they passed completely out of the power of their parents and became entirely independent. they could not receive the inheritance of any person who died intestate, and no one could become heir to a vestal who died intestate. they were allowed to be witnesses in court in public trials, a privilege denied other women. peculiar honour was accorded them and they were regularly appointed the custodians of the wills of the emperors.[195] [sidenote: female slaves.] the position of women in slavery merits some attention, in view of the huge multitudes that were held in bondage. roman law acknowledged no legal rights on the part of slaves[196]. the master had absolute power of life and death.[197] they were exposed to every whim of master or mistress without redress.[198] if some one other than their owner harmed them they might obtain satisfaction through their master and for his benefit; but the penalty for the aggressor was only pecuniary.[199] a slave's evidence was never admitted except under torture.[200] if a master was killed, every slave of his household and even his freedmen and freedwomen were put to torture, although the culprit may already have been discovered, in order to ascertain the instigator of the plot and his remotest accessories.[201] the earlier history of rome leaves no doubt that before the republic fell these laws were carried out with inhuman severity. with the growth of rome into a world power and the consequent rise of humanitarianism[202] a strong public feeling against gratuitous cruelty towards slaves sprang up. this may be illustrated by an event which happened in the reign of nero, in the year 58, when a riot ensued out of sympathy for some slaves who had been condemned _en masse_ after their master had been assassinated by one of them.[203] measures were gradually introduced for alleviating the hardships and cruelties of slavery. claudius (41-54 a.d.) ordained[204] that since sick and infirm slaves were being exposed on an island in the tiber sacred to aesculapius, because their masters did not wish to bother about attending them, all those who were so exposed were to be set free if they recovered and never to be returned into the power of their masters; and if any owner preferred to put a slave to death rather than expose him, he was to be held for murder. gentlemen began to speak with contempt of a master or mistress who maltreated slaves.[205] hadrian (117-138 a.d.) modified the old laws to a remarkable degree: he forbade slaves to be put to death by their masters and commanded them to be tried by regularly appointed judges; he brought it about that a slave, whether male or female, was not to be sold to a slave-dealer or trainer for public shows without due cause; he did away with _ergastula_ or workhouses, in which slaves guilty of offences were forced to work off their penalties in chains and were confined to filthy dungeons; and he modified the law previously existing to the extent that if a master was killed in his own house, the inquisition by torture could not be extended to the whole household, but to those only who, by proximity to the deed, could have noticed it.[206] gaius observes[207] that for slaves to be in complete subjection to masters who have power of life and death is an institution common to all nations, "but at this time," he continues, "it is permitted neither to roman citizens nor any other men who are under the sway of the roman people to vent their wrath against slaves beyond measure and without reason. in fact, by a decree of the sainted antoninus (138-161 a.d.) a master who without cause kills his slave is ordered to be held no less than he who kills another's slave.[208] an excessive severity on the part of masters is also checked by a constitution of the same prince. on being consulted by certain governors about those slaves who rush for refuge to the shrines of the gods or the statues of emperors, he ordered that if the cruelty of masters seemed intolerable they should be compelled to sell their slaves." severus ordained that the city prefect should prevent slaves from being prostituted[209]. aurelian gave his slaves who had transgressed to be heard according to the laws by public judges[210]. tacitus procured a decree that slaves were not to be put to inquisitorial torture in a case affecting a master's life, not even if the charge was high treason[211]. so much for the laws that mitigated slavery under the empire. they were not ideal; but they would in more respects than one compare favourably with the similar legislation that was in force, prior to the civil war, in the american slave states. sources i. iurisprudentiae anteiustinianae quae supersunt. ed. ph. eduardus huschke. lipsiae (teubner), 1886 (fifth edition). ii. codex iustinianus. recensuit paulus krueger. berolini apud weidmannos, 1877. corpus iuris civilis: institutiones recognovit paulus krueger; digesta recognovit theodorus mommsen. berolini apud weidmannos, 1882. novellae: corpus iuris civilis. volumen tertium recognovit rudolfus schoell; opus schoellii morte interceptum absolvit g. kroll. berolini apud weidmannos, 1895. iii. the fragments of the perpetual edict of salvius julianus. edited by bryan walken cambridge university press. 1877. iv. pomponii de origine iuris fragmentum: recognovit fridericus osannus. gissae, apud io. rickerum, 1848. v. corpus inscriptionum latinarum, consilio et auctoritate academiae litterarum regiae borussicae editum. berolini apud georgium reimerum (begun in 1863). vi. valerii maximi factorum et dictorum memorabilium libri novem: cum iulii paridis et ianvarii nepotiani epitomis: iterum recensuit carolus kempf. lipsiae (teubner), 1888. vii. cassii dionis cocceiani rerum romanarum libri octaginta: ab immanuele bekkero recogniti. lipsiae, apud weidmannos, 1849. viii. c. suetoni tranquilli quae supersunt omnia: recensuit carolus l. roth. lipsiae (teubner), 1898. ix. a. persii flacci, d. iunii iuvenalis, sulpiciae saturae; recognovit otto iahn. editio altera curam agente francisco buecheler. berolini, apud weidmannos, 1886. x. eutropi breviarium ab urbe condita: recognovit franciscus ruehl. lipsiae (teubner), 1897. xi. herodiani ab excessu divi marci libri octo: ab immanuele bekkero recogniti. lipsiae (teubner), 1855. xii. a. gellii noctium atticarum libri xx: edidit carolus hosius. lipsiae (teubner), 1903. xiii. petronii saturae et liber priapeorum: quartum edidit franciscus buecheler: adiectae sunt varronis et senecae saturae similesque reliquiae. berolini, apud weidmannos, 1904. xiv. m. valerii martialis epigrammaton libri: recognovit walther gilbert. lipsiae (teubner), 1896. xv. cornelii taciti libri qui supersunt: quartum recognovit carolus halm. lipsiae (teubner), 1901. xvi. c. vellei paterculi ex historiae romanae libris duobus quae supersunt: edidit carolus halm. lipsiae (teubner), 1876. xvii. l. annaei senecae opera quae supersunt: recognovit fridericus haase. lipsiae (teubner), 1898. xviii. athenaei naucratitae deipnosophistaro libri xv: recensuit georgius kaibel. lipsiae (teubner), 1887. xix. lucii apulei metamorphoseon libri xi. apologia et florida. recensuit j. van der vliet. lipsiae (teubner), 1897. xx. c. plini caecili secundi epistularum libri novem. epistularum ad traianum liber. panegyricus. recognovit c.f.w. mueller. lipsiae (teubner), 1903. xxi. scriptores historiae augustae: edidit hermannus peter. lipsiae (teubner), 1888. xxii. m. fabii quintiliani institutionis oratoriae libri xii: recensuit eduardus bonnell. lipsiae (teubner), 1905. xxiii. marci antonini commentariorum libri xii: iterum recensuit ioannes stich. lipsiae (teubner), 1903. xxiv. c. plinii secundi naturalis historiae libri xxxvii: recognovit ludovicus ianus. lipsiae (teubner), 1854. xxv. xii panegyrici latini: recensuit aemilius baehrens. lipsiae (teubner), 1874. xxvi. plutarchi scripta moralia, graece et latine: parisiis, editore ambrosio f. didot, 1841. plutarchi vitae parallelae: iterum recognovit carolus sintennis. lipsiae (teubner), 1884. xxvii. ammiani marcellini rerum gestarum libri qui supersunt: recensuit v. gardthausen. lipsiae (teubner), 1875. xxviii. poetae latini minores: recensuit aemilius baehrens. lipsiae (teubner), 1883. notes: [1] paulus, iii, 4_a_, 1. [2] ulpian, tit., xx, 16. gaius, ii, 112. [ 3: male relatives on the father's side--agnati--were guardians in such cases; these failing, the judge of the supreme court (praetor) assigned one. see ulpian, tit., xi, 3, 4, and 24. gaius, i, 185, and iii, 10. libertae (freedwomen) took as guardians their former masters.] [4] ulpian, tit., xi, 27. [5] the power of the father was called _potestas_; that of the husband, _manus_. [6] aulus gellius, x, 23. cf. suetonius, _tiberius_, 35. [7] gaius, i, 144. [8] ulpian, tit., xi, i. [9] ulpian, tit., xi, 28a. gaius, i, 194. paulus, iv, 9, 1-9. [10] gaius, i, 145. ulpian, tit., x, 5. [11] gaius, i, 137. for an example see pliny, _letters_, viii, 18. cf. spartianus. _didius iulianus_, 8: filiam suam, potitus imperio, dato patrimonio, emancipaverat. see also dio, 73, 7 (xiphilin). if emancipated children insulted or injured their parents, they lost their independence--codex, 8, 49 (50), 1. [12] ulpian, tit., viii, 7_a_. [13] paulus, i, 4, 4; mater, quae filiorum suorum rebus intervenit, actione negotiorum gestorum et ipsis et eorum tutoribus tenebitur. [14] ulpian in dig., 25, 3, 5. [15] for livia's great influence over augustus see seneca, _de clementia_, i, 9, 6. tacitus, _annals_, i, 3, 4, and 5, and ii, 34. dio, 55, 14-21, and 56, 47. agrippina dominated claudius--tacitus, _annals_, xii, 37. dio, 60, 33. caenis, the concubine of vespasian, amassed great wealth and sold public offices right and left--dio, 65, 14. plotina, wife of trajan, engineered hadrian's succession--eutropius, viii, 6. dio, 69, i. a concubine formed the conspiracy which overthrew commodus--herodian, i, 16-17. the plotting of maesa put heliogabalus on the throne--capitolinus, _macrinus_, 9-10. alexander severus was ruled by his mother mammaea--lampridius, _alex. severus_, 14; herodian, vi, i, i and 9. gallienus invited women to his cabinet meetings--trebellius pollio, gallienus, 16. the wives of governors took such a strenuous part in politics and army matters that it caused the senate grave concern--see examples in tacitus, annals, in, 33 and 34, and iv, 20; also i, 69, and ii, 55; id. _hist_., iii, 69. vellcius paterculus, ii, 74 (fulvia). of course, no woman ever had a right to vote; but neither did anybody else, since the roman government had become an absolute despotism. the first woman on the throne was pulcheria, who, in 450 a.d., was proclaimed empress of the east, succeeding her brother, theodosius ii. but she soon took a husband and made him emperor. she had been practically sole ruler since 414. [16] plutarch, _roman questions_, 6. aulus gellius, x, 23. athenaeus, x, 56. [17] valerius maximus, vi, 3, 9. for this he was not even blamed, but rather received praise for the excellent example. [18] aulus gellius, x, 23. a woman in the _menaechmi_ of plautus, iv, 6, 1, complains justly of this double standard of morality: nam si vir scortum duxit clam uxorem suam, id si rescivit uxor, impune est viro. uxor viro si clam domo egressa est foras, viro fit causa, exigitur matrimonio. utinam lex esset cadem quae uxori est viro! [19] aulus gellius, i, 6. [20] de consolatione ad marciam, xvi, 1. [21] _commentaries_, a, [greek: gamma]. [22] quintilian, _instit. orat_., vi, 1, 5. pliny, _letters_, vi, 4 and 7, and vii, 5. [23] great admiration expressed for paulina, wife of seneca, who opened her veins to accompany her husband in death--tacitus, _annals_, xv, 63, 64. story of arria and paetus--pliny, _letters_, iii, 16. martial, i, 13. the famous instance of epponina, under vespasian, and her attachment to her condemned husband--tacitus, _hist_., iv, 67. tacitus mentions that many ladies accompanied their husbands to exile and death--_annals_, xvi, 10, 11. numerous instances are related by pliny of tender and happy marriages, terminated only by death--see, e.g., _letters_, viii, 5. pliny the elder tells how m. lepidus died of regret for his wife after being divorced from her--_n.h._, vii, 36. valerius maximus devotes a whole chapter to conjugal love--iv, 6. but the best examples of deep affection are seen in tomb inscriptions--e.g., cil i, 1103, viii, 8123, ii, 3596, v, 1, 3496, v, 2, 7066, x, 8192, vi, 3, 15696, 15317, and 17690. man and wife are often represented with arms thrown about one another's shoulders to signify that they were united in death as in life. the poet statius remarks that "to love a wife when she is living is pleasure; to love her when dead, a solemn duty" (silvae, in prooemio). yet some theologians would have us believe that conjugal love and fidelity is an invention of christianity. [24] pliny, _panegyricus_, 26. for other instances see capitolinus, _anton. pius_, 8; lampridius, _alex. severus_, 57; spartianus, hadrian, 7, 8, 9; capitolinus, _m. anton. phil_., 11. [25] gaius, i, 190. [26] ulpian, tit. xi, 25. cf. frag, iur rom. vatic. (huschke, 325): divi diocletianus et constantius aureliae pontiae: actor rei forum sequi debet et mulier quoque facere procuratorem _sine tutoris auctoritate non prohibetur_. so papinian, lib. xv, responsorum (huschke, 327). i shall discuss these matters at greater length when i treat of women and the management of their property. [27] dio, 54, 16. pomponius in dig., 23, 2, 4. [28] gaius, i, 113. [29] ulpian, tit., ix, 1: farreo convenit uxor in manum certis verbis et testibus x praesentibus et sollemni sacrificio facto, in quo panis quoque farreus adhibetur. cf. gaius, i, 112. [30] aulus gellius, iii, 2, 12. gaius, i, 111. [31] gaius, i, 110 and 111. [32] paulus, ii, xix, 8. [33] pliny, _letters_, i, 14, will furnish an example; cf. id. vi, 26, to servianus: gaudeo et gratulor, quod fusco salinatori filiam tuam destinasti. note the way in which julius caesar arranged a match for his daughter--suetonius, _divus julius_, 21. [34] paulus in dig., 23, 2, 2: nuptiae consistere non possunt, nisi consentiunt omnes, id est, qui coeunt quorumque in potestate sunt. [35] julianus in dig., 23, 1, 11. [36] ulpian in dig., 23, 1, 12. [37] paulus in dig., 23, 1, 13. terentius clemens in dig., 23, 2, 21. [38] paulus, ii, 19, 2. [39] ulpian, 24, 17. [40] cf. ulpian, tit., vi, 6: divortio facto, si quidem sui juris sit muller, ipsa habet rei uxoriae actionem, id est, dotis repetitionem; quodsi in potestate patris sit, pater adiuncta filiae persona habet actionem. the technical recognition of the father's power was still strong. cf. pliny, _panegyricus_, 38: tu quidem, caesar ... intuitus, opinor, vim legemque naturae, quae semper in dicione parentum esse liberos iussit. the same writer, on requesting trajan to give citizenship to the children of a certain freedman, is careful to add the specification that they are to remain in their father's power--see pliny to trajan, xi (vi). [41] paulus, vi, 15. codex, v, 4, 11, and 17, 5. [42] paulus, in dig., 23, 3, 28. codex, v, 13, 1, and 18, 1. [43] codex, v, 17, 5. [44] salvius julianus: frag. perp. ed.: pars prima, vii--under "de is qui notantur infamia." [45] codex, 8, 46 (47), 5. [46] aulus gellius, iv, 4. [47] juvenal, vi, 200-203. gaius in dig., 24, 2, 2. ulpian, ibid., 23, i, 10. codex, v, 17, 2, and v, i, i. [48] codex, v, 3, 2. [49] dig., 3, 2, 1. [50] ulpian in dig., 47, 10, 24. [51] cf. alexander severus in codex, viii, 38, 2: libera matrimonia esse antiquitus placuit, etc. also codex, v, 4, 8 and 14. [52] modestinus in dig., xxiii, 2, 1. [53] gaius, ii, 159. [54] paulus, ii, xx, 1. [55] note the rescript of alexander severus to a certain aquila (codex, ii, 18, 13): quod in uxorem tuam aegram erogasti, non a socero repetere, sed adfectioni tuae debes expendere. [56] see, e.g., dig., 47, 10, and ulpian, ibid., 48, 14, 27. [57] cf. gaius, i, 141: in summa admonendi sumus, adversus eos, quos in mancipio habemus, nihil nobis contumeliose facere licere; alioquin iniuriarum (actione) tenebimur. [58] paulus, i, 21, 13. [59] paulus, i, 21, 14. [60] codex, ii, 11, 15 [61] paulus in dig., iii, 2, 9. [62] aulus gellius, xvii, 6, speech of cato: principio vobis mulier magnam dotem adtulit; tum magnam pecuniam recipit, quam in viri potestatem non committit, ean pecuniam viro mutuam dat; postea, ubi irata facta est, servum recepticum sectari atque flagitare virum iubet. [63] paulus in dig., 23, 3, 2. [64] pomponius in dig., 24, 3, 1. [65] ulpian in dig., 23, 3, 7. [66] tryfoninus in dig., 23, 3, 75. [67] gaius, ii, 63. paulus, ii, 21b. [68] e.g. juvenal, vi, 136-141. martial, viii, 12. [69] apuleius _apologia_, 523: pleraque tamen rei familiaris in nomen uxoris callidissima fraude confert, etc.; id., 545, 546 proves further the power of the wife: ea condicione factam conjunctionem, si nullis a me susceptis liberis vita demigrasset, ut dos omnis, etc.--evidently the woman was dictating the disposal of her dowry. [70] ulpian, tit., vi, 3, 4, and 5. codex, v, 18, 4. [71] ulpian in dig., xi, 7, 16; ibid., papinian, 17; ibid, julianus, 18. paulus, i, xxi, 11. [72] ulpian in dig., 48, 20, 3. [73] ulpian in dig., 48, 20, 5. [74] ulpian in dig., 24, 1, 1: moribus apud nos receptum est, ne inter virum et uxorem donationes valerent, hoc autem receptum est, ne mutuo amore invicem spoliarentur, donationibus non temperantes, sed profusa erga se facilitate. [75] paulus in dig., 24, 1, 14. [76] gaius in dig., 24, 1, 42; ibid., licinius rufus, 41; ulpian, tit. vii, 1. martial, vii, 64--et post hoc dominae munere factus eques. [77] paulus, ii, xxiii, 1. [78] cf. paulus, ii, xxiii, 2. [79] paulus in dig., 25, 2, 1. codex, v, 21, 2. [80] gaius in dig., 25, 2, 2. [81] paulus in dig., 25, 2, 3. [82] ulpian in dig., 47, 2, 52. the respect shown for family relations may be seen also from the fact that a son could _complain--de facto matris queri_--if he believed that his mother had brought in supposititious offspring to defraud him of some of his inheritance; but he was strictly forbidden to bring her into court with a public and criminal action--macer in dig., 48, 2, 11: _sed ream eam lege cornelia facere permissum ei non est_. [83] ulpian in dig., 48, 14, 27. [84] ulpian in dig., 48, 5, 14 (13): iudex adulterii ante oculos habere debet et inquirere, an maritus pudice vivens mulieri quoque bonos mores colendi auctor fuerit periniquum enim videtur esse, ut pudicitiam vir ab uxore exigat, quam ipse non exhibeat. cf. seneca, _ep_., 94: scis improbum esse qui ab uxore pudicitiam exigit, ipse alienarum corruptor uxorum. scis ut illi nil cum adultero, sic nihil tibi esse debere cum pellice. antoninus pius gave a husband a bill for adultery against his wife "provided it is established that by your life you give her an example of fidelity. it would be unjust that a husband should demand a fidelity which he does not himself keep"--quoted by st. augustine, de conj. adult., ii, ch. 8. in view of these explicit statements it is difficult to see what the church father lactantius meant by asserting (_de vero cultu_, 23): non enim, sicut iuris publici ratio est, sola mulier adultera est, quae habet alium; maritus autem, etiamsi plures habeat, a crimine adulterii solutus est. perhaps this deliberate distortion of the truth was another one of the libels against pagan rome of which the pious fathers are so fond "for the good of the church." [85] papinian in dig., 48, 5, 21 (20); ibid., ulpian, 24 (23). paulus, ii, xxvi. [86] macer in dig., 48, 5, 25 (24). [87] papinian in dig., 48, 5, 23 (22). [88] papinian in dig., 48, 5, 39 (38); ibid., marcianus, 48, 8, 1. [89] paulus, ii, xxvi. macer in dig., 48, 5, 25 (24), ibid., ulpian, 48, 5, 30 (29). [90] paulus, ii, xxvi. [91] juvenal, x. 317; quosdam moechos et mugilis intrat. cf. catullus, 15, 19. [92] see, e.g., capitolinus, _anton_. _pius_, 3. spartianus, _sept. severus_, 18, pliny, _panegyricus_, 83: multis illustribus dedecori fuit aut inconsultius uxor assumpta aut retenta patientius, etc. [93] pliny, _letters_, vi, 31. [94] paulus, ii, xxvi, 15. [95] valerius maximus, ii, 1, 6. [96] aulus gellius, xvii, 21, 44. valerius maximus, ii, 1, 4. plutarch, _roman questions_, 14. [97] valerius maximus, vi, 3, 12. [98] "if you should catch your wife in adultery, you would put her to death with impunity; she, on her part, would not dare to touch you with her finger; and it is not right that she should"--speech of cato the censor, quoted by aulus gellius, x, 23. [99] e.g., marcellus in dig., 24, 3, 38: maevia titio repudium misit, etc.; ibid., africanus, 24, 3, 34: titia divortium a seio fecit, etc. martial, x, 41: mense novo lani veterem, proculeia, maritum deseris, atque iubes res sibi habere suas. apuleius, _apologia_, 547: utramvis habens culpam mulier, quae aut tam intolerabilis fuit ut repudiaretur aut tam insolens ut repudiaret. _novellae_, 140, 1: antiquitus quidem licebat sine periculo tales [i.e., those of incompatible temperament] ab invicem separari secundum communem voluntatem et consensum. [100] martial, vi, 7. [101] aulus gellius, x, 15: matrimonium flaminis nisi morte dirimi ius non est. [102] tacitus, _annals_, iv, 16. [103] ulpian, vi, 6; id. in dig., 24, 3, 2. pauli fragmentam in boethii commentario ad topica, 2, 4, 19. [104] paulus in dig. ii,3, 41. [105] ulpian, vi, 13. [106] ulpian, vi, 9-17, and vii, 2-3. pauli frag, in boethii comm. ad top., ii, 4, 19. [107] ulpian, xiv: feminis lex iulia a morte viri anni tribuit vacationem, a divortio sex mensum; lex autem papia a morte viri biennii, a repudio anni et sex mensum. [108] ulpian in dig., 25, 3, 1. paulus, ii, xxiv, 5. [109] ulpian in dig., 25, 4, 8. [110] codex, v, 24, 1. [111] codex, vi, 60, 1: res, quae ex matris successione fuerint ad filios devolutae, ita sint in parentum potestate, ut fruendi dumtaxat habeant facultatem, dominio videlicet carum ad liberos pertinente. [112] neratius in dig., 26, 1, 18. [113] codex, v, 35, 1. [114] codex, ii, 12, 18: alienam suscipere defensionem virile officium est ... filio itaque tuo, si pupillus est, tutorem pete. [115] ulpian, tit. viii, 7_a_. paulus, i, 4, 4. [116] _ad helviam matrem de consol_., xiv, 3. [117] other instances of women trustees will be found in apuleius, _apologia_ 516; paulus in dig; iii, 5,23 (24): avia nepotis sui negotia gessit, etc.; ibid., marcellus, 46, 3, 48: titia cum propter dotem bona mariti possideret, omnia pro domina egit, reditus exegit, etc. [118] tacitus, _agricola_, 43. [119] frag. iur. rom. vat., 282. [120] ulpian, viii, 7a. [121] gaius, ii, 227. digest, 35, 2. [122] e.g. pliny, _letters_, v, 1. codex, iii, 28, 19; id., iii, 28, 28. cf. codex, iii, 29, i, and 29, 7; and paulus in dig., v, 2, 19. note the extreme anxiety of the son of prudentilla about her money as given by apuleius, _apologia_, 517. the estate of a mother who died intestate went to her children, not to her husband; the latter could only enjoy the interest until they arrived at maturity--codex, vi, 60, 1; modestinus in dig., 38, 17, 4. [123] e.g., juvenal, iv, 18-21. pliny, _letters_, ii, 20. [124] digest, xiv, 1 and 3 and 8--on the actio exercitoria and institoria. cf. codex, iv, 25, 4: et si a muliere magister navis praepositus fuerit, etc. [125] cil, xiv, 326. [126] martial, xi, 71. apuleius, _metam_., v, 10. soranus, i, 1, ch. 1 and 2. galen, vii, 414 (cf. xiii, 341). [127] e.g. suetonius, _nero_, 27. [128] carmina priapea, 18 and 27. ulpian, xiii, 1. the roman drama had now degenerated into mere vaudeville, mostly lascivious dancing. senators and their children were forbidden to marry any woman who had herself or whose father or mother had been on the stage. [129] martial, ii, 17, 1. [130] petronius, _sat_., 45: titus noster ... habet et mulierem essedariam. this would not be strange, when we reflect that under domitian noble ladies even fought in the arena. [131] _thesmophoriazusae_, 443-459. [132] see cicero, _pro caecina_, 5, for an account of these business agents for women. [133] paulus, ii, xi; id. in dig., 16, 1, 1; aulus gellius, v, 19; pomponius in dig., 48, 2, 1: non est permissum mulieri publico iudicio quemquam reum facere. [134] ulpian in dig., 1, 16, 9. salvius julianus, pars prima, vi: si non habebunt advocatum, ego dabo. alexander severus (222-235 a.d.) gave pensions to those advocates in the provinces who pleaded free of charge--lampridius, _alex. severus_, 44. [135] cf. paulus in dig., 23, 3, 28. codex, v, 13, 1, and 18, 1. ulpian in dig., iii, 3, 8. [136] gaius, i, 137. [137] frag. iur. rom. vat., 325; id., 327 (from papinian): mulieres quoque et sine tutoris auctoritate procuratorem facere posse. [138] ulpian in dig., iii, 3, 8; ibid., paulus, iii, 3, 41. [139] ulpian in dig., iii, 5, 3. [140] pomponius in dig., 48, 2, 1; ibid., papinian, 48, 2, 2--who adds that she could also do so in a case regarding the will of a mother or father's freedman. [141] marcianus in dig., 48, 2, 13. [142] papinian in dig., 48, 4, 8. [143] juvenal, vi, 242--245. [144] valerius maximus, viii, 3, 3. appian, _b.c._, iv, 32 ff. quintilian, i, 1, 6. [145] valerius maximus, viii, 3, 2. [146] quintilian, ix, 2, 20 and 34. [147] e.g., pliny _letters_, i, 5, and iv, 17. [148] e.g., huschke, pp. 796, 797, 803, 807, 809, 810, 856, 857, 858. or instances such as that mentioned in digest, 48, 2, 18, where a sister brings an action to prove her brother's will a forgery. [149] pliny, _letters_, vi, 33. [150] paulus in dig., 22, 6, 9. [151] fully treated in dig., 16, 1, and paulus, ii, xi. [152] ulpian in dig., 16, 1, 2. [153] aulus gellius, xvii, 6. st. augustine, de civit. dei, iii, 21: nam tunc, id est inter secundum et postremum bellum carthaginiense, lata est etiam illa lex voconis, ne quis heredem feminam faceret, nec unicam filiam. [154] dio, 56, 10. [155] aulus gellius, xx, 1, 23. according to dio, 56, 10, it was augustus who in the year 9 a.d. gave women permission to inherit any amount. [156] fully treated in dig., 35, 2. also in gaius, ii, 227, and paulus, iii, viii, 1-3, and iv, 3, 3, and 5 and 6. [157] paulus, iv, tit. v, 1. cases in which "complaints of undutiful will" were the issue will be found, e.g., in codex, iii, 28, 1 and 19 and 28; id., iii, 29, 1 and 7. [158] ulpian in dig., 38, 16, 1: suos heredes accipere debemus filios filias sive naturales sive adoptivos. instances of daughters being left heiresses of whole estates may be found, e.g., in dig., 28, 2, 19: cum quidam filiam ex asse heredem scripsisset filioque, quem in potestate habebat, decem legasset, etc. or the example mentioned by scaevola in dig., 41, 9, 3: duae filiae intestato patri heres exstiterunt, etc. [159] callistratus in dig., 48, 19, 26: crimen vel poena paterna nullam maculam filio infligere potest. namque unusquisque ex suo admisso sorti subicitur nec alieni criminis successor constituitur; idque divi fratres hierapolitanis rescripserunt. "nothing is more unjust," writes seneca (de ira, ii, 34, 3), "than that any one should become the heir of the odium excited by his father." [160] paulus, v, xii, 1. [161] paulus, v, xii, 12. [162] ulpian in dig., 48, 4, 11. [163] ulpian in dig., 48, 4, 11. [164] hermogenianus in dig., 48, 4, 9. [165] sulla had not only deprived the children of the proscribed of all their estates, but had also debarred them from aspiring to any political office--see velleius paterculus, ii, 28. [166] for examples of the clemency of augustus see suetonius, _div. aug._, 33 and 51 and 67; seneca, _de ira_, iii, 23, 4 ff., and 40, 2; velleius paterculus, ii, 86, 87. [167] for tiberius see, e.g., tacitus, _annals_, iv--case of silius; id., _annals_, iii, 17, 18--case of piso. for nero, note tacitus, _annals_, xiii, 43--case of publius suilius. clemency of claudius mentioned in dio, 60, 15, 16; of vitellius in tacitus, _hist_., ii, 62. [168] spartianus, _had._, 18. [169] capitolinus, _anton. pius_, 7. see also the anecdote of aurelian in vopiscus, _aurelian_, 23. [170] codex, iv, 12, 2, rescript of diocletian: ob maritorum culpam uxores inquietari leges vetant. proinde rationalis noster, si res quae a fisco occupatae sunt dominii tui esse probaveris, ius publicum sequetur. [171] gaius, ii, 129 and 132. [172] gaius, ii, 132. [173] codex, iii, 36, 11: inter filios ac filias bona intestatorum parentium pro virilibus portionibus aequo iure dividi oportere explorati iuris est. [174] gaius, iii, 25-31. [175] see, e.g., codex, vi, 60, i: res, quae ex matris successione fuerint ad filios devolutae, ita sint in parentum potestate, ut fruendi dumtaxat habeant facultatem, dominio videlicet eorum ad liberos pertinente. [176] for all this, see codex, v, 9, 5, and vi, 18, q. [177] paulus, v, 4, 14, who adds that exile was the penalty if the crime had not been completely carried out. it would seem also that ravished women had the option of deciding whether their seducers should marry them or be put to death--see the _vitiatarum electiones_ as mentioned by tacitus, _dial. de orat_., 35. according to ruffus, 40, a soldier who did violence to a girl had his nostrils cut off, besides being forced to give the injured woman a third part of his goods: militi, qui puellae vim adtulerit et stupraverit, nares abscinduntur, data puellae tertia militis facultatum parte. [178] paulus, v, 4, 21. [179] by the lex fabia. paulus, v, 30 b. digest, 48, 15; 17, 2, 51. [180] ulpian in dig., 48, 8, 8; ibid., tryphoninus, 48, 19, 39. [181] paulus, v, 23, 14; id. in dig., 48, 19, 38. [182] paulus, supra cit. [183] martial, x, 35, and x, 38. [184] sappho, telesilla, and corinna belong to an earlier period, when the oriental idea of seclusion for women had not yet become firmly fixed in greece. women like agallis of corcyra, who wrote on grammar (athenaeus, i, 25) and lived in a much later age, doubtless belonged to the _hetaerae_ class. [185] see, e.g., pliny, _letters_, v, 16. [186] pliny, _letters_, i, 16. [187] persius, i, 4-5: ne mihi polydamas et troiades labeonem praetulerint? "are you afraid that polydamas and the trojan ladies will prefer labeo to me?" the _trojan ladies_, of course, stand for the aristocratic classes, colonial dames, so to speak, who were fond of tracing their descent back to troy just as americans like to discover that their ancestors came over in the _mayflower_. [188] juvenal, vi, 434-440. [189] cf. martial, ii, 90: sit mihi verna satur, sit non doctissima coniunx. [190] the famous verses of martial: quid tibi nobiscum, ludi scelerate magister? invisum pueris virginibusque caput! [191] vespasian (69-79 a.d.) started free public education by appointing quintilian professor of rhetoric subsidised by the state. succeeding emperors enlarged upon it; but especially alexander severus (222-235 a.d.), who instituted salaries for teachers of rhetoric, literature, medicine, mechanics, and architecture in rome and the provinces, and had poor boys attend the lectures free of charge--see lampridius, _alex. severus_, 44. [192] pliny, _paneg._, 26. spartianus, _hadrian_, 7, 8-9. capitolinus, _anton. pius 8_; id. _m. anton. phil._ ii. lampridius, _alex_. _severus_, 57. [193] pliny, _letters_, vii, 18. the sum was 500,000 sesterces. [194] any infringement of this vow was punished by burial alive--for instances, see suetonius, _domitian_, 8; herodian, iv, 6, 4: pliny, _letters_ iv, 11; dio, 77, 16 (xiphilin). their paramours were beaten to death. [195] a full account of the vestals will be found in aulus gellius, i, 12. [196] quintilian, vii, 3, 27: ad servum nulla lex pertinet. on the rare instances when a slave could inform against his master in a public court, see hermogenianus in dig., v, 1, 53. [197] gaius, i, 52 ff. [198] gaius, iii, 222. cf. juvenal vi, 219-223, and 474-495. [199] gaius, iii, 222. salvius julianus, pars secunda, xv. aulus gellius, xx, i. [200] paulus, v, 16. [201] paulus, iii, v, 5 ff. pliny, _letters_, viii, 14. tacitus, _annals_ xiii, 32. [202] valerius maximus, vi, 8, in a chapter entitled _de fide servorum_ speaks with great admiration of instances of fidelity on the part of slaves. seneca ate with his--_epist_. 47, 13. martial laments the death of a favourite slave girl--v, 34 and 37. dio (62, 27--xiphilin) notes the heroic conduct of epicharis, a freedwoman, who was included in a conspiracy against nero; but she revealed none of its secrets, though tortured in every way by tigellinus. the pages of pliny are full of the spirit of kindliness to slaves. [203] see tacitus, _annals_, xiv, 42 ff. [204] suetonius, _claudius_, 25. dio, 60, 29 (xiphilin). [205] sec, e.g., seneca, _de clem_., i,18, 1 and 2--especially the anecdote of vedius pollio (mentioned also by dio, 54, 23). the interesting letter of pliny, viii, 16; and cf. iii, 14, and v, 19. juvenai, vi, 219-223. [206] spartianus, _hadrian_, 18. [207] gaius, i, 52 ff. cf. ulpian in dig., 1, 12, 1 and 8. [208] the punishment for this was pecuniary damages equal to twice the highest value of a slave during the year in which he was killed. [209] ulpian in dig., i., 12, 8: hoc quoque officium praefecto urbi a divo severo datum est, ut mancipia tueatur ne prostituantur. [210] vopiscus, _aurelian_, 49 [211] vopiscus, _tacitus_, 9. chapter ii women and the early christian church meanwhile a new world force, destined to overthrow the old order of things, was growing slowly to maturity and spreading out its might until eventually it fought its way to preeminence. i have traced the rights of women under the regime of pagan rome; i shall inquire next into the position of women under christianity. we must first note the attitude of the early christians towards women in general; for that attitude will naturally be reflected in any laws made after the church has become supreme and is combined with and directs the state. that will demand a special chapter on canon law; but in the present chapter i propose to show how women were regarded by the christians in the centuries which were the formative period of the church. the direct words of christ so far as they relate to women and as we have them in the gospels concern themselves wholly to bring about purity in the relation of the sexes. "ye have heard that it was said, thou shalt not commit adultery; but i say unto you, that every one that looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart."[212] his commands on the subject of divorce are positive and unequivocal: "it was said also, whosoever shall put away his wife, let him give her a writing of divorcement; but i say unto you, that every one that putteth away his wife, saving for the cause of fornication, maketh her an adultress; and whosoever shall marry her when she is put away, committeth adultery."[213] christ was content to lay down great ethical principles, not minute regulations. of any inferiority on the part of women he says nothing, nor does be concern himself with giving any directions about their social or legal rights. he blessed the marriage at cana; and to the woman taken in adultery he showed his usual clemency. for the rest, his relations with women have an atmosphere of rare sympathy, gentleness, and charm. but as soon as we leave the gospels and read the apostles we are in a different sphere. the apostles were for the most part men of humble position, and their whole lives were directed by inherited beliefs which were distinctly jewish and oriental or greek; not western. in the orient woman has from the dawn of history to the present day occupied a position exceedingly low. indeed, in mohammedan countries she is regarded merely as a tool for the man's sensual passions and she is not allowed to have even a soul. in greece women were confined to their houses, were uneducated, and had few public rights and less moral latitude; their husbands had unlimited license.[214] the jewish ideal is by no means a lofty one and cannot for a moment compare with the honour accorded the roman matron under the empire. according to _genesis_ a woman is the cause of all the woes of mankind. _ecclesiasticus_ declares that the badness of men is better than the goodness of women.[215] in _leviticus_[216] we read that the period of purification customary after the birth of a child is to be twice as long in the case of a female as in a male. the inferiority of women was strongly felt; and this conception would be doubly operative on men of humble station who never travelled, who had received little education, and whose ideas were naturally bounded by the horizon of their native localities. we are to remember also that the east is the home of asceticism, a conviction alien to the western mind. there is no parallel in western europe to st. simeon stylites. we would, therefore, expect to find in the teachings of the apostles an expression of jewish, i.e., eastern ideals on the subject of women; and we do so find them. following the express commands of christ, they exhorted to sexual purity and reiterated his injunctions on the matter of divorce. they went much farther and began to legislate on more minute details. paul allows second marriages to women[217]; but thinks it better for a widow to remain as she is.[218] it is better to marry than to burn; yet would he prefer that men and women should remain in celibacy.[219] the power of the father to arrange a marriage for his daughter was, under roman law, limited by her consent; but the words of paul make it clear that it was now to be a christian precept that a father could determine on his own responsibility whether his daughter should remain a virgin.[220] wives are to be in subjection to their husbands, and "let the wife see that she fear her husband."[221] woman is the weaker vessel[222]; she is to be silent in church; if she desires to learn anything, she should ask her husband at home.[223] furthermore: "i permit not a woman to teach, nor to have dominion over a man, but to be in quietness. for adam was first formed, then eve; and adam was not beguiled, but the woman being beguiled hath fallen into transgression; but she shall be saved through childbearing, if they continue in faith and love and sanctification with sobriety."[224] the apparel of women also evoked legislation from the apostles. women were to pray with their heads veiled "for the man is not of the woman, but the woman for the man."[225] jewels, precious metal, and costly garments were unbecoming the modest woman.[226] in this early stage of christianity we may already distinguish three conceptions that were quite foreign to the roman jurist: i. the inferiority and weakness of women was evident from the time of eve and it was an act of god that punished all womankind for eve's transgression. woman had been man's evil genius. ii. she was to be submissive to father or husband and not bring her will in opposition to theirs. iii. she must not be prominent in public, she must consider her conduct and apparel minutely, and she was exhorted to remain a virgin, as being thus in a more exalted position. at the same time insistence was placed on the fact that a virgin, wife, and widow must be given due honour and respect, must be provided for, and allowed her share in taking part in those interests of the community which were considered her sphere. if, now, we examine the writings of the church fathers, we shall see these ideas elaborated with all the vehemence of religious zeal. the general opinions of the fathers regarding women present a curious mixture. they are fond of descanting on the fact that woman is responsible for all the woes of mankind and that her very presence is dangerous. at the same time they pay glowing tribute to women in particular. st. jerome held that women were naturally weaker, physically and morally, than men.[227] the same saint proves that all evils spring from women[228]; and in another passage he opines that marriage is indeed a lottery and the vices of women are too great to make it worth while.[229] "the sex is practiced in deceiving," observes st. maximus.[230] st. augustine disputes subtly whether woman is the image of god as well as man. he says no, and proves it thus[231]: the apostle commands that a man should not veil his head, because he is the image of god; but the woman must veil hers, according to the same apostle; therefore the woman is not the image of god. "for this reason, again," continues the saint, "the apostle says 'a woman is not permitted to teach, nor to have dominion over her husband.'" bishop marbodius calls woman a "pleasant evil, at once a honeycomb and a poison" and indicts the sex,[232] something on the order of juvenal or jonathan swift, by citing the cases of eve, the daughters of lot, delilah, herodias, clytemnestra, and progne. the way in which women were regarded as at once a blessing and a curse is well illustrated also in a distich of sedulius: "a woman alone has been responsible for opening the gates of death; a woman alone has been the cause of a return to life."[233] that women should be in subjection, in accordance with the dictum of paul, the church fathers assert emphatically. "how can it be said of a woman that she is the image of god," exclaims st. augustine,[234] "when it is evident that she is subject to the rule of her husband and has no authority! why, she can not teach, nor be a witness, nor give security, nor act in court; how much the more can she not govern!" women are commanded again and again not to perform any of the functions of men and to yield a ready and unquestioning obedience to their husbands.[235] the fathers also insist that marriage without a paternal parent's consent is fornication.[236] marriage was looked upon as a necessary evil, permitted, indeed, as a concession to the weakness of mankind, but to be avoided if possible. "celibacy is to be preferred to marriage," says st. augustine.[237] "celibacy is the life of the angels," remarks st. ambrose.[238] "celibacy is a spiritual kind of marriage," according to st. optatus.[239] "happy he," says tertullia[240] "who lives like paul!" the same saint paints a lugubrious picture of marriage and the "bitter pleasure of children" (_liberorum amarissima voluptate_) who are burdens and just as likely as not will turn out criminals. "why did the lord cry woe unto those that are pregnant and give suck, unless it was to call attention to the fact that children will be a hindrance on the day of judgment?"[241] when such views were entertained of marriage, it need not seem remarkable that tertullian and st. paul of nolan, like tolstoy to-day, discovered the blessings of a celibate life after they were married and ran away from their wives.[242] jerome finds marriage useful chiefly because it produces virgins.[243] as for second marriages, the montanist and the novatian sects condemned them absolutely, on the ground that if god has removed a wife or husband he has thereby signified his will to end the marrying of the parties; tertullian calls second marriage a species of prostitution.[244]jerome expresses the more tolerant and orthodox view: "what then? do we condemn second marriages? not at all; but we praise single ones. do we cast the twice-married from the church? far from it; but we exhort the once-married to continence. in noah's ark there were not only clean, but also unclean animals."[245] as the fathers were very well aware of the subtle influence of dress on the sexual passions, we have a vast number of minute regulations directing virgins, matrons, and widows to be clothed simply and without ornament; virgins were to be veiled.[246] tertullian, with that keen logic of which the church has always been proud in her sons, argues that inasmuch as god has not made crimson or green sheep it does not behoove women to wear colours that he has not produced in animals naturally.[247] st. augustine forbids nuns to bathe more than once a month, unless under extreme necessity.[248] as soon as the church begins to exercise an influence upon law, we shall expect to see the legal position of women changed in accordance with certain general principles outlined above, viz: i. that inasmuch as adam was formed before eve and as women are the weaker vessels, they should confine themselves to those duties only which society has, from time immemorial, assigned them as their peculiar sphere. ii. they should be meek, and not oppose father or husband; and to these they should go for advice on all matters. iii. all license, such as the roman woman's right of taking the initiative in a divorce, must never be tolerated. iv. they should never transgress the bounds of strictest decorum in conduct and dress, lest they seduce men; and they must never be conspicuous in public or attempt to perform public functions. v. they are to be given due honour and are to be cared for properly. the legal rights of women would be affected, moreover, by a difference in the spirit of the law. the roman jurist derived his whole sanction from reason and never allowed religious considerations, as such, to influence him when legislating on women. he recognised that laws are not immutable, but must be changed to fit the growth of equity and tolerance. no previous authority was valid to him if reason suggested that the authority's dictum had outlived its usefulness and must be adapted to larger ideas. it never occurred to him to make the inferiority of woman an act of god. on the other hand, the church referred everything to one unchanging authoritative source, the gospels and the writings of the apostles; faith and authority took the place of reason; and any attempt to question the injunctions of the bible was regarded as an act of impiety, to be punished accordingly. and as the various regulations about women had now a divine sanction, the permanence of these convictions was doubly assured. sources i. the bible. ii. patrologia latina: edidit j.p. migne. parisiis. 221 volumes (finished 1864). notes: [212] _matthew_ 5, 27 ff. [213] _matthew_ 5, 31 ff.; id. 19, 3 ff. _mark_ 10, 2-12. _luke_ 16, 18. [214] plutarch lived in the second century a.d.; but he has inherited the greek point of view and advises a wife to bear with meekness the infidelities of the husband--see _praecep. coniug_., 16. his words are often curiously similar to those of the apostles, e.g., _coniug. praecep_., 33: "the husband shall rule the wife not as if master of a chattel, but as the soul does the body." id. 37: "wives who are sensible will be silent when their husbands are angry and vent their passion; when their husbands are silent, then let them speak to them and mollify them." however, like the apostles, he enjoins upon husbands to honour their wives; his essay on the "virtues of women"--[greek: gynaikã´n aretai]--is an affectionate tribute to their worth. some of the respectable puritan gentlemen at rome also held that a wife be content to be a humble admirer of her husband (e.g., pliny, _paneg_., 83, hoc efficiebat, quod mariti minores erant ... nam uxori sufficit obsequii gloria, etc.). but roman law insisted that what was morally right for the man was equally so for the woman; just as it compelled a husband himself to observe chastity, if he expected it from his wife. [215] _ecclesiasticus_ 42, 14. [216] _leviticus_ xii, 1-5. [217] _romans_ 7, 2-4. [218] _corinthians_ i, 7, 39. [219] _corinthians_ i, 7, 1 ff. [220] _corinthians_ i, 7, 37. [221] _ephesians_ 5, 22 and 33. [222] _peter_ i, 3, 7. [223] _corinthians_ i, 14, 34. [224] _timothy_ i, 2, 12-15. [225] _corinthians_ i, ii, 8. [226] _timothy_ i, 2, 9. _peter_ i, 3. [227] abelard, ep., 9, in vol. 178, p. 325, of migne: beatus hieronymus ... tanto magis necessarium amorem huius studii (i.e. the scriptures) censuit, quanto eas naturaliter infirmiriores et carne debiliores esse conspexit. cf. st. paul of nolan, _letters_, 23, ⧠135--migne 61, p. 273: hi enim (i.e. evil spirits) petulantius infirmiora vasa pertentant, sicut non adam, sed evam coluber aggressus est. [228] adversus iovianum, i, 48--migne, vol. 23, p. 278. [229] adversus iovianum, i, 28--migne, vol. 23, pp. 249-250: qui enim ducit uxorem, in ambiguo est, utrum odiosam an amabilem ducat. si odiosam duxerit, ferri non potest. si amabilem, amor illius inferno et arenti terrae et incendio comparatur. he quotes the old testament, especially _pr_. 30, 16, to support his views. [230] s. maximi episcopi taurinensis--homilia 53, i--migne, vol. 57, p. 350. [231] augustinus: _quaest. ex vet. test_., 21: an mulier imago dei sit ... unde et apostolus, vir quidem, inquit, non debet velare caput, cum sit imago et gloria dei; mulier autem, inquit, velet caput. quare? quia non est imago dei. unde denuo dicit apostolus: mulieri autem docere non permittitur, neque dominari in virum. migne, vol. 35, p. 2228. [232] migne, vol. 171, pp. 1698-1699: femina dulce malum, pariter favus atque venenum, melle linens gladium cor confodit et sapientum. quis suasit primo vetitum gustare parenti? femina. quis patrem natas vitiare coegit? femina. quis fortem spoliatum crine peremit? femina. quis iusti sacrum caput ense recidit? femina.--etc., ad lib. however, in another poem he acknowledges that there is nothing more beautiful than a good woman: in cunctis quae dante deo concessa videntur usibus humanis, nil pulchrius esse putamus, nil melius muliere bona, etc. [233] migne, vol. 80, p. 307. the sentiment is more fully developed in another poem--migne, vol. 80, p. 307: femina causa fuit humanae perditionis; qua reparatur homo, femina causa fuit. femina causa fuit cur homo ruit a paradiso; qua redit ad vitam, femina causa fuit. femina prima parens exosa, maligna, superba; femina virgo parens casta, benigna, pia. [234] _quaest. ex vet. test_., 45; migne, vol. 35, p. 2244. [235] e.g., tertullian, _de virg. vel_., 9. st. paul of nolan, letter 23, ⧠135--migne, 61, p. 273. id., letter 26, vol. 61, p. 732 of migne. cf. augustine, letter 262, ⧠5--migne, 33, p. 1079. [236] basilius, _ad amphil_., c.42: matrimonia sine iis, qui potestatem habent, fornicationes sunt. ambrose says: honorantur parentes rebeccae muneribus, consulitur puella non de sponsalibus, illa enim expectat iudicium parentum; non est enim virginalis pudoris eligere maritum. [237] virginitas praeferenda coniugio--august., vol. 44, p. 142 of migne. the council of trent, eleven centuries later, in its twenty-fourth session, re-echoed this sentiment and anathematised any one who should deny it. [238] migne, vol. 16, p. 342. [239] id., ii, p. 1074. [240] tertullian _ad uxorem_, i, 3. [241] id. _ad uxorem_, i, 5. see also gregory of nyassa, _de virg_., iii, on the evils of matrimony. [242] v. tertullian, _ad uxorem_. for paul of nolan, see migne, vol. 61, p. 22. [243] laudo nuptias, laudo coniugium, sed quia mihi virgines generant. [244] _ad uxorem_, i, 7 and 9: non aliud dicendum erit secundum matrimonium quam species stupri. [245] jerome, _epist_., 123. see also id., _epistola de viduitate servanda_, migne 22, p. 550, and the _epist. de monogamia_, migne, 22, p. 1046. ambrose, _de viduis liber unus_, migne, 16, p. 234. cf. alanus de insulis in migne, vol. 210, p. 194: vidua ad secundas nuptias non transeat. [246] see, e.g., st. cyprian, _de habitu virginum_. tertullian, _de virginibus velandis_ and _de cultu feminarum_. treatises on the way widows should dress were written, among others, by st. paul of nolan, _epist_. 23, â§â§ 133-135--migne 61; augustine, st. fulgentius rusp., st. paulinus aquil., and st. petrus damianus. [247] _de cultu feminarum_, i, 8. [248] lavacrum etiam corporum ususque balneorum non sit assiduus, sed eo quo solet intervallo temporis tribuatur, hoc est, semel in mense. nisi infirmitatis necessitas cogat, corpus saepius non lavandum--augustine, _de monialibus_, migne, vol. 33, page 963. chapter iii rights of women as modified by the christian emperors christianity became the state religion under constantine, who issued the edict of milan, giving toleration to the christians, in the year 313. the emperors from constantine through justinian (527-565) modified the various laws pertaining to the rights of women in various ways. to the enactments of justinian, who caused the whole body of the roman law to be collected, i intend to give special attention. we must not, as yet, expect to find the strict views of the church fathers carried out in any severe degree. on the contrary the old roman law was still so powerful that it was for the most part beyond the control of ecclesiasts. justinian was an ardent admirer of it and could not escape from its prevailing spirit. canon law had not yet developed. when the old roman civilisation in italy has succumbed completely to its barbarian conquerors; when the east has been definitely sundered from the west; when the church has risen supreme, has won temporal power, and has developed canon law into a force equal to the civil law,--then finally we shall expect to see the legal rights of women changed in accordance with two new world forces--the roman catholic church and the germanic nations. i shall now discuss legislation having to do with my subject under the christian emperors from constantine (306-337) through the reign of justinian (527-565). [sidenote: divorce: rescript of theodosius and valentian.] the power of husband and wife to divorce at will and for any cause, which we have seen obtained under the old roman law, was confined to certain causes only by theodosius and valentinian (449 a.d.). these emperors asserted vigorously that[249] the dissolution of the marriage tie should be made more difficult, especially out of regard to the children. pursuant to this idea the power of divorce was given for the following reasons alone: adultery, murder, treason, sacrilege, robbery; unchaste conduct of a husband with a woman not his wife and vice-versa; if a wife attended public games without her husband's permission; and extreme physical violence of either party. a woman who sent her husband a bill of divorce for any other reason forfeited her dowry and all ante-nuptial gifts and could not marry again for five years, under penalty of losing all civil rights. her property accrued to her husband to be kept in trust for the children. [sidenote: justinian on divorce] justinian made more minute regulations on the subject of divorce. to the valid causes for divorce as laid down by theodosius and valentinian he added impotence; if a separation was obtained on this ground, the husband might retain ante-nuptial gifts.[250] abortion committed by the wife or bathing with other men than her husband or inveigling other men to be her paramours--these offences on the part of the wife gave her husband the right of divorce.[251] captivity of either party for a prolonged period of time was always a valid reason. justinian added also[252] that a man who dismissed his wife without any of the legal causes mentioned above existing or who was himself guilty of any of these offences must give to his wife one fourth of his property up to a sum not to exceed one hundred _librae_ of gold, if he owned property worth four hundred _librae_ or more; if he had less, one fourth of all he possessed was forfeit. the same penalties held for the wife who presumed to dismiss her husband without the offences legally recognised existing. the forfeited money was at the free disposal of the blameless party if there were no children; these being extant, the property must be preserved intact for their inheritance and merely the usufruct could be enjoyed by the trustees. a woman who secured a divorce through a fault of her husband had always to wait at least a year before marrying again _propter seminis confusionem_.[253] [sidenote: justin revokes decrees of justinian.] justin, the nephew and successor of justinian, reaffirmed the right to divorce by mutual consent, thus abrogating the laws of his predecessors.[254] justinian had ordained that if husband and wife separated by mutual consent, they were to be forced to spend the rest of their lives in a convent and forfeit to it one third of their goods.[255] justin, then, made the pious efforts of his uncle naught. nothing can more clearly illustrate than his decree how small a power the church still possessed to mould the tenor of the law; for such a thing as divorce by mutual consent, without any necessary reason, was a serious misdemeanour in the eyes of the church fathers, who passed upon it their severest censures. [sidenote: adultery.] on the subject of adultery justinian enacted that if the husband was the guilty party, the dowry and marriage donations must be given his wife; but the rest of his property accrued to his relatives, both in ascending and descending lines, to the third degree; these failing, his goods were confiscated to the royal purse.[256] a woman guilty of adultery was at once sent to a monastery. after a space of two years her husband could take her back again, if he so wished, without prejudice. if he did not so desire, or if he died, the woman was shorn and forced to spend the rest of her life in a nunnery; two thirds of her property were given to her relatives in descending line, the other third to the monastery; if there were no descendants, ascendants got one third and the monastery two thirds; relatives failing, the monastery took all; and in all cases goods inserted in the dowry contract were to be kept for the husband.[257] [sidenote: second marriages.] [sidenote: strict laws of gratian, valentinian, and theodosius.] the legislation of the earlier christian emperors on second marriages reflects the various feelings of the church fathers on the subject. under the old law, people could marry as often as they wished without any penalties.[258] but we have seen that among some of the churchmen second marriages were held in peculiar abhorrence, and third nuptials were regarded as a hideous sin; while the orthodox clergy, like st. augustine and st. jerome, permitted second and third marriages, but damned them with faint praise and urged christians to be content with one venture. public opinion, custom, and the influence of the old roman law were too powerful to allow christian monarchs to become fanatical on the subject[259]; but certain stricter regulations were introduced by the pious gratian, valentinian, and theodosius, in the years 380, 381, and 382.[260] as under the old laws any widow who married again before the legal time of mourning--a year--had expired, became infamous and lost both cast and all claims to the goods of her deceased husband. she was furthermore not permitted to give a second husband more than one third of her property nor leave him more than one third by will; and she could receive no intestate succession beyond the third degree. a woman who proceeded to a second marriage after the legal period of mourning, must make over at once to the children of the first marriage all the property which her former husband had given or left to her. as to her own personal property, she was allowed to possess it and enjoy the income while she lived, but not to alienate it or leave it by will to any one except the children of the first marriage. as i have before remarked, roman law constantly had the interest of the children at heart.[261] if there was no issue of the first marriage, then the woman had free control. a mother acquired full right--as the old senatus consultum tertullianum had decreed--to the property of a son or daughter who died childless[262]; but if she married a second time, and her son or daughter died without leaving children or grandchildren, she was expelled from all succession and distant relatives acquired the property.[263] [sidenote: justinian moderates these laws to a great degree.] justinian changed these enactments to a pronounced degree. "we are not making laws that are too bitter against women who marry a second time," he remarks,[264] "and we do not want to lead them, in consequence of such action, to the harsh necessity, unworthy of our age, of abstaining from a chaste second marriage and descending to illegitimate connections." he ordained, therefore, that the law mentioned above be annulled and that mothers should have absolutely unrestricted rights of inheritance to a deceased child's property along with the latter's brothers and sisters; and second marriage was never to create any prejudice.[265] in the earlier part of his reign justinian also forbade husband or wife to leave one another property under the stipulation that the surviving partner must not marry again[266]; but later, when his zeal for reform had become more pronounced and fanatical, he revoked this and gave the conditioned party the option either of enjoying the property by remaining unmarried or of forfeiting it by a second union.[267] [sidenote: breaking of engagements.] constantine ordained,[268] in the year 336, that if an engagement was broken by the death of one of the contracting parties and if the _osculum_[269] had taken place, half of whatever donations had been given was to be handed over to the surviving party and half to the heirs of the deceased; but if the solemn _osculum_ had not yet taken place, all gifts went to the heirs of the deceased. there was also a law that if either party broke the engagement to enter monastic life, the man who did so lost all that he had given by way of earnest money for the marriage contract (_arrarum nomine_); if it was the woman who took the initiative, she was compelled to return twice the amount of any sums she had received. this was changed by justinian, who enacted that those who broke an engagement to enter monastic life should merely return or receive whatever donations had been made.[270] constantine and his successors abrogated the old time julian laws, which had inflicted certain penalties--such as limited rights of inheritance--on men and women who did not marry.[271] [sidenote: changes in the law of gifts.] i have already pointed out that gifts between husband and wife were illegal and i have explained the reasons. justinian allowed the husband to make donations to his wife, in such wise, however, that all chance of intent to defraud might be absent.[272] he ordained also that if husband or wife left the married state to embrace a celibate life, each party was to keep his or her own property as per marriage contract or as each would legitimately in the case of the other's death.[273] if any one, after vowing the monastic life, returned to the world, his or her goods were forfeit to the monastery which he or she had left.[274] [sidenote: various enactments on marriage.] the consent of the father or, if he was dead, of near relatives was emphatically declared necessary by the christian emperors for a marriage and the woman had practically no will of her own although, if several suitors were proposed to her, she might be requested to name which one she preferred.[275] marriage with a jew was treated as adultery.[276] women who belonged to heretical sects were to have no privileges.[277] justinus and justinian abrogated the old law which forbade senators to marry freedwomen or any woman who had herself or whose parents had followed the stage. actresses were now permitted, on giving up their profession, to claim all the rights of other free women; and a senator could marry such or even a freedwoman without prejudice.[278] [sidenote: changes in the laws of inheritance.] under the old law, as we have seen, a son and a daughter had equal rights to intestate succession; but beyond the relationship of daughter to father or sister to brother women had no rights to intestate succession unless there were no agnates, that is, male relatives on the father's side. thus, an aunt would not be called to the estate of a nephew who died childless, but the uncle was regularly admitted. so, too, a nephew was admitted to the intestate succession of an uncle, who died without issue, but the niece was shut out. all this was changed by justinian, who gave women the same rights of inheritance as men under such conditions.[279] if the children were unorthodox, they were to have absolutely no share of either parent's goods.[280] [sidenote: women as guardians.] [sidenote: in suits.] the christian emperors permitted widows to be guardians over their children if they promised on oath not to marry again and gave security against fraud.[281] justinian forbade women to act by themselves in any legal matters.[282] [sidenote: bills of attainder.] arcadius and honorius (397 a.d.) enacted some particularly savage bills of attainder, which were in painful contrast to the clemency of their pagan predecessors. those guilty of high treason were decapitated and their goods escheated to the crown. "to the sons of such a man [i.e., one condemned for high treason]," write these amiable christians,[283] "we allow their lives out of special royal mercy--for they ought really to be put to death along with their fathers--but they are to receive no inheritances. let them be paupers forever; let the infamy of their father ever follow them; they may never aspire to office; in their lasting poverty let death be a relief and life a punishment. finally, any one who tries to intercede for these with us is also to be infamous."[284] however, to the daughters of the condemned these emperors graciously granted one fourth of their mother's but not any of their father's goods. in the case of crimes other than high treason the children or grandchildren were allowed one half of the estate.[285] constantine decreed that a wife's property was not to be affected by the condemnation of her husband.[286] [sidenote: rape.] ravishers of women, even of slaves and freedwomen, were punished by justinian with death; but in the case of freeborn women only did the property of the guilty man and his abettors become forfeit to the outraged victim. a woman no longer had the privilege of demanding her assailant in marriage.[287] sources roman law as cited in chapter i, especially the _novellae_ of justinian. notes: [249] codex, v, 17, 8 contains this rescript in full. [250] codex, v, 17, 10. [251] codex, v, 17, 11. [252] id. [253] novellae, 22, 18. [254] novellae, 140, 1: antiquitus quidem licebat sine periculo tales (i.e., those of incompatible temperament) ab invicem separari secundum communem voluntatem et consensum hoc agentes, sicut et plurimae tunc leges extarent hoc dicentes et _bona gratia_ sic procedentem solutionem nuptiarum patria vocitantes voce. postea vero divae memoriae nostro patri.... legem sancivit prohibens cum consensu coniugia solvi.... haec igitur aliena nostris iudicantes temporibus in praesenti sacram constituimus legem, per quam sancimus licere ut antiquitus consensu coniugum solutiones nuptiarum fieri. [255] novellae, 134, 11. [256] novellae, 134, 10. [257] novellae, 134, 10. [258] novellae, 22 (praefatio): antiquitas equidem non satis aliquid de prioribus aut secundis perserutabatur nuptiis, sed licebat et patribus et matribus et ad plures venire nuptias et lucro nullo privari, et causa erat in simplicitate confusa. [259] the language of some of them is pretty strong, however--matre iam secundis nuptiis _funestata_--codex, v, 9, 3 (gratian, valentinian, theodosius). [260] for these see codex, v, 9, 1 and 2 and 3. [261] cf. codex, v, 9, 4. nos enim hac lege id praecipue custodiendum esse decrevimus, ut ex quocumque coniugio suscepti filii patrum suorum sponsalicias retineant facilitates. [262] codex, vi, 56, 5. [263] novellae, ii, 3: ex absurditate legis, licet praemoriantur filii omnes, non relinquentes filios aut nepotes, nihilominus supplicium manet, et non succedit eis mater, sed expellitur ab eorum inhumane successione ... sed succedunt quidem illis aliqui ex longa cognatione. [264] novellae, ii, 3. [265] novellae ii, 3. [266] codex, vi, 40, 2 and 3. [267] novellae, 22, 44: unde sancimus, si quis prohibuerit ad aliud venire matrimonium, etc. [268] codex, v, 3, 16. [269] the _osculum_ was a sort of "donation on account of marriage" made on the day of the formal engagement. [270] codex, i, 3, 54 (56). [271] codex, viii, 57 (58), i and 2. cf. codex, viii, 58 (59), 1 and 2. [272] codex, v, 3, 10. [273] codex, i, 3, 54 (56). gregory of tours informs us that according to the council of nicaea--325 a.d.--a wife who left her husband, to whom she was happily married, to enter a nunnery incurred excommunication. he means probably: if she went without her husband's consent. greg. 9, 33: tunc ego accedens ad monasterium canonum nicaenorum decreta relegi, in quibus continetur: quia si quae reliquerit virum et thorum, in quo bene vexit, spreverit, dicens quia non sit ei portio in illa caelestis regni gloria qui fuerit coniugio copulatus, anathema sit. (note of editor: videtur esse canon 14 concilii grangensis, quod concilium veteres nicaeno subiungere solebant; idque indicat titulus in veteribus scriptis.) [274] codex, i, 3, 54 (56). [275] codex, v, 4, 20, and 5, 18. [276] codex, i, 9, 6. [277] novellae, cix, 1. [278] codex, v, 4, 23 and 28. [279] codex, vi, 58, 14. [280] codex, i, 5, 19. [281] codex, v, 35, 2 and 3. [282] codex, ii, 55, 6. [283] codex, ix, 8, 5. [284] this law was evidently lasting, for it is quoted with approval by pope innocent iii, in the year 1199--see friedberg, _corpus iuris canonici_, vol. ii, p. 782. [285] codex, ix, 49, 10. [286] codex, v, 16, 24. [287] for all these enactments see codex, i, 3, 53 (54), and ix, 13. chapter iv women among the germanic peoples a second world force had now come into its own. the new power was the germanic peoples, those wandering tribes who, after shattering the roman empire, were destined to form the modern nations of europe and to find in christianity the religion most admirably adapted to fill their spiritual needs and shape their ideals. in the year 476 the barbarian odoacer ascended the throne of the caesars. he still pretended to govern by virtue of the authority delegated to him by zeno, emperor at constantinople; but the rupture between east and west was becoming final and after the reign of justinian (527-565) it was practically complete. henceforth the eastern empire had little or nothing to do with western europe and subsisted as an independent monarchy until constantinople was taken by the turks in 1453. i shall not concern myself with it any longer. in western europe, then, new races with new ideals were forming the nations that to-day are england, germany, france, spain, italy, and austria. it is interesting to note what some of these barbarians thought about women and what place they assigned them. [sidenote: julius caesar's account.] our earliest authorities on the subject are julius caesar and tacitus. caesar informs us[288] that among the gauls marriage was a well recognized institution. the husband contributed of his own goods the same amount that his wife brought by way of dowry; the combined property and its income were enjoyed on equal terms by husband and wife. if husband or wife died, all the property became the possession of the surviving partner. yet the husband had full power of life and death over his wife as over his children; and if, upon the decease of a noble, there were suspicions regarding the manner of his death, his wife was put to inquisitorial torture and was burnt at the stake when adjudged guilty of murder. among the germans women seem to have been held in somewhat greater respect. german matrons were esteemed as prophetesses and no battle was entered upon unless they had first consulted the lots and given assurance that the fight would be successful.[289] as for the british, who were not a germanic people, caesar says that they practiced polygamy and near relatives were accustomed to have wives in common.[290] [sidenote: the account of tacitus.] tacitus wrote a century and a half after julius caesar when the tribes had become better known the romans; hence we get from him more detailed information. from him we learn that both the sitones--a people of northern germany--and the british often bestowed the royal power on women, a circumstance which aroused the strong contempt of tacitus, who was in this respect of a conservative mind.[291] the romans had, indeed, good reason to remember with sorrow the valiant boadicea, queen of the britons.[292] regarding the germans tacitus wrote a whole book in which he idealises that nation as a contrast to the lax morality of civilised rome, much as rousseau in the eighteenth century extolled the virtues of savages in a state of nature. what tacitus says in regard to lofty morals we shall do well to take with a pinch of salt; but we may with more safety trust his accuracy when he depicts national customs. from tacitus we learn that the germans believed something divine resided in women[293]; hence their respect for them as prophetesses.[294] one velaeda by her soothsaying ruled the tribe of bructeri completely[295] and was regarded as a goddess,[296] as were many others.[297] the german warrior fought his best that he might protect and please his wife.[298] the standard of conjugal fidelity was strict[299]; men were content with one wife, although high nobles were sometimes allowed several wives as an increase to the family prestige.[300] the dowry was brought not by the wife to the husband, but to the wife by the husband--evidently a survival of the custom of wife purchase; but the wife was accustomed to present her husband with arms and the accoutrements of war.[301] she was reminded that she took her husband for better and worse, to be a faithful partner in joy and sorrow until death.[302] a woman guilty of adultery was shorn and her husband drove her naked through the village with blows.[303] [sidenote: the written laws of the barbarians.] we see, then, that by no means all of these barbarian nations had the same standards in regard to women. of written laws there were none as yet. but contact with the civilisation of rome had its effect; and when goths, burgundians, franks, and lombards had founded new states on the ruins of the western roman empire, the national laws of the germanic tribes began to be collected and put into writing at the close of the fifth century. between the fifth and the ninth centuries we get the visigothic, burgundian, salic, ripuarian, alemannic, lombardian, bavarian, frisian, saxon, and thuringian law books. they are written in medieval latin and are not elaborated on a scientific basis. three distinct influences are to be seen in them: (1) native race customs, ideals, and traditions; (2) christianity; (3) the roman civil law, which was felt more or less in all, but especially in the case of the visigoths; as was natural, since this people had been brought into closest touch with rome. inasmuch as the barbarians allowed all peoples conquered by them to be tried under their own laws, the old roman civil law was still potent in all its strength in cases affecting a roman. let us endeavour to glean what we can from the barbarian codes on the matter of women's rights. [sidenote: guardianship.] the woman was always to be under guardianship among the germanic peoples and could never be independent under any conditions. perhaps we should rather call the power (_mundium_) wielded by father, brother, husband, or other male relative a protectorate; for in those early days among rude peoples any legal action might involve fighting to prove the merits of one's case, and the woman would therefore constantly need a champion to assert her rights in the lists. thus the woman was under the perpetual guardianship of a male relative and must do nothing without his consent, under penalty of losing her property.[304] her guardian arranged her marriage for her as he wished, provided only that he chose a free man for her husband[305]; if the woman, whether virgin or widow, married without his consent, she lost all power to inherit the goods of her relatives[306]; and her husband was forced to pay to her kin a recompense amounting to 600 _solidi_ among the saxons, 186 among the burgundians.[307] [sidenote: marriage.] the feeling of caste was very strong; a woman must not marry below her station.[308] by a law of the visigoths she who tried to marry her own slave was to be burned alive[309]; if she attempted it with another's bondman, she merited one hundred lashes.[310] the dowry was a fixed institution as among the romans; but the bridegroom regularly paid a large sum to the father or guardian of the woman. this _wittemon_ was regarded as the price paid for the parental authority (_mundium_) and amounted among the saxons to 300 _solidi_.[311] as a matter of fact this custom practically amounted to the intended husband giving the dowry to his future wife. the husband was also allowed to present his wife with a donation (_morgengabe_) on the morning after the wedding; the amount was limited by king liutprand to not more than one fourth of all his goods.[312] breaking an engagement after the solemn betrothal had been entered into was a serious business. the visigoths refused to allow one party to break an engagement without the consent of the other; and if a woman, being already engaged, went over to another man without her parent's or fiancã©'s leave, both she and the man who took her were handed over as slaves to the original fiancã©.[313] the other barbarians were content to inflict a money fine for breach of promise.[314] [sidenote: power of the husband.] the woman on marrying passed into the power of her husband "according to the sacred scriptures," and the husband thereupon acquired the lordship of all her property.[315] the law still protected the wife in some ways. the visigoths gave the father the right of demanding and preserving for his daughter her dowry.[316] the ripuarians ordained that whatever the husband had given his wife by written agreement must remain inviolate.[317] king liutprand made the presence of two or three of the woman's male relatives necessary at any sale involving her goods, to see to it that her consent to the sale had not been forced.[318] [sidenote: divorce.] on the subject of divorce the regulations of the several peoples are various; but the commands of the new testament are alike strongly felt in all; and we may expect to find divorce limited by severe restrictions.[319] the burgundians allowed it only for adultery or grave crimes, such as violating tombs. if a wife presumed to dismiss her husband for any other cause, she was put to death (_necetur in luto_); to a husband who sent his wife a divorce without these specific reasons existing the law was more indulgent, allowing him to preserve his life by paying to his injured wife twice the amount that he had originally given her parents for her, and twelve _solidi_ in addition; and in case he attempted to prove her guilty of one of the charges mentioned above and she was adjudged innocent, he forfeited all his goods to her and was forced to leave his home.[320] the visigoths were equally strict; the husband who dismissed his wife on insufficient legal grounds lost all power over her and must return all her goods; his own must be preserved for the children; if there were none, the wife acquired his property. a woman who married a divorced man while his first wife was living, was condemned for adultery and accordingly handed over to the first wife to be disposed of as the latter wished; exile, stripes, and slavery were the lot of a man who took another wife while his first partner was still alive.[321] the alemanni and the bavarians, who were more remote from italy and hence from the church, were influenced more by their own customs and allowed a pecuniary recompense to take the place of the harsher enactments.[322] [sidenote: adultery.] adultery was not only a legal cause for divorce, but also a grave crime. all the barbarian peoples are agreed in so regarding it, but their penalties vary according as they were more or less affected by proximity to italy, where the power of the church was naturally strongest. the ripuarians, the bavarians, and the alemanni preferred a money fine ranging from fifty to two hundred _solidi_.[323] among the visigoths the guilty party was usually bound over in servitude to the injured person to be disposed of as the latter wished.[324] sometimes the law was harsher to women than to men; thus, according to a decree of liutprand,[325] a husband who told his wife to commit adultery or who did so himself paid a mulct of fifty _solidi_ to the wife's male relatives; but if the wife consented to or hid the deed, she was put to death. the laws all agree that the killing of adulterers taken in the act could not be regarded as murder. [sidenote: the church indulgent toward kings.] it is always to be remembered that although the statutes were severe enough, yet during this period, as indeed throughout all history, they were defied with impunity. charlemagne, for example, the most christian monarch, had a large number of concubines and divorced a wife who did not please him; yet his biographer einhard, pious monk as he was, has no word of censure for his monarch's irregularities[326]; and policy prevented the church from thundering at a king who so valiantly crushed the heretics, her enemies. bishop gregory of tours tells us without a hint of being shocked that clothacharius, king of the franks, had many concubines.[327] concubinage was, in fact, the regular thing.[328] but neither in that age, nor later in the case of louis xiv, nor in our own day in the case of leopold of belgium has the church had a word of reproach for monarchs who broke with impunity moral laws on which she claims always to have insisted without compromise. [sidenote: remarriage.] in accordance with the commands of scripture neither the divorced man nor the divorced woman could marry again during the lifetime of the other party. to do so was to commit adultery, for which the usual penalties went into effect. [sidenote: property rights and powers.] a woman's property would consist of any or all of these: i. her share of the property of parents or brothers and sisters. ii. her dowry and whatever nuptial donations (_morgengabe_) her husband had given her, and whatever she had earned together with her husband. there could be no account of single women's property or disposal of what they earned, because in the half-civilised state of things which then obtained there was no such thing as women engaging in business; indeed, not even men of any pretension did so; war was their work. the unmarried woman was content to sit by the fire and spin under the guardianship and support of a male relative. often she would enter a convent. i shall first discuss the laws of inheritance as affecting women, in order to note what property she was allowed to acquire. in this connection it is well to bear in mind a difference between roman and germanic law. the former viewed an inheritance as consisting always of a totality of all goods, whether of money, land, movables, cattle, dress, or what not. but among the germanic peoples land, money, ornaments, and the like were regarded as so many distinct articles of inheritance, to some of which women might have legal claims of succession, but not necessarily to all. this is most emphatically shown in the case of land. of all the barbarian peoples, the ripuarians alone allowed women the right to succeed to land.[329] among other nations a daughter or sister or mother, whoever happened to be the nearest heir, would get the money, slaves, etc., but the nearest _male_ kin would get the land.[330] only if male kin were lacking to the fifth degree--an improbable contingency--did alodial inheritance "pass from the lance to the spindle."[331] in respect to all other things a daughter was co-heir with a son to the estate of a father or mother. according to the salic and ripuarian law this would be one order of succession[332]: i. children of the deceased. ii. these failing, surviving mother or father of deceased. iii. these failing, brother or sister of deceased. iv. these failing, sister of mother of deceased. v. these failing, sister of father of deceased. vi. these failing, male relatives on father's side. it will be observed that in such a succession these laws are more partial to women relatives than the roman law; an aunt, for example, is called before an uncle. an uncle would certainly exclude an aunt under the roman law; but most of the germanic codes allowed them an equal succession.[333] nevertheless, when women did inherit under the former, they acquired the land also. moreover, the woman among the germanic nations must always be under guardianship; and whereas under the empire the power of the guardian was in practice reduced to nullity, as i have shown, among the barbarians it was extremely powerful, because to assert one's rights often involved fighting in the lists to determine the judgment of god. it was a settled conviction among the germanic peoples that god would give the victory to the rightful claimant. as women could not fight, a champion or guardian was a necessity. this was not true in roman courts, which preferred to settle litigation by juristic reasoning and believed, like napoleon, that god, when appealed to in a fight, was generally on the side of the party who had the better artillery. children inherited not only the estate but also the friendships and enmities of their fathers, which it was their duty to take up. hereditary feuds were a usual thing.[334] king liutprand ordaine[335] however, that if a daughter alone survived, the feud was to be brought to an end and an agreement effected. some of the nations seem to have provided that children must not be disinherited except for very strong reasons; for example, the law of the visigoths[336] forbids more than one third of their estate being alienated by mother or father, grandmother or grandfather. the alemanni permitted a free man to leave all his property to the church and his heirs had no redress[337]; but the bavarians compelled him before entering monastic life to distribute among his children their proportionate parts.[338] [sidenote: property of the married woman.] we may pass now to the property rights of the married woman. the relation of her husband to the dowry i have already explained. the dowry was conceived as being ultimately for the children; only when there were no children, grandchildren, or great-grandchildren did the woman have licence to dispose of the dowry as she wished: this was the law among the visigoths.[339] the dowry, then, was to revert to the children or grandchildren at the death of the wife; if there were none such, to the parents or relatives who had given her in marriage; these failing, it escheated to the crown--so according to rotharis.[340] by the laws of the visigoths[341] when the wife died, her husband continued in charge of the property; but, as under the roman law, he had to preserve it entire for the children, though he might enjoy the usufruct. when a son or daughter married, their father must at once give them their share of their mother's goods, although he could still receive the income of one third of the portion. if son or daughter did not marry, they received one half their share on becoming twenty years of age; their father might claim the interest of the other half while he lived; but at his death he must leave it to them. when a woman left no children, her father or nearest male kin usually demanded the dowry back.[342] when the husband died, his estate did not go to wife, but to his children or other relatives.[343] if however, any property had been earned by the joint labour of husband and wife, the latter had a right to one half among the westfalians; to one third among the ripuarians; to nothing among the ostfalians.[344] children remained in the power of their mother if she so desired and provided she remained a widow. a mother usually had the enjoyment of her dowry until her death, when she must leave it to her children or to the donor or nearest relative.[345] if the husband died without issue, some nations allowed the wife a certain succession to her husband's goods, provided that she did not marry again. thus, the burgundians gave her under such conditions one third of her husband's estate to be left to his heirs, however, at her death.[346] the bavarians, too, under the same conditions allowed her one half of her husband's goods[347] and even if there was issue, granted her the right to the interest of as much as one child received.[348] a widow who married again lost the privilege of guardianship over her children, who thereupon passed to a male relative of the first husband. as to the dowry of the prior union the woman must make it over at once to her children according to some laws or, according to others, might receive the usufruct during life and leave it to the children of the first marriage at her death. any right to the property of her first husband she of course lost.[349] when there was no issue of the first marriage then the dowry and nuptial donations could usually follow her to a second union. [sidenote: criminal law pertaining to women.] criminal law among these half civilised nations could not but be a crude affair. their civilisation was in a state of flux, and immediate practical convenience was the only guide. they were content to fix the penalties for such outrages as murder, rape, insult, assault, and the like in money; the visigoths alone were more stringent in a case of rape, adding 200 lashes and slavery to the ravisher of a free woman who had accomplished his purpose.[350] some enactments which may well strike us as peculiar deserve notice. for example, among the saxons the theft of a horse or an ox or anything worth three _solidi_ merited death; but murder was atoned for by pecuniary damages.[351] among the burgundians, if a man stole horses or cattle and his wife did not at once disclose the deed, she and her children who were over fourteen were bound over in slavery to the outraged party "because it hath often been ascertained, that these women are the confederates of their husbands in crime."[352] the most minute regulations prevailed on the subject of injury to women. under the salic law[353] for instance, if a free man struck a free women on the fingers or hand, he had to pay fifteen _solidi_; if he struck her arm, thirty _solidi_; if above her elbow, thirty-five _solidi_; if he hit her breast, forty-five _solidi_. the penalties for murdering a free woman were also elaborated on the basis of her value to the state as a bearer of children. by the same salic law[354] injury to a pregnant woman resulting in her death merited a fine of seven hundred _solidi_; but two hundred was deemed sufficient for murder of one after her time for bearing children had passed. similarly, for killing a free woman after she had begun to have children the transgressor paid six hundred _solidi_; but for murdering an unmarried freeborn girl only two hundred. the murder of a free woman was punished usually by a fine (_wergeld_) equal to twice the amount demanded for a free man "because," as the law of the bavarians has it,[355] "a woman can not defend herself with arms. but if, in the boldness of her heart (per audaciam cordis sui), she shall have resisted and fought like a man, there shall not be a double penalty, but only the recompense usual for a man [160 _solidi_]." fines were not paid to the state, but to the injuried parties or, if these did not survive, to the nearest kin. if the fine could not be paid, then might death be meted to the guilty.[356] another peculiar feature of the germanic law was the appeal to god to decide a moot point by various ordeals. for example, by the laws of the angles and werini, if a woman was accused of murdering her husband, she would ask a male relative to assert her innocence by a solemn oath[357] or, if necessary, by fighting for her as her champion in the lists. god was supposed to give the victory to the champion who defended an innocent party. if she could find no champion, she was permitted to walk barefoot over nine red-hot ploughshares[358]; and if she was innocent, god would not, of course, allow her to suffer any injury in the act. [sidenote: women in slavery.] perhaps a word on the status of women in slavery among the germanic nations will not be out of place. the new nations looked upon a slave as a chattel, much as the romans did. if a wrong was done a slave woman, her master received a recompense from the aggressor, but she did not, for to hold property was denied her. but we may well believe that the great value which the church put on chastity and conjugal fidelity rendered the slave woman less exposed to the brutal passions of her lord than had been the case under the empire. thus, by a law of king liutprand, a master who committed adultery with the wife of a slave was compelled to free both[359]; and the visigot[360] inflicted fifty lashes and a fine of twenty _solidi_ upon the man who used violence to another man's slave woman. on comparing the position of women under roman law and under the germanic nations, as we have observed them thus far, we should note first of all that under the latter women benefited chiefly by the insistence of the church on the value of chastity in both sexes. that in those days the passions of men were difficult to restrain in practice does not invalidate the real service done the world by the ideal that was insisted upon,[361] an ideal which was certainly not held in pagan antiquity except by a few great minds. although the social position of woman was thus improved, the character of the age and the sentiments of the bible which i have already quoted made her status far inferior to her condition under roman law so far as her legal rights were concerned. in a period[362] when the assertion of one's rights constantly demanded fighting, the woman was forced to rely on the male to champion her; the church, in accordance with the dicta of the apostles, encouraged and indeed commanded her to confine herself to the duties of the household, to leave legal matters to men, and to be guided by their advice; and thus she was prevented from asserting herself out of regard for the strong public opinion on the subject, which was quite alien to the sentiments of the old roman law. henceforward also we are to have law based on old customs and _theology_,[363] not on practical convenience or scientific reasoning. sources i. corpus iuris germanici antiqui: edidit ferd. walter. berolini--impensis g. reimeri, 1824. 3 vols. ii. c. iulii caesaris commentarii de bello gallico: recognovit geo. long. novi eboraci apud harperos fratres. 1883 iii. cornelii taciti libri qui supersunt: quartum recognovit carolus halm. lipsiae (teubner), 1901. iv. sancti georgii florentii gregorii, episcopi turonensis, historiae ecclesiasticae francorum libri decem: edidit j. guadet et n.r. taranne. parisiis, apud julium renouard et socios, 1838. v. iordanis de origine actibusque getorum: edidit alfred holder. freiburg und tubingen; verlagsbuchhandlung von j. c.b. mohr. vi. widukindi rerum gestarum saxonicarum libri tres. accedit libellus de origine gentis suevorum. editio quarta: post georgium waitz recognovit karolus a. kehr. hannoverae et lipsiae impensis bibliopolii hahniani, 1904. vii. procopii caesariensis opera omnia: recognovit jacobus haury. lipsiae. (teubner). 1905. viii. einhardi vita karoli magni. editio quinta. post g.h. perte recensuit g. waitz. hannoverae et lipsiae, 1905. ix. pauli historia langobardorum: edidit georg waitz. hannoverae, impensis bibliopolii hahniani, 1878. notes: [288] _de bell. gall_., vi, 19. [289] id., i, 50. [290] id., v, 14. [291] _agricola_, 16. _germania_, 45: suionibus sitonum gentes continuantur. cetera similes, uno differunt, quod femina dominatur; in tantum non modo a libertate, sed etiam a servitute degenerant. no woman ever reigned alone as queen of the roman empire until 450 a.d., when pulcheria, sister of theodosius ii, ascended the throne of the east; but she soon took the senator marcian in marriage and made him king. [292] _agricola_, 16. [293] _germania_, 8. [294] procopius, _de bello vandalico_, ii, 8, observes the same thing among the maurousians, or moors, in northern africa: [greek: andra gar manteuesthai en tã´ ethnei toutã´ ou themis, alla gunaikes sphisi katochoi hek d㪠tinos lerourgias ginomenai prolegousi ta esomena, tã´n palai chrãªstãªriã´n oudenos ãªsson.] [295] tacitus, _hist_., iv, 61, and v, 24. [296] id., _germania_, 8. [297] ibid., 8. [298] ibid., 7. [299] ibid., 17. [300] ibid. [301] ibid., 18. [302] ibid., 18 and 19. [303] ibid., 19. [304] liutprand, i, 5: si filiae aut sorores contra voluntatem patris aut fratris egerint, potestatem habet pater aut frater iudicandi res suas quomodo aut qualiter voluerit. [305] leges liutprandi, vi, 119: si quis filiam suam aut sororem alii sponsare voluerit, habeat potestatem dandi cui voluerit, libero tamen homini. lex wisigothorum, iii, 1, 7 and 8. [306] leges liutprandi, vi, 119. lex angliorum et werinorum, x, 2: si libera femina sine voluntate patris aut tutoris cuilibet nupserit, perdat omnem substantiam quam habuit vel habere debuit. reply of a bishop quoted by gregory of tours, 9, 33: quia sine consilio parentum eam coniugio copulasti, non erit uxor tua. but the law of the visigoths (iii, i, 8, and 2,8) merely deprived her of succession to the estate of her parents. [307] lex saxonum, vi, 2: si autem sine voluntate parentum, puella tamen consentiente, ducta fuerit (uxorem ducturus) bis ccc solidos parentibus eius componat. lex burgundionum: _add_., 14. cf. edictum rotharis, 188: si puella libera aut vidua sine voluntate parentum ad maritum ambulaverit, liberum tamen, tunc maritus, qui eam acceperit uxorem, componat pro anagrip solidos xx et propter faidam alios xx. [308] by a law of the alemanni (_tit_., 57), if two sisters were heiresses to a father's estate and one married a vassal (_colonus_) of the king or church and the other became the wife of a free man equal to her in rank, the latter only was allowed to hold her father's land, although the rest of the goods were divided equally. [309] lex wisigothorum, iii, 2, 2. [310] ibid., iii, 2, 3. [311] lex saxonum, vi, i: uxorem ducturus ccc solidos det parentibus eius. see also the lex burgundionum, 66, i and 2 and 3. in the case of a widow who married again the gift of the husband was called _reiphe_ or _reippus_ and very solemn ceremonies belonged to the giving of it according to the salic law, _tit_., 47: si, ut fieri adsolet, homo moriens viduam dimiserit et cam quis in coniugium voluerit accipere, antequam eam accipiat tunginus aut centenarius mallum indicent, et in ipso mallo scutum habere debet, et tres homines vel caussas mandare. et tunc ille, qui viduam accipere vult, cum tribus testibus qui adprobare debent, tres solidos aeque pensantes, et denarium habere debet, etc. [312] leges liutprandi, ii, 1. [313] lex wisigothorum, iii, 1, 2 and 3, and iii, 6, 3. [314] e.g., 62 _solidi_ by the salic law, _tit_., 70. see also lex baiuvariorum, _tit_., vii, 15 and 16 and 17. lex alemannorum, 52, i; 53; 54. [315] lex burgundionum, _add. primum_, xiii: quaecumque mulier burgundia vel romana voluntate sua ad maritum ambulaverit, iubemus ut maritus ipse de facultate ipsius mulieris, sicut in eam habet potestatem, ita et de rebus suis habeat. lex wisigothorum, iv, 2, 15: vir qui uxorem suam secundum sacram scripturam habet in potestate, similiter et in servis suis potestatem habebit, et omnia quae cum servis uxoris suae vel suis in expeditione acquisivit, in sua potestate permaneant. [316] lex wisigothorum, iii, tit. i, 6. [317] lex ripuariorum, 37, 1. [318] leges liutprandi, iv, 4. [319] that is, for the common people. kings have always had a little way of doing as they pleased. see the anecdote of king cusupald in paulus' _hist. langobard_, i, 21: secunda autem (sc. filia wacchonis) dicta est walderada, quae sociata est cusupald, alio regi francorum, quam ipse odio habens uni ex suis, qui dicebatur garipald, in coniugium tradidit. [320] for all this see lex burgundionum, 34, 1-4. [321] for all these, see lex wisigothorum, iii, 6, 1 and 2. [322] capitula addita ad legem alemannorum, 30. lex baiuvariorum, vii, 14. [323] lex ripuariorum, _tit_., 35. lex baiuvariorum, vii. lex alemannorum, 51, 1. [324] lex wisigothorum, iii, 6, 1 and 2, and iii, 4, 1. [325] leges liutprandi, vi, 130. [326] einhard, _vita kar. mag_., 17: deinde cum matris hortatu filiam desiderii regis langobardorum duxisset uxorem, incertum qua de causa, post annum eam repudiavit et hildigardam de gente suaborum praecipuae nobilitatis feminam in matrimonium duxit ... habuit et alias tres filias ... duas de fastrada uxore ... tertiam de concubina quadam ... defuncta fastrada ... tres habuit concubinas. [327] gregory of tours, 4, 3. [328] the concubines of theodoric--jordanes, _de orig. acti busque get._, 58. huga, king of the franks, had a filium quem ex concubina genuit--widukind, _res gest. sax._, i, 9. [329] lex ripuariorum, _til_., 48. lex angliorum et werinorum, vi--_de alodibus_, 1: hereditatem defuncti filius, non filia suscipiat. salic law, _tit_., 62: _de alodis_, 6: de terra vero salica in mulierem nulla portio hereditatis transit, sed hoc virilis sexus adquirat, hoc est, filii in ipsa hereditate succedunt. lex saxonum, vii, 1: pater aut mater defuncti filio, non filiae hereditatem relinquit. [330] cf. lex angliorum et werinorum, vi: _de alodibus_. [331] ibid., vi, 8: post quintam autem (sc. generationem) filia ex toto, sive de patris sive de matris parte, in hereditatem succedat, et tunc demum hereditas ad fusum a lancea transeat. [332] lex salica, _tit._, 62. lex ripuariorum, _tit._, 56. [333] cf. lex wisigothorum, iv, 2, 7 and 9. [334] tacitus, _germania_, 21. [335] legis liutprandi, ii, 7. [336] lex wisigothorum, iv, 5, i. [337] lex alemannorum, _tit._, i. [338] lex baiuvariorum, _tit._, i. [339] lex wisigothorum, iv, 2, 20. [340] edictum rotharis, i, 121. [341] lex wisigothorum, iv, 2, 13. [342] cf. capitula addita ad legem alemannorum, 29. lex saxonum, viii, 2. [343] cf. lex wisigothorum, iv, 2, 11: maritus et uxor tunc sibi hereditario iure succedant, quando mulla affinitas usque ad septimum gradum de propinquis eorum vel parentibus inveniri poterit. see also lex burgundionum, 14, 1. [344] lex saxonum, ix. lex ripuariorum, 37, 2. [345] lex saxonum, viii. lex wisigothorum, iv, 3, 3. lex burgundionum 85, 1, and 62, 1. [346] lex burgundionum, 42, 1; 62, 1; 74, 1. [347] lex baiuvariorum, xiv, 9, 1. [348] ibid., xiv, 6. [349] for all this, see lex burgundionum, 24 and 62 and 74. lex wisigothorum, iv, tit. 3. lex baiuvariorum, 14. lex alemannorum, 55 and 56. [350] lex wisigothorum, iii, 3, 1. [351] lex saxonum, iv. in the early days when the great west of the united states was just being opened up and when society there was in a very crude state, a horse thief was regularly hanged; but murder was hardly a fault. [352] lex burgundionum, 47, 1 and 2. the guilty man was put to death. [353] lex salica, _tit._, 23. [354] id, _tit._, 28. [355] lex baiuvariorum, _tit._, xiii, 2. [356] cf. lex salica, _tit._, 61--a very curious account of formalities to be observed in such a case. [357] it was deemed sufficient for a male relative, say, the father, to assert the innocence of the woman under solemn oath: for it was thought that he would be unwilling to do this if he knew the woman was guilty and so incur eternal hell-fire as a punishment for perjury. an example of this solemn ceremony is told interestingly by gregory of tours, 5, 33. a woman at paris was charged by her husband's relatives with adultery and was demanded to be put to death. her father took a solemn oath that she was innocent. far from being content with this, the husband's kin began a fight and the matter ended in a wholesale butchery at the church of st. dionysius. [358] lex angliorum et werinorum, xiv: aut si campionem non habuerit, ipsa ad novem vomeres ignitos examinanda mittatur. [359] leges liutprandi, vi, 140. [360] lex wisigothorum, iii, 4, 16. [361] see the interesting story of the girl who slew duke amalo, as narrated by gregory of tours, 9, 27. [362] the bloody nature of the times is depicted naã¯vely by gregory, bishop of tours, who wrote the history of the franks. see, e.g., the stories of ingeltrudis, rigunthis, waddo, amalo, etc., in book 9. gregory was born in 539. [363] _corpus iuris canonici_ (friedberg), vol. i, p. 1, _distinctio prima_: ius naturae est quod in lege et _evangelio_ continetur. chapter v digression of the later history of roman law with charlemagne, who was crowned emperor by the pope in the year 800, began the definite union of church and state and the church's temporal power. henceforth for seven centuries, until the reformation, we shall have to reckon with canon law as a supreme force in determining the question of the position of women. a brief survey of the later history of the old roman law will not be out of place in order to note what influence, if any, it continued to exert down the ages. the body of the roman law, compiled by order of justinian (527-565 a.d.), was intended primarily for the eastern empire; but when, in the year 535, the emperor conquered the western goths, who then ruled italy, he ordered his laws taught in the school of jurisprudence at rome and practiced in the courts. i have already remarked that the barbarians who overran italy allowed the vanquished the right to be judged in most cases by their own code. but the splendid fabric of the roman law was too elaborate a system to win the attentive study of a rude people; the church had its own canons, the people their own ancestral customs; and until the twelfth century no development of the roman civil code took place. finally, during the twelfth century, the great school at bologna renewed the study with vigour, and italy at the present day derives the basic principles of its civil law from the corpus of justinian. practically the same story holds true of france,[364] of spain, and of the netherlands, all of whom have been influenced particularly by the great jurists of the sixteenth century who were simply carrying further the torch that had been lit so enthusiastically at bologna in the twelfth century. as to germany,[365] when that unhappy country had been separated from france and italy after the treaty of verdun in 843, carlovingian law and the ancient german law books fell into disuse. the law again rested on unwritten customs, on the decisions of the judges and their assessors, and on agreements of the interested parties (feudal services and tenures). not till the twelfth and thirteenth centuries was any record made of the rules of law which had arisen; many laws of cities on various matters and in various provinces were recorded by public authority; and thus originated the so-called law books of the middle ages, the private labours of experienced men, who set forth the legal principles which were recognised in all germany, or at least in certain parts of it. there were no law schools as yet, and scientific compilation of german law was not even thought of. after the university of bologna had revived the study of roman law in italy, the italian universities attracted the german youth, who on their return would labour to introduce what they had learned. their efforts were seconded by the clergy, through the close connection with canon law which was in force in germany. german emperors and territorial lords also favoured roman law because they saw how well suited it was to absolutism; they liked to engage jurists trained in italy, especially if they were doctors of both canon and roman law. nor did the german people object. from the fourteenth century many schools of jurisprudence were established on italian models. at present, the law of justinian has only such force as is received by usage or as it has acquired by recognition. i. the roman law forms in germany the principal law in some branches, that is, it is in so far its basis that the german law is only an addition or modification of it. in other branches it is only supplementary, that is, it is merely subsidiary to the german law. ii. only the glossed parts and passages of justinian's law collection have binding force in germany. iii. only those glossed passages are binding which contain the latest rule of law. consequently the historical materials contained in them, though always of great importance for discovering the latest law, have not binding force. iv. those precepts of the roman law which relate to roman manners and institutions unknown in germany are inapplicable here, though glossed. v. the roman law has but slight application to such objects and transactions as were unknown to the romans and are of purely germanic origin. vi. with the limitations above enumerated the roman law has been adopted as a whole and not in detached parts. in england roman law has had practically no effect. in the year 1149 a lombard jurist, vacarius, lectured on it at oxford; but there were no results. canon law is, of course, a force to be reckoned with in britain as on the continent. before we enter the question of women's rights during the middle ages, we must take a general survey of the character of that period; for obviously we cannot understand its legislation without some idea of the background of social, political, and intellectual life. in the first place, then, the church was everywhere triumphant and its ideals governed legislation completely on such matters as marriage. the civil law of rome, as drawn up first by the epitomisers and later studied more carefully at bologna, served to indicate general principles in cases to which canon law did not apply; but there was little jurisdiction in which the powers ecclesiastical could not contrive to take a hand. at the same time germanic ideals and customs continued a powerful force. for a long time after the partition of the vast empire of charlemagne government was in a state of chaos and transition from which eventually the various distinct states arose. a struggle between kings and nobles for supremacy dragged along for many generations; and as during that contest each feudal lord was master in his own domain, there was no consistent code of laws for all countries or, indeed, for the same country. yet the character of the age determined in a general way the spirit that dictated all laws. society rested on a military and aristocratic basis, and when the ability to wield arms is essential to maintain one's rights, the position of women will be affected by that fact. beginning with the twelfth century city life began to exert a political influence; and this, again, did not fail to have an effect on the status of women. of any participation of women in intellectual life there could be no question until the renaissance, although we do meet here and there with isolated exceptions, a few ladies of high degree like roswitha of gandersheim and hadwig, duchess of swabia, niece of otto the great, and heloise. the learning was exclusively scholastic, and from any share in that women were barred. when people are kept in ignorance, there is less inducement for them to believe that they have any rights or to assert them if they do think so. we shall do well to bear in mind, in noting the laws relative to women, that theory is one thing and practice quite another. hence, although the doctrines of the church on various matters touching the female sex were characterised by the greatest purity, we shall see that in practice they were not strictly executed. religion does in fact play a less considerable part in regulating the daily acts of men than theologians are inclined to believe. if anything proves this, it is the history of that foulest stain on christian nations--prostitution. we might expect that since the roman catholic church insists so on chastity the level of this virtue would certainly be higher in countries which are almost exclusively catholic, like spain and italy, than in protestant lands; but no one who has ever travelled in spain or italy fails to recognise that the conduct of men is as lamentably low in these as in england, germany, or the united states. with this brief introduction i shall proceed next to explain the position of women under the canon law, a code which affected all countries of europe equally until the reformation; and in connection with this i shall give some idea of the attitude of the roman catholic church towards women and women's rights at the present day. notes: [364] french customary law began to be written in the thirteenth century and was greatly affected by the roman law. [365] the succeeding paragraphs are a summary of the account by the learned professor mackeldey, who has investigated roman law with the most minute diligence. chapter vi the canon law and the attitude of the roman catholic church [sidenote: the canon law reaffirms the subjection of women.] the canon law reaffirms woman's subjection to man in no uncertain terms. the wife must be submissive and obedient to her husband.[366] she must never, under penalty of excommunication, cut off her hair, because "god has given it to her as a veil and as a sign of her subjection."[367] a woman who assumed men's garments was accursed[368]; it will be remembered that the breaking of this law was one of the charges which brought joan of arc to the stake. however learned and holy, woman must never presume to teach men publicly.[369] she was not allowed to bring a criminal action except in cases of high treason or to avenge the death of near relatives.[370] parents could dedicate a daughter to god while she was yet an infant; and this parental vow bound her to the nunnery when she was mature, whether she was willing or not.[371] virgins or widows who had once consecrated themselves to god might not marry under pain of excommunication.[372] parents could not prevent a daughter from taking vows, if she so wished, after she had attained the age of twelve.[373] [sidenote: woman and marriage under canon law.] the most important effect of the canon law was on marriage, which was now a sacrament and had its sanction not in the laws of men, but in the express decrees of god. hence even engagements acquired a sacred character unknown to the roman law; and when a betrothal had once been entered into, it could be broken only in case one or both of the contracting parties desired to enter a monastery.[374] free consent of both man and woman was necessary for matrimony.[375] there must also be a dowry and a public ceremony.[376] the legitimate wife is thus defined[377]: "a chaste virgin, betrothed in chastity, dowered according to law, given to her betrothed by her parents, and received from the hands of the bridesmaids (_a paranimphis accipienda_); she is to be taken according to the laws and the gospel and the marriage ceremony must be public; all the days of her life--unless by consent for brief periods to devote to worship--she is never to be separated from her husband; for the cause of adultery she is to be dismissed, but while she lives her husband may marry no other." the blessing of the priest was necessary. about every form connected with the marriage service the church threw its halo of mystery and symbol to emphasise the sacred character of the union. thus[378]: "women are veiled during the marriage ceremony for this reason, that they may know they are lowly and in subjection to their husbands.... a ring is given by the bridegroom to his betrothed either as a sign of mutual love or rather that their hearts may be bound together by this pledge. for this reason, too, the ring is worn on the fourth finger, because there is a certain vein in that finger which they say reaches to the heart." [sidenote: clandestine marriages.] clandestine marriages were forbidden,[379] but the church always presumed everything it could in favour of marriage and its indissolubility. thus, gratian remarks[380]: "clandestine marriages are, to be sure, contrary to law; nevertheless, they can not be dissolved." the reason for forbidding them was perfectly reasonable: one party might change his or her mind and there would be no positive proof that a marriage had taken place, so that a grave injury might be inflicted on an innocent partner by an unscrupulous one who desired to dissolve the union.[381] yet the marriage by consent alone without any of the ceremonies or the blessing of the priest was perfectly valid, though not "according to law" (_legitimum_), and could not be dissolved.[382] not until the great council of trent in 1563 was this changed. at that time all marriages were declared invalid unless they had been contracted in the presence of a priest and two or three witnesses.[383] [sidenote: protection to women.] the church is seen in its fairest light in its provisions to protect the wife from sexual brutality on the part of her husband, and it deserves high praise for its stand on such matters.[384] various other laws show the same regard for the interests of women. a man who was entering priestly office could not cast off his wife and leave her destitute, but must provide living and raiment for her.[385] neither husband nor wife could embrace the celibate life nor devote themselves to continence without the consent of the other.[386] a man who cohabited with a woman as his concubine, even though she was of servile condition or questionable character, could not dismiss her and marry another saving for adultery.[387] slaves were now allowed to contract marriages and masters were not permitted to dissolve them.[388] [sidenote: divorce.] it has always been and still is the boast of the roman catholic church that it has been the supreme protector of women on account of its stand on divorce. says cardinal gibbons[389]: "christian wives and mothers, what gratitude you owe to the catholic church for the honorable position you now hold in society! if you are no longer regarded as the slave, but the equal, of your husbands; if you are no longer the toy of his caprice, and liable to be discarded at any moment; but if you are recognised as the mistress and queen of your household, you owe your emancipation to the church. you are especially indebted for your liberty to the popes who rose up in all the majesty of their spiritual power to vindicate the rights of injured wives against the lustful tyranny of their husbands." in view of such a claim i may be justified in entering a somewhat more detailed account of this subject. on the subject of divorce the roman catholic church took the decided position which it continues to maintain at the present day. marriage when entered upon under all the conditions demanded by the church for a valid union is indissoluble.[390] a separation "from bed and board" (_quoad thorum seu quoad cohabitationem_) is allowed for various causes, such as excessive cruelty, for a determinate or an indeterminate period; but there is no absolute divorce even for adultery. for this cause a separation may, indeed, take place, but the bond of matrimony is not dissolved thereby and neither the innocent nor the guilty party may marry again during the lifetime of the other partner. all this seems very rigorous. it is true that the roman catholic church does not permit "divorce." but it allows fourteen cases where a marriage can be declared absolutely null and void, as if it had never existed; and in these cases the man or woman may marry again. to say that the roman church does not allow divorce is, therefore, playing upon words. the instruments used to render its strict theory ineffective are "diriment impediments" and "dispensations." by the doctrine of "diriment impediments" the pope or a duly constituted representative can declare that a marriage has been null and void from the very beginning because of some impediment defined in the canon law. canon iv of the twenty-fourth session of the council of trent anathematises anyone who shall say that the church cannot constitute impediments dissolving marriage, or that she has erred in constituting them. the impediments which can annul marriage are described in the official catholic encyclopedia, vol. vii, pages 697-698. among them are impuberty and impotency. then there is "disparity of worship," which renders void the marriage of a christian--that is, a roman catholic, with an infidel,--that is, one who is unbaptised. marriage of a roman catholic with a baptised non-catholic constitutes a "relative" impediment and needs a special dispensation and provisoes, such as a guarantee to bring up the children in the roman faith to give it validity. another impediment is based on the presumption of want of consent, "the nullity being caused by a defect of consent." "this defect," says the catholic encyclopedia, "may arise from the intellect or the will; hence we have two classes. arising from the intellect we have: insanity; and total ignorance, even if in confuso of what marriage is (this ignorance, however, is not presumed to exist after the age of puberty has been reached); and lastly error, where the consent is not given to what was not intended. arising from the will, a defect of consent may be caused through deceit or dissimulation, when one expresses exteriorly a consent that does not really exist; or from constraint imposed by an unjust external force, which causes the consent not to be free." consanguinity and affinity are diriment impediments. consanguinity "prohibits all marriages in the direct ascending or descending line in infinitum, and in the collateral line to the fourth degree or fourth generation." affinity "establishes a bond of relationship between each of the married parties and the blood relations of the other, and forbids marriage between them to the fourth degree. such is the case when the marriage springs from conjugal relations; but as canon law considers affinity to spring also from illicit intercourse, there is an illicit affinity which annuls marriage to the second degree only." then there is "spiritual relationship"; for example, the marriage of one who stood as sponsor in confirmation with a parent of the child is null and void. under the canon law, even more resources are open for the man who is tired of his wife; by the doctrine, namely, of "spiritual fornication." adultery is, of course, recognised as the cause that admits a separation. but the canon law remarks that idolatry and all harmful superstition--by which is meant any doctrine that does not agree with that of the church--is fornication; that avarice is also idolatry and hence fornication; that in fact no vice can be separated from idolatry and hence all vices can be classed as fornication; so that if a husband only tried a little bit, he could without much trouble find some "vice" in his wife that would entitle him to a separation.[391] when all these fail, recourse can be had to a dispensation. the church reserves the right to give dispensations for all impediments. canon iii of the twenty-fourth session of trent says: "if anyone shall say, that only those degrees of consanguinity and affinity which are set down in _leviticus_ [xviii, 6 ff.] can hinder matrimony from being contracted, and dissolve it when contracted; and that the church can not dispense in some of those degrees, or ordain that others may hinder and dissolve it; let him be anathema." [sidenote: inheritance] the minute and far-fetched subtleties which the roman church has employed in the interpretation of these relationships make escape from the marital tie feasible for the man who is eager to disencumber himself of his life's partner. the man of limited means will have a hard time of it. the great and wealthy have been able at all periods, by working one or more of these doctrines, to reduce the theory of the roman church to nullity in practice. napoleon had his marriage to josephine annulled on the ground that he had never intended to enter into a religious marriage with her, although the day before the ceremony he had had the union secretly blessed by cardinal fesch. on the basis of this avowed lack of intent, his marriage with josephine was declared null and void, and he was free to marry louisa. a plea along the same lines is being worked by the count de castellane now. louis xii, having fallen in love with anne of brittany, suddenly discovered that his wife was his fourth cousin, that she was deformed, and that her father had been his godfather; and for this the pope gave him a dispensation and his legitimate wife was sent away. the pope did not thunder against louis xiv for committing adultery with women like louise de la valliã¨re and madame de montespan. it is certainly true that in the case of philip augustus of france and henry viii of england the pope did protect injured wives; but both these monarchs were questioning the vatican's autocracy. the matrimonial relations of john of england, philip's contemporary, were more corrupt than those of the french king; but, while the pope chastised john for his defiance of his political autonomy, he did not excommunicate him on any ground of morality. the statement of cardinal gibbons is not entirely in accordance with history; he does not take all facts into consideration, as is also true of his complacent assumption that outside of the roman church no economic forces and no individuals have had any effect in elevating the moral and economic status of women. questions such as those of inheritance belong properly to civil law; but the canon law claimed to be heard in any case into which any spiritual interest could be foisted. thus in the year 1199 innocent iii enacted that children of heretics be deprived of all their offending parents' goods "since in many cases even according to divine decree children are punished in this world on account of their parents."[392] [sidenote: general attitude towards women at the present day] the attitude of the roman catholic church towards women's rights at the present day is practically the same as it has been for eighteen centuries. it still insists on the subjection of the woman to the man, and it is bitterly hostile to woman suffrage. this position is so well illustrated by an article of the rev. david barry in the roman catholic paper, the dublin _irish ecclesiastical review_, that i cannot do better than quote some of it. "it seems plain enough," he says, "that allowing women the right of suffrage is incompatible with the high catholic ideal of the unity of domestic life. even those who do not hold the high and rigid ideal of the unity of the family that the catholic church clings to must recognise some authority in the family, as in every other society. is this authority the conjoint privilege of husband and wife? if so, which of them is to yield, if a difference of opinion arises? surely the most uncompromising suffragette must admit that the wife ought to give way in such a case. that is to say, every one will admit that the wife's domestic authority is subordinate to that of her husband. but is she to be accorded an autonomy in outside affairs that is denied her in the home? her authority is subject to her husband's in domestic matters--her special sphere; is it to be considered co-ordinate with his in regulating the affairs of the state? furthermore, there is an argument that applies universally, even in the case of those women who are not subject to the care and protection of a husband, and even, i do not hesitate to say, where the matters to be decided on would come specially within their cognisance, and where their judgment would, therefore, be more reliable than that of men. it is this, that in the noise and turmoil of party politics, or in the narrow, but rancorous arena of local factions, it must needs fare ill with what may be called the passive virtues of humility, patience, meekness, forbearance, and self-repression. these are looked on by the church as the special prerogative and endowment of the female soul ... but these virtues would soon become sullied and tarnished in the dust and turmoil of a contested election; and their absence would soon be disagreeably in evidence in the character of women, who are, at the same time, almost constitutionally debarred from preeminence in the more robust virtues for which the soul of man is specially adapted." cardinal gibbons, in a letter to the national league for the civic education of women--an anti-suffrage organisation--said that "woman suffrage, if realised, would be the death-blow of domestic life and happiness" (nov. 2, 1909). rev. william humphrey, s.j., in his _christian marriage_, chap. 16, remarks that woman is "the subordinate equal of man"--whatever that means. a few roman catholic prelates, like cardinal moran, have advocated equal suffrage, but they are in the minority. the pope has not yet definitely stated the position of the church; individual catholics are free to take any side they wish, as it is not a matter of faith; but the tendency of roman catholicism is against votes for women. sources i. corpus iuris canonici: recognovit aemilius friedberg. lipsiae (tauchnitz) pars prior, 1879. pars secunda, 1881. ii. sacrosanctum concilium tridentinum, additis declarationibus cardinalium, concilii interpretum, ex ultima recognitione joannis gallemart, etc. coloniae agrippinae, apud franciscum metternich, bibliopolam. mdccxxvii. iii. the catholic encyclopedia. new york, robert appleton company. (published with the _imprimatur_ of archbishop parley.) iv. various articles by catholic prelates, due references to which are given as they occur. notes: [366] augustine quoted by gratian, _causa_, 33, _quaest_. 5, chapters 12-16--friedberg, i, pp. 1254, 1255. ambrose and jerome on the same matter, ibid., _c_. 15 and 17, friedberg, i, p. 1255. gratian, _causa_ 30, _quaest_. 5, _c_. 7--friedberg, i, p. 1106: feminae dum maritantur, ideo velantur, ut noverint se semper viris suis subditas esse et humiles. [367] gratian, _distinctio_, 30, _c_. 2--friedberg, i, p. 107: quecumque mulier, religioni iudicans convenire, comam sibi amputaverit quam deus ad velamen eius et ad memoriam subiectionis illi dedit, tanquam resolvens ius subiectionis, anathema sit. cf. gratian, _causa_, 15, _quaest_. 3--friedberg, i, p. 750. [368] gratian, _dist_., 30, _c_. 6, friedberg, i, p. 108. see also _deuteronomy_ xxii, 5. [369] gratian, _dist_., 23, _c_. 29--friedberg, i, p. 86: mulier, quamvis docta et sancta, viros in conventu docere non praesumat. [370] id., _causa_, 15, _quaest_. 3--friedberg, i, p. 750. [371] id., _causa_, 20, _quaest_. 1, _c_. 2--friedberg, i, pp. 843-844, quoting gregory to augustine, the bishop of the angles: addidistis adhuc, quod si pater vel mater filium filiamve intra septa monasterii in infantiae annis sub regulari tradiderunt disciplina, utrum liceat eis, postquam ad pubertatis inoleverint annos, egredi, et matrimonio copulari. hoe omnino devitamus, quia nefas est ut oblatis a parentibus deo filiis voluptatis frena relaxentur. id., _c_. 4--fried., i, p. 844: quoting isidore--quicumque a parentibus propriis in monasterio fuerit delegatus, noverit se ibi perpetuo mansurum. nam anna samuel puerum suum natum et ablactatum deo pietate obtulit. id., _c_. 7--fried., i, pp. 844-845. [372] gratian, _dist_., 27, _c_. 4 et 9, and _dist_., 28, _c_. 12--friedberg, i, pp. 99 and 104. id., _causa_, 27, _quaest_. 1, _c_. 1 and 7--friedberg, i, pp. 1047 and 1o50. [373] gratian, _causa_, 20, _quaest_. 2, _c_. 2--friedberg, i, pp. 847-848. [374] cf. council of trent, session 24, "on the sacrament of matrimony," _canon_ 6: "if anyone shall say that matrimony contracted but not consummated is not dissolved by the solemn profession of religion by one of the parties married: let him be anathema." gratian, _causa_, 27, _quaest_. ii, _c_. 28--fried., i, p. 1071. id., _c_. 46, 47, 50, 51--fried., i, pp. 1076, 1077, 1078. [375] gratian, _causa_, 30, _quaest_. 2--fried., i, p. 1100: ubi non est consensus utriusque, non est coniugium. ergo qui pueris dant puellas in cunabulis et e converso, nihil faciunt, nisi uterque puerorum postquam venerit ad tempus discretionis consentiat, etiamsi pater et mater hoc fecerint et voluerint. id. _causa_, 31, _quaest_. 2--fried., i, 1112-1114: sine libera voluntate nulla est copulanda alicui. [376] gratian, _causa_, 30, _quaest_. 5, _c_. 6--friedberg, i, p. 1106: nullum sine dote fiat coniugium; iuxta possibilitatem fiat dos, nee sine publicis nuptiis quisquam nubere vel uxorem ducere praesumat. [377] gratian, _causa_, 30, _quaest_. 5, _c_. 4--friedberg, i, p. 1105. [378] gratian, _causa_, 30, _quaest_. 5, _c_. 7--friedberg, i, p. 1106. [379] id., _c_. 1--friedberg, i, p. 1104. [380] id., _c_. 8--friedberg, i, p. 1107. [381] gratian, _causa_, 30, _quaest_. 5, _c_. 9--friedberg, i, p. 1107. [382] gratian, _causa, 28, _quaest_. i, _c_. 17--friedberg, i, p. 1089: illorum vero coniugia, qui contemptis omnibus illis solempnitatibus solo affectu aliquam sibi in coniugem copulant, huiuscemodi coniugium non legitimum, sed ratum tantummodo esse creditur. [383] sessio xxiv, cap. i--de reformatione matrimonii. [384] see gratian, _dist_., v, _c_. 4--friedberg, i, p. 8, e.g., ... ita ut morte lex sacra feriat, si quis vir ad menstruam mulierem accedat. [385] gratian, _dist_., 31, _c_. 11--friedberg, i, p. 114. [386] gratian, _causa_, 27, _quaest_. 2, _c_. 18-22, and 24-26--friedberg i, pp. 1067-1070. [387] gratian, _dist_., 34, c. 4--friedberg, i, p. 126. id., _causa_, 29, _quaest_. 1--friedberg, i, p. 1092. id., _causa_, 29, _quaest_. 2, c. 2. [388] id., _causa_, 29, _quaest_. 2, c. 1 and 8. [389] "divorce," by james cardinal gibbons, in the _century_, may, 1909. [390] for this and what immediately follows see _session_ 24 of the council of trent "on the sacrament of matrimony" and also the catholic encyclopedia under "divorce." [391] gratian, _causa_ 28, _quaest_. i, c. 5--friedberg, i, pp. 1080-1081. licite dimittitur uxor que virum suum cogere querit ad malum. idolatria, quam secuntur infideles, et quelibet noxia superstitio fornicatio est. dominus autem permisit causa fornicationis uxorem dimitti. sed quia dimisit et non iussit, dedit apostolo locum monendi, ut qui voluerit non dimittat uxorem infidelem, quo sic fortassis possit fidelis fieri. si infidelitas fornicatio est, et idolatria infidelitas, et avaritia idolatria, non est dubitandum et avaritiam fornicationem esse. quis ergo iam quamlibet illicitam concupiscentiam potest recte a fornicationis genere separate, si avaritia fornicatio est? [392] friedberg, ii, pp. 782 and 783: quum enim secundum legitimas sanctiones, etc. lea, in his _history of confession and indulgences_, ii, p. 87, quotes zanchini, _tract. de haeret., cap. 33_, to the effect that goods of a heretic were confiscated and disabilities inflicted on two generations of descendants. chapter vii history of women's rights in england since i have now given a brief summary of the canon law, which until the reformation marked the general principles that guided the laws of all europe on the subject of women, i propose next to consider more particularly the history of women's rights in england; for the institutions of england, being the basis of our own, will necessarily be more pertinent to us than those of continental countries, to which i shall not devote more than a passing comment here and there. my inquiry will naturally fall into certain well-defined parts. the status of the unmarried woman is different from that of her married sister and will, accordingly, demand separate consideration. the rights of women, again, are to be viewed both from the legal and the social standpoint. their legal rights include those of a private nature, such as the disposal of property, and public rights, such as suffrage, sitting on a jury, or holding office. under social rights are included the right to an education, to earn a living, and the like. let us glance first at the history of the legal rights of single women. [sidenote: single women: pollock and maitland i, pp. 482-485.] from very early times the law has continued to put the single woman of mature age on practically a par with men so far as private single rights are concerned. she could hold land, make a will or contract, could sue and be sued, all of her own initiative; she needed no guardian. she could herself, if a widow, be guardian of her own children. [sidenote: pollock and maitland, ii, 260-313. blackstone, ii, ch. 13.] in the case of inheritance, however, women have to within extremely recent times been treated less generously than men. the male sex has been preferred in an inheritance; males excluded females of equal degree; or, in the words of blackstone: "in collateral inheritances the male stock shall be preferred to the female; that is, kindred derived from the blood of the male ancestors, however remote, shall be admitted before those from the blood of the female, however near; unless where the lands have, in fact, descended from a female. thus the relations on the father's side are admitted _in infinitum_ before those on the mother's side are admitted at all." blackstone justly remarks that this harsh enactment of the laws of england was quite unknown to the roman law "wherein brethren and sisters were allowed to succeed to equal portions of the inheritance." as an example, suppose we look for the heir of john stiles, deceased. the order of succession would be: i. the eldest son, matthew stiles, or his issue. ii. if his line is extinct, then gilbert stiles and the other sons, respectively, in order of birth, or their issue. iii. in default of these, all the daughters together, margarite and charlotte stiles, or their issue. iv. on the failure of the descendants of john stiles himself, the issue of geoffrey and lucy stiles, his parents, is called in, viz.: first, francis stiles, the eldest brother of the whole blood, or his issue. v. then oliver stiles, and the other whole brothers, respectively, in order of birth, or their issue. vi. then the sisters of the whole blood all together, bridget and alice stiles, or their issue. and so on. it will be noted that females of equal degree inherited together; and that a daughter excluded a brother of the dead man. men themselves, if younger sons, have suffered what seems to us a grave injustice in the prevalence of the right of primogeniture, whereby, if there are two or more males in equal degree, the eldest only can inherit. this law might work for the benefit of certain females; thus, the daughter, granddaughter, or great-granddaughter of an eldest son will succeed before the younger son. to public rights, such as sitting on a jury[393] or holding offices of state, women never were admitted; that is a question that has become prominent only in the twentieth century and will demand consideration in its proper place. [sidenote: power of parents.] unlike the roman law, english law allows parents to disinherit children completely, if they so desire, without being under any compulsion to leave them a part of their goods. as to legal power over children, the mother, as such, is entitled to none, says blackstone,[394] but only to reverence and respect. now, however, by the statute 2 and 3 vict., c. 54, commonly called _talfourd's act_, an order may be made on petition to the court of chancery giving mothers access to their children and, if such children are within the age of seven years, for delivery of them to their mother until they attain that age. but no woman who has been convicted of adultery is entitled to the benefit of the act. the father has legal power up to the time when his children come of age; then it ceases. until that time, his consent is necessary to a valid marriage; he may receive the profit of a child's estate, but only as guardian or trustee, and must render an account when the child attains his majority; and he may have the benefit of his children's labour while they live with him. [sidenote: husband and wife. pollock and maitland, ii, 399-436. blackstone, i, ch 15. bryce, pp. 818-830.] we are ready now to observe the status of women in marriage. the question of their legal rights in this relation offers the most illuminating insight into their conditions in the various epochs of history. matrimony is a state over which the church has always asserted special jurisdiction. by the middle of the twelfth century it was law in england that to it belonged this prerogative. the ecclesiastical court, for example, pronounced in a given case whether there had been a valid marriage or not; the temporal court took this decision as one of the bases for determining a matter of inheritance, whether a woman was entitled to dower, and the like. the general precepts laid down by canon law in the case of a wife have already been noted. these rules need now to be supplemented by an account of the position of women in marriage under the common law. under the older common law the husband was very much lord of all he surveyed and even more. an old enactment thus describes a husband's duty[395]: "he shall treat and _govern_ the aforesaid a well and decently, and shall not inflict nor cause to be inflicted any injury upon the aforesaid a except in so far as he may lawfully and reasonably do so in accordance with _the right of a husband to correct and chastise his wife_." blackstone, who wrote in 1763, has this to say on the husband's power to chastise his wife: "the husband also, by the old law, might give his wife moderate correction. for, as he is to answer for her misbehaviour, the law thought it reasonable to intrust him with this power of restraining her, by domestic chastisement, in the same moderation that a man is allowed to correct his apprentices or children, for whom the master or parent is also liable in some cases to answer. but this power of correction was confined within reasonable bounds, and the husband was prohibited from using any violence to his wife _aliter quam ad, virum, ex causa regiminis et castigationis uxoris suae, licite et rationabiliter pertinet_.[396] the civil law gave the husband the same, or a larger, authority over his wife; allowing him for some misdemeanours _flagellis et fustibus acriter verberare uxorem_ [to give his wife a severe beating with whips and clubs]; for others, only _modicam castigationem adhibere_ [to apply moderate correction]. but with us in the politer reign of charles the second, this power of correction began to be doubted; and a wife may now have security of the peace against her husband, or, in return, a husband against his wife. yet the lower rank of people, who were always fond of the old common law, still claim and exert their ancient privilege; and the courts of law will still permit a husband to restrain a wife of her liberty, in case of any gross misbehaviour." doubtless what mr. weller, sr., describes as the "amiable weakness" of wife-beating was not necessarily confined to the "lower rank." for instance, some of the courtly gentlemen of the reign of queen anne were probably not averse to exercising their old-time prerogative. says sir richard steele (_spectator_, 479): "i can not deny but there are perverse jades that fall to men's lots, with whom it requires more than common proficiency in philosophy to be able to live. when these are joined to men of warm spirits, without temper or learning, they are frequently corrected with stripes; but one of our famous lawyers is of opinion, that this ought to be used sparingly." the law was, indeed, even worse than might appear from the words of blackstone. the wife who feared unreasonable violence could, to be sure, bind her husband to keep the peace; but she had no action against him. a husband who killed his wife was guilty of murder, but the wife who slew her husband was adjudged guilty of petty treason; and whereas the man would be merely drawn and hanged, the woman, until the reign of george iii, was drawn and burnt alive.[397] the right of a husband to restrain a wife's liberty may not be said to have become completely obsolete until the case of _reg. v. jackson in 1891_.[398] wife-beating is still a flagrantly common offence in england. [sidenote: wife's property in marriage.] turning now to the question of the wife's property in marriage, we shall be forced to believe that blackstone was an optimist of unusual magnitude when he wrote that the female sex was "so great a favourite of the laws of england." not to weary the reader by minute details, i cannot do better than give messrs. pollock and maitland's excellent summary of the final shape taken by the common law--a glaring piece of injustice, worthy of careful reading, and in complete accord with apostolic injunctions: "i. in the lands of which the wife is tenant in fee, whether they belonged to her at the date of the marriage or came to her during the marriage, the husband has an estate which will endure during the marriage, and this he can alienate without her concurrence. if a child is born of the marriage, thenceforth the husband as 'tenant by courtesy' has an estate which will endure for the whole of his life, and this he can alienate without the wife's concurrence. the husband by himself has no greater power of alienation than is here stated; he cannot confer an estate which will endure after the end of the marriage or (as the case may be) after his own death. the wife has during the marriage no power to alienate her land without her husband's concurrence. the only process by which the fee can be alienated is a _fine_ to which both husband and wife are parties and to which she gives her assent after a separate examination. "ii. a widow is entitled to enjoy for her life under the name of dower one third of any land of which the husband was seised in fee at any time during the marriage. the result of this is that during the marriage the husband cannot alienate his own land so as to bar his wife's right of dower, unless this is done with her concurrence, and her concurrence is ineffectual unless the conveyance is made by _fine_." [this inconvenience for an unscrupulous husband was evaded in modern conveyancy by a device of extreme ingenuity finally perfected only in the eighteenth century. professor james bryce remarks (p. 820): "as this right (i.e., the right of dower) interfered with the husband's power of freely disposing of his own land, the lawyers at once set about to find means of evading it, and found these partly in legal processes by which the wife, her consent being ascertained by the courts, parted with her right, partly by an ingenious device whereby lands could be conveyed to a husband without the right of dower attaching to them, partly by giving the wife a so-called jointure which barred her claim."] "iii. our law institutes no community, even of movables, between husband and wife. whatever movables the wife has at the date of the marriage become the husband's, and the husband is entitled to take possession of and thereby to make his own whatever movables she becomes entitled to during the marriage, and without her concurrence he can sue for all debts that are due her. on his death, however, she becomes entitled to all movables and debts that are outstanding, or (as the phrase goes) have not been 'reduced into possession.' what the husband gets possession of is simply his; he can freely dispose of it _inter vivos_ or by will. in the main, for this purpose as for other purposes, a 'term of years' is treated as a chattel, but under an exceptional rule the husband, though he can alienate his wife's 'chattel real' _inter vivos_, cannot dispose of it by his will. if he has not alienated it _inter vivos_, it will be hers if she survives him. if he survives her, he is entitled to her 'chattels real' and is also entitled to be made the administrator of her estate. in that capacity he has a right to whatever movables or debts have not yet been 'reduced into possession' and, when the debts have been paid, he keeps these goods as his own. if she dies in his lifetime, she can have no other intestate successor. without his consent she can make no will, and any consent that he may have given is revocable at any time before the will is proved. "iv. our common law--but we have seen that this rule is not very old--assured no share of the husband's personality to the widow. he can, even by his will, give all of it away from her except her necessary clothes, and with that exception his creditors can take all of it. a further exception, of which there is not much to be read, is made of jewels, trinkets, and ornaments of the person, under the name of paraphernalia. the husband may sell or give these away in his lifetime, and even after his death they may be taken for his debts; but he cannot give them away by will. if the husband dies during the wife's life and dies intestate she is entitled to a third, or, if there be no living descendant of the husband, to one half of his personality [but see the note of bryce, above]. but this is a case of pure intestate succession; she only has a share of what is left after payment of her husband's debts. "v. during the marriage the husband is in effect liable to the whole extent of his property for debts incurred or wrongs committed by his wife before the marriage, also for wrongs committed during the marriage. the action is against him and her as co-defendants. if the marriage is dissolved by his death, she is liable, his estate is not. if the marriage is dissolved by her death, he is liable as her administrator, but only to the extent of the property which he takes in that character." [mr. ashton, in his very interesting book, p. 31, quotes a peculiar note from a parish register in the reign of queen anne to this effect: "john bridmore and anne sellwood, both of chiltern all saints, were married october 17, 1714. the aforesaid anne sellwood was married in her smock, without any clothes or headgier on." "this is not uncommon," remarks mr. ashton, "the object being, according to a vulgar error, to exempt the husband from the payment of any debts his wife may have contracted in her ante-nuptial condition. this error seems to have been founded on a misconception of the law, as it is laid down 'the husband is liable for the wife's debts, because he acquires an absolute interest in the personal estate of his wife.' an unlearned person from this might conclude, and not unreasonably, that if his wife had no estate whatever he could not incur any liability."] "vi. during the marriage the wife cannot contract on her own behalf. she can contract as her husband's agent and has a certain power of pledging his credit in the purchase of necessaries. at the end of the middle ages it is very doubtful how far this power is to be explained by an 'implied agency.' the tendency of more recent times has been to allow her no power that cannot be thus explained, except in the exceptional case of desertion." a perusal of these laws shows that they are immensely inferior to the roman law, which not only gave the wife full control of her property, but protected her from coercion and bullying on the part of the husband. the amendment of these injustices has been very recent indeed. successive statutes in 1870, 1874, and 1882[399] finally abrogated the law which gave the husband full ownership of his wife's property by the mere act of marriage. beginning with the year 1857, too, enlightenment in england had progressed to such a remarkable degree that certain acts were passed forbidding a husband to seize his wife's earnings and neglect her[400]; and she was actually allowed to keep her own wages after the desertion of her lord. before that time he might desert his wife repeatedly, and return from time to time to take away her earnings and sell everything she had acquired. an act in 1886 (_49 and 50 vict., c. 52_) gave magistrates the power to order a husband to pay his wife a weekly sum, not exceeding two pounds, for her support and that of the children if it appeared to the magistrates that the deserting husband had the means of maintaining her, but was unwilling to do so. still, the husband can at any time terminate his desertion and force his wife to take him back on penalty of losing all rights to such maintenance. there was frantic opposition to all of these revolutionary enactments and many prophets arose crying woe; but the acts finally passed and england still lives. [sidenote: divorce. authorities as above; and howard, ii, 3-117.] until the reformation divorce was regulated by the canon law in accordance with the principles which i have explained. after the reformation the matter at once assumed a different aspect because all protestants agreed in denying that marriage is a sacrament. scotland in this as in other respects has been more liberal than england; as early as 1573 desertion as well as adultery had become grounds for divorce. but in england the force of the canon law continued. in blackstone's day there were still, as under the canon law, only two kinds of separation. complete dissolution of the marriage tie (_a vinculo matrimonii_) took place only on a declaration of the ecclesiastical court that on account of some canonical impediment, like consanguinity, the marriage was null and void from the beginning. separation "from bed and board" (_a mensa et thoro_) simply gave the parties permission no longer to live together and was allowed for adultery or some other grave offences, like intolerable cruelty or a chronic disease. however, some time before blackstone's day it had become the habit to get a dissolution of marriage _a vinculo matrimonii_ for adultery by act of parliament; but the legal process was so tedious, minute, and expensive that only the very rich could afford the luxury.[401] in the case of a separation _a mensa et thoro_ alimony was allowed the wife for her support out of her husband's estate at the discretion of the ecclesiastical judges. the initiative in divorce by act of parliament was usually taken by the husband; not until 1801 did a woman have the temerity so to assert her rights. the fact is, ever since the dawn of history society has, with its usual double standard of morality for men and women, insisted that while the husband must never tolerate infidelity on the part of the wife, the wife should bear with meekness the adulteries of her husband. plutarch in his _conjugal precepts_ so advises a wife; and this pious frame of mind has continued down the centuries to the present day. devout old jeremy taylor in his _holy living_--a book which is read by few, but praised by many--thus counsels the suffering wife[402]: "but if, after all the fair deportments and innocent chaste compliances, the husband be morose and ungentle, let the wife discourse thus: 'if, while i do my duty, my husband neglects me, what will he do if i neglect him?' and if she thinks to be separated by reason of her husband's unchaste life, let her consider that the man will be incurably ruined, and her rivals could wish nothing more than that they might possess him alone." dr. samuel johnson ably seconded the holy jeremy's advice by declaring that there is a boundless difference between the infidelity of the man and that of the woman. in the husband's case "the man imposes no bastards upon his wife." therefore, "wise married women don't trouble themselves about infidelity in their husbands."[403] until very recent times not only men but also women have been unanimous in counselling abject submission to and humble adoration of the husband. a single example out of hundreds will serve excellently as a pattern. in 1821 a "lady of distinction" writes to a "relation shortly after her marriage" as follows[404]: "the most perfect and implicit faith in the superiority of a husband's judgment, and the most absolute obedience to his desires, is not only the conduct that will insure the greatest success, but will give the most entire satisfaction. it will take from you a thousand cares, which would have answered to no purpose; it will relieve you from a weight of thought that would be very painful, and in no way profitable.... it has its origin in reason, in justice, in nature, and in the law of god.... i have told you how you may, and how people who are married do, get a likeness of countenance; and in that i have done it. you will understand me, that by often looking at your husband's face, by smiling on the occasions on which he does, by frowning on those things which make him frown, and by viewing all things in the light in which you perceive he does, you will acquire that likeness of countenance which it is an honour to possess, because it is a testimony of love.... when your temper and your thoughts are formed upon those of your husband, according to the plan which i have laid down, you will perceive that you have no will, no pleasure, but what is also his. this is the character the wife of prudence would be apt to assume; she would make herself the mirror, to show, unaltered, and without aggravation, diminution, or distortion, the thoughts, the sentiments, and the resolutions of her husband. she would have no particular design, no opinion, no thought, no passion, no approbation, no dislike, but what should be conformable to his own judgment ... i would have her judgment seem the reflecting mirror to his determination; and her form the shadow of his body, conforming itself to his several positions, and following it in all its movements ... i would not have you silent; nay, when trifles are the subject, talk as much as any of them; but distinguish when the discourse turns upon things of importance." it is not strange, therefore, that no woman protested publicly against a husband's infidelity until 1801. up to 1840 there were but three cases of a woman's taking the initiative in divorce, namely, in 1801, 1831, and 1840; and in each case the man's adultery was aggravated by other offences. in two other suits the lords rejected the petition of the wife, although the misconduct of the husband was clearly proved. but redress was still by the elaborate machinery of act of parliament and hence a luxury only for the wealthy until 1857, when a special court for divorce and matrimonial causes was established.[405] nevertheless, the law as it stands to-day is not of a character to excite admiration or to prove the existence of the proverbial "british fair play." a husband can obtain a divorce upon proof of his wife's infidelity; but the wife can get it only by proving, in addition to the husband's adultery, either that it was aggravated by bigamy or incest or that it was accompanied by cruelty or by two years' desertion. misconduct by the husband bars him from obtaining a divorce. the court is empowered to regulate at its discretion the property rights of divorced people and the custody of the children.[406] all attempts have failed to make the law recognise that the misconduct of the husband shall be regarded equally as culpable as the wife's. [sidenote: rape and the age of legal consent.] we may pause a moment to glance at the provisions made by the criminal law for protecting women. the offence that most closely touches women is rape. the punishment of this in blackstone's day was death[407]; but in the next century the death penalty was repealed and transportation for life substituted.[408] the saddest blot on a presumably christian civilisation connected with this matter is the so-called "age of legal consent." under the older common law this was _ten_ or _twelve;_ in 1885 it was _thirteen_, at which period a girl was supposed to be at an age to know what she was doing. but in the year 1885 mr. stead told the london public very plainly those hideous truths about crimes against young girls which everybody knew very well had been going on for centuries, but which no one ever before had dared to assert. the result was that parliament raised the "age of legal consent" to sixteen, where it now stands.[409] the idea that any girl of this age is sufficiently mature to know what she is doing by consenting to the lust of scoundrels is a fine commentary on the acuteness of the legal intellect and the high moral convictions of legislators. [sidenote: women's rights to an education.] the rights of women to a higher education is distinctly a movement of the last half of the nineteenth century. it is true that throughout history there are many examples of remarkably well-educated women--lady jane grey, for example, or queen elizabeth, or olympia morata, in italy, she who in the golden period of the renaissance became a professor at sixteen and wrote dialogues in greek after the manner of plato. but on looking closely into these instances we shall find first that these ladies were of noble rank and only thanks to their lofty position had access to knowledge; and secondly that they stand out as isolated cases--the great masses of women never dreamed beyond the traditional kleider, kã¼che, kinder, and kirche. that an elementary education, consisting of reading, writing, and simple arithmetic, was offered them freely by hospital, monastery, and the like schools even as early as chaucer--this we know; nevertheless, beyond that they were not supposed to aspire. so very recently, indeed, have women secured the rights to a higher education that many thousands to-day can easily recall the intensely bitter attacks which were directed against colleges like wellesley and bryn mawr in their inception. until the middle of the nineteenth century the whole education--what there was of it--of a girl was arranged primarily with a view to capture a husband and, once having him secure, to be his loving slave, to dwell with adoring rapture on his superior learning, and to be humbly grateful if her liege deigned from time to time to throw his spouse some scraps of knowledge which might be safely administered without danger of making her think for herself. these facts no one can well deny; but a few instances of prevalent opinion, in addition to those which i have already quoted, will afford the amusement of concrete examples. mrs. chapone, in the eighteenth century, advised her niece to avoid the study of classics and science lest she "excite envy in one sex and jealousy in the other." lady mary wortley montagu laments thus: "there is hardly a creature in the world more despicable and more liable to universal ridicule than a learned woman," and "folly is reckoned so much our proper sphere, we are sooner pardoned any excesses of that than the least pretensions to reading and good sense." pursuant to the prevailing sentiment on the education of women, the subjects which they studied and the books which they were allowed to read were carefully regulated. as to their reading, it was confined to romantic tales whereof the exceeding insipidity could not awaken any symptom of intelligence. lyly dedicated his _euphues_ to the "ladies and gentlewomen of england" and sidney's _arcadia_ owed its vast success to its female readers. the subjects studied followed the orthodox views. beginning with the reign of queen anne boarding-schools for girls became very numerous. at these schools "young gentlewomen" were "soberly educated" and "taught all sorts of learning fit for young gentlewomen." the "learning fit for young gentlewomen" comprised "the needle, dancing, and the french tongue; a little music on the harpsichord or spinet, to read, write, and cast accounts in a small way." dancing was the all-important study, since this was the surest route to their promised land, matrimony. the study of french consisted in learning parrot-like a modicum of that language pronounced according to the fancy of the speaker. as, however, the young beau probably did not know any more himself, the end justified the means. studies like history, when pursued, were taken in homoeopathic doses from small compendiums; and it was adequate to know that charlemagne lived somewhere in europe about a thousand or so years ago. yet even this was rather advanced work and exposed the woman to be damned by the report that she was educated. ability to cook was not despised and pastry schools were not uncommon. thus in the time of queen anne appears this: "to all young ladies: at edw. kidder's pastry school in little lincoln's inn fields are taught all sorts of pastry and cookery, dutch hollow works, and butter works," etc. at last in the first decades of the nineteenth century the civilised world began slowly to take some thought of women's higher education and to wake up to the fact that because a certain system has been in vogue since created man does not necessarily mean that it is the right one; a very heretical and revolutionary idea, which has always been and still is ably opposed by that great host of people who have steadily maintained that when men and women once begin to think for themselves society must inevitably run to ruin. in 1843 there was established a certain governesses' benevolent institution. this was in its inception a society to afford relief to governesses, i.e., women engaged in tutoring, who might be temporarily in straits, and to raise annuities for those who were past doing work. obviously this would suggest the question of what a competent governess was; and this in turn led to the demand for a diploma as a warrant of efficiency. that called attention to the extreme ignorance of the members of the profession; and it was soon felt that classes of instruction were needed. a sum of money was accordingly collected in 1846 and given the institution for that purpose. some eminent professors of king's college volunteered to lecture; and so, on a small scale to be sure, began what is now queen's college, the first college for women in england, incorporated by royal charter in 1853. in 1849 bedford college for women had been founded in london through the unselfish labours of mrs. reid; but it did not receive its charter until 1869. within a decade cheltenham, girton, newnham, and other colleges for women had arisen. eight of the ten men's universities of great britain now allow examinations and degrees to women also; oxford and cambridge do not. [sidenote: women in the professions.] since then women's right to any higher education which they may wish to embrace has been permanently assured. as early as 1868 edinburgh opened its courses in pharmacy to women. in 1895 there were already 264 duly qualified female physicians in great britain. in many schools they are allowed to study with men, as at the college of physicians and surgeons at edinburgh; there are four medical schools for women only. we find women now actively engaged in agriculture, apiculture, poultry-keeping, horticulture; in library work and indexing; in stenography; in all trades and professions. the year 1893 witnessed the first appointment of women as factory inspectors, two being chosen that year in london and in glasgow. nottingham had chosen women as sanitary inspectors in 1892. thus in about two decades woman has advanced farther than in the combined ages which preceded. before these very modern movements we may say that the stage was the only profession which had offered them any opportunity of earning their living in a dignified way. it seems that a mrs. coleman, in 1656, was the first female to act on the stage in england; before that, all female parts had been taken by boys or young men. a mrs. sanderson played desdemona in 1660 at the clare market theatre. in 1661, as we may see from pepys' _diary_ (feb. 12, 1661), an actress was still a novelty; but within a few decades there were already many famous ones. [sidenote: woman suffrage in england] we have seen that now woman has obtained practically all rights on a par with men. there are still grave injustices, as in divorce; but the battle is substantially won. one right still remains for her to win, the right, namely, to vote, not merely on issues such as education--this privilege she has had for some time--but on all political questions; and connected with this is the right to hold political office. we may fittingly close this chapter by a review of the history of the agitation for woman suffrage. in the year 1797 charles fox remarked: "it has never been suggested in all the theories and projects of the most absurd speculation, that it would be advisable to extend the elective suffrage to the female sex." yet five years before mary wollstonecraft had published her _vindication of the rights of women_. presently the writings of harriet martineau upon political economy proved that women could really think on politics. we may say that the general public first began to think seriously on the matter after the epoch-making reform act of 1832. this celebrated measure admitted â£10 householders to the right to vote and carefully excluded females; yet it marked a new era in the awakening of civic consciousness: women had taken active part in the attendant campaigns; and the very fact that "male persons" needed now to be so specifically designated in the bill, whereas hitherto "persons" and "freeholders" had been deemed sufficient, attests the recognition of a new factor in political life. in 1865 john stuart mill was elected to parliament. that able thinker had written on _the subjection of women_ and was ready to champion their rights. a petition was prepared under the direction of women like mrs. bodichon and miss davies; and in 1867 mill proposed in parliament that the word _man_ be omitted from the people's bill and _person_ substituted. the amendment was rejected, 196 to 83. nevertheless, the agitation was continued. the next year constitutional lawyers like mr. chisholm anstey decided that women might be legally entitled to vote; and 5000 of them applied to be registered. in a test case brought before the court of common pleas the verdict was adverse, on the ground that it was contrary to usage for women to vote. the fight went on. mr. jacob bright in 1870 introduced a "bill to remove the electoral disabilities of women" and lost. in 1884 mr. william woodall tried again; he lost also, largely through the efforts of gladstone; and the same statesman was instrumental in killing another bill in 1892, when mr. a.j. balfour urged its passage. at the present day women in england cannot vote on great questions of universal state policy nor can they hold great offices of state. yet their gains have been enormous, as i shall next demonstrate; and in this connection i shall also glance briefly at their vast strides in the colonies. in 1850 ontario gave all women school suffrage. in 1867 new south wales gave them municipal suffrage. in 1869 england granted municipal suffrage to single women and widows; victoria gave it to all women, married or single. in england in 1870 the education act, by which school boards were created, gave women the same rights as men, both as regards electing and being elected. in 1871 west australia gave them municipal suffrage; in 1878 new zealand gave school suffrage. in 1880 south australia gave municipal suffrage. in 1881 widows and single women obtained municipal suffrage in scotland and parliamentary suffrage on the isle of man. municipal suffrage was given by ontario and tasmania in 1884 and by new zealand and new brunswick in 1886; by nova scotia and manitoba in 1887. in 1888 england gave women county suffrage and british columbia and the north-west territory gave them municipal suffrage. in 1889 county suffrage was given the women of scotland and municipal suffrage to single women and widows in the province of quebec. in 1893 new zealand gave full suffrage. in 1894 parish and district suffrage was given in england to women married and single, with power to elect and to be elected to parish and district councils. in 1895 south australia gave full state suffrage to all women. in 1898 the women of ireland were given the right to vote for all officers except members of parliament. in 1900 west australia granted full state suffrage to all. in 1902 full national suffrage was given all the women in federated australia and full state suffrage to those of new south wales. in 1903 tasmania gave full state suffrage; in 1905 queensland did the same; in 1908 victoria followed. in 1907 england made women eligible as mayors, aldermen, and county and town councillors. in london, for example, at the present time women can vote for the 28 borough councils and 31 boards of guardians of the london city council; they can also be themselves elected to these; be members of the central unemployed body or of the 23 district committees, and can be co-opted to all other bodies, like the local pension committees. women can be aldermen of the council; and there is nothing to prevent one from holding even the office of chairman. at the present moment the cause of woman suffrage in england is being furthered chiefly by two organizations which differ in methods. the national union of women's suffrage societies has adopted the "constitutional" or peaceful policy; but the national women's social and political union is "militant" and coercive. sources i. the english statutes. published by authority during the various reigns. ii. studies in history and jurisprudence: by james bryce. oxford university press, 1901. pages 782-859 on "marriage and divorce." iii. history of english law: by frederick pollock and frederic maitland. 2 vols. cambridge university press, 1898--second edition. iv. commentaries on the laws of england: by sir william blackstone. with notes selected from the editions of archbold, christian, coleridge, etc., and additional notes by george sharswood, of the university of pennsylvania. 2 vols. philadelphia, 1860--childs and peterson, 602 arch street. v. a history of matrimonial institutions, chiefly in england and the united states: by george elliott howard. 4 vols. the university of chicago press, 1904. vi. social england: edited by h.d. traill. 6 vols. g.p. putnam's sons, 1901. vii. social life in the reign of queen anne, taken from original sources: by john ashton. london, chatto and windus, 1897. viii. the renaissance of girls' education in england: by alice zimmern. london, a.d. innes and co., 1898. ix. progress in women's education in the british empire: edited by the countess of warwick. being the report of the education section, victorian era exhibition, 1897. longmans, green, & co., 1898. x. current literature from the earliest times to the present day, references to which are noted as they occur. notes: [393] if a woman sentenced to execution declared she was pregnant, a jury of twelve matrons could be appointed on a writ _de venire inspiciendo_ to determine the truth of the matter; for she could not be executed if the infant was alive in the womb. the same jury determined the case of a widow who feigned herself with child in order to exclude the next heir and when she was suspected of trying to palm off a supposititious birth. but from all other jury duties women have always been excluded "on account of the weakness of the sex"--_propter defectum sexus_. [394] blackstone, i, ch. 16. [395] reg. brev. orig., f. 89: quod ipse praefatam a bene et honeste tractabit et gubernabit, ac damnum vel malum aliquod eidem a de corpore suo, aliter quam ad virum suum ex causa regiminis et castigationis uxoris suae licite et rationabiliter pertinet, non faciet nec fieri procurabit. [396] "except in so far as he may lawfully and reasonably do so in order to correct and chastise his wife." [397] the learned commentator christian adds a few more cases where formerly the criminal law was harshly prejudiced against women. thus: "by the common law, all women were denied the benefit of clergy; and till the 3 and 4 _w. and m_., c. 9 [william and mary] they received sentence of death and might have been executed for the first offence in simple larceny, bigamy, manslaughter, etc., however learned they were, merely because their sex precluded the possibility of their taking holy orders; though a man who could read was for the same crime subject only to burning in the hand and a few months' imprisonment." [398] i q.b. p. 671--in the court of appeal. [399] _married women's property act_, 45 and 46 v., c. 75--aug. 18, 1882. [400] note this incident, from the _westminister review_, october, 1856: "a lady whose husband had been unsuccessful in business established herself as a milliner in manchester. after some years of toil she realised sufficient for the family to live upon comfortably, the husband having done nothing meanwhile. they lived for a time in easy circumstances after she gave up business and then the husband died, _bequeathing all his wife's earnings to his own illegitimate children_. at the age of 62 she was compelled, in order to gain her bread, to return to business." [401] for a full account of the elaborate machinery see chitty's note to blackstone, vol. i, p. 441, of sharswood's edition. [402] _holy living, ch. 3, section i: rules for married persons._ [403] boswell, vii, 288. perhaps if the venerable samuel had had the statistics of venereal disease given by adulterous husbands to wives and children he might not have been so sure of his contention. [404] quoted by professor thomas in the _american magazine_, july, 1909. [405] see 20 and 21 v., c. 85--aug. 28. 1857. [406] see 7 edw., c. 12--aug. 9, 1907--matrimonial causes act, which also gives the court discretion in alimony. [407] blackstone, iv, ch. 15. [408] 4 _and_ 5 _v., c._ 56, _s._ 3. [409] the criminal law amendment act, 1885, 48 _and_ 49 _v. c._ 69, section 5: "any person who (1) unlawfully and carnally knows or attempts to have unlawful carnal knowledge of any girl being of or above the age of thirteen years and under the age of sixteen, or (2) unlawfully and carnally knows or attempts to have carnal knowledge of any female idiot or imbecile woman or girl under circumstances which do not amount to rape, but which prove that the offender knew at the time of the commission of the offence that the woman or girl was an idiot or imbecile, shall be guilty of a misdemeanour, and being convicted thereof shall be liable at the discretion of the court to be imprisoned for any term not exceeding two years, with or without hard labour." section 4: "any one who unlawfully and carnally knows any girl under the age of thirteen shall be guilty of felony, and being convicted thereof shall be liable to be kept in penal servitude for life." any one who merely attempts it can be imprisoned for any term not exceeding two years, with or without hard labour. chapter viii women's rights in the united states it has been my aim, in this short history of the growth of women's rights, to depict for the most part the strictly legal aspect of the matter; but from time to time i have interposed some typical illustration of public opinion, in order to bring into greater prominence the ferment that was going on or the misery which existed behind the scenes. a history of legal processes might otherwise, from the coldness of the laws, give few hints of the conflicts of human passion which combined to set those processes in motion. before i present the history of the progress of women's rights in the united states, i shall place before the reader some extracts which are typical and truly representative of the opposition which from the beginning of the agitation to the present day has voiced itself in all ranks of life. let the reader bear carefully in mind that from 1837 to the beginning of the twentieth century such abuse as that which i shall quote as typical was hurled from ten thousand throats of men and women unceasingly; that mrs. stanton, miss anthony, and mrs. gage were hissed, insulted, and offered physical violence by mobs in new york[410] and boston to an extent inconceivable in this age; and that the marvellously unselfish labour of such women as these whom i have mentioned and of men like wendell phillips is alone responsible for the improvement in the legal status of women, which i propose to trace in detail. some expressions of the popular attitude follow: [sidenote: examples of opposition to women's rights.] from a speech of the rev. knox-little at the church of st. clements in philadelphia in 1880: "god made himself to be born of a woman to sanctify the virtue of endurance; loving submission is an attribute of a woman; men are logical, but women, lacking this quality, have an intricacy of thought. there are those who think women can be taught logic; this is a mistake. they can never by any power of education arrive at the same mental status as that enjoyed by men, but they have a quickness of apprehension, which is usually called leaping at conclusions, that is astonishing. there, then, we have distinctive traits of a woman, namely, endurance, loving submission, and quickness of apprehension. wifehood is the crowning glory of a woman. in it she is bound for all time. to her husband she owes the duty of unqualified obedience. there is no crime which a man can commit which justifies his wife in leaving him or applying for that monstrous thing, divorce. it is her duty to subject herself to him always, and no crime that he can commit can justify her lack of obedience. if he be a bad or wicked man, she may gently remonstrate with him, but refuse him never. let divorce be anathema; curse it; curse this accursed thing, divorce; curse it, curse it! think of the blessedness of having children. i am the father of many children and there have been those who have ventured to pity me. 'keep your pity for yourself,' i have replied, 'they never cost me a single pang.' in this matter let woman exercise that endurance and loving submission which, with intricacy of thought, are their only characteristics." from the philadelphia _public ledger and daily transcript_, july 20, 1848: "our philadelphia ladies not only possess beauty, but they are celebrated for discretion, modesty, and unfeigned diffidence, as well as wit, vivacity, and good nature. who ever heard of a philadelphia lady setting up for a reformer or standing out for woman's rights, or assisting to _man_ the election grounds [_sic_], raise a regiment, command a legion, or address a jury? our ladies glow with a higher ambition. they soar to rule the hearts of their worshippers, and secure obedience by the sceptre of affection.... but all women are not as reasonable as ours of philadelphia. the boston ladies contend for the rights of women. the new york girls aspire to mount the rostrum, to do all the voting, and, we suppose, all the fighting, too.... our philadelphia girls object to fighting and holding office. they prefer the baby-jumper to the study of coke and lyttleton, and the ball-room to the palo alto battle. they object to having a george sand for president of the united states; a corinna for governor; a fanny wright for mayor; or a mrs. partington for postmaster.... women have enough influence over human affairs without being politicians.... a woman is nobody. a wife is everything. a pretty girl is equal to ten thousand men, and a mother is, next to god, all powerful.... the ladies of philadelphia, therefore, under the influence of the most 'sober second thoughts' are resolved to maintain their rights as wives, belles, virgins, and mothers, and not as women." from the "editor's table" of _harper's new monthly magazine_, november, 1853: "woman's rights, or the movement that goes under that name, may seem to some too trifling in itself and too much connected with ludicrous associations to be made the subject of serious arguments. if nothing else, however, should give it consequence, it would demand our earnest attention from its intimate connection with all the radical and infidel movements of the day. a strange affinity seems to bind them all together.... but not to dwell on this remarkable connection--the claim of 'woman's rights' presents not only the common radical notion which underlies the whole class, but also a peculiar enormity of its own; in some respects more boldly infidel, or defiant both of nature and revelation, than that which characterises any kindred measure. it is avowedly opposed to the most time-honoured proprieties of social life; it is opposed to nature; it is opposed to revelation.... this unblushing female socialism defies alike apostles and prophets. in this respect no kindred movement is so decidedly infidel, so rancorously and avowedly anti-biblical. "it is equally opposed to nature and the established order of society founded upon it. we do not intend to go into any physiological argument. there is one broad striking fact in the constitution of the human species which ought to set the question at rest for ever. this is the fact of maternity.... from this there arise, in the first place, physical impediments which, during the best part of the female life, are absolutely insurmountable, except at a sacrifice of almost everything that distinguishes the civilized human from the animal, or beastly, and savage state. as a secondary, yet inevitably resulting consequence, there come domestic and social hindrances which still more completely draw the line between the male and female duties.... every attempt to break through them, therefore, must be pronounced as unnatural as it is irreligious and profane.... the most serious importance of this modern 'woman's rights' doctrine is derived from its direct bearing upon the marriage institution. the blindest must see that such a change as is proposed in the relations and life of the sexes cannot leave either marriage or the family in their present state. it must vitally affect, and in time wholly sever, that oneness which has ever been at the foundation of the marriage idea, from the primitive declaration in genesis to the latest decision of the common law. this idea gone--and it is totally at war with the modern theory of 'woman's rights'--marriage is reduced to the nature of a contract simply.... that which has no higher sanction than the will of the contracting parties, must, of course, be at any time revocable by the same authority that first created it. that which makes no change in the personal relations, the personal rights, the personal duties, is not the holy marriage _union_, but the unholy _alliance_ of concubinage." in a speech of senator george g. vest, of missouri, in the united states senate, january 25, 1887, these: "i now propose to read from a pamphlet sent to me by a lady.... she says to her own sex: 'after all, men work for women; or, if they think they do not, it would leave them but sorry satisfaction to abandon them to such existence as they could arrange without us.' "oh, how true that is, how true!" in 1890 a bill was introduced in the new york senate to lower the "age of consent"--the age at which a girl may legally consent to sexual intercourse--from 16 to 14. it failed. in 1892 the brothel keepers tried again in the assembly. the bill was about to be carried by universal consent when the chairman of the judiciary committee, feeling the importance of the measure, called for the individual yeas and nays, in order that the constituents of the representatives might know how their legislators voted. the bill thereupon collapsed. in 1889 a motion was made in the kansas senate to lower the age of consent from 18 to _12_. but the public heard of it; protests flowed in; and under the pressure of these the law was allowed to remain as it was. such are some typical examples of the warfare of the opposition to all that pertains to advancing the status of women. as i review the progress of their rights, let the reader recollect that this opposition was always present, violent, loud, and often scurrilous. in tracing the history of women's rights in the united states my plan will be this: i shall first give a general review of the various movements connected with the subject; and i shall then lay before the reader a series of tables, wherein may be seen at a glance the status of women to-day in the various states. [sidenote: single women.] [sidenote: history of agitation for women's rights.] in our country, as in england, single women have at all times had practically the same legal rights as men; but by no means the same political, social, educational, or professional privileges; as will appear more conclusively later on. we may say that the history of the agitation for women's rights began with the visit of frances wright to the united states in 1820. frances wright was a scotchwoman, born at dundee in 1797, and early exhibited a keen intellect on all the subjects which concern political and social reform. for several years after 1820 she resided here and strove to make men and women think anew on old traditional beliefs--more particularly on theology, slavery, and the social degradation of women. the venomous denunciations of press and pulpit attested the success of her efforts. in 1832 lydia maria child published her _history of woman_, a rã©sumã© of the status of women; and this was followed by numerous works and articles, such as margaret fuller's, _the great lawsuit, or man vs. woman: woman vs. man_, and eliza farnham's _woman and her era_. various women lectured; such as ernestine l. rose--a polish woman, banished for asserting her liberty. the question of women's rights received a powerful impetus at this period from the vast number of women who were engaged in the anti-slavery agitation. any research into the validity of slavery perforce led the investigators to inquire into the justice of the enforced status of women; and the two causes were early united. women like angelina and sarah grimkã© and lucretia mott were pioneers in numerous anti-slavery conventions. but as soon as they dared to address meetings in which men were present, a tempest was precipitated; and in 1840, at the annual meeting of the anti-slavery association, the men refused to serve on any committee in which any woman had a part; although it had been largely the contributions of women which were sustaining the cause. affairs reached a climax in london, in 1840, at the world's anti-slavery convention. delegates from all anti-slavery organisations were invited to take part; and several american societies sent women to represent them. these ladies were promptly denied any share in the proceedings by the english members, thanks mainly to the opposition of the clergy, who recollected with pious satisfaction that st. paul permitted not a woman to teach. thereupon lucretia mott and elizabeth cady stanton determined to hold a women's rights convention as soon as they returned to america; and thus a world's anti-slavery convention begat an issue equally large. accordingly, the first women's rights convention was held at seneca falls, new york, july 19-20, 1848. it was organised by _divorced wives, childless women, and sour old maids_, the gallant newspapers declared; that is, by mrs. elizabeth cady stanton, mrs. lucretia mott, mrs. mcclintock, and other fearless women, who not only lived the purest and most unselfish of domestic lives, but brought up many children besides. great crowds attended. a _declaration of sentiments_ was moved and adopted; and as this exhibits the temper of the convention and illustrates the then prevailing status of women very clearly, i shall quote it: declaration of sentiments "when, in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one portion of the family of man to assume among the people of the earth a position different from that which they have hitherto occupied, but one to which the laws of nature and of nature's god entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to such a course. "we hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men and women are created equal; that they are endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness; that to secure these rights governments are instituted, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed. whenever any form of government becomes destructive of those ends, it is the right of those who suffer from it to refuse allegiance to it, and to insist upon the institution of a new government, laying its foundation on such principles, and organising its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness. prudence, indeed, will dictate that governments long established should not be changed for light or transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shown that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they were accustomed. but when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same object, evinces a design to reduce them under absolute despotism, it is their duty to throw off such government, and to provide new guards for their future security. such has been the patient sufferance of the women under this government, and such is now the necessity which constrains them to demand the equal station to which they are entitled. "the history of mankind is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations on the part of man toward woman, having in direct object the establishment of an absolute tyranny over her. to prove this, let facts be submitted to a candid world. "he has never permitted her to exercise her inalienable right to the elective franchise. "he has compelled her to submit to laws, in the formation of which she had no voice. "he has withheld from her rights which are given to the most ignorant and degraded men--both natives and foreigners. "having deprived her of this first right of a citizen, the elective franchise, thereby leaving her without representation in the halls of legislation, he has oppressed her on all sides. "he has made her, if married, in the eye of the law, civilly dead. "he has taken from her all right in property, even to the wages she earns. "he has made her, morally, an irresponsible being, as she can commit many crimes with impunity, provided they be done in the presence of her husband. in the covenant of marriage, she is compelled to promise obedience to her husband, he becoming, to all intents and purposes, her master--the law giving him power to deprive her of her liberty, and to administer chastisement. "he has so framed the laws of divorce, as to what shall be the proper causes, and, in case of separation, to whom the guardianship of the children shall be given, as to be wholly regardless of the happiness of women--the law in all cases going upon a false supposition of the supremacy of man, and giving all power into his hands. "after depriving her of all rights as a married woman, if single, and the owner of property, he has taxed her to support a government which recognises her only when her property can be made profitable to it. "he has monopolised nearly all the profitable employments, and from those she is permitted to follow she receives but a scanty remuneration. he closes against her all the avenues of wealth and distinction which he considers most honourable to himself. as a teacher of theology, medicine, or law, she is not known. "he has denied her the facilities for obtaining a thorough education, all colleges being closed against her. "he allows her in church, as well as state, but a subordinate position, claiming apostolic authority for her exclusion from the ministry, and, with some exceptions, from any public participation in the affairs of the church. "he has created a false public sentiment by giving to the world a different code of morals for men and women, by which moral delinquencies which exclude women from society are not only tolerated, but deemed of little account in man. "he has usurped the prerogative of jehovah himself, claiming it as his right to assign for her a sphere of action, when that belongs to her conscience and to her god. "he has endeavoured, in every way that he could, to destroy her confidence in her own powers, to lessen her self-respect, and to make her willing to lead a dependent and abject life. "now, in view of this entire disfranchisement of one half the people of this country, their social and religious degradation; in view of the unjust laws above mentioned, and because women do feel themselves aggrieved, oppressed, and fraudulently deprived of their most sacred rights, we insist that they have immediate admission to all the rights and privileges which belong to them as citizens of the united states. "in entering upon the great work before us, we anticipate no small amount of misconception, misrepresentation, and ridicule; but we shall use every instrumentality within our power to effect our object. we shall employ agents, circulate tracts, petition the state and national legislatures, and endeavour to enlist the pulpit and press in our behalf. we hope this convention will be followed by a series of conventions embracing every part of the country." such was the defiance of the women's rights convention in 1848; other conventions were held, as at rochester, in 1853, and at albany in 1854; the movement extended quickly to other states and touched the quick of public opinion. it bore its first good fruits in new york in 1848, when the property bill was passed. this law, amended in 1860, and entitled "an act concerning the rights and liabilities of husband and wife" (march 20, 1860), emancipated completely the wife, gave her full control of her own property, allowed her to engage in all civil contracts or business on her own responsibility, rendered her joint guardian of her children with her husband, and granted both husband and wife a one-third share of one another's property in case of the decease of either partner. thus new york became the pioneer. the movement spread, as i have mentioned, with amazing rapidity; but it was not so uniformly successful. conventions were held, for example, in ohio, at salem, april 19-20, 1850; at akron, may 28-29, 1851; at massillon on may 27, 1852. nevertheless, in 1857, the legislature of ohio passed a bill enacting that no married man should dispose of any personal property without having first obtained the consent of his wife; the wife was empowered, in case of a violation of this law, to commence a civil suit in her own name for the recovery of the property; and any married woman whose husband deserted her or neglected to provide for his family was to be entitled to his wages and to those of her minor children. a bill to extend suffrage to women was defeated, by a vote of 44 to 44; the petition praying for its enactment had received 10,000 signatures. the course of events as it has been described in new york and ohio, is practically the same in the case of the other states. the civil war relegated these issues to a secondary place; but during that momentous conflict the heroism of clara barton on the battlefield and of thousands of women like her paved the way for a reassertion of the rights of woman in the light of her unquestioned exertions and unselfish labours for her country in its crisis. after the war, attention began to be concentrated more on the right to _vote_. by the fourteenth amendment the franchise was at once given to negroes; but the insertion of the word _male_ effectually barred any national recognition of woman's right to vote. a vigorous effort was made by the suffrage leaders to have _male_ stricken from the amendment; but the effort was futile. legislators thought that the black man's vote ought to be secured first; as the _new york tribune_ (dec. 12, 1866) puts it snugly: "we want to see the ballot put in the hands of the black without one day's delay added to the long postponement of his just claim. when that is done, we shall be ready to take up the next question" (i.e., woman's rights). the first women's rights convention after the civil war had been held in new york city, may 10, 1866, and had presented an address to congress. such was the dauntless courage of the leaders, that mrs. stanton offered herself as a candidate for congress at the november elections, in order to test the constitutional rights of a woman to run for office. she received twenty-four votes. six years later, on november i, 1872, miss susan b. anthony did a far more audacious thing. she went to the polls and asked to be registered. the two republican members of the board were won over by her exposition of the fourteenth amendment and agreed to receive her name, against the advice of their democratic colleague and a united states supervisor. following miss anthony's example, some fifty other women of rochester registered. fourteen voted and were at once arrested under the enforcement act of congress of may 31, 1870 (_section_ 19). the case of miss anthony was argued, ably by her attorney; but she was adjudged guilty. a _nolle prosequi_ was entered for the women who voted with her. immediately after the decision in her case, the inspectors who had registered the women were put on trial because they "did knowingly and willfully register as a voter of said district one susan b. anthony, she, said susan b. anthony, then and there not being entitled to be registered as a voter of said district in that she, said susan b. anthony, was then and there a person of the female sex, contrary to the form of the statute of the united states of america in such case made and provided, and against the peace of the united states of america and their dignity." the defendants were ordered to pay each a fine of twenty-five dollars and the costs of the prosecution; but the sentence was revoked and an unconditional pardon given them by president grant, in an order dated march 3, 1874. miss anthony was forced to pay her fine, in spite of an appeal to congress. such were the stirring times when the agitation for women's rights was first brought to the fore as a national issue. within a few years, various states, like new york and kansas, put the question of equal suffrage for women before its voters; they in general rejected the measure. at present there are four states which give women complete suffrage and right to vote on all questions with the same privileges as men, viz., wyoming (1869), colorado (1893), utah (1896), and idaho (1896). in 1838 kentucky gave school suffrage to widows with children of school age; in 1861 kansas gave it to all women. school suffrage was granted all women in 1875 by michigan and minnesota, in 1876 by colorado, in 1878 by new hampshire and oregon, in 1879 by massachusetts, in 1880 by new york and vermont, in 1883 by nebraska, in 1887 by north and south dakota, montana, arizona, and new jersey. kansas gave municipal suffrage in 1887; and montana gave tax-paying women the right to vote upon all questions submitted to the tax-payers. in 1891 illinois granted school suffrage, as did connecticut in 1893. iowa gave bond suffrage in 1894. in 1898 minnesota gave women the right to vote for library trustees, delaware gave school suffrage to tax-paying women, and louisiana gave tax-paying women the right to vote upon all questions submitted to the tax-payers. wisconsin gave school suffrage in 1900. in 1901 new york gave tax-paying women in all towns and villages of the state the right to vote on questions of local taxation; and the kansas legislature voted down almost unanimously a proposal to repeal municipal suffrage. in 1903 kansas gave bond suffrage; and in 1907 the new state of oklahoma continued school suffrage. in 1908 michigan gave all women who pay taxes the right to vote upon questions of local taxation and the granting of franchises. the history of the "age of legal consent" has an importance which through prudery and a wilful ignorance of facts the public has never fully realised. i shall have considerable to say of it later. it will suffice for the moment to remark that until the decade preceding 1898 the old common law period of ten, sometimes twelve, years was the basis of "age of consent" legislation in most states and in the territories under the jurisdiction of the national government. in 1885 the age in delaware was _seven_. [sidenote: age of legal consent.] [sidenote: the beginnings of higher education for women.] the puritans, burning with an unquenchable zeal for liberty, fled to america in order to build a land of freedom and strike off the shackles of despotism. after they were comfortably settled, they forthwith proceeded, with fine humour, to expel mistress anne hutchinson for venturing to speak in public, to hang superfluous old women for being witches, and to refuse women the right to an education. in 1684, when a question arose about admitting girls to the hopkins school of new haven, it was decided that "all girls be excluded as improper and inconsistent with such a grammar school as ye law enjoins and as in the designs of this settlement." "but," remarks professor thomas, "certain small girls whose manners seem to have been neglected and who had the natural curiosity of their sex, sat on the schoolhouse steps and heard the boys recite, or learned to read and construe sentences from their brothers at home, and were occasionally admitted to school." in the course of the next century the world moved a little; and in 1789, when the public school system was established in boston, girls were admitted from april to october; but until 1825 they were allowed to attend primary schools only. in 1790 gloucester voted that "two hours, or a proportional part of that time, be devoted to the instruction of females." in 1793 plymouth accorded girls one hour of instruction daily. the first female seminary in the united states was opened by the moravians in bethlehem, pennsylvania, in 1749. it was unique. in 1803, of 48 academies or higher schools fitting for college in massachusetts, only three were for girls, although a few others admitted both boys and girls. the first instance of government aid for the systematic education of women occurred in new york, in 1819. this was due to the influence of a remarkable woman. mrs. emma willard had begun teaching in connecticut and by extraordinary diligence mastered not only the usual subjects of the curriculum, but in addition botany, chemistry, mineralogy, astronomy, and the higher mathematics. she had, moreover, striven always to introduce new subjects and new methods into her school, and with such success that governor clinton, of new york, invited her to that state and procured her a government subsidy. her school was established first at watervliet, but soon moved to troy. this seminary was the first girls' school in which the higher mathematics formed a part of the course; and the first public examination of a girl in geometry, in 1829, raised a storm of ridicule and indignation--the clergy, as usual, prophesying the speedy dissolution of all family bonds and therefore, as they continued with remorseless logic, of the state itself. but mrs. willard continued her ways in spite of clerical disapproval and by-and-by projected a system of normal schools for the higher education of teachers, and even suggested women as superintendents of public schools. new york survived and does not even remember the names of the patriots who fought a lonely woman so valiantly. the first female seminary to approach college rank was mt. holyoke, which was opened by mary lyon at south hadley, mass., in 1836. vassar, the next, dates from 1865; and radcliffe, the much-abused "harvard annex," was instituted in 1879. these were the first colleges exclusively for women. oberlin college had from its foundation, in 1833, admitted men and women on equal terms; although it took pains to express its hearty disapproval of those women who, after graduation, had the temerity to advocate political rights for women--rights which that same oberlin insisted should be given the negro at once. in 1858, when sarah burger and other women applied for admission to the university of michigan, their request was refused. [sidenote: first women in medicine.] it was hard enough for women to assert their rights to a higher education; to enter a profession was almost impossible. nevertheless, it was done. the pioneer in medicine was harriet k. hunt who practised in boston from 1822 to 1872 without a diploma; but in 1853 the woman's medical college of pennsylvania conferred upon her the degree of doctor of medicine. the first woman to receive a diploma from a college after completing the regular course was elizabeth blackwell, who attained that distinction at geneva, new york, in 1848. the first adequate woman's medical institution was miss blackwell's new york infirmary, chartered in 1854. in 1863, dr. zakrzewska, in co-operation with lucy goddard and ednah d. cheney, established the new england hospital for women and children, which aimed to provide women the medical aid of competent physicians of their own sex, to assist educated women in the practical study of medicine, and to train nurses for the care of the sick.[411] [sidenote: in law.] in law, it would seem that mistress brut practised in baltimore as early as 1647; but after her the first woman lawyer in the united states was arabella a. mansfield, of mt. pleasant, iowa. she was admitted to the bar in 1864. by 1879 women were allowed to plead before the supreme court of the united states.[412] [sidenote: in the ministry.] coming now to the consideration of the ministry, the first woman to attempt to assert a right to that profession was anne hutchinson, of boston, in 1634. she was promptly banished. among the friends and the shakers women like lucretia mott and anne lee preached; and among the primitive methodists and similar bodies women were always permitted to exhort; but the first regularly ordained woman in the united states appears to have been rev. antoinette brown blackwell, of the congregational church who was ordained in 1852. in 1864 rev. olympia brown settled as pastor of the parish at weymouth landing, in massachusetts; and the legislature acknowledged marriages solemnised by women as legal. phebe hanaford, mary h. graves, and lorenza haynes were the first massachusetts women to be ordained preachers of the gospel; the latter was at one time chaplain of the maine house of representatives. the best known woman in the ministry at the present day is rev. anna howard shaw, a methodist minister, president of the national american woman's suffrage association.[413] [sidenote: as newspaper editors.] women have from very early times been exceedingly active in newspaper work. anna franklin printed the first newspaper in rhode island, in 1732; she was made official printer to the colony. when the founder of the _mercury_, of philadelphia, died in 1742, his widow, mrs. cornelia bradford, carried it on for many years with great success, just as mrs. zenger continued the _new york weekly journal_--the second newspaper started in new york--for years after the death of her husband. anna k. greene established the _maryland gazette_, the first paper in that colony, in 1767. penelope russell printed _the censor_ in boston, in 1771. in fact, there was hardly a colony in which women were not actively engaged in printing. after the revolution they were still more active. mrs. anne royal edited _the huntress_ for a quarter of a century. margaret fuller ran _the dial_, in boston, in 1840 and numbered emerson and william channing among her contributors. from 1840 to 1849 the mill girls of lowell edited the _lowell offering_. these are but a few examples of what women have done in newspaper work. how very influential they are to-day every one knows who is familiar with the articles and editorial work appearing in newspapers and magazines; and that women are very zealous reporters many people can attest with considerable vigour.[414] [sidenote: women in industry.] the enormous part which women now play in industry and in all economic production is a concomitant of the factory system, specialised industry, and all that makes a highly elaborated and complex society. before the introduction of machine industry, and in the simple society of the colonial days, women were no less a highly important factor in economic production; but not as wage earners. their importance lay in the fact that spinning, weaving, brewing, cheese and butter making, and the like were matters attended to by each household to supply its own wants; and this was considered the peculiar sphere of the housewife. in 1840 harriet martineau found only seven employments open to women in the united states, viz., teaching, needlework, keeping boarders, working in cotton mills and in book binderies, type-setting, and household service. i shall now present a series of fifty tables, by means of which the reader may see at a glance the status of women in all the states to-day. for convenience, i shall arrange the views alphabetically. tables showing the present status of women in the united states. the right of "dower," as used in these tables, refers to the widow's right, under the common law, to the possession, for her life-time, of one third of the real estate of which her husband was possessed in fee-simple during the marriage. "curtesy" is the right of the husband after his wife's death to the life use of his wife's real estate, sometimes dependent on the birth of children, sometimes not; and usually the absolute right to her whole personal estate. it must be remembered that the enforcement of certain laws, particularly in regard to child labour, is extremely lax in many states. it will be noted also that an unscrupulous employer could find loopholes in some of the statutes. the reader can observe these things for himself in his particular state. _alabama_ age of legal consent: 14. population: male 916,764; female 911,933. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings and has full control of own property; but she cannot mortgage her real and personal property or alienate it without husband's consent. married women may execute will without concurrence of husband and may bar latter's right of curtesy. husband may appoint guardian for children by will; but wife has custody of them until they are fourteen. if a wife commits a crime in partnership with her husband she cannot be punished (except for murder and treason). husband is not required by law to support the family. divorce: absolute divorce is granted for incurable impotence, adultery, desertion for two years, imprisonment for two years or more, crimes against nature, habitual drunkenness after marriage; in favour of husband if wife was pregnant at time of marriage without his knowledge or agency, in favour of wife for physical violence on part of husband endangering life or health, or when there is reasonable apprehension of such violence. limited divorce is granted for cruelty in either of the parties or any other cause which would justify absolute divorce, if the party desires only a divorce from bed and board. labour laws: women not allowed to work in mines. children under 12 not permitted to work in any factory. all employers of women must provide seats and must allow women to rest when not actively engaged. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: there is no suffrage. women not eligible for any elective office; they may be notaries public. there are 18 women in the ministry, 12 journalists, 1 dentist, 3 lawyers, 16 doctors, 3 professors, 2 bankers, 5 saloon keepers, 4 commercial travellers, 11 carpenters, etc. _arizona_ age of legal consent: 17. population: male 71,795; female 51,136. husband and wife: husband controls wife's earnings. wife has control of property which she had before marriage. wife may contract debts for necessaries for herself and children upon credit of husband. she may sue and be sued and make contracts in her own name as regards her separate property, but must sue jointly with husband for personal injuries, and damages recovered are community property and in his control. father is legal guardian of minor children; at his death mother becomes guardian as long as she remains unmarried. divorce: absolute divorce for excesses, cruelty, or outrage, adultery, impotence, conviction for a felony, desertion for one year, neglect of husband to provide for one year, habitual intemperance; in favour of husband if wife was pregnant at time of marriage without his knowledge or agency. there is no limited divorce; but when the husband wilfully abandons his wife, she can maintain an action against him for permanent maintenance and support. labour laws: no woman or minor may work or give any exhibition in a saloon. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: women 21 years old or more who are mothers or guardians of a child of school age are eligible to the office of school trustee and may vote for such officers. there are 12 women in the ministry, 1 dentist, 2 journalists, 4 lawyers, 4 doctors, 628 saloon keepers, 2 bankers, etc. _arkansas_ age of legal consent: 16. population: male 675,312; female 636,252. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings. dower exists, but not curtesy. wife may sell or transfer her separate real estate without husband's consent. father is legal guardian of children, but cannot apprentice them or create testamentary guardianship for them without wife's consent. at husband's death wife may be guardian of persons of children, but not of their property, unless derived from her. divorce: absolute or limited divorce for impotence, wilful desertion for a year, when husband or wife had a former wife or husband living at the time of the marriage sought to be set aside, conviction for felony or other infamous crime, habitual drunkenness for one year, intolerable indignities, and adultery subsequent to marriage. labour laws: labour contracts of married women, approved by their husbands, are legal and binding. no woman may work in a mine. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: no suffrage. 13 women are ministers, 6 journalists, 9 lawyers, 39 doctors, 3 professors, 3 saloon keepers, 9 commercial travellers, etc. _california_ age of legal consent: 16. population: male 820,531; female 664,522. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings. wife may dispose of separate property without husband's consent. in torts of a personal nature she must sue jointly with her husband. husband is guardian of minor children; wife becomes so at his death. husband must provide for family. if husband has no property or is disabled, wife must support him and the family out of her property or earnings. divorce: absolute divorce for adultery, extreme cruelty, wilful desertion for one year, wilful neglect for one year, habitual intemperance for one year, conviction for felony. there are no statutory provisions for limited divorce. but when the wife has any cause for action as provided in the code, she may, without applying for a divorce, maintain an action against her husband for permanent support and maintenance of herself or of herself and children. labour laws: sex shall be no disqualification for entering any business, vocation, or profession. children under 16 may not be let out for acrobatic performances or any exhibition endangering life or morals. any one who sends a minor under the age of 18 to a saloon, gambling house, or brothel, is guilty of a misdemeanour. one day of rest each week must be given all employees. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: no suffrage. may be elected school trustees. may be notaries public. there are 201 women in the ministry, 52 dentists, 116 journalists, 60 lawyers, 522 doctors, 8 professors, 129 saloon keepers, 9 bankers, 23 commercial travellers, etc. _colorado_ age of legal consent: 18. population: male 295,332; female 244,368. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings. no assignment of wages by a married man is valid without the consent of his wife. neither dower nor curtesy obtains. husband and wife have same rights in making wills. wife can sue and be sued as if unmarried. she is joint guardian of children with husband and has equal powers. husband must support family. divorce: absolute divorce for impotence, when husband or wife had a wife or husband living at time of marriage, adultery subsequent to marriage, wilful desertion for one year, cruelty (including the infliction of mental suffering as well as physical violence), neglect to provide for one year, habitual drunkenness for one year, conviction for felony. there is no limited divorce. labour laws: eight hours the usual day's work. children under 12 may not work in mines; none under 14 may exhibit in saloons, variety theatres, or any place endangering morals. no female help may be sent to any place of bad repute. children under 14 may not be employed in mills or factories. no woman may work underground in a mine. all employers of women must provide seats. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: full suffrage. women are eligible to all offices; 10 have served in the legislature. there are 39 women in the ministry, 23 dentists, 28 journalists, 17 lawyers, 172 doctors, 4 professors, 17 saloon keepers, 12 bankers, 8 commercial travellers, etc. _connecticut_ age of legal consent: 16. population: male 454,294; female 454,126. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings. no dower or curtesy. survivor gets one third of property. wife controls own property. wife and husband joint guardians of children with equal powers. husband must support family. divorce: absolute divorce for adultery, fraudulent contract, wilful desertion for three years with total neglect of duty, seven years' absence when absent party is not heard from during that period, habitual intemperance, intolerable cruelty, sentence to imprisonment for life, any infamous crime involving a violation of conjugal duty and punishable by imprisonment. there is no limited divorce. labour laws: no child under 12 may give exhibition endangering limbs or morals. employers of females may not send them to any place of bad repute. eight hours is a day's work. women employees must have seats to rest. no woman shall be forced to labour more than ten hours a day. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: women have school suffrage and may be elected school trustees. there are 45 women in the ministry, 6 dentists, 122 doctors, 1 professor, 28 saloon keepers, 4 bankers, 13 commercial travellers, 14 carpenters, etc. _delaware_ age of legal consent: 18. population: male 94,158; female 90,577. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings. if there is a child or lawful issue of a child living, widow has a life interest in one third of the real estate and one third absolutely of the personal property. if there is no child nor the descendant of a child living, widow has a life interest in one half of the real estate and one half absolutely of the personal estate. if there are neither descendants nor kin of husband, she gets the entire real estate for her life, and all the personal estate absolutely. father is legal guardian of children and he alone may appoint a guardian at his death. husband must support family. divorce: absolute divorce for adultery, desertion for three years, habitual drunkenness, impotence, extreme cruelty, conviction for felony, procurement of marriage by fraud for want of age, wilful neglect to provide for three years. limited divorce may be decreed, in the discretion of the court, for the last two causes mentioned. labour laws: all female employees must be provided with seats. sunday labour forbidden. no minor under 15 may be let out for any gymnastic or other exhibition endangering body or morals. separate lunch, wash-rooms, etc., for all women employees; the rooms must be kept reasonably heated. using indecent or profane language towards a female employee is a misdemeanour. the governor must appoint a _female_ factory inspector who shall see that these laws are enforced. children under 14 may not work in mills and factories; and no child under 16 shall be forced to labour more than nine hours daily. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: women in milford, townsend, wyoming, and newark who pay a property tax may vote for town commissioners. all such women in the state may vote for school trustees. there are 4 women in the ministry, 3 dentists, 1 journalist, 1 lawyer, 7 doctors, 8 saloon keepers, 1 commercial traveller, 2 carpenters, etc. _district of columbia_ age of legal consent; 16. population: male 132,004; female 146,714. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings and property, may be sued and sue, carry on business, etc., as if unmarried. husband and wife are equal guardians of children. husband must furnish reasonable support if he have property. both dower and curtesy obtain. divorce: absolute divorce for bigamy, insanity at time of marriage, impotence, adultery habitual drunkenness for three years, cruel treatment endangering life or health. limited divorce for drunkenness, cruelty, and desertion. in case of absolute divorce, only the innocent party may remarry; but the divorced parties may marry each other again. labour laws: no child under 14 may be let out for any public exhibition endangering body or morals. seats must be provided for women employees. employment agencies must not send applicants to places of bad repute. children under 14 may not be employed in any factory, hotel, etc.; but judge of juvenile court may give dispensation to child between 12 and 14. no girl under 16 may be bootblack or sell papers or any other wares publicly. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: no suffrage. women may be notaries public and members of board of education. 17 women in the ministry, 7 dentists, 38 journalists, 23 lawyers, 56 doctors, 18 saloon keepers, 1 banker, 7 commercial travellers, 2 carpenters, etc. _florida_ age of legal consent: 16 (but 10 practically, as penalty above 10 is insignificant). population: male 275,246; female 253,296. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings and owns separate estate; but cannot transfer her real or personal property without husband's consent. dower prevails, but not curtesy. wife may make a will as if unmarried. husband is legal guardian of children. husband must support family. divorce: absolute divorce for impotence, where the parties are within the degrees prohibited by the law, adultery, bigamy, extreme cruelty, habitual indulgence in violent and ungovernable temper, habitual intemperance, desertion for one year, if husband or wife has obtained a divorce elsewhere and if the applicant has been a citizen of florida for two years. there is no limited divorce. but the wife may claim alimony, without applying for a divorce, for any of these causes except bigamy. labour laws: ten hours legal day's work. employers of women must provide seats. no child under 14 may be let out for any public exhibition endangering body or morals. sunday labour forbidden. no child under 12 may be employed in any factory, or any place where intoxicating liquor is sold; and no child under 12 may labour more than nine hours a day. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: no suffrage. women may be notaries public. 19 women in the ministry, 1 dentist, 9 journalists, 4 lawyers, 21 doctors, 1 banker, 3 commercial travellers, 6 carpenters, etc. _georgia_ age of legal consent: 10. population: male 1,103,201; female 1,113,130. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings and own property. dower prevails, but not curtesy. husband is legal guardian of children and at his death may appoint a guardian to the exclusion of his wife. husband must support family. divorce: absolute divorce for intermarriage within the prohibited degrees of consanguinity and affinity, mental incapacity at time of marriage, impotence at time of marriage, force, menace, duress, or fraud in obtaining marriage, pregnancy of wife at time of marriage unknown to husband, adultery, wilful desertion for three years, conviction for an offence involving imprisonment for two years or longer. absolute or limited divorce for cruelty or habitual intoxication. limited divorce for any ground held sufficient in english courts prior to may 4, 1784. labour laws: no boss or other superior in any factory shall inflict corporal punishment on minor labourers. seats must be provided for female employees. sunday labour forbidden. no minors may be employed in barrooms. to let out children for gymnastic exhibition or any indecent exhibition is a misdemeanour. children under 12 may not work in factories. no child under 14 may work between 7 p.m. and 6 a.m. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: no suffrage. 33 women in the ministry, 2 dentists, 37 journalists, 6 lawyers, 43 doctors, 4 professors, 2 saloon keepers, 4 bankers, 9 commercial travellers, 10 carpenters, etc. _idaho_ age of legal consent: 18. population: male 93,367; female 68,405. husband and wife: husband controls wife's earnings. wife can secure control of own property only by going into court and showing that her husband is mismanaging it. husband is legal guardian of the children. divorce: absolute divorce for adultery, extreme cruelty, wilful desertion for one year, wilful neglect for one year, habitual intemperance for one year, conviction of felony, permanent insanity. there is no limited divorce. labour laws: no sunday labour. children under 14 may not work in mine, factory, hotel, or be messenger; no child under 16 shall work more than nine hours per day; nor be let out for any exhibition or vocation which endangers health or morals; nor ever be sent to any immoral resort or serve or handle intoxicating liquors. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: full suffrage. women are eligible to all offices. 7 women are in the ministry, 4 journalists, 2 lawyers, 15 doctors, 1 saloon keeper, 1 commercial traveller, 1 carpenter, etc. _illinois_ age of legal consent: 16. population: male 2,472,782; female 2,348,768. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings. dower prevails. wife has full disposal of property, can sue, etc., as if unmarried. wife and husband are equal guardians of children. wife is entitled to support suited to her condition in life; husband is entitled to same support out of her individual property. they are jointly liable for family expenses. divorce: absolute divorce for impotence, bigamy, adultery, wilful desertion for two years, habitual drunkenness for two years, attempt to murder, extreme and repeated cruelty, conviction for felony or other infamous crime. no limited divorce; but married women living separate through no fault of their own have an action in equity for reasonable maintenance, if they so desire. labour laws: no sunday labour. no minor shall be allowed to sell indecent literature, etc., nor be let out as acrobat or mendicant or for any immoral occupation. eight hours a legal day's work. no person shall be debarred from any occupation or profession on account of sex; but females shall not be required to work on streets or roads or serve on juries. no child under 14 to be employed in any place where intoxicating liquors are sold or in factory or bowling alley; and shall not labour more than eight hours. no child under 16 shall engage in occupations dangerous to life or morals; and no female under 16 shall engage in any employment which requires her to stand constantly. seats must be provided for all female employees. no woman shall work more than ten hours a day in stores and factories. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: women have school suffrage and are eligible to all school offices and can be notaries public. there are 292 women in the ministry, 117 dentists, 240 journalists, 113 lawyers, 820 doctors, 31 professors, 196 saloon keepers, 8 bankers, 101 commercial travellers, 24 carpenters, etc. _indiana_ age of legal consent: 16. population: males 1,285,404; females 1,231,058. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings. no dower or curtesy. wife may sue in her own name for injuries, etc. neither husband nor wife can alienate their separate real estate without each other's consent. a wife can act as executor or administrator of an estate only with her husband's consent. no married woman can become a surety for any person. husband is guardian of children. divorce: absolute for adultery, impotency, desertion for two years, cruel and inhuman treatment, habitual drunkenness, neglect of husband to provide for two years, conviction of an infamous crime. limited divorce for adultery, desertion or neglect for six months, habitual cruelty or constant strife, gross and wanton neglect of conjugal duty for six months. labour laws: no child under 12 may work in a mine. children under 15 may not be let out for acrobatic or any immoral exhibition or to work in any place where liquor is sold. seats must be provided for female employees. eight hours a legal day's work. no female under 18 may work more than ten hours a day in any factory, laundry, renovating works, bakery, or printing office; no woman shall be employed in any factory between 10 p.m. and 6 a.m. suitable dressing rooms must be provided and not less than sixty minutes given for the noonday meal. sweatshops under strict supervision of a state inspector. no woman may work in a mine. no sunday labour. suffrage, political condition, industrial professional status: no suffrage. women may be notaries public. 130 women in the ministry, 34 dentists, 79 journalists, 40 lawyers, 195 doctors, 6 professors, 27 saloon keepers, 2 bankers, 44 commercial travellers, 7 carpenters, etc. _indian territory_ age of legal consent: 16. population: male 208,952; female 183,108. husband and wife: husband controls wife's earnings. dower is in force and curtesy. woman controls separate estate absolutely in practice; for though at common law any money or property given her husband for investment becomes his, by statute it does not. husband and wife are equal guardians of children. divorce: absolute or limited for impotence, wilful desertion for one year, bigamy, conviction for felony or other infamous crime, habitual drunkenness for one year, cruel treatment endangering life, intolerable indignities, adultery, incurable insanity subsequent to marriage. labour laws: no sunday labour. suffrage, political condition; industrial and professional status: no suffrage. 6 women in ministry, 1 dentist, 4 journalists, 13 doctors, 4 professors, 1 banker, etc. _iowa_ age of legal consent: 15. population: male 1,156,849; female 1,075,004. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings. any assignment of wages must have written consent of both husband and wife. no dower or curtesy; surviving husband or wife is entitled to one third in fee simple of both real and personal estate of other at his or her death. wife controls own property, can sue, etc., as if single. husband and wife are equal guardians of children. support and education of family is chargeable equally on husband's and wife's property. divorce: absolute for adultery, wilful desertion for two years, conviction of felony after marriage, habitual drunkenness, inhuman treatment endangering life, pregnancy of wife at time of marriage by another man, unless the husband have an illegitimate child living unknown to wife. no limited divorce. annulment for prohibited degrees, impotence, bigamy, insanity or idiocy at time of marriage. labour laws: no female may be employed in any place where intoxicating liquors are sold; seats must be provided for female employees. children under 16 not to assist in operating dangerous machinery. no sunday labour. no person under 14 may work in a factory, mine, laundry, slaughter-house, store where more than eight persons are employed; no child under 16 shall be employed in any vocation endangering life or morals, nor shall work more than ten hours a day. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: women have bond suffrage and can vote on increase of taxes. they may serve as school trustees and superintendents. 117 women in ministry, 52 dentists, 74 journalists, 53 lawyers, 260 doctors, 27 professors, 8 saloon keepers, 11 bankers, 34 commercial travellers, 7 carpenters, etc. _kansas_ age of legal consent: 18. population: male 768,716; female 701,779. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings. husband and wife are equal guardians of children. wife controls her separate property, can sue, etc., as if unmarried. neither husband nor wife can convey or encumber real estate without consent of other; nor dispose by will of more than one half of the separate property without other's consent. if there are no children, the surviving husband or wife takes all the property, real and personal; if there are children, one half. husband must support family. divorce: absolute for bigamy, desertion for one year, adultery, impotency, when wife at time of marriage was pregnant by another than her husband, extreme cruelty, fraudulent contract, habitual drunkenness, gross neglect of duty, conviction and imprisonment for felony subsequent to marriage. no limited divorce; but wife may obtain alimony without divorce for any causes above mentioned. labour laws: people employing children under 14 in acrobatic or mendicant occupations are guilty of a misdemeanour. no sunday labour. seats must be provided for female employees. no child under 14 may work in coal mine, nor in any factory or packing house. no child under 16 may work at any occupation endangering body or morals. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: women have municipal, school, and bond suffrage. 63 women in ministry, 21 dentists, 39 journalists, 43 lawyers, 190 doctors, 21 professors, 9 saloon keepers, 7 bankers, 20 commercial travellers, 19 carpenters, etc. _kentucky_ age of legal consent: 12. population: male 1,090,227; female 1,056,947. husband and wife: husband controls wife's earnings. curtesy and dower are equalised. after the death of either husband or wife, the survivor is given a life interest in one third of the realty of the deceased and an absolute estate in one half of the personalty. wife controls her personal property, but cannot dispose of real estate without husband's consent; the husband can convey real estate without his wife's signature, but it is subject to her dower. husband is legal guardian of children. he must furnish support according to his condition, but if he has only his wages there is no law to punish him for non-support. divorce: absolute to both husband and wife for impotence or inability to copulate and for living apart for five consecutive years without any cohabitation. also to the party not in fault for desertion for one year, adultery, condemnation for felony, concealment of any loathsome disease at time of marriage or contracting it afterwards, force, duress, or fraud in obtaining marriage, uniting with any creed or religious society requiring a renunciation of the marriage covenant or forbidding husband and wife to cohabit. to the wife, when not in like fault, for confirmed drunkenness of husband leading to neglect to provide, habitual behaviour by husband for six months indicating aversion to wife and causing her unhappiness, physical injury or attempt at it. to the husband for wife's pregnancy at time of marriage unknown to him, adultery of wife, or such conduct as proves her to be unchaste without proof of adultery, and habitual drunkenness of wife. limited divorce for any of these causes or any other cause as the court may deem sufficient. labour laws: forbidden to let or employ any children under 16 in any acrobatic or mendicant or immoral occupations. no sunday labour. no child under 14 shall work in factory, mill, or mine unless said child shall have no other means of support. no child under 16 shall work more than ten hours per day. seats and suitable dressing-rooms must be provided for female employees. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: in the country districts any widow having a child of school age and any widow or spinster having a ward of school age may vote for school trustees and school taxes. in louisville, five third-class, and twenty or more fourth-class cities no woman has any vote. women may be notaries public. 39 women in ministry, 4 dentists, 21 journalists, 16 lawyers, 98 doctors, 5 professors, 35 saloon keepers, 3 bankers, 20 commercial travellers, 9 carpenters, etc. _louisiana_ age of legal consent: 16. population: male 694,733; female 686,892. husband and wife: husband controls wife's earnings. wife cannot appear in court without her husband's consent, and needs this consent in all matters connected with her separate estate. she may make her will without the authority of her husband. no woman can be a witness to a testament. no married woman can be executor without husband's consent. the dowry is given to the husband, for him to enjoy as long as the marriage shall last. husband is legal guardian of children. divorce: absolute or limited for adultery, condemnation to an infamous punishment, habitual and intolerable intemperance, insupportable excess or outrages, public defamation on the part of one of the married persons toward the other, desertion, attempted murder, proof of guilt of husband or wife who has fled from justice when charged with an infamous offence. labour laws: no female to be employed in any place where liquor is sold. no sunday labour. no child under 15 to engage in any acrobatic or theatrical public exhibition. seats must be provided for female employees, who are also to have at least thirty minutes for lunch. no girl under 14 may be employed in any mill or factory; and no woman shall be worked more than ten hours a day. seats, suitable dressing-rooms, and stairs must be provided. an inspector, male or female, is appointed. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: tax-paying women can vote on all questions of taxation. 14 women in ministry, 4 dentists, 21 journalists, 8 lawyers, 25 doctors, 16 professors, 31 saloon keepers, 2 bankers, 18 commercial travellers, 9 carpenters, etc. _maine_ age of legal consent: 16. population: male 350,995; female 343,471. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings and has full control of separate property. wife and husband are equal guardians of children. if there is no will, the interest of the husband or wife in the real estate of the other is the same--one third absolutely, if there is issue living, one half if there is no issue, the whole if there is neither issue nor kindred. divorce: absolute for adultery, impotence, extreme cruelty, desertion for three years, gross and confirmed habits of intoxication whether from liquors or drugs, cruel and abusive treatment, wilful neglect to provide. no limited divorce. labour laws: ten hours a day the legal limit for female employees. no child under 14 may work in a factory. no sunday labour. no child under 16 may be employed in any acrobatic, mendicant, immoral, or dangerous occupation. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: no suffrage. women can be justices of the peace, town clerks, and registers of probate. they cannot be notaries public. 39 women in ministry, 4 dentists, 33 journalists, 4 lawyers, 67 doctors, 1 professor, 3 bankers, 5 carpenters, etc. _maryland_ age of legal consent: 16. population: male 589,275; female 598,769. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings. no assignment of wages to be made without consent of both husband and wife. wife controls separate property absolutely. inheritance of property is the same for widow and widower. husband is legal guardian of children and must support family. divorce: absolute for impotence, any cause which by the laws of the state renders a marriage null and void _ab initio_, adultery, desertion for three years, illicit sexual intercourse _of the woman before_ marriage unknown to husband (_but the wife cannot obtain a divorce from her husband if he has been guilty of such an offence_). limited divorce for cruelty, excessively vicious conduct, or desertion. in all cases where an absolute divorce is granted for adultery or abandonment, the court may decree that the guilty party shall not contract marriage with any other person during the lifetime of the other party. annulment is given for bigamy or marriage within the prohibited degrees of consanguinity and affinity. labour laws: seats must be provided for female employees. no sunday labour. no child under 14 may be employed in any mendicant or acrobatic occupation. no child under 8 may be employed in peddling. women may not be waitresses in any place where liquor is sold. children under 12 may not be employed in any business except in the counties, from june 1 to oct. 15, ten hours a legal day's work. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: no suffrage. women serve as notaries public. 35 women in ministry, 6 dentists, 23 journalists, 6 lawyers, 87 doctors, 4 professors, 2 bankers, 13 commercial travellers, 10 carpenters, etc. _massachusetts_ age of legal consent: 16. population: male 1,367,474; female 1,437,872. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings and has control of her separate property subject only to the husband's interests. she can be executor, make contracts, etc., as if unmarried. the husband is legal guardian of minor children; he may dispose of them and may appoint a guardian at his death. husband must support family. in distributing the estate, no distinction is made between real and personal property. the surviving husband or wife takes one third, if deceased leaves children or their descendants; 5000 dollars and one half of the remaining estate if the deceased leaves no issue; and the whole, if deceased leaves no kin. this is taken absolutely and not for life. curtesy and dower exist; but the old-time curtesy is cut down to a life-interest in one third, the same as dower; and in order to be entitled to dower or curtesy, the surviving husband or wife must elect to take it in preference to the above provisions. divorce: absolute for adultery, impotency, utter desertion for three years, gross and confirmed habits of intoxication, cruel and abusive treatment, wilful neglect to provide, sentence to imprisonment for five years. no limited divorce. labour laws: no sunday labour. ten hours a legal day's work. no woman to labour between 10 p.m. and 6 a.m. in any manufacturing establishment, nor between 6 p.m. and 6 a.m. in any textile works. no child under 14 and no illiterate under 16 and over 14 may be employed in any factory or mercantile establishment. no child under 14 may be employed between 7 p.m. and 6 a.m., or during the time when the public schools are in session. seats must be provided for females. no woman or young person shall be required to work more than six hours without thirty minutes for lunch. no child under 15 may engage in any gymnastic or theatrical exhibition. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: women have school suffrage. they may be justices of the peace. 188 women in ministry, 38 dentists, 180 journalists, 47 lawyers, 729 doctors, 38 professors, 8 saloon keepers, 3 bankers, 73 commercial travellers, 31 carpenters, etc. _michigan_ age of legal consent: 16. population: male 1,248,905; female 1,172,077. husband and wife: husband controls wife's earnings. dower prevails, but not curtesy. when the wife has separate real estate, she controls it as if single. the husband cannot give full title to his real estate unless the wife joins so as to cut off her dower. father is guardian of the children. husband must support. divorce: absolute for adultery, impotence, imprisonment for three years, desertion for two years, habitual drunkenness, if husband or wife has obtained a divorce in another state. limited or absolute divorce at the discretion of the court for extreme cruelty, desertion for two years, neglect to provide. labour laws: no female may be employed in any place where liquor is sold. seats must be provided for female employees. ten hours a legal day's work. no sunday labour. no child under 16 may take part in any acrobatic or mendicant or dangerous or immoral occupation, nor shall any minor be given obscene literature to sell. no female under 21 may be employed in any occupation endangering life, health, or morals. at least forty-five minutes must be allowed for lunch. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: all women who pay taxes may vote upon questions of local taxation and the granting of franchises. parents and guardians have also school suffrage. women serve as notaries public. 105 women in ministry, 17 dentists, 81 journalists, 27 lawyers, 270 doctors, 26 professors, 23 saloon keepers, 13 bankers, 53 commercial travellers, 32 carpenters, etc. _minnesota_ age of legal consent: 16. population: male 932,490; female 818,904. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings, but cannot convey or encumber her separate real estate without husband's consent. no dower or curtesy. if either husband or wife die intestate, the survivor, if there is issue living, is entitled to the homestead for life and one third of the rest of the estate in fee simple. if there are no descendants, the entire estate goes absolutely to the survivor. husband is guardian of children and must support family. divorce: absolute for adultery, impotency, cruel and inhuman treatment, sentence to imprisonment after marriage, wilful desertion for one year, habitual drunkenness for one year. limited divorce--to wife only--for cruel and inhuman treatment, on part of husband, or such conduct as may make it unsafe and improper for her to cohabit with him, desertion and neglect to provide. labour laws: children between 8 and 18 must be sent to school during whole period schools are in session, except in cases of unusual poverty. ten hours a legal day's work. seats must be provided for female employees. no sunday labour. no child under 18 may engage in any occupation between 6 p.m. and 7 a.m.; nor in any mendicant, acrobatic, immoral, or dangerous business. no child under 14 may work in factory or mine. a _female_ factory inspector must be appointed. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: women have school suffrage and may vote for library trustees. 80 women in ministry, 18 dentists, 75 journalists, 21 lawyers, 199 doctors, 16 professors, 17 saloon keepers, 10 bankers, 46 commercial travellers, 8 carpenters, etc. _mississippi_ age of legal consent: 10. population: male 781,451; female 769,819. husband and wife: husband controls wife's earnings. he manages her separate property, but must give an account of it annually. no dower or curtesy. if husband or wife dies intestate, the entire estate goes to the survivor; if there is issue, surviving husband or wife has a child's share of the estate. each has equal rights in making a will. father is legal guardian of children, but cannot deprive mother of custody of their persons. husband must support. divorce: absolute for marriage within prohibited degrees, natural impotence, adultery, sentence to the penitentiary, wilful desertion for two years, habitual drunkenness or excessive use of drugs, habitually cruel treatment, pregnancy of wife at time of marriage unknown to husband, bigamy, insanity, or idiocy when party applying did not know of it. no limited divorce. the court may decree that the guilty party must not marry again. labour laws: no sunday labour. there are no other laws. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: a woman as a free-holder or lease-holder may vote at a county election to decide as to the adoption or non-adoption of a law permitting stock to run at large. if a widow and the head of a family, she may vote on leasing certain portions of land in the township which are set apart for school purposes. widows in country districts may also vote for school trustees. women cannot be notaries public. 13 women in ministry, 2 dentists, 19 journalists, 4 lawyers, 16 doctors, 3 professors, 1 saloon keeper, 3 bankers, 9 commercial travellers, 13 carpenters, etc. _missouri_ age of legal consent: 18. population: male 1,595,710; female 1,510,955. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings. her separate property is liable for debts contracted by the husband for necessaries for the family. wife can sue and be sued, make contracts, etc., in her own name. she may hold real property under three different tenures: an equitable separate estate created by certain technical words in the conveyance, and this she can dispose of without husband's consent; a legal separate estate, which she cannot convey without his joinder; and a common law estate in fee, of which the husband is entitled to the rents and profits. dower and curtesy prevail. husband is guardian of children and must support. divorce: absolute for impotence, bigamy, adultery, desertion for one year, conviction for felony or infamous crime, habitual drunkenness for one year, cruel treatment endangering life or intolerable indignities, vagrancy of husband, pregnancy of wife at time of marriage unknown to husband. no limited divorce. labour laws: seats must be provided for female employees. no woman may be employed in any place where liquor is served except wife, daughter, mother, or sister of owner. no child under 14 to engage in any acrobatic, mendicant, dangerous, or immoral occupation. no sunday labour. no female may work underground in a mine. children between 8 and 14 must go to school. no child under 14 may work in any theatre, concert hall, factory; but this applies only to cities with 10,000 or more inhabitants, no female may labour more than 54 hours a week. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: no suffrage. women may be notaries public. 138 women in ministry, 32 dentists, 87 journalists, 61 lawyers, 303 doctors, 17 professors, 44 saloon keepers, 30 bankers, 37 commercial travellers, 15 carpenters, etc. _montana_ age of legal consent: 16. population: male 149,842; female 93,487. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings. there is dower, but not curtesy. wife controls separate property. husband is guardian of children and must furnish support; but wife must help, if necessary. her personal property is subject to debts incurred for family expenses. divorce: absolute for adultery, extreme cruelty, wilful desertion, wilful neglect, habitual intemperance, conviction of felony. no limited divorce; but wife may have an action for permanent maintenance, at discretion of court, even though absolute divorce is denied. labour laws: children under 16 may not be employed in mines. children between 8 and 14 must go to school. no child under 16 may take part in any acrobatic, mendicant, or wandering occupation. no sunday labour. no child under 16 may work in mill, factory, railroad, in any place where machinery is operated, or in any messenger company. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: women may vote for school trustees. those owning property may vote on all questions submitted to tax-payers. they cannot be notaries public. 22 women in ministry, 3 dentists, 6 journalists, 3 lawyers, 16 doctors, 7 saloon keepers, 2 commercial travellers, 2 carpenters, etc. _nebraska_ age of legal consent: 18. population: male 564,592; female 501,708. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings and separate property. both dower and curtesy prevail; but wife can mortgage or sell her real estate without husband's consent and without regard for his right of curtesy. he can do the same with his separate property, but subject to her dower. husband and wife are equal guardians of the children. husband must provide; but wife's separate property can be levied on for necessaries furnished the family, if husband has no property. wife is not "next of kin" and cannot sue, for example, for damages to a minor child, even though she is divorced and has custody of children. divorce: absolute for adultery, impotence, imprisonment for three years, desertion for two years, habitual drunkenness, imprisonment for life, extreme cruelty, neglect to provide. limited divorce also for last three causes. annulment for bigamy, when one party is white and other has one fourth or more negro blood, insanity or idiocy at time of marriage, consanguinity, obtaining marriage by fraud or force, when there has been no subsequent cohabitation. labour laws: children must go to school between 7 and 15. ten hours a legal day's labour. sunday labour forbidden. females to be employed between 6 a.m. and 10 p.m. seats must be provided. no child under 14 may be employed in any place where liquor is sold, factory, hotel, laundry, messenger work. no child under 14 may be employed at all during school term. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: women who are mothers of children of school age or who are assessed on real or personal property have school suffrage; but they cannot vote for state or county superintendents or county supervisors. women act as notaries public. 95 women in ministry, 16 dentists, 35 journalists, 23 lawyers, 134 doctors, 11 professors, 10 saloon keepers, 15 commercial travellers, 12 carpenters, etc. _nevada_ age of legal consent: 14. population: male 25,603; female 16,732. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings. she may control her separate property, if a list of it is filed with the county recorder, but unless it is kept constantly inventoried and recorded, it becomes community property. the community property, both real and personal, is under absolute control of husband and at wife's death it all belongs to him. on death of the husband, wife is entitled to half of it. a wife's earnings are hers if her husband has allowed her to appropriate them to her own use, when they are regarded as a gift from him to her. husband is legal guardian of children. husband must provide; but there is no penalty if he does not. divorce: absolute for impotence, adultery since marriage remaining unforgiven, wilful desertion for one year, conviction for felony or infamous crime, habitual drunkenness which incapacitates party from contributing his or her share to support of family, extreme cruelty, wilful neglect to provide for one year. no limited divorce. labour laws: there are none dealing with women and children. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: no suffrage. women cannot serve as notaries public. 2 women in ministry, 4 dentists, 1 journalist, 1 lawyer, 6 doctors, 5 saloon keepers. _new hampshire_ age of legal consent: 16. population: male 205,379; female 206,209. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings. dower and curtesy prevail. wife can sue and be sued and make contracts without husband's consent. husband is legal guardian of children, and must provide. divorce: absolute for impotence, adultery, extreme cruelty, imprisonment for one year, treatment seriously injuring health or endangering reason, absence for three years without being heard from, habitual drunkenness for three years, joining any religious sect which believes relation of husband and wife unlawful, desertion for three years with neglect to provide. no limited divorce. labour laws: no child under 12 may be employed in any factory, nor any child under 14 while schools are in session. nine hours and forty minutes the legal limit for female labour per day. no child under 14 shall engage in any acrobatic exhibition or in the selling of obscene literature. no sunday labour. seats must be provided for female employees. no female may sell or serve liquor. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status. women have school suffrage. they may be notaries public. 25 women in ministry, 3 dentists, 12 journalists, 2 lawyers, 61 doctors, 3 professors, 9 saloon keepers 6 commercial travellers, 5 carpenters, etc. _new jersey_ age of legal consent: 16. population: male 941,760; female 941,909. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings. dower and curtesy prevail. she has full disposal of her personal property by will; but must get husband's consent to convey or encumber her separate estate. husband is guardian of children. husband must furnish support; but wife must contribute, if he is unable. divorce: absolute for bigamy, marriage within prohibited degrees, adultery, wilful desertion for two years, impotence. limited divorce for extreme cruelty. in case of desertion and neglect to provide, wife has an action for support. labour laws: seats must be provided for female employees. hours for labour must be from 7 a.m. to 12 m. and from 1 p.m. to 6 p.m., except in fruit canning and glass factories. sunday labour forbidden. no child under 18 may engage in any acrobatic, immoral, or mendicant occupation. no child under 15 may engage in any vocation unless he or she shall have attended school within twelve months immediately preceding. no child under 14 may work in a factory. no female employee shall be sent to any place of bad repute. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: women in villages and country districts have school suffrage. they may be notaries public. 87 women in ministry, 19 dentists, 45 journalists, 23 lawyers, 176 doctors, 4 professors, 208 saloon keepers, 4 bankers, 11 commercial travellers, 12 carpenters, etc. _new mexico_ age of legal consent: 14. population: male 104,228; female 91,082. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings. curtesy prevails. neither husband nor wife can convey real property without consent of other. husband is legal guardian of children, but is not required by law to support the family. divorce: absolute for adultery, cruel treatment, desertion, impotency, neglect to provide, habitual drunkenness, conviction for felony and imprisonment subsequent to marriage, pregnancy of wife at time of marriage unknown to husband. no limited divorce. but when husband and wife have permanently separated, wife has an action for support. labour laws: no sunday labour. there are no other laws relating to women and children. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: no suffrage. women may be notaries public. 10 women in ministry, 2 dentists, 5 doctors, 3 professors, 2 saloon keepers, 1 commercial traveller, 3 carpenters, etc. _new york_ age of legal consent: 18. (trials may be held privately, and it is almost impossible to secure a conviction.) population: male 3,614,780; female 3,654,114. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings. dower and curtesy prevail. wife holds separate property free from control of husband. both husband and wife can make wills without knowledge or consent of other. wife can mortgage or convey her whole estate without husband's consent; he can do this with his personal property; but not with his real estate. husband and wife are equal guardians of the children. husband must provide. divorce: absolute for adultery only. limited for cruelty, conduct rendering cohabitation unsafe or improper, desertion, neglect to provide. court refuses to allow party guilty of adultery to marry again, but may modify this after five years if conduct of defendant has been uniformly good. adultery is now a crime in new york. labour laws: no child under 16 may take part in any acrobatic, mendicant, theatrical, wandering, dangerous, or immoral occupation. children must attend school between 8 and 16. no child under 14 may be employed in any occupation during school term. eight hours a day's work. seats must be provided for female employees. no child under 14 may work in a factory. female labour is confined between 6 a.m. and 9 p.m., and must not exceed 10 hours. no girl under 16 shall sell papers or periodicals in any public place. female employment agencies may not send applicant to any place of bad repute. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: tax-paying women in towns and villages may vote on questions of local taxation. parents and widows with children have school suffrage in towns and villages. women may be notaries public. 511 women in ministry, 108 dentists, 365 journalists, 124 lawyers, 103 commercial travellers, 925 doctors, 49 professors, 348 saloon keepers, 81 bankers, 84 carpenters, etc. _north carolina_ age of legal consent: 14. population: male 938,677; female 955,133. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings. dower and curtesy prevail. wife controls separate property. wife is not bound by a contract unless husband joins in writing. in actions against her he must be served with the suit. wife cannot be sole trader without husband's written consent. husband is legal guardian of children, and must provide. divorce: absolute for adultery, impotence, pregnancy of wife at time of marriage unknown to husband. limited for desertion, turning partner maliciously out of doors, cruel treatment endangering life, intolerable indignities, habitual drunkenness. wife has an action for separate maintenance if husband neglects to provide or is a drunkard or spendthrift. labour laws: no sunday labour. no child under 12 may be employed in factory, except oyster canning concerns which pay for opening oysters by the bushel. no person under 18 shall be required to labour more than 66 hours per week. no child under 12 shall work in a mine. no boy or girl under 14 shall work in a factory between 8 p.m. and 5 a.m. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: no suffrage. women cannot be notaries public. 25 women in ministry, 6 journalists, 22 doctors, 2 professors, 2 saloon keepers, 3 bankers, 4 commercial travellers, 6 carpenters, etc. _north dakota_ age of legal consent: 18. population: male 177,493; female 141,653. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings and separate property absolutely. dower and curtesy do not prevail; if husband or wife dies intestate, survivor takes one half of the estate, if there is only one child living or the lawful issue of one child; if there are more, survivor gets one third. if husband is unable to support family, wife must maintain him and the children. husband is guardian of children. divorce: absolute for adultery, extreme cruelty, wilful desertion for one year, wilful neglect for one year, habitual intemperance for one year, conviction of felony. no limited divorce. labour laws: children under 12 may not work in mines, factories, or workshops. children must go to school between 8 and 14, unless they have already been taught adequately and poverty compels them to work. no sunday labour. no woman under 18 shall labour more then ten hours per day. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: women have school suffrage and are eligible to all school offices. they may be notaries public. 15 women in ministry, 5 dentists, 2 journalists, 6 lawyers, 15 doctors, 1 professor, 1 commercial traveller, 4 carpenters, etc. _ohio_ age of legal consent: 16. population: male 2,102,655; female 2,054,890. husband and wife: husband controls wife's earnings, but wife controls separate property. either husband or wife on the death of the other is entitled to one third of the real estate for life. husband is legal guardian of children, and must provide; but if he is unable, wife must assist. divorce: absolute for bigamy, desertion for three years, adultery, impotence, extreme cruelty, fraudulent contract, any gross neglect of duty, habitual drunkenness for three years, imprisonment in penitentiary, procurement of divorce in another state. no limited divorce; but wife has an action for alimony without divorce for adultery, any gross neglect of duty, desertion, separation on account of ill treatment by husband, habitual drunkenness, sentence and imprisonment in penitentiary. labour laws: no child under 14 may work in a mine. children must go to school between 8 and 14. seats and suitable toilet rooms must be provided for female employees. no child under 14 may be employed in any establishment or take part in any acrobatic, mendicant, dangerous, or immoral vocation. hours for girls under 18 confined between 6 a.m. and 7 p.m., nor may they work more than ten hours per day. no sunday labour. no labour agency shall send any female to an immoral resort. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: women may vote for members of boards of education, but not for state commissioner nor on bonds and appropriations. they cannot be notaries. 206 women in ministry, 40 dentists, 151 journalists, 66 lawyers, 451 doctors, 26 professors, 337 saloon keepers, 15 bankers, 62 commercial travellers, 31 carpenters, etc. _oklahoma_ age of legal consent: 16. population: male 214,359; female 182,972. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings and separate property absolutely. if husband or wife dies intestate, leaving one child or lawful issue of child, survivor receives one third of the estate; otherwise one half. if there are no kin, survivor takes all. husband is guardian of children, and is expected to provide; but law assigns no penalty if he does not. divorce: absolute for bigamy, desertion for one year, impotence, pregnancy of wife at time of marriage by other than husband, extreme cruelty, fraudulent contract, habitual drunkenness, gross neglect of duty, conviction and imprisonment for felony after marriage. wife may have an action for separate maintenance for any of these causes without applying for divorce. labour laws: no children under 15 may be employed in any occupation injurious to body or morals. no sunday labour. ten hours per day legal labour for children under 14. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: women may vote for school trustees. they may be notaries public. 29 women in ministry, 1 dentist, 5 journalists, 5 lawyers, 26 doctors, 1 professor, 4 commercial travellers, 3 carpenters, etc. _oregon_ age of legal consent: 16. population: male 232,985; female 183,972. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings. by registering as a sole trader, she can carry on business in her own name. civil disabilities are same for husband and wife except as to voting and holding office. if husband or wife dies intestate, and there are no descendants living, survivor takes whole estate. if there is issue living, the widow receives one half of husband's real estate and one half of his personal property. the widower takes a life interest in all the wife's real estate, whether there are children or not and all her personal property absolutely if there are no descendants living; otherwise one half. husband and wife are equal guardians of children. husband must provide. divorce: absolute for impotency, adultery, conviction for felony, habitual drunkenness for one year, wilful desertion for one year, cruel treatment or indignities making life burdensome. no limited divorce. annulment if either party is one fourth negro or mongolian blood. labour laws: no sunday labour. no child under 14 shall work in factory, mill, mine, telegraph, telephone, or public messenger service; and no child under 14 shall be employed at all during school session. attendance at school compulsory between 8 and 14. hours of work for children under 16 to be confined between 7 a.m. and 6 p.m. seats must be provided for female employees. ten hours a day the legal limit for female labour. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: women having property in school districts have school suffrage and may be elected school trustees. they may be notaries. 40 women in ministry, 15 dentists, 17 journalists, 8 lawyers, 82 doctors, 7 professors, 5 saloon keepers, 10 bankers, 18 commercial travellers, 7 carpenters, etc. _pennsylvania_ age of legal consent: 16. population: male 3,204,541; female 3,097,574. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings. dower and curtesy prevail. wife cannot mortgage separate estate without husband's consent; cannot sue or be sued or contract without his consent; and in order to carry on business in her own name must secure special permission from the court. husband is legal guardian of children, and must provide. divorce: absolute for impotence, bigamy, adultery, desertion for two years, cruelty or intolerable indignities, marriage within prohibited degrees of consanguinity or affinity, fraud, conviction for felony for more than two years, lunacy for ten years. limited divorce for desertion, turning wife out of doors, cruelty, adultery. labour laws: seats must be provided for female employees. employment of females in mines forbidden. children under 18 may not engage in any mendicant occupations; those under 15 may not exhibit in any place where liquor is sold nor take part in any acrobatic or immoral vocation. sunday labour forbidden. no female may work in bakery or macaroni or other establishment more than twelve hours per day. children must go to school between 8 and 16. no child under 16 may work in any anthracite coal mine. no child under 14 shall be employed in any establishment. one hour must be allowed for lunch. no employment bureau shall send any female to an immoral resort. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: no suffrage. 290 women in ministry, 73 dentists, 125 journalists, 73 lawyers, 601 doctors, 38 professors, 183 saloon keepers, 17 bankers, 44 commercial travellers, 40 carpenters, etc. _rhode island_ age of legal consent: 16. population: male 210,516; female 218,040. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings and separate estate, subject to husband's right to curtesy. curtesy and dower both prevail. husband is legal guardian of children and must provide. divorce: absolute or limited for marriages originally void by law, conviction for crime involving loss of civil status, when either party may be presumed to be naturally dead from absence, etc., impotence, adultery, desertion for any time at discretion of court, continued drunkenness, neglect to provide, any gross misbehaviour. labour laws: no child under 13 may be employed except during vacation. no child under 15 may be employed unless he or she has school certificate. no child under 14 to work in factory. hours of labour for children under 16 confined between 6 a.m. and 8 p.m. seats must be provided for all female employees. no child under 16 shall be employed in any acrobatic, mendicant, dangerous, or immoral occupation. hours for female labour confined to ten. sunday labour forbidden. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: no suffrage. 24 women in ministry, 5 dentists, 7 journalists, 3 lawyers, 56 doctors, 2 saloon keepers, 5 commercial travellers, 6 carpenters, etc. _south carolina_ age of legal consent: 14. population: male 664,895; female 675,421. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings and separate estate absolutely. dower prevails, but not curtesy. husband is legal guardian of children, and is required to provide, but law as it stands offers many loopholes. divorce: there are no divorce laws in south carolina. labour laws: seats must be provided for female employees. sunday labour forbidden. no child under 12 to work in factory, mill, or textile establishment, except in cases of extreme poverty duly attested; all such labour to be confined between 6 a.m. and 8 p.m. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: no suffrage. women cannot be notaries. 17 women in ministry, 1 dentist, 6 journalists, 3 lawyers, 17 doctors, 13 professors, 3 saloon keepers, 2 commercial travellers, 13 carpenters, etc. _south dakota_ age of legal consent: 16. population: male 216,164; female 185,406. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings and controls separate estate. joint real estate can be conveyed only by signature of both husband and wife, but husband can dispose of joint personal property without wife's consent. in order to control her separate property, wife must keep it recorded in the office of the county register. no dower and no curtesy. survivor gets one half of estate, if there is one child or issue of child; otherwise one third; unless there are neither children nor kin, when survivor takes all. on the death of an unmarried child, father inherits all its property. if he is dead and there are no other children, mother succeeds; but if there are brothers and sisters, she inherits a child's share. husband is guardian and must support; but if he is infirm, wife must do so. divorce: absolute for adultery, extreme cruelty, wilful desertion or neglect or habitual intemperance for one year, conviction of felony. no limited divorce. party guilty of adultery cannot marry any other, except the innocent party, until death of latter. labour laws: sunday labour forbidden. no woman under 18 may labour more than ten hours a day. no child under 15 may work in mine, hotel, laundry, factory, elevator, bowling alley, or any place where liquor is sold. no child under 15 shall be employed at all while schools are in session. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: women can vote for school trustees. they may be notaries. 29 women in ministry, 3 dentists, 4 journalists, 12 lawyers, 24 doctors, 7 professors, 3 saloon keepers, 3 commercial travellers, etc. _tennessee_ age of legal consent: 18. population: male 1,021,224; female 999,392. husband and wife: husband controls wife's earnings, and wife can do nothing with her separate estate without his consent. dower and curtesy prevail. husband has right to all rents and profits of wife's estate. no law requires husband to provide. husband is guardian of children. divorce: absolute for impotence, bigamy, adultery, desertion for two years, conviction for felony, attempted murder, pregnancy of woman at time of marriage without knowledge of husband, habitual drunkenness. limited for wife only for cruel treatment by husband or intolerable indignities, and desertion or refusal to provide. party guilty of adultery cannot marry person with whom adultery has been committed during life of former partner. labour laws: no sunday labour. no child under 14 may be employed in factory, workshop, or mine. seats must be provided for female employees. hours for labour of women confined to 60 per week. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: no suffrage. 30 women in ministry, 1 dentist, 19 journalists, 14 lawyers, 48 doctors, 9 professors, 6 saloon keepers, 4 bankers, 16 commercial travellers, 6 carpenters, etc. _texas_ age of legal consent: 15. population: male 1,578,900; female 1,469,810. husband and wife: husband controls wife's earnings and wife can do nothing with her separate property without his consent. no dower or curtesy. husband and wife succeed equally to each other's estate. husband is guardian of children and may be required to provide out of his wife's estate. divorce: absolute for excesses or outrages; in favour of husband when wife is taken in adultery or has deserted him for three years; in favour of wife, if husband has deserted her for three years or has abandoned her and lives in adultery with another woman. in favour of either husband or wife on conviction for felony. no limited divorce. labour laws: no sunday labour. no child under 12 may be employed in any establishment using machinery. no females shall be employed in any place where liquor is sold except immediate members of owner's family. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: no suffrage. women can be notaries. 50 women in ministry, 12 dentists, 51 journalists, 17 lawyers, 100 doctors, 3 professors, 26 saloon keepers, 18 bankers, 29 commercial travellers, 12 carpenters, etc. _utah_ age of legal consent: 18. population: male 141,687; female 135,062. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings. no dower or curtesy. husband and wife succeed equally to each other's estate at death. woman controls separate estate absolutely. husband is legal guardian of children. there is no penalty for non-support. divorce: absolute for impotence, adultery, desertion for one year, neglect to provide, habitual drunkenness, conviction of felony, cruel treatment causing bodily injury or mental distress, permanent insanity. no limited divorce; but wife has an action for separate maintenance in case of desertion or neglect to provide on part of husband. labour laws: no females may work in mines. no sunday labour. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: full suffrage; therefore all offices are open to women. 20 women in ministry, 5 dentists, 7 journalists, 1 lawyer, 34 doctors, 2 saloon keepers, 1 banker, 3 commercial travellers, 1 carpenter, etc. _vermont_ age of legal consent: 16. population: males 175,138; females 168,503. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings and controls separate property. no dower or curtesy. husband and wife have same powers of mutual inheritance, except that widower does not take his wife's personal property. husband is guardian of children and must support. divorce: absolute or limited for adultery, sentence to hard labour, intolerable severity, desertion for three years, neglect to provide, absence for seven years without being heard from. labour laws: no child under 16 to be employed after 8 p.m. no child under 12 may work in mill, factory, railroad, quarry, or messenger service. no female shall be employed in barrooms. no sunday labour. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: women have school suffrage. they may be notaries. 17 women in ministry, 3 dentists, 15 journalists, 21 doctors, 1 professor, 2 saloon keepers, 11 commercial travellers, 3 carpenters, etc. _virginia_ age of legal consent: 14. population: male 925,897; female 928,287. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings and separate property absolutely. dower and curtesy prevail. husband is guardian of children and must support. divorce: absolute for adultery, impotence, sentence to penitentiary, conviction of an infamous offence prior to marriage without knowledge of other party, desertion for three years, pregnancy of wife at time of marriage or previous prostitution without knowledge of husband. limited for cruelty, reasonable apprehension of bodily hurt, desertion. labour laws: seats must be provided for female employees. hours of female labour confined to ten. no child under 12 may work in factory or mine; no child under 14 shall work between 6 p.m. and 7 a.m. no child under 14 shall be hired for any mendicant, acrobatic, dangerous, or immoral occupation. no sunday labour. suffrage, political condition, industrial, and professional status: no suffrage. 37 women in ministry, 1 dentist, 12 journalists, 7 lawyers, 32 doctors, 20 professors, 19 saloon keepers, 13 commercial travellers, 9 carpenters, etc. _washington_ age of legal consent: 18. population: male 304,178; female 213,925. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings and controls separate estate; but control of community property is vested absolutely in the husband; this includes everything acquired after marriage by the joint or separate efforts of either. husband and wife have equal rights of inheritance to one another's estate; but are not equal guardians of the children, as husband can exclude wife by will. support of the family is chargeable upon the property of both husband or wife, or either of them. no dower or curtesy. divorce: absolute for any cause deemed by court sufficient, when court is satisfied that parties can no longer live together, fraudulent contract, adultery, impotence, desertion for one year, cruel treatment, habitual drunkenness, neglect to provide, imprisonment. no limited divorce. labour laws: no female may be employed in a mine. every profession and occupation open to women, but they may not hold public office. no sunday labour. females shall not be employed in any place where liquor is sold. seats must be provided for female employees. hours limited to ten. no child under 14 shall labour in factory, mill, or workshop except at discretion of juvenile judge. children must go to school between 8 and 15. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: women have school and bond suffrage, but cannot vote for state or county superintendents. 38 women in ministry, 7 dentists, 13 journalists, 13 lawyers, 62 doctors, 3 professors, 8 saloon keepers, 1 banker, 8 commercial travellers, etc. _west virginia_ age of legal consent: 14. population: male 499,242; female 459,558. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings, but cannot sell or encumber her separate property without husband's consent. husband is legal guardian and must provide. dower and curtesy prevail. divorce: absolute for adultery, impotence, imprisonment in penitentiary, conviction of an infamous offence before marriage, desertion for three years, pregnancy of wife at time of marriage or prostitution before without knowledge of husband, in favour of wife when husband was notoriously a licentious person before marriage without her knowledge. limited for cruelty, reasonable apprehension of bodily hurt, desertion, habitual drunkenness. labour laws: no sunday labour. no child under 12 may work in factory or mill and no child under 14 shall be employed during school session. no child under 15 may be employed in any mendicant, acrobatic, immoral, or dangerous occupation, nor in any place where liquor is sold. seats must be provided for female employees. no female may work in mine. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: no suffrage. women cannot be notaries. 26 women in ministry, 4 dentists, 4 journalists, 4 lawyers, 18 doctors, 4 professors, 9 saloon keepers, 2 bankers, 3 commercial travellers, 2 carpenters, etc. _wisconsin_ age of legal consent: 18. population: male 1,067,562; female 1,001,480. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings. assignment of wages of husband must have wife's written consent. wife controls separate property absolutely. dower and curtesy prevail. husband is guardian of children and must provide. divorce: absolute for impotence, adultery, sentence to imprisonment for three years prior to marriage. limited or absolute for desertion for one year, cruelty, habitual drunkenness, neglect to provide, conduct of husband rendering it improper or unsafe for wife to live with him. labour laws: female labour confined to eight hours per day. no child under 14 may work in factory, workshop, bowling alley, or mine. children between 14 and 16 must get permission from juvenile judge. no child under 16 shall be employed on dangerous machinery. none under 14 shall take part in theatrical or circus exhibition as musician unless accompanied on tours by parent or guardian. authorities shall in all cases determine whether occupation is dangerous or immoral for children under 14. no sunday labour. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: women have school suffrage. they may be notaries. 65 women in ministry, 24 dentists, 32 journalists, 23 lawyers, 154 doctors, 12 professors, 143 saloon keepers, 2 bankers, 27 commercial travellers, 9 carpenters, etc. _wyoming_ age of legal consent: 21. population: male 58,184; female 34,347. husband and wife: wife controls own earnings and separate property absolutely. neither dower nor curtesy prevail. husband and wife have same rights of mutual inheritance. husband is legal guardian of children, but there is no penalty if he does not provide. divorce: absolute for adultery, impotence, conviction for felony, desertion for one year, habitual drunkenness, extreme cruelty, neglect to provide for one year, intolerable indignities, vagrancy of husband, conviction of felony prior to marriage unknown to other party, pregnancy of wife at time of marriage unknown to husband. no limited divorce. labour laws: no female shall work in mine. acrobatic, mendicant, dangerous, or immoral occupations forbidden to children under 14. no sunday labour. seats must be provided for female employees. suffrage, political condition, industrial and professional status: full suffrage. women are eligible for all offices. 2 women in ministry, 2 journalists, 12 doctors, 1 professor, no saloon keepers, lawyers, or dentists, 2 carpenters, etc. in studying these tables, it should be remembered that new laws are being made constantly; and that the census of 1910 will give figures which as soon as they appear must supersede those of 1900. sources i. the statutes of the several states, from earliest times to the present day. published by authority. ii. all newspapers and periodicals. iii. the census reports, especially the various separate reports such as that on "marriage and divorce"; and the reports of the commissioner of labour. iv. the history of woman suffrage: edited by elizabeth cady stanton, susan b. anthony, matilda joslyn gage, and ida husted harper, 4 vols. [first two published by fowler and wells, new york, 1881 and 1882; last two by susan b. anthony, rochester, 1887 and 1902.] v. the encyclopedia of social reforms: edited by william d.p. bliss, with the co-operation of many specialists. funk and wagnalls, new york and london, 1898. notes: [410] see, for example, the account in the _new york tribune_, sept. 8, 9, and 12, 1853, of what happened at the women's rights convention at that time. [411] in 1900 there were 7399 female physicians and surgeons in the united states, and 808 female dentists. [412] in 1900 there were 1049 women lawyers in the united states. the above statements are from bliss, _encyc_., p. 1291. [413] in 1900 there were 3405 women clergy in the united states. [414] in 1900 there were 2193 women journalists in the united states. this does not, of course, include women reporters and the like. chapter ix general considerations it is twenty-three centuries since plato gave to the world his magnificent treatise on the state. the dream of the greek philosopher of equal rights for all intelligent citizens, among whom he includes women, has in large part been realised; but much is yet wanting to bring society to the standard of the ideal republic. in not a few states of the world the conditions affecting property rights are inequitable; in all but very few states woman is still barred from the field of politics and from the legitimate rights of citizenship; and the day seems far distant when the states possessing a representative government will be prepared to accept the woman citizen as eligible for administrative positions. it will, therefore, be my purpose in this chapter first to consider five of the most serious objections to the granting of equal suffrage, that is to say, to the concession to women of full citizens' rights under the law. it will be found that these objections are based on a presumed inferiority of women to men in various respects. i shall give consideration next in order to the question of the inferiority or superiority of one sex over the other. in view, furthermore, of the new ferment in thought in modern society, it will be useful to analyse certain habits of mind and to indicate the necessity for a readjustment of old beliefs in the light of recent evolution. i shall conclude my history with a suggestion for definite reforms which, i believe, must be brought about, whether equal suffrage is granted or not, before women can attain their maximum of efficiency. the opposition to the granting of equal suffrage is, as i have said, based mainly upon five classes of contentions: i. the theological. ii. the physiological. iii. the social or political. iv. the intellectual. v. the moral. a consideration and an analysis of these five classes of objections will constitute a summary of the relations of woman to the community, and may also serve as a guide or suggestion to the possibility of a legitimate development, in the near future, of her rights as a citizen. i. the theological argument is based upon the distinctly evil conception of woman, presented in _genesis_, as the cause of misery in this world and upon the subordinate position assigned to her by paul and peter. christ himself has left us no teachings on the subject. the hebrew and oriental creed of woman's sphere permeated the west as christianity expanded and forced to extinction the roman principle of equality. only within fifty years, has the female sex regained the rights enjoyed by women under the law of the empire seventeen centuries ago. the apostolic theory of complete subordination gained strength with each succeeding age. i have already cited instances of ecclesiastical vehemence. as a final example i may recall that when, early in the nineteenth century, chloroform was first used to help women in childbirth, a number of protestant divines denounced the practice as a sin against the creator, who had expressly commanded that woman should bring forth in sorrow and tribulation. yet times have so far changed within two decades that the theological argument is practically obsolete among protestants, although it is still influential in the roman catholic church, which holds fast to the doctrine laid down by the apostles. we may say, however, that of all the objections, the theological has, in practice, the least weight among the bulk of the population. the word _obey_ in the clerical formula _love, honour, and obey_ provokes a smile. ii. the physiological argument is more powerful. its supporters assert that the constitution of woman is too delicate, too finely wrought to compete with man in his chosen fields. the physiological argument makes its appearance most persistently in the statement that woman should have no vote because she could not defend her property or her country in time of war. in reply to this some partisans of equal suffrage have thought it necessary to prove that women are physically equal in all respects to men. but the issues between nations which in the centuries past it had been believed could be adjusted only by war, by being fought out (not, of course, to any logical conclusion, but to a result which showed simply that one party was stronger than the other), are now, in the great majority of cases, determined by the more reasonable, the more civilised, method of arbitration. as a matter of fact, the cause of woman's rights will suffer no harm by a frank admission that women are not, in general, the peers of men in brute force. the very nature of the female sex, subjected, as it is, to functional strains from which the male is free, is sufficient to invalidate such a claim. a refutation of the physiological objection to equal suffrage is, however, not hard to find. even in war, as it is practised to-day, physical force is of little significance compared with strategy which is a product of the intellect. in a naval battle for instance, ships no longer engage at close range, where it is possible for the crew of one to board the opposing ship and engage in hand to hand conflict with the enemy; machinery turns the guns and even loads them; the whole fight is simply a contest between trained gunners, who must depend for success on cool mathematical computation. nevertheless, it is true that under stress or the need of making a livelihood women in many instances do show physical endurance equal to that of men. women who are expert ballet dancers and those who are skilled acrobats can hardly be termed physiological weaklings. in berlin, you may see women staggering along with huge loads on their backs; in munich, women are street-cleaners and hod-carriers; on the island of capri, the trunk of the tourist is lifted by two men onto the shoulder of a woman, who carries it up the steep road to the village. in this country many women are forced to do hard bodily labour ten hours a day in sweat-shops. in all countries and in all ages there have been examples of women who, disguised as men, have fought side by side with the male and with equal efficiency. the case of joan of arc will at once occur to the reader; and those who are curious about this subject may, by consulting the records of our civil war, find exciting material in the story of "belle boyd," "frank miller," and "major cushman."[415] doubtless women are stronger physically than they were a half-century ago, when it was considered unladylike to exercise. if you will read the novels of that time, you will find that the heroine faints on the slightest provocation or weeps copiously, like amelia in _vanity fair_, whenever the situation demands a grain of will-power or of common-sense. but to-day women seldom faint or weep in literature; they play tennis or row. when, in 1844, pauline wright davis lectured on physiology before women in america and displayed the manikin, some of her auditors dropped their veils, some ran from the room, and some actually became unconscious, because their sense of delicacy was put to so sharp a test. it should be borne in mind, in connection with the contention that the privileges of a citizen ought to be accorded only to those persons who are physically capable of helping to defend the community by force, that no such principle is applied in fixing the existing qualifications for male citizenship. a large number of the voters of every community are, on the ground either of advanced years or of invalidism, physically disqualified for service as soldiers, sailors, or policemen. this group of citizens includes a very large proportion of the thinking power of the community. no intelligently directed state would, however, be prepared to deprive itself of the counsels, of the active political co-operation, and of the service from time to time in the responsibility of office, of men of the type of gladstone (at the age of seventy-five), of john stuart mill (always a physical weakling), of washington (serving as president after he was sixty), on the ground that these citizens were no longer capable of carrying muskets in the ranks. any classification of citizens, any privileges extended to voters, ought, of course, to be arrived at on a consistent and impartial principle. further, under the conditions obtaining in this twentieth century, governments, whether of nations, of states, or of cities, are carried on not by force but by opinion. in the earlier history of mankind, each family was called upon to maintain its existence by physical force. the families the members of which (female as well as male) were not strong enough to fight for their existence were crushed out. par into the later centuries, issues between individuals were adjusted by the decision of arms. up to within a very recent date, it may be admitted that issues between nations could be settled only by war. it is, however, at this time the accepted principle of representative government in all communities that matters of policy are determined by the expression of opinion, that is by means of the votes given by the majority of its citizens. it is by intelligence and not by brute force that the world is now being ruled, and with the growth of intelligence and a better understanding of the principles of government, it is in order not only on the grounds of justice but for the best interests of the state to widen the foundations of representative government, so as to make available for voting and for official responsibilities all the intelligence that is comprised within the community. this is in my judgment the most conclusive reply to the objection that the physical weakness of woman unfits her for citizenship. iii. according to the social or political argument, if woman is given equal rights with man, the basis of family life, and hence the foundation of the state itself, is undermined, as a house divided against itself cannot stand. it is said that (1) there must be some one authority in a household and that this should be the man; (2) woman will neglect the home if she is left free to enter politics or a profession; (3) politics will degrade her; (4) when independent and self-asserting she will lose her influence over man; and (5) most women do not want to vote or to enter politics. it is astonishing with what vehemence men will base arguments on pure theory and speculation, while they wilfully close their eyes to any facts which may contradict their assumptions. it is inconceivable to a certain type of mind that a husband and wife can differ on political questions and may yet maintain an even harmony, while their love abates not one whit. in the four states where women vote--wyoming, colorado, utah, and idaho--there is no more divorce than in other states; and any one who has travelled in these communities can attest that no domestic unhappiness results from the suffrage. nor does it in new zealand. it is said that there must be some one supreme authority; but this depends on the view taken of marriage. under the old common law, the personality of the wife was merged completely in that of her husband; marriage was an absolute despotism. under the canon law, woman is man's obedient and unquestioning subject; marriage is a benevolent despotism. to-day people are more inclined to look upon matrimony as a partnership of equal duties, rights, and privileges. sophocles argued in one of his tragedies that children belong entirely to the father, that the mother can assert no valid claim for anything. lawyers have found this logic excellent; and the records are full of instances of children being taken from a hard-working mother in order to be handed over to a drunken father who wants their wages for his support. it is no longer so in most states. civilisation has advanced so far, that the pains of bringing forth and raising children are acknowledged to give the mother a right almost equal to that of the father to determine all that concerns the child. there is some reason, therefore, for believing that she should have a voice also in passing upon laws which may make or undo for ever the welfare of the boys and girls for whom she struggles during the years that they are growing to manhood and womanhood. men are for the greater part so engrossed in business that on certain questions they are far less competent to be "authorities" than women. against stupid pedagogy, against red-tape, against the policy that morality must never interfere with business principles, against civic dirtiness, against brothel and saloon, women are more active than men, because they see more clearly how vitally the interests of their children are affected by these evil conditions. wherever women vote, these questions are to the fore. closely connected with the "one authority" argument is the old contention, so often resorted to and relied upon, that women, if they are permitted to vote, will neglect the home, and that, if the professions are opened to them, they will find these too absorbingly attractive. much weight should, however, be given to the great power of the domestic instinct implanted in the nature of woman. in the states where women vote and are eligible for political offices, there are fewer unmarried women in proportion to the population than in states where they have no such rights. the great leaders of the woman suffrage movement from mrs. stanton to mrs. snowden have in their home circle led lives as beautiful and have raised families as large and as well equipped morally and intellectually as those who are content to sit by the fire and spin. thus far i have argued from the orthodox view, that matrimony ought to be the goal of every woman's ambition. but if a woman wishes to remain single and devote herself exclusively to the realisation of some ideal, it is hard to see why she should not. men who take this course are eulogised for their noble self-sacrifice in immolating themselves for the advancement of the cause of civilisation; women who do precisely the same thing are sometimes unthinkingly spoken of in terms of contempt or with that complacent pity which is far worse. it is difficult for us to realise adequately what talented women like rosa bonheur had to undergo because of this curious attitude of humanity. "the home is woman's sphere." this shibboleth is the logical result of the attitude mentioned. doubtless, the home is woman's sphere; but the home includes all that pertains to it--city, politics and taxes, laws relating to the protection of minors, municipal rottenness which may corrupt children, schools and playgrounds and museums which may educate them. few doctrines have been productive of more pain than the "woman's sphere" argument. it is this which has, for a thousand years, made the unmarried woman, the _old maid_, the butt of the contemptible jibes of christian society, whereof you will find no parallel in pagan antiquity. dramatic writers have held her up to ridicule on the stage on account of the peculiarities of character which are naturally acquired when a person is isolated from participation in the activities of life. it is the doctrine which has made women glad to marry drunkards and rakes, to bring forth children tainted with the sins of their fathers, and to suffer hell on earth rather than incur the ridicule of the christian gentleman who may, without incurring the protest of society, remain unmarried and sow an unlimited quantity of wild oats. it is this doctrine which was indirectly responsible for the hanging and burning of eccentric old women on the charge that they were witches. as men found a divine sanction for keeping women in subjection, so in those days of superstition did they blaspheme their creator by digging out of the old testament, as a justification for their brutality, the text, "thou shalt not suffer a witch to live." "politics will degrade women"--this naã¯ve confession that politics are rotten is a fairly strong argument that some good influence is needed to make them cleaner. generally speaking, it is difficult to imagine how politics could be made any worse. if a woman cannot go to the polls or hold office without being insulted by rowdies, her vote will be potent to elect officials who should be able to secure for the community a standard of reasonable civilisation. there is no case in which more sentimentality is wasted. lovely woman is urged not to allow her beauty, her gentleness, her tender submissiveness to become the butt of the lounger at the street corner; and in most instances lovely woman, like the celebrated maã®tre corbeau, is cajoled effectively. meanwhile the brothel and the sweat-shop continue on their prosperous way. by a curious inconsistency, man will permit woman to help him out of a political dilemma and will then suavely remark that suffrage will degrade her. during the civil war, anna dickinson by her remarkable lecture entitled, "the national crisis" saved new hampshire and connecticut for the republicans; anna carroll not only gave such a crushing rejoinder to breckinridge's secession speech that the government printed and distributed it, but she also, as is now generally believed, planned the campaign which led to the fall of forts henry and donelson and opened the mississippi to vicksburg. how many men realise these facts? the theory that politics degrade women will not find much support in such states as colorado and wyoming. here, where equal suffrage obtains, women have been treated with uniform courtesy at the polls; they have even been elected to legislatures with no diminution of their womanliness; and the house of wyoming long ago made a special resolution of its approval of equal rights and attested the beneficial results that have followed the extension of the suffrage to women.[416] judge lindsey of colorado has said that his election, and consequent power to work out his great reforms in juvenile delinquency, was due to the backing of women at a time when men, for "business reasons," were averse to extend their aid. "no one would dare to propose its repeal [i.e., the repeal of equal suffrage], and if left to the men of the state any proposition to revoke the rights bestowed on women would be overwhelmingly defeated." experience in colorado and elsewhere has shown that any important moral issue will bring out the women voters in great force; but after election they are content to resume their domestic duties; and they have shown no great desire for political office.[417] before i leave the discussion as to whether politics degrade women, it will not be out of place to consider the question whether certain women may not, if they have a vote, degrade politics. of such women there are two classes--the immoral and the merely ignorant. as to the former, much fear has been expressed that they would be the very agents for unscrupulous politicians to use at the polls. exact data on this matter are not available. i shall content myself with quoting a statement by mrs. ida husted harper[418]: "that 'immoral' class," said mrs. harper, "is a bogey that has never materialised in states where women have the suffrage. those women don't vote. indeed, denver's experience has been interesting in that respect. when equal suffrage was first granted, women of that class were compelled by the police to register. it was a question of doing as the police said, of course, or being arrested. the women did not want to vote. they don't go under their real names; they have no fixed residence, and so on. anyway, the last thing they wanted was to be registered voters. "but the corrupt political element needed their vote, and were after it, through the police. these women actually appealed to a large woman's political club to use its influence to keep the police from forcing them to register. a committee was appointed; it was found that the story was true; coercion was stopped, and the women's vote turned out the chief of police who attempted it. there is now no coercion, and this class simply pays no attention to politics at all." the doubling of the number of ignorant voters by giving all women alike the ballot would be a more serious affair. a remedy for that, however, lies in making an educational test a necessary qualification for all voters. in this connection the remarks of mr. g.h. putnam are suggestive[419]: "if i were a citizen of massachusetts or of any state which, like massachusetts, possesses such educational qualification, i should be an active worker for the cause of equal suffrage. as a citizen of new york who has during the last fifty years done his share of work in the attempt to improve municipal conditions, i am forced to the conclusion that it will be wiser to endure for a further period the inconsistency, the stupidity, and the injustice of the disfranchisement of thousands of intelligent women voters rather than to accept the burden of an increase in the mass of unintelligent voters. the first step toward 'equal suffrage' will, in my judgment, be a fight for an educational qualification for all voters." those who maintain that when women are independent and self-asserting, they will lose their influence over men, assume that we view things to-day as they did a century ago and that the thoughts of men are not widened with the progress of the suns. the woman who can share the aspirations, the thoughts, the complete life of a man, who can understand his work thoroughly and support him with the sympathy born of perfect comprehension, will exert a far vaster influence over him than the milk-and-water ideal who was advised "to smile when her husband smiled, to frown when he frowned, and to be discreetly silent when the conversation turned on subjects of importance." it is a good thing for women to be self-asserting and independent. there is and always has been a class of men who, like mr. murdstone, are amenable to justice and reason only when they know that their proposed victim can at any time break the chains with which they would bind her. this brings us to the last of the social or political arguments, viz., "most women do not want to vote."[420] precisely the same argument has been used by slave owners from time immemorial--the slaves do not wish to be free. as professor thomas writes[421]: "certainly the negroes of virginia did not greatly desire freedom before the idea was developed by agitation from the outside, and many of them resented this outside interference. 'in general, in the whole western sahara desert, slaves are as much astonished to be told that their relation to their owners is wrong and that they ought to break it, as boys amongst us would be to be told that their relation to their fathers was wrong and ought to be broken.' and it is reported from eastern borneo that a white man could hire no natives for wages. 'they thought it degrading to work for wages, but if he would buy them, they would work for him.'" it is akin to the old contention of despots that when their subjects are fit for freedom, they will make them free; but nobody has ever seen such a time. reform of evil conditions does not come from below; leaders with visions of the future must point the way. i once heard of a very respectable lady of boston who exclaimed indignantly against certain proposed changes in child labour laws in north carolina, where she owned shares in a cotton mill. she maintained that the children who worked at the looms ten hours a day expressed no discontent; it kept them off the streets; and the operators, in the kindness of their hearts, had actually had the looms made especially to accommodate conveniently the diminutive size of the little workers. some people might, with great profit to themselves, read plato's superb allegory of the men in the cave. the fact that various women's associations have been instituted in opposition to the extension of woman suffrage--as in boston and new york--is no argument for depriving all women of the franchise. if the women who compose these societies do not care to vote, they do not need to; but they have no right to deprive of their rights those who do so desire. it is said that good women will not go to the polls; yet there are in every large city hundreds of respectable males who disdain to vote. a woman is more likely to have a sense of duty to vote than a man. it is the old cry, "don't disturb the old order of things. if you make us think for ourselves, we shall be so unhappy." so galileo was brought to trial, so anne hutchinson was banished; and so persecuted they the prophets before them. iv. another argument that is made much of is the intellectual inferiority of woman. for ages women were allowed nor higher education than reading, writing, and simple arithmetic, often not even these; yet elizabeth barrett browning, george sand, george eliot, harriet martineau, jane austen, and some scores of others did work which showed them to be the peers of any minds of their day. and if no woman can justly claim to have attained an eminence such as that of shakespeare in letters or of darwin in science, we may question whether shakespeare would have been shakespeare or darwin darwin if the society which surrounded them had insisted that it was a sin for them to use their minds and that they should not presume to meddle with knowledge. when a girl for the first time in america took a public examination in geometry, in 1829, men wagged their heads gravely and prophesied the speedy dissolution of family and state. to the list of women whose service for their fellows would have been lost if the old-time barriers had been maintained, may be added the name of the late dr. mary putnam jacobi. mary putnam secured her preliminary medical education in the early '60's, and found herself keenly troubled and dissatisfied at the inadequacy of the facilities extended to women for the study of medicine. she insisted that if women practitioners were to be, as she expressed it, "turned loose" upon the community with license to practise, they should, not only as a matter of justice to themselves but of protection for the women and children whose lives they would have in their hands, be properly qualified. at the time in question, the medical profession took the ground that women might enjoy the benefit of a little medical education but they were denied the facilities for any thorough training or for any research work. mary putnam secured her graduate degree from the great medical school of the university of paris, being the first woman who had been admitted to the school since the fourteenth century. returning after six years of thorough training, she did much during the remaining years of her life to secure and to maintain for women physicians the highest possible standard of training and of practice. it was natural that with this experience of the requirement of equal facilities for women in her own work, she should always have been a believer in the extension of equal facilities for any citizen's work for which, after experience, women might be found qualified. she was, therefore, an ardent advocate of equal suffrage. one needs but recall the admirable intellectual work of women to-day to wonder at the imbecility of those who assert that women are intellectually the inferiors of men. madame curie in science, miss tarbell in political and economic history, miss jane addams in sociological writings and practice, the rev. anna howard shaw in the ministry, mrs. hetty green in business, are a few examples of women whose mental ability ought to bring a blush to the old guard. mrs. harriman and mrs. sage, who manage properties of many millions, are denied the privilege of voting in regard to the expenditure of their taxes; but every ignorant immigrant can cast a vote, thanks to the doctrine that the political acumen of a man, however degraded, is superior to that of a woman, however great her genius--an admirable obedience to the saw in ecclesiasticus that the badness of men is better than the goodness of women. let me quote again from professor thomas: "the men have said that women are not intelligent enough to vote, but the women have replied that more of honesty than of intelligence is needed in politics at present, and that women certainly do not represent the most ignorant portion of the population. they claim that voting is a relatively simple matter anyway, that political freedom 'is nothing but the control of those who do make politics their business by those who do not,' and that they have enough intelligence 'to decide whether they are properly governed, and whom they will be governed by.' they point out also that already, without the ballot, they are instructing men how to vote and teaching them how to run a city; that women have to journey to the legislature at every session to instruct members and committees at legislative hearings, and that it is absurd that women who are capable of instructing men how to vote should not be allowed to vote themselves. to the suggestion that they would vote like their husbands and that so there would be no change in the political situation, women admit that they would sometimes vote like their husbands, because their husbands sometimes vote right; but ex-chief-justice fisher of wyoming says: 'when the republicans nominate a bad man and the democrats a good one, the republican women do not hesitate a moment to "scratch" the bad and substitute the good. it is just so with the democrats; hence we almost always have a mixture of office-holders. i have seen the effects of female suffrage, and, instead of being a means of encouragement to fraud and corruption, it tends greatly to purify elections and to promote better government.' now, 'scratching' is the most difficult feature of the art of voting, and if women have mastered this, they are doing very well. furthermore, the english suffragettes have completely outgeneralled the professional politicians. they discovered that no cause can get recognition in politics unless it is brought to the attention, and that john bull in particular will not begin to pay attention 'until, you stand on your head to talk to him.' they regretted to do this, but in doing it they secured the attention and interest of all england. they then followed a relentless policy of opposing the election of any candidate of the party in power. the liberal men had been playing with the liberal women, promising support and then laughing the matter off. but they are now reduced to an appeal to the maternal instinct of the women. they say it is unloving of them to oppose their own kind. politics is a poor game, but this is politics." v. the last objection i would call the _moral_. it embraces such arguments as, that woman is too impulsive, too easily swayed by her emotions to hold responsible positions, that the world is very evil and slippery, and that she must therefore constantly have man to protect her--a pious duty, which he avows solemnly it has ever been his special delight to perform. the preceding pages are a commentary on the manner in which man has discharged this duty. in delaware, for instance, the age of legal consent was until 1889 seven years. the institution of chivalry, to take another example, is usually praised for the high estimation and protection it secured for women; yet any one who has read its literature knows that, in practice, it did nothing of the sort. the noble lord who was so gallant to his lady love--who, by the way, was frequently the wife of another man--had very little scruple about seducing a maid of low degree. the same gallantry is conspicuous in the letters of lord chesterfield, beneath whose unctuous courtesy the beast of sensuality is always leering. in the past the main function of woman outside of the rearing of children has been to satisfy the carnal appetite of man, to prepare his food, to minister to his physical comfort; she was barred from participation in the intellectual. in order to hold her to these bonds a divine sanction was sought. the mohammedan found it in the koran; the christian, in the bible--just as slavery was justified repeatedly from the story of ham, just as the stuarts and the bourbons believed firmly that they were the special favourites of god. strangely enough, men who are so sensitive about the moral welfare of women will visit a dance hall where women are degraded nightly, and will allow their daughters to marry "reformed" rakes. men will not permit any mention of sexual matters in their homes, and will let their children get their information on the street; and all for the very simple reason that they are afraid the truth will hurt, will make people think. men have been remarkably sensitive about having women speak in public for their rights; but they watch with zest a woman screaming nonsense on the stage. it is quite possible that many women are swayed too easily by their emotions. we must recollect, however, that for some thousands of years woman has been carefully drilled to believe that she is an emotional creature. if a dozen people conspire to tell a man that he is looking badly, it is not unlikely that he will feel ill. certainly florence nightingale and clara barton exhibited no lack of firmness on the shambles of battlefields; and there are few men living who cannot recall instances of women who have, in the face of disaster and evil fortune, shown a steady perseverance and will-power in earning a living for themselves and their children that men have not surpassed. having in the preceding pages considered the five capital objections to the concession of equal suffrage, i shall now, in accordance with my plan, say something of the much-mooted question of the superiority or inferiority of one sex to the other. it might be concluded from the foregoing account that i see little difference in the aptitudes and powers of the sexes physically, morally, or intellectually. that does not necessarily follow. it is possible to conceive of each sex as the complement of the other; and between complements there can be no question either of superiority or of inferiority. the great historian of european morals has analysed the constitutional differences of the sexes as he conceived them; and i may quote his remarks as pertinent to my theme. lecky writes as follows[422]: "physically, men have the indisputable superiority in strength, and women in beauty. intellectually, a certain inferiority of the female sex can hardly be denied when we remember how almost exclusively the foremost places in every department of science, literature, and art have been occupied by men, how infinitesimally small is the number of women who have shown in any form the very highest order of genius, how many of the greatest men have achieved their greatness in defiance of the most adverse circumstances, and how completely women have failed in obtaining the first position, even in music or painting, for the cultivation of which their circumstances would appear most propitious. it is as impossible to find a female raphael, or a female handel, as a female shakespeare or newton. women are intellectually more desultory and volatile than men; they are more occupied with particular instances than with general principles; they judge rather by intuitive perceptions than by deliberate reasoning or past experience. they are, however, usually superior to men in nimbleness and rapidity of thought, and in the gift of tact or the power of seizing speedily and faithfully the finer inflections of feeling, and they have therefore often attained very great eminence as conversationalists, as letter-writers, as actresses, and as novelists. "morally, the general superiority of women over men is, i think, unquestionable. if we take the somewhat coarse and inadequate criterion of police statistics, we find that, while the male and female populations are nearly the same in number, the crimes committed by men are usually rather more than five times as numerous as those committed by women; and although it may be justly observed that men, as the stronger sex, and the sex upon whom the burden of supporting the family is thrown, have more temptations than women, it must be remembered, on the other hand, that extreme poverty which verges upon starvation is most common among women, whose means of livelihood are most restricted, and whose earnings are smallest and most precarious. self-sacrifice is the most conspicuous element of a virtuous and religious character, and it is certainly far less common among men than among women, whose whole lives are usually spent in yielding to the will and consulting the pleasures of another. there are two great departments of virtue: the impulsive, or that which springs spontaneously from the emotions, and the deliberative, or that which is performed in obedience to the sense of duty; and in both of these i imagine women are superior to men. their sensibility is greater, they are more chaste both in thought and act, more tender to the erring, more compassionate to the suffering, more affectionate to all about them.... in active courage women are inferior to men. in the courage of endurance they are commonly their superiors.... in the ethic of intellect they are decidedly inferior. to repeat an expression i have already employed, women very rarely love truth, though they love passionately what they call 'the truth' or opinions they have received from others, and hate vehemently those who differ from them. they are little capable of impartiality or doubt; their thinking is chiefly a mode of feeling; though very generous in their acts, they are rarely generous in their opinions.... they are less capable than men of perceiving qualifying circumstances, of admitting the existence of elements of good in systems to which they are opposed, of distinguishing the personal character of an opponent from the opinions he maintains. men lean most to justice, and women to mercy. men are most addicted to intemperance and brutality, women to frivolity and jealousy. men excel in energy, self-reliance, perseverance, and magnanimity, women in humility, gentleness, modesty, and endurance.... their religious or devotional realisations are incontestably more vivid.... but though more intense, the sympathies of women are commonly less wide than those of men. their imaginations individualise more, their affections are, in consequence, concentrated rather on leaders than on causes.... in politics, their enthusiasm is more naturally loyalty than patriotism. in history, they are even more inclined than men to dwell exclusively upon biographical incidents or characteristics as distinguished from the march of general causes." experience, by which alone mankind has ever learned or can learn, will show how far the characteristics enumerated by lecky are innate and how far they have been acquired in the course of ages by certain habits of belief and education. the securing of citizens' rights for woman will of necessity depend on the attitude of society. there may be numerous laws for her relief on the statute books; but if society frowns on her appearance in court, it will be only in exceptional cases that she will appeal to the courts. to one who is familiar with the records of daily life a hundred years ago there is little doubt that conjugal infidelity on the part of the husband was more flagrant then than it is to-day; but there were infinitely fewer divorces. the reason for this is simply that public sentiment on the subject has changed. a century ago, a divorced woman could do nothing; the wife was exhorted to bear her husband's faults with meekness; and the expansion of industry had not yet opened to her that opportunity of making her own living which she now possesses in a hundred ways. women were entirely dependent on men; and the men knew it. to-day they are not so sure. the old conception of woman's position was subjection, based on mental and physical inferiority and supported by biblical arguments. the newer conception is that of a complement, in which neither inferiority nor superiority finds place. the old conception was based, like every institution of the times, on fear. men were warned against heresy by being reminded of the tortures of hell fire; against crime by appealing to their dread of the gallows. between the death of anne and the reign of george iii one hundred and eighty-eight capital offences were added to the penal code; and crime at once increased to an amazing degree. in a system that is founded on fear, when once that fear is removed--as it inevitably will be with the growth of enlightenment--there remains no basis of action, no incentive to good. it has been tried for centuries and has yielded only star chambers and spanish inquisitions. it is time that we try a new method. an appeal to the sense of _fair play_, an appeal to the sense of duty and of natural affection may yield immeasurably superior results. it has been my experience and personal observation that the standard of honour in our non-sectarian schools, where the _fair play_ spirit is most insisted on, is vastly greater than it was in the old sectarian institutions where boys were told morning, noon, and night that they would go to hell if they did not behave. the new spirit is not going to be accepted at once by society. there must first be some wailing and much gnashing of teeth; and the monster, custom, which all sense doth eat, will still for a time be antagonistic as it has been in the past. "in no society has life ever been completely controlled by the reason," remarks professor thomas, "but mainly by the instincts and the habits and the customs growing out of these. speaking in a general way, it may be said that all conduct both of men and animals tends to be right rather than wrong. they do not know why they behave in such and such ways, but their ancestors behaved in those ways and survival is the guaranty that the behaviour was good. we must admit that within the scope of their lives the animals behave with almost unerring propriety. their behaviour is simple and unvarying, but they make fewer mistakes than ourselves. the difficulty in their condition is, that having little power of changing their behaviour they have little chance of improvement. now, in human societies, and already among gregarious animals, one of the main conditions of survival was common sentiment and behaviour. so long as defence of life and preying on outsiders were main concerns of society, unanimity and conformity had the same value which still attaches to military discipline in warfare and to team work in our sports. morality therefore became identified with uniformity. it was actually better to work upon some system, however bad, than to work on none at all, and early society had no place for the dissenter. changes did take place, for man had the power of communicating his experiences through speech and the same power of imitation which we show in the adoption of fashions, but these changes took place with almost imperceptible slowness, or if they did not, those who proposed them were considered sinners and punished with death or obloquy. "and it has never made any difference how bad the existing order of things might be. those who attempted to reform it were always viewed with suspicion. consequently our practices usually run some decades or centuries behind our theories and history is even full of cases where the theory was thoroughly dead from the standpoint of reason before it began to do its work in society. a determined attitude of resistance to change may therefore be classed almost with the instincts, for it is not a response to the reason alone, but is very powerfully bound up with the emotions which have their seat in the spinal cord. "it is true that this adhesion to custom is more absolute and astonishing in the lower races and in the less educated classes, but it would be difficult to point out a single case in history where a new doctrine has not been met with bitter resistance. we justly regard learning and freedom of thought and investigation as precious, and we popularly think of luther and the reformation as standing at the beginning of the movement toward these, but luther himself had no faith in 'the light of reason' and he hated as heartily as any papal dogmatist the 'new learning' of erasmus and hutten.... we are even forced to realise that the law of habit continues to do its perfect work in a strangely resentful or apathetic manner even when there is no moral issue at stake.... up to the year 1816, the best device for the application of electricity to telegraphy had involved a separate wire for each letter of the alphabet, but in that year francis ronalds constructed a successful line making use of a single wire. realising the importance of his invention, he attempted to get the british government to take it up, but was informed that 'telegraphs of any kind are now wholly unnecessary, and no other than the one in use will be adopted.'" the reader will doubtless be able to add from his own experience and observation examples which will support professor thomas's admirable account of the power of custom. among many barbarous tribes certain foods, like eggs, are _taboo_; no one knows why they should not be eaten; but tradition says their use produces bad results, and one who presumes to taste them is put to death. to-day, we believe ourselves rather highly civilised; but the least observation of society must compel us to acknowledge that _taboo_ is still a vital power in a multitude of matters. there is a still more forcible opposition to a recasting of the status of women by those men who have beheld no complete regeneration of society through the extension of the franchise in four of our states. curiously oblivious of the fact that partial regeneration through the instrumentality of women is something attained, they take this as a working argument for the uselessness of extending the suffrage. they point to other evils that have followed and tell you that if this is the result of the emancipation of women, they will have none of it. for example, there can be no doubt that one may see from time to time the pseudo-intellectual woman. she affects an interest in literature, attends lectures on browning and emerson, shows an academic interest in slum work, and presents, on the whole, a selfishness or an egotism which repels. there never has been a revolution in society, however beneficial eventually, which did not bring at least some evil in its train. i cannot do better in this connection than to quote lord macaulay's splendid words (from the essay on milton): "if it were possible that a people, brought up under an intolerant and arbitrary system, could subvert that system without acts of cruelty and folly, half the objections to despotic power would be removed. we should, in that case, be compelled to acknowledge that it at least produces no pernicious effects on the intellectual and moral character of a people. we deplore the outrages which accompany revolutions. but the more violent the outrages, the more assured we feel that a revolution was necessary. the violence of these outrages will always be proportioned to the ferocity and ignorance of the people; and the ferocity and ignorance of the people will be proportioned to the oppression and degradation under which they have been accustomed to live. thus it was in our civil war. the rulers in the church and state reaped only what they had sown. they had prohibited free discussion--they had done their best to keep the people unacquainted with their duties and their rights. the retribution was just and natural. if they suffered from popular ignorance, it was because they had themselves taken away the key to knowledge. if they were assailed with blind fury, it was because they had exacted an equally blind submission. "it is the character of such revolutions that we always see the worst of them at first. till men have been for some time free, they know not how to use their freedom. the natives of wine-countries are always sober. in climates where wine is a rarity, intemperance abounds. a newly-liberated people may be compared to a northern army encamped on the rhine or the xeres. it is said that when soldiers in such a situation first find themselves able to indulge without restraint in such a rare and expensive luxury, nothing is to be seen but intoxication. soon, however, plenty teaches discretion; and after wine has been for a few months their daily fare, they become more temperate than they had ever been in their own country. in the same manner, the final and permanent fruits of liberty are wisdom, moderation, and mercy. its immediate effects are often atrocious crimes, conflicting errors, skepticism on points the most clear, dogmatism on points the most mysterious. it is just at this crisis that its enemies love to exhibit it. they pull down the scaffolding from the half-finished edifice; they point to the flying dust, the falling bricks, the comfortless rooms, the frightful irregularity of the whole appearance; and then ask in scorn where the promised splendour and comfort are to be found? if such miserable sophisms were to prevail, there never would be a good house or a good government in the world.... there is only one cure for the evils which newly acquired freedom produces--and that cure is freedom. when a prisoner leaves his cell, he cannot bear the light of day--he is unable to discriminate colours or to recognise faces. but the remedy is not to remand him into his dungeon, but to accustom him to the rays of the sun. the blaze of truth and liberty may at first dazzle and bewilder nations which have become half-blind in the house of bondage. but let them gaze on, and they will soon be able to bear it. in a few years men learn to reason. the extreme violence of opinion subsides. hostile theories correct each other. the scattered elements of truth cease to conflict, and begin to coalesce. and at length a system of justice and order is educed out of the chaos. "many politicians of our time are in the habit of laying it down as a self-evident proposition, that no people ought to be free till they are fit to use their freedom. the maxim is worthy of the fool in the old story, who resolved not to go into the water till he had learnt to swim. if men are to wait for liberty till they become wise and good in slavery, they may indeed wait for ever." the speedy dissolution of family and state was prophesied by men when first a girl took a public examination in geometry; whenever women have been given complete control of their own property; when they have been received into the professions and industries; and now in like manner people dread the condition of things that they imagine might follow if women are given the right to vote and to hold office. we may well believe, with lecky, that there are "certain eternal moral landmarks which never can be removed." but no matter what our views may be of the destinies, characteristics, functions, or limitations of the sex, certain reforms are indispensable before woman and, through her, family life can reach their highest development. of these reforms i shall speak briefly and with them close my history. i. the double standard of morality for the sexes must gradually be abolished.[423] of all the sad commentaries on christian nations none is so pathetic or so tragical as the fact that for nineteen centuries men have been tacitly and openly allowed, at least before marriage, unrestrained liberty to indulge in sexual vice and intemperance, while one false step on the part of the woman has condemned her to social obloquy and, frequently, to a life on the street. this strange system, a blasphemy against the christ who suffered death in order to purify the earth, has had its defenders not merely among the uneducated who do not think, but even among the most acute intellects. the philosopher hume justifies it by commenting on the vastly greater consequences attendant on vice in women than in men; divines like jeremy taylor have encouraged it by urging women meekly to bear the sins of their husbands. this subject is one of the great _taboos_ in modern society. let me exhort the reader to go to any physician and get from him the statistics of gonorrhea and syphilis which he has met in his practice; let him learn of the children born blind and of wives rendered invalid for life because their husbands once sowed a crop of wild oats with the sanction of society; let him read the report of the committee of fifteen in new york (g.p. putnam's sons, 1902) on _the social evil_, the records of the watch and ward society in boston, or the recent report of the special jury in new york which investigated the "white slave traffic."[424] the plain facts are not pleasant. a system which has been in vogue from the beginning of history cannot be changed in a decade; but the desired state of things will be more speedily achieved and immediate good will be accomplished by three reforms which may be begun at once--have begun, in fact. in the first place, the "age of legal consent" should be uniformly twenty-one. in most states to-day it is fourteen or sixteen.[425] to the ordinary mind it is a self-evident proposition that a girl of those ages, the slippery period of puberty, can but seldom realise what she is doing when she submits herself to the lust of scoundrels. but the minds of legislators pass understanding; and when, a few years ago, a woman in the legislature of colorado proposed to have the age of consent raised from sixteen to twenty-one, such a storm of protest came from her male colleagues that the measure had to be abandoned. in the second place the public should be made better acquainted with the facts of prostitution. when people once realise thoroughly what sickness and social ulcers result from the presence in the city of new york of 100,000 debauched women (and the estimate is conservative)--when they begin to reflect that their children must grow up in such surroundings, then perhaps they will question the expediency of the double standard of morality and will insist that what is wrong for a woman is wrong for a man. it is a fact, to be borne carefully in mind, that the vast majority of prostitutes begin their career below the age of _eighteen_ and usually at the instigation of adult _men_, who take advantage of their ignorance or of their poverty. if the miserable thaw trial did nothing else, it at least once more called public attention to conditions which every intelligent man knows have existed for years. something can also be done by statute. new york has made adultery a crime; and the state of washington requires a physical examination of the parties before marriage. in the third place, physicians should take more pains to educate men to the knowledge that a continent life is not a detriment to health--the contrary belief being more widely spread than is usually suspected. ii. in the training of women, care should be taken to impress upon them that they are not toys or spoiled children, but fellow-citizens, devoted to the common task of advancing the ideals of the nation to their goal. the woman's cause is man's; they rise or sink together, dwarf'd or godlike, bond or free: if she be small, slight-natured, miserable, how shall men grow? tennyson, _the princess_. a being breathing thoughtful breath, a traveller between life and death; the reason firm, the temperate will, endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; a perfect woman, nobly planned, to warn, to comfort, and command; and yet a spirit still, and bright with something of an angel light. wordsworth. towards a higher conception of their duties, women are steadily advancing. it often happens that the history of words will give a hint of the progress of civilisation. such a story is told by the use of _lady_ and _woman_. not many decades ago the use of the word _woman_ in referring to respectable members of the sex was interpreted as a lack of courtesy. to-day, women prefer to be called _women_. iii. women should be given the full right to enter any profession or business which they may desire. as john stuart mill says: "the proper sphere for any human being is the highest sphere that being is capable of attaining; and this cannot be ascertained without complete liberty of choice." "we are, as always, in a period of transition," remarks mr. bjã¶rkman,[426] "the old forms are falling away from us on every side. concerning the new ones we are still uncertain and divided. whether woman shall vote or not, is not the main issue. she will do so sooner or later if it suits her. no, the imperative question confronting us is this: what are we to do that her life once more may be full and useful as it used to be? that question cannot be answered by anybody but herself. furthermore, it can only be answered on the basis of actual experience. and urged onward by her never-failing power of intuition, woman has for once taken to experimenting. she has, if you please, become temporarily catabolic. but it means merely that she is seeking for new means to fulfil her nature, not for ways of violating it. and the best thing--nay, the only thing--man can do to help her is to stand aside and keep his faith, both in her and in life. whether it be the franchise, or the running of railroads, or public offices, that her eager hands and still more eager soul should happen to reach out for, he must give her free way. all she wants is to find herself, and for this purpose she must try everything that once was foreign to her being: the trial over, she will instinctively and unfailingly pick out the right new things to do, and will do them." the opening up of professions and industries to woman has been of incalculable benefit to her. of old the unmarried woman could do little except sit by the fire and spin or make clothing for the south sea islanders. her limited activities caused a corresponding influence on her character. people who have nothing to do will naturally find an outlet for their superfluous energy in gossip and all the petty things of life; if isolated from a share in what the world is doing, they will no less naturally develop eccentricities of character and will grow old prematurely. to-day, by being allowed a part in civic and national movements, women can "get out of themselves"--a powerful therapeutic agent. mrs. ella young, a woman of sixty, was last year made superintendent of the great public school system of chicago. frã¤ulein anna heinrichsdorff is the first woman in germany to get an engineer's diploma, very recently bestowed upon her; an "excellent" mark was given frã¤ulein heinrichsdorff in every part of her examination by the berlin polytechnic institute. miss jean gordon, the only factory inspector in louisiana, is at present waging a strong fight against the attempt to exempt "first-class" theatres from the child-labour law. mrs. nellie upham, of colorado, is president and general manager of the gold divide mining, milling, and tunnel company of colorado and directs 300 workmen. these are a few examples out of some thousands of what woman is doing.[427] and yet there are men who do not believe she should do anything but wash dishes and scrub. much more serious is the glaring discrepancy in the wages paid to men and to women. for doing precisely the same work as a man and often doing it better, woman receives a much lower wage. the reasons are several and specious. we are told that men have families to support, that women do not have such expensive tastes as men, that they are incapable of doing as much as men, that by granting them equal wages one of the inducements to marry is removed. these arguments are generally used with the greatest gravity by bachelors. if men have families to support, women by the hundreds support brothers and sisters and weak parents. that they are incapable of doing as much sounds unconvincing to one who has seen the work of sweat-shops. the argument that men have more expensive tastes to satisfy is too feeble to deserve attention. finally, when men argue that women should be forced to marry by giving them smaller wages, they are simply reverting to the time-honoured idea that the goal of every women's ambition should be fixed as matrimony. if the low wages of women produced no further consequence, one might dismiss the matter as not of essential importance; but inadequate pay has been found too frequently to be a direct cause of prostitution. no girl can well keep body and soul together on four dollars a week and some business managers have been known to inform their women employees with frankness that a "gentleman friend" is a necessary adjunct to a limited income. the women who suffer most from low wages are probably the teachers in our primary schools. they start usually on a salary of about three hundred and fifty dollars a year. for this each teacher performs all the minute labour and bears all the nervous strain of instructing sixty pupils six and a half hours a day and of correcting dozens of papers far into the night. and when crime increases or the pupils are not universally successful in business, the school teacher has the added pleasure of getting blamed for it, being told that she ought to have trained them better. these facts lend some colour to mark twain's sage reflection that god at first made idiots--that was for practice; then he made school boards. one of the most interesting examples of recent evolution in the industrial status of women is the decision of the supreme court of illinois in the so-called ritchie case. the last legislature of illinois passed a law limiting to ten hours the working day of women in factories and stores. now, as far back as 1893, the legislature had passed a similar law limiting woman's labour to _eight_ hours; but the supreme court in 1895 declared it unconstitutional on the ground that it was an arbitrary and unreasonable interference with the right of women to contract for the sale of their labour. when, therefore, this year a ten-hour bill was tried, w.c. ritchie, who had secured the nullification of the act of 1893, again protested. the decision of the court, rendered april 21, 1910, is an excellent proof of the great advance made within two decades in the position of women. reversing completely its judgment of 1895, the court left far behind it mere technicalities of law and found a sanction for its change of front in the experience of humanity and of common sense. these are its conclusions: "it is known to all men, and of what we know as men we cannot profess to be ignorant as judges: "that woman's physical structure and the performance of maternal functions place her at a great disadvantage in the battle of life. "that while a man can work for more than ten hours a day without injury to himself, a woman, especially when the burdens of motherhood are upon her, cannot. "that while a man can work standing upon his feet for more than ten hours a day, day after day, without injury to himself, a woman cannot. "that to require a woman to stand upon her feet for more than ten hours in any one day and to perform severe manual labour while thus standing has the effect of impairing her health. "and as weakly and sickly women cannot be the mothers of vigorous children, it is of the greatest importance to the public that the state take such measures as may be necessary to protect its women from the consequences produced by long-continued manual labour in those occupations which tend to break them down physically. "it would seem obvious, therefore, that legislation which limits the number of hours which women shall be permitted to work to ten hours in a single day in such employments as are carried on in mechanical establishments, factories, and laundries would tend to preserve the health of women and assure the production of vigorous offspring by them and would conduce directly to the health, morals, and general welfare of the public, and that such legislation would fall clearly within the police powers of the state." iv. all phenomena that concern family life should be carefully studied and their bearing on the state ascertained as exactly as possible. there is no subject, for example, from which such wild conclusions are drawn as the matter of divorce. the average moralist, but more particularly the clergy, seeing the fairly astonishing increase in divorce during the last decade, jump to the conclusion that family life is decadent and immorality flagrantly on the increase. they point to the indubitable fact that a century ago divorces were insignificant in number; and they infer that morality was then on a much higher level than it is now. such alarmists neglect certain elementary facts. the flippant manner in which marriage is treated by the restoration dramatists and by novelists of the 18th century, the callous sexual morality revealed in diaries and in the conversations of men like johnson alone are sufficient to suggest the need of a readjustment of one's view regarding the standard of morality in the past. a century ago it was the duty of a gentleman to drink to excess; and it was presumed that a guest had not enjoyed his dinner unless he was at least comfortably the worse for liquor. this view of drunkenness is admirably depicted in dickens's _pickwick papers_, where intoxication is treated throughout as something merely humorous. there were just as many unhappy marriages formerly in proportion to the population as there are to-day; but the wife was held effectually from application for a divorce not only by rigid laws but by the sentiment of society, which ostracised a divorced woman, and furthermore by her lack of means and of opportunity for earning an independent livelihood. to-day women are not inclined to tolerate a husband who is brutal or debauched. alarmists make a mistake when they place too much emphasis on the seeming triviality of the reasons, justifying their course, which wives advance when applying for a separation. for example, the phrase "incompatibility of temperament" is in a great number of cases merely a euphemism for something much worse. the clergy will counsel a woman to bear with what they call christian resignation a husband addicted to drink or scarred by the diseases that are a consequence of sin. abstractly considered, this may conceivably be good advice. but viewed in a common-sense way it is the duty of a woman to reflect on the consequences of conceiving children from such a man; and the researches of physicians will furnish her with incontrovertible facts regarding the impaired health of the offspring of such a union. a law which would permit of no divorce under such conditions, instead of benefiting the state, would injure it in its most vital asset--healthy children, the coming citizens. doubtless the divorce laws in many states are too lax. but sweeping generalities based on theory will not remedy matters. divorce may simply be a symptom, not a disease; a revolt against unjust conditions; and the way to do away with divorce or reduce the frequency of it is to remedy the evil social conditions which, in a great many instances, are responsible. the fact is, the institution of marriage is going through a crisis. the old view that marriage is a complete merging of the wife in the husband and that the latter is absolute monarch of his home is being questioned. when a man with this idea and a woman with a far different one marry, there is likely to be a clash. marriage as a real partnership based on equality of goods and of interests finds an increasing number of advocates. there is great reason to believe that the issue will be only for the good and that from doubt and revolt a more enduring ideal will arise, based on a sure foundation of perfect understanding. notes: [415] see an excellent article on "the american woman" by miss ida m. tarbell, in the _american magazine_ for april, 1910. [416] in 1893. "be it resolved by the second legislature of the state of wyoming: "that the possession and exercise of suffrage by the women of wyoming for the past quarter of a century has wrought no harm and has done great good in many ways; that it has largely aided in banishing crime, pauperism, and vice from this state, and that without any violent and oppressive legislation," etc. [417] women in colorado have been of greatest service in establishing the following laws: 1--establishing a state home for dependent children, three of the five members of the board to be women. 2--requiring that at least three of the six members of the county visitors shall be women. 3--making mothers joint guardians of their children with the fathers. 4--raising the age of protection for girls to 18 years. 5--establishing a state industrial school for girls. there had long been one for boys, but the women could not get one for girls until they had the vote. 6--removing the emblems from the australian ballots. this is a little, indirect step toward educational qualifications for voting. 7--establishing the indeterminate sentence for prisoners. 8--requiring one physician on the board of the insane asylum to be a woman. 9--establishing truant schools. 10--making better provision for the care of the feeble-minded. 11--for tree preservation. 12--for the inspection of private eleemosynary institutions by the state board of charities. 13--various steps toward prevention of cruelty to animals. 14--providing that foreign life and accident insurance companies, when sued, must pay the costs. 15--establishing a juvenile court. 16--making education compulsory for all children between the ages of 8 and 16, except those who are ill or those who are 14 and have completed the eighth grade, or those whose parents need their help and support. 17--making the mother and father joint heirs of a deceased child. 18--providing for union high schools. 19--establishing a state travelling library commission. 20--providing that any person employing a child under 14 in any mine, mill, or factory be punished by imprisonment in addition to a fine. 21--requiring the joint signature of the husband and wife to a mortgage of a homestead. 22--forbidding the insuring of the lives of children under 10. 23--forbidding children of 16 or under to work more than six hours a day in any mill, factory, or other occupation that may be unhealthful. 24--making it a criminal offence to contribute to the delinquency of children--the parental responsibility act. 25--making it a misdemeanour to fail to support aged or infirm parents. 26--providing that no woman shall work more than eight hours a day at work requiring her to be on her feet. 27--restricting the time for shooting doves. 28--abolishing the binding out of girls committed to the industrial school until the age of 21. 29--a pure food law in harmony with the national law. [418] in the _boston herald_ for june 4, 1910. [419] quoted in the _new york times_ of jan. 9, 1910. [420] see, for example, lyman abbott in the _outlook_ for feb. 19, 1910. [421] _american magazine_, july, 1909. [422] _history of european morals_, vol. ii, pp. 379 and following. new york, d. appleton & co., 1869. [423] note, for example, that in maryland a man can get a divorce if his wife has had sexual intercourse before marriage; _but a wife cannot get a divorce from her husband if he has been guilty of the same thing_. in texas, adultery on the part of the wife entitles the husband to a divorce; but the wife can obtain divorce from her husband only if he has _abandoned_ her and _lived_ in adultery with another woman. [424] on jan. 12, 1910, a bill was introduced in the house of representatives to check the "white slave traffic" by providing a penalty of ten years' imprisonment and a fine of five thousand dollars for any one who engages in it. [425] in some it is even lower; _ten_ in georgia and mississippi for example. [426] in _collier's weekly_, feb. 5, 1910. [427] note what the officers of the chicago juvenile protective association, many of whom are women, accomplished in 1909-1910. these women are fighting the agencies which make for juvenile crime mostly and each officer has a specified "beat" to patrol. last year their work amounted to the following: complaints of selling liquors to minors investigated 295 complaints of selling tobacco to minors investigated 52 complaints of selling obscene postcards investigated 49 complaints of poolrooms investigated 203 complaints of dance halls investigated 92 five and ten cent theatres visited 1,013 penny arcades visited 67 saloons visited 735 relief visits 174 cases referred to relief organisations 374 legal aid cases referred 105 referred to visiting nurses' association 7 housing cases referred 51 applications for work referred 264 placed in hospitals 103 sent to dispensaries 192 children placed in homes 240 slot machines removed 223 work found for men 57 work found for women 81 work found for boys 84 work found for girls 90 visits to ice-cream parlors 356 visits to candy stores 805 visits to courts juvenile 451 municipal 1,809 criminal 211 county 86 grand jury 26 conferences with state or city officials 1,244 prosecutions cases of abandonment 99 assault and battery 8 contributing to delinquency and dependency of children 232 crimes against children 12 disorderly conduct 141 immoral dancing 4 intoxicating liquors 33 juvenile court cases 78 larceny 4 tobacco 10 sale of cocaine 4 other cases 110 total prosecutions 738 results convictions 311 settled out of court 100 nolle pros, or nonsuit 52 dismissed 93 acquittals 50 pending 92 ----total complaints received 5,047 chapter x further considerations in the four years intervening since this book was first written, the progress of equal rights for women has been so rapid that the summary on pages 175-235 is now largely obsolete; but it is useful for comparison. in the united states at present (august, 1914), wyoming, colorado, utah, idaho, washington, california, oregon, kansas, arizona, and alaska have granted full suffrage to women. in the following states the voters will pass upon the question in the autumn of 1914: montana, nevada, north dakota, south dakota, missouri, nebraska, and ohio, the last three by initiative petition. in new jersey, pennsylvania, iowa, new york, and massachusetts a constitutional amendment for equal suffrage has passed one legislature and must pass another before being submitted to the people. the advance has been world-wide. thus, in 1910 the gaekwar of baroda in india allowed the women of his dominions a vote in municipal elections, and bosnia bestowed the parliamentary suffrage on women who owned a certain amount of real estate; norway in 1913 and iceland in 1914 were won to full suffrage. the following table presents a convenient historical summary of the progress in political rights: on july 2, 1776, two days before the declaration of independence was signed, new jersey, in her first state constitution, en-franchised the women by changing the words of her provincial charter from "male freeholders worth â£50" to "_all inhabitants_ worth â£50," and for 31 years the women of that state voted. gains in equal suffrage eighty years ago women could not vote anywhere, except to a very limited extent in sweden and in a few other places in the old world. time place kind of suffrage 1838 kentucky school suffrage to widows with children of school age. 1850 ontario school suffrage, women married and single. 1861 kansas school suffrage. 1867 new south wales municipal suffrage. 1869 england municipal suffrage, single women and widows. victoria municipal suffrage, married and single women. wyoming full suffrage. 1871 west australia municipal suffrage. 1875 michigan school suffrage. minnesota do. 1876 colorado do. 1877 new zealand do. 1878 new hampshire do. oregon do. 1879 massachusetts do. 1880 new york do. vermont do. south australia municipal suffrage. 1881 scotland municipal suffrage to the single women and widows. isle of man parliamentary suffrage. 1883 nebraska school suffrage. 1884 ontario municipal suffrage. tasmania do. 1886 new zealand do. new brunswick do. 1887 kansas do. nova scotia do. manitoba do. north dakota school suffrage. south dakota do. time place kind of suffrage 1887 montana . . . . . . . school suffrage arizona . . . . . . . do. new jersey . . . . . do. montana . . . . . . . tax-paying suffrage. 1888 england . . . . . . . county suffrage. british columbia. . . municipal suffrage. northwest territory . do. 1889 scotland. . . . . . . county suffrage. province of quebec. . municipal suffrage, single women and widows. 1891 illinois. . . . . . . school suffrage. 1893 connecticut . . . . . do. colorado. . . . . . . full suffrage. new zealand . . . . . do. 1894 ohio. . . . . . . . . school suffrage. iowa. . . . . . . . . bond suffrage. england . . . . . . . parish and district suffrage, married and single women. 1895 south australia . . . full state suffrage. 1896 utah. . . . . . . . . full suffrage. idaho . . . . . . . . do. 1898 ireland . . . . . . . all offices except members of parliament. minnesota . . . . . . library trustees. delaware. . . . . . . school suffrage to tax-paying women. france. . . . . . . . women engaged in commerce can vote for judges of the tribunal of commerce. louisiana . . . . . . tax-paying suffrage. 1900 wisconsin . . . . . . school suffrage. west australia. . . . full state suffrage. 1901 new york. . . . . . . tax-paying suffrage; local taxation in all towns and villages of the state. norway. . . . . . . . municipal suffrage. 1902 australia . . . . . . full suffrage. new south wales . . . full state suffrage. 1903 kansas. . . . . . . . bond suffrage. tasmania. . . . . . . full state suffrage. 1905 queensland. . . . . . do. 1906 finland . . . . . . . full suffrage; eligible for all offices. 1907 norway. . . . . . . . full parliamentary suffrage to the 300,000 women who already had municipal suffrage. sweden. . . . . . . . eligible to municipal offices. denmark . . . . . . . can vote for members of boards of public charities and serve on such boards. england . . . . . . . eligible as mayors, aldermen, and county and town councilors. oklahoma. . . . . . . new state continued school suffrage for women. 1908 michigan. . . . . . . taxpayers to vote on question of local taxation and granting of franchises. denmark . . . . . . . women who are taxpayers or wives of taxpayers vote for all offices except members of parliament. victoria. . . . . . . full state suffrage. 1909 belgium . . . . . . . can vote for members of the conseils des prudhommes, and also eligible. province of voralberg single women and widows paying taxes (austrian tyrol) were given a vote. ginter park, va . . . tax-paying women, a vote on all municipal questions. 1910 washington. . . . . . full suffrage. new mexico. . . . . . school suffrage. time place kind of suffrage 1910 norway. . . . . . . . municipal suffrage made universal. three-fifths of the women had it before. bosnia. . . . . . . . parliamentary vote to women owning a certain amount of real estate. diet of the crown . . suffrage to the women of its capital city prince of krain laibach. (austria) india (gaekwar of . . women in his dominions vote in municipal baroda) elections. wurttemberg . . . . . women engaged in agriculture vote for kingdom of members of the chamber of agriculture; also eligible. new york. . . . . . . women in all towns, villages and third-class cities vote on bonding propositions. 1911 california. . . . . . full suffrage. honduras. . . . . . . municipal suffrage in capital city, belize. iceland . . . . . . . parliamentary suffrage for women over 25 years. 1912 oregon. . . . . . . . full suffrage. arizona . . . . . . . do. kansas. . . . . . . . do. 1913 alaska. . . . . . . . do. norway. . . . . . . . do. illinois. . . . . . . suffrage for statutory officials (including presidential electors and municipal officers). 1914 iceland . . . . . . . full suffrage. in the united states the struggle for the franchise has entered national politics, a sure sign of its widening scope. the demand for equal suffrage was embodied in the platform of the progressive party in august, 1912. this marks an advance over col. roosevelt's earlier view, expressed in the _outlook_ of february 3, 1912, when he said: "i believe in woman's suffrage wherever the women want it. where they do not want it, the suffrage should not be forced upon them." when the new administration assumed office in march, 1913, the friends of suffrage worked to secure a constitutional amendment which should make votes for women universal in the united states. the inauguration ceremonies were marred by an attack of hoodlums on the suffrage contingent of the parade. mr. hobson in the house denounced the outrage and mentioned the case of a young lady, the daughter of one of his friends, who was insulted by a ruffian who climbed upon the float where she was. mr. mann, the republican minority leader, remarked in reply that her daughter ought to have been at home. commenting on this dialogue, _collier's weekly_ of april 5, 1913, recalled the boast inscribed by rameses iii of egypt on his monuments, twelve hundred years before christ: "to unprotected women there is freedom to wander through the whole country wheresoever they list without apprehending danger." if one works this out chronologically, said the editor, mr. mann belongs somewhere back in the stone age. in the senate an active committee on woman suffrage was formed under the chairmanship of mr. thomas, of colorado. the vote on the proposed new amendment was taken in the senate on march 19, 1914, and it was rejected,[428] 35 to 34, two-thirds being necessary before the measure could be submitted to the states for ratification. in the house mr. underwood, democratic minority leader, took the stand that suffrage was purely a state issue. mr. heflin of alabama was particularly vigorous in denunciation of votes for women. he said[429]: "i do not believe that there is a red-blooded man in the world who in his heart really believes in woman suffrage. i think that every man who favours it ought to be made to wear a dress. talk about taxation without representation! do you say that the young man who is of age does not represent his mother? do you say that the young man who pledges at the altar to love, cherish, and protect his wife, does not represent her and his children when he votes? when the christ of god came into this world to die for the sins of humanity, did he not die for all, males and females? what sort of foolish stuff are you trying to inject into this tariff debate?... there are trusts and monopolies of every kind, and these little feminine fellows are crawling around here talking about woman suffrage. i have seen them here in this capitol. the suffragette and a little henpecked fellow crawling along beside her; that is her husband. she is a suffragette, and he is a mortal suffering yet." mr. falconer of washington rose in reply. he remarked:[430] "i want to observe that the mental operation of the average woman in the state of washington, as compared to the ossified brain operation of the gentleman from alabama, would make him look like a mangy kitten in a tiger fight. the average woman in the state of washington knows more about social economics and political economy in one minute than the gentleman from alabama has demonstrated to the members of this house that he knows in five minutes." on february 2, 1914, a delegation of women called upon president wilson to ascertain his views. the president refused to commit himself. he was not at liberty, he said, to urge upon congress policies which had not the endorsement of his party's platform; and as the representative of his party he was under obligations not to promulgate or intimate his individual convictions. on february 3, 1914, the democrats of the house in caucus, pursuant to a resolution of mr. heflin, refused to create a woman suffrage committee. so the constitutional amendment was quite lost. in the following july mr. bryan suddenly issued a strong appeal for equal suffrage in the _commoner_. among his arguments were these: "as man and woman are co-tenants of the earth and must work out their destiny together, the presumption is on the side of equality of treatment in all that pertains to their joint life and its opportunities. the burden of proof is on those who claim for one an advantage over the other in determining the conditions under which both shall live. this claim has not been established in the matter of suffrage. on the contrary, the objections raised to woman suffrage appear to me to be invalid, while the arguments advanced in support of the proposition are, in my judgment, convincing." "without minimising other arguments advanced in support of the extending of suffrage to woman, i place the emphasis upon the mother's right to a voice in molding the environment which shall surround her children--an environment which operates powerfully in determining whether her offspring will crown her latter years with joy or 'bring down her gray hairs in sorrow to the grave.' "for a time i was imprest by the suggestion that the question should be left to the women to decide--a majority to determine whether the franchise should be extended to woman; but i find myself less and less disposed to indorse this test.... why should any mother be denied the use of the franchise to safeguard the welfare of her child merely because another mother may not view her duty in the same light?" the change in the status of women has been significant not only in the political field, but also in every other direction. a brief survey of the legislation of various states in the past year, 1913, reveals the manifold measures already adopted for the further protection of women and indicates the trend of laws in the near future. acts were passed in arkansas, kansas, missouri, new mexico, and ohio to punish the seduction of girls and women for commercialised vice, the laws being known as "white slave acts"; laws for the abatement of disorderly houses were passed in california, minnesota, oregon, pennsylvania, and washington; oregon decreed that male applicants for a marriage license must produce a physician's certificate showing freedom from certain diseases; and it authorised the sterilisation of habitual criminals and degenerates. the necessity of inculcating chastity in the newer generation, whether through the teaching of sex hygiene in the schools or in some other form, was widely discussed throughout the country. mothers' pensions were granted by fourteen states; minimum wage boards were established by three; and three passed laws for the punishment of family desertion, in such wise that the family of the offender should receive a certain daily sum from the state while he worked off his sentence. tennessee removed the disability of married women arising from coverture. ten states further limited the hours of labour for women in certain industries, the tendency being to fix the limit at fifty-four or fifty-eight hours a week with a maximum of nine or ten in any one day. the hours of labour of children and the age at which they are allowed to work were largely restricted. a national children's bureau, under the charge of miss julia lathrope, has been created at washington; and mrs. j. borden harriman was appointed to the industrial relations commission. the minuteness and thoroughness of modern legislation for the protection of women may be realised by noting that in 1913 alone new york passed laws that no girl under sixteen shall in any city of the first, second, or third class sell newspapers or magazines or shine shoes in any street or public place; that separate wash rooms and dressing rooms must be provided in factories where more than ten women are employed; that whenever an employer requires a physical examination, the employee, if a female, can demand a physician of her own sex; that the manufacture or repair for a factory of any article of food, dolls' clothing, and children's apparel in a tenement house be prohibited except by special permit of the labor commission; that the state industrial board be authorised to make special rules and regulations for dangerous employments; and that the employment of women in canning establishments be strictly limited according to prescribed hours. the unmistakable trend of legislation in the united states is towards complete equality of the sexes in all moral, social, industrial, professional, and political activities. in england the house of commons rejected parliamentary suffrage for women. incensed at the repeated chicanery of politicians who alternately made and evaded their promises, a group of suffragettes known as the "militants" resorted to open violence. when arrested for damaging property, they went on a "hunger strike," refusing all nourishment. this greatly embarrassed the government, which in 1913 devised the so-called "cat and mouse act," whereby those who are in desperate straits through their refusal to eat are released temporarily and conditionally, but can be rearrested summarily for failure to comply with the terms of their parole. the weakness in the attitude of the militant suffragettes is their senseless destruction of all kinds of property and the constant danger to which they subject innocent people by their outrages. if they would confine themselves to making life unpleasant for those who have so often broken their pledges, they could stand on surer ground. the english are commonly regarded as an orderly people, especially by themselves. nevertheless, it is true that hardly any great reform has been achieved in england without violence. the men of england did not secure the abolition of the "rotten-borough" system and extensive manhood suffrage until, in 1831, they smashed the windows of the duke of wellington's house, burned the castle of the duke of newcastle, and destroyed the bishop's palace at bristol. in 1839 at newport twenty chartists were shot in an attempt to seize the town; they were attempting to secure reforms like the abolition of property qualifications for members of parliament. the english obtained the permanent tenure of their "immemorial rights" only by beheading one king and banishing another. in our own country, the boston tea party was a typical "militant outrage," generally regarded as a fine piece of patriotism. if the tradition of england is such that violence must be a preliminary to all final persuasion, perhaps censure of the militants can find some mitigation in that fact. some things move very slowly in england. in 1909 a commission was appointed to consider reform in divorce. under the english law a husband can secure a divorce for infidelity, but a woman must, in addition to adultery, prove aggravated cruelty. this is humorously called "british fair play." in november, 1912, the majority of the commission recommended that this inequality be removed and that the sexes be placed on an equal footing; and that in addition to infidelity, now the only cause for divorce allowed, complete separation be also granted for desertion for three years, incurable insanity, and incurable habitual drunkenness. the majority, nine commissioners, found that the present stringent restrictions and costliness of divorce are productive of immorality and illicit relations, particularly among the poorer classes. the majority report was opposed by the three minority members, the archbishop of york, sir william anson, and sir lewis dibdin, representing the established church of england and the roman catholic church. thus far, parliament has not yet acted and the old law is still in force. on the continent, with the exception of a few places like finland, the movement for equal suffrage, while earnestly pressed by a few, is not yet concentrated. women have won their rights to higher education and are admitted to the universities. they can usually enter business and most of the professions. inequities of civil rights are gradually being swept away. for example, in germany a married woman has complete control of her property, but only if she specifically provided for it in the marriage contract; many german women are ignorant that they possess such a right. the germans may be divided into two classes: the caste which rules, largely prussian, militaristic, and bureaucratic; and that which, although desirous of more republican institutions and potentially capable of liberal views, is constrained to obey the first or ruling class. this upper class is not friendly to the modern women's-rights movement. perhaps it has read too much schopenhauer. this amiable philosopher, whose own mother could not endure living with him, has this to say of women[431]: "a woman who is perfectly truthful and does not dissemble, is perhaps an impossibility. in a court of justice women are more often found guilty of perjury than men.... women are directly adapted to act as the nurses and educators of our early childhood, for the simple reason that they themselves are childish, foolish, and shortsighted.... women are and remain, taken altogether, the most thorough and incurable philistines; and because of the extremely absurd arrangement which allows them to share the position and title of their husbands they are a constant stimulus to his ignoble ambitions.... where are there any real monogamists? we all live, at any rate for a time, and the majority of us always, in polygamy.... it is men who make the money, and not women; therefore women are neither justified in having unconditional possession of it nor capable of administering it.... that woman is by nature intended to obey, is shown by the fact that every woman who is placed in the unnatural position of absolute independence at once attaches herself to some kind of man, by whom she is controlled and governed; that is because she requires a master. if she is young, the man is a lover; if she is old, a priest." essentially the opinion of schopenhauer is that of the prussian ruling class to-day. it is indisputable that in germany, as elsewhere on the continent, chastity in men outside of marriage is not expected, nor is the wife allowed to inquire into her husband's past. the bureaucratic german expects his wife to attend to his domestic comforts; he does not consult her in politics. the natural result when the masculine element has not counterchecks is bullying and coarseness. to find the coarseness, the reader can consult the stories in papers like the _berliner tageblatt_ and much of the current drama; to observe the bullying, he will have to see it for himself, if he doubts it. this is not an indictment of the whole german people; it is an indictment of the militaristic-bureaucratic ruling class, which, persuaded of its divine inspiration and intolerant of criticism,[432] has plunged the country into a devastating war. it is not unlikely that the end of the conflict will mark also the overthrow of the hohenzollern dynasty. the spirit of the germans of 1848, who labored unsuccessfully to make their country a republic, may awake again and realise its dreams. in concluding this chapter, i wish to enlarge somewhat upon the philosophy of suffrage as exhibited in the preceding chapter. the "woman's sphere" argument is still being worked overtime by anti-suffrage societies, whose members rather inconsistently leave their "sphere," the home, to harangue in public and buttonhole legislators to vote against the franchise for women. "a woman's place," says the sage hennessy, "is in th' home, darning her husband's childher. i mean----" "i know what ye mean," says mr. dooley. "'tis a favrite argument iv mine whin i can't think iv annything to say." a century ago, the home was the woman's sphere. to-day the man has deliberately dragged her out of it to work for him in factory and store because he can secure her labor more cheaply than that of men and is, besides, safer in abusing her when she has no direct voice in legislation. are the manufacturers willing to send their 1,300,000 female employees back to their "sphere"? if they are not, but desire their labor, they ought in fairness to allow them the privileges of workmen--that is, of citizens, participating actively in the political, social, and economic development of the country. as women enter more largely into every profession and business, certain results will inevitably follow. we shall see first of all what pursuits are particularly adapted to them and which ones are not. it has already become apparent that as telephone and typewriter operators women, as a class, are better fitted than men. they have, in general, greater patience for details and quickness of perception in these fields. similarly, in architecture some have already achieved conspicuous success. one who has observed the insufficient closet space in modern apartments and kitchenettes with the icebox in front of the stove, is inclined to wish that male architects would consult their mothers or wives more freely. in law and medicine results are not yet clear. we shall presently possess more extensive data in all fields for surer conclusions. a second result may be, that many women, instead of leaving the home, will be forced back into it. this movement will be accelerated if the granting of equal pay for equal work and a universal application of the minimum wage take place. there are a great number of positions, especially those where personality is not a vital factor, where employers will prefer women when they can pay them less; but if they must give equal pay, they will choose men. hence the tendency of the movements mentioned is to throw certain classes of women back into the home. the home of the future, however, will have lost much of the drudgery and monotony once associated with it. the ingenious labor-saving devices, like the breadmixer, the fireless cooker, the vacuum cleaner, and the electric iron, the propagation of scientific knowledge in the rearing of children, and wider outlets for outside interests, will tend to make domestic life an exact science, a profession as important and attractive as any other. the home is not necessarily every woman's sphere and neither is motherhood. neither is it every woman's congenital duty to make herself attractive to men. the "woman's pages" of newspapers, filled with gratuitous advice on these subjects, never tell men that their duty is fatherhood or that they should make themselves attractive or that their sphere is also the home. until these one-sided points of view are adjusted to a more reasonable basis, we shall not reach an understanding. they are as unjust as the farmer who ploughs with a steam plow and lets his wife cart water from a distant well instead of providing convenient plumbing. women who are fitted for motherhood and have a talent for it can enter it with advantage. there is a talent for motherhood exactly as there is for other things. other women have genius which can be of greatest service to the community in other ways. they should have opportunity to find their sphere. if this is "feminism," it is also simple justice. one reason that we are at sea in some of the problems of the women's-rights movement, is that the history of women has been mainly written by men. the question of motherhood, the sexual life of women, and the position of women as it has been or is likely to be affected by their sexual characteristics, must be more exactly ascertained before definite conclusions can be reached. at present there is too much that we don't know. we need more scientific investigations of the type of mr. havelock ellis's admirable _studies in the psychology of sex_[433] and less of pseudo-scientific lucubrations like otto weininger's _sex and character_. when human society has rid itself of the bogies and nightmares, superstitions and prejudices, which have borne upon it with crushing force, it will be in a better position to construct an ideal system of government. meanwhile experiments are and must be made. woman suffrage is not necessarily a reform; it is a necessary step in evolution. one venerable bogey i wish to dispose of before i close. it is that the roman empire was ruined and collapsed because the increasing liberty given to women and the equality granted the sexes under the empire produced immorality that destroyed the state. the trouble with rome was that it failed to grasp the fundamentals of economic law. slavery, the concentration of land in a few hands, and the theory that all taxation has for its end the enriching of a select few, were the fallacies which, in the last analysis, caused the collapse of the roman empire. the luxury, immorality, and race-suicide which are popularly conceived to have been the immediate causes of rome's decline and fall, were in reality the logical results, the inevitable attendant phenomena of a political system based on a false hypothesis. for when wealth was concentrated in a few hands, when there was no all-embracing popular education, all incentives to thrift, to private initiative, and hence to the development of the sturdy moral qualities which thrift and initiative cause and are the product of, were stifled. a nation can reach its maximum power only when, through the harmonious cooperation of all its parts, the initiative and talents of every individual have free scope, untrammeled by special privilege, to reach that sphere for which nature has designed him or her. note: the official organ of the national american woman suffrage association is _the woman's journal_, published weekly. the headquarters are at 505 fifth avenue, new york city. england has two organisations which differ in methods. the national union of women's suffrage societies has adopted the constitutional or peaceful policy; it publishes _the common cause_, a weekly, at 2 robert street, adelphi, w.c., london. the "militant" branch of suffragettes forms the national women's social and political union, and its weekly paper is _votes for women_, lincoln's inn house, kingsway, w.c. the international woman suffrage alliance issues the _jus suffragii_ monthly at 62 kruiskade, rotterdam. a good source from which to obtain the present status of women in europe is the _englishwoman's year book and directory for 1914_, published by adam and charles black. notes: [428] twenty-six senators did not vote. the question of negro suffrage complicated the matter with southern senators. mr. williams of mississippi wished to limit the franchise to "white citizens"; but his amendment was voted down. the list of senators voting for and against the woman suffrage amendment appears on page 5472 of the congressional record, march 19, 1914. the debate is contained in pages 5454-5472. senator tillman of south carolina inserted a vicious attack on northern women by the late albert bledsoe, who advised them to "cut their hair short, and their petticoats, too, and enter a la bloomer the ring of political prizefighters." bledsoe's article will be found in the record, july 28, 1913, 3115-3119. [429] record, may 6, 1913, 1221-1222. [430] record, may 6, 1913, 1222. [431] essays of schopenhauer. translated by mrs. rudolf dircks pages 64-79. [432] any criticism of the kaiser leads to arrest. the most vigorous checks to bourbon rule come from the socialists, who in 1912 polled 4,250,300 votes. but as the kaiser, as king of prussia, controls a majority of votes in the bundesrath, or federal council, can dissolve the reichstag, or house of representatives, at any time with the consent of the bundesrath, has sole power to appoint the chancellor, and is lord supreme of the army and navy, anything like real popular government is far off. [433] philadelphia, 1906. the f.a. davis company. index a adultery, under roman law, laws modified by justinian, among germanic peoples, see also under various states. age of consent, under english law, in the united states, see also under various states. alabama, apostles, teachings about women, arizona, arkansas, attainder, bills of, in roman empire, laws of arcadius, honorius, and constantine, of pope innocent iii. b breach of promise, under roman law, modification by constantine, by justinian, business, woman in, under roman empire, in england, in the united states see also under each state c california, chastisement, right of husband to chastise wife under english law, christ, teachings about women, colorado, connecticut, consent of women to marriage, under roman law, opinions of church fathers, enactments of christian emperors, crimes against women, under roman law, among germanic peoples, under english law, curtesy, defined, under english law, see also under various states. custom, power of, d delaware, discrepancy in wages paid to women, district of columbia, divorce, under roman law; modified by theodosius and valentinian; by justinian; by justin; among germanic peoples; under canon law; under english law; general considerations; see also under various states. double standard of morality dower, defined; right of, in english law; see also under different states. dowry, under roman law; among ancient gauls; among germanic peoples e education, rights of women to an, under roman empire; in england; in the united states f fathers of the church, their commands concerning women florida g georgia gifts between husband and wife, under roman law; changes by justinian guardian, decay of power of, under roman law guardians, women as, under roman law; laws modified by justinian; see also under various states. guardianship under roman law; among germanic peoples, h husband and wife, under roman law; among germanic peoples; under canon law; under english law; see also under various states i idaho illinois; ritchie case, indian territory indiana inheritance rights of women, under roman law; modified by justinian; among germanic peoples; under english law intellectual inferiority of women, argument discussed iowa j jewish ideas about women k kansas kentucky l lecky, analysis of character of women louisiana m macaulay on the effects of freedom maine marriage, women in, under roman law; opinions of church fathers; among ancient gauls and germans; among germanic peoples; under canon law; under english law; modern changes in views of; see also under various states. maryland massachusetts michigan minnesota mississippi missouri montana moral argument against suffrage n nebraska nevada new hampshire new jersey new mexico new york north carolina north dakota o ohio oklahoma old maid, treatment of, by christians oregon p partiality of roman law to women pennsylvania physiological argument against suffrage political or social argument against suffrage power of father, under roman law; under early christians; among germanic peoples; under english law professions, women in, in england; in united states, and see under various states; need of opening all, to women property rights of married women, under roman law; among germanic peoples; under english law; of widows and single women, under roman law; among germanic peoples; under english law, in the united states, protection of property of children under roman law, r respect for women, among romans, among ancient germans, rhode island, ritchie case in illinois, roman catholic church, attitude to women, s second marriages, opinions of church fathers concerning, legislation of christian emperors, slaves, women, under roman law, among germanic peoples, under canon law, south carolina, south dakota, suffrage, woman, in england, in the united states, see also under various states. suits, women engaging in, under roman law, t tennessee, texas, theological argument against women's rights, training of women for higher ideals, u utah, v vermont, vestal virgins, virginia, w washington, west virginia, wisconsin, women: see under _divorce, dowry, marriage, husband and wife_, etc. wyoming, index to supplementary chapter a advance of equal suffrage, chronological tables, amendment, constitutional, for suffrage; rejected by senate; and by house b bryan, favours suffrage c cat and mouse act d divorce, proposals for reform defeated in england e europe, general status of women's rights in f falconer, congressman, reply to heflin feminism g germany, position of women in h heflin, congressman, speech on suffrage j journals, official, of various women's organisations l legislation, most recent examples of, for protection of women m mann, congressman, remarks on suffrage parade militant suffragettes r roman empire, assumption that its fall was due to liberty allowed women roosevelt, opinion on suffrage s schopenhauer, remarks on nature of women sphere, woman's sphere argument t tendencies and results of women's rights movement w wilson, president, position on suffrage +-------------------------------------------------+ |transcriber's note: | | | |obvious typographic errors have been corrected. | | | +-------------------------------------------------+ mary wollstonecraft and the beginnings of female emancipation in france and england [illustration: logo] j. bouten mary wollstonecraft and the beginnings of female emancipation in france and england academisch proefschrift ter verkrijging van den graad van doctor in de letteren en wijsbegeerte aan de universiteit van amsterdam op gezag van den rector-magnificus dr p. zeeman, hoogleeraar in de faculteit der wisen natuurkunde, in het openbaar te verdedigen in de aula der universiteit op vrijdag 17 nov. 1922 des namiddags te 4 uur door jacob bouten, geboren te dordrecht h. j. paris v h firma a. h. kruyt amsterdam to my wife preface. there is something particularly fascinating about the study of the literature and philosophy of the eighteenth century, with its gradual evolution of lofty social ideals which the revolution failed to realise. when the altered circumstances brought promotion within my reach, it completely brought me under its sway, and ultimately came to determine my choice of a subject for an inaugural dissertation. it was while engaged upon tracing the influence of rousseau's hopebringing theories on his english disciple william godwin, that the less boldly assertive, but all the more humanly attractive personality of the latter's first wife, mary wollstonecraft, attracted my attention. my admiration of her husband's intellect paled before my sympathy for her more modest, but at the same time more emotional character. where the indebtedness of godwin to rousseau and the encyclopedians has been manifested so clearly in different works, the absence of any direct attempt to prove and determine the extent of the relations between mary wollstonecraft and the early french philosophers struck me as an omission for which i found it difficult to account, and made me turn to a subject to which i am fully aware that a book of the size of the present little volume does but scant justice. i wish to avail myself of this opportunity to thankfully acknowledge the valuable help and friendly encouragement received from _professor dr. a. e. h. swaen_, of the university of amsterdam, whose unceasing kindness and ever-ready interest in the preparation of this treatise i shall never forget. _mr. k. r. gallas_, lecturer on french literature in the same university, has likewise a claim to my heartfelt gratitude for giving me the benefit of his extensive knowledge in making various suggestions with regard to the chapters dealing with the literature of france. my best thanks are also due to _mr. m. g. van neck_ and _dr. p. fijn van draat_ for guiding my reading for the b.-examination, and particularly to my first teacher of english, _mr. l. p. h. eijkman_, for giving me that interest in england and her language and literature which has determined my subsequent career. _amsterdam_, november 1922. contents chap. page i. the main theories regarding the position of women 1 ii. the beginnings of a feminist movement in france 11 iii. the position of french women in eighteenth century society 52 iv. feminist and anti-feminist tendencies among the english augustans 73 v. qualified feminism: the bluestockings 98 vi. radical feminism: mary wollstonecraft 128 bibliography 183 introductory chapter. _the main theories regarding the position of women._ the history of the emancipation of women is the long and varied record of their slow and gradual liberation from that utter subjection to man in which various circumstances beyond their control--among which the physical superiority of the latter, a form of male supremacy which has seldom been called into question, was probably the most prominent--had combined to place them. it relates how in the course of centuries--either with the support of a certain portion of the opposite sex or relying upon their own resources--they strove to cast off the shackles which bound and degraded them, and to acquire that degree of physical, intellectual and moral freedom to which they felt themselves entitled. that the movement towards complete enfranchisement met with a varied reception and was hampered and retarded by men and often by women themselves was due chiefly to the fact that in the question of female possibilities there was much diversity of opinions at different times and among different nations. the worst enemies to evolution of this kind were those women who, holding the empire of love and gallantry to be their exclusive domain, in which their sway was not likely to be ever disputed, turned deliberately against those of their own sex who in trying to wrench from the hands of men the sceptre of social power, were willing to forego the privileges of sex. that women were thus divided among themselves from the first, was the natural outcome of those differences in personal attractions and in personal intelligence which have always constituted the great danger of too sweeping conclusions with regard to the inclinations and capabilities of the female sex. individual members of the same sex may yet be radically different, and he who would prescribe for all will always find himself confronted by the bewildering problem of the disparity of individuals. the champions of the cause of woman have had to overcome a great deal of stubborn opposition, nor can it be said that even at the present moment the emancipation of women is complete. even now that the ideal of perfect equality in everything seems almost within reach, and the domestic woman has largely given way to the social worker and political agitator, it may be a matter of speculation whether the full realisation of the long wished-for end, throwing open to women all those occupations from which centuries of injustice rigorously excluded them, would mean a blessing to society and to women in particular, or a mixture of gain and loss. those who regard women from the all-human standpoint, holding the functions of sex to be only a passing incident in the great scheme of life, will be inclined to take the former view; those, on the other hand, who believe that a woman's life derives its colour from considerations of sex which refuse to be ignored, may well wonder where a rigorous application of perfect equality will land us in the end. in one respect however, there has been great and undeniable progress. the modern tendency to overlook sexual differences ensures to individual women the necessary freedom to judge for themselves whether a life of domestic or one of social duties will be more compatible with their personal inclinations; and no woman whose hopes of domestic bliss are rudely blunted, need--as was the case in former times--despair of succeeding in life; any talents she may happen to possess, will find full scope. if we contrast with this the truly pitiable condition of unmarried women in earlier ages, who were too often treated contemptuously for failing to perform what was considered the only duty of womanhood--the propagation of the species--we cannot but feel grateful to the champions of emancipation, whose restless ardour and unceasing devotion has entailed such glorious results. the feminist programme includes a number of points, on some of which something will have to be said. there is, in the first place, that physical enfranchisement which makes the woman cease to be the willess, and therefore irresponsible and soulless, slave to the caprices of a brutal master. there is, in the second place, the intellectual emancipation of women, admitting the female sex to the participation of reason and granting them that education of the mind which is to place them on a par with the other half of humanity; and there is that moral emancipation which recognises woman as a being endowed with a soul, equal to that of man, with consequent moral duties and responsibilities, partly dictated by considerations of sex. as a direct consequence of these, there is finally, social emancipation, constituting principles of perfect equality between the sexes, also in matters of social and political interest. they are all of them largely dependent on the growth of civilisation. it has even been said that the degree of civilisation in a nation is determined by the position of its women in the life of the community. in the early stages of history--in that savage state which some authors persist in preferring to the social state of an imperfect civilisation--only the physical condition of women was considered, and, where even some of the most fervent advocates of the female excellence are forced to acknowledge the physical inferiority of the sex, it is but natural that the women of prehistoric times were kept in utter subjection, being regarded exclusively as a means of gratifying the animal instincts. but with the growth of civilisation came the development of the mind, and it has always been one of the bitterest grievances of feminists against man, that he, taking advantage of his usurped authority, deliberately withheld from woman the means of proving that the supposed inferiority only concerned her physical capacities, and not those of the mind. even as late as the 18th century the complaint is repeatedly uttered (and this is one of the points where two women of such widely different views as mary wollstonecraft and hannah more fully agree) that men keep from women all opportunities of that cultivation of the understanding which infallibly leads to virtue, and by a singular want of logic hold them responsible for the moral deficiency which is the inevitable consequence. in the introduction to her "_strictures on the modern system of female education_" hannah more calls it "a singular injustice which is often exercised towards women, first to give them a very defective education and then to expect from them the most undeviating purity of conduct; to train them in such a manner as shall lay them open to the most dangerous faults and then to censure them for not proving faultless"[1], and the argument seems indeed unanswerable. hence the cry for female education which plato was among the first to raise. the physical inequality between the sexes was apparent and therefore remained, upon the whole, uncontested, but the problem of the possibilities of the female understanding was less easy to solve and admitted of different opinions; hence it was in the first stage of the growth of the human mind that the great question was first broached the solution of which was to occupy so many minds in so many successive centuries. while making every possible allowance for deviations due to individual opinion, which mostly had its roots either in a particular form of creed or in some special system of philosophy, it may be stated that there were throughout the centuries two directly opposing lines of thought, each leading to certain clearly marked conclusions. of these, the first and oldest is based upon considerations of practice rather than theory, which makes it less rigid and more adaptable to the exigencies of practical life. it was adopted on the whole by churchmen and religious moralists rather than by abstract philosophers, and had the full support of the unquestioned doctrines of christianity, of which support its adherents never failed to make the best use. it determined the attitude of the early christian church towards women in taking for granted the existence of a sexual character, from which it draws inferences. the difference between the sexes is essential and not restricted to physical differentiations. they were intended for different functions and have widely different duties to fulfil. man's chief duty is the support of the family he has reared--for which obviously his strength of muscle was intended,--his is the struggle for life against a hostile society in which egoism reigns supreme and the interests of individuals constantly clash. woman's special province is the home; hers is the difficult and important task of regulating the domestic life and bringing up the children she has borne. so far this theory receives support from observations of the animal world. but that faculty which marks the essential difference between the human and the animal kingdom became the apple of discord among many later generations. for reason was held to be the prerogative of man only, in which woman had no share. his world is the world of the intellect, the world of action, in which sex is only an episode; hers is the world of sentiment and of contemplation, in which sex is the dominant factor. to think is the prerogative of man, to feel that of woman. that there is also an intellectual side to the quiet undisturbed contemplation of confinement at home was demonstrated by shakespeare when creating the character of lady macbeth, nor was the monopoly of thought greatly abused by the mediaeval lords of creation, the only scholars of that period being those who had resigned their sex. but apart from those who lived in convents and whose reading was exclusively religious, women were self-taught or rather taught by experience, and the use of books was confined to some monasteries. starting from the above principle, any claim to intellectual equality would have seemed an encroachment upon the male kingdom. love and maternity, and the daily routine of the household ought to be the only considerations in a woman's existence and whatever is outside these is the domain of man. to woman was allotted the task of managing the home, to man the more comprehensive one of managing society. that in reality the former is quite as important as the latter, which must always largely depend on it, since woman is the mother of man, and the guide of his first steps, did not find full recognition until the 17th century, when fénelon and some of his contemporaries made this consideration a basis on which to build their demands for a female education. early christianity, drawing the necessary conclusions from certain biblical allusions to the position of woman and guided by st. paul's teachings, adopted the hebraic notions of female inferiority and dependence, which long met with no resistance whatever. the early churchmen, in strict obedience to the teaching of their faith, tacitly accepted the inferiority of women and their subjection to men. about these little need be said here. they were partly responsible for the misery of women in the early middle ages, the time of their greatest debasement and degradation, and will be remembered only among the adversaries of feminism. however, the fact must here be emphasized, that even the full acceptance of a sexual character does not necessitate, and in practice did not always lead to, insistence upon the female inferiority. there are those who, while assigning to woman a place in society differing essentially from that held by man, do not infer that woman is necessarily inferior to man. they purposely refrain from comparing that which by its very nature defies comparison: "for woman is not undeveloped man, but diverse." they insist instead on the division of functions which makes the sexes supplement each other. the majority are moralists, churchmen of a later age, and to them the problem is that of sexual duties, with the promise of eternity in the background, which is intended for both sexes, female as well as male. the pursuit of christian virtue, which to them is the essential thing, is regardless of sex and leads to self-abnegation which renders the sexual problem of secondary importance. the very orthodoxy of her faith prevented hannah more from becoming a feminist in the full sense of the word, and as mary wollstonecraft's feminism came to absorb her mind more fully, her religious convictions retired into the background. to the christian moralist the place of woman in the social structure must of necessity be an important one; but it is made so only by the domestic duties which devolve upon her. she is expected to bring up her children to be good christians, good citizens, and good fathers and mothers, in the moral interest of society, and this duty obviously involves the necessity for women to receive the benefit of a moral education. in this lies the gist of the moralist's arguments in favour of a partial female emancipation. to be a good educator of the young it is indispensable that the mother herself should be liberally instructed, for what is to become of her influence, should her male offspring come to regard her as intellectually inferior? in this argument the feminist and the moralist join hands. fénelon and his contemporaries were philosophers and for the rigid, inflexible interpretation of scripture by the early churchmen they substituted the structure of moral philosophy, which thus indirectly promoted the growth of feminist ideas. in their eyes an education is the very first requisite to enable a woman to discharge the duties imposed by motherhood. the second line of thought, in direct opposition to the assumption of a sexual character, takes for its starting-point the theory of _equality_ in everything except what is physical, arriving at the conclusion that there is nothing which woman--if given the benefit of the same education--is not capable of performing equally well as man. in view of the impossibility of furnishing conclusive rational evidence--women are not educated and therefore no opportunity is given them to vindicate their powers--the adherents of this theory, who mostly belong to the rational school of philosophy, point to the example of some individual women, who in spite of a defective education obtained great results, thereby laying themselves open to the criticism that what may apply to certain individuals, need not hold good for the entire sex, which argument they try to refute by insisting on the experiment being made. this ultra-feminist way of thinking equally originated in france, where mlle de gournay and françois poullain de la barre built up their theories more than a century before mary wollstonecraft voiced their claims in the english language. apart from certain physical differences which even she could not deny, although she held with truth that they were often exaggerated, nay, purposely augmented, woman possesses the same capabilities as man and the existing difference in intellectual development may be entirely removed by means of an education which does not regard sex. this process of reasoning naturally leads to a denial of sexual character. the mental inferiority of women is merely the consequence of ages of neglect which urgently demands reparation. the soul, they agreed with the moralists, has no sex--an assertion which some of the early christian leaders might have felt inclined to call into question--and since the development of the moral sense depends largely upon the condition of the mind, it is the _right_ of women to be educated. the claim for education as a natural right was first made in its full purport by mary wollstonecraft, to whom belongs the undivided honour of having been the first woman in europe to apply rousseau's famous theory of the rights of man to her own sex by taking her stand upon the principle of equality of the sexes. the extreme adherents of equality among the philosophers of the french revolution founded their claims upon an absolute denial of all innate character, holding the character of every individual to be the resultant of different influences to which it has been exposed. among french philosophers helvétius had been the first to profess this theory in his "_traité de l'homme_." diderot had written an energetic reply, vindicating the theory of innateness and heredity, and the topic had remained a theme of frequent dispute. the partisans of helvétius, among whom were both godwin and mary wollstonecraft, continuing his line of argument, were naturally led to the most optimistic forecasts for a happy future. it only remained to find a way to perfect education and to extend it from a few privileged ones to the multitude, and all evil would of necessity disappear, and society would be rebuilt upon a more solid foundation. the consequence was an overwhelming number of educational treatises, mainly in the french language, most of which, however, sadly overlooked the pressing needs of woman. it was again mary wollstonecraft who extended this implicit faith in the perfectibility of humanity to the case of woman. all that women needed was to be given a good education, and the rest would follow. so convinced were these idealists of the incontestability of their arguments that they refused to make any concessions, however slight, to those who held different views. this very inflexibility became the means of ruining their best intentions. they did not stop at intellectual and moral enfranchisement, their daring schemes comprised complete social and political emancipation. in the period with which we shall be chiefly concerned, their efforts were doomed to failure by the circumstance that their aims were physically incapable of realisation while society remained in the state in which it found itself at the time of the outbreak of the french revolution. those more or less unconscious feminists, the bluestockings, were responsible for far more direct improvement through the very moderation of their suggestions than mary wollstonecraft, whose lonely voice in the wilderness of british conventionality heralded the great and successful movement of a later century. when the inevitable reaction set in, the entire feminist movement, which mary had identified with the cause of liberty, as advocated by the french, was regarded as anti-national and seditious, and first ridiculed and reviled, to be soon after consigned to a temporary oblivion. when called upon to decide which of the two lines of argument referred to above deserves most sympathy, the unbiased onlooker may find himself sadly perplexed. in choosing between the advocates of dignified domesticity and those of perfect equality, one might be inclined to decide in favour of the former; yet the fact remains that, if especially the last decades have brought considerable progress, it is chiefly the latter we have to thank for it. for the pathway of the pioneer is rough and beset with difficulties, and she may seem "no painful inch to gain", and yet the amount of progress, when measured after the lapse of ages may be found to be considerable. but the fatal tendencies to generalise and to exaggerate are everywhere, and invariably spoil the best arguments. to the advocates of equality _à outrance_ might be held up the warning example of the "masculine woman", who has succeeded in getting herself abominated both by man and by the wise members of her own sex; who has voluntarily, for the prospect of mostly imaginary gains, unsexed herself, forgetful alike of her task of propagation and education and of the fact that even outside the home-circle there are the sick to be ministered to, and the suffering to be comforted, occupations that demand the loving gentleness and unselfish devotion of which the womanly woman is made more capable by nature than her brother man. she scornfully resigns the chivalrous worship of the opposite sex, mixing in political and other debates with a want of moderation and often with a narrowness of views which prove all too clearly that the average woman's qualities fit her for the domestic rather than the social task. on the other hand, those moralists who exhort women to be content to take their place in society as "wives and mothers", not inferior to man, but different, forget to provide for those women, whom circumstances beyond their control have destined for celibacy, debarring them from the privileges of their own sex, while not allowing them to share those of the male. for such women it was indeed a blessed day when the word that was to deliver them from bondage and to open to them paths of public usefulness was first spoken by the pioneers of feminism, throwing open to the female sex the many professions for which they are as fit, or even fitter--in spite of the equality theory--than men! whatever may be the absolute truth,--which probably no moralist or feminist has ever held, although some may have held a considerable portion of it,--both may be credited with a firm and unshakable belief in the creative force of a good education for women, of whatever description their chief duties in life may be. and, after all, the question of perfect equality and of rivalry between the sexes leading to a struggle for pre-eminence will chiefly attract women who, being more gifted than their sisters, and filled with a laudable desire to devote their talents to their cause, make the error of identifying their own individual plight with that of their sex, imagining women in general to be thwarted in their aims and ambitions, and ascribing to them aspirations which the majority of women never cherished and probably never will cherish. they turn their weapons against "man, the usurper", goading him to opposition and forgetting hannah more's wise remark that "cooperation, and not competition is indeed the clear principle we wish to see reciprocally adopted by those higher minds in each sex which really approximate the nearest to each other"[2]. this remark, however much it may hold good for the times in which we live, would have elicited from mary wollstonecraft the reply that between master and slave there can be no cooperation until the latter's individuality has been fully recognised by emancipation. if, moreover, we consider how she was always thinking of duties before considering the question of female rights, claiming the latter only that with their help women might be better enabled to perform the former, it is difficult to withhold from either woman that sympathy to which the purity of her motives and the extreme earnestness of her endeavour justly entitles her. the history of female emancipation, therefore, is so closely bound up with that of female education that it often becomes impossible to separate them. education, to follow the feminist line of rational thought, forms the mind; and a well-formed mind shows a natural inclination towards that perfect virtue which ought to be the ruling power in the universe and the attainment of which is the sole aim of humanity. the feminist problem will not be fully settled until all men and women are equal partakers of the best education which it is in our power to bestow. it is impossible to record the earliest beginnings of feminism in england without first glancing at that country whence came the powerful wave of philosophical thought which, stimulated by the fathers of british philosophy, in its turn stung the latent feminist energy of a mary wollstonecraft to life and was also--although in a less degree--indirectly responsible for the more qualified feminism in the tendencies of the bluestocking circles and their literature, which it will be our business to describe. after one or two abortive attempts of a directly feminist nature a movement of indirect feminism, which was fostered and nursed by the french _salons_ of the 17th century began at a time when in england the condition of women was rapidly sinking to the lowest ebb since the dark ages of mediaevalism. all through the 17th and the greater portion of the 18th century female influence and importance grew and intensified without calling forth anything like a parallel movement in the great rival nation beyond the channel. those who, like mary astell and daniel defoe, caught the spirit of emancipation were indeed pioneers, and to them all english women owe a never-to-be-forgotten debt. from the beginning of the religious revival in england in the early part of the 18th century to the outbreak of the french revolution a strong and determined reaction against french manners was noticeable in england. this reaction found its root in national prejudices, which held whatever came from france to be tainted with the utter corruption and depravity of french society and as a natural consequence disqualified public opinion from appreciating the glorious edifice of philosophical thought which was being erected at the same time. it derived greater emphasis from the vicious excesses of the french aristocracy and afterwards from the unparalleled horrors of the revolution. the english nation has never been remarkable for any special love of imitation, and the menace of french revolutionism turned great britain into the very bulwark of the most rigid conservatism. so general did the feeling of hatred of the french revolutionary spirit become, that even mary wollstonecraft's determined attempt remained unsupported and was predoomed to failure merely because it was identified with the hated principles of the french revolution. footnotes: [1] edition t. cadell, strand, 1830; p. ix. [2] _strictures on the modern system of female education_, p. 226. chapter ii. _the beginnings of a feminist movement in france._ the two main feminist tendencies of the preceding chapter may be found illustrated among the ancients by the respective theories of plato and plutarch regarding women. the history of ancient greece records the earliest traces of what might be termed a feminist movement. there was a period when the position of the women of greece, who had long been kept in submission, excluded from political influence and treated contemptuously in literature, began to awaken some interest. the views of plato were of an advancedly feminist tendency. his _republic_, of which the fifth book deals with the position of women in the ideal state, ascribed their inferior power of reasoning to an education which was based upon the assumption of a sexual character. plato was the first to assert the moral and intellectual equality of women and to claim for them an equal share in the public duties. his writings foreshadow the constant alternative of later centuries. the woman who is regarded as essentially a citizen will find the consequent responsibilities crowding upon her, which she will be expected to share with her male partners, a bar to the exclusively feminine duties of motherhood and the education of her own progeny. no theories and social movements of the past or of any future time have altered or will alter the axiom that every individual woman will sooner or later find herself at a parting of roads, one of which will lead her to devote her energies to the progress of human society at large, the other to the more exclusive happiness and welfare of the domestic circle. so completely does plato disregard the feminine instinct, that the children in his commonwealth were to be entrusted to professional nurses, and that the mothers were to be allowed only to suckle the infants promiscuously and without even recognising them, out of bare necessity. the maternal instinct in plato's state was ignored, and the existence of a sexual character emphatically denied. another feminist among the ancients, although his views differed widely from plato's, was plutarch, whose ideas represent the opposite extreme of the ideal set up for women. woman's chief duty he held to be, not to the state, but to her own family. she should try to be her husband's associate not merely in material things, but also in the fulfilment of more delicate tasks, prominent among which is that of educating the young, for which purpose she herself requires to be instructed. in direct opposition to plato, plutarch insists on the essentially feminine qualities of tenderness, gentleness, grace and sensibility. in preference to a national education, he wishes for a home-education, based upon the natural affections between parent and child. the theories of plato and plutarch contain the germ of one of the main points of dispute among later feminists and anti-feminists: that of a sexual character. on the attitude taken by later writers on the woman question towards this all-important problem depends the course into which they are directed. those who, like plato, either deny or ignore the existence of a specially feminine character and specially feminine proclivities, are naturally driven to assert the equality of the sexes, and to claim for the female sex an equal share in both the rights and the responsibilities of social life. on the other hand, those who, like plutarch, lay stress on the domestic and educational duties of womanhood, counterbalancing the public duties of man, duties which take their origin in the innate propensities of the female character, may yet become defenders of the cause of woman, but their demands will be more qualified, and while including in their programme a liberal female education to make women fitting companions to their husbands and wise mothers to their children, will regard the political emancipation of the sex as a hindrance to the discharge of more important duties, and therefore as undesirable. although the problem regarding the social status of women was a matter of some speculation and discussion in the early days of antiquity, no female writers arose to take part in them, and the position of the female sex was exclusively determined by male opinion. this circumstance in itself proves conclusively that the prevailing opinion was that woman in her then state was an inferior creature. women were not even appealed to to make known their own wishes on a subject so vitally concerning them. their participation in the movement belongs to later times. upon the whole, the educationalists of rome took little notice of the problem of female education and instruction. quintilian, the chief among them, completely ignores the point, and roman literature affords no contribution of any real importance. the first statements of the cause thus remained without any direct results. such traces as had been left were completely swept up in the years of turmoil that followed, causing early civilisation to fall back into barbarism. the centuries that elapsed between the fall of the latin empire and the renaissance may be called the dark age of feminism. mr. mc. cabe in his "_woman in political evolution_" states that the decline of the comparative esteem in which women were held among the romans set in even before the great empire began to totter on its foundations, and was largely due to the judaic spirit which prevailed in the early days of christianity, demanding the implicit obedience of women to the stronger sex, a point of view which was found endorsed in many places in both the old and the new testament. the earliest christian leaders had been taught to regard woman as the agent of man's downfall, and readily observed the law that rendered her dependent. they were for the most part zealots, who did not believe in any literature that was not devotional. even the most enlightened among them, st. jerome, who had to answer the charge of occupying himself preferably with the instruction of women--which accusation he met with the complaint that the men were displaying an absolute indifference to instruction of any kind--wanted to make narrow religious asceticism the basis of his education of women. being exempt from social and political duties, they seemed naturally fitted for a life of devotion and contempt of the world, directing their energies and hopes towards a life to come. in the strict retirement of the cloisters they filled their time with prayer and sacred literature. thus, in the dark age, the ideal of womanhood became the virgin, who lived her life of devotion far from the temptations of a wicked world with which she had nothing in common. those women--and they were the majority--who did not pursue so lofty an ideal, sank lower and lower, and came to be regarded as mere sexual instruments, without any claim to consideration, by men whose only interest was war, and among whom learning was regarded with contempt. before the great renaissance came with its revival of learning in which some women had a share, bringing improvement to some privileged ones, but leaving the bulk of them in the pool of ignorance and slavery into which they had sunk, two minor renaissances call for mention. the first, of the late eighth and early ninth century, centres round the names of charlemagne, emperor of the franks, and alcuin. they saw, indeed, the necessity for better instruction and founded a great many schools, but in their scheme women as a class were unfortunately overlooked. the second revival, that of abélard, which took place in the twelfth century, marks the beginning of a more rational education, subjecting various theological problems to the test of reason and logic. unfortunately, this second revival soon degenerated, and gave rise to a class of pedants who neither understood the aims, nor even the principles of education and against whose severity and arrogance the great reformers of the renaissance as rabelais, montaigne and roger ascham directed their shafts. neither of these revivals, therefore, exercised any considerable influence on the position of women. it was also in the twelfth century that the influence of the conquest of england by the normans began to make itself felt in latin europe. the early traditions of england regarding women offer a striking contrast to those which lived on the continent. when in the days of julius caesar the romans first set foot on british soil, they found a well-balanced society, in which prevailed a state of comparative equality between the sexes, and a correspondingly high code of morality. the british women were consulted whenever an important resolution had to be taken, and tacitus, and in later days selden, were lavish in their praise of the dignity and bravery of boadicea, whose history has furnished even modern authors with a fitting subject. about the middle of the fifth century there began those invasions of anglo-saxons which led to a partial blending of the two races. the newcomers also reverenced their women; history even records the names of some "queens regnant" among them, and ladies of birth and quality sat in their witenagemot. the church boasted among its abbesses some fine specimens of intellectual womanhood (st. hilda, st. modivenna), and in general the position of women among the anglo-saxons points to a spirit of generous chivalry. william the conqueror and his men, who overran and subjected the country in the eleventh century, came from a land where the principles of the salic law were recognised. seen from a feminist point of view, this invasion was a most fatal occurrence. under norman influence a rapid decline set in. but if the normans latinised the manners and customs of the nations subjected to their rule, the latter influenced their conquerors in a more subtle way through their literature. it was especially the literature of celtic england that hit the taste of mediaeval france. the arthurian cycle found its way to the continent. it breathes a spirit of chivalry, and depicts a blending of the sexes on terms of homage to the fair and weaker which came like a revelation. and although the chivalrous element soon degenerated--mr. mc. cabe deliberately leaves early romanticism out of account, calling it "a cult of pretty faces and rounded limbs, leading to a general laxity in morals"--yet it opened the eyes of the stronger sex to the possibility of women playing some slight part in society. in this connection it is rather amusing--and also enlightening as illustrating the general estimate of women--to read about a proposal made by one pierre du bois to king edward the first to make christian women marry saracen husbands, that they might have a chance of converting them. the first social mission of women, if du bois had been given his way, would thus have been that of utilising their charms to make religious converts. at the same time, he deemed it advisable to fit them for this task by giving them a rather liberal education and instruction. there was, however, one important result of the new tendencies. the education of girls in the early middle ages,--such as it was--was a monastic one, practised within the walls of a convent. but in feudal society it became more and more customary to have the daughters of aristocratic families brought up at home, either by a tutor, or by some member of the family whose parts fitted him for the task. this first secularisation of female education among the higher classes was mainly responsible for the awakening interest of some women in literature of a secular kind. the traditions of the church had demanded the teaching of latin long after it had fallen into disuse in the outside world. the secular education, which comprised little actual instruction, next to music and dancing, came to include a good deal of physical exercise. religion was not neglected, but relegated to a less commanding position, and secular literature in the vernacular became a favourite pastime, so much so, that (about 1400) gerson thought it necessary to protest against the reading of the _roman de la rose_ by young ladies, from motives of delicacy. in spite of many backslidings, the position of women was now very slowly beginning to improve, and in the argument between the partisans and the opponents of female instruction the latter were beginning to have the worst of it. in the fifteenth century one or two forerunners of the renaissance-women swelled the ranks of the advocates of the cause. there was in france christine de pisan, who in her "_cité des dames_" protested against the conventional statement, that the spreading of learning among women had had a disastrous influence upon their morals. in illustration of her plea she quoted the example of jehan andry, "solennel canoniste à boulogne", who, when prevented by circumstances from giving his lessons of divine wisdom, sent his daughter novelle in his place. in order that the beauty of her appearance might not awaken illicit thoughts among her male scholars "elle avait une petite courtine devant son visage." christine de pisan was one of the first women who made a living by their pen, and is said to have lived a life of irreproachable virtue, besides being possessed of great erudition. the country where the most considerable gain was recorded was italy. not only did many italian women share in the enthusiasm aroused by the renaissance, but their doings were no longer regarded as unworthy of interest. in boccaccio's writings, for instance, women occupy a very prominent place, and chaucer was among those who followed his example. although a great many writers of the period make the failings of women the object of their satirical remarks, yet there is in their very criticism the wish for something better and nobler, and better still, the conviction that women are capable of improvement. the renaissance, with its revival of ancient culture, contained a strong educational element, which, although like the earlier revivals it busied itself only very indirectly with the female half of society, was not without importance to the movement of female emancipation. for in the first place man was the usurper of all authority, and it was only by educating him and widening his horizon that he could be made to recognise the absurdity of the relations between the sexes; and in the second place it was the philosophical spirit of the renaissance that built its educational speculations upon a solid foundation of thought and method. the educationalists of the renaissance were not churchmen, but philosophers. the tendency among them--when at all interested in women--is to condemn both the monastic education, which forms devotees instead of mothers, and that secular education which creates literary ladies instead of housewives, and to return to the ancient ideal of womanhood in making them essentially wives and mothers, assuming without discussion the female inferiority. the most striking exception to this rule was the german cornelius agrippa, of nettesheim, who was the first to state the cause and pronounce upon it in a sense so favourable to female instruction that it entitles him to the name of "father of feminism". his treatise "_de nobilitate et praecellentia feminini sexus_" (first published in 1505), though naturally crude and immature, and hesitatingly put forward, has that enthusiasm of firm convictions which touches the reader's heart. the rudiments of later contentions are to be found in his plea. the tyranny of men, he says, has deprived woman of her birthright of liberty. iniquitous laws have prevented her from enjoying it, usage and custom have neglected it, and finally an exclusively sexual education has quite extinguished it. in her youth she is kept a close prisoner at home, as though she were utterly incapable of any more dignified occupation than the performance of domestic duties like a kind of superior servant, and using the needle. thus she is prepared for the matrimonial yoke which is laid upon her the moment she has attained maturity, that she may quickly serve her chief purpose of propagating the species. she is then delivered up to the oppression of a husband whose inordinate jealousy and fits of temper reduce her to a deplorable condition. or she is kept all her life in the even more rigorous confinement of a convent, a retreat of so-called virgins and vestals, where she is left to a thousand agonies, the worst among which is a gnawing regret for lost happiness which finishes her. in a supplementary treatise agrippa exhorts the husband to regard and to treat his wife as a companion, and not as a servant. he seems almost afraid of the consequences of his audacity when he tries to weaken its effects by acknowledging the natural dominion of the male sex. "however", he adds, "let their rule be all grace and reverence. although woman be inferior, let her be given a place by the husband's side, that she may be his faithful helpmate and counsellor. not a slave, but the mistress of the house; not the first among the servants, but the mother of the fine children who are to inherit her husband's property, succeed to his business, and transmit his name to posterity." erasmus in his _dialogues_ depicts women as eager to rise out of their conditions of servitude. however much he tempers the force of his argument by continual jokes and pleasantries, yet he seems to sympathise with the female complaint that woman herself has abandoned her cause, leaving the husband to decide all matters of importance and voluntarily resigning all liberty, consigning herself to a life of religious devotion and household duties. the consequence is that men regard them as mere playthings and even deny them the name of human beings. the woman who voices this complaint enumerates the various occupations for which her sex would be fit, and winds up by saying that "there is nothing in what she has said which does not deserve serious and mature consideration." in "_abbates et eruditiae_" erasmus anticipates the problem of female education as it would present itself in later ages. he foresees that there will come a time when women, dissatisfied with the state of bondage, will seek improvement by demanding an education. the innate masculine egoism, however, will realise that learning will make women less submissive to male authority, and they will resist any innovations by which their supremacy may be endangered. the coming struggle is thus foreshadowed by one of the most prominent among the philosophers of the renaissance, and his sympathies are, upon the whole, with the female sex. he is the first to see the close connexion between the moral worthlessness of females and their need of an education. to remedy the frivolity of women he demanded that girls should be taught some useful occupation, so as to keep them from idleness and its concomitant vices. he also wished for a more liberal intellectual education to be supplied in the family, and, should that be impossible, by the husband. in full accordance with the above is the main drift of the third of the great humanist's works which show a tendency favourable to women: his "_christian marriage_", which made its appearance in 1526. it resolutely prefers the state of matrimony to that of religious celibacy and makes the possibilities of conjugal happiness dependent on the cultivation of the female soul. works like the above could not fail to draw to the problem the attention of the reading public, and to make it a favourite topic of controversy. france especially proved an extremely fruitful soil, and the french nation became interested in a regular "querelle des femmes" which inspired a great many pens, and culminated in the third book of rabelais' _pantagruel_. the habit of reviling the female character and satirising the female weaknesses was of mediaeval growth, and may be found illustrated among many other examples in that portion of the "_roman de la rose_" which is the work of jean de meung, in the "_lamentations de matheolus_", of which the late professor van hamel issued a new edition in 1892, and in a great many "_fabliaux_". it also prevailed in england with great persistence for several centuries.[3] but the somewhat puerile invective became a controversy in france when about the middle of the 15th century the female sex found some staunch defenders among the male french authors. martin le franc's "_champion des dames_", composed between 1440 and 1442, aroused a great deal of hostile criticism, mostly in the prevailing satirical form and culminating in the "_grand blason des faulces amours_" by guillaume-alexis, and some sympathy, as in the "_chevalier aux dames_", an allegorical poem; while some authors, like robert de herlin in his "_acort des mesdisans et biendisans_" tried to reconcile the two parties. after 1500 the growth of the renaissance spirit soon caused the controversy to enter into a new phase. the interest it commanded remained undiminished and towards the middle of the century it even increased to immense proportions, without, however, leading to any pronounced tangible results. the progress of learning caused the argument to become intensified into a more serious, philosophical cast. one of the champions of the female sex, at the time when the "quarrel" had reached its acute stage, françois du billon, who also made use of the allegorical device to level his threats at the heads of the revilers of women in his "_fort inexpugnable de l'honneur fëminin_", narrates how three of the worst sinners are taken prisoner by the gallant defenders of the fortress. they are boccaccio, gratien dupont, seigneur de drusac, whose "_controverses_", written in 1534, are full of the fiercest invective against women, and jean nevizan, author of a latin treatise, published in 1521, of which the very lengthy title may be advantageously condensed into "_sylva nuptialis_". nevizan's work shows the renaissance spirit of enquiry into the stores of antiquity in its mention of a great many sources from christ to plato and itself became a source of inspiration to rabelais. in the years that followed the champions of feminism became identified with the platonic idealists who were bent upon spiritualising love[4], whilst its adversaries tried to uphold the ancient "gaulois" traditions with their lower estimate of womanhood. the publication (in 1542) of antoine héroët's "_parfaicte amye_", with its platonic notions, heralded a new phase in the history of the "querelle des femmes". in its metaphysical tendencies this brief treatise contains a delicate analysis of the emotions attendant upon the pure passion, the chief inspirer of virtue which brings us nearer to god. it ushered in the acute stage, during which not one of the great authors remained silent on a question which occupied so many minds. the different contributions to the problem under discussion were soon combined in one volume under the name of "_opuscules d'amour_". the poets and poetesses of the "école lyonnaise", maurice scève, pernette du guillet, louise labé, and others, ranged themselves among those who tried to introduce a purified love-ideal and also marguerite, queen of navarre[5] joined the controversialists in her poetry. so general did the interest taken in the issue become, that rabelais interrupted the narrative of his _pantagruel_ to contribute his reflections on the subject in the third book (about 1546). he took his cue from nevizan's "_sylva nuptialis_" in introducing the problem as a consequence of speculations regarding the marriage of panurge. rabelais proved himself on the whole an anti-feminist, and we have du billon's authority for the fact that the name "pantagruéliste" was considered equivalent to that of enemy to the cause of woman.[6] if we except christine de pisan, marie de jars de gournay, and "la belle cordière," the lyons poetess louise labé, the number of french female authors was not greatly increased by the renaissance movement. but the number of women of the higher classes who took part in the great intellectual movement grew all over europe, particularly in france, england and spain. one of the most erudite frenchwomen of the time was marguerite de valois, queen of navarre, (1492-1549), sister to francis the first, who welcomed to her court the greatest scholars of the day, and who was herself no mean poetess. it would not be difficult to extend this list with more names of high-placed women who owed their intellectual development to the instruction of special preceptors. education of this kind became the privilege of the female aristocracy. the schools for the most part refused to admit women; in the convent learning was discouraged because a spirit of free inquiry mostly led to heresy, and for the women of the lower classes nothing at all was done. their more fortunate sisters learned to speak and write latin, greek and italian, and after 1600 also spanish, and the abuse by women of italian words while pretending to speak their own language called forth a strong reaction in 1579, the year which saw euphues, and the beginning of its influence at the elizabethan court. the tendencies of the reformation pointed in the same direction; they encouraged a spirit of free inquiry and were directly opposed to those of the monastic education. under luther's influence a number of lay-schools for girls arose in germany and the early reformation thus tried to fill up the gap in female education which the renaissance had left. unfortunately the political condition of france in the late 16th century was most unfavourable to educational reform owing to the violence of the religious wars, and it was not until after the edict of nantes that a number of huguenot schools arose. the outlook in the opening years of the 17th century was far from bright; great misery prevailed everywhere, in addition to which the internal wars had brought about a general decay of morals which threatened to become the country's ruin. it was at this critical stage in the history of france that woman had become sufficiently confident of her powers to claim a beneficial share in all matters of social importance.[7] for the first time in history the woman question reached an acute stage. the seventeenth century, which witnessed the deepest abasement of english women, will always be remembered in the history of france as the time of the first self-conscious vindication of female rights. this vindication--except in one or two isolated instances--did not take the form of a direct appeal; it adopted the persuasive method of furnishing convincing evidence of woman's capacity to hold her own both intellectually and morally and even to supply certain elements which were lacking among the opposite sex, for the benefit of french society. we have seen that in the late sixteenth century the problem came to be a much-discussed one in french literature, which it remained all through the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. m. ascoli, in the "_revue de synthèse historique_" (tome xiii) has published an extensive bibliography of no fewer than ninety-seven works of a feminist or anti-feminist tendency written between 1564 and 1773, which proves conclusively that the intellectual condition of women remained a subject of contemplation. the thirst for knowledge, as we have seen, had imparted itself to a small category of women whose circumstances enabled them to share the literary pursuits of their menfolks. but even the boldest of these earliest champions in their wildest dreams did not go beyond that enfranchisement of the mind which--however important in itself--is only the indispensable first step in female emancipation. until quite late in the 16th century no women had entered the field as the avowed champions of their sex against the arrogant assertions of male supremacy. the alleged inferiority of women was a theme of frequent discussion only in the works of male authors, who further degraded the sex by the bantering, often insolently satirical tone of their contentions. but no woman had come forward to test the evidence on both sides, far less to enter into competition with men on behalf of her sex. the growing taste for literature had done little or nothing to improve the social position of women; it unfortunately limited itself to a few privileged women, leaving the rest of womanhood in the obscurity of hopeless ignorance. thus matters stood when in the first quarter of the seventeenth century two events of great importance in the history of feminism took place, of which the first, abortive though it was, and therefore predoomed to barrenness, represents a deliberate attempt by a woman to constitute herself the champion of her sex; the second being something in the nature of a social experiment, which, without aiming definitely at the attainment of an exclusively feminist ideal, did more to improve the condition of women than any more direct endeavour. i refer to the work of marie de jars de gournay, and to the establishment of the first _salon_ by catherine de rambouillet. the former struck a bold and defiant note, resolutely claiming for her sex equality with men. this audacious assertion stamps her as the pioneer of modern feminism. the remarkable thing about her theories is that without the help of anything like a clearly defined philosophy she strikes the keynote of whatever claim was put forward on behalf of women in later times as a consequence of more than a century of philosophical speculation, the practice of which entailed the all-absorbing consequences of the great revolution of 1789. when the cause of woman was taken up in england by mary wollstonecraft, and grafted upon the larger cause of humanity as its logical consequence, the arguments of her plea were directly derived from that philosophy of liberty, equality and fraternity which may be traced to its origin in locke, descartes and bacon. yet here was a lady, at a time when descartes was a mere boy, boldly asserting that nature is opposed to all inequality. "la pluspart de ceux qui prennent la cause des femmes contre cette orgueilleuse preferance que les hommes s'attribuent, leur rendent le change entier: r'envoyans la preferance vers elles. moy qui fuys toutes extremitez, je me contente de les esgaler aux hommes: la nature s'opposant pour ce regard autant à la supériorité qu'à l'infériorité." she thus sets about vindicating the equality of her sex in everything except physical strength, going beyond the most daring speculation of any previous author, with the exception of those who, blinded by hate, had put forth theories of female pre-eminence in which in sober moments they themselves hardly believed. marie de gournay ascribed the state of inequality to the circumstance that woman is purposely denied an education by man, who owes his usurped authority to abuse of physical force, which she holds in utter contempt. "les forces corporelles sont vertus si basses, que la beste en tient plus pardessus l'homme, que l'homme pardessus la femme." woman is man's inferior in bodily strength only "par la nécessité de port et la nourriture des enfants", compensating her lack of brute force by her delicate mission of propagation. but mlle de gournay emphatically asserts the perfectibility of the female mind. to understand and partly justify the extreme vehemence of the lady's attack upon the opposite sex, whose unmerited contempt of the feminine intellect had deeply injured her feelings, it is necessary to take into account the circumstances of her life, which explain her acerbity. she was a studious woman,--a forerunner of the hannah mores and elizabeth carters as well as of the mary astells and mary wollstonecrafts of a later period--whom her exceptional intellectual gifts betrayed into that error so common among the extreme female champions--that of substituting herself for her sex and claiming for all what no one with any discernment would think of refusing her personally. her mother's attempts to turn her away from literature only irritated her. she had no personal beauty and her entire life was a protracted struggle against indifference, opposition and ridicule, which embittered her beyond measure against that sex which valued the gift of a pleasing appearance above that of a comprehensive mind. born in or about 1565, she must have been a mere girl when first brought into contact with montaigne's _essays_. she expressed her admiration of them in a letter to the author, couched in terms so enthusiastic that the philosopher came to see her, thus laying the foundation of a friendship which was only disturbed by his death in 1592. she became his spiritual daughter,--his "fille d'alliance"--and took an active part in the publication of the later editions of the _essays_. she rather conceitedly accounted for the close affection which bound them together as "the sympathy from genius to genius". when montaigne died, his "fille d'alliance" was in a fair way to become a prominent figure in the literary world, having under his influence written some pedagogical essays, which were favourably received. with the philosopher her chief guide passed away, and subsequent experience seems to have soured her and made her spiteful and old-maidish before her time. those whose object was to ridicule her represent her with three cats, following her about wherever she went. she met with little sympathy beyond that expressed from chiefly intellectual motives in the correspondence of the learned dutchwoman anna maria schuurman, and of the renowned louvain professor juste lipse--whose praise of montaigne's _essays_ had won her instant recognition. but she deserves respect for the courage of her opinions, regardless of the prejudices of her contemporaries, and for standing her ground firmly, often turning ridicule into esteem. such was the pioneer whose ideas regarding the position of women are embodied chiefly in a treatise entitled: "_de l'egalité des hommes et des femmes_" and in the "_grief des dames_", and further alluded to in her preface to the 1595 edition of montaigne's _essays_ and in a prose "_apology_", intended to disarm her ridiculers, in which she protests against being disregarded merely on account of her womanhood. here, indeed, we are confronted by a sense of personal injury. concerning "_de l'egalité_" she says in one of her later writings: "il faut le soubmettre à la touche par ce que peuvent valoir ses raisons et ses pensées, fortes ou feibles qu'elles soient, et puis apres, par la consideration de son dessein. sçavoir si ce nouveau biais qu'elle prend, et qui la rend originale, est bon pour relever le lustre et pour verifier les privileges des dames, opprimez par la tyrannie des hommes." the treatise "_de l'egalité_" consists of two parts. in the first, the right of women to equal consideration with men is vindicated by means of evidence derived from the writings of men; in the second the authority of god himself as contained in the bible is referred to and expounded in a manner wholly favourable to the doctrine of equality. regarding the first point, the author derives comfort from the reflexion that the chief revilers of women are to be found among the worst specimens of the male sex, who merely repeat the opinions of others, "n'ayans pas appris que la première qualité d'un mal habill' homme, c'est de cautionner les choses soubs la foy populaire et par ouyr dire," in doing which, "d'une seule parolle ils desfont la moitié du monde." their sole aim is to rise at the expense of the female sex. but fortunately there is the testimony of truly great men to prove the mental and moral capacity of women. here follows a list of the male partisans of some degree of feminism among the philosophers of antiquity and of the renaissance: plato, socrates, plutarch, seneca, aristotle, erasmus, politian, agrippa. montaigne is introduced as "le tiers chef du triumvirat de la sagesse humaine et morale" (with plutarch and seneca), for having written that "il se trouve rarement des femmes dignes de commander aux hommes," which she twists into an implication that he holds woman to be the equal of man. to counterbalance the principles of the salic law, constructed entirely upon considerations of war, tacitus' account of the position of women among the germanic tribes is quoted, together with the example of the spartans, who in the discussion of their public affairs consulted female opinion. marie de gournay held that the two sexes have equal souls given them; the institution of a sexual difference having been made exclusively with regard to the propagation of the species. to illustrate which, the author, whom nobody would dream of accusing of levity, bashfully craves permission to quote a popular saying. "et s'il est permis de rire en passant, le quolibet ne sera pas hors de saison, nous apprenant: qu'il n'est rien plus semblable au chat sur une fenestre, que la chatte." after passing in review the principal secular authorities with feminist tendencies, mlle de gournay tries the more difficult task of reconciling her feminist views to those of the early christians, taking what she calls "la route des tesmoignages saincts", quoting st. basil and st. jerome, and finding herself for the first time somewhat perplexed at the teachings of st. paul, who forbids preaching by women and enjoins silence, "not because he despises the female sex, but merely lest their beauty and grace, displayed to advantage in a public office, should become a source of temptation to men." that women have always excelled in religious devotion is demonstrated by means of a reference to the championship of judith and the martyrdom of joan of arc. the mention of the former brings us to direct scriptural evidence, which the author finds an even harder subject to tackle. here, indeed she is sometimes led by her zeal into the most palpable absurdities: "et si les hommes se vantent, que jesus-christ soit nay de leur sexe, on respond qu'il le falloit par nécessaire biensceance, ne se pouvant pas sans scandale, mesler jeune et à toutes les heures du jour et de la nuict parmy les presses, aux fins de convertir, secourir et sauver le genre humain, s'il eust esté du sexe des femmes: notamment en face de la malignité des juifs." the entire treatise is mere theorising, and being produced at a time when the public mind on the subject was one mass of inveterate prejudice, brushing aside any speculations of the kind it contained as ridiculous and "paradoxical", it is not astonishing that marie de gournay spoke to the winds, and that the practical results of her labour were nihil. one gets the impression that the author herself was fully convinced of the hopelessness of even obtaining a hearing, and wrote chiefly to relieve herself of the burden of her glowing indignation. to this circumstance it may be attributed that she refrains from formulating any practical claims, or drawing up a scheme of an ideal society in which women were given their due. but her zeal and devotion to the cause she believed to be just were above suspicion, and she has a claim to the gratitude of her sex for having asserted the female equivalence. if mlle de gournay combined in her person some of the elements of the social reformer, there certainly is nothing sensational about her personality and way of expressing her views, and she must be described as revolutionary in a limited sense. apart from her extreme feminism, her social and political views were quite conventional, and in her preface to "_de l'egalité_" she even seeks the patronage of queen anne, as the most prominent and influential member of her sex. françois poullain de la barre, however, who half a century later became heir to her spiritual legacy, was an out-and-out revolutionist, whose theories of female equality proceeded from generally revolutionary tendencies. like mlle de gournay, he was a theorist, but he differed from her in being above all a philosopher of the school of descartes, and the first to apply the doctrine of cartesianism to social problems. this consideration renders him important not merely as the direct advocate of the cause of woman, in which capacity his efforts met with no success whatever, but as the forerunner of j. j. rousseau in his theory of human rights, which in its turn became the basis of the feminist movement in england in the last years of the next century, inaugurated by mary wollstonecraft. as m. piéron puts it, "le chemin réel ira de descartes au féminisme par la révolution, et non de descartes à la révolution par le féminisme." m. rousselot, in drawing attention to poullain de la barre, refers to his works as "now almost forgotten."[8] the utter obscurity in which this author remained buried for two centuries is probably due to his life of retirement,--as m. henri grappin has pointed out in opposition to m. piéron's opinion, who, basing himself upon evidence of style and language, adjudged him to be a frequent visitor to salons--to his complete indifference to worldly fame, and to this freedom from worldly ambitions. his work, like that of mlle de gournay, was received with a mixture of scorn and ridicule, and soon forgotten. a century later, some of the works of the encyclopedians, which developed the same social ideas--with a striking difference in the matter of female education,--were burnt by the common hangman by order of the authorities, who could not, however, prevent the new ideas from taking root and bearing fruit. in striking contrast, poullain, whose revolutionism found few sympathisers and was consequently adjudged harmless, was left at peace, and brought out his revolutionary treatises "avec privilege du roy", and "avec permission signée de la reynie", for which he paid with disregard and oblivion. both mary wollstonecraft and poullain should have been born in the nineteenth century, but whereas the former was the embodiment of that indomitable spirit of rebellion which had taken almost a century to mature, poullain stands revealed to the modern reader, a living anachronism. there is something in his "fanaticism of ideas" which anticipates the intellectual "tours de force" of william godwin, whose eccentric genius, however, was made subservient to the larger cause of mankind. born at paris in 1647, it seems that poullain chiefly studied theology at the university of his native city, until the discontent which was roused in him by the system of education followed there, made him yield to the intellectual allurements of cartesianism. descartes had been dead some dozen years when the great vogue of his philosophy began. poullain became a fervent cartesian and after some years turned protestant, which religion he felt to be better suited to his philosophical ideas. he lived mostly at paris and at geneva, and died at the latter place in 1723. although poullain seems to shrink from openly confessing himself influenced by descartes, his works show the rationalist tendencies of pronounced cartesianism, to which we shall often have occasion to refer in coming chapters. he may be called one of the forerunners of the encyclopedians, anticipating their imperturbable rationalism, their contempt of tradition and custom,--which, by a somewhat sophistic turn of reasoning, they call superstition and prejudice,--their habit of referring to original principles, and above all their absolute faith in the perfectibility of mankind through the education of the mind and in the certainty of unlimited human progress. no theory had ever been put forward which contained brighter promises for the future of the human race, and the enthusiasm which it awakened was not damped by the fatal experience of the failure of former experiments. to this circumstance must be ascribed the boundless optimism of the partisans of the new philosophy and their radicalism. the three feminist treatises, in the order of their publication, were: 1. "_de l'egalité des deux sexes, discours physique et moral ou l'on voit l'importance de se défaire des préjugés._" (1673); 2. "_de l'education des dames, pour la conduite de l'esprit dans les sciences et dans les moeurs._" (1674); 3. "_de l'excellence des hommes, contre l'egalité des sexes, avec une dissertation qui sert de réponse aux objections tirées de l'ecriture sainte contre le sentiment de l'egalité._" (1675). of these, the second may be dismissed in a few words, as containing nothing very striking beyond the author's dissatisfaction with the spirit prevailing at the universities. the first, on the other hand, contains the gist of poullain's contentions. we are exhorted to judge only from evidence, without regarding the opinions of others, and are brought face to face with what the author holds to be the unvarnished truth, unaffected by that spirit of misplaced gallantry which he feels to be particularly offensive. if, therefore, anybody is shocked at the crudeness of some statements, he expects him to blame truth, and not poullain de la barre. conventionalism is what the author holds to be the chief source of the prevailing inequality. in conformity with the tenets of the christian faith, people are taught to regard the submission of women as the will of god, whereas reason shows it to be merely the consequence of inferior strength. to maintain this usurped supremacy men have purposely kept women from being instructed. in many respects the capabilities of women are superior to those of men: it is their special province to study medecine and by its aid to restore health to the sick and ailing. there is, in fact, nothing for which he pronounces women to be unfit: "il faut reconnaître que les femmes sont propres à tout." he would make them judges, preachers and even generals. the faults of women, which even this fanaticist of reason cannot overlook in the face of the distressing state of female manners and morals, are due to the defective education which is given them. they are taught to feel an interest only in balls, theatres and the fashions, with the result that vanity is their predominant characteristic. so far we might be listening to some english moralist of the eighteenth century. their only literature is of a devotional kind, "avec ce qui est dans la cassette," poullain meaningly adds. for a girl to display any knowledge she may have acquired is thought a shame, and makes her a "précieuse" in the eyes of everybody. the only state of dependence which finds favour in poullain's eyes is that of children on their parents. here again, we have the purely rational view which was also mary wollstonecraft's. the reason of a child is undeveloped, and therefore requires the support of full-grown reason. but this dependence naturally comes to an end as soon as that age is reached when the faculty is sufficiently developed to enable the child to judge for himself, when advice may take the place of command. pierre bayle informs us that poullain fully expected to be taken to task for this daring vindication of the right of woman to be educated. however, as two years passed without bringing the looked-for refutation of his arguments, he himself anticipated his opponents by writing the third treatise. its title is rather misleading. as a matter of fact, the pamphlet itself presents the usual arguments in favour of the theory of male excellence with which the arsenal of anti-feminists was stocked, whilst the "remarques nécessaires" by which it is followed, demonstrating the author's opinions, contain the entire feminist theory. the spirit that was to conduct straight to the revolution breaks out when the author confidently states that as yet feminism is only a matter of theoretical speculation, and not ripe for social or political action. he next enters upon a diatribe against civilisation, which has failed to bring humanity any nearer to absolute truth, and extols the never-failing power of reason. however interesting treatises like the above may be in the evidence they contain of what was secretly going on, of the mental processes which occupied individuals when conventionalism was at its height, processes which contained in them the germs of the great upheaval of a later century, yet it cannot be sufficiently insisted on that they were only abortive eruptions, showing that the social volcano was very far from being extinct; mere puffs of smoke which the slightest breath of wind dispersed. of far greater direct importance to the growth of opinions was that social movement which began in the early seventeenth century, of which woman was herself the originator, and by means of which she almost leapt into the seat of social influence: the movement of the _salons_. we have seen that it was in the sixteenth century that woman made her triumphal entry into society and began to dominate the world of conversation and of literature. the chivalrous worship of earlier centuries had degenerated without doing anything permanent to increase the esteem in which women stood. but in the sixteenth century a new form of courtship was introduced from italy and spain, which was utilised by clever women as a means of gaining the ascendancy over men. the love theory evolved by plato, with its metaphysical conception of the passion, which in the greek philosopher's days had fallen on deaf ears, was carried into practice two thousand years later under the auspices of the great renaissance. in accordance with the views of plato's circle, love came to be recognised as the chief inspirer of virtue and of noble deeds. the platonic ideal thus was from the beginning a refining influence, a corrective to coarseness and materialism, and an incentive to the purest idealism. the theory of spiritualised love recognised the love of physical beauty only as the first step on the ladder of beauty connecting earth with heaven; at each new step, however, the ideal becomes transfigured and purified, until everything earthly sinks into nothingness, the soul becomes paramount and everything else falls away. this view was adopted by the intellectual leaders of the italian renaissance, dante and petrarch, and also by the leading churchmen, in whose speculations the highest and purest form of passion became the love of god. the spirit of platonism thus became mingled with that of religious mysticism, which even surpassed plato in its condemnation of that earthly love which the latter had recognised. the florentine academy, however, adopted the platonic view, making human love one of the steps leading to the ideal of eternal beauty; and refining upon it until it became the chaste passion of the sacrifice of self to the loved object, of which the passion of michel angelo and vittoria colonna furnishes an example. the italian wars of the late fifteenth century had brought lewis the twelfth and his retinue to genoa. one of the highly-cultured ladies of that city, tommassina spinola, made a deep impression upon the king. she was married and virtuous, and so the royal lover had to control his passion and to be content with that platonic friendship which made of the lady "la dame de ses pensées", and entitled him to nothing beyond the purest and most disinterested friendship. a great many parallel cases occurred among the king's followers, and the women found their influence upon their platonic lovers far greater and more lasting than that exercised over the husband in matrimony. there was in this new form of courtship,--which in literature often took a pastoral form,--an element of idealism which placed the weaker sex on a pedestal in putting the adored one far beyond the reach of the lover, who only aspired the more faithfully for not having his passion gratified. in this lay the dormant power of womanhood, which might be successfully turned into a means of improving their position in society; and as soon as women came to realise this they made the most of their opportunity. the "platonic friendship craze" spread to france, where the sentimental passion of these "jansenists of love" found a fruitful soil. before this new form of worship all class-distinctions fell away; not unfrequently the lady was so high above the lover's reach as to exclude all possibility of gratification, which only added an additional zest to the adventure. unfortunately the morals of the french court were not such as to encourage the hope of a permanent improvement in the relations between the sexes. the antithesis between the platonic ideals and the brutal coarseness of sexual desire, ill-concealed under a varnish of hypocritical gallantry, was indeed very marked. at the court of francis physical beauty was considered far above virtue. the years following the introduction of the female element and the rise of female influence at court witnessed a long and bitter struggle between the coarse manners which the long years of warfare had engendered, regarding women as the playthings of men, to be trifled with and to be lightly thrown away when used, and the newly-introduced "galanterie" which implied patient and disinterested worship of an object, superior in the possession of that beauty of feature which was regarded as the reflection of a beautiful soul. women had become conscious of their growing influence, and of the means of increasing it. this struggle for recognition found expression in literature in the "_contes de la reine de navarre_", written by marguerite after her marriage, and modelled upon boccacio's _decamerone_, the evident purpose of which was to correct french manners and morals, and to glorify that form of love which is a mixture of the worship of chivalry and the platonic passion. the _contes_ themselves show a certain looseness of morals which is rather a concession to the general taste of the times, but the prologues and epilogues are of a far more refined character, and breathe a spirit of platonic idealism. in their celebration of virtue and the pure, idealistic passion it inspires, the _contes_ are a precursor of mlle de scudéry's later romances. instead of the deceitful, hypocritical homage of feudal times, the demand was for women to be respected and to be recognised as the social equals of men. the first serious attempt made by the ladies of the french court to better their position ended disastrously. their influence was more than discounted by the demoralising effects of the wars and by the gross libertinism of the male leaders of society. the more determined among the women, finding the task of reforming the morals of a dissolute court beyond their strength, resolved to cultivate in their own private circles that refinement of manners and higher civilisation which the court refused to adopt. thus arose the famous _salons_ of the seventeenth century, in which the struggle for the emancipation of the female mind was combined with that for the improvement of contemporary morals, the refinement of contemporary taste, and the purification of the french language and literature. "depuis le salon de madame de rambouillet jusqu'au salon de madame récamier", says m. ferdinand brunetière, "l'histoire de la littérature française pourrait se faire par l'histoire des salons." this statement by an eminent critic implies a magnificent eulogy of women and testifies to the magnitude of their literary influence during the whole of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, for the history of the _salons_ is the history of indirect feminism. nor was their influence restricted to literature; in nearly every department of social life french women rose to ascendancy; and this, too, at a time when the subjugation of their sex in the other countries of europe, and notably in england, was most complete. after the great triumphs of the first half-century of their existence, the _salons_ shared in the general decline, to be revived with a fair amount of success,--although of a somewhat different kind--in the eighteenth century. woman thus became a social influence to be reckoned with. the question may be put whether upon the whole this remarkable event was favourable to the cause of feminism? for, however much the movement of "preciosity" did to make women realise their independence, and assert their individuality, its original tendencies were not towards any appreciable increase of female instruction. the leaders of the movement: mme de rambouillet and her daughters, and afterwards mme de sévigné and mme de la fayette, detested the "femme savante" quite as much as they hated ignorance. the only aim of the education they recommended was to make women fit for the society in which they were expected to move; manners, taste and wit were cultivated at the expense of those qualities which are indispensable to rouse a spirit of pure feminism. the "précieuses" were bent upon cultivating sentiment rather than intellect, and--apart from the fact that sentiment is rather apt to run riot and that many women have a natural surplus which does not require cultivation--it is by a well-regulated intellect that the cause of feminism will be best served. as it was, the essentially feminine qualities were cultivated by the _salons_, and the sexual difference emphasized. it must therefore be admitted that the _salons_ only very indirectly furthered the feminist movement and that the interest evinced by the "précieuses" in the equality problem and its levelling tendencies was naturally slight. but it stands to their credit that they compelled men to recognise the importance of sex in other matters than those which are purely sexual. if the cause of feminism in the days of the _salons_ had been in a more advanced state, the ladies who frequented them might have turned anti-feminist in their horror of social changes which threatened to rob them of the empire which their essentially feminine qualities had so easily secured over men. the better "précieuse" was not an intellectual; she was expected to conceal such knowledge as she might possess and to cherish that "pudeur sur la science" which makes mme de lambert refer to her secret "débauches d'esprit", and which became the prevailing sentiment also among her bluestocking sisters of the eighteenth century. the history of the french _salons_ and of the "précieuses" who peopled them begins in the year 1613, when catherine, marquise de rambouillet invited to her town residence all those who, like herself, felt disgusted at the camp-manners prevailing at the court and at the licentiousness of the language and literature practised there. the rambouillet-assemblies, in their original intention a reaction against the "esprit gaulois", accomplished far more than they aimed at in securing for women a prominent place in french society. they became a powerful factor in that thorough reform of manners and of language which became the glory of the century and which, whatever excesses may have followed in its train, did away for good and all with coarseness and brutality. of the very questionable society at court it might be said that "force prevailed, while grace was wanting"; the latter essentially feminine quality was abundantly supplied at the hôtel de rambouillet, where the feminine element found its way into literature; and conversation, which hitherto had been masculine, became the means of introducing a new language for new manners. in opposition to the scant respect with which women were treated in court-circles, an ideal of love was set up which was more in accordance with the platonic sentiment. once again the virginal state became an object of glorification. the state of matrimony, on account of its coarser foundation, was relegated to an inferior position. to the crude, almost offensive lovemaking of the courtier was opposed the modest, unselfish worship of platonic love of a pastoral kind; and the representative poetry of the period, some of which was the work of women, exalted the platonic passion which was to revolutionize the relations of the sexes. the warrior-lover of the feudal past, who was only a tyrant under the mask of chivalrous adulation, gave way to the "honnête homme", or knight without an armour, of whom it could be said that he possessed "la justesse de l'esprit et l'équité du coeur", safe-guarding him against error of judgment and excess of passion, and making him the devoted and constant lover of his mistress. the following enumeration is given of his duties: "aimer le monde, aimer les lettres sans affectations; mais surtout être amoureux et rechercher la conversation des femmes". anybody wishing to be admitted to polite society had to conform to these rules. the tone of conversation was characterised by a spirit of "galanterie", a kind of chivalry of words and actions, which was to inspire men to noble feelings and to corresponding deeds. mme de rambouillet attracted to her salon not only men and women of the aristocracy, but also a great many men-of-letters, who were valued according to their literary merit, regardless of fortune and importance. this close alliance between the female sex and the men of culture was in some respects the best education the former could have chosen. they were bent on proving once for all, as fléchier puts it, that "l'esprit est de tout sexe" and that nothing was wanting to make women the intellectual equals of men, but the habit of being instructed and the liberty of acquiring useful knowledge. women became the unchallenged arbitresses of morals, taste, language, literature and wit, in all of which they themselves set the example. in a contemporary work we find the earliest salon described as "l'école de madame de rambouillet, qui a renouvelé en partie les moeurs, où l'on mettait sa gloire dans une conduite irréprochable." not only was the language purified by removing its overgrowth of obscenity and indelicacy, but it was divested of a number of superfluous and affected foreign words. the female influence upon the literary taste was equally all-embracing. a number of new words owed their existence to feminine initiative, and although the writers of the very first class were on the whole unfavourably disposed towards what came to be called "préciosité", and were consequently inclined to satirise its excesses, a great deal of respectable second class talent was lavished upon the frequenters of the salons. the literature produced by the "habitués" of mme de rambouillet's salon was mostly of an occasional nature, and composed in homage to the female sex, comprising sonnets, madrigals, epistolary prose, and plays. the literature of the scudéry circle, besides the products of a growing pedantry, also included many occasional pieces of a lighter kind, among which were so-called sonnets-énigmes, vers-échos and the like, which, if contributing to the enjoyment of an idle moment, had no permanence whatever as literature. to this kind of poetry the ladies themselves were important contributors. in m. victor du bled's "_la société française_" we read about a "journée des madrigaux" at mlle de scudéry's, occasioned by a present of a "cachet de cristal" made to the hostess on one of her famous saturdays, calling forth poetical ebullitions from the most widely different authors. there were the famous "portrait" series, composed by the ladies of the duchess of montpensier's circle; the written "conversations",--those by mlle de scudéry herself were judged by mme de maintenon to contain "useful hints to young females" and therefore introduced at st. cyr--and a very extensive literature in the epistolary style, which was to become the current form of the richardsonian novel. the topics of the day also formed a subject of animated discussion at the assemblies. among them the social position of women and their treatment by the male sex occasionally found a place. dissertations on literary subjects alternated with discussions of intellectual problems, one of the themes at mlle de scudéry's being: "de quelle liberté les femmes doivent-elles jouir dans la société?" although the salons of the seventeenth century were not so revolutionary in their tendencies as some of the next, inasmuch as they were strictly private and did not either directly or indirectly aim at subverting the existing government or promoting seditious theories, yet political subjects were not shunned, and even philosophy and science--the craze of the salons of the early eighteenth century--found a number of devotees and sympathisers. about the middle of the seventeenth century, cartesianism became the fashionable philosophy in spite of the opposition of the universities. mme de sévigné's letters prove that many women were interested in its propagation. the "précieuses" felt attracted by the speculations of descartes, to follow which the cultivation of a sound sense of logic is more indispensable than any great erudition. the consequence of the philosophical movement was a widening interest in knowledge, an awakening curiosity about science, and a corresponding contempt of tradition, resulting from that self-reliance which is the natural outcome of the theory of human perfectibility. the two principal salons, those of the marquise de rambouillet and of mlle de scudéry, although of the same general tendencies, differed somewhat in their particulars. the glory of the former and earlier was never equalled by any subsequent one. the marquise herself was in every respect an ornament of her sex. born and bred in italy, she married the marquis de rambouillet before she had reached the age of thirteen. after some turbulent years at court she retired to the privacy of her residence in the rue saint-thomas-du-louvre and became the centre of a brilliant circle of aristocratic people and celebrated men-of-letters. although some of the greatest wits of the age frequented her salon--malherbe, and afterwards corneille and balzac were among her occasional visitors--there never was question of a domination of literary men: the hostess remained enthroned in full and undisputed authority, receiving the verbal and written homage which they paid to her virtues. the entire house was reconstructed after her own ideas, so as to afford more room for the reception of guests. in one of the apartments which opened into each other, the marquise was in the habit of keeping her state, receiving her visitors while reclining upon a luxurious couch. the blue room, which, by the way, changed its aspect with each succeeding fashion, was a marvel of refined taste. nor did the marquise confine her receptions to her town-residence; assemblies were held at rambouillet in summer and garden-parties introduced plenty of variety. great praise has been lavished on her kindness of character, and rising authors in particular found in her a warm-hearted patroness, always ready to applaud and encourage. one of her daughters, julie d'angennes, equalled her in popularity and had her beauty and virtue celebrated in a collection of laudatory verse entitled "_la guirlande de julie_", to which different poets made contributions, the principal being the young marquis de montausier, who afterwards became her husband. among her closest intimates were two men of a very much inferior social station: voiture, the chief poet and chronicler, and chapelain, the chief oracle and critic of the hôtel de rambouillet. she had made these two her own; they basked in the serenity of her smile, shared in her joys as in her troubles, and were the most perfect male satellites to female beauty and brilliance. the years between 1630 and 1645 were the crowning years of glory in the history of the hôtel de rambouillet. after julie's marriage, however, there came a decline. there were some sudden deaths, including that of the marquise's only son, and the fronde began, in which some of the marquise's intimates followed the fortunes of the rebels, entailing fresh partings. in 1652 she sustained a further loss through the death of her husband. bowed down with sorrow, she retired to rambouillet to seek comfort in the intimacy of julie's family. the influence of the hôtel de rambouillet passed on to the circle presided over by madeleine de scudéry, whose "saturdays" were much sought after. her visitors were rather more given to affectations of manners and speech than those of her aristocratic predecessor and the transfer therefore marks the first step in the decadence which set in. in her "ruelle" the third estate was largely represented; in fact, as the "bourgeois" element gained in strength, the decadence became more marked, for its representatives were more easily led into excesses than the female members of the aristocracy. this explains how the name of mlle de scudéry--rather unjustly--came to be identified with that false preciosity which did the female cause such harm. and yet she was herself an ardent feminist, not only in the qualified sense of her predecessor, but in the full sense of the word. her two principal romances: "_artamène, ou le grand cyrus_" and "_clélie_", derive an interest--which their longwindedness greatly endangers--from their marked feminist tendencies. in the former, mlle de scudéry, whose views are expressed by sapho, pleads for mental occupation as the only means of promoting female virtue. she rebukes the vanity of ignorance so common among those of her sex who imagine that "elles ne doivent jamais rien savoir, si ce n'est qu'elles sont belles, et ne doivent jamais rien apprendre qu'à se bien coiffer". she is also one of the first to accuse the male sex of inconsistency, refusing their womenfolk an education, yet finding fault with them for lacking those qualities which are the fruit of education only. "sérieusement, y a-t-il rien de plus bizarre que de voir comment on agit pour l'ordinaire en l'éducation des femmes? on ne veut pas qu'elles soient coquettes ni galantes, et on leur permet pourtant d'apprendre soigneusement tout ce qui est propre à la galanterie, sans leur permettre de savoir rien qui puisse fortifier leur vertu, ni occuper leur esprit". but the "femme savante" equally inspires her with profound disgust, and this some of her critics have failed to recognize. the damophile of the _grand cyrus_ is an exact reproduction of the philaminte of molière's "_femmes savantes_", pretending to an erudition which is only imaginary and prevents her from attending to her household duties. there is nothing more objectionable in mlle de scudéry's opinion than for a woman to make parade of her knowledge, which may be useful chiefly in enabling her to listen with appreciation when men were talking. the theory of perfect equality, proposed about the same time by poullain de la barre, did not find an adherent in mlle de scudéry. the "honnête homme" of her dreams has more power of diverting and amusing than the most erudite of her own sex. of all the leading ladies of seventeenth century french society there were none whose qualifications would have fitted them so perfectly to be the rivals of mrs. montagu in presiding over bluestocking assemblies as mlle de scudéry! her second great romance, "_clélie_", marks the culminating point of the usual seventeenth century feminism in expressing the rather one-sided ideal to which the ladies of the salons aspired, that of commanding the love of gallantry and of ruling the world through it. the entire romance is nothing but an elaborate code of gallantry by which all love is to be regulated. in some passages, however, the social position of women becomes the theme, regardless of the rather too obtrusive love-theories. after protesting indignantly against female bondage, mlle de scudéry proves that the doctrine of gallantry has not impaired her judgment. she demands that man shall be "neither the tyrant nor the slave of woman", and that the rights and duties of matrimony shall be equally shared between the two partners. nor has the glitter of the platonic love-arsenal blinded her to the blessings of the virginal state. far superior to matrimony she holds the condition of the wise and (of course!) beautiful woman who, although much courted, remains indifferent; who has many friends, but no lovers; who lives and moves in a world which to her is without peril, unswayed by the passions which rule others, always free and always virtuous--and, we may add, always sublimely conscious of her own superiority--an ideal embodied in the person of plotine. the attempt at "regulating the passions", i. e. keeping the affections under perfect control, no doubt led to a great deal of absurdity which supplied the many antagonists with weapons against "la préciosité." some of the worst sinners in this respect were ladies of the scudéry circle. there was a certain mlle dupré, given to philosophy, and surnamed "la cartésienne" whose glory was to consider herself incapable of tenderness; and, worse still, there was the example of her friend mlle de la vigne, whose infatuation went so far as to make her reject even the comforts of platonic worship. mlle de scudéry herself was more moderate in her ideas, and proved capable of cherishing some "tendresse" for the poet pellisson whom she rescued from the bastille. her verdict that "la vraie mesure du mérite doit se prendre sur la capacité qu'on a d'aimer" even suggests that she was capable of undergoing the real passion. gradually, however, the excesses in false "préciosité" began to multiply. the original signification of the term had been a taste for whatever is refined and delicate; noble, grand and sublime. the affectation and pedantry which came to be substituted for this, gave rise to the worst excesses of language. in their admiration of the fine phrasing of the literary masterpieces the "précieuses" took to substituting their periphrases and metaphors for the simple mode of expression which daily conversation requires[9], making themselves ridiculous and objectionable in the eyes of soberminded people and calling forth some malignant attacks even by people who could not be accused of misogynist leanings. to make matters worse, some very inferior imitations of the aristocratic salons had sprung up among the "bourgeoisie" both at paris and in the provinces, where prudery was substituted for purity, affectation for elegance and pedantry for charm and taste. the moral tone prevailing at these meetings also compared very unfavourably with the atmosphere of culture and good breeding which had reigned at the hôtel de rambouillet. scandal became a favourite topic of conversation, and literary men of a usurped reputation, to whom the better circles remained closed, laid down the law and constituted themselves the arbiters of literary taste. the decline, which had been slow and partial in the salons of mlle de scudéry and afterwards of mme deshoulières, became rapid and complete in those of the so-called "bourgeoisie de qualité". m. brunetière has pointed out that the "esprit précieux" of the salons, aiming at polish and refinement--for which in later years it came to substitute narrowness and affectation--was directly opposed to the "esprit gaulois" which had the upper hand in court circles and whose satire of the salons often degenerated into cynicism and coarseness. the great authors found themselves occupying an intermediate position, trying to reconcile what was recommendable in either and ridiculing what was objectionable. the fact that they drew their inspiration from nature and from the lessons taught by antiquity brought them into conflict with the précieuses who lived in an artificial present, and eagerly welcomed whatever was new. in the ancient and modern controversy, which was started in the seventeenth century and revived in the early eighteenth, the female element, with a very few exceptions, unhesitatingly took the side of the moderns. how powerful a factor they had become in determining what was to be the public opinion appears from the share they had in the ultimate victory of the moderns, and more still from the utter futility of the repeated efforts made by men of the first genius to crush their power by means of ridicule. molière opened the campaign in his "_précieuses ridicules_" (1659). although very successful as a play, and warmly applauded by the rambouillet-circle, it missed its aim in utterly failing to crush false "préciosité". when after molière's death boileau continued the campaign, he met with no better success. no sooner had he retired from the field than the monster he had set out to kill reared its head again, enjoying undisputed possession until mme de lambert and her friends made an endeavour to return to the old ideals; in doing which, however, they did not forget to march with the times and to observe the signs of impending change which were beginning to manifest themselves. while the "précieuse" society of the salons in its anxiety to strengthen the female element was occupying itself with the cultivation of polished manners, taste and wit in the members of the sex, and came to neglect female morals and instruction, the problem of a moral education was introduced and discussed by a philosopher among churchmen, the great fénelon. the civil wars in france were followed by a religious renaissance, representing a supreme effort made by catholicism to recover the ground which had been lost to the combined classical renaissance and reformation. the religious order of the jesuits, founded in the middle of the sixteenth century, saw in a strictly religious education the means of strengthening the position of the roman catholic church. before the end of the century they had their colleges in different parts of france and became the educators of the roman catholic youth of that country. from the first their aim was the attainment of political influence for the church by means of religious propaganda. to this end they tried to suppress all spontaneity and individuality in their pupils, a system which in that age of awakening individualism and philosophical enquiry could not long remain without protest. a reaction set in which aimed at combining a certain amount of personal freedom and patriotic sense with religious sentiment, and at reconciling the tenets of catholicism with the theories of the new philosophy. such was the general character of the first great rival of jesuitism, the "oratoire". neither society, however, took any notice of female education. the omission was repaired by the jansenists, the implacable enemies of the jesuits, be it in a manner in which some sound common sense was mingled with a good deal of narrow dogmatism. for a number of years they maintained a somewhat precarious footing in france, during which time they proved themselves zealous educators, to whom the moral interests of their pupils, and not the worldly ones of their society, were paramount. their chief educational establishment at port royal, founded in 1643, was in many ways superior to contemporary institutions, and some of their methods have found imitation in france to this very day. it is true that the jansenist system of education was, upon the whole, a monastic one, and as such could not be a very great improvement. but its practice was distinguished by a few characteristics which made it superior to all parallel schemes of education. nowhere do we find that perfect purity of motives, that eagerness on the part of the educator to keep his charges from temptation and evil. this circumstance found its origin in the tenets of jansenism, asserting that a tendency to sin and evil is inherent in the infant soul. to the jansenists, education meant the unrelaxing struggle of the educator, aided by divine grace, against this natural bias, for the purpose of saving the soul. that this constant watchfulness on the teacher's part involved the total disappearance of the last frail spark of liberty left to the child, is only natural. on the other hand, it strengthened the affections. the jansenist "religieuses" were filled with a most laudable sense of responsibility and loved their charges with the most unselfish tenderness and devotion. their individual kindness tempered the severity of the rules laid down in jacqueline pascal's "_règlement pour les enfants_". (1657). the discipline was of the strictest, and the entire system directed towards forming pious christian women and docile wives, rich in virtue rather than in knowledge. the final decision was left to the girls themselves; they either became nuns or re-entered the world after some years of close sequestration, "selon qu'il plaisait à dieu d'en disposer", but it is to be feared that some moral pressure was often brought to bear upon them. the rules for daily observance implied early rising, strict silence, very limited ablutions and the greatest simplicity in dress; the hours of daylight being divided among prayers, devotional literature, manual labour and the elements of practical knowledge. the above will be sufficient to show that port royal was a convent rather than a school and that its spirit was directly opposed to both the renaissance spirit and the philosophical spirit of the later generations. in the annals of female education the "petites ecoles" of port royal will therefore not be remembered as a milestone in the march of woman towards the ideal of perfect enfranchisement. they derive their importance from the fact that they were among the very first institutions in which great stress was laid on a moral education and in which some attention was paid to psychology. the convents of other religious orders also participated in the educational movement and tried to recover lost influence. the seclusion of convent-life in those days was not nearly so strict as it had been in the days of early christianity, and this concession gained for them many pupils who had no intention of taking the veil, but were merely obeying the increasing call for female instruction. some of these religious orders, as for instance the ursulines, did good service, although they aimed at the pursuit of the moral virtues rather than intellectual accomplishments. what constitutes their chief merit, however, is the fact that by the side of the existing boarding-schools for paying resident pupils they established dayschools for the benefit of the poorer classes, in which all instruction was gratuitous. the number of secular schools for girls was so small, that we may safely regard the above as a first attempt to bring education within the reach of the untaught female multitude. unfortunately, the convent-schools became involved in the general decline which marks the latter half of the century. all sorts of abuses found their way into them. a great deal too much regard was paid to the social standing of pupils, the nuns were often unfit for their educational task, for which they lacked preparation, and many convents became havens of refuge to worldly ladies with a damaged reputation, who paid well, but in return introduced lazy morals and a loose conversational tone. add to this the intense and general misery which both the fronde and the later foreign wars had engendered, and it need not astonish anybody that the efforts of the religious orders were of too partial and desultory a nature to bring about a lasting improvement in female education. although the actual progress recorded was slight, yet something had been gained. the necessity for some degree of female instruction--thanks largely to the indirect influence of the salons--was now universally granted, although opinions varied regarding the extent and the means to be employed. it had to a certain extent become a topic in france, and as such began to attract a good deal of notice among moral philosophers. there arose the philosophy of education, making the subject a basis for philosophical speculation and applying to the systems then in vogue the severe test of reason. in this way some glaring abuses were revealed which urgently demanded correction. the entire monastic system, based upon conventional grounds, was full of faults and the reverse of practical, showing an utter disregard of the demands of life. thus began the gradual emancipation of education from the shackles of monasticism, the urgent necessity of which was recognised even by some of the leading churchmen, whose works breathe the more liberal spirit of the new philosophy. the theorisings of fénelon mark a new departure in moral education, and his ideas became the prevailing ones of the eighteenth century which he heralded. he did not fall into the error made by his predecessors of overlooking the female half of society, but placed himself on the standpoint that the education of women is as important a social problem as that of men. at the time of the composition of his treatise "_de l'education des filles_" (published in 1683) he was director of the "nouvelles catholiques", a parisian institution in which female converts from protestantism were educated. its direct claims on behalf of woman--apart from absolute insistence on the right of a moral education--are rather modest, but its originality consists in the introduction of the problems of feminine psychology, lifting the subject into the sphere of moral philosophy. unmoved by the passion which swayed some of the later feminists--there is a wide gulf between his ideal of morality and theirs of equality--the moderation of his views and the soundness of his logic gained him a hearing and procured him some staunch supporters among the better précieuses, who justly admired his insight into the female character. madame de maintenon was very much taken with his ideas and even procured him an appointment to the archbishopric of cambrai. while insisting on the fundamental difference between the male and the female character, fénelon never hesitates to put woman on the same level as man, without troubling to decide the theoretical question of superiority. the all-important promise of eternity he believed to apply with perfect equality to both sexes, and as regards earthly life he held that man and woman are too fundamentally different to allow of comparison in the sense of competition. however, he recognised that while the chief duties of man were concerned with social life, those of woman lay within a smaller circle: that of the home, upon the management of which depend both the happiness of every individual and the prosperity of the state; thus granting to woman a sphere of interest and activity in no wise inferior to, though different from, that of man, and exhorting her to fulfil those sacred duties to the very best of her ability. the domestic duties of womanhood are first regarded by fénelon as an important social function, for which the monastic education was the worst preparation that could be imagined. there are not only children to be educated, but servants to be managed. the more deeply we enter into the spirit and full purport of fénelon's contentions, the more it strikes us how he anticipates all the points of discussion which were to keep the philosophical moralists of the next century busy. a woman may excel in the art of being served; she may show in her treatment of her inferiors that she realises the great truth that all human beings in their widely different social stations are equal before god, and that any amount of authority involves an equal amount of responsibility. ideas like the above seem to belong to the eighteenth century rather than to the seventeenth. fénelon was in the full sense of the word: a pioneer. we have said that the jansenist educators held that "la composition du coeur de l'homme est mauvaise dès son enfance", directing their efforts towards reclamation from innate evil. fénelon's views are more optimistic. to him, there is no original tendency towards either good or evil. everything depends upon guidance; give a child a good education and all its possibilities for good will be developed and bear fruit. the sole aim of education is not social influence or intellectual culture, but merely what he calls "l'amour de la vertu". and who can be fitter for such a task than the girl's own mother? "a good mother", says fénelon, "is infinitely preferable to the best convent". only she can prepare her daughter for the domestic circle over which it will one day be her task to preside, and only she has enough natural affection for her to impress upon her receptive mind lessons of moral wisdom. boys, who are brought up to be citizens, require a public education, but for girls there is no place of education like the home, watched over by a loving mother. a few of the points introduced may here be passed in rapid review. great stress is laid on tenderness in education. unless the pupil feels real affection for the teacher, unless the task of learning lessons is made a pleasant, and not a wearisome one, the results will be disappointing. gentle reasoning and persuasion ought therefore as a rule to take the place of severity. also in matters of religion an appeal should be made to the child's budding reason. the religious principles should be instilled in a subtle, slightly philosophical manner, and cleverly arranged questions--often in the form of metaphors or similes--should suggest to the pupil the expected replies. here we have an anticipation of that "mise en scène" which becomes a striking feature in rousseau. a close study of the characters of women implies an insight into the essentially feminine failings, which may render them unfit for their task, and therefore ought to be first exposed and then carefully eradicated. fénelon's list of female shortcomings and their remedies proves that there was no great difference in the matter of inclinations between the female youth of france and that of england. their worst vices are said to proceed from the misdirection of two characteristically feminine qualities: imagination and sensibility. want of purpose renders the former over-active and turns it towards dangerous objects. a careful watch should be kept over the literature put into the hands of young females, for of the amorous romances then in vogue which were so eagerly devoured by the sex, the majority were far too stimulating to an imagination which in the close seclusion of homeor convent-life was but too apt to run riot. by living in an imaginary society of "précieux et précieuses" the girls became dissatisfied with everyday life and were made unfit for it. another dangerous consequence of inoccupation is that thirst for amusement which is the leading motive in female society. it creates egoists, bent upon indulging every wanton caprice. this, coupled with physical weakness, makes women resort to cunning and dissimulation as a means of attaining their end, to the detriment of their moral characters. vanity, which is another inherent portion of the female character, is responsible for that inordinate desire to please which in leading to an all-absorbing passion for clothes and fashion threatens to ruin domestic life and to deprave the female morals. fénelon had no patience with the "précieuses" of the decline, who tried to appear "savantes" without being even "instruites". to him, the value of knowledge depends entirely on its practical use as a means of edifying the mind and soul. woman was not meant for science, and what fénelon has seen of the "femme savante" is not calculated to make him enthusiastic. girls should feel "une pudeur sur la science presque aussi délicate que celle qu'inspire l'horreur du vice." his programme of subjects of female study is correspondingly small. reading and writing, spelling, arithmetic and grammar are the principal. in addition, music, painting, history, latin and literature are conditionally recommended, for the individual talents have to be taken into consideration. fénelon's picture of contemporary womanhood is far from alluring. its chief interest lies in the circumstance that it is the first instance in french literature of a systematic estimate of female manners based upon the feminine psychology, anticipating the current opinion among the writers of the next century regarding the foibles of the sex. fénelon was among the first to realise--what mary wollstonecraft a century later stated with that characteristic frankness which almost entirely robbed her of female sympathy--that the worst enemy of female emancipation is, and always has been, woman herself. as long as the majority of women make considerations of sex the foundation of all their actions, it will prove impossible for the champions of equality to accomplish their full aims. although a churchman and a moralist, fénelon was in open revolt against the spirit of monasticism which regarded only eternity and failed to see its relation to everyday life, with its many exigencies. the best preparation for eternity, according to him, is a daily attention to the nearest duties of life. not science, but the domestic circle was the proper domain of woman. more necessary than theoretical knowledge was that practical instruction in the little household ways which turn a young woman into a good housekeeper. what fénelon did not sufficiently realise, was the indispensable connection between a moral and an intellectual education. the theory that perfect virtue arises out of the intellect and derives its chief value from a rational source, was a further step in the same direction which it was left to his successors to take. but he was instrumental in preparing the enfranchisement of the female education from the narrow principles of that church to which he belonged heart and soul. his precepts were almost immediately put in practice. making some allowance for personal inclinations and circumstances which forbade their full application, we may call madame de maintenon the foremost pupil of fénelon's school. this remarkable woman's educational views present two entirely different aspects. she was a pietist of the roman catholic faith, but with certain leanings towards liberalism which smacked of heresy, the origin of which may be found in the influence of the philosophical creeds with which her early career as a précieuse had brought her into contact. on the other hand, her experience of society--after her marriage to the poet scarron she had for some years kept a salon in paris--had given her a taste for literature and made her a believer in "l'art de dire et d'écrire" as one of the necessary elements of female education. she thus combined in her person two of the principal tendencies of the century: a strong religious spirit and an intense interest in literature, and both became important factors in her educational system, in which she aimed at reconciling the exigencies of the world with the demands of piety in forming society women who were devout christians. she was a woman of practical common sense, actuated by the most unselfish motives, and devoted to the exercise of that reason which she held ought to be the constant regulator of piety and the governing motive of all human actions. nothing could be more directly opposed to the monastic spirit. her principles therefore stamped her as a reactionary of fénelon's school, save for the fact that "the world was too much with her", which made her always keep in view that polite society whose morals she had set out to improve, and the allurements of which constantly clashed with the rigidity of her religious devotion. at the same time the charms of domesticity appealed to her as strongly as to fénelon. reason, she argued, forbids the education of women to any station except that for which providence originally intended them, and providence never meant them to pass their lives in a convent, but rather in the domestic circle as devoted wives and loving mothers. she felt the monastic education to be a violation of the destination of womanhood, and her educational writings were a plea for emancipation from the compulsion of conventional religiosity with its disregard of practical life. the equality-claim has no place in her programme. the very spirit of christianity condemns it. "dieu a soumis notre sexe au moment qu'il l'a créé, la faiblesse de notre esprit et de notre corps a besoin d'être conduite, soutenue et protégée; notre ignorance nous rend incapable de décision, et nous ne pouvons dans l'ordre de dieu, gouverner que dépendamment des hommes." no further steps towards intellectual, social or political enfranchisement are to be expected from madame de maintenon. although woman can only "govern dependently", yet her rule of the home--and here again she fully agrees with fénelon--is of the utmost importance, not only to her own small circle, but to society, or rather to that portion of it which alone had her full regard and affection: the kingdom of france. woman was meant for marriage and her education should be relative to her position in society. plutarch's line of thought, which we had almost lost sight of, re-enters the stage with the appearance of fénelon and madame de maintenon. no motives of false delicacy should withhold from young women such information as may be useful to them in their struggle against the temptations of the outside world. the right place to prepare them for their natural place in society is not the convent, but the college, where the educational taste is entrusted to capable teachers, of whom it may be said that "le monde n'est étranger qu'à leur coeur". the optimistic faith in the capability of her sex of being perfected, which links her to helvétius and the other encyclopedians gave her the necessary courage to attempt an experiment which she confidently trusted might lead to a general reform in female morals. the words of racine's _esther_: ici, loin du tumulte, aux devoirs les plus saints tout un peuple naissant est formé par mes mains, are a faithful reflection of her hope for the future. and so madame de maintenon declared war against convention and tradition and went the way she had marked out for herself. her influence with the king enabled her to carry out her scheme to the minutest details and became the means of placing the vast establishment of st. cyr at her disposal. the time had come to realise her dream of education. two hundred and fifty girls of aristocratic families whom the endless wars had ruined, were entrusted to the care of a headmistress, mme de brinon, and her staff, under madame de maintenon's personal superintendance. it was her wish that they should constitute a large family and that the relation between teacher and pupil should be as nearly as possible that of mother to child, so as to make the reality differ as little as possible from what fénelon's theory had considered the ideal form. the secular character of the establishment--on which the king had also insisted, holding that there were already more nuns than was strictly compatible with the interests of his kingdom--appeared from the fact that the teachers--"les dames de saint louis"--were called "madame" instead of "soeur" and wore dresses which, although simple, were different from those worn in the convent. they were not at first expected to take the vow for life, but their patroness expressed a distinct wish that they should always regard their pupils' interests before their own and show the greatest possible devotion to this task. in respect of this insistence upon the most absolute self-abnegation--involving a most unyielding sternness in taking what seemed the right moral course and a most complete subjection on the part of the pupil--mme de maintenon's ideas came dangerously near those of the jansenists against whose severe methods she professed to be in revolt. the rules of discipline at st. cyr were in some respects as strict as those practised at port royal and in both the motive was to shield the pupil against contamination. realising the danger of influence from abroad at an age when the character was not sufficiently formed, and apt to take impressions too easily, mme de maintenon determined that all parental authority should cease. the girls were kept in the establishment until they were well out of their teens, and supposed to be morally strong enough to resist temptation and to exercise influence on their surroundings instead of undergoing it. there were no holidays and the "demoiselles" were allowed to see their parents only four times a year for half an hour or so under the watchful eye of one of the mistresses. even their correspondence with them was limited, and the tone of the letters had to be strictly formal, in fact they were mere exercises of style. apart from these restrictions, the girls were treated with great kindness, if with little outward show of affection. mme de maintenon was too much devoted to reason to approve of such demonstrations, and wished the emotions to be kept under strict control. on the other hand, punishments were few, the teacher took a liberal share in all recreations and amusements, and the necessary instruction was made as attractive and imparted in as unobtrusive a manner as possible, in accordance with fénelon's precepts. the sudden change in mme de maintenon's system of discipline which took place in the third year of st. cyr and which narrowed down the comparative liberty which had been a fundamental principle to the absolute subjection described above, was a frank avowal of the failure of her original methods and at the same time a proof of the sincerity of her endeavour. it was due to a most unexpected development. in the first years of st. cyr--the establishment was opened in 1686--the study of literature had occupied an important place among the subjects of the curriculum. the girls were made to act little domestic scenes written by the headmistress. at the patroness's instigation an experiment was made with racine's "_andromaque_", which, in her opinion, "succeeded too well", for the girls so entered into the spirit of the play, and developed such histrionic talents, that their monitress, realising the danger, asked racine to write another play specially for them. in accordance with this request the great dramatist wrote "_esther_", which was performed several times before the king and a select audience with signal success, and results disastrous to the spirit prevailing among the girls of st. cyr. never before had the discipline of the institution been in greater jeopardy. the girls' heads were turned, and their vanity and conceit knew no bounds. mme de maintenon saw that energetic measures were urgently called for, and did not hesitate to adopt them. with an earnestness and resolution greatly to her credit she undertook the necessary reform with the effect of radically removing whatever was liberal and reactionary in her system, and reducing st. cyr to a slightly modified form of a convent, thus granting to her opponents the satisfaction of a great moral victory, which the latter deserved no more than mme de maintenon deserved her defeat. one of the unfortunate consequences was that the instruction which the girls received, and which had never been abundant, was reduced to almost a minimum. "il n'est point question de leur orner l'esprit", said mme de maintenon. the horrors of exaggerated preciosity were ever since before her eyes. too much learning, she feared, might turn the girls into précieuses, and manual labour was introduced as an effective antidote. fortunately the years tended to soften the severity which had prevailed immediately after the catastrophe, and upon the whole the institution, which enjoyed special protection and undiminished popularity until its suppression by the convention in 1793, could boast excellent results, and turned out some real "ornaments of their sex". it seems a pity that in mme de maintenon's schemes so secondary a place should have been given to that education of the mind which is so essential to lasting improvement. she inevitably suffers by comparison with her contemporary mme de sévigné, whose correspondence with her daughter mme de grignan contains a most enlightened scheme for the education of her granddaughter pauline de simiane. she recognises that it is by literature that the mind is fed, and since to the pure everything is pure, there is little to be feared even of the otherwise pernicious reading of novels, for a sound mind will not easily go astray. an optimistic view of education, taking its root in considerations of philosophy, for mme de sévigné, like her daughter, was a cartesian. in comparing her contribution to the educational problem with that of mme de maintenon, it should be remembered, however, that an individual education within the family circle offers better opportunities for freedom and less danger of contamination than the collective system of st. cyr. mme de sévigné's ideas, contained in private correspondence, intended only for her daughter's use and entirely without the militant spirit, exercised little influence and were of little direct value to the cause of feminism. footnotes: [3] cf. the two articles in "_a cambridge history of english literature_", by prof. f. m. padelford (vol. 2 p. 384) and by prof. h. v. routh (vol. 3 p. 88). [4] cf. p. 30. [5] see also page 32. [6] a very interesting article on "_le tiers livre du pantagruel et la querelle des femmes_" by m. abel lefranc, containing an extensive list of contributions to the feminist and the anti-feminist literature of the time, may be found in the "revue des etudes rabelaisiennes", (tome ii, 1904). [7] heinrich morf, in his "_geschichte der französischen literatur im zeitalter der renaissance_" relates that a number of ladies took to frequenting the _académie de poésie et de musique_ founded by baïf under the auspices of charles ix; especially after his successor henry iii had transferred its seat to an apartment in the louvre, whence it came to be called "_académie du palais_". [8] p. rousselot. _histoire de l'education des femmes en france._ poullain de la barre owes his revival to an article by m. henri piéron in the "_revue de synthèse historique_" of 1902. the latter's judgment is based upon two works: "_de l'egalité des sexes_" and "_de l'education des dames_", which he found in the bibliothèque nationale. in 1913 the "_revue d'histoire littéraire de la france_" contained an article by m. henri grappin, pointing out that some of poullain's works had been overlooked, supplying a full list of his literary productions and fully discussing one, entitled: "_de l'excellence des hommes, contre l'egalité des sexes_." the above-named three are the only treatises by poullain which bear upon the position of women. [9] cf. livet, _précieux et précieuses_, p. xxv. chapter iii. _the position of french women in eighteenth century society._ in the earlier half of the eighteenth century, at a time when the inferiority of english women was so generally recognised as to leave no room at all for controversy, the woman question was attracting a good deal of notice in france, and scarcely a year passed without some kind of contribution to its literature.[10] it was by this time an acknowledged problem, and theoretically speaking it may be said that by the middle of the century feminism in france had carried the day, thanks mainly to the influence of modern philosophy, which the salons helped in propagating. the instruction-problem was also settled in theory in a manner satisfactory to feminists, and only that of female occupations remained as yet unbroached. the position of women in society not only became a favourite topic of conversation and controversy, but came to command a number of able pens in periodical literature and in the drama. in the latter branch of literature a number of pieces were written on the subject, some of which were hostile and sought the aid of ridicule, but of which the majority were of a more sympathetic tendency, showing that molière's attack had failed. all the important theatres paid their tribute of attention to the cause of feminism. one of the earliest was montchenay's "_cause des femmes_", a comedy performed at the théâtre italien as early as 1687, while a more elaborate dramatic statement of the cause, entitled "_l'ile des amazones_" was composed in 1718 by lesage and d'orneval, and suggested the machinery of the "_amazones modernes_" of legrand (1727), performed at the théâtre français. this brings us to the field of utopian literature _à la_ mrs. manley, whose "_new atlantis_" had appeared a few years previously. the amazons, who had founded their own community in a remote island, having forsworn the society of men, made their return conditional on the acceptance of the following terms: 1stly, there was to be no subordination of the wife to the husband; 2ndly, the women were to be allowed to study, and to have their own universities; 3rdly, they were to be eligible to the highest positions in the army as in jurisdiction and finance; and finally it was to be considered as shameful an act on the part of a man to break the conjugal faith as on that of a woman, so that men might no longer boast of that which in a woman was deemed criminal. that the last was among the most rankling sores will be seen later on, when the "dual standard of morality" aroused the indignation of true "blues" like mrs. chapone, and equally of radical feminists like mary wollstonecraft. but the piece in which the question was best and most conclusively treated was a comedy, entitled "_la colonie_", which marivaux wrote about the middle of the century, and which, possibly owing to lack of success, was not included in the different editions of his works, so that it is at present accessible only in the _mercure de france_ of 1750[11]. it was on the whole sympathetic to women, in spite of the failure of their effort--described in the play--to establish a feminine republic, and the pleasantries of which men and women alike are the object. both the weak points of the female character, as vanity, coquetry, garrulity and frivolity, and those of the men, as envy and vainglory, are made the object of ridicule. but the feminist tendency of the whole appears from the fact that the speeches of the female leaders are more reasonable than those of the males who are worsted by them. the women of the island-state, bent upon vindicating their rights, and inflamed by the speeches of arthenice and madame sorbin,--whose respective lover and husband occupy responsible positions on the male side--contemplate a final breach between the sexes. they experience their first disappointment when the young and pretty women refuse to give up their empire of coquetry, especially when told to make themselves ugly! an ultimatum is duly sent to the male leaders, demanding the admission of women to different occupations and equality between the sexes in matrimonial affairs, a refusal of which will mean instant dissolution of the social state. when the men, driven to despair, are on the point of surrendering, a philosopher's stratagem brings relief. rumours are spread of a hostile attack upon the island, and the women, by virtue of the proposed compact, are called upon to swell the ranks of the defending army. this proves too much for the majority, who find that they prefer the worries of the daily household routine to the hardships of war, causing peace to be restored. the periodical essay was also made subservient to the propagation of feminist ideas when in 1750, while in london, mme leprince de beaumont started the "_nouveau magasin français_", in which the rights of women were vindicated with great fervour. nine years later, a second, even more pronounced attempt to adapt the periodical to the female interests was made in the "_bibliothèque des femmes_", which after a short run, was continued in the "_journal des dames_". this paper, which enjoyed great success, was continued for twenty years, during which it served the female interests and contained a number of articles written by women. the original intention of having only female contributors proved incapable of realisation. the paper sang the praises of women in different keys, as an antidote to the daily revilings in other periodicals, and the original idea of promoting the female interests by stimulating the female intellect was gradually lost sight of. but the greatest friends of woman and her cause, who fought and won her battles for her, and were willing to recognise her empire, were the philosophers of the encyclopedia, with the emphatic exception of that most inconsistent of all geniuses: j. j. rousseau. the encyclopedian spirit is best reflected by d'alembert's "_lettre à j. j. rousseau_", written in reply to the "_lettre sur les spectacles_" in the famous controversy on the drama. he protests against the latter's cynical views of womanhood. the human race would be indeed in a pitiable condition, he says, if the worthiest object of the male homage were indeed so rare an occurrence as rousseau chooses to intimate. but supposing he should be right, to what cause would such a deplorable state of things be attributable? "l'esclavage et l'espèce d'avilissement où nous avons mis les femmes; les entraves que nous donnons à leur esprit et à leur âme, le jargon futile et humiliant pour elles et nous; auquel nous avons réduit notre commerce avec elles, comme si elles n'avaient pas une raison à cultiver, ou n'en étaient pas dignes; enfin, l'éducation funeste, je dirai presque meurtrière, que nous leur prescrivons, sans leur permettre d'en avoir d'autre; éducation ou elles apprennent presque uniquement à se contrefaire sans cesse, à n'avoir pas un sentiment qu'elles n'étouffent, une opinion qu'elles ne cachent, une pensée qu'elles ne déguisent. nous traitons la nature en elles comme dans nos jardins, nous cherchons à l'orner en l'étouffant." and d'alembert makes an appeal to the philosophers of the age to destroy so pernicious a prejudice, to shake off the barbarous yoke of custom and to set the example by giving their daughters the same education as their sons, that they may be saved from idleness and the evils that follow inevitably in its train. and the cause of woman thus became incorporated in the great scheme of liberty and equality which was slowly maturing in the master minds of the nation. the gulf that yawned between the two opposing parties was widening every instant. on one side were those in possession of power and authority, leaning upon custom and tradition, drawing what inspiration animated them from the source of the ancients and stubbornly opposing any change which might tend to undermine their position. ranged on the other was the intellect of the nation, the devotees of a philosophy which held the promise of the millennium to be almost within immediate reach, firing the mind with their daring schemes for improvement and asserting the coming triumph of modernism. nothing could be more natural than that woman should throw in her lot with the latter and that her cause should become a subdivision of the great problem of humanity. the great sphere of activity, next to the wide field of literature, was the more modest compass of the eighteenth century salon. madame de lambert herself draws a parallel somewhere between the salons of the seventeenth and those of the eighteenth century, more especially with regard to the prevailing codes of morality. her conclusions, like those of m. brunetière nearly two centuries later, are overwhelmingly in favour of mme de rambouillet and her contemporaries. she complains that the delicate intellectual amusements of the seventeenth century assemblies have been largely superseded by the grosser delights of the card-table and of a declining stage. the merest semblance of knowledge is regarded with disapproval,--this in consequence of molière's furious onslaught in his _femmes savantes_--and as a natural consequence of ignorance, the female morals have sadly decayed. being thus deprived of the means of improving the mind, women are naturally driven to a life of pleasure-seeking. and she doubts whether society has derived any benefit from the change. "les femmes ont mis la débauche à la place du savoir, le précieux qu'on leur a tant reproché, elles l'ont changé en indécence." in other words, mme de lambert wanted to return to the earlier preciosity, granting women the right to be instructed, and trying to steer clear of those excesses which had called forth the attacks of molière and boileau. she emphatically protests against the pernicious habit of making a pleasing appearance the sole aim of female education, and claims for her sex the blessings of an education which in cultivating the mind will improve the female morals. it would be impossible to deny that the moral standard was considerably lower than it had been half a century earlier. the consequences entailed by the revocation of the edict of nantes and by the suppression of port royal had been equally disastrous. the chief bulwarks of protestant and catholic orthodox faith had been removed, leaving a free field to both libertinage and disbelief. the coarseness of manners which it had been the aim of the rambouillet societies to suppress reasserted itself on the one hand, while on the other the rising spirit of philosophical inquiry and scientific research had degenerated into a scepticism which was no longer counteracted by that spirit of religious mysticism which had been a weapon of orthodoxy against unbelief. the encyclopedian spirit often spelt deism and atheism, both of which flourished in the salons. the very fact that their society was no longer exclusive, but freely admitted people of all class and opinions, and from different parts of the world, accounts for the enormous influence exercised by these "bureaux d'esprit" upon public opinion in the eighteenth century. moreover, the monarchical power was declining, and the king, in establishing a barrier between himself and the society of the salons, was himself instrumental in raising opinions which more and more became the prevailing ones, and upon which he had no influence whatever. rationalism began to gain ground rapidly and became a basis for speculations which soon came to include politics and economics. m. brunetière, whose judgment on the salons of the eighteenth century is very severe, complains that the lofty artistic and moral ideals of the preceding generation had given way to scepticism and to cynicism of a kind which made madame de tencin refer to her guests as "ses bêtes". this statement, which no doubt is mainly correct, seems strange in consideration of the fact that it was by the new philosophy which the same salons helped in spreading, that the great problems of the future of the human race were put forward, which in broader minds gave rise to much idealism in what m. du bled so finely calls: "le souci de la modernité." but eighteenth century society regarded philosophy as an intellectual pastime rather than as bringing the hope of relief to the oppressed millions, and if it occasionally dabbled in social problems, the misery of the multitude did not touch the majority of those who lived lives of comfort and luxury, and were utterly unacquainted with suffering, very deeply. no direct attempt at improvement, therefore, was to be expected from them, they were talking in theory about things of the practice of which they knew nothing. brunetière calls the eighteenth century salon "le triomphe de l'universelle incompétence", with which its seventeenth century predecessor, with its more limited programme, compares favourably. it became habitual "to talk wittily of serious problems, while seriously discussing trifling subjects". it needed, indeed, the fiery imagination and fervent enthusiasm of a rousseau to inspire the philosophical theories with the life of his genius. and yet, if the social problems of the time were not directly solved by eighteenth century society, they were at least formulated by it in such a manner as to make them the catchword of the period and to draw to them the attention of those who were better able to do them justice. the very fact that the salons were ruled over by women and independent of court-influence made them the place where opinions were most freely uttered and most readily listened to. literature, which had been the chief occupation of the early salons, now found a powerful rival in science. the poetry of the eighteenth century "ruelles" became of an even lighter and more insipid kind. on the other hand, the latter half of the previous century had witnessed a growing interest in anatomy and surgery, and after the introduction (by fontenelle) of astronomy as a fashionable science, newton became the rage, and ladies of quality like the marquise du châtelet were among his worshippers. the domination of the salons thus became extended to philosophy, science, economics and politics. when the ancient and modern controversy was re-introduced in the opening years of the century, nearly all the female philosophers were fervent partisans of the moderns, believing in a future in which all human beings would be guided by the light of reason. of this eighteenth century modernism, feminism is, in fact, only a subdivision. this appears from the work of poullain de la barre, and still more from the great defence of the cause of woman (when threatened by boileau in satire x "_sur les femmes_") by the great champion of modernism perrault in his "_apologie des femmes_." the moderns, indeed, saw in the prejudice against women a remnant of the servility of antiquity which was in flagrant contradiction with the dictates of reason. hence the close connection between feminist literature in the eighteenth century and life in the salons, of which the authors were mostly among the regular frequenters. the marquise de lambert laid down her ideas of feminism in her "_réflexions sur les femmes_", and we have seen that both d'alembert and marivaux were among the staunch defenders of the right of the sex to equal consideration. boileau's death had left the "précieuses" in the undisputed possession of the field of light literature, to which now became added that of science. this new form of preciosity, "la préciosité scientifique", which made its appearance in the salon of mme de lambert, where it found an ardent worshipper in fontenelle, grew so powerful that even voltaire's efforts to crush it with ridicule were unavailing. so strong had the female dictatorship become, that three of the most influential men-of-letters in the kingdom had vainly tried to get the better of it. but unfortunately the platonic ideal to which the women of the preceding century had owed their ascendancy had degenerated, and in consequence of the altered circumstances women often had to buy with physical submission and degradation that worship of their beauty and deference to their opinion which made them at the same time the rulers and the slaves of men, and against which the moralists of the century, with the glaring exception of rousseau, made it their business to protest loudly, but in vain. mme de lambert merely wanted to restore the right sort of preciosity to its throne as an antidote to the evils of ignorance, in which she set herself the ideals of the hôtel de rambouillet, and advocated moderation in everything. her salon thus became as much a protest against exaggeration and affectation as against the prevailing opinion that the education of women should only aim at teaching them how to please the opposite sex. an occasional frequenter calls it "l'hôtel de rambouillet présidé par fontenelle, et où les précieuses corrigées se souvenaient de molière." being left a widow at a comparatively early age, mme de lambert opened her salon in the palais mazarin in the rue colbert about 1700. she was at that time rather more than fifty, and reigned supreme over her circle of visitors for more than thirty years. she set herself to prove that it was possible to have a lively entertainment without the help of the card-table, relying chiefly on conversation and literature. her tuesdays and wednesdays soon became famous, and attracted both the aristocracy and the literati. among her regular visitors were fontenelle, marivaux, mlle de launay (mme de staal) and de la motte, champion of the moderns, whilst mme dacier undertook the defence of the opposite cause. mme de lambert herself was the ruling spirit of the académie, of which the way towards membership lay through her favour, and the chief literary productions previous to being published--if published they were--were read and criticised in her circle. if mme de lambert deserves mention for having kept a salon which formed a link between the seventeenth and the eighteenth century, and exercised a beneficial influence on the tone of conversation, she is even more entitled to attention on account of the part played by her in the development of feminism. she was a moralist rather than educator, and followed in the steps of fénelon. she had the cartesian belief in the infallibility of reason, with two exceptions, which do honour to the qualities of her heart, and saved her from the inevitable conclusions of logic _à outrance_: religion and honour. "il y a deux préjugés auxquels il faut obéir: la religion et l'honneur", and a little further: "en fait de religion, il faut céder aux autorités. sur tout autre sujet, il ne faut recevoir que celle de la raison et de l'évidence", excluding even honour. but her actions show that she realised the danger which lies in obeying the duties of reason while totally excluding the admonitions of the heart. stronger than her love of logic was that exquisite form of sensibility which made her at least a real champion of the less fortunately situated. there is real concern for the welfare of her inferiors in the precept that "servants should be treated as unhappy friends", and a true love of humanity in the statement that "humanity suffers in consequence of the inequality which fortune has introduced among men". words which come from the heart and entitle her to sympathy and admiration. her ideas concerning female education are contained in the "_avis d'une mère à sa fille_". she insists on the importance of cultivating the female mind to render woman an agreeable companion to her husband, who will then honour her and give her her due. and she places herself on the standpoint which mary wollstonecraft took after her, in basing upon this foundation her vindication of women's _right_ to be instructed. she complains of the tyranny of men, who condemn to ignorance the partners of their wedded lives, disregarding the pernicious consequences entailed thereby. for ignorance leads to vice, and the mind should be kept employed, were it only as a means of avoiding mischief. to mme de lambert the muses were "l'asyle des moeurs". her educational scheme contains more instruction than fénelon's, as it includes philosophy, which is to reclaim women to virtue through the medium of reason. of all the french female authors on the woman question it is mme de lambert whose ideas show the nearest approach to mary wollstonecraft. the essential difference between the two--the former's indifference to political emancipation--was due to a difference in social circumstances, which made her a ruler whose influence over men no political enfranchisement could have increased, and also to the condition of things in france, where the first steps towards the political equality of the stronger sex were yet to be taken. she believed the domestic circle to be the proper sphere of women, and her "metaphysics" of love--if less fantastic than the ideals of her 17th century predecessors, which, however, found some adherents among the regulars of her own circle in de la motte and the duchesse du maine--were certainly more conducive to real happiness in the high moral principles out of which they arose. it was the marquis d'argenson who said of her writings that they were "un résumé complet de la morale du monde et du temps présent la plus parfaite", and there seems no reason to doubt the truth of his judgment. unfortunately the good example set by the marquise de lambert was not followed in other circles, where the increasing influence of the feminine element, instead of purifying the morals of the male sex, depraved them yet further. the great catastrophe of the end of the century was hastened by the vicious excesses of many females. goncourt says that the eighteenth century lady of quality represented the principle that governed society, the reason which directed it and the voice which commanded it; she was, in fact, "la cause universelle et fatale, l'origine des événements, la source des choses," and nothing could be achieved without her concurrence. rousseau, when first arriving in paris, was advised by a jesuit to cultivate the acquaintance of women, "for nothing ever happened in paris except through them". the bulk of female influence upon the morals of the century was disastrous. the gross materialism amongst society-women found expression in a well-known utterance of the marquise du châtelet: "we are here merely to procure ourselves the greatest possible variety of agreeable sensations." the most perverse code of morality came to reign in some of the most-frequented salons. one of the leading hostesses of paris boasted that one of her reception-days was reserved for "gentlemen of a damaged reputation", the so-called "jour des coquins". of the englishmen who frequented these circles of appalling vice, horace walpole--who in a space of forty years paid six successive visits to paris, and who was very far indeed from being a sentimentalist,--refers to the utter absence of any sense of decency among people whose chief occupation was the demolition of all authority, whether temporal or spiritual, including the divine authority itself. one of the worst examples of the epicurian spirit was furnished by the salon of the notorious mme de tencin. she disdained even to keep up the appearance of quasi-platonic courtship and lived in open and shameless debauch. her entire life was made up of political intrigues and adventures of gallantry, in which she turned the latter to account to promote the former. she possessed plenty of literary talent, and her two novels "_le comte de comminges_" and "_le siège_ _de calais_" rank among the best female productions of the century--but even fontenelle thought her heartless. after a childhood spent in the very imperfect seclusion of a convent which was notorious for its nocturnal orgies, "la religieuse tencin" came to paris in 1712 to begin her siege of male hearts, directing her first attack against no less a person than the regent himself, and ultimately contenting herself with one of his ministers, which gallant adventure was followed by many more. she gave birth to a child, whom she deposited on the steps of a church, to be found and brought up by strangers. this child afterwards became the famous d'alembert. in order to be able to pursue her political schemes she filled her salon on different days of the week with people of various occupations and interests; keeping philosophers and académiciens, politicians and ecclesiastics carefully separated, making herself their confidante, and possessing herself of their secrets, managing them all so cleverly that they became her tools without being aware of it, secretly despising her "bêtes" while openly flattering them. the visitors to her two weekly dinners were nearly all men, bolingbroke and matthew prior being among her "habitués". apart from mme geoffrin, who became her successor, and of whom she said that "she only came to see if there was anything among her inventory that she might have a use for", there were hardly any women, for mme de tencin would brook no possible rivals. such was her degradation that she wrote a most indecent "_chronique scandaleuse_" for the special delectation of the regent. as mme de lambert's salon represents eighteenth century society at its best, so mme de tencin's foreshadowed some of the worst instances of female intriguing that were to follow. a totally different salon was that kept by mme geoffrin. mme de tencin--whose own birth was not above suspicion--had all the pride of class, and looked down upon the third estate; mme geoffrin on the contrary was the daughter of a court-valet and consequently remained all her life a "bourgeoise", without any pretence to "préciosité" or anything but a kind and warm heart, a most remarkable wit, sound common sense and a natural delicacy which made her an ideal hostess. for mme de tencin's lofty disdain she substituted an almost maternal solicitude for the welfare of her "children", who, with the exception of mlle de lespinasse, were of the male sex. besides d'alembert, diderot, morellet and grimm there were the ubiquitous horace walpole, david hume the philosopher and wraxall; the first-named of whom in his correspondence declared her to be "a most extraordinary woman with more common sense than he had ever encountered in one of her sex." the principles of the salon in the rue st. honoré were much the same as at mme de tencin's, but a milder spirit prevailed, and the demon of intrigue was absent. mme geoffrin kept fixed reception-days, her mondays being devoted to artists, and her wednesdays to men-of-letters and philosophers, while her intimates were made welcome on both days. the hostess presided over the assemblies without in any way obtruding her personal opinions or bringing her private interests into play, exercising an absolute authority which never became tyranny, and keeping peace among the more excitable of her guests[12]. she was much appreciated by them all, not least by the future king of poland, stanislas augustus, her devoted "son", causing walpole to refer to her as "the queen-mother of poland". her apotheosis came when in her sixty-eighth year she visited warsaw, where she met with a royal reception. after her return her mental powers declined rapidly, and her daughter--fearing the influence of scepticism upon her mother--kept her favourite philosophers at a distance, eliciting from her the remark that she was, like godfrey of bouillon, "protecting her tomb against the infidels." the third of the "muses of the philosophical decameron", whose salon was much in vogue, was julie de lespinasse, whose attractive personality and brilliant conversational and epistolary powers account for her success. she combined the warmth of heart of mme geoffrin with the ardent temperament of mme de tencin, but without the latter's brazen-facedness. she possessed a degree of sensibility which made her succumb to different lovers "for each of whom she cherished a passion which it was beyond her power to resist." her youth had been fed with richardson, "_clarissa harlowe_" being her favourite. she had entered the employ of the famous marquise du deffand, herself a prominent hostess, in the capacity of reader. her wit and the natural buoyancy of her character soon made her more popular than her mistress, whose guests took to visiting her in her room, while her mistress was still asleep. mme du deffand in her jealousy accused her of "skimming off the cream of her visitors' conversation"; a breach followed, and julie was enabled by some supporters to set up a small salon in the rue st. dominique, which flourished from 1764 till the year of her death in 1776. she could not afford sumptuous dinners, but her guests were sure of a warm welcome and of some interesting conversation, which she conducted so tactfully, effacing herself completely and making her guests feel at home by always appearing interested, that her lack of personal beauty was quite forgotten in the charm of her manner. politics were a frequent topic, and mlle de lespinasse was among the professed admirers of the british constitution. d'alembert, condorcet, turgot and also mme geoffrin belonged to her circle, and that walpole knew her also, appears from the correspondence between him and mme du deffand, who at julie's death complained that the rupture with her had robbed her of the friendship of d'alembert. while the women of society were celebrating their triumphs in the salons, philosophy was trying to do something for the female multitude. we have seen that it was fénelon who caused education to be included among the subjects of moral philosophy, but it was the diffusive power of rousseau's writings that made it one of the most frequently discussed themes of the century. his "_emile, ou de l'education_", which appeared in 1762--curiously enough, the year of the suppression of jesuitism in france--marked a new era in the history of education, if not in that of feminism. of rousseau it might have been reasonably expected as the champion of liberty and equality to carry to their full extent the philosophical venturings of fénelon and thus to usher in a new era of female emancipation. however, with an inconsistency which is one of his chief characteristics, rousseau not only deliberately left the female half of mankind out of his scheme for political enfranchisement, but ranged himself among the anti-feminists by the great emphasis he laid on the consideration of a sexual character, which he construed into evidence of female inferiority, by arguing that it makes the subjection of woman a natural law, which is to be respected according to the theory that "whatever is in nature, must be right." owing to the contradictory nature of his views, however, while directly opposing the movement, he indirectly furthered it in two ways. in the first place, his social theories were adopted without reserve and without restrictions by some of his followers, who thus repaired the omission which had left woman out of the scheme; and secondly it was rousseau who once for all broke the back of the monastic system of education by continuing the campaign which fénelon in theory, and mme de maintenon in practice, had entered upon before him, and bringing it to a happy conclusion. the reduction and ultimate abolition of the education of religion, which was one of the great victories of the philosophical school, became manifest in the latter half of the century. it was a signal success, achieved over an unwilling government and crowned by the expulsion of the jesuits, who had formed one of the chief bulwarks against the growing revolutionary spirit. the cartesian principles, which had been a beacon-light to seventeenth century philosophy, were supplemented in the next by a new element: that of _utility_. in john locke's "_treatises of government_" and also in "_some thoughts concerning education_", he let himself be guided chiefly by considerations of usefulness, thus becoming the founder of that doctrine of utilitarianism which, after influencing the french encyclopedians, was to return to england a century later and to find a fervent champion in william godwin. in deciding upon a course of action, the inevitable question was: "what is the use?" and this guiding principle became paramount also in matters of education. to locke, who was a man of practical sense and not a mere theorist, the problem was how to make people understand their real interests, and to make them act in accordance with them, which must necessarily lead to happiness. his educational system, therefore, is based upon the communication of such useful knowledge as will most contribute to the total amount of happiness to be found on this globe[13]. locke insisted on the necessity for a physical education which increases the mental and moral capacity by rendering the body less subject to fatigue. simplicity and effectiveness in dress and food, and plenty of outdoor exercise are recommended, and in this important matter, as indeed in a great many others, locke may be said to have struck the keynote of the philosophical tendencies of the eighteenth century, anticipating the famous nature-theory of rousseau. many important questions were mooted by him. he introduced the ethical problem of reward and punishment, and discussed the advisability of reasoning with a child and of making him learn a trade, which became a part of the educational programme of the next generations. the french philosophers became locke's immediate heirs, and afterwards repaid their debt to england with interest. where locke gave his "young gentleman" a tutor, his views were adopted by the opponents of the monastic education. it could hardly be expected of locke, who lived in a time when the female fortunes in his own country were at a very low ebb, to have paid much attention to the possibility of making women share in the obvious advantages of the new system. however, if he did little or nothing for british women, his theories were turned to account for the benefit of their french sisters, whose position in the lower walks of life was not very much better than theirs. his french disciples, carrying the theory of utility to its fullest extent, included the female sex in their reflections. the first in point of time was the abbé de st. pierre, of whom rousseau contemptuously said that he was "a man of great schemes and narrow views". seen from a feminist standpoint this judgment is cruelly unjust. for, even granting that the abbé's schemes were too utopian to be capable of full realisation--a circumstance he himself sadly recognised--the fact remains that he was responsible for the first project of female education _on a national basis_, making wholesale education a state-concern and thus wanting to extend the benefit of instruction to many who would otherwise be deprived of it. he stands at the beginning of the lane that leads via bernardin de st. pierre and talleyrand to the great condorcet. the abbé de st. pierre was willing to grant women _as a class_ that equality which the better-class women had actually attained, and he believed in their instruction, holding that on the instruction given to the young, whether male or female, depended the happiness of the coming race. but he believed still more in the necessity for a moral education, for his utilitarianism is not of this earth, but of eternity. with him the ever recurring question is: "what will it profit the soul?", and the fear of punishment in hell is rather stronger with him than the sense of moral duty. he thus laid himself open to attack from the notorious mme de puysieux, who believed in reputation and the preservation of appearances, informing him that it was silly to let the fear of hell withhold people from seeking happiness by cultivating the good opinion of others, _whether deserved or not_! the final clause sums up what moralists found most objectionable in the inclinations of a depraved age. the real aim of women, according to the abbé, should be to please god, and not men, so as to gain eternal life. he has no ambition for women beyond that of making them devout christians and good housekeepers, and his educational efforts are accordingly directed towards these two accomplishments. girls are to dress simply, to eschew cards--that curse of the age--and to learn useful needlework, the keeping of accounts and in general such things as will be of the greatest use to them in the performance of their domestic duties. but he very unaccountably refuses their youth the advantages and innocent enjoyments of home-life, wishing them to be brought up in colleges, in which they are to be kept immured until such time as their education will be completed, when they will be ready for matrimony! at college girls may learn to be good citizenesses, but they will scarcely gain the necessary experience for managing a home of their own. the comprehensiveness of his scheme, however, and his recognition of the female equality entitles him to a place in the history of feminism above rousseau. the latter's attitude towards the feminist movement is so complicated as to demand careful analysis. where women were concerned the strong individuality of the female genius would not allow him to side fully either with "those who wished to condemn them to a life of household-drudgery, making of them a sort of superior slaves, or those who, not satisfied to vindicate woman's rights, made her usurp those of the stronger sex", for the former have too low a notion of the duties of womanhood, whilst the latter overlook the considerations of a sexual character by which, according to rousseau, the relations between the sexes are exclusively determined. rousseau's opinion of the depth to which women had sunk appears from his "_lettre à d'alembert sur les spectacles_," which contains a fierce onslaught upon their moral perversity, which has caused the drama, too feeble to rise to worthier themes, to fall back upon erotics of a most despicable kind. rousseau judged women capable of becoming something better than what eighteenth century society had made of them, but in his demands for them and in his schemes for perfecting their moral education he was extremely modest. next to the salons he held the education of the convents, "ces véritables écoles de coquetterie", to be chiefly responsible for the degradation of the female character. the young women who, on leaving them, enter society, carry into instant practice the lessons of vanity and coquetry which the convents have supplied. for convent and salon rousseau wanted to substitute the blessings of true domesticity--painted in glowing colours in the pages of the "_nouvelle héloise_." his sympathies went out, not to that college-life of which the abbé de st. pierre had such sanguine expectations, but to the intimacies of the family-circle, presided over by loving parents, an ideal which he reintroduced in the fifth book of his treatise on education, where, circumstances rendering it advisable to provide the finished male product with a suitable partner for life, the principles of sophie's education are elaborately described[14]. where he recommends making the duties of life as pleasant as possible to the young pupil, protesting against that austere conception which allowed her no other diversion than studies and prayers, rousseau sides with fénelon. in his opinion girls enjoy too little freedom, whilst grown-up women are left too much liberty. let the young girls have an opportunity to enjoy life, he says, or they will take it when they are older. nor does the notion of making them at an early age acquainted with the world inspire him with terror, for he trusts with mme de sévigné that the sight of noisy gatherings will only fill them with disgust instead of tempting them to imitation. so far there is nothing anti-feminist in rousseau's ideas. but unfortunately we have come to the end of what is positive and his further utterances rather advocate woman's subjection than her enfranchisement. the habit of reverting to first principles which is so dominant a characteristic of his nature-theory makes him draw a parallel between the sexes upon the foundation of those innate qualities which constitute the sexual character. men and women are the same in whatever is independent of sex, and radically different, almost diametrically opposed, in all that pertains to it. thus all disputes regarding equality are vain, for "in what the sexes have in common they are naturally equal, and in that in which they differ no comparison is possible". and woman is to be congratulated upon this diversity, for in it lies the great secret of her subtle power. where woman asserts the natural rights which arise from this difference she is superior to man; where she tries to usurp the natural rights of the opposite sex she remains hopelessly below their level. the two sexes have different spheres of activity, and each sex can do well only in its own sharply-defined sphere. reason itself demands this stress laid on the contrast between the sexes. for, says rousseau, once women are brought up to be as like men as possible, their authority and influence, _which are rooted_ _in their being essentially different_, will be lost without a substitute. this remark is one of great wisdom and psychological insight. rousseau saw what many extreme feminists are so apt to forget, that those who wish to develop in women those qualities which naturally belong to man, and to suppress in them what is proper to their own sex, are in reality doing them irreparable harm. there are, according to rousseau, a male empire and a female one. the former rests upon a foundation of superior physical strength and mental superiority; but although the stronger sex are masters in appearance, they in reality depend on the weaker. for the female empire, _established by nature herself_, derives its strength from those delicate feminine charms which command the worship of that gallantry which nature again has instilled into the hearts of men. in giving this interpretation of female power and influence rousseau exposed himself to attack. the platonic worship, we have seen, had sadly degenerated, and what remained was a worthless, hypocritical imitation which was felt by well-meaning women as an insult rather than a compliment. but what called down a storm of feminist indignation upon his head was the sweeping conclusion he drew from the natural law that man, having physical strength on his side, must always play the active part in the intercourse between people of different sexes, while woman has to be always content with the passive rôle. "the sole object of women," says rousseau, "ought consequently to be _to please_ men, on whom their relative weakness has made them dependent", and goes on to assert that all female education should as a natural consequence be "relative to men". there is in the above passage, which shows that on the subject of feminism rousseau, instead of a revolutionary, was rather a conservative, nothing to suggest the bold and daring vindication of female rights that was so soon to resound in the philosophical world like a mighty trumpet-blast. his ideas about the position of woman are characteristic of his want of equilibrium in presenting a bewildering chaos of judicious observations and unaccountable oversights. it is not so much that some of his statements are untrue, as that they are incomplete. in drawing sweeping conclusions from the physical inferiority of the sex he deliberately closes his eyes to their moral and mental possibilities. it is true that he insists upon a moral education for women, but whatever of merit may be contained in this claim is instantly neutralised by its only object: making women more acceptable companions to their husbands, contributing to the happiness of the latter by unwearying devotion and unalterable constancy. there are undoubtedly many women to whom the above would seem the most acceptable task, as there are others whose consciousness of their talents would make them indignantly reject so subordinate a part. as long as women are not cut after the same pattern, allowance will have to be made for individual propensities and any theory, however cleverly put together, will succeed with some types of womanhood and hopelessly fail with others. st. marc girardin indignantly remarks that the condition of the women in rousseau's nature-scheme suggests the oriental seraglio. this is an exaggeration, for the "relative education" is qualified by rousseau to such an extent that the harem-picture which it may at first conjure up is considerably modified. he wished the term "made to please men" to be understood in a far wider meaning than the merely sensual, for no one realised better than he that in the absence of a spiritual element no love based upon the grosser passions can possibly endure. where the female weaknesses and vanities are concerned rousseau's discernment even surpasses that of fénelon. the task of woman being to please, nature has made her regard above all things the opinion of the opposite sex. and the moralist who teaches men to ignore the opinion of others as destructive of individuality, goes so far as to prescribe for women an unlimited deference to opinion and reputation. "opinion, which is the grave of virtue among men, ought to be among women its high throne". the utilitarian question: "a quoi cela est-il bon?", which is to be the guiding principle in emile's case, changes its character where sophie is concerned, and becomes: "quel effet cela fera-t-il?" the question what impression a thing will produce naturally leads to putting the shadow before the substance, and appearance before reality, and as such may have a most disastrous effect. sophie's love of needlework is accounted for not so much by considerations of usefulness as by the reflection that this delicate occupation will make her appear to advantage to her admirer. the same train of thoughts makes her abominate the useful occupation of cooking, by which her hands might become soiled. did rousseau actually imagine that his much-recommended simplicity in dress would hold out against the innate love of finery which was to help in the accomplishment of what he considered the chief aim of womanhood? rousseau certainly did not mean to imply that woman must of necessity be morally inferior to man, but simply that nature had ordained that she shall be subjected to his superior strength, to his cooler judgment and to his superior common sense. he was certainly capable of imagining an ideal female, and of worshipping in her the essentially sexual qualities which make her differ from man. that portion of the fifth book of _emile_ which deals with the first meeting between the lovers leaves little doubt as to how he pictured to himself his ideal of womanhood. the philosophical treatise is more than once in danger of becoming a romance, embodying the slightly sobered ideals of courtship of the author of "_julie_". it cannot be denied that sophie has charm and that her subjection to emile is not oppressive. but to form a correct notion of rousseau's ideas regarding the social position of women we must strip the story of its lyrical element and glance at the purely philosophical portion of the treatise. it is there that we must look for an answer to the question: "did rousseau look upon women as partakers of the faculty of reason?" and he gives his reply in the following words: "l'art de penser n'est pas étranger aux femmes, mais elles ne doivent faire qu'effleurer les sciences de raisonnement." he would not even object to a system by which the functions of women were strictly limited to the performance of sexual duties, if it were not that utter ignorance would make them fall a too easy prey to rascally adventurers! the subsequent statement that, after all, it being the task of woman to get herself esteemed, _so as to justify her husband's choice_, a little knowledge would not come amiss, does not mend matters in its re-introduction of the relativity-principle. here indeed, rousseau "pitches the pipe too low". woman's special domain is that of sentiment. but the very "sensibility" which renders her more alluring by contrast, prevents her from forming a sound judgment. this appreciation of women appears clearly in the passages of _emile_ in which the choice of a religion is discussed. emile is not allowed to decide until he has completed his eighteenth year, when he is made to judge for himself, uninfluenced by his tutor. sophie's religious notions, on the contrary, are carefully instilled by her parents at an early age, it being silently taken for granted that she will never arrive at a degree of understanding which will enable her to form her own convictions. "the female reason is of a practical nature, which renders them very quick to find the means of arriving at a fixed conclusion, but _does not enable them_ _to form that conclusion independently of others_". again that utter dependence, that total lack of individuality which characterises rousseau's female ideal. "my daughter", says sophie's father, "knowledge does not belong to your age; when the time has come, your husband will instruct you." the amount of actual instruction in rousseau's scheme is reduced to a minimum. there is no knowing what damage may be done to the unstable female imagination by the dangerous literature of the time. here we recognise the author of the dijon prize-essay with its crushing conclusion. rousseau frankly hated the "femme bel esprit". sophie's mind is to be formed by observation and reflection, and not by books. but how can sophie be supposed to reflect, one might ask, unless she had certain fundamental truths pointed out to her, the instilment of which is not the work of every parent, however well-intentioned? it is rousseau's fatal mistake that he cannot bring himself to realise that moral culture simply cannot exist without a certain amount of intellectual culture. he wanted to have both granted to men, and his conclusions tended to withhold both from women. the march of humanity finds him in the first rank of those who were pioneers; the feminist movement, while recognising his cleverness, looks upon him as a dangerous, and sometimes does him the injustice of calling him an hypocritical enemy. the charge of insincerity has, indeed, been often brought against him, although he has found some defenders also. however, he is condemned by most women. mrs. fawcett, in her introduction to mary wollstonecraft's _vindication_, opines that a man who made so light of his duties towards his own children, and whose married life was so full of blame has no right to pronounce on problems which require the disinterestedness and self-abnegation of the pure idealist. where rousseau points out the shortcomings of the women, of his time and regrets them, he is with mary wollstonecraft; where he fails to show the way by which improvement may be attained, he remains hopelessly behind one who, with considerably less genius, had a great deal more moral courage and a far wider conception of the ideals of woman. of the disciples and opponents of rousseau, some of whom, like mme de staël, mme de genlis, and mme de necker de saussure were of the female sex, little need be said here, as their writings either did not throw any new light on the problem under consideration, or belong to a period following that of mary wollstonecraft. when the revolution came, bringing with it an increased demand for a public education, some of its theorists, who like condorcet, showed an interest in the female part of the problem, will call for mention. footnotes: [10] the "_revue d'histoire littéraire de la france_" (tome xxiii, xxiv and xxv) contains a contribution by m. raymond toinet entitled: "les ecrivains moralistes au 17ième siècle"; being an alphabetical nomenclature of moral writings published during the age of louis the fourteenth (1638-1715). in this list works of a feminist or an anti-feminist nature figure so largely that little doubt can be entertained as to the interest taken in the topic under discussion. they may be conveniently classified as follows: _1._ _assertions of female superiority_, including a. o. two french translations of agrippa, three pieces entitled: "_le triomphe des dames_", and one by mlle. jacquette guillaume, entitled: "_les dames illustres_". they were frequently combined with attacks on the male half of humanity, as in the case of regnard's "_satire contre les maris_". _2._ _apologies for the female sex_, including perrault's "_apologie des femmes_", poullain de la barre's "_egalité des deux sexes_", and a latin translation of anna maria schuurman. some were meant as a refutation of some male attack. to this class belong ninon de l'enclos' "_coquette vengee_" and a number of replies to boileau's satire. _3._ _attacks on the female sex_, which are gradually diminishing in number, or rather changing from the direct invective to the moral essay with a didactic purpose, busying itself with the female morals and the female character. a collection of pieces dealing with the problem of sexual preference was published in 1698 by de vertron under the name of "_la nouvelle pandore, ou les femmes illustres du siècle de louis le grand_". _4._ _rules of female conduct_, for the use of young ladies "about to enter the world", insisting chiefly on the feminine duty of preserving the reputation. a translation of lord halifax's "_advice_" (see page 83), "_etrennes ou conseils d'un homme de qualité à sa fille_" seems to have attracted some notice. _5._ _pieces dealing with the relations between the sexes in daily intercourse_, including the subjects of love and gallantry, and of marriage. some are directly favourable to the state of matrimony, pointing to the reciprocal duties of the partners in the contract, and instructing them in the readiest way to happiness; others, frequently deriving their inspiration from boileau, arguing about marriage as a social institution and enumerating its advantages and its drawbacks. to the period under discussion belongs a translation of erasmus' "_christian marriage_". _6._ _treatises of female education_, containing a plea for the development of the female intellect. they are, as yet, remarkably few. beyond the contributions by poullain de la barre and fénelon there are some half-dozen pieces dealing with the education of girls on a religious basis, and a few in which the question of the pursuit of science and philosophy by women is stated and answered favourably. there was an "_apologie de la science des dames, par cléante_", (1662); a treatise entitled: "_avantages que les femmes peuvent recevoir de la philosophie et principalement de la morale_", (1667); another by rené bary bearing the somewhat questionable title of "_la fine philosophie accommodée à l'intelligence des dames_", and, in conclusion, one by guillaume colletet, headed: "_question célèbre, s'il est nécessaire ou non que les filles soient savantes, agitée de part et d'autre par mlle anne marie de schurmann, hollandoise, et andré rivet, poictevin, le tout mis en françois par le sieur colletet_" (1646) [11] "_la nouvelle colonie, ou la ligue des femmes_", first presented in the théâtre italien on the 18th of april 1729, a three-act comedy, afterwards reduced to one single act to be performed in the "théâtres de société", and published in this form in the _mercure_. (cf. larroumet; _marivaux, sa vie et ses oeuvres_, paris 1882). [12] such, at least, is the description of mme geoffrin's character in m. e. pilon's "_portraits français_". m. g. lanson, in his "_lettres du dix-huitième siècle_", accuses her of vanity and consequent despotic leanings. "elle aimait à conseiller ses amis, et les régentait en mère un peu despotique; elle n'aimait pas les indépendants, les âmes indociles et fières qui ne se laissent pas protéger, et veulent être consultés dans le bien qu'on leur fait". [13] that a great many of the utilitarian ideas of john locke may be traced to their origin in the works of montaigne has been demonstrated by m. pierre villey in his "_l'influence de montaigne sur les idées pédagogiques de locke et de rousseau_", who thus claims for the literature of his own country an honour which was commonly granted to that of england. [14] the education recommended for emile is not domestic. he was to be kept carefully isolated from the world, so as to escape its taint, until such time as his character would be fully matured, placing him above the reach of disastrous influences. a similar principle had prevailed at mme de maintenon's establishment of st. cyr. chapter iv. _feminist and anti-feminist tendencies among the english augustans._ in studying the march of feminism among the two rival nations on either side the channel, one cannot help being struck by the remarkable lateness of anything resembling a feminist movement in england. that the women of mediaeval england were looked down upon, not only on account of their inferior muscular strength, but also on the score of their supposed want of mental and moral stability, appears but too plainly from the numerous scornful references to the weaker sex in the literature of those days. the song-collections of the transition period clearly betray the "esprit gaulois" in their brutal estimate of woman and in the tone of undisguised contempt and ridicule which prevails whenever women are the theme. the often-repeated story of the henpecked husband and the shrewish wife contains a warning against marriage which, although couched in the form of banter, evidently has its foundation in the general conviction of female depravity. the early plays with their brawling scenes and stock female characters were also most unfavourable to women. nor did the early renaissance bring any marked improvement either in the female morals or in the male appreciation of them, for the satires against women continued with hardly a refutation. the improvement which resulted in ascham's days from the awakening female interest in learning and in the caroline period from the introduction into poetry of the platonic love ideal, was too partial and too qualified to be permanent, and in later years the puritanic ideal of womanhood was an abomination to feminists of the wollstonecraft type. but the general estimate of women in england had never been lower than in the notorious days that followed the restoration. in the middle ages all influence had been denied them on the score of their supposed inferiority of understanding and inequality of temper; the men of the reign of charles ii regarded them merely as fair dissemblers and utter strangers to the nobler motives, in which opinion the ladies of the age did all they could to confirm them. the higher the society in which they moved, the less likely they were to escape the many vices which prevailed in that age of depravity and libertinism. there were, of course, the puritans, who were forced by circumstances to lead lives of retirement, regarding the vicious excesses of whitehall with disgust and jealously guarding their women against degrading influences. the puritan ideal of womanhood was thus preserved; but there was no promise for the future in the state of close confinement and complete submission which the judaic notions of puritanism demanded. in those days, when night was darkest, a faint glimmer of a coming dawn was seen. it consisted in some women beginning to take a modest share in literary pursuits. when late in the seventeenth and early in the 18th century the modern novel was passing through its preparatory stage, mrs. aphra behn, mrs. manley, mrs. haywood and some other women realised that here was a new domain of literature in which woman was qualified by her fertile imagination and quick power of observation to excel. even before the restoration, the birth of a new social problem dealing with the relative positions of the sexes was heralded in the works of margaret cavendish, duchess of newcastle[15]. however, public opinion stamped any such efforts--whether conscious or no--as immature, and therefore doomed to failure. all through the late seventeenth and early eighteenth century women were regarded from a purely sexual point of view; they were, as mr. lyon blease calls it "enveloped in an atmosphere of sex". their being judged exclusively by a sexual standard entailed as a necessary consequence the scornful neglect of those among them who were disqualified by age or lack of physical attractions. if the lot of the married women was often a sad one, considering the habitual inconstancy of husbands, the condition of those who had drawn a blank in the matrimonial lottery was even more pitiable. hence that desperate hunting for husbands which it is among the most creditable performances of modern feminism to have lessened. it is easy to understand that it is among forsaken married women and especially among the more pronounced spinsters that we must look for such elements of female wisdom and virtue as the barren age affords. the middle-aged mother of a family was sometimes possessed of a certain hard-acquired dignity; and to the often bitter experiences of spinsterhood we owe women of the type of mary astell. but contemporary literature, while on the whole inclined to be lenient towards married women who became "stricken in years" was almost uniformly severe in dealing with the "old maid of fiction", and the unmarried female had to await the broader days of humanitarianism to have her troubles understood and her wrongs righted. but even the more privileged among the female sex, those who in their personal attractions possessed some kind of coin, the value of which masculine opinion was not slow to recognise, were not much better off than their plain sisters. the prevailing views regarding the place of women in social life were the direct outcome of the general tendencies of egoism and materialism by which the age was characterised. woman was regarded only in her relations to the male sex, and, what was worse, woman herself had not yet learned to rebel against the shackles of a convention of centuries, unquestioningly adopted the male verdict and tried her hardest to become what the opposite sex wanted her to be. they found it easy to relinquish all individuality, and live up to the ideal set up by a degenerated manhood, and readily assumed the vices which their lack of any sense of moral responsibility prevented them from recognising as such. this total absence of moral purpose is a characteristic of the age which was not restricted to women only. the moral standard had sunk very low indeed, existence among the better situated seemed exclusively devoted to the pursuit of pleasure with all its attendant vices. from the male standpoint this view of life determined the esteem in which the female sex was held. the eighteenth century "beau" regarded woman only as an instrument of animal passion, which hypocrisy tried very successfully to gild over with a varnish of mock gallantry that was a remnant of better times of platonic chivalry, and aroused the indignation of moralists. this gallantry tried to make up in extravagance for what it lacked in sincerity. the pursuit of the object of his passion led the libertine to the most absurd excesses which were very far removed from a devout worship[16]. love had become a grossly sensual passion, and women were treated with exaggerated ceremony, but with little respect. men held with pope that "every woman is at heart a rake", and treated them accordingly. they laid a mock siege to what was conventionally called "the female heart" and when that fortress in an unguarded moment surrendered or was taken by storm, the conqueror, after enjoying the spoils of his victory, left the poor victim to pay the penalty of social excommunication and flaunted his conquest in the face of a society which maintained a double standard of morality, and in which seduction and adultery on the part of the male were held to be titles of honour. to fully understand the eighteenth century interpretation of the passion of love we have only to scan the pages of that new form of fiction, the novel, which has supplied us with a truthful and lifelike picture of the morals and manners of the time. in many of them the heroine is made the object of libertine attempts which to the twentieth century reader are absolutely revolting. it is true that she does not submit to the outrage, but defends her honour as well as she is able--strange to say, the eighteenth century heroine, apart from a few females of the picaresque kind, is generally represented as virtuous and chaste, rather a picture of womanhood as the author liked to imagine than a faithful one, a circumstance for which the presence of a moral purpose may account--but the secondary female characters are often of a frailty which contrasts strongly with it. the "_memoirs of a lady of quality_" in _peregrine pickle_, for instance, are a frank confession of the most shameless female profligacy, and the outrages upon decorum and good taste described in them are corroborated by numerous descriptions of female indecency and wantonness displayed either in the baths of the fashionable watering-places or at the masquerades which were in great vogue, giving the female sex ample opportunity for displaying their charms with an utter want of delicacy. nor were the "bucks", "beaux" or "maccaronies" at all inclined to be particular with regard to the language they used in the presence of ladies. the obscenity of their conversation aroused the indignation of swift's stella, but upon the whole women were too much accustomed to the coarseness of male conversation to think of protesting, nor did their parents or husbands think it necessary to interfere. besides which, the dialogue of those novels which constituted their daily amusement was of much the same kind, and even the works of an aphra behn or a mrs. manley were read freely in the presence of young girls without being considered in the least offensive to feminine delicacy. the improvement which the latter half of the century witnessed in this respect was, as we shall see, in no small measure due to female influence. the bluestocking circles were largely instrumental in bringing about this purifying of conversational and literary taste. the female novelists of the next generation, while following in the steps of richardson and fielding, and imitating their choice of incidents, do not imitate their revolting coarseness. the stories of libertinage and violence occur in a much modified form, and the treatment is less offensive and not unfrequently humorous, taking the edge off the indelicacy of many a doubtful situation. the chief literary exponents of female depravity, satirising women for what they were and hardly allowing an exception to the general rule, forgetting the part of men in their degraded state, and regarding the prospect of improvement with a degree of scepticism which has made them the abomination of feminists, were alexander pope and lord chesterfield. pope's estimate of the sex, contained in the second of the "_moral essays_", and confirmed by numerous allusions in his other works, ranks him among those who jeer at women in general. their two prevailing passions according to him, are "love of pleasure", and "love of sway": "men, some to bus'ness, some to pleasure take, but every woman is at heart a rake: men, some to quiet, some to public strife, but every lady would be queen for life." the former he is rather inclined to excuse, for "where the lesson taught is but to please, can pleasure be a fault?" but the latter contains in it the germs of unavoidable wretchedness to the woman who outlives the power and influence which beauty grants her and whose punishment consists in finding herself in later years friendless and neglected, and without the redeeming blessing of a cultivated intellect and a sensitive heart, which "... shall grow, while what fatigues the ring flaunts and goes down, an unregarded thing." the many inconsistencies in the female character are passed in review and scourged with the whip of a satirist who does not care to rack his brains for means of improvement, but whose egoism revels in the intellectual delight of scathing ridicule. women make their very changeability a means of attracting suitors, they are "like variegated tulips," showing many colours and attracting chiefly by variety: "yet ne'er so sure our passion to create as when she touched the brink of all we hate." it was no doubt pope's intention to run down the entire female sex, but while uttering the above insinuation, he seems fatally blind to the very questionable light the successful application of certain female devices reflected on the contemporary male character! from a purely feminist point of view, the name of "cold-hearted rascal", by which mary wollstonecraft distinguished the earl of chesterfield, although not altogether deserved--for where his son was concerned he was anything but "cold-hearted"--may be easily accounted for. whenever woman is the subject, his contentions as well as his tone of uttering them betray a callous, contemptuous cynicism which marks the man of fashion who "knows the season, when to take occasion by the hand", and has been taught by the intricacies of diplomacy to regard women from a purely egoistical standpoint as political weathercocks, whose undeniable influence may be turned to account, but upon whom otherwise no judgment can be too severe. there is in his writings no trace of interest whatever in women for their own sake; despising them for their weaknesses, he regards them merely as possible instruments by which his personal ends may be furthered. the morality preached in the famous "_letters to his son_" (written between the years 1739 and 1768, representing the dawn of the bluestocking movement) has been severely and deservedly criticised. their worst defect as well as their greatest danger is that while containing a number of maxims which are absolutely repugnant in their cynicism, they were written for an educational purpose and pretended to instil the ways of conscious virtue "which is the only solid foundation of all happiness."[17] another objection is that he insisted far too much on "the graces" (i. e. deportment), while almost forgetting to recommend the more solid acquirements of the character. mrs. chapone complained that he substituted appearances for the real excellences which she considered more important, and mrs. delany wrote that his letters were generally considered ingenious and useful as to polish of manners, but very hurtful in a moral sense. "les grâces", she added, "are the sum total of his religion." this, and the fact that he made a point of discussing moral questions of the greatest importance with a child not yet ten years old and incapable of grasping their full purport, afterwards made mary wollstonecraft turn upon him with her accustomed vehemence. no doubt she found this education of deliberate cynicism more difficult to forgive than even his cold contempt of the female sex. chesterfield wanted to perfect his son in what he considered the most important of arts, to be recommended to both sexes with equal emphasis: that of pleasing. no man held more by opinion as a means of reaching aims than he. to read his correspondence one might think the chief aim of life to be a perfect mastery of the art of "wriggling oneself into favour", with all its attendant insincerity and duplicity. such was the man whose advice the bishop of waterford asked in respect to the kind of reading to be permitted to his daughters[18]. when women are the topic, lord chesterfield invariably appears at his worst. nowhere in literature do we find a lower estimate of the sex and a more sneeringly insolent ridicule of their foibles. little is known about the marriage of young philip stanhope, who even forgot to inform his father of the circumstance, and who died too soon after to test the truth of his father's teaching that "husband and wife are commonly clogs upon each other." however, with such a mentor his chances of happiness in the matrimonial state would have been slight in any case. in the first place lord chesterfield regards women as intellectually inferior and beneath notice. they are to him only "children of a larger growth"[19] who seldom reason or act consistently; their best resolutions being swayed by their inordinate passions, which their reason is to weak to keep under constant control. even the so-called "femme forte",--of which type catherine the second was a prominent representative--was in his eyes only another proof of this statement; for at bottom all women are machiavelians and they cannot do anything with moderation, sentiment always getting the better of reason[20]. they do not appreciate or even understand the language of common sense, and the proper tone to be adopted in their presence is "the polite jargon of good company"[21]. his opinion of female morals is not more flattering. women are capable of, and ruled by two passions: vanity and love, of which the latter is made dependent upon the former. "he who flatters them most pleases them best; and they are most in love with him who they think is the most in love with them"[22]. they value their beauty--real or imaginary--above everything, and in this respect "scarce any flattery is too gross for them to follow". the above, if true, might be a reason for a man to rather avoid female company than court it. however, says chesterfield, low as they are, we cannot afford to ignore them, for it is not to be denied that they are a social power. "as women are a considerable, or at least a pretty numerous part of company; and as their suffrages go a long way towards establishing a man's character in the fashionable part of the world (which is of great importance to the fortune and figure he proposes to make in it), it is necessary _to please_ them". the sole use of women in chesterfield's eyes is that they may be turned into a ladder for social advancement: "here women may be put to some use"; and he who has discovered the right way of humouring them may serve his own interest by cultivating their acquaintance and fooling them to the top of their bent with judicious and cleverly administered flattery. of all chesterfield's insinuations this is certainly the worst. but how is woman to be pleased? the scheme for social promotion involves an effort to please on an even more general scale. women feel a contempt for men who pass their time in "ruelles", making themselves their voluntary slaves; they value those most who are held in the highest esteem among their fellowmen; for this will render their conquest by a woman worth her while. however, to please men, and gain influence among them, the concurrence of women is indispensable, and so forth, ad nauseam. practical hints are not wanting either. the best stepping-stones to fortune are "a sort of veteran women of condition" who, besides having great experience, feel flattered by the least attention from a young fellow and in return render him excellent services by pointing out to him those manners and attentions which pleased and engaged them when they were in the pride of their first youth and beauty, and are therefore the most likely to prove effective. in conclusion, two instances may here be quoted of the excellent father's recommendable advice to his son in regard to the exploitation of female sympathies. the first regards that mme du bocage whose name will be mentioned again in connection with her relations to the bluestocking circles in england. when young stanhope was residing in paris and frequenting some salons, lord chesterfield advised his son to make the french lady his confidante and confess to her his eagerness "to please", asking her in true hypocritical fashion to teach him her secret of pleasing everybody. offered under different circumstances this might have been a pretty compliment, coming as it did from the pen of such a cynic and confirmed womanhater it was about the worst insult that could be offered to a lady of "esprit" and dignity. but the second passage is even worse. the exemplary father here suggests a full scheme for political advancement through the intermediacy of a lady of unsullied reputation, who was to be courted and inveigled into granting her concurrence in a manner so beyond words that we must let the letter speak for itself. "a propos, on m'assure que mme de blot, sans avoir des traits, est joli comme un coeur, et que nonobstant cela, elle s'en est tenu jusqu'ici scrupuleusement à son mari, quoiqu'il ait déja plus qu'un an qu'elle est mariée. elle n'y pense pas; il faut décrotter cette femme-là. décrottez vous done tous les deux réciproquement. force, assiduités, attentions, regards tendres, et déclarations passionnées de votre côté produiront au moins quelque velléité du sien. et quand une fois la velléité y est, les oeuvres ne sont pas loin." social life in the eighteenth century had indeed sunk to the appalling depth which such letters as chesterfield's reveal, through an utter lack of purpose. the time was entirely void of social interest. at a time when the french philosophy which had been so largely stimulated by british example found its way into the assemblies of paris, awakening a vivid intellectual interest in thousands of minds and giving birth to a national thought-life which laid the theoretical foundations not only of the coming changes in the social order, but also of that glorious edifice of science of which the nineteenth century was to witness the rapid growth--english society was content to let things remain as they were and did not at once respond to the call that came from beyond the channel. if england, too, contained a number of social abuses that were rank and appealed to the justice of heaven, they did not heed them. the self-sufficiency thus revealed remained characteristic of the better classes in england, and was in the majority of cases increased rather than lessened by the outbreak of the revolution, when most englishmen felt secure in the conviction that in england there were no great wrongs to be righted. it had its origin in gross selfishness and coarse materialism, which did not leave the bulk of the nation an opportunity to realise the miserable condition of the poorer classes in ireland,--in england itself there was comparatively little pauperism in the beginning--or the gross injustice of the prevailing system of parliamentary representation, or the cruelty of punishments, or the abominable condition of the jails in which thousands of small offenders were abandoned to the horrors of slow and gradual extinction, or the shame of the execrable system of slavery prevailing in the colonies. it was not until the second half of the century that the great humanitarian movement began to make rapid progress; before that great dawn british society remained undisturbed while pursuing their round of pleasure which was interrupted only by death. of the heralds of a better time, who acted according to their lights, and of whom some were doomed to failure, while others were to see their efforts crowned with ultimate success, it is gratifying to think that a fair percentage were women. if the education of men was sadly inadequate, that of women was so hopelessly neglected that ladies of quality could hardly sign their own name. they were, upon the whole, quite content to remain in ignorance. their horror of the "femme savante" was such, that all appearance of even the slightest degree of learning was carefully avoided. the result was disastrous. dean swift can hardly be said to rank among the defenders of the sex, and yet even he recognised the absurdity of this utter ignorance. in a letter, dated october 7th 1734, occurring in mrs. delany's correspondence, and addressed to her, he says: "i speak for the public good of this country; because a pernicious heresy prevails here among the men, that it is the duty of your sex to be fools in every article except what is merely domestic; and to do the ladies justice, there are very few of them without a good share of that heresy, except upon one article, that they have as little regard for family business as for the improvement of their minds." he proposes to "carry mrs. delany about among his adversaries", and (i will) "dare them to produce one instance where your _want of ignorance_ makes you affected, pretending, conceited, disdainful, endeavouring to speak like a scholar, with twenty more faults objected by themselves, their lovers or their husbands. but i fear your case is desperate, for i know you never laugh at a jest before you understand it, and i must question whether you understand a fan, or have so good a fancy at silks as others; and your way of spelling would not be intelligible." only those qualities were considered worth developing which were calculated to excite desire in the opposite sex. women were skilled in the commonplace conversation of the gaming-table, and were taught to dance and to play the spinet, or the harpsichord, and to say ballads, regardless of talent. household duties and needlework were held in less repute, and the qualities of the mind were utterly disregarded. all feminine education was deliberately discouraged.[23] in marriage the wife was completely subjected to the husband's authority. if he proved inconstant--which was the rule--and transferred his attentions to other women, it was considered most unwise in the wife to object, the approved course being to pretend ignorance of the fact, lest the husband should be displeased at being taken to task by his inferior. about 1700 lord halifax's "_advice to a daughter_" was published; and being the reflections of a man of recognised social abilities, became a standard-work not only in england, but also on the other side the channel, where it was translated into french and repeatedly quoted with great deference. viewed in the light of the conditions then prevailing it must be unreservedly admitted that the advice is absolutely the best that could be given under the circumstances. mr. lyon blease's indignation in quoting it, seems due rather to very natural disgust at the social conditions that necessitated it, than to the nature of the advice in itself. lord halifax exhorts his daughter to consider that she "lives in a time which hath rendered some kind of frailties so habitual that they lay claim to large grains of allowance." this reasoning would seem faulty to a moralist, but there is more. "this being so, remember that next to the danger of committing the fault yourself, _the greatest is that_ _of seeing it in your husband_. do not seem to look or hear that way, if he is a man of sense he will reclaim himself; the folly of it is of itself sufficient to cure him; if he is not so, he will be provoked, but not reformed." in other words he advises her to "eat her half loaf and be happy", rather than disturb her share of happiness by aiming higher than is compatible with the character and morality of the average male. halifax further observes that a benign indulgence on the wife's part for the husband's wanderings will "make him more yielding in other things", i. e. he admonishes his daughter to make a compromise, enabling her to acquire certain advantages by conniving at her husband's faithlessness! this is certainly pretty bad; but there seems no room for any doubt that halifax indeed struck the key-note of eighteenth century opinion. so far we have looked at the purely negative side of the picture, which presents no features that can be called redeeming. before passing to the brighter side to examine the utterances of those who aimed at the moral improvement of the female sex, or at an amelioration of their social position, or both, we shall have to make some mention of the views expressed by swift in his "_letter to a young lady on her marriage_". the general tone is certainly not encouraging. it holds the male sex to be absolutely superior in matters physical, intellectual and moral. while criticising with his habitual sarcasm the errors, fopperies and vices of the female sex, swift does not even trouble to consider what has made them so depraved. the nearest suggestion of possible blame to the male sex in regard to their treatment of women is to be found in a passage in the "_hints towards an essay on conversation_". there are certain signs of a coming dawn in this passage. after complaining of the degeneracy of conversation, "with the pernicious consequences thereof upon our humours and dispositions," swift suggests that it may be partly owing to "the custom arisen for some time past of excluding women from any share in our society, farther than in parties at play, or dancing, or in the pursuit of an amour." in this respect he readily admits the superiority of the more peaceable part of charles the first's reign, "the highest period of politeness in england," when the example set by france, and the love-ideals prevailing among french society found english followers, "and although we are apt to ridicule the sublime platonic notions they had, or personated, in love and friendship; i conceive their refinements were grounded upon reason, and that a little grain of the romance is no ill ingredient to preserve and exalt the dignity of human nature, without which it is apt to degenerate into everything that is sordid, vicious and low." this astonishing avowal on the part of one so inclined to cynicism throws a most unfavourable light upon the relations between the sexes in the early years of the eighteenth century. however, if it could not be denied that manners and morals had decayed, swift never doubted that the female sex were chiefly responsible. in his advice to the young bride their depravity is contrasted with the sound wisdom and the more dignified conduct(!) of their lords and masters. swift satirises the worthlessness of the females who spend their afternoon visiting their neighbours to indulge in talking scandal, and whose evenings are devoted to the gambling-table. his opinion of the sex in general is such as to make him emphatically warn his young _protégée_ against the dangers of female conversation. "your only safe way of conversing with them is, by a firm resolution to proceed in your practice and behaviour directly contrary to whatever they say or do." the fondness of the sex for finery disgusts him to such an extent, that he "cannot conceive them to be human creatures, but a certain sort of species hardly a degree above a monkey." such was the verdict swift passed upon the women of his time, whose moral ideals, he was willing to grant, might be and ought to be the same as those of men, always excepting "a certain reservedness, which however, as they manage it, is nothing but affection and hypocrisy." man being superior to woman in every respect, also morally, it follows that her chief aim should be to render herself more worthy of him. swift here introduces that pernicious theory of "relativity" which in rousseau's "_emile_" was to arouse the indignation of mary wollstonecraft. an effort is to be made to raise women out of that pool of iniquity into which they have sunk, not so much for the sake of their precious souls, as to render them more acceptable companions to men. whatever in swift seems to favour a certain degree of emancipation owes its origin to this consideration. he does not believe in what he calls "the exalted passion of a french romance". by the time his first passion is spent, the husband will want a companion to amuse and cheer his leisure hours. some provision should be made for the years to come when, beauty having disappeared forever, it will be necessary to fall back upon the accomplishments of the mind as a substitute, by means of which the husband's esteem may be gained. thus, by a process differing materially from that of the feminists, swift arrives at the same conclusion; viz. that the first step towards improvement is the institution of some kind of mental education for women. at the same time he has little confidence in the mental capacities of the female sex, so that his claims are in truth modest enough. books of history and travel represent the limit of what he deems them capable of grasping; and he even recommends the making extracts from them, should the fair reader's memory happen to be a little weak! for the rest the task of instructing woman will necessarily devolve upon man; i. e. upon the husband and upon those of his friends whom he judges best calculated to enrich her mind by their advice and conversation, and to set her right should her imagination tend to lead her judgment astray! "learned women," in the full sense of the term, were an abomination to swift, who believed the average female intellect to be so deficient that "they could never arrive in point of learning to the perfection of a schoolboy." there can be no doubt that swift's estimate of female capabilities was the general one, which makes it all the more astonishing to find that as early as 1673 a deliberate attempt was made to "raise women to the dignity and usefulness which distinguished their ancestresses", by giving them an education which included a rather considerable amount of knowledge. a school for girls was founded in that year by a certain mrs. makin, who explained her purpose in "_an essay to revive the ancient education of gentlewomen in religion, manners, arts, and tongues; with an answer to the objection against this way of education_", dedicated to mary, daughter of james, duke of york. the author protests against "the barbarous custom to breed women low", which arises from the general belief that women are not endowed with the same reason as man. learning, and even virtue, in a woman are "scorned and neglected as pedantic things, fit only for the vulgar", and the creation of schools seems the only way to restore women to the place they once held. mrs. makin wisely refrains from asking too much, and therefore will not "as some have wittily done, plead for female pre-eminence. to ask too much, is the way to be denied all". a plea, therefore, for female education as a means of improving female morals. curiously enough, one of her pupils, elizabeth drake, was destined to become mrs. robinson, and the mother of that elizabeth robinson who as mrs. montagu became the recognised queen of the bluestockings. to strengthen her argument mrs. makin points to a number of women who were proficient in knowledge among the ancients, after which she refers to some englishwomen of great erudition, as: lady jane grey, queen elizabeth, the duchess of newcastle, "who overtops many grave gownsmen", and the princess elizabeth, daughter of charles the first, whose tutoress mrs. makin had been. her school for gentlewomen was situated at tottenham high cross, then within four miles of london, on the road to ware, "where by the blessing of god, gentlewomen may be instructed in the principles of religion and in all manner of sober and virtuous education: more particularly in alle things ordinarily taught in other schools." half the time available for study, according to the sort of prospectus with which the essay closes, was to be devoted to foreign languages, particularly latin and french, and those who wanted further instruction could be served with "greek, hebrew, italian, and spanish, in all which this gentlewoman hath a competent knowledge." as a linguist, therefore, mrs. makin here constitutes herself the rival of the famous translator of epictetus, mrs. carter. but she realised that the gift of languages is not granted everybody. "those who think one language enough for a woman may forbear the languages and learn only (!) experimental philosophy." that the lady herself regarded the undertaking more or less as an experiment appears from the fact that the terms were made dependent on the success achieved. the minimum was twenty pounds per annum, but in case of very marked improvement "something more would be expected", it being left to the happy parents to judge how much more was due to the preceptress. a discourse on the "practicability of the scheme" was to be delivered by a proxy "every tuesday at mrs. mason's coffee house in cornhill, near the royal exchange; and thursdays at the 'bolt and tun' in fleet street, between the hours of three and six in the afternoon." that in mrs. robinson's case, at least, mrs. makin's efforts had not been wholly in vain, is demonstrated by the fact that her children called their mother "mrs. speaker", probably in connection with her easy flow of language in the miniature contests of wit that used to be held among them, which were no doubt an excellent preparation for the later mrs. montagu's social task. if we consider that both port royal and st. cyr aimed far more at instilling moral principles than imparting useful knowledge and that neither in france nor in england had so sweeping an assertion ever been put forward, it seems only giving mrs. makin her due to allow her a prominent place among the pioneers of female education in europe. the history of feminism is as much that of the indirect influences fostering the movement while slowly and almost imperceptibly leavening the whole of society, as that of the direct and embittered struggle for enfranchisement. the earlier half of the eighteenth century cannot boast any direct champions of the cause beyond that mary astell of whom it will be our business to speak presently, no martyrs out of whose sacrifice arose the hopes of better things to come, but there are some instances of men--and even of women--of letters who, while aiming at a less ambitious or even a different object, indirectly contributed to the growth of new opinions regarding the social status of women. among them must be reckoned the essayists, whose aim was (as the general advertisement of the _tatler_ has it) "to teach the minuter decencies and inferior duties, to regulate the practice of daily conversation, to correct those depravities which are rather ridiculous than criminal, and remove those grievances which, if they produce no lasting calamities, impress hourly vexation." life is chiefly made up of such seeming trifles, and the men who by pointing out the shortcomings of humanity bring about an improvement in the general morals may claim to be mentioned among the benefactors of mankind. where the correction of the slighter errors was avowedly the object in view, the essayists were naturally drawn to consider the relations between the sexes, to criticise women freely, and to point out the ready way towards improvement. that the success they undeniably achieved was not--at least in its direct consequences--in proportion to the talent lavished on the essays, nor to the eagerness with which these literary efforts were devoured by the reading public, was due mainly to two causes. in the first place, considering probably that the times were not ripe for that more direct form of attack upon the stronghold of conventional manners and customs which in arousing opposition and resistance results in war to the knife and ends in the complete overthrow of one of the combatants, they chose to inculcate their moral lessons almost imperceptibly, assuming a light and bantering tone of ridicule which was not likely to give serious offence and might cause the reader to laugh at her own expense and perhaps make her consider how much of truth there lay in a criticism so jovially offered. no doubt this plan was the wisest course under the circumstances then prevailing, but it is not the way in which thorough reforms arise. moreover, the moral lessons were introduced so much at random, and with such utter lack of system; and the improvements suggested were so vague, that in stating that the periodical essay of the days of addison and steele helped in some measure to prepare the way for the more emphatic assertions of the later feminists, we have done the essayists full justice. their feminism is indeed extremely qualified, and stamps them as the forerunners of the moralists among the bluestockings, while leaving a very wide gulf between them and mary wollstonecraft. the thought of making anything like a definite claim never entered their minds; the time for suggesting extensive social and political improvements was yet far off, and addison and steele were content to recommend in a general way the cultivation of the female mind as the readiest way to overcome the prevailing worthlessness and irresponsibility, thus continuing a line of thought which others had held before them, and bringing it under the public notice. this involves the supposition that the female mind is improveable to an eminent degree, and here addison and steele fully agree. in no. 172 of the _guardian_ the latter, in giving an extract from a poem "in praise of the invention of writing, written by a lady", delivers himself of the sentiment that "the fair sex are as capable as men of the liberal sciences; and indeed there is no very good argument against the frequent instruction of females of condition this way, _but that they are too powerful without that advantage_." addison in another number (155) of the same periodical says that "he has often wondered that learning is not thought a proper ingredient in the education of a woman of quality or fortune. since they have the same improveable minds as the male part of the species, why should they not be cultivated by the same method? why should reason be left to itself in one of the sexes, and be disciplined with so much care in the other?" an assertion, therefore, of the faculty of reason in woman, and a denial of that much-professed sexual character upon which eighteenth century society was almost exclusively founded, and which steele held to be the main cause of contemporary female inferiority. he complained (_tatler_ no. 61) that the fact that the eighteenth century woman valued herself only on her beauty, caused her to be regarded by men on no other consideration as "a mere woman" from a purely sexual point of view; it being his opinion that the rule for pleasing long (which, with a want of logic in matters of sex characteristic of his time, he held to be woman's chief consideration) was "to obtain such qualifications as would make them so, were they not women," and therefore without any reference to sex. the superiority of the accomplishments of the mind over mere physical beauty is a favourite theme with steele, and may be found illustrated in the usual way in no. 33 of the _spectator_ in the character of the two sisters laetitia and daphne. the suitor whom the former's charms have captivated is not long in discovering that her pleasing appearance but ill conceals the insipidity of her character, and promptly transfers his affections to the less handsome but more cultured and therefore far more agreeable daphne. and so steele wants it to be realised that we commit a gross blunder when "in our daughters we take care of their persons and neglect their minds", whereas "in our sons we are so intent upon adorning their minds that we wholly neglect their bodies" (_spectator_ no. 66). strangely enough in a moralist, the ethical side of the question is here left out of discussion. the conclusions drawn by both steele and addison from this neglect of the education of the mind are characteristic of the difference between the two. steele observes that the unavoidable loss of her beauty through the ravages of time causes a woman in the prime of her years to be out of fashion and neglected, and he pleads earnestly for an education to be given to women, that they may have better chances of happiness in the later years of matrimony; whilst addison with his habitual irony weakens the impression produced by his assertion of the perfectibility of the female mind, by ridiculing the much-discussed "femmes savantes" in his picture of lady lizard and her daughters reading fontenelle's "_pluralité des mondes_" while "busy preserving several fruits of the season, dividing their speculation between jellies and stars, and making a sudden transition from the sun to an apricot, or from the copernican system to the figure of a cheese-cake." his treatment of the question is throughout tinged with sarcasm. "if the female tongue will be in motion", he says, after complaining of their _copia verborum_, "why should it not be set to go right?" thus science might be made into an antidote to scandal and intrigue. the most directly feminist among the authors of the late seventeenth and the early eighteenth century was mary astell, the author of "_a serious proposal to the ladies_", written in 1696. her personality and ideas remind us strongly of mlle de gournay, who lived nearly a century earlier. the conviction that all contact with the world and its wickedness would infallibly end in moral ruin had made mary astell the warm advocate of education in a nunnery, far from the madding crowd, where women might be brought up to lives of christian virtue. the very fact, however, that she was not a worldly woman, made her overlook the circumstance that her scheme, however promising in theory, could never hope to stand the test of practice. it was to be expected that the first practical hint for an educational establishment for women--a hint which, however, was not more regarded than mary astell's had been--would come from one whose close contact with the outside world enabled him to do something more than brood over schemes that were incapable of realisation. mary astell in her religious zeal had entirely forgotten to take into account the innate proclivities of the female character. daniel defoe knew how to reconcile the demands of life and of womanhood with those of a moral educational establishment, and he suggested a scheme which was certainly more capable of being put into practice than mary astell's. but even he was firmly convinced that his proposal would meet with almost universal disapprobation and therefore recommended it to the consideration of a later generation. defoe was a man of great inventiveness and sound common sense, and many undeniable improvements were suggested in his "_essay upon projects_" (1702). he had certainly heard of, and very probably read (although he misquotes the title) mrs. astell's "_serious proposal_", and it redounds to his credit that he is one of the very few contemporaries of that eccentric lady to do justice to her motives in seriously considering her ideal of a nunnery, instead of making it the object of obscene insinuations like those of which dr. swift was guilty in the pages of the _tatler_. his estimate of the possibilities of women was very considerably in advance of his time, and places him among the most advanced of woman's male advocates. unlike the essayists, his tone is serious throughout, and the proposal well worth considering, although even defoe has so far become tainted with the prevailing opinion regarding women as to assume certain sexual propensities which he fears will be in the way of their moral improvement. "i doubt a method proposed by an ingenious lady in a little book called "_advice to the ladies_" would be found practicable," he says. "for, saving my respect for the sex, _the levity which is perhaps a little peculiar to them_, at least in their youth, will not bear the restraint, and i am satisfied nothing but the height of bigotry can keep a nunnery." here we have the voice of worldly experience and psychological insight protesting against utopianism. for in women who for ages have lacked the moulding influence of education nature cannot fail to assert herself, and will ruin the scheme. on the other hand, his confidence in the improvability of the sex is such as to make him claim for them the right to an education which will bring out their dormant qualities. "i have often thought of it as one of the most barbarous customs in the world, considering us as a civilised and a christian country, that we deny the advantage of learning to our women. we reproach the sex every day with folly and impertinence, which i am confident, had they the advantage of education equal to us, _they would be guilty of less than ourselves_." that the pioneer should occasionally somewhat overstep the bounds of moderation is surely pardonable. defoe in his zeal holds the capacities of women to be greater and their senses quicker than those of men. nor does he fail to recognise the advantage that will accrue to the female soul from an education which will "polish the rough diamond", and without which its lustre might never appear. the academy for women which he proposes, therefore, shall be "different from all sort of religious confinements," and above all, there shall be no vows of celibacy. the ascetic view of finding fault with every innocent enjoyment seems to him as objectionable as the perpetual pursuit of pleasure upon which it was a reaction. the academy was to be a sort of public school, supplying women with the advantages of learning "suitable to their genius", without requiring any monastic vows which were sure to be broken. defoe is inclined to try his women "by the principles of honour and strict virtue", being convinced that the measure of keeping the men effectually away from the college will put an end to all intriguing. according to him, temptation comes with the suggestion of opportunity and all modesty takes its root in custom, "for this alone, when inclinations reign, tho' virtue's fled, will act of vice restrain". "if their desires are strong, and nature free, keep from her man and opportunity, else 'twill be vain to curb her by restraint; but keep the question off, you keep the saint." everything should be done to render intriguing dangerous, if not impossible. the building should be of three plain fronts, "that the eye might at a glance see from one coin to the other, the gardens walled in the same triangular figure, with a large moat and but one entrance." but the restraint would be only relative, for only those were to be admitted into the seclusion of the college who were willing to live there, and even they were not to be confined a moment longer than the same voluntary choice inclined them. defoe realised that upon an absolute separation from the opposite sex depended the success of his undertaking. we seem to be listening to lilia in tennyson's _princess_ saying: "but i would make it death for any male thing but to peep at us", when defoe pleads the advisability of an act of parliament making it "felony for any man to enter by force or fraud into the house, or to solicit any woman though it were to marry, while she was in the house." any woman willing to receive the advances of a suitor, might leave the establishment, whilst those anxious to "discharge themselves of impertinent addresses" would be sure at any time to find a refuge in it. the plan of instruction is made relative to the natural inclinations of the sex. an important place is to be given to music and dancing, "because they are their darlings", and to foreign languages, particularly french and italian, "and i would venture the injury of giving a woman more tongues than one." books are recommended, especially on historical subjects, to make them understand the world, nor are "the graces of speech", and "the necessary air of conversation" forgotten, in which the usual education was so defective. in the solution he proposes to the problem of female erudition, defoe was equally effective. he recognises that it will not do to fit all women into a universal harness. allowance must be made for individuality. "to such whose genius would lead them to it" he would deny no sort of learning. he is even roused to an ecstatic pitch of enthusiasm by the contemplation of the ideal female which his imagination conjures up before his mind's eye. "without partiality; a woman of sense and manners is the finest and most delicate part of god's creation, the glory of her maker, and the great instance of his singular regard to man, his darling creature, to whom he gave the best gift either god could bestow or man receive", to which he adds that education may make of any woman "a creature without comparison, whose society is the emblem of sublime enjoyments." god has given to all mankind souls equally capable, and the entire difference between the sexes proceeds "either from accidental differences in the make of their bodies, or from the foolish difference of education." and defoe winds up with the bold assertion that all the world are mistaken in their practice about women, "for i cannot think that god almighty ever made them such delicate and glorious creatures, and furnished them with such charms, so agreeable and so delightful to mankind, with souls capable of the same accomplishments with men, and only to be stewards of our houses, cooks and slaves." in direct opposition to the opinion of the dean of st. patrick's, holding women to be the main cause of their own depravity and endowing them with a very limited share of intelligence rendering them forever inferior to men, stand out the views of at least one individual member of the sex. while fully sharing swift's disapproval of the actual condition of women, she felt more inclined to follow defoe in blaming the other half of mankind for refusing them every opportunity to show their possibilities. the tyranny of the male sex aroused the burning indignation of lady mary wortley montagu, whose feelings found vent both in her voluminous correspondence and in her, mostly occasional, poetry. she was most vehement in her denunciation of the treatment of married women by their husbands, which she made an argument against matrimony, and in favour of the virginal state, which at least ensured to women a certain amount of freedom and leisure. "wife and servant are the same, but only differ in the name", and accordingly women are exhorted to "shun that wretched state, and all the fawning flatt'rers hate."[24] she did not, like swift, believe in the moral superiority of man, and called marriage "a lottery, where there is (at the lowest computation) ten thousand blanks to a prize." being all her life a furious reader, she had in her earliest years imbibed the romantic notions of d'urfé's _astrée_ and of de scudéry's long-winded romances of _cyrus_ and _clélie_, causing her to deeply regret the utter loss of that platonic ideal of gallantry with its tendency to elevate the mind and to instil honourable sentiments which had so charmed her hours of meditation. in spite of the fact that her passion for literature met with little or no encouragement, and that her own education had been, according to her own statement[25] "one of the worst in the world"--being an exact parallel to that of which the unfortunate clarissa harlowe became the much-lamented victim--her erudition was such, that pope--previous to their quarrel, when he said some very nasty things about her--playfully wondered what punishment might be in store for one who, not content, like eve, with a single apple, "had robbed the whole tree". her own marriage to mr. edward wortley montagu was hardly a success. his diplomatic career, however, gave his wife the much wished-for opportunity to cultivate her understanding by means of foreign travel. as a result of her experiences at constantinople she was enabled on the one hand to furnish the medical science with the means of successfully combating that most destructive disease: the smallpox, and on the other to enrich literature with a correspondence which bespeaks a profound knowledge of the world, combined with great sagacity and a wonderful discriminating power, and cannot fail to charm even the modern reader with the freshness and variety of its descriptions. both style and descriptive manner show a pronounced resemblance to mary wollstonecraft's "_letters from sweden_", written nearly eighty years later. a preface to lady mary's letters, which were not published until her death, was written in 1724 by mrs. astell, who certainly did not deserve the description given of her by the first editor of the letters as "the fair and elegant prefacer", being "a pious, exemplary woman, and a profound scholar, but as far from fair and elegant as any old schoolmaster of her time."[26] her friendship for lady mary found its origin in the circumstance that she saw in the latter's talents the conclusive evidence of that mental equality of the sexes which she made it her business to demonstrate. "i confess i am malicious enough to desire that the world should see to how much better purpose the ladies travel than their lords; and that, whilst it is surfeited with male travels all in the same tone, and stuffed with the same trifles, a lady has the skill to strike out a new path and to embellish a worn-out subject with variety of fresh and elegant entertainment." that this praise is--at least partly--due to considerations of feminism, appears from the following verses: "let the male authors with an envious eye praise coldly, that they may the more decry; women (at least i speak the sense of some) this little spirit of rivalship o'ercome. i read with transport, and with joy i greet a genius so sublime, and so complete, and gladly lay my laurels at her feet." lady mary on her part wrote an "_ode to friendship_", addressed to mrs. mary astell. she also sympathised with the latter's scheme for the establishment of a convent. she thought that a safe retreat might be preferable to a show of public life. her friend lady stafford once said of her that her true vocation was a monastery, and we have lady mary's own evidence where, approving of a project of an english monastery in "_sir charles grandison_", she confesses that it was one of the favourite schemes of her early youth to get herself elected lady-abbess. this intellectual propensity--for what appealed to her most in the scheme was the indefinite leisure to be devoted to studies--pervades all her writings, and throws further light upon her disinclination to the matrimonial state and her recluse habits. lady mary's social career came to a sudden close when in 1739 her declining health made it advisable for her to leave england for the sunny skies of northern italy, where she remained till the year before her death. to this period belong her chief contributions to the woman question, contained in her correspondence with her daughter the countess of bute, and giving her views of the position of women, elicited by certain remarks on the education of her little granddaughter. the circumstances under which this correspondence was carried on bear a close resemblance to mme de sévigné's when writing to her daughter mme de grignan her excellent advice regarding the education of little pauline de simiane. from what has already been said it may be readily concluded that the principal of lady mary's grievances against the existing system was not that women were not allowed their share of political and social power,--for she felt no difficulty in entrusting the male sex with those duties which would have kept her from her favourite pursuit--but rather that they should be purposely and systematically debarred from studies and kept in ignorance. but she was wise in avoiding all generalisation and recommending the consideration of each individual case by itself and for its own sake, since what might suit one woman might prove a source of misery to another. when her own daughter had been young, the fact that she was likely to attract the highest offers had made it necessary that she should learn to live in the world, for which very few intellectual qualifications were then needed. but her granddaughter's chances of a brilliant match were considerably less, and so she ought to be taught how to be perfectly easy out of the world, in that retirement which lady mary herself preferred to the social state. thus, a new element is added to the arguments in favour of liberal instruction, which is to be a pleasure rather than a task, with no more important background than the providing of a substitute for social intercourse to those whose circumstances prevent them from occupying a place in social circles. and it is clearly the mother's task to talk over with her daughter what the latter may have read, that she may not "mistake pert folly for wit and humour, or rhyme for poetry, which are the common errors of young people, and have a train of ill consequences." the moral education which she recommends for her granddaughter is rather slight, and based chiefly on the negative principle--which we have also found in fénelon and other french moralists--of keeping the mind occupied as a means of preventing idleness, which is the mother of mischief. learning,--which modesty would have them carefully conceal, for ignorance is bold, and true knowledge reserved--will tend to make women less deceitful instead of more so, and as the same lessons will form the same characters, there is no reason to "place women in an inferior rank to men." lady mary thus declared her belief in the equality of the sexes, but she has not enough of the social leaven in her to make any definite claim for her sex. she is rather an isolated specimen of womanhood, serving as a proof of the capacities of some exceptional women, than a fighter for female rights. her intellectual and literary powers were of a critical and satirical rather than a creative nature. that she was among the very first women to possess the critical faculty in an eminent degree, appears from the clever criticism of contemporary fiction with which her correspondence abounds, and which makes her the forerunner of her husband's relative of bluestocking fame. she was sufficiently independent in her judgment to disagree with the general opinion of richardson's novels, without being able to remain uninfluenced by his pathos. "i heartily despise him, and eagerly read him, nay, sob over his works in a most scandalous manner." this merely because of the parallel some of the heroine's circumstances afforded to those of her own youth, for neither miss howe nor even clarissa herself found favour in her eyes. she was one of the very few readers of richardson who saw the faultiness of the moral of both _pamela_ and _clarissa harlowe_, considering them "to be two books that will do more general mischief than the works of lord rochester." her sound common sense made her heartily despise any excess of that sensibility which richardson's works fostered. her verdict of _sir charles grandison_ was even more crushing. "his conduct (towards clementina) puts me in mind of some ladies i have known who could never find out a man to be in love with them, let him do or say what he would, till he made a direct attempt, and then they were so surprised, i warrant you! nor do i approve sir charles's offered compromise (as he calls it). there must be a great indifference to religion on both sides, to make so strict a union as marriage tolerable between people of such distinct persuasions. he seems to think women have no souls, by agreeing so easily that his daughters should be educated in bigotry and idolatry." in her love of learning, and more still in her keen literary judgment lady mary foreshadowed the coming of the bluestockings, whom her total lack of sociability would have forever prevented her from joining. footnotes: [15] "_the world's olio_" (1655) contains an essay on "_the inferiority of woman, morally and physically_". [16] see forsyth, _novels and novelists of the eighteenth century_, pp. 18-24. [17] letter 126. [18] letter 298. [19] letter 76. [20] letter 481. [21] letter 78. [22] letter 124. [23] the above statement may at first sight seem rather too sweeping. but it is supported by the authority of mary astell (cf. page 90), who in her "_serious proposal to the ladies_" remarks that it was generally considered quite unnecessary to waste money on the education of daughters. most parents, she says, "_took as much pains to beat girls away from knowledge as to beat boys towards it_". she was quite aware that her scheme for the establishment of a nunnery in which the daughters of the aristocracy were to be saved from neglect must be shocking to the parents of her generation, who feared that such an education might in all probability corrupt their morals(!) and would certainly _prevent them from marrying_. in this lies the gist of all deliberate discouragement of female learning. the only object in a girl's life being to make a suitable match,--meaning a wealthy one,--it followed that everything was subordinated to this consideration. and it unfortunately happened that the men of the century preferred their partners in wedlock silly and ignorant, and consequently easy-going and submissive. at one time mary astell's scheme came very near to realisation. the devout, intellectual and wealthy lady elizabeth hastings became interested in it and declared herself willing to supply the necessary funds. but it so happened that bishop burnet heard of the plan and of the promised donation. a scheme for a rational education for girls struck this conservative churchman as so absurd that in his anglican hatred of catholicism he rather irrelevantly referred to it as "a popish project", using all his influence to divert lady elizabeth's charity, in which effort he was completely successful. [24] _a caveat to the fair sex._ [25] _letter_ to the countess of bute, march 6, 1753. [26] "_introductory anecdotes_" to lord wharncliffe's edition of the letters and works of lady mary wortley montagu (paris, 1837). chapter v. _qualified feminism: the bluestockings._ "feminism", says m. ascoli, in an article in the "_revue de synthèse historique_", "is the mental attitude of those who refuse to admit a natural and necessary inequality between the faculties of the sexes, and, in consequence of this, between their respective rights; who believe that--within certain limits clearly defined by nature--women are capable of the same occupations as men, in which they will succeed equally well when, prepared for their task by an adequate education, they will be no longer opposed by the ill-will and the hostile jealousy of the opposite sex; of those who, eager for the birth of a more extensive liberty and a more liberal justice, hope for the realisation of an ideal which will bring the greatest boon not only to women, but to all humanity." if the above is a correct and exhaustive definition of feminism, the bluestockings certainly cannot be called feminists, for they none of them believed that the future of the human race was in any way dependent on a recognised equality between the sexes. this, however, should not be understood as implying that they did nothing to promote the march of feminism, or rather to prepare the national mind for the first symptoms of a more directly feminine movement which were to manifest themselves before the more or less artificial conversations of the bluestocking côteries had retired into insignificance before the looming spectre of revolution, filling the mind with speculations of more direct importance, and arousing the hereditary conservatism which slumbers at the bottom of every true british heart in a common effort to uphold the laws of the country against the revolutionary element, sown broadcast at home, and prevailing with most disastrous consequences abroad. but the contribution of the english salons to feminism in its narrower sense, however important in its consequences, must be described as largely unintentional, and extremely qualified. the very mention of mary wollstonecraft's name was enough to arouse indignation and disgust in the bosom of every true "blue" except miss seward, on the joint score of her being considered an extreme feminist, a revolutionary and most of all: an atheist. the charge of atheism is of the many accusations brought against the author of "_a vindication of the rights of women_" beyond any doubt the most absurd, and where there was so little mutual understanding, it is not astonishing that there should be an utter lack of appreciation between such women as hannah more and mary wollstonecraft, both of whom were actuated by the noblest motives and whom a closer acquaintance could not have failed to bring nearer together. of the main contentions in the former's "_strictures_" a very considerable majority, stripped of their dogmatic spirit of orthodox christianity, and worded in such a manner as to make them sound as a vindication of inalienable rights and corresponding duties rather than an exhortation to a life of moral virtue, are an exact repetition of the notions put forward in the "_rights of women_"; with the contents of which hannah more was unacquainted. horace walpole, the tone of whose letters to "saint hannah" is so completely different from his usual scoffing as to suggest a conflict in the writer's mind between irony and genuine admiration, in referring to the paris massacres, expresses his disgust of "the philosophing serpent", and is pleased to find that his friend has not read her works; to which hannah replies that she has been "much pestered" to read the "_rights of women_", which she evidently never did. mary's feminism was of the most comprehensive description. although very far from atheism, her religious notions, shaken by bitter experience, were not sufficiently strong to support her in what was to her the very cruel struggle for life, the facts of which were, from her earliest infancy, so hideous as to leave her no leisure for the gradual development of social ideas under the regulating influence of a riper mind, but put her through the hard school of suffering. the problem with which she found herself confronted was an urgent one, calling for immediate solution. considerations of a future existence certainly did come at different times to comfort her, but they were to her a remnant of convention and called forth in times of pressure rather than an inherent part of her being. in proportion as the more tangible ideals of the revolution came to absorb her interest, the hope of salvation became a secondary consideration, which was not to be allowed to interfere with the necessity for correcting present evils and relieving present wants. to her, the problem of the female cause was stern reality which was well worth the devotion of a lifetime. her energetic mind took in the subject in its entirety and thought it out to the minutest details, suggesting radical changes without stopping to consider their feasibility, and impressing us with the almost masculine width of its range. how insipid and uninteresting compared to her radicalism are the attempts at a partial reform of a hannah more, the very limitations of which bring out more clearly the utter want of breadth, the narrow conventionality which hampered the growth of the ideal! to her and to her associates the woman question had a much narrower range, and remained limited to the problem of moral improvement. hannah more, indeed, had no cause to complain of scornful treatment at the hands of men, and in her circle, next to one or two of the greatest men of the day, women were the ruling influence. of the lower classes and their struggles her early youth had taught her little or nothing, and her sympathy with the poor and humble was awakened in the course of the long and bitter struggle of conventionalism against radicalism, in which, viewing the matter broadly, she ranged herself among the defenders of a doubtful cause. it gave her a better insight into the social conditions of england, and no doubt she grew to realise that the great problem of humanity had reached an acute stage, and that even in her own cherished country there were many wrongs to be righted. from that time she became more and more of a social reformer, but the pressing need of the case was forever mitigated by considerations of eternity. to her, who pinned her faith on the promise of life everlasting, the most glaring pictures of human misery faded before the beacon-light of faith and trust. she never found it difficult to be reconciled to the preponderance of evil, for she looked upon it "as making part of the dispensations of god", who in his supreme wisdom meant this world for a scene of discipline, not of remuneration. hence the utter incompatibility of the orthodox view with the doctrine of perfectibility, and the hostile attitude of the bluestocking ladies towards those of the new faith, by which this world was looked upon as all-in-all, and in which want and misery were considered as evils arising solely from the defects of human governments. "whatever is, is right", was hannah more's guiding principle, and to remove that inequality which in her eyes was a portion of god's great scheme seemed to her rebelling against god's own decree. she relieved human misery where she could, from a sense of christian duty and propriety, and by establishing schools tried to rouse the poor to a sense of moral duty, teaching them to be satisfied in the position in which it had pleased god to place them and to live in the hope of eternity. the practice of that humility which is among the first duties of a christian forbade any attempt at rising in the social scale. likewise, in the case of woman, there was to her only one great and leading circumstance that raised her importance, and might to a certain extent establish her equality: "christianity had exalted them to true and undisputed dignity; in christ jezus, as there is neither rich nor poor, bond nor free, so there is neither male nor female. in the view of that immortality which is brought to light by the gospel, she has no superior. women, to borrow the idea of an excellent prelate, make up one half of the human race, equally with men redeemed by the blood of christ." all other forms of equality do not seen to her worth fighting for. this view of hannah more's was fully shared by those among the bluestockings who took a more direct interest in social questions: mrs. montagu, mrs. chapone and mrs. carter. in their opinions about social inequality they were guided by the conservatism of dogmatic faith, as their views of the position of women derived colour from notions of propriety. they rejoiced with the rest of the nation at the news of the fall of the bastille, which to every true john bull had become the symbol of french slavery and which served as an opportunity to assert his own superiority and praise that perfect liberty which he imagined to be the privilege of every individual briton--and no doubt thought themselves extremely enlightened in doing so. but at the first reports of bloodshed and lawlessness propriety suggested that they had suffered themselves by their all-embracing love of humanity to be betrayed into feelings which might be thought distinctly improper, or be translated into a want of patriotic feeling. they chose to be englishwomen rather than cosmopolitans. this choice was made the easier for them as they had come to regard france as the chief bulwark of irreligion. hannah more complains (1799) that "that cold compound of irony, irreligion, selfishness and sneer, which make up what the french (_from whom we borrow the thing as well as the word_) so well express by the term _persiflage_, has of late years made an incredible progress in blasting the opening buds of piety in young persons of fashion."[27] when the immediate danger of revolution in england was over, some bluestockings--in particular mrs. montagu, hannah more and mrs. carter--responded to the appeal of suffering humanity, in a narrow compass, to the best of their ability, and in the case of the second with highly creditable zeal and devotion, but they did not, like mary wollstonecraft, rise to the occasion, forego public praise and suffer martyrdom for the cause of humanity. the bluestockings, therefore, cannot be ranked as militant feminists. they were content with the position of dependence which the authority of the bible assigns to women. it is true that even from among their circle an occasional protest was heard against the deliberate subjection of the female sex. the learned mrs. carter once complained to her friend archbishop seeker of the partiality of the male translator of the bible, who in rendering the first epistle of st. paul to the corinthians had translated the same verb in different ways so as to bring out what he thought ought to be the relations between husband and wife, writing that he was not to "put away" his wife, and that she was not to "leave" him; and the archbishop, who began by contradicting her, on referring to the bible was forced to acknowledge that she was right. on the whole, however, the literary remains of the bluestockings demonstrate pretty clearly that their confidence in female equivalence was not great. mrs. chapone, in her letters, mostly adheres to the creed of male superiority. she tries, however, to effect a compromise. man, the appointed ruler and head, is undoubtedly woman's superior, but a woman "should choose for her husband one whom she can heartily and willingly acknowledge her superior, and whose understanding and judgment she can prefer to her own". this sounds most revolutionary at a time when women, as a rule, were not allowed to choose their own husbands. it is interesting to note that miss hester mulso did, and made a love-match with mr. chapone, whom she soon after lost through death. she goes on to say that the husband should have "such an opinion of his wife's understanding, principles and integrity of heart, as will induce him to exalt her to the rank of his first and dearest friend", and concludes: "i believe it necessary that all such inequality and subjection as must check and refrain that unbounded confidence and frankness which are the essence of friendship, be laid aside or suffered to sleep". a qualified superiority, therefore, upon which the lord and master is supposed not to presume. among the correspondence of mrs. montagu, the "queen of the blues", published "by her great-great niece" miss e. j. climenson, is a letter to her devoted friend and admirer the earl of bath on the subject of her archenemy voltaire's tragedy of "_tancred_", in which she finds fault with the character of aménaide for not following virtue as by law established, but despising forms and following sentiment, "a dangerous guide". this is what we should expect from a bluestocking leader. she continues: "_designed by nature to act but a second part_, it is a woman's duty to obey rules; she is not to make or redress them". hannah more also admits the male superiority in a chapter on conversation in her "_strictures_", where she follows swift and mrs. barbauld in suggesting that men shall concur in the education of the female sex by allowing them the humble part of interested listeners to their superior conversation. "it is to be regretted", she says, "that many men, even of distinguished sense and learning, are too apt to consider the society of ladies as a scene in which they are rather to rest their understandings than to exercise them; while ladies, in return, are too much addicted to make their court by lending themselves to this spirit of trifling: they often avoid making use of what abilities they have, and affect to talk below their natural and acquired powers of mind, considering it as a tacit and welcome flattery to the understanding of men to renounce the exercise of their own"[28]. the last part of this statement strikes a higher note in its denunciation of the pernicious system of "relativity". mrs. carter also refers somewhere in her correspondence to the indignity of ladies and gentlemen at various assemblies being kept separated, as if the former were disqualified by the shortcomings of their sex from listening to the improving conversation of the latter. in conclusion it may be stated that the bluestocking assemblies in all probability arose from an ardent wish on the part of some intellectual ladies to intermingle with the conversation of the members of dr. johnson's club the charms of their own. one of the literary clubbists informs us that a certain lady, whom he does not name, but describes as distinguished by her beauty and taste for literature, used to invite them to dinner and share in the conversation. he may have meant miss reynolds, sir joshua's sister, who wrote a much praised "_essay on taste_", and whose salon was among the first where wits and bluestockings learnt to appreciate each other's society. boswell, in his "_life of johnson_" says: "it was much the fashion for several ladies to have evening assemblies, where the fair sex might participate in conversation with literary and ingenious men, _animated by a desire to please_". although the duty of receiving the guests and so placing them as to ensure animated discussions fell to the share of the women, yet few of them were bold enough to let themselves be heard in the presence of the literary dictator, whose oracular speeches were delivered with pompous assurance and listened to and taken in with becoming deference and humility. dr. johnson made and marred the literary and conversational reputations of his bevy of female admirers; fanny burney owed her success as a bluestocking principally to his praise of "_evelina_", as hannah did hers--next to the kind protection of garrick--to his unstinted eulogy of her "_bas bleu_" poem. johnson had said that "there was no name in poetry that might not be glad to own it." but after johnson's death there came a radical change, and in the absence of a male dictator to occupy the vacant throne, the female element predominated more and more. especially mrs. montagu "queened it" over her satellites, both male and female, and of all the bluestocking hostesses who vied for supremacy she came nearest to justifying the charge of pedantry. the question whether the bluestocking societies were either directly or indirectly an imitation of the older french salons must be answered with some degree of circumspection. that the influence of the latter was considerable may be taken for granted, and the direct points of contact were numerous. horace walpole in particular was an intimate of both, david hume frequented several paris salons and mme du bocage, mme de genlis and mme de staël--the last two in the year of their exile from france--were repeatedly seen in blue society. it is to the pen of the first that we owe one of the most vivid descriptions of mrs. montagu's convivial meetings. if we moreover consider that french interest in england which is a prominent feature of 18th century society and the close relations between the two countries, we do not wonder that a parallel movement to that of the french salon should have sprung up. and yet the bluestocking assemblies had a distinct individuality of their own; inferior to their french rivals in some respects, they were superior to them in others. most critics of the time agree in asserting their inferiority, which is a natural circumstance in view of the fact that they considered them as a literary and conversational movement, in which the chief aim was literary taste and polished, witty conversation. their estimate never went beyond these limits to consider the influence exercised by these côteries upon society in general. and it is when throwing into the scale the moral improvement, especially among women, which was the result of the efforts of the bluestocking ladies, that we realise that although different, they were not necessarily inferior to their french rivals. wraxall in his "_historical memoirs_" opines that "neither in the period of its duration, nor in the number, merit or intellectual eminence of the principal members, could the english society be held upon any parity with that of france." he might have added with equal truth that the average frenchwoman of the cultivated class is distinguished from her english sister by greater keenness of wit and by a greater brilliance of conversation. the chief talents of the french are of the mind, "de l'esprit", and are shown off to the best advantage, those of the english are rather of the heart and are not flaunted in public. english society, in the matter of outside splendour and brilliance, has always been completely overshadowed by the greater expansiveness of the french. the bluestocking hostesses were upon the whole less brilliant specimens of female magnificence, but they were undoubtedly far better women. for the light-hearted gallantry practised in the french salons they substituted warm and generous friendship, which considerations of envy only very rarely disturbed. the bluestocking atmosphere was purer, allowing one to breathe more comfortably than in some french salon where intrigue ruled the hour. the women were like the men, lacking in that "finesse" in which the french excelled, but kind and considerate, and upon the whole quicker to praise than to find fault. hannah more realised this when singing the praises of the blues in her "_bas bleu_" poem. she describes the members of the french assemblies as brilliant and witty, but lacking common sense and simplicity. her verdict would have been more correct if for the hôtel de rambouillet, against which her disapprobation is directed, she had substituted the later salons of the decline, where indeed a mistaken "préciosité" prevailed and "where point, and turn, and équivoque distorted every word they spoke". for indeed the parallelism with the salon of the 17th century is far more marked than with that of the 18th. the evolution of both french and english polite literary society furnishes a strong argument in favour of rousseau's theory that "everything degenerates in the hands of man"--by which he meant "humanity"--for after a short spell of glory both degenerated sadly. in both pedantry supplanted wit, and molière's "_femmes savantes_" might have found its counterpart--though probably not its equivalent--in fanny burney's play of "_the witlings_", which the unfavourable criticism of her friends induced her to destroy. the history of bluestocking pedantry is a repetition of what took place in french society with the exception that to the bluestocking society of england no second blossoming was granted by the chilling blasts of revolution. pedantry, that archenemy of wit, robbed it of all its charm, leaving naked learning, than which nothing can be less sociable. fanny burney signalled its approach, warned against it, and ended by joining in the general homage. there can be no doubt that the french salons occupy the more important place in the history of 18th century thought. no daring philosophical schemes were hatched under the auspices of the bluestockings, and if their conversation showed the influence of the rationalist spirit, their rationalism was not made subservient to projects of a revolutionary nature, but made to support with its evidence the long-established truth of orthodox religion. mrs. chapone in her "_letters on the improvement of the mind_" warns her niece that reason, which may help us to discover some of the great laws of morality, is yet liable to error. the sending of god's son therefore is to be looked upon as a demonstration or revelation of the evidences of the christian religion, by which we become convinced _on rational grounds_ of its divine authority. here, as in the matter of sexual preeminence, mrs. chapone loved a compromise between the head and the heart. the company at mrs. vesey's is described as a good "rational society" by hannah more, who herself rather affected a "comfortable, rational day". where politics are discussed, the door is opened wide to intrigue, and party-feelings will prevail. politics had been the ruin of many a periodical attempt and their exclusion at the bluestocking assemblies left the field to literary conversation. philanthropy, or active benevolence, was practised instead, and the light moralising tendencies of the _spectator_ enlistened the same sympathy among the bluestockings which the sterner moral code of port royal awakened in the heart of the more serious hannah. upon the whole the bluestockings were not, like their french rivals, recruited from the aristocracy. they belonged to the middle-class, to whom the 18th century was a time of great financial prosperity. mrs. montagu's wealth was considerable, and she made a liberal use of it not only in philanthropy, but also in encouraging needy authors, which made hannah more refer to her as "the female maecenas of hill street"[29]. they were mostly the daughters of clergymen and schoolmasters, who in early youth acquired that taste for learning which their fathers or near relations were able to gratify, and that serious cast of mind which never forsook some of them and fitted them to be religious moralists. the tone of their conversation and writings was a distinct improvement upon that of the ladies of the preceding generation, of whom it was said that those who--like mrs. aphra behn and mrs. de la rivière manley--excelled in wit, failed signally in chastity. the love of scandal which had been their chief characteristic, and which sheridan justly satirised, was an object of scorn to the bluestockings, who were as careful to preserve the reputation of others as they were of their own. that some of them occasionally went too far in constituting themselves the mentors of others who were fully able to take care of themselves, is an "amiable weakness" which may be readily forgiven. thus, for instance, mrs. thrale's second marriage with the italian vocalist signor piozzi aroused a good deal of unfavourable comment, brought about an indirect rupture with fanny burney and partly caused her withdrawal from the bluestocking circles. the same exaggerated notions, arising partly from hatred of the encyclopedian spirit of revolutionism embodied in the much-reviled rousseau, occur in mrs. delany's "_essay on propriety_" and in her extremely voluminous correspondence. mrs. chapone's _letters_ insist on a proper regard to reputation as one of the most desirable qualities in a friend. she emphatically distinguished between love of reputation, which is nothing but discretion, and undue regard of opinion, which is only vanity. here her views coincided with mary wollstonecraft's, who had pointed out the error of wanting to make opinion "the high throne of virtue" to women in rousseau's _emile_, but who did not make mrs. chapone's distinction. in the behaviour of young women towards gentlemen, the latter says, great delicacy is required, "yet women oftener err from too great a consciousness of the supposed views of men, than from inattention to those views, or want of caution against them." she therefore agreed that the "desire to please" should be kept under a certain amount of restriction. all the bluestockings' actions arose from a strong sense of duty, which the majority of french hostesses--with the emphatic exception of mme de lambert--sadly lacked. one of their deliberate aims was the substitution of conversation "à la française" for cards. the first determined attack upon the greatest social curse of the age was made by mrs. chapone,--then miss mulso--in collaboration with johnson in no. 10 of the _rambler_ in the year 1750. she wrote to johnson in his capacity of censor of manners, informing him that she, "lady racket", intended to have "cards at her house every sunday". she, of course, intended that johnson should seize the opportunity to attack gambling and thus range himself openly on the side of the intellectual ladies who were in open revolt against the practice. johnson replied that even at the most brilliant of card-tables he had always thought his visit lost, "for i could know nothing of the company but their clothes and their faces." their complete absorption in the vicissitudes of the game, their exulting triumph when successful, and their flush of rage at defeat or at "the unskilful or unlucky play of a partner" so disgusted him that he soon retired. "they were too trifling for me when i was grave, and too dull when i was cheerful". mrs. carter, who did not object to taking an occasional hand at whist or quadrille, was vehement in her condemnation of faro, which she hoped horace walpole on getting into the house would succeed in putting down. hannah more's "_bas bleu_" further endorses the statement that the substitution of conversation for cards was one of the objects of bluestockingism. the introduction states its origin and character. the ladies at mrs. vesey's, mrs. montagu's and mrs. boscawen's, to mention the three hostesses to whom according to their chronicler hannah more "the triple crown divided fell", although in the opinion of others mrs. thrale and mrs. ord were candidates for mrs. boscawen's place--assembled "for the sole purpose of conversation, and were different in no respect from other parties, but that the company did _not_ play at cards." it was there that hannah more found the rambouillet-ideal realised of learning without pedantry, good taste without affectation, and conversation without calumny, levity or any censurable error. the attacks directed against whist, "that desolating hun", and quadrille, "that vandal of colloquial wit", were made not so much on the score of their devastating influence on the moral character as of their exclusion of conversation. it should be remembered, however, that hannah more wrote her "_bas bleu_" in the years before the desire to effect moral reforms got the better of the natural vanity of displaying her considerable intellectual talents. conversation thus became in itself a pursuit, almost a cult, the purpose of which was to "mend the taste and form the mind". the record of what was said by the most prominent male and female wits at the bluestocking gatherings was kept with a minuteness which is characteristic of the time in the endless memoirs and the voluminous correspondence in which every literary lady indulged, and upon which she lavished her talents as an author. immeasurably the best is fanny burney's diary, with its clever and vivid sidelights upon gatherings in which she herself as the successful author of _evelina_, and the protégée of johnson, was lionised, although she never became a bluestocking in the full sense of the word, her temperament being far too sprightly and volatile, and the language of her pen too gushing to suit the notions of propriety of some ladies, whom she further offended by her marriage to a french refugee and by the freedom with which she published details that were not meant for the general ear. the constellation in the bluestocking circles differed somewhat from french society, where the hostess received in her drawing-room a number of prominent men-of-letters, scientists, diplomatists, artists and philosophers, the female element being represented by herself, and only a very few privileged friends. at the english assemblies the majority were ladies, and although some members of the literary club, johnson's satellites, were regular frequenters, the female element predominated. boswell, johnson's biographer, the painter sir joshua reynolds, the politicians fox and burke--before the stirring political events that drew them apart,--the historian gibbon, the poet goldsmith, the actor garrick and the author lyttleton--mrs. montagu's friend and collaborator in the "_dialogues of the_ _dead_"--alike delighted in bluestocking society and by their conversation helped in that diffusion of high principles which to mrs. chapone in her "_essay on conversation_" seemed more important than the french object of sharpening the wit. in her "_letters on the improvement of the mind_" she says that conversation must be cultivated "by the mutual communication of whatever may conduce to the improvement or innocent entertainment of each other." the literature which was the direct outcome of bluestockingism is far slighter in bulk than the poetical effusions called forth by the spirit of gallantry which dominated the early french salons. there was between the ladies and gentlemen of the english circles rather less love-making and rather more mutual esteem. there was hardly any of that complimentary occasional poetry of the lighter kind in which the love-sick french swains of the montausier type had found relief. one of the rare instances of verse-making at an assembly occurred in mrs.--afterwards lady--miller's provincial drawing-room at batheaston, where, in imitation of a french custom, each of the assembled guests deposited his or her poetry in an antique vase, to be read aloud and judged. that this "puppet-show parnassus[30]" called forth the ridicule of walpole and johnson proves sufficiently that emulation of this kind was not regarded with sympathy among bluestockings and their wellwishers. it is difficult to say whether the bluestockings' contribution to the increase of female importance and influence rivalled that of the french societies, but we undeniably find, that in the latter half of the 18th century the popular verdict regarding women is undergoing a distinct change. instead of the scornful blame to which pope, swift and chesterfield have made us accustomed we actually find women recognised as an influence in literature by no less a critic than the great doctor himself. madame d'arblay's _diary_ relates how--in 1799--johnson once talked to mrs. thrale and sir philip jennings about "the amazing progress made of late years in literature by the women." he said he himself was astonished at it, and told them he well remembered when a woman who could spell a common letter was regarded as all-accomplished; but now they vied with the men in everything. the same _diary_ makes mention (in 1782) of the verses published by the author's father--dr. burney--in the _herald_, making women the object of praise instead of blame and ridicule. the composition was entitled "_advice to the herald_", published anonymously, and ascribed to sir w. w. pepys, until in 1822 a m. s. copy was found among dr. burney's papers. they exhort the paper not only to proclaim the shame of woman, but to also "record in story such as shine their sex's glory". hannah more's "pathetic pen", mrs. carter's "piety and learning", fanny burney's "quick discerning" are praised; and special places are retained for mrs. chapone, "high-bred, elegant mrs. boscawen"; lady lucan, mrs. leveson gower, mrs. greville, lady crewe and "fertile-minded" mrs. montagu. david garrick, hannah more's faithful friend and supporter, in referring to the success of her ballad entitled "_sir eldred of the bower_", followed by another poem called "_the bleeding rock_", playfully represents the male sex as mortified by female success and makes apollo the author. and in hoole's "_aurelia, or the contest_", likewise referred to in fanny burney's _diary_, the example of "the wiser females" is glanced at to counterbalance female folly. all which examples tend to show that public opinion regarding women was undergoing a slow process of change. now that women themselves had taken their moral improvement in hand, the male authors felt that they could again indulge in some measure of praise. on the other hand, women had become sufficiently conscious of the moral shortcomings of the opposite sex, to take an occasional share in their reclamation and point out the error of their ways. when, after long circulating in manuscript, the "_bas bleu_" poem was at last published, it was accompanied by another entitled "_florio_", describing the fopperies and the utter worthlessness of a typical "maccaroni" or young man of fashion, a criticism which none of us would think of calling undeserved. the department of literature in which women were qualified to shine _par excellence_ was the novel. richardson's novels had succeeded marvellously in awakening interest in the workings of the female heart, and analysis of the female character to its minutest details was what the reading public had grown to expect. this was a field in which women have since abundantly proved themselves in many ways the equals of men, and the story of the universal praise with which "_evelina_" was welcomed, and the author's mingled pride in her achievement and bashfulness, arising out of the fear that she might be thought lacking in modesty, is among the most amusing parts of her diary. unfortunately, for all her keenness of perception and fine sense of humour, there was about her character a certain want of depth, which became more apparent as she grew older. but she certainly paved the way for the later female novelists, and particularly for jane austen. not the least among the bluestockings' merits was the fact that by the example some of them gave they accustomed the british public to seeing females engaged in different occupations which before had been the exclusive work of men. where ladies of such a strong sense of propriety did not shrink from appearing before the public as authors, and even pseudonyms were often thought unnecessary, the domain of literature ceased to be the exclusive property of men. strangely enough, the notion that female knowledge should be carefully concealed, originating in molière's _femmes savantes_ and prevailing all through the 17th and 18th centuries in both literatures until mary wollstonecraft openly disregarded it, was implicitly obeyed by the bluestockings. not all the bluestocking ladies were authors; mrs. vesey for instance, probably the most loveable among the hostesses, who understood better than any of her rivals the art of making her guests comfortable, has left us no literary legacy. of the others, mrs. delany and mrs. boscawen concentrated their literary energies chiefly upon their correspondence, while mrs. carter's clever translation of epictetus which elicited the unstinted praise of mr. long, a later translator, who repeatedly, when in doubt, consulted her text, is of no importance to her sex. the principal literary contributions to the subject of feminism were made by three bluestockings: mrs. montagu, mrs. chapone and mrs. hannah more, the nature of whose contributions corresponds closely with their respective characters. the natural bias of elizabeth robinson's character was strengthened by the circumstances of her education. in her early youth she was often at cambridge, where her grandmother's second husband, dr. conyers middleton, took great delight in her keenness of understanding, and often kept her in the room while he was conversing with his visitors, among whom were the greatest philosophers and scholars of the day. her father was also amused at the child's precocity and they used to have frequent "brain cudgellings", until he became painfully aware that he was no longer a match for his clever daughter. she was a furious letter-writer, which occupation, if it sharpened her wit, also developed in her that insatiable intellectual vanity which afterwards became her ruling passion, distinguished her as a bluestocking from her more modest rivals and prevented her from being as universally liked as a mrs. vesey. her biographer mr. huchon says that "she was all mind, if not all soul", and was more respected than loved. sentimentality was not among her weaknesses, her sound practical sense dictated both to herself and to others. she strongly opposed the love-match which her ward miss dorothea gregory--one of the daughters to whom the well-known physician of that name addressed his legacy of advice--asked her permission to make, and the ubiquitous fanny burney writes that mrs. montagu once asked her, "if she should write a play, to let her know of it", which vexed fanny's "second daddy", mr. crisp, as it "implied interference". her own marriage (1742) was purely a "marriage de raison", the husband being considerably older, and a man of great wealth. mrs. chapone afterwards called her with reason "an ignoramus in love", which did not in this case prevent the marriage from being fairly happy. neither was mrs. montagu free from affectation. much-praised simplicity and humility were not among her virtues, and no flattery seems to have been too gross for her to accept. lady louisa stuart--lady mary wortley montagu's granddaughter, to whom we are indebted for some humorous pictures of bluestocking society--describes her as thoroughly satisfied with herself. her speech is described as affected, although ready wit can scarcely be denied her. her reply on being informed that voltaire, shakespeare's translator, had boasted of having been the first frenchman to find "quelques perles dans son fumier": "c'est donc un fumier qui a fertilisé une terre bien ingrate" is a good specimen both of her proficiency in the french language and of her quickness of repartee. however, she often descended from the heights of rhetoric, and her affectation of speech seems to have been a weakness into which she was occasionally betrayed by a momentary lapse of her fine judgment. speaking of mr. gray she once said: "i think he is the first poet of my age; but if he comes to my fireside, i will teach him not only to speak prose, but to talk nonsense, if occasion be." she loved to make a display of her learning, and johnson said of her that "she diffused more knowledge in her conversation than any women he knew." at the same time she criticised others freely, which procured her many enemies. mr. crisp thought her "a vain, empty, conceited pretender, and little else"; wraxall judged that "there was nothing feminine about her"; and an essay by cumberland in the _observer_ of 1785 describes the "feast of reason" at mrs. montagu's house in portman square, where the lady herself is satirised under the name of "vanessa". it describes her as stimulated to charity, affability and hospitality exclusively by the dictates of inordinate vanity, and even accuses her of bribing her critics: "authors were fee'd for dedications, and players patronised on benefit nights". her charity was, indeed, of a condescending kind. thus her annual feast to the chimney-sweeps on may day rather smacks of the doctrine of good works pointing the way to salvation, and to the working people in her coal-mines she was a dutiful but immeasurably superior patroness. in a few isolated cases, however, there were flashes of real kindness. she gave unstinted financial support to mrs. williams, the blind poetess whose lot had aroused johnson's compassion, and her letter of condolence to mrs. delany on the occasion of the death of their mutual friend the duchess of portland has the genuine ring of grief and sympathy. it tries to find solace in considerations of eternity. mrs. montagu's religious views were strict, and religious worship was a serious matter with her. however, her strong individuality would not suffer her to bow her intellect before that of any man. beyond the admitted fact that "god is the loving father of all", she has only hope, but no definite knowledge of the certainty of a future state. such was the character of the lady whom johnson called "queen of the blues", and fanny burney "our sex's glory". the incident which had a determining influence on her further life was the death of her only child. grief of that kind may be to some extent drowned in religion or in social intercourse, and mrs. montagu tried both. she emphatically believed in the social state as productive of good through the friction of minds. thus it came about that in the middle of the century--the exact date is nowhere given, which makes it difficult to decide whether mrs. montagu, or mrs. vesey, or miss frances reynolds had the right to consider herself the first bluestocking hostess,--mrs. montagu opened her salon in hill street, where she entertained a great number of guests of the most widely different description, her rooms being often filled from eleven in the morning till eleven at night. the best descriptions of mrs. montagu's parties are to be found in hannah more's correspondence and in mme du bocage's "_letters on england, holland and italy_." the latter visited england at a time when mrs. montagu's breakfasts were all the fashion, served "in a closet lined with painted paper of pekin and furnished with the choicest movables of china", the so-called chinese room, recalling the splendours of the "chambre bleue" of the marquise de rambouillet. it was probably at mrs. montagu's and at mrs. thrale's that dr. johnson chiefly indulged in his tea-orgies, and mme du bocage describes his hostess as pouring out her delicious tea, attired in a white apron and a large straw hat. on the whole the english ladies paid more attention to gastric delights than their french sisters, and in mrs. montagu's case her well-provided table often relieved her from the wearisome duty of keeping up the flow of conversation. in this lay the characteristic difference between mrs. montagu and mrs. vesey. the latter wanted her guests to forget her and to consult their own inclinations in the forming of groups of conversation, contenting herself with listening to her literary lions; mrs. montagu on the other hand, to quote fanny burney, "cared not a fig, as long as she spoke herself". that her intellectual queenship involved the duty of maintaining conversation at a high pitch seems to have considerably worried her upon occasions. the bluestocking hostesses kept a great variety of hours. in the last decades of the century late teas were in vogue, but the usual entertainments were breakfasts and dinners, in which there was a great variety. we read of mrs. garrick's dinner parties to a select company of eight chosen friends, among whom hannah more was proud to find herself, and according to horace walpole mrs. montagu's breakfasts at her house in portman square sometimes included seven hundred guests, from royalty downwards. to this magnificent abode she removed in 1781, six years after the death of her husband. she spared no cost in fitting it up in the most gorgeous fashion, and although walpole thought her decorations in good taste, one cannot help feeling doubts as to the room with the feather hangings of which cowper wrote in 1788 that "the birds put off their every hue, to dress a room for montagu." the famous "room of the cupidons" made her a little ridiculous in the eyes of the more sober-minded ladies, one of whom (mrs. delany) in a letter refers somewhat spitefully to "her age". there are no references to any of mrs. montagu's parties taking place out of doors, but some of the minor hostesses would sometimes send out invitations to tea, followed by a walk in the park or fields. this custom was perhaps an imitation of the habits prevailing among rambouillet-circles. neither do we find anywhere mention of stated days, such as were kept by the french hostesses, although sundays were objected to by some of the more orthodox. the greater artificiality of arrangement at the bluestocking assemblies appears from the pains taken by the hostess to so place her guests as to ensure a free flow of wit. in connection with mrs. montagu, reports are contradictory. hannah more's correspondence informs us that the company used to split up into little groups of five or six; fanny burney on the contrary relates how the guests were seated in a semi-circle round the fire. here again, mrs. vesey followed her individual inclinations, for the bas-bleu poem tells us how her "potent ward the circle broke", insisting on an easy informality in the grouping of her guests. mrs. ord seems to have preferred the later method of drawing chairs round a table in the centre. mrs. montagu's early correspondence is full of wit and humour, and displays so much discrimination that we feel surprised the writer did not make her mark later in life as a novelist. the critical faculty she possessed in so eminent a degree fitted her for satire, the object being naturally contemporary society. in a letter, written when she was twenty, she gives a vivid description of fashionable life at bath, ridiculing the emptiness of daily conversation and signalising the general depravity of morals. "how d'ye do?" prevails in the morning, and "what's trumps?" at night; the ladies' only topic is diseases, and the men are all bad. "there is not one good, no not one." she likewise freely vented her ridicule of overdone fashions, and descriptions like the following are by no means rare. "lady p. and her two daughters make a very remarkable figure, and will ruin the poor mad woman of tunbridge by out-doing her in dress. such hats, capuchins, and short sacks as were never seen! one of the ladies looked like a state-bed running upon castors. she had robbed the valance and tester of a bed for a trimming." although her satire is chiefly directed against her own sex, she strongly protested against the opinion that women were morally inferior to men, whose insincere flattery was largely responsible for female frivolity. one of her most constant friends and platonic admirers was mr. (afterwards lord) lyttleton, her vindication of whose memory against dr. johnson in later years led to the most famous of bluestocking quarrels. in 1760, lyttleton published his "_dialogues of the dead_"--referred to rather unkindly by walpole as the "dead dialogues". the preface says that after the dialogues of lucan, fénelon and fontenelle, english literature can boast only the learned dialogues of one mr. hurde, who takes living persons for his characters. the author proposes to take his cue from the history of all times and nations, opposing them to or comparing them with each other, "which is, perhaps, one of the most agreeable methods that can be employed of conveying to the mind any critical, moral or political observations". needless to say, the dead are supposed to know all that has taken place since their decease. mr. lyttelton goes on to say that the last three dialogues are by a different hand. "if the friend who favoured me with them should write any more, i shall think the public owes me a great obligation, for having excited a genius so capable of uniting delight with instruction, and giving to knowledge and virtue those graces which the wit of the age has too often employed all its skill to bestow upon folly and vice." the above sufficiently denotes the character of the dialogues in which mrs. montagu--for the "different hand" was hers--had every opportunity to display her satirical vein. the numbers 27 and 28, of which the former satirises fashionable conduct and the latter the literature of gallantry, are illustrative of her opinions of contemporary female character. the characters of no. 27 are mercury and a modern fine lady, whose name is mrs. modish. the god comes to fetch her to the nether world, but she begs to be excused: "i am engaged, absolutely engaged". mercury thinks she is referring to her duties to her husband and children, but he is quickly disillusioned. "look on my chimneypiece, and you will see i was engaged to the play on mondays, balls on tuesdays, the opera on saturdays, and to card-assemblies the rest of the week, for two months to come; and it would be the rudest thing in the world not to keep my appointments. if you will stay with me till the summer season, i will wait on you with all my heart. perhaps the elysian fields may be less detestable than the country in our world. pray have you a fine vauxhall and ranelagh? i think i should not dislike drinking the lethe waters when you have a full season." when mercury objects that she has made pleasure the only object in her life, she replies that she has indeed made diversion her chief business, but has got no real pleasure out of it. for late hours and fatigue have given her the vapours and spoiled the natural cheerfulness of her temper. her ambition to be thought "du bon ton" (which mrs. montagu explains in a note is french cant for the fashionable air of conversation and manners) has ruled her conduct. when asked by mercury to define the term, mrs. modish is somewhat perplexed. "it is--i can never tell you what it is; but i will try to tell you what it is not. in conversation it is not wit, in manners it is not politeness, in behaviour it is not address; but it is a little like them all. it can only belong to people of a certain rank; who live in a certain manner, with certain persons, who have not certain virtues, and who have certain vices, and who inhabit a certain part of the town. like a place by courtesy, it gets a higher rank than the person can claim, but which those who have a legal title to precedency dare not dispute for fear of being thought not to understand the rules of politeness." mercury finds fault with her for sacrificing all her real interests and duties to so arbitrary a thing as "bon ton". she asks him what he would have had her do? to which mercury replies that her real business consisted in promoting her husband's happiness and devoting herself to the education of her children. it appears that their religion, sentiments and manners were to be learnt from a dancing-master, a music-master and a french governess. the result will be "wives without conjugal affection and mothers without maternal care." mercury's final advice to the lady is to "remain on this side the styx", and to wander about without end or aim, to look into the elysian fields, but never attempt to enter them, lest minos should push her into tartarus, "for duties neglected may bring on a sentence not much less severe than crimes committed." the characters of the next dialogue are plutarch, charon and a modern bookseller. it contains a pointed satire on literary taste. it appears that the works of plutarch do not command any sale whatever except to "a few pedants," but "_the lives of highwaymen_" have brought our bookseller a competent fortune, and the enormous sale of "the lives of men that never lived" (by which the novel is meant) have set him up for life. this latest modern improvement in writing enables a man to "read all his life and have no knowledge at all." modern books not only dispose to gallantry and coquetry, but give rules for them. caesar's commentaries and the account of xenophon's expedition are not more studied by military commanders than our novels are by the fair; to a different purpose indeed, for their military maxims teach to conquer, ours to yield; those inflame the vain and idle love of glory, these inculcate a noble contempt of reputation. if the women had not the friendly assistance of modern fiction, the bookseller fears they might long remain "in an insipid purity of mind; with a discouraging reserve of behaviour." plutarch is shocked at so much degeneracy of taste and wishes that for the sake of the good example he had expatiated more on the character of lucretia and some other heroines. it grieves him to hear that chastity is no longer valued, and that crime and immorality, far from meeting with the punishment they deserve, are universally applauded. and yet it is not more than a century since a frenchman wrote a much admired life of cyrus under the name of artamenes[31], in which he ascribed to him far greater actions than those recorded of him by xenophon and herodotus. he goes on to praise the gallant days of chivalry, when authors made it their business to incite men to virtue by holding up as an example the deeds of fabulous heroes, whereas it seems to be the custom of a later age to incite them to vice by the history of fabulous scoundrels. "men of fine imagination have soared into the regions of fancy to bring back astrea: you go thither in search of pandora, oh disgrace to letters! oh shame to the muses!" the bookseller's feeble remonstrance that authors have to comply with the manners and disposition of those who are to read them, is met with the indignant remark that they should first of all correct the vices and follies of their age. to give examples of domestic virtue would surely be more useful to women than to inflame their minds with the deeds of great heroines. "true female praise arises not from the pursuit of public fame, but from an equal progress in the path marked out for them by their great creator." thus we find that even plutarch is pressed into service to inculcate a religious moral. the bluestocking ladies were sufficiently enlightened to recognise the deep wisdom of the ancients, which is of all ages and independent of religious doctrines. mrs. carter, the translator of epictetus, was a woman of profound piety. the bookseller now remarks that some authors have indeed tried to instil virtuous notions. in _clarissa harlowe_ "one finds the dignity of heroism tempered by the meekness and humility of religion, a perfect purity of mind and sanctity of manners", and _sir charles grandison_ is "a noble pattern of every private virtue, with sentiments so exalted as to render him equal to every public duty." next to richardson, fielding and marivaux are remarkable for their fine moral touches, and some comfort is to be derived from the reflection that when there is wit and elegance enough in a book to make it sell, it is not the worse for good morals. here charon appears to conduct our bookseller to his future abode, but deeming him after all "too frivolous an animal to present to wise minos", proposes to constitute him _friseur_ to tisiphone, and make him "curl up her locks with satires and libels". the above pieces derive their chief interest from the fact that they are among the very first instances of female satire of a kind which in being more pointed and more direct than that of the spectator, and less bitter and exaggerated than that of swift, written by a member of the sex who was herself a recognised leader of society, was more calculated than anything else to impress the female mind with the necessity of thorough reform. strange to say, mrs. montagu's claims for female instruction other than moral are very modest. it is a subject she seldom refers to, although there is a letter dated 1773 to her sister-in-law mrs. robinson, containing a reference to the education of her little niece, in which she certainly does not aim very high. a boarding-school is recommended in spite of the fact that what girls learn there is most trifling, "but they unlearn what would be of great disservice--a provincial dialect which is extremely ungenteel, and other tricks that they learn in the nursery." french lessons she deems unnecessary, "unless for persons in very high life", and she expects a great deal of benefit from a good air and a good dancing-master. mrs. montagu here presents that curious mixture of good sense and narrow conventionality which proves the extreme difficulty of getting away from influences and forming an independent judgment. in the "_essay on shakespeare_" (1769) mrs. montagu appears as a literary critic. she felt offended at voltaire's disparagement of the great english author and also at the frenchman's haughty arrogance. the essay was favourably criticised in the _critical review_, and cowper praised it in a letter to lady hesketh in the following words: "i no longer wonder that mrs. montagu stands at the head of all that is called learned, and that every critic veils his bonnet to her superior judgment.... the learning, the good sense, the sound judgment, and the wit displayed in it fully justify not only my compliment, but all compliments that either have been already paid to her talents or shall be paid hereafter." but johnson spoke scornfully of it. he said he had "taken up the end of the web, and finding it packthread, had thought it useless to go further in search of embroidery," but had to grant afterwards that it was conclusive against voltaire. it procured mrs. montagu a great many friends in france, where such wit as hers was sure to find full appreciation. when, seven years later, she visited paris, voltaire wrote another furious article against shakespeare, which was read at the académie in her presence. "i think madam," said one of the members when the reading was over, "you must be rather sorry at what you have just heard." mrs. montagu shrugged her shoulders. "i, sir! not at all! i am not one of m. voltaire's friends!" of quite a different cast of character was mrs. chapone, whose "_letters on the improvement of the mind_" were dedicated to mrs. montagu. she was plain and uninteresting, and when the romance of her life had taken an untimely ending, it is to be feared her conversation became too much like sermonizing to suit vivacious young ladies like fanny burney, who thought her assemblies "very dull". but whatever she wrote bears the stamp of sincerity. she was evidently deeply concerned about the moral welfare of the niece she addressed in her letters--the example set by mme de sévigné and imitated by lady mary wortley montagu had found followers--and she honestly tried to reconcile what was noble and proper in her eyes with the demands of convention. above all she tried to inculcate that sense of responsibility for our actions which she held to be the basis of true christianity. all our strivings should have the same purpose; that of bringing us nearer to god. her niece is told to render herself more useful and pleasing to her fellow-creatures (a concession to prevailing opinions), "_and consequently more acceptable to god_". this last addition completely subverts the meaning of what precedes. without it, the sense would be: "please others and you will please your own vanity," which now becomes: "please others and try to make them happy, and you will please god." mrs. chapone thought pride and vanity the worst vices. men were particularly addicted to the former, since to be proud is to admire oneself; and women to the latter, for vain is she who desires to be admired by others. it is the vice of little minds, chiefly conversant with trifling subjects, and brings affectation in its train. the vain woman turns exaggerated weakness to account to ensure her empire over the stronger sex. thus arises that false sensibility which will weep for a fly and leads to a thousand excesses. a well-directed reason will keep the feelings under control and spur us to actions of christian charity. those who relieve the sufferer are of more benefit to him than those who lament over his misfortunes. sensibility is, indeed, one of the catchwords of the century. originally a laudable compassion and sympathy with the sufferings of others and a reaction against "the faithless coldness of the times", richardson's novels show how soon it began to degenerate into sickly sentimentality which, when indulging in the luxury of woe, forgot to relieve the suffering which called forth the tears of sentiment. one of the most serious charges brought against j. j. rousseau was that in his "_nouvelle héloise_" and in his "_confessions_" he makes his lovers wallow to a sickening extent in the ecstasy of grief, inducing others by the magic of his personality to imitate him. this false sensibility was as much the abomination of the bluestocking ladies as a well-regulated fellow-feeling was thought commendable, and here at least mary wollstonecraft heartily agreed with them. the usual reproach that the revolutionary leaders, those "friends of humanity", in fighting for the interest of the human race neglected the immediate wants of the individual--of which argument especially the anti-jacobin made ample use--was, therefore, in her case at least, utterly undeserved. hannah more made "_sensibility_" the subject of a poem dedicated to mrs. boscawen, and in her "_strictures_" devoted an entire chapter to it. in both the conclusion runs that sensibility has received its true direction when it is supremely turned to the love of god: "but if religious bias rule the soul, then sensibility exalts the whole." there is, of course, in mrs. chapone's letters the usual warning against the danger of fiction, especially of the sentimental kind, the chief nurse of false sensibility, and also an element arising from the wish to reconcile christian charity with the "necessary inequality" among individuals: the question of the treatment of inferiors. since the chief duties of woman are of a domestic nature, it follows that the management of servants will be her task, and the christian in mrs. chapone would see them treated with kind civility, while the lady of quality in her warns against the danger of too close intimacy with people of low birth and education. the idea of raising them by slow degrees to a higher social level probably never suggested itself to her. her ideal of female instruction must be likewise described as in the main conventional, with a few useful hints to mark a partial advance. dancing and french are "so universal that they cannot be dispensed with", but music and drawing she wanted to be taught only to those who were qualified by possessing talent. the study of history is recommended as giving a liberal and comprehensive view of human nature, and supplying materials for conversation, and the reading of poetry will improve the female imagination, which only wants regulating to be superior to that of men. shakespeare, milton, and mrs. montagu's _essay_ ought to be the object of diligent study, and even heathen mythology and greek philosophy may be recommended as containing a strong moral element. the pursuit of knowledge for its own sake clearly did not appeal to mrs. chapone at all. the most pronounced character among the bluestockings, as well as the most privileged among them in literary gifts was beyond any doubt mrs. hannah more.[32] it will be interesting, in continuation of the more general appreciation of respective tendencies in the introduction to this chapter, to contrast her with mary wollstonecraft with a view to establishing the chief causes from which the difference in their ideas arose, and arriving at a vindication of the laudable intentions of both. if mary wollstonecraft was turned into a social reformer chiefly through the influence of the outward circumstances which dominated her youth, hannah more's career was largely the consequence of certain innate qualities, which predestined her to become a moralist. she may have inherited her preaching propensities from her father, who had himself been designed for the church before circumstances interfered to turn him into a schoolmaster. her mother, a farmer's daughter, devoted herself entirely to the children's education. in her earliest youth, little hannah's favourite pastime--as her biographer and admirer mr. w. roberts tells us in his memoirs--was the writing of long exhortative letters "to depraved characters", and when in later years she lived at mrs. garrick's we find her referred to as the latter's "domestic chaplain". and yet she could be witty enough when she chose and was not without a sense of humour. at the time of the writing of her "_bas bleu_" she sent her friend mrs. pepys a pair of stockings for one of her children, accompanied by a letter, "_the bas blanc_", in which she treats the subject as if it were an epic, "so far of a moral cast that its chief end is utility,"--hoping the child will be able "to run through it with pleasure". she goes on to say that "the exordium is the natural introduction by which you are led into the whole work. the middle, i trust, is free from any unnatural humour or inflation, and the end from any disproportionate littleness. i have avoided bringing about the catastrophe too suddenly, as i know that would hurt him at whose feet i lay it", and so on in the same strain. mary wollstonecraft would have been utterly incapable of such playfulness. a further determining factor in the difference in the lives of both was the treatment received at the hands of the influential. mary was first treated with indifference and coldness, and afterwards reviled for her opinions, whereas hannah more was courted and flattered in a way which might have turned the head of any more volatile girl. to the struggle for life of which mary bore the marks till her dying-day, hannah was a total stranger, having had a comfortable annuity settled on her by a mr. turner, who once made her an offer of marriage. thus secured against penury, that constant dread of rising authors, hannah could go to london and give herself up to social amusements and to literature. her meeting with garrick ensured her a hearty welcome in bluestocking circles, and his support smoothed her brief dramatic career and contributed to the warm reception of her first poetic attempts. they represent her contribution to romanticism, and gained the approval of no less a critic than dr. johnson himself. hannah more thus became a universal favourite, and her "vers de société" became very popular. however, her career as a dramatist came to an end with garrick's death, and after the success of "_bas bleu_" and "_sensibility_" she more and more directed her energies towards social and moral reform. the bluestocking assemblies, much as they appealed to her love of witty conversation, afforded no outlet for that pent-up energy which made her long for some worthy object on which to concentrate herself for the benefit of society. it may be said that from the decade which saw the outbreak of the french revolution dates the participation of english women in the discussion of the great social problems by which the times were stirred. it was as natural that hannah more should openly declare herself in favour of a strict maintenance of the existing social order as that mary wollstonecraft should become the champion of radical social and political reform. thus, each of the contending parties numbered among the warmest advocates of their cause a member of the female sex. and yet, previous to the great social upheaval in france, hannah more at one time seemed likely to range herself among the partisans of moderate social reform. her first social object was found in the struggle for the abolition of the slave-trade which in 1787 held the attention of parliament. mr. wilberforce became her "red cross knight", and hannah wrote a poem entitled "_the black slave trade_", in which her attitude towards the revolution is foreshadowed. the lines: shall britain, _where the soul of freedom reigns_, forge chains for others she herself disdains? forbid it, heaven! o let the nation know, the liberty she tastes she will bestow; are sufficient to show that she consented to be the champion of liberty in other countries only while they regarded england as the natural home of freedom. burke had no more faithful follower among his conservative friends than the reformer hannah more. after the outbreak of the revolution she soon altered her opinion that, although the capture of the bastille had been undertaken by "lawless rabble" yet "some good" might be expected from it. price's sermon filled her with horror, and burke's _reflections_ had her undivided sympathy. while engaged upon religious tracts and plans for instructing the children of the poor came the news of dupont's speech in the national assembly, attacking all religion and calling nature and reason the gods of men. indignation made hannah take up her pen in reply, and refute the atheistic arguments in a pamphlet. the success of this effort caused her to be solicited from all sides to undertake the refutation of thomas paine's _rights of man_. her humorous treatment of the subject in this second tract, entitled "_village politics, by will chip_", appealed to the class for whom it was chiefly intended and was a distinct success, as were her doggerel ballads on the subject, some of which were to popular tunes, preaching submission to the existing social order, for, as "will chip" puts it in his "true rights of man": that some must be poorer, this truth will i sing, _is the law of my maker_, and not of my king; and the true rights of man, and the life of his cause, is not equal possessions; but equal, just laws. hannah's sympathy went out to patient joe, the newcastle collier, who held that "all things which happened were best", and to the ploughman who felt safe in his cottage with the british laws for his guard: "if the squire should oppress, i get instant redress"; a view which the author of _caleb williams_ emphatically did not share, and which makes the modern reader feel as if hannah more were "laying it on a little too thick." hannah more and mary wollstonecraft--who, as will be seen in the next chapter, ranged herself among the opponents of burke--thus took opposite sides in the great struggle, defending diametrically opposed principles, yet collaborating in gradually weaning the reading public from the conventional notion that the domain of literature was taboo to women and in accustoming them to the unwonted spectacle of women participating in a social struggle. mary wollstonecraft's claims for a complete emancipation impressed hannah more as directed straight against the divine authority. the state of inequality, we have seen, was looked upon by her as god's will, and to rebel against it was to oppose the decrees of the almighty. the right way to benefit her sex seemed to her to insist on a better moral education. on this subject at least the two political adversaries were agreed. "in those countries in which fondness for the mere persons of women is carried to the highest excess, they are slaves; their moral and intellectual degradation increases in direct proportion to the adoration which is paid to their charms" is one of the many statements in hannah more's "_strictures on female education_"[33] which mary wollstonecraft might have written, and both saw in a liberal moral education the only remedy. at this point, however, the two paths become separated. to mary wollstonecraft female education was merely one of the milestones in the march towards perfection; to hannah more it seemed that women might be made instrumental "to raise the depressed tone of public morals and to awaken the drowsy spirit of religious principle", and also that they might be called upon "to come forward and contribute their full and fair proportion towards the saving of their country." with hannah more, high morality and patriotism necessarily went hand in hand. her ideal was to see all english women join in a thorough reform of manners and morals, that her country might become not only the bulwark of tradition against the mania for innovation, but also that of the religion she held sacred against the onslaughts of atheism coming from across the channel. if she had a less fervent temperament than mary, she compensated for this lack through her practical insight, which told her that sudden radical changes are apt to destroy the edifice of ages, without offering anything solid as a substitute. she felt the guardian of her sex against the attacks of infidelity which in her eyes were principally directed against the female heart. "conscious of the influence of women in civil society, _conscious of the effect which female infidelity produced in france_, they attribute the ill success of their attempts in this country to their having been hitherto chiefly addressed to the male sex. they are now sedulously labouring to destroy the religious principles of women, and in too many instances have fatally succeeded. for this purpose not only novels and romances have been made the vehicles of vice and infidelity, but the same allurement has been held out to the women of our country which was employed in the garden of eden by the first philosophist to the first sinner,--knowledge"[34]. the above lines determine hannah more's attitude towards female learning, which she regarded as the devil's own bait. as an example of the corrupting tendencies of foreign literature she makes a few remarks on the much-admired german plays of "_the robbers_" and "_the stranger_", the second of which presents the character of an adulteress in the most pleasing and fascinating colours. "to make matters worse, the german example has found a follower in a woman, a professed admirer and imitator of the german suicide werter. the female werter, as she is styled by her biographer, asserts in a work entitled, "_the wrongs of women_" that adultery is justifiable, and that the restrictions placed on it by the laws of england, constitute one of the wrongs of women".[35] to come to a correct understanding of this passage, it is necessary to remember that the "_strictures_" were written in 1799, when the remembrance of mary wollstonecraft's attempt at suicide was still fresh, and when her unexpected death had drawn attention to godwin's edition of her works, the only one containing "_maria, or the wrongs of woman_". in their ideas of marriage, as indeed in all their applications of religious precepts, the gulf between hannah more and mary wollstonecraft becomes immeasurably wide. but wherever the sense of moral duty, unhampered by convention or by a rigid philosophical harness, was free to assert itself, it is curious to note the close affinity between the ideas of two women who occupied such widely different positions in the social life of their time, yet were both so extremely conscious of the moral responsibility of their sex. it remains for us to consider the interesting--if somewhat eccentric--personality of the woman who had brought down upon herself so many charges of gross immorality. footnotes: [27] _strictures on the modern system of female education, p. 10._ [28] _strictures on the modern system of female education, p. 245._ [29] see w. roberts, _memoirs of the life and correspondence of mrs. hannah more_, p. 62. [30] walpole. [31] there seems to have been a good deal of uncertainty as to the authorship of the works of the famous brother and sister. contemporary opinion unanimously assigns that of "_le grand cyrus_" to madeleine de scudéry, and not to her brother george. [32] like mary wollstonecraft, hannah more took brevet-rank as a matron by virtue of her literary publications. [33] p. 2. [34] _strictures_, p. 29. [35] _strictures_, p. 32. chapter vi. _radical feminism: mary wollstonecraft._ around the name of mary wollstonecraft a storm of adverse criticism raged for years after her death, prompting godwin to the publication of his "_memoirs of the author of a vindication of the rights of woman_", and calling forth the somewhat half-hearted defence of her actions and writings by an anonymous author in 1803. both failed to attract any degree of notice. shelley, whose meetings with young mary godwin over her mother's grave in st. pancras cemetery are described in mrs. marshall's biography, offered her the sincere tribute of his verse in "_the revolt of islam_", where the heroine resembles her in her character. the champion of the cause of woman was herself an essentially loveable, thoroughly feminine representative of her sex, whose many troubles arose from an extremely sensitive heart, a pure, refined sensibility, without any of the alloy which she was the first to regret in so many other women, and from the circumstance that, being born a century before her time, her striving was only moderately successful and brought her the ill-will of many who were unable to appreciate the sincerity of her motives. nothing could be more undeserved, or bespeak a more glaring ignorance of the character it reviled than horace walpole's mention of mary wollstonecraft in his letter to miss hannah more--in her rigid respectability the direct opposite of the author of the "_vindication_"--as "a hyena in petticoats, whose books were excommunicated from the pale of his library". few books and their authors have been the object of such unsparing censure as the _rights of women_ and mary wollstonecraft, and it may be added that seldom was the imputation of meddling spitefulness and even of gross immorality more utterly undeserved. there speaks from the entire work a spirit of absolute sincerity, of disinterested eagerness for necessary reforms and of that fervent enthusiasm in the pursuit of aims which will not shrink at martyrdom, which endear the author to the unbiased reader, and which only the narrowest conservatism could overlook. nor would it have met with the bitter antagonism it encountered had not the public mind, harassed by the constant menace of the french revolution, been overmuch inclined to cry down all works of reform. as it was, mary wollstonecraft's reputation passed through three distinctly marked phases; in the first, the work and its author were violently attacked by the many, and enthusiastically defended by the few; in the second, they were consigned to temporary oblivion; in the third, mr. kegan paul in 1876, and after him miss mathilde blind in "_the new quarterly review_", miss h. zimmern in the "_deutsche rundschau_", and e. r. pennell in the "_eminent women series_" tried with a fair amount of success to awaken a new interest in both and to vindicate the author's memory by clearing her personal character from the monstrous imputations of immorality. the fact has now been definitely established that she was prompted by the noblest love of humanity, and is entitled to rank among those champions of the new faith who suffered martyrdom for the cause. she was one of those predestined by that innate character she was so fain to deny to a life of the bitterest anguish, brightened by spells of almost perfect happiness. both the joys and the sorrows of humanity were abundantly hers. with her, character was indeed fate, and the outward circumstances of her life only emphasized the convictions to which a woman of her stamp was bound to come in the world of inequality and cruel injustice in which she moved. she combined in her person the rarest gifts of both head and heart; as a quick perception, enabling her to grasp a situation very rapidly; a never-flinching determination to use the divine gift of reason in the pursuit of useful knowledge, and a boundless devotion to what she considered the obvious task of her life. once she had discovered her vocation she flung herself into her work with indomitable zeal, trying to do herself violence in asserting the superiority of reason over sentiment, and to put a restraint on the passions that threatened to overpower her. in this attempt she did not always succeed, and while it makes her appear to us thoroughly human, yet her imperfect self-control was not without influence on her works of reform, leading her to exaggeration and wearisome reiterations. in the chapter of the _vindication_ which deals with national education she insists that only that man makes a good citizen, who has in his youth "exercised the affections of a son and a brother," for public affections grow out of private, and it is in youth that the fondest friendships are formed. this sounds like a confession, for if mary wollstonecraft had not been in earlier years such a devoted friend to her dear ones as to utterly disregard her own comfort in her desire to befriend them, she could never have loved humanity with such intensity. it is difficult to say what would have become of the wollstonecraft household if mary had not strained every faculty to assist them. when her drunken father beat his wife, the latter used to appeal to mary for protection. when at last the poor soul felt death approach, it was again mary who without a second's hesitation flung up her situation as a lady's companion at bath to return to her mother's sickbed and to ease her last moments. not only her sisters everina and eliza, but also her younger brothers charles and james received from her both moral and financial support, to be able to give which she cramped herself to such an extent that the room in george street in which she wrote was furnished only with the barest necessaries, and her gowns were so extremely shabby that knowles in his "_life of fuseli_" describes her as "a philosophical sloven". in thus reducing her wants, however, she was merely acting in accordance with the view--held by all the friends of reform and derived from rousseau--that only he can be happy whose desires are so few that he can afford to gratify them, an offshoot of the famous nature-theory. nevertheless, the description of mary as a "sloven" seems exaggerated, judging from the two portraits by opie which have been preserved, of which the one may be spurious, but the other, now in the national portrait gallery, is beyond any doubt genuine. it shows the face ("physiognomy" mary wollstonecraft herself would have preferred to call it) of a strikingly pretty, refined-looking woman, with a profusion of auburn hair, a clear complexion and a pleading look in her brown eyes which reminded mr. kegan paul of beatrice cenci. the grim realities of mary's youth left little space for the development of any sense of humour, but they bred in her a fighting spirit which afterwards stood her in good stead. her next championship was that of fanny blood, whom she shielded from domestic misery very much like that she had herself experienced, and whose brother george, who became involved in a nasty scandal[36], also experienced mary's all-embracing kindness of heart. from her correspondence with him in the years of his forced absence from england it indeed appears that she was not by any means a "fair-weather friend". the extremely serious cast of her character--which circumstances afterwards developed into melancholy--also found expression in a strong sense of duty. unlike those champions of humanity who clamour for the rights of man without reference to the corresponding obligations, mary wollstonecraft in later years always insisted not only that every right of necessity involves a duty, but also that we should insist upon those rights chiefly to be enabled to perform the moral duties which life imposes. add to this an absolute "incapability of disguise", as her friend and publisher johnson expressed it, and a frankness which made her "fling whate'er she felt, not fearing, into words"--often uncovering the worst sores of society in all their hideousness with a determination bordering upon indelicacy--and the portrait of mary's character, as far as elementary traits go, is complete. the strong natural bent of her character was further emphasized by incidents which presented to her mind the problem of the subjugation of women urgently demanding a champion. on three different occasions did she see the lives of women ruined by cruel, dissipated husbands. the third of these was by far the worst. it concerned the marriage of her sister eliza ("poor bess", as mary calls her in her correspondence with everina and fanny), to a mr. bishop, who, although he was probably a clergyman, appears to have been a most hypocritically sensual brute. no doubt the wife also was to blame; indeed, all the wollstonecraft girls were inclined to be suspicious, irritable, and over-ready to take offence. shortly after the birth of a child matters came to a crisis, and mary, having come over to nurse her sister, who after her confinement had had an attack of insanity, proposed that they should leave mr. bishop's house together, a plan actually carried into execution, after which mary, eliza and fanny blood started teaching as a profession. the daily bickerings of the bishop household impressed upon mary's mind the state of utter defencelessness and abject slavery in which many women were kept. it afterwards made her decide to supplement her "_rights of women_" with a novel, dealing with the wrongs of women, in which some of the incidents she had witnessed found a place. the work was unfortunately interrupted by her unexpected death, and in its unfinished state was included by godwin in the posthumous edition of some of mary wollstonecraft's works in 1798. thus death claimed her while making a last effort to succour the oppressed. with the sisters' flight from mr. bishop's house began the long struggle against adverse circumstances in which mary did most of the fighting. one wonders what would have become of eliza and the boys--who had soon left their father's home--but for mary's resourcefulness. everina found a home with edward, the eldest brother, who obviously thought that in sheltering her he had done all that could be expected of him. the girls met with little or no sympathy from friends, the general opinion finding fault with eliza's conduct and judging that "women should accept without a murmur whatever it suits their husbands to give them, whether it be kindness or blows". this represents the general belief of those days with regard to the position of married women. the possibility of girls of the better middle class having at any time of their lives to earn their own living had never been seriously considered, and the sisters were indeed in great distress. again mary had the utter incapacity of even the bravest of her sex to support themselves brought home to her in a way that left no doubt. and yet the two or three years of the little boarding-school at newington green were not wholly devoid of enjoyment. mary made the acquaintance of the famous dr. price, the dissenting preacher who was soon to rouse the fire of burke's indignation, and who strongly influenced her religious views. it seems the right place here to say something of mary's attitude towards religion. in a life like hers, bringing her face to face with the evils of existing society, and with her degree of sensitiveness it is but natural that religious feelings should have played a prominent part. her mother had bred her in the principles of the church of england, but mary was far too independent to allow her mother any real influence. but at least the circumstances of her youth saved her from sophistic teachings, which may form hypocrites or awaken an altogether disproportionate hatred of whatever smacks of christianity, under the impression that christianity and the dogmatism of narrow-minded orthodoxy are at bottom one and the same thing. such was godwin's case, and it proved a deathblow to his faith. mary, however, was a great deal left to herself and, as godwin informs us in the _memoirs_, her religion was mostly of her own creation, and little allied to any system of forms. the many biblical quotations in her works suggest diligent reading of the bible and point to a state of mind very far removed from indifference or antipathy. she rather felt a natural leaning towards religion, a craving for mental peace to be satisfied only by firm religious convictions. as godwin puts it, the tenets of her system were the growth of her own moral taste, and her religion therefore was always a gratification, never a terror to her. the same almost feminine yearning for the moral support of a religion that warms the heart, distinguished rousseau from the robust and self-reliant philosophers of the rational school, and possibly caused mary wollstonecraft to feel attracted towards him and at the same time to pity him, when first reading his "_emile_"[37]. up to the time of her first meeting with dr. price her attitude had been that of simple faith, with constant appeals to the divine interference. she had been a regular church-goer, and it is quite possible that the public and regular routine of sermons and prayers and the implicit subjection it demands, had already begun to pall upon her, and predisposed her for the adoption of the less dogmatic views of deism. it may also be safely assumed that her experiences in ireland as a governess and the subsequent period of close intimacy with some of the leading revolutionists lessened her interest in religion, which points to the future, and proportionately increased that in man, who is the present. as the years advanced, the rapid growth of her considerable intellectual powers, the tendencies of the times in which she lived, and the society which she frequented made her drift unconsciously towards rationalism. then it was that a conflict arose between sentiment and intellect. she set about "repressing her natural ardour and granting a more considerable influence to the dictates of reason", or, as professor dowden puts it, "she set her brain as a sentinel over her heart, trying to put a curb on her natural impulsiveness"[38]. this change in her views of life, dating from her intimacy with price, was hastened by circumstances. the death of her friend fanny--who died in her arms at lisbon,--and the want of success of her first educational efforts--due chiefly to mrs. bishop's mismanagement of the school in mary's absence--had made her feel low-spirited and ill. it was only the sale of the manuscript of the "_thoughts on_ _the education of daughters_" to mr. johnson, the publisher of fleet street, for ten guineas--part of which sum she sent to the bloods whose straits were worse than her own--that staved off utter ruin. she relinquished her work as a schoolmistress, and through her friend mr. prior, assistant master at eton, obtained the situation of governess to the children of lord kingsborough at a salary of forty pounds a year. before leaving for mitchelstown in ireland, she spent some time with the priors at eton, where she had an opportunity to study the life in an english public-school. it did not impress her favourably and gave rise to some severe criticism in the _rights of women_ on the subject of false religion and undue attachment to outward things. "i could not live the life they lead at eton", she says in a letter to her sister everina, "nothing but dress and ridicule going forward, and i really believe their fondness for ridicule tends to make them affected, the women in their manners, and the men in their conversation, for witlings abound and puns fly about like crackers, though you would scarcely guess they had any meaning in them, if you did not hear the noise they create". this was her first glimpse of society. in the same letter she finds comfort in the reflection that the time will come when "the god of love will wipe away all tears from our eyes, and neither death nor accidents of any kind will interpose to separate us from those we love". no wonder she was horrified at the boy who only consented to receive the sacrament of the lord's supper to avoid forfeiting half a guinea! she was now, indeed, entering upon a new phase of her life. she had witnessed the horrors of a domestic life in which drunkenness and other moral vices reigned supreme; she was now to behold the utter worthlessness of the pleasure-seeking, irresponsible upper classes, whose religion was all sham, and who tried to make up in dogmatic narrowness what they lacked in true piety. it was the conduct of her own sex that most of all disgusted her. it taught her that the absurd distinctions of rank corrupted not merely the oppressed dependents, but also their tyrants, whose only claim to respectability was in the titles they held. in short, it turned her from a mere educator into a social reformer, and from a devout christian into a deist. what struck her most forcibly about the women of the kingsborough household was their unfitness for their chief task in life: that of educating their own children. they represented a varied catalogue of female errors. lady kingsborough was too much occupied with her dogs to care for her children, whom she left to the care of their governess. when afterwards that governess came to stand first in the children's affections, she promptly dismissed her. mary wollstonecraft's revilers have tried to substantiate the charge of irreligiousness against her by pointing out that her favourite pupil margaret--afterwards lady mount cashel--was not wholly without blame in her later life; thus ignoring the degrading influence of a mother like lady kingsborough, and overlooking the fact that mary's stay in ireland lasted only one year. in her correspondence with mrs. bishop there is a description of lady kingsborough's stepmother and her three daughters, "fine girls, just going to market, as their brother says". this short sentence shows the state of revolt she was in against the frivolity of women in making a wealthy marriage the sole aim of life. if, therefore, her religious principles were of a sternness hardly suited to the practice of those days, it need not necessarily be the former that were at fault. the imputation of insincerity, however, merits absolute contempt. here, indeed, "to doubt her goodness were to want a heart". it is impossible to read any portion of her works without being struck by the earnest tone of sincere piety which pervades them all. it was a great pity that what she saw of christianity prevented her from going to the source of that religion, which might have given her that peace "which passeth understanding" for which her heart yearned and which the vagueness of her deistic views, although better suited to satisfy her reason, could not supply. while at bristol hot wells in the summer of 1788 she wrote a little book entitled "_mary, a fiction_", relating the incidents of her friendship with fanny blood. but it is not the incidents that make the charm of this composition. godwin, who could admire in another those qualities which he knew he himself lacked, says that in it "the feelings are of the truest and most exquisite class; every circumstance is adorned with that species of imagination which enlists itself under the banners of delicacy and sentiment"[39]. mary's dismissal as a governess fortunately did not leave her unprovided for. the generous mr. johnson found her lodgings in george street, near blackfriar's bridge, and made her his reader. she criticised the manuscripts sent to him, and the kindness and sincerity of her criticisms brought her a few real friends, among whom was miss hayes, who afterwards became the means of bringing her and godwin together. mr. johnson had just started the _analytical review_, in which mary took a considerable share. the many translations she did at this period were suggested by johnson, and as such throw no light on her personal taste, but in the case of salzmann's "_moralisches elementarbuch_" he certainly gave her a congenial subject. she had by this time read rousseau's _emile_, with the main tendencies of which she agreed as far as the boy emile was concerned, but whose ideal of womanhood, embodied in sophie, was very far removed from her own, and also thomas day's "_sandford and merton_," in which the influence of rousseau is very marked. the ideas expressed by day, corroborated and added to by her own experience and by salzmann's theories, form the basis of her "_original stories from real life, with conversations calculated to regulate the affections and form the mind to truth and goodness_". (1788). the idea of a private tutor (or preceptor) had been rousseau's, and day makes a kind-hearted clergyman, mr. barlow, who had attained excellent results in the training of young harry sandford, a farmer's son, undertake the instruction of tommy merton, the son of a rich planter of jamaica. day obviously cannot refrain from introducing the theme of class-distinctions, making the farmer's child appear to great advantage by the side of the gentleman's son, who has been utterly spoiled by an over-indulgent mother and has had the whole catalogue of prejudices of birth and station inculcated into him. the story consists of a string of incidents, partly arising from natural causes and partly due to mr. barlow's "coups de théâtre pédagogiques", in which rousseau also was fond of indulging. they all contribute towards the formation of tommy's mind and heart, in conjunction with a number of stories, told at the psychological moment by their preceptor, which it appears do not fail to produce their effect, for tommy is promptly changed from an insufferable little despot into a paragon of virtue. nor is he slow himself to adopt the oracular tone of self-sufficiency which harry exhibits from the first. where day's book differs from rousseau,--which is only in two respects,--the deviation is due to the fact that rousseau was essentially a theorist, whose aim was to provide an educational scheme, whilst day in combination with mr. edgeworth meant to, and did carry his theories into practice, in doing which he had to make a good many concessions to outward circumstances. rousseau seldom indulges in story-telling, in his scheme the work of instructing the child under twelve (tommy and harry are only six) is left to nature, and the preceptor keeps his precepts to himself and merely mounts the most jealous guard over his pupil to ward off undesirable influences and to leave nature undisturbed in accomplishing her task. thus rousseau advises the negative education for young children. in day, however, the preceptor takes a decidedly active part, and both by precept and example directs his pupils' thoughts towards certain conclusions they are meant to draw. a natural consequence of rousseau's radical nature-scheme is that the pleasure of reading books--beyond a few of great practical value to the man of nature, such as defoe's robinson crusoe--is withheld from the young pupil, who is only taught to read at his own request, and at a much later age. instead, he should be content to read the book of nature, which is in a language every human creature can understand. here again the more practical day disagrees, and in _sandford and merton_ books play a prominent part. again, rousseau wants to separate his pupil not only from the family to which he belongs, but from all other children, thus overlooking the important factor of inter-education. day educates the two boys together and occasionally brings them in contact with other children also, mostly of the peasant-class. for the rest, however, there is a close parallelism between the two systems. stress is laid on simplicity being the mother of all virtues, the boys are taught to regard manual labour as an honest occupation of which no so-called "gentleman" need be ashamed, and which may stand him in good stead should circumstances make it necessary for him to earn his own living. they have their physical strength developed by manly exercise, and the advantages accruing from a life in accordance with the dictates of nature are pointed out to them in a most suggestive way. they learn to regard class-privileges with scorn; to them a "man" is a being superior to a "gentleman"; are taught that the only property a man is entitled to is the result of his own labour; and acquire some knowledge of botany, zoology, cosmography, geography and in general of such subjects as may render the child more fit for a life in accordance with nature such as day himself practised. it need hardly be said that mary wollstonecraft's educational ideas did not go the entire length of day's somewhat eccentric radicalism. she sympathised with rousseau's nature-scheme only inasmuch as it asserted the advantages of country-life and did away with conventionality. although accustomed to the most rigid simplicity, she never approached the utter disregard of appearances which day professed to feel. she utterly disagreed with rousseau where he asserted the necessity of giving girls an education "relative to men", it being one of the chief aims of her later works to show that there should be no difference of principles in the education of the two sexes; but she applied a great many of rousseau's suggestions, which he intended for boys, to her own sex. far from wishing to furnish a complete scheme for the education of young girls upon a basis of abstract reasoning, she follows day in attacking the defects most common to childhood and in trying to establish a standard of virtue which may be attained by following reason. she entirely relies upon the force of a moral lesson contained in a well-told story, or, better still, illustrated by personal example. in one point of difference the contrast in character between her and rousseau becomes most obvious. the latter's lack of moral firmness makes him, while shielding his pupil from the evil influence of his surroundings, rather unaccountably overlook the necessity of inculcating a sense of duty. his scheme has no ethical background. in mary wollstonecraft, however, this ethical background is the essential thing. her parting advice to her pupils (voiced by mrs. mason) is: "recollect, that from religion your chief comfort must spring, and never neglect the duty of prayer. learn from experience the comfort that arises from making known your wants and sorrows to the wisest and best of beings not only of this life, but of that which is to come." rousseau's pupil was not likely to become a "striver", mary wollstonecraft's had had high ethical principles instilled into her. the lack of incentives to virtue which characterises rousseau's scheme may be the consequence of his theory of original innocence. he does not believe in the existence of evil in connection with the divine will, but holds that evil is merely the consequence of wrong opinions. here he was godwin's teacher. a radical change in individual opinion will cause evil to disappear. how original sin and evil could find their way into the world, mankind being in a state of perfect innocence, he does not explain. godwin, and with him mary wollstonecraft, were of opinion that there is in mankind no natural bias towards either good or evil, and that everything depends on the forming of the mind, hence the all-importance of education. religion, therefore, is an essential part of mary wollstonecraft's educational plan. it is true that the child cannot grasp the fundamental truths, its power of reasoning being as yet limited, and should not for this reason be permitted to read the bible. but her girls are taught from the first that "religion ought to be the active director of our affections" and that "happiness can only arise from imitating god in a life guided by considerations of virtue. virtue, according to her mouth-piece mrs. mason, is "the exercise of benevolent affections to please god and bring comfort and happiness here, and become angels hereafter." in the "_original stories_" we have some of the theories of the _rights of women_ presented to us in a nutshell. they claim for girls equality of education with boys, and indirectly deny the sexual character theory, based on that of innate principles, which mary wollstonecraft agreed with godwin did not exist. rousseau held that reason was the prerogative of man, and that woman's substitute for it was sensibility. man was made to think, and woman to feel. "whatever is in nature is right", was the axiom he applied to the case of woman. nature meant her to be kept in a state of subjection to man, and to give her an education without regarding the limitations of her sex would have seemed to him flying in the face of providence. mary wollstonecraft's views of society were sufficiently pessimistic to consider the average parent utterly unfit to educate a child. she therefore adhered to rousseau's idea of a preceptor. her two girls, mary and caroline, aged 14 and 12, far from having been kept in ignorance, and further handicapped by the death of their mother, had already imbibed some false notions and prejudices. mary's judgment was not sufficiently cool to make her realise that appearances are often deceptive, and that bodily defects may be found together with excellent moral qualities. she had an unfortunate turn for ridicule. her sister caroline, by being vain of her person, proved that she did not understand the source of true merit. it was, therefore, the task of their monitress to carefully eradicate these prejudices and to substitute for them correct notions of true virtue. in mrs. mason, mary wollstonecraft enriched english literature with the portrait of the typical british matron with "no nonsense about her", but in making this woman her mouth-piece she scarcely did justice to the qualities of her own heart. it was the struggle of her life to make her heart yield to the dictates of reason, and mrs. mason certainly does not impress the reader as struggling very hard. she is the embodiment of pure, undiluted reason in all its unyielding sternness. any show of tenderness towards her charges would have seemed to her a confession of weakness. when after a long spell of life together she returns them to their father, they have advanced just far enough in her affection to be termed "candidates for her friendship"; which, by the way, is meant to imply that they have made satisfactory progress in the faculty of reason. mary wollstonecraft for the moment does not seem to realise that the essential quality in an educator should be to make her pupils not only respect, but also love her, and mrs. mason is a most unloveable person. her haughty arrogance and insufferable self-sufficiency were not likely to escape her eldest pupil's sense of humour and could not but seriously affect her influence over the girls. thus the children of mary wollstonecraft's fancy are brought up in the midst of reasoning logic, unwarmed by the sunshine of parental love. to make matters worse, this champion of liberty, who found fault with rousseau for failing to see that his schemes of freedom applied with equal justice to women; who was soon herself to protest against the abuse of parental authority, who held with locke that "if the mind be curbed and humbled too much in children, if the spirit be abased and broken much by too strict a hand over them, they lose all their vigour and industry",[40] herself made the fatal mistake of aiding and abetting the thraldom of the young girl. the education which mary and caroline receive is nothing but a dreary course of constant admonition, in which the word liberty would be utterly misplaced. she has entirely failed to catch the spirit of rousseau's _emile_, in which the instructor only prevents the pupil from hurting himself overmuch through his ignorance, leaving him otherwise free to draw the conclusions of awakening reason, and above all allowing him to live out his life. harry sandford and tommy merton go together for long walks in the woods, get lost and owe their rescue to the lucky accident of meeting a boy who takes them to his home. when mr. barlow is informed that the boys have turned up, he goes to meet them on their way home and merely tells them to be more careful in future, availing himself of the incident to instil certain lessons in geography which smack of rousseau. but their liberty is in no way cramped. with mary wollstonecraft, however, the case is entirely different. one wonders what sort of paragons mrs. mason was going to turn out. the chances would seem pretty even between prim old maids and confirmed young hypocrites, depending on those very innate tendencies she was fain to deny! she held that children should not be left too much freedom, because, the faculty of reason being as yet insufficiently developed in them, they might make the wrong use of it. but the restrictions on their liberty should be such as to remain almost unnoticed by them. they should not have a variety of prohibitions imposed upon them, as was the case with lady kingsborough's children, whom she immediately restored to some degree of liberty. one cannot help thinking that theory and practice often clash, owing to the perpetual conflict between reason and the feelings. granting, however, that mrs. mason had the best and most disinterested intentions, what, we may ask, can be left of liberty to children whom their monitress "never suffers out of her sight?" in her catalogue of living creatures mary puts animals at the bottom on account of their being incapable of reason. they are guided exclusively by instinct, which is a faculty of a coarser growth than reason. the love of their young, for instance, though sweet to behold, and worthy of imitation, is not in their case dictated by reason. next upon the list come children; in them the latent faculty ought to be developed by older and wiser people bringing what godwin would call "the artillery of reason" to bear upon the infant mind. mary wollstonecraft protests against the arrogance of those philosophers who, while granting their own sex the privilege of an education, wilfully exclude the other half of humanity from the blessings of reason, which is the only guide to virtue and moral perfection. when mary wrote the "_original stories_" she was not more than twenty-nine herself, and had known neither the passion of love nor motherhood. her all-embracing love of humanity made the subject of interest to her, but there is upon the whole too much of reason and too little of the heart in the little volume. circumstances over which she had no control were soon to teach her for good and all that the affections will not be suppressed and peremptorily demand their share. when next she touched upon the subject she was a mother and confronted with the task of educating her own child in the long and frequent absences of a faithless and undeserving father. the "_first lessons for an infant_" in volume ii of the posthumous edition of her works are the result of the joint teachings of maternal love and bitter experience. here she is herself, an essentially human, loving woman, overflowing with tenderness and bound up closely with her child not merely by the ties of duty, but by those of an all-absorbing affection. having thus tried to do justice to the author by accounting for what seems contradictory, we may frankly say that mrs. mason is an insufferable pedant. the mr. barlow of _sandford and merton_, while constantly moralising,--in doing which he draws far more sweeping conclusions than even mrs. mason--and arranging incidents to illustrate and anticipate his moral lessons like the best of stage-managers[41], at least does not obtrude her own personality. but the impeccable mrs. mason in her boundless self-confidence never loses an opportunity to introduce her own personality. her benevolence is unlimited, and she is utterly incapable of doing wrong. if she inflicts bodily pain, it is that reason has whispered to her that in doing so she avoids a greater evil. she puts her foot deliberately on a wounded bird's head, "turning her own the other way". she teaches by example rather than precept, and the example somehow seems to be always herself. never for a moment are the girls allowed a rest from the moral deluge. the first eight chapters of the little book contain the moral food for one single day, carefully divided into a morning, an afternoon and an evening of incessant moralising. yet she is "naive" enough to imagine that she teaches imperceptibly, by rendering the subject amusing! if mary wollstonecraft had possessed the slightest indication of a possible sense of humour, the absurdity of the mrs. mason portrait would have struck her. but she had not, and while relating the most ludicrous incidents, she always remains terribly in earnest! there is something distinctly oppressive, too, about mrs. mason's benevolence. she relieves the distress of the poor, but while doing so her coldly critical eye wanders about the humble cottage and makes the poor wretch feel uncomfortably conscious of its generally unfinished appearance. with her, reason is always enthroned. the passions are not to be mentioned in her presence. and yet, her cupboard, too, has its skeleton. early attachments, we are informed, have been broken, her own husband has died, followed by her only child, "in whom her husband died again". her afflictions have taught her to pin her faith on the hope of eternity, in doing which she has unfortunately forgotten to learn the lesson of earthly suffering and to realise her own imperfections. the virtue of modesty, which she recommends to the girls in contrasting the sweet and graceful rose to the bold and flaunting tulip (!) was not among her many accomplishments. the little book prepares the reader's mind for the "_vindication of the rights of women_," which was soon to follow, in that it contains a long plea for the glorious faculty of reason, leading to virtue. the heart should be carefully regulated by the understanding to prevent its running amuck. all errors are due to a relegation of reason to an inferior position; a systematical application, however, cannot fail to conduct towards perfection. one seems too be listening to the sweeping assertions of _political justice_, which was to appear a few years later and in which the general philosophical tendencies of the revolutionary movement were gathered up and stated with bold radicalism. the main line of thought which godwin followed, and the tendency to resort to "first principles" is everywhere manifest. to call girls "rational creatures" for doing what their monitress expects of them is to give them the most unstinted praise. the absolute subjection of the poor children to their governess is the necessary outcome of the infallibility of the latter's superior reason, which renders implicit obedience the interest of the former. in her discussion of the filial duties in connection with the parental affections in the _vindication_, mary wollstonecraft insists on just such a degree of obedience as is compatible with the child's obvious interest. nor is the respect due to superior reason lost sight of when she opines with respect to marriage that, although after one and twenty a parent has no right to withhold his consent on any account, yet the son ought to promise not to marry for two or three years, should the object of his choice not meet with the approbation of his "first friend". thus the principles of liberty and obedience are made to fit each other. the infallibility of reason is enforced by some "glaring" examples, which bring fresh proof of the author's fatal insensibility to the ludicrous and absurd. the story of the girl who, like caroline, was vain of her good looks, until she had smallpox, when, having to pass many days in a darkened room, she learned to reflect and afterwards took to reading as a means of enlarging the mind, may pass; but the history of charles townley is utterly absurd and distinctly inferior to day's stories, some of which afford pleasant reading and must have amused the boys. its hero is the "man of feeling" so prominent in the sentimental school, who allows his conduct to be governed solely by sentiment. having chosen the wrong guide, he is made miserable for life, and his sorrows culminate when he beholds the daughter of his benefactor, a maniac, "the wreck of a human understanding", merely because he has too long put off assisting her and relieving her distress, as he intended to do. the principal vices against which the book inveighs and which are for the most part illustrated by means of fitting stories, or warned against by means of toward incidents, are: anger and peevishness, by which reason is temporarily dethroned (story of jane fretful), lying, immoderate indulgence of the appetite, procrastination, pride, arrogance to servants[42], sensitiveness to pain and an excessive regard for the vanities of dress and for the opinions of the world (story of the schoolmistress). thus the ideas which found an outlet in the _vindication_ were anticipated, and the little book marks the first step in the transition from pedagogical to social and political authorship. next to the careful eradication of vices, the cultivation of virtues is attended to. the children are taught to love all living creatures, the love of animals being characteristic of the new movement as a natural offshoot of the greater but more difficult love of mankind. they are instructed in the practice of charity, economy, self-denial, modesty and simplicity. the last-named virtue constitutes the link between the educational and the social instruction. the stories of "the welsh harper" and of "lady sly and mrs. trueman" are intended to convey the great truth that class-distinctions are not by any means dependent on moral character and that often "the lower is the higher." nor can mary wollstonecraft refrain from making herself the advocate of the greater love towards mankind. the sad fate of crazy robin, who languishes in a debtor's prison, after losing his wife and children through death, is described in a little story which has true touches of pathos, and the horrors of the bastille are incidentally thrown in to heighten the impression produced. in the naval story told by "honest jack"--in which, by the way, absurdity reaches its climax when the hero, losing an eye in a storm, thanks god for leaving him the other--we hear that even the french are not so bad as they are often painted, and are capable of mercy, for while jack was pining away in a french prison, some women brought him broth and wine, and one gave him rags to wrap round his wounded leg. the whole story is rather a poor attempt at a sailor's yarn, in which the author visibly though vainly exerts herself to catch the right tone, with a rather too obtrusive moral background. we feel that jack is mrs. mason's ideal of manhood and the excellent lady forgets herself and her constant companion reason to such an extent that tears of benevolence are seen "stealing down her cheeks"! the girls' trials come to an end when at last their father writes for them to return to london. they are described as visibly improved, "an air of intelligence" beginning to animate caroline's fine features. mrs. mason accompanies them to london, and there takes her leave of the two girls, probably to inflict her personality on a pair of fresh victims. in the next few years the problem of the education of children, although remaining a subject of constant speculation, receded before that of the cause of woman. but when mary was herself a happy mother, the old problems presented themselves in a more tangible form. godwin informs us in the "_memoirs_" that shortly before her death she projected a work upon the management of the infant years, "which she had carefully considered, and well understood". it was about the time of the publication of the "_original stories_" that mary made up her mind to definitely adopt writing as a profession. she realised that in doing so she was flying in the face of prejudice. but she had seen enough of the world, and the result of her long and bitter wrestlings with adversity had been a sufficient increase of moral strength to render her independent of the opinion of others. henceforth it was to be her task to form the opinions of her sex, and in doing so she totally disregarded the opinion of others concerning herself. her voluntary martyrdom had begun. at the same time her scope of observation became considerably widened. mr. johnson's house was the resort of a great many of the leading philosophical minds of the day, all of whom had strong revolutionary tendencies, and whose works he brought out with an utter contempt of consequences very much to his credit. nothing could be more natural than that the constant intercourse with people like thomas paine, fuseli the swiss painter, mr. bonnycastle the pedagogue, dr. priestley, dr. geddes, dr. george fordyce, lavater and talleyrand (who in those days paid a visit to england)--to whom was added afterwards the enigmatical personality of william godwin--should tend to inspire her with strong revolutionary ideas. it had the effect of widening her horizon and of causing her to transfer her energies from the work of education to that of social reform. mr. johnson's circle consisted almost entirely of men, the only women, besides mary, being the more easy-going, and less energetic mrs. inchbald and the far less gifted miss hayes and mrs. trimmer. where the men had the rights of men for their watchword, mary wollstonecraft as a natural consequence found her attention directed towards the position of her own sex, a subject which these hot-headed champions were too apt to overlook. it was in those days (nov. 1, 1790) that burke made his violent onslaught upon what he termed the "seditious" theories concerning the rights of man voiced by her dear friend dr. price in his epoch-making sermon at the old jewry to his congregation of sympathisers with the revolution. this direct attack had the effect of making mary wollstonecraft seize her pen in defence of her old friend and in support of those principles which had slowly and gradually come to mean a great deal to her. already the correspondence of the kingsborough period is distinctly suggestive of awakening social interests, stress being laid on the prejudices connected with rank and station. (letters to everina, 1787 and 1788, and to mrs. bishop, 1787). in ireland her eyes had been opened to the moral inferiority of men and women of quality and to the distress of those who, like herself, were dependent on them. the picture of eternity receded before that of earthly injustice to be repaired. at mr. johnson's she frequently took part in the discussion of the possibility of reestablishing the governments of europe on primary principles, and the new ideas sounded in her ears like a new gospel of man. the reflections of jean-jacques--she must have read and discussed the _contrat social_ in those days, although there is no correspondence to prove the assumption--couched in prose "made lyrical by faith" could not fail to impress a mind like that of mary, than whom they never made an easier proselyte. add to this the direct stimulus of the revolution, and the prospect of immediate application of the new theories which electrified all revolutionary minds, and it will not be difficult to account for her enthusiasm, which placed her among the first to use her pen in defence of the new creed. when she had almost finished her pamphlet and was about to have it printed, she felt less sanguine about her powers of persuasion, but the work as she wrote it bears the unmistakable evidence of having been struck at a heat, which, together with its obvious sincerity, may account for some of its success. dr. price, in his sermon of 1789, "in commemoration of the revolution of 1688", had given vent to the feelings of approbation with which he had greeted the outbreak of the french revolution, and among others expressed the view that the king owes his crown to the choice of his people and "may be cashiered for misconduct", thus openly declaring himself a follower of the theories of the social contract, which are based upon the sovereignty of the people. burke in his "_reflections on the revolution in france_", takes his stand upon the british constitution--once the object of the admiration of a montesquieu--to oppose what he regards as nothing less than a direct attempt at sowing the seeds of revolution in great britain. his pamphlet called forth no fewer than thirty-eight replies, of which that written by thomas paine was the most successful amongst the partisans of the new movement in consequence of its radical tendencies. mary wollstonecraft was in the van of the revolutionary army, and shared with dr. priestley the honour of being the first to enter the field. to account for her indignation it should be remembered that burke had until then been regarded as one of the principal whig advocates of reform, in connection with his attitude towards the american problem. no one had anticipated this sudden change of tactics, so welcome, though unlooked-for, to king george and to pitt, and it fairly maddened the champions of reform. buckle, in his "_history of civilisation in england_", deeply regrets burke's conduct, which he calls the consequence of an unfortunate hallucination, due to his feelings having temporarily got the better of his reason. the vehemence of the controversy in question between opponents who were equally sincere and convinced of the soundness of their views, is due to an essential difference in standpoint, leading to opinions which in either case, though containing an element of truth, must be termed one-sided. the thoroughly practical burke, whose political ideas were the fruit of an experience of nearly half a century, placed himself upon the purely empirical standpoint, resting his arguments upon a basis of sound historical experience, and asserting that the legislator's first aim should be expediency, taught by experience, and not abstract, speculative truth. he points to the difference between political and social principles, which are the outcome of reason; and political practice, which is the product of human nature, and of which reason is but a part. the reformers of the opposing camp took their stand upon a basis of abstract, geometrical reasoning, and persistently refused to consider the argument of expediency. they only regarded the theoretical aspect of the social problem. both parties recognised the doctrines of human rights and of the popular sovereignty, which were of british growth, having been put forward long before rousseau by john locke; but they differ in their application of them. with burke, rights are of an hereditary nature. to him, the constitution is the embodiment both of the rights of the free british citizen, and of the duties of the british subject, an inheritance they derived from their ancestors of 1688, together with the duty of keeping the legacy intact in its general tendencies. it was burke's firm conviction that a statesman should steer clear of philosophical principles, which an absolute want of adaptability to the exigencies of a special case renders unfit for practice. it must be granted that this line of argument in burke's case led to a fatal blindness to obvious injustice and to a curious inability to appreciate what was good, noble and disinterested in the leaders of the revolutionary movement. mary wollstonecraft and her friends failed to see that reforms which are to affect the roots of existing conditions--however desirable and even necessary--must of necessity be slow and gradual, lest our gain should prove but a poor substitute for our certain loss. there are none more dangerous to society than the abstract idealist, whose very inexperience confirms him in the belief that he is in possession of absolute truth, for which he is willing to lay down his own life, and, _en passant_, the lives of others. of such a nature was the "amiable defect"--to use her own terminology--developed in mary wollstonecraft's nature by too impulsive a zeal in the cause of mankind. she felt intensely on the subject. the furious onslaught which she makes upon burke in the _rights of man_--without that respect for grey hairs which she would have burke observe in his dealings with dr. price--was prompted by a far deeper feeling for mankind than burke was capable of. the two vulnerable points in burke's pamphlet were his unreasonable vehemence and the personal character of his attacks on the one hand, and his want of real sympathy with the "swinish multitude" on the other. the submerged portions of humanity have little to hope for in a statesman who coolly advises them "by labour to obtain what by labour can be obtained and to be taught their consolation in the final proportions of eternal justice". the hopeless conservatism of this view aroused the indignation of mary wollstonecraft. "it is possible," she exclaims, "to render the poor happier in this world without depriving them of the consolation which you gratuitously grant them in the next!" nor has mr. burke's "immaculate constitution" her undivided sympathy. she agrees with rousseau that property, while one of the pillars of the monarchical system, is a deadly enemy to that equality of men before the law without which there can be no real liberty. the preservation of the intact family-estate for the purpose of perpetuating a time-honoured name and tradition, much as it appeals to burke, was a phrase the force of which did not strike mary wollstonecraft, whose indifference to opinion we have already referred to. it would be far better for society if each large estate were divided into a number of small farms, so that each might have a competent portion and all amassing of property cease. in the same passage she boldly asserts the rights of man, as laid down by rousseau in his famous social compact, which give him a title to as much liberty, both civil and religious, as is compatible with the rights of every other individual. as it is, the first rule of the doctrine of equality, which says that all men are equal before the law, is utterly disregarded, for does not the law shield the rich and oppress the poor? property in england is a great deal more secure than liberty. the views expressed in the above passage to a great extent anticipate those of godwin's "_caleb williams_", published in 1794, which, according to the author's preface, comprehended "a general view of the modes of domestic and unrecorded despotism by which man becomes the destroyer of man", and in which a social system was denounced which enabled the rich man to use the power of a law which seemed to regard only the interests of one single class of society for the most nefarious purposes[43]. a parallel to this sociological novel is afforded by mary wollstonecraft's unfinished "_maria, or the wrongs of woman_", to which, if we replace the last word by "woman", the sentence just quoted applies literally. it is but fair to state that mary wollstonecraft did not persist in her extreme views as to the necessity of a sudden and radical change which at one time made her overlook the principle of slow evolution. she was willing to recognise this principle in her "_historical and moral view of the origin and progress of the french revolution_", of which the first and only volume was written some three years later. at paris, before her intimacy with imlay and the birth of her daughter fanny brought about a temporary relaxation in her social zeal, her time was spent in watching the development of events with eager and sympathetic interest. her optimistic faith in the perfectibility of mankind helped her--as it did wordsworth--to look beyond the horrors and bloodshed by which her heart was moved to intense pity and indignation. she was convinced that out of the chaotic mass "a fairer government was rising than ever shed the sweets of social life on the world." but, she adds, "things must have time to find their level." the "_vindication of the rights of man_"--although quite overshadowed by paine's pamphlet--met with so much success that very soon after its publication a second edition was called for. there is no doubt that this circumstance gave mary a great deal of encouragement. it became an incentive to further efforts on a larger scale in the direction in which she now realised lay the mission of her life. in spite of her theories she was sufficiently sensitive to praise to feel gratified by it and to derive from it the moral courage necessary to defy public opinion and constitute herself the champion of the cause of woman. we have seen that the cause of woman had met with very little regard in england in the course of the century, except where moral improvement was concerned. in france, however, the progress to be recorded was considerable. it will be remembered that fénelon had been the first to insist on an education which might teach girls the pursuit of some useful ideal instead of leaving them to pass their time in a degrading search for pleasure. there is in fénelon a distinct foreshadowing of the tendencies of educational reform in later years. with mary wollstonecraft also, the chief aim of education is not to prepare the individual for social intercourse, but to accustom the mind to listen to the dictates of reason. fénelon has a more negative way of putting the question. he believes in filling the mind with useful ideas as a means of preventing moral degradation. in the course of the following century, the philosophers of the encyclopédie introduced their theories of rationalism. helvétius (in his _traité de l'homme_, 1774) insisted on the necessity of an education in connection with his theory that the human mind, which is sovereign, is the exclusive product of education and experience. he may be called a link in the chain of advocates of the cause of woman, although not paying the slightest attention to women in particular; for he indirectly advances their cause a step by defending the view that an education is indispensable to develop the mind and thus attain perfection. he is one of the originators of the theory which says that the mind is in a perfectly neutral state at birth, capable of receiving and guarding any impressions which may be produced by accidental circumstances, which a well-regulated education may to a certain extent make or re-make; the obvious conclusion being that all men are of equal birth. to this scheme diderot in his "_réfutation_" opposed his theory of heredity, or innate character. both godwin and mary wollstonecraft were adherents of helvétius. viewed in the light of original equality, which supposes equal possibilities in individuals who are only physically different, it will be readily seen what a long vista of improvements may be opened by perfecting the education. in the catalogue rousseau must be passed over until mary herself will introduce him, when he will be fighting on the wrong side, although not so completely as mary wollstonecraft would have us believe. although their respective views on the subject of female education and the consequent position of women in society are almost diametrically opposed, yet there is a great deal of sound reasoning in the remarks of both. however, we find in each the same unfortunate tendency to generalisation and exaggeration. a discussion of the social position of women without direct reference to education, criticising them as they then were, and pointing out what they might be, may be found in d'holbach's _social system_ (1774), where an entire chapter is devoted to the subject. mr. brailsford[44] points out the strange incongruity which lies in the fact that an atheist and a confirmed materialist was among the first to recommend the emancipation of women. for a rationalist philosopher, indeed, to arrive at the conclusion that women should be made the social equals of men, would be nothing very remarkable, but where d'holbach constantly keeps in view the moral side of the problem, he approaches the english moralists rather than the french thinkers of the school of reason. the tone of his plea is sincere, and his hints are wise, moderate and worthy of consideration. he complains that the education of the women of his time, instead of developing in them those qualities which are best calculated to bring happiness to men, merely tends to make them inconstant, capricious and irresponsible. they are being tyrannised over in every country; in europe their position is not more enviable than elsewhere, although a varnish of gallantry seeks to hide the fact. not woman herself is to blame for this, but rather man, who refuses her the benefit of an education which may render her fit to perform the duties of life. there is nothing more inconsistent than the education of girls, which includes instruction in religious matters, teaching them the hope of eternity in conjunction with all the vanities of life, such as dancing and a too great regard for dress and deportment, which are incompatible with true piety. d'holbach was also the first to protest against those marriages in which even mutual esteem is wanting, which is even more important than love, because of its greater permanence. where conjugal infidelity is encouraged on the stage and in society, married life too often becomes one protracted intrigue, and the domestic duties and the education of the children cease to be regarded. women of the lower classes are even worse off; prostitution is their only course, and society, while readily forgiving the seducer, leaves the victim to a life of infamy. the chapter ends with an earnest appeal to women to learn the value of reason and the power of virtue, which alone lead to happiness, and to respect themselves if they wish others to respect them. the parallelism between the passages referred to above and the main drift of mary wollstonecraft's contentions in her "_vindication of the rights of women_" is so particularly striking, that the assumption seems justified that she had read d'holbach. the outbreak of the revolution caused the new philosophical principles to be put to the test of practical experiment. in 1791 the national assembly, realising that an important step towards the realisation of that equality they aimed at was the institution of a national education, called upon talleyrand to elaborate a project of an educational scheme on rational principles. talleyrand's report pointed out the desirability of allowing women to share in the universal education and to establish schools to which both sexes were to be admitted. as regards the possibility of their taking part in political discussions, he was of opinion that their domestic duties forbade their entering the arena of politics. the education of children was the principal of these duties, and the report says that "after reaching the age of eight, girls should be restored to their parents to be taught housekeeping at home." the dissolution of the national assembly caused talleyrand's scheme to be consigned to oblivion, and his task was entrusted by the legislative assembly to the philosopher condorcet. this disciple of turgot, who may be called the french godwin, sharing the latter's love of the mathematics of philosophy, blessed with the same boundless confidence in the future of humanity, and actuated by the same unselfish enthusiasm, which he did not, like godwin, take the trouble to hide under a mask of seeming stoicism,--read his report in april 1792. it almost coincided with the publication of the _vindication_, for a letter written by mrs. bishop to everina wollstonecraft in july of the same year refers to mary as the successful author of the _rights of women_. condorcet's views differ from mary's in that he wishes the instruction which is open to all classes to be regulated in accordance with talent and capacity. an education, therefore, regarding innate talents rather than social distinctions, and by which each man is to be rendered independent of others[45]. women are to receive the same instruction as men. it is not astonishing that the theorist condorcet should be inclined to go beyond what the practical talleyrand considered feasible and to forget the undeniable difference in character and capacities existing between the sexes. in this, mary wollstonecraft felt like condorcet. both make the mistake, when anxious to assert the intellectual equality of women and to have them recognised as "partakers of reason", of trying to strengthen their plea by pointing to one or two exceptional women to prove what woman is capable of. the grounds on which condorcet--continuing the line of thought of his french predecessors--demands instruction for women are the same as those of mary. women are the natural educators of the young, they should guard their husbands' affections by making themselves agreeable companions, capable of taking an interest in their daily occupations. but it is the last argument that clinches matters: the two sexes have equal _rights_ to be instructed. it is condorcet's ideal--as it had been that of bernardin de st. pierre--to give the children of the two sexes a joint education, which may prepare them for the social state, and which he feels confident will remove the atmosphere of unhealthy mystery which an artificial separation is apt to produce. mary heartily concurs with this view. "i should not," she says, "fear any other consequence than that some early attachment might take place, which, whilst it had the best effect on the moral character of the young people, might not perfectly agree with the views of the parents." i have tried to point out that, although the acquaintance of mary wollstonecraft with the works of the french educationalists (rousseau, of course, excepted) is doubtful, yet there is the closest resemblance in the spirit which animates them. the english writers on the subject, as we have seen, were upon the whole much less enlightened. their names are repeatedly mentioned in the _vindication_, and their methods criticised. the principles underlying the theory of the rights of man are adopted with perfect logic as a basis on which to consider the position of the female half of society. "if the abstract rights of man will bear discussion and explanation", says the dedication to talleyrand, in whom she trusted to find a sympathiser, "those of woman, by a parity of reasoning, will not shrink from the same test." mary's methods of investigation are borrowed from rousseau. in his scheme for the improvement of social conditions, the latter had insisted on the necessity of reverting to the original principles which underlie the social structure, and out of the misunderstanding and consequent misapplication of which the great hindrances to human progress, prejudice and prescription arose. a too close regard to expediency--continually contrasted with simple principles--seems to her the cause of the introduction of measures "rotten at the core", from which flow the misery and disorder which pervade society. while adopting rousseau's general lines of thought, however, she cannot bring herself to share his raptures about the state of nature, which in its essence is nothing but a denial of the possibility of a well-organised society. the optimism with which he regards the individual does not extend to society, in respect to which he is far too pessimistic to suit mary's unshakable confidence in human perfectibility. where rousseau asserts that "l'homme est né bon", and holds the social state responsible for the introduction of evil, mary wollstonecraft feels in the presence of evil the will of the almighty that we should make use of the gift of reason as a means of conquering evil and attaining perfection. to return to nature, therefore, would mean evading the chief task which god meant to impose upon his favourite creature, that of cultivating virtue in the social state which he ordained. here again, as in helvétius, d'holbach and so many others, reason is to be the governing power. in reason lies man's pre-eminence over the brute creation, and out of the struggle between reason and the passions arise virtue and knowledge, by which man is conducted towards happiness. mary wollstonecraft, in bringing her reason to bear upon the existing social conditions, had become deeply conscious of the degrading position of her sex, and, having herself risen above her troubles, makes a fervent appeal to rational men to give them a chance of becoming more respectable. her plea, while in the first place for her sex, embraces all humanity, for unless woman be prepared by education to become the companion of man rather than his mistress, she will hamper the progress of knowledge and virtue. there seems, indeed, a great deal of absurdity in a social scheme which in vindicating the rights of the male portion of humanity, in claiming for them equality, liberty and the blessings of education, could leave the other half of mankind out of consideration. was liberty to be the portion of men only; and was woman to continue in her state of bondage? were all men to be partakers of reason, guided by her only, whilst women had the use of that faculty denied them? in a social state where such partiality could prevail, man was himself responsible for the utter depravity of women. the worst despotism is not that of kings, but that of man, and woman is the trampled-upon victim. we are thus led to a natural division of the subject into an examination of the position of woman such as it is, and an investigation of what it ought to be and might be. there is one circumstance which distinguishes mary wollstonecraft from other champions of the new social creed. in their eagerness to champion oppressed humanity against all forms of tyranny and oppression, thomas paine and his followers had been too much inclined to forget that "every right necessarily includes a duty." it is very much to mary's credit that she emphatically pointed out that "they forfeit the right who do not fulfil the duty." in her claims for equality with men, far from being prompted by sordid motives of envy, or by a desire to obtain power or influence for her sex, she aims at enabling women to discharge the duties of womanhood, among which that of educating their own children occupies the first place. she was always ready herself to take more than her share of those duties, and no one at present doubts her sincerity when saying that she pleads for her sex rather than for herself. in considering the actual position of women in society she concludes that the trouble arises from two widely different sources. women have either too much attention paid them, or they have no attention whatever paid them, and the result is equally disastrous, although in a different way. she had had personal experience of the defencelessness and helplessness of a young woman whom fate had cast out upon the cruel world without the means of fighting adverse circumstances, when financial embarrassments forced her to accept a situation as governess in lord kingsborough's home. it had stung her to the quick to realise the contempt in which she was held by those whom she justly considered her intellectual inferiors, merely because no government had ever taken the trouble to provide for women without a natural protector, and the narrow views of society were that any woman who, compelled by circumstances, tried to support herself in an honest profession, degraded herself. that her only alternative was to throw herself upon the protection of some lord of creation and prostitute herself, did not seem to occur to these judges of morality. the only compassion excited by the helplessness of females was the consequence of personal attractions, making pity "the harbinger of lust." it is the duty of a benevolent government to add to the respectability of women by enabling them to earn their own bread, and to save them from inevitable prostitution, or from the degradation of marrying for support. let the professions be thrown open to them, let women study to become physicians and nurses. let there be midwives rather than "accoucheurs", let them study history and politics, all of which will keep them far better employed than the perusal of romances or "chronicling small beer". women are capable of taking a share in the dealings of trade, of regulating a farm, or of managing a shop. the only employments which have hitherto been open to them are of a menial kind. thus the position of a governess, who must be a gentlewoman to be equal to her important task of education, is held in less repute than that of a tutor, who is himself treated as a dependant. this prejudice entirely destroys the aim of tutorship in rendering him contemptible to his pupils. how the personal note appears in the above remarks, the demands of which will certainly not strike the modern reader as exorbitant. however, seen in the light of the prejudices prevailing in mary's days, they make her stand out very clearly from the common herd of those who were willing slaves to man. she seconds condorcet in hinting at the remote possibility of having female representatives in parliament. it may here be argued in favour of her modest proposal--which she fears may excite laughter--that the introduction of women into the parliament of those days could not very well have made matters worse than they were. the mock representation of the "rotten boroughs" was indeed as she calls it "a handle for despotism" of the worst description, and on this subject at least a large portion of the nation held coinciding views. the position of women of the upper classes, who have every attention paid them and pass their lives in search of amusement, although it seems better, is in reality even worse. in connection with his views on this subject mary is reluctantly obliged to recognise in rousseau--whose inconsistency is among his chief characteristics--a champion of despotism. making allowance for a few deviations in details of education, it may be said that here rousseau's views reflect the general opinion of his time. his educational scheme, which upon the whole had mary's sympathy, and from which she borrowed largely in her purely educational works, only regards emile, the boy. the girl, sophie, only interests him as being essential to the happiness of the male. the theory that the education of women should be "relative to men", as rousseau puts it, places him in direct opposition to mary wollstonecraft, as it implies a necessary inferiority on the part of women. his maxims supply her with a target against which to direct the shafts of her disapprobation and indignation. in his "_lettre à d'alembert_" he had made a violent onslaught on women and the passion they inspire. it does not leave them a shred of reputation: modesty, purity and decency are said to have completely forsaken them. the hysterical violence of his sallies was probably due to his hatred of the encyclopedians, those "philosophers of a day" whose rationalism opposed the utter subjection of women to man's desires. i have already pointed out that it was from the french school of rationalism that the first suggestions of emancipation came, and the above-mentioned epistle marks the beginning of hostilities between the rationalist and the emotional school. mary wollstonecraft did not find it difficult to agree with rousseau that many women had sunk to a state of deep degradation, but, she asked: "a qui la faute?" it was man who brought her there, and she expected man to lift her on to a more exalted plane. the julie of rousseau's "_nouvelle héloise_" impresses us as another inconsistency. she displays, it is true, the characteristic submissiveness to a characteristically masterful parent, and the usual notions of virtue consisting chiefly in the preservation of reputation which mary attacks so vigorously in the _rights of women_, but julie has far more individuality than the average young woman of the period. she rather leads her lover than he her. the _nouvelle héloise_, however, displays rousseau's sentimental vein, and is therefore more directly irrational than anything else he wrote. the sophie of _emile_ is partly the creation of his intellect, the julie of the _nouvelle héloise_ almost exclusively that of his sentiment. in the fifth book of _emile_, therefore, sentimentality only plays an occasional part. rousseau's intellect assigns to woman the place which she ought to fill in society. a writer on female education, says lord john morley, may consider woman as destined to be a wife, or a mother, or a human being; as the companion of man, as the rearer of the young, or as an independent personality, endowed with talents and possibilities in less or greater number, and capable as in the case of men of being trained to the best or the worst use, or left to rust unused[46]. rousseau insists upon the first, makes little of the second, and utterly ignores the third. emile is brought up to be above all a man; sophie, however, is given no chance of attaining the necessary qualifications for womanhood and motherhood and is merely educated to be an obedient and submissive companion to her husband. her opinions are modelled upon emile's, and in no matter of importance, not even in religion, is she allowed to choose for herself. the last is an emphatic denial of the faculty of reason in women. that a woman of this stamp, accustomed to mental and moral dependence, is all unfit to educate her own children, is self-evident, nor did rousseau destine her for this task. as soon as the child has been weaned, the mother passes out of the educational scheme, her place and that of the father being taken by the instructor. mary wollstonecraft regards women in the first place as human beings and asserts their right to be educated. they are in possession of the faculty of reason, which in them is as capable of being perfected as in their lord and master, man. their conduct and manners, however, show that their minds are in no healthy state. having been taught that their chief aim in life is to make a wealthy marriage, they sacrifice everything to beauty and attractiveness of appearance. instead of cherishing nobler ambitions, they are satisfied to remain in that state of perpetual childhood in which the tyranny of man has purposely kept them. the relative education has made them utterly dependent on masculine opinion. rousseau, who calls opinion the tomb of virtue in men, recommends it to women as its "high throne", thus introducing a sexual code of morality. they know that the flattering sense of physical superiority makes man prefer them feeble and clinging for protection, and accordingly they cultivate physical weakness and dependence. a puny appetite is considered by them "the height of human perfection". why did not rousseau extend his excellent advice regarding outdoor sports and games to girls? they would not care for dolls if their involuntary confinement within doors did not incapacitate them from healthier pursuits. thus the physical inferiority of women is partly of man's own creation, and might be to a large extent remedied. once the right of being educated has been granted to women, they must of necessity develop into suitable companions to their husbands and affectionate parents to their children. to assert that woman's only duty consists in catering for the happiness of her lord and master is taking a sordid view of her possibilities. granting that woman has a soul, and that the promise of immortality applies also to her, it follows naturally that the cultivation of that soul is her chief business in life. the prevailing notion of a sexual character, therefore, is subversive of all morality. soldiers, who like women are sent into the world before their minds have been stored with knowledge or fortified by principles, show the same deplorable lack of common sense. scattered through the book are a number of rather desultory remarks from which may be gathered the author's notions regarding the baleful influence of slavery upon the moral aspirations of her sex. nearly all contemporary authors agreed that woman's chief aim ought to be "to please". among their number were mrs. barbauld, mrs. piozzi, mme de genlis and mme de staël. from the first the notion was inculcated that the chief object is to make an advantageous match, "it is acknowledged that they spend many of the first years of their lives in acquiring a smattering of accomplishments, meanwhile strength of mind and body are sacrificed to libertine notions of beauty, to the desire of establishing themselves--the only way women can rise in the world--by marriage." the cardinal virtues of the sex are therefore those qualities which are best calculated to make them acceptable to men, as gentleness, sweetness of temper, docility and a "spaniel-like" affection. men complain, and with reason, of the follies and caprices of women, forgetting that they are the natural outcome of an ignorance which is very far removed from innocence. the education of women, such as it is, consists only in some kind of preparation for social life, instead of being considered the first step to form a rational being, advancing by gradual steps towards perfection. thus a woman is methodically prepared for the bondage that awaits her, and never gets an opportunity of asserting her better possibilities. a sexual character is established by artificial means, and in this circumstance mary sees the chief cause of woman's moral decay, for which she herself is only partly responsible. all her life she remains powerless to get away from the shackles of first impressions. her conduct is regulated by absurd notions of a specially feminine virtue, chastity, modesty and propriety. instead of realising that virtue--which surely ought to be the same for women as for men--is nothing but love of truth and fortitude, she confounds with it reputation. respect for the opinion of the world is considered one of her chief duties, for does not rousseau himself declare that reputation is no less indispensable than chastity? for true modesty--which is only that purity of thought which is characteristic of cultivated minds--she substitutes the coquettish affectations which are to draw the lover on while seemingly rejecting him. the insincerity of these principles of daily conduct tend to develop in the female mind that cunning which rousseau calls natural and accordingly recommends! for a woman to show her actual feelings is to be guilty of the most flagrant breach of modesty. where writers have granted to man the monopoly of reason, they have given to woman as a substitute that which is delicately termed "sensibility", but is in reality nothing but a morbid sort of sensuality, the consequence of devouring novels which have the effect of inflaming the senses, and the only antidote to which is healthy exercise. mary wollstonecraft, like the bluestocking moralists, regarded the quality of sensibility with favour only when regulated by reason. in her enjoyment of the beauty of natural scenery, according to her own analysis, it is her very reason which "obliged her to permit her feelings to be her criterion." (letters from sweden). but it was one of her chief contentions that far too much stress was laid on the cultivation of that kind of sensibility in women which in its very exaggeratedness leads to the worst excesses of sentimentalism. the eighteenth century interpretation of the term "sensibility" with its concomitant absurdities awakened in her feelings of intense disgust. all rousseau's errors in her opinion arose from its source. to indulge his feelings, and not to imbibe moral strength at the fountain of nature, or to satisfy a thirst for scientific investigation, he sought for solitude when meditating the rapturous but dangerous love-scenes of the _nouvelle héloise_. no doubt these scenes were in her mind when she wrote: "love such as the glowing pen of genius has traced, exists not, or only resides in those exalted, fervid imaginations that have sketched such dangerous pictures." she only sees in them "sheer sensuality under a sentimental veil." the sentimentalists who, like richardson and rousseau, laid bare the play of the human passions to a reading public consisting almost entirely of women, whose minds were not sufficiently occupied to keep their imagination within bounds, "set fire to a house for the sake of making the pumps play." morbid sensibility, in its exaggerated tenderness over insignificant trifles and corresponding indifference to real social evils, excludes from the mind all sense of moral duty. two writers of mary wollstonecraft's time had shown a more than usual narrowness of views. they were the rev. dr. james fordyce, author of a number of sermons addressed to women, and dr. gregory, who had written a "_legacy to his daughters_." the former proceeded from the propositions which had formed the basis of rousseau's argument. he is so thoroughly convinced of the all-round superiority of man, that he assumes the natural folly of woman to be the cause of all matrimonial differences. he feels sure that women who behave to their husbands with "respectful observance", studying their humours and overlooking their mistakes, submitting to their opinion, passing by little instances of unevenness, caprice or fashion, and relieving their anxieties will find their homes "the abode of domestic bliss." fordyce held the principal charm of women to be a sickly sort of delicacy which, as it flatters the vanity of the male, is not wholly without effect even in our days, in spite of all mrs. fawcett may say to the contrary. men of sensibility, he says, "desire in every woman soft features and a flowing voice, a form not robust, and demeanour delicate and gentle." this hint could only have the effect of making women more insipid than even rousseau's sophie, who at least after her marriage shared her husband's outdoor exercise. but the worst part of fordyce's argument is that passage in which he advises young women to remember that the devout attitude of pious recollection (in prayer) is most likely to conquer a man's heart. when a clergyman thus by well-meant advice perverts his flock, what are we to expect from the grosser bulk of mankind! as mary wollstonecraft justly points out, there is about these sermons, for all their sentimental posing and bombastic phrasing, a certain sneaking voluptuousness which would strike a modern woman as most insulting; a confident tone of proprietorship which could not fail to stimulate any woman of independent temper into revolt. mrs. rauschenbusch points out that dr. fordyce was acting in accordance with the tendencies of the church in advocating that meekness and bearing of injuries without retaliation which are taught by the gospel. what particularly galled mary was the hypocritical prostration of men before woman's charms, that mock politeness which seemed to her the most cruel proof of the degradation of her sex. the description of women by fordyce as "smiling, fair innocents", and the frequent use of terms like "fair defects", "amiable weakness", etc. where women were concerned, sounded to her as an insult. in gregory's "_legacy to his daughters_" the case was slightly different. the author was an affectionate father, whose anxiety to shield his motherless girls induced him to become an author. that an honest, well-intentioned man like he should be capable of writing such trash makes us realise the hopelessness of mary's task. he openly recommends dissimulation. for a woman to show what she feels must be termed indelicate. a girl should be careful to hide her gaiety of heart, "lest the men who beheld her might either suppose that she was not entirely dependent on their protection for her safety, or else entertain dark suspicions as to her modesty." in the lives of the poor gregory girls mrs. grundy was omnipotent! unreserved praise, on the contrary, is bestowed upon mrs. catherine macaulay's "_letters on education with observations on religion and metaphysical subjects_", which had appeared in 1790, shortly before their author's death. mrs. macaulay had been among the opponents of burke in a vindication of a french government which owed its authority to the will of a majority; and also in matters educational her views coincided with those of mary wollstonecraft. she believed in co-education up to a certain age, which has the obvious advantage of making the daily intercourse between people of different sexes less strained and more natural not only in early youth, but also later in life, when the relations between the sexes ought to be based upon mutual appreciation and esteem. like mary wollstonecraft, she protested against what she called "the absurd notion of a sexual excellence", which not only excluded the female sex from every political right, but left them hardly a civil right to save them from the grossest injuries. it was an unlucky circumstance indeed that the only woman who might have granted mary the full support of her reputation as the author of a very successful work on the "_history of england from the accession of james the first to that of the brunswick line_" should have been removed by death at a time when that support might have been of so much value to one who felt forsaken by the majority of her own sex.[47] mary wollstonecraft pleads the necessity of giving woman an education like that which is granted to man, that she may learn to take reason for her guide. only then will she be able to perform the specific duties of her sex. but there is a weightier argument for the cultivation of reason in women. their deplorable deficiency in this quality has so far made them consider only earthly interests and disqualified them from looking beyond the affairs of this world to the promise of that eternity for which only the soul can fit them. it is in pointing out the evil consequences to the soul of a life devoted to pleasure that mary's pleadings attain their greatest depth of pathos and intensity. the profound piety of her character makes her protest against this sordid view of life. "surely" she exclaims, "she has not an immortal soul who can loiter life away merely employed to adorn her person that she may amuse the languid hours and soften the cares of a fellow-creature who is willing to be enlivened by her smiles and tricks when the serious business of life is over." once a woman has attained her aim of a profitable marriage, the circumstances of which almost exclude the possibility of love, she turns all her "natural" cunning to account to establish a sort of mock tyranny over her master. she lives in the enjoyment of her present influence, forgetting that adoration will cease with the loss of her charms, and that woman is "quickly scorned when not adored". in later years there will be no sound basis of friendship arising from equality of tastes to take its place, no reflection to be substituted for sensation, and their earthly punishment consists in a miserable old age. even when married to a sensible husband, who thinks for her, what will be the fate of a woman who is left a widow with a large family? "unable to educate her sons, or to impress them with respect, she pines under the anguish of unavailing impotent regret." the passage in which she pictures her ideal of rational womanhood, who, far from being rendered helpless by her husband's death, rises to the occasion and devotes herself with a strong heart to the discharge of her maternal duties, finally reaping the reward of her care when she sees her children attain a strength of character enabling them to endure adversity, is a piece of true eloquence. "the task of life fulfilled, she calmly waits for the sleep of death, and rising from the grave, may say: "behold, thou gavest me a talent, and here are five talents".[48] there never was a more fervent champion of marriage and domesticity than mary. the sanctity of matrimony needed no enforcement by means of a wedding ceremony, but consisted in the mutual affection and esteem which was felt. hence her violent criticism of loveless marriages contracted from mercenary motives and her severe condemnation of the harshness with which society treated poor ruined girls. the twelfth chapter of the _rights of women_ contains a plea for national education. mary is here seen treading in the steps of talleyrand, and forsaking her old masters locke and rousseau. they both advocate a private education. locke wants to educate the "gentleman", making his scheme practicable in isolated applications, but disregarding the bulk of the nation. rousseau, who did regard the mass of the people in matters of political speculation, entirely loses sight of the public interest in favour of the private in his educational scheme, thus reducing it to mere abstract speculation, incapable of extensive realisation. but mary wollstonecraft adopts the more practical view of the active socialist. the children of the nation are to be educated without the slightest reference to class distinction, and they ought to be brought up together. the exclusive teaching of a child by a tutor will make him acquire a sort of premature manhood, and will not tend to make him a good citizen. he is to be a member of society, and it will not do to regard him as a unit, complete in himself. the same view limits the freedom of the individual to what is compatible with the rights of others. to ignore the duties of the individual towards society would be to build the entire structure of education upon an unsound basis. this plea for co-education will be seen to be a recantation from former opinions expressed in the "_original stories_". the latter had their rise chiefly in the experience gained of boarding-schools during her stay at eton with the priors. they seemed to her absolute hotbeds of vice and folly, where an utter want of modesty introduced the most repulsive habits. the younger boys delighted in mischief, the older in every form of vice. the colleges were full of the relics of popery, the 'mouth-service',which makes all religion but a cold parade of show, and the educators themselves were very poor champions of true religion. what mary saw at eton confirmed her in the belief that dayschools were to be preferred, as the only way of combining the advantages of private and public education. that important part of education which aims at awakening the affections can only be given in the home of loving parents, and only that man can be a good citizen who has first learned to be a good son and brother. a country day-school, affording the best opportunities for unstinted physical exercise, might be expected to be productive of the greatest benefit to young pupils. the division of the educational task between school and home will moreover leave the children the necessary amount of freedom which is denied them when living the cramped lives of boarding-schools. to make women the companions of men, and to remove the unhealthy atmosphere of an artificial separation of the sexes which produces indelicacy in both, she thinks it necessary that boys and girls should be brought up together. all children should be dressed regardless of class and submitted to the same rules of discipline. they should not be made to remain in the schoolroom for longer than an hour, and be taken out into the schoolyard, or better still, for walks. a good deal of outdoor instruction of the kind rousseau described might be given by means of spectacular illustration. at the age of nine comes the first great change in the daily routine. the two sexes will still be together in the morning, engaged in common pursuits, but the afternoon will find the girls bent over their needlework, millinery, etc., while the boys' further instruction will depend on their choice of a trade. special schools ought to be established for those whose superior abilities render them fit to pursue some course of scientific studies. being thus together will take the edge off that unnatural restraint which too often marks the relations between children of a different sex. the position of the teachers--not ushers--should be such as to render them entirely independent of their pupils' parents. the usher's ambiguous position of mixed authority and submission frequently rendered him an object of ridicule to the children. talleyrand, from whom mary in all probability borrowed this suggestion, even wanted to make the children independent of their masters in respect of punishment, by having it inflicted only after the offender had been tried and found guilty by his peers. it will be seen that the "_vindication of the rights of women_" touches upon a great many points which at the present time have become foregone conclusions, but which, nevertheless, were in mary's days daring speculations, which were received with anything but general approval. if it should now appear to us that some of her conclusions were rather too sweeping, that the very physical inferiority of woman which she is willing to grant makes it impossible for her to combine in her person the wife, the mother and the social woman, and that a too ardent application of her theories of the social possibilities of her sex is responsible for some abominations of the public hustings, who, banging their fists on the table, "refuse to be the playthings of men any longer"--it should be remembered that she insisted with equal emphasis upon the cultivation of the female qualities, and that it was not granted her to be taught moderation by the repulsive spectacle of female extremism in later times! moreover, in the introduction to the first edition of the _vindication_, she expresses her disgust of "masculine women". and yet the type of a "masculine woman" in mary's days, with her "ardour in hunting, shooting and gaming", was not nearly so objectionable as her modern sister. it is, indeed, very difficult to find anything to praise in the _vindication_ when viewed as a literary effort. mary wollstonecraft herself clearly did not regard it as such. the importance of the object by which she was animated made her disdain to cull her phrases or polish her style, wishing rather to persuade by the force of her arguments than dazzle by the elegance of her language. unfortunately the former is not inconsiderably weakened by a deplorable tendency to reiteration, and a general desultoriness and lack of system which cannot fail to strike the reader. the "flowery diction" which she professed herself anxious to avoid, but did not succeed in completely banishing, is responsible for a great deal of the turgidity and false rhetoric which disfigure certain passages. godwin, whose unemotional nature enabled him to judge of his wife's work without prejudice and whose _memoirs_ contain a most sincere and therefore valuable criticism, although admiring the courage of her convictions, the disinterestedness of her motives and the originality of her contentions, finds fault with what he calls "the stern and rugged nature" of certain passages which will probably impress the modern reader as coarse and indelicate. her great devotion to the cause may account for the "amazonian" temper which fills some parts of her book, more especially the "animadversions" on the opinions of those of her opponents whose "backs demanded the scourge". her disapproval of lord chesterfield's moral standpoint has already been referred to. mary wollstonecraft was not in the habit of mincing matters, and her sincerity and consequent frankness brought her the ill-will of many. the publication of the _rights of women_ at once brought mary into prominence. unfortunately, the scare of a french invasion and the trial of the reformers were most unfavourable to the spread of any new ideas in england. from her sisters she had little sympathy, and "poor bess" rather spitefully alluded to information she had received to the effect that "mrs. wollstonecraft was grown quite handsome" and intended going to paris. for this trip to france there were several causes. in the first place she felt intensely interested in the march of events there, which were hastening to a crisis, louis xvi being a prisoner in the hands of the convention. the second motive--perhaps the principal--was connected with her friendship for mr. fuseli, the celebrated swiss painter; but whether she hoped to make the trip in company with the fuselis and her friend johnson, as mr. kegan paul supposes[49], or wanted to get away from the influence of the artist, with whom godwin informs us she was in love, is uncertain. the end was that she went to paris alone in december 1792, and boarded at the house of mme filliettaz, a lady in whose school eliza and everina had been teachers, but who was absent from home, so that mary's french was put to the severe test of conversation with the servants. she now became a close spectator of the progress of that revolution which upon the whole had her sympathy. yet it was with mingled feelings that she saw the chariot pass her house in which the royal prisoner was conveyed to his trial a few days after her arrival. the sight of louis going to meet death with more dignity than she expected from his character, brought before her mind the picture of his ancestor louis xiv, entering his capital after a glorious victory, and pity, her ruling passion, interceded for the poor victim who had to pay for the crimes of his forefathers. economy prescribed her removal from the filliettaz mansion to less pretentious quarters at neuilly, where she was left a great deal to herself, save for an occasional visit to her english friends in paris miss williams and mrs. christie. it was at the latter's house that a meeting took place which decided the next few years of her life. her days at neuilly were thus spent in retirement. she had a devoted old gardener to wait upon her and generally went out for a walk in the evening, the hours of daylight being given up to the composition of a new work, combining history with philosophy and inspired by the stirring events to which she was such a close witness. although not published until some years after, "_an historical and moral view of the origin and progress of the french revolution, and the effect it has produced in europe_" was written in the first months of 1793 at neuilly. the advertisement with which it opens declares the author's intention of extending the work to two or three more volumes, a considerable part of which, it informs us, had already been written; but godwin assures us that no part of the proposed continuation was found among her papers after her death. the only existing volume both in style and method shows a very decided advance upon the earlier _vindication_. mary's narrative powers were even greater than her capacity for philosophy, and her imagination had been fired by the thrilling accounts she had received from her parisian friends of the march of events. the greater freedom and fluency of the style, the greater cogency of the reasoning and the dignity of the narrative render the volume very pleasant reading, the more so, as it shows great moderation and impartiality as far as actual facts are concerned. that the delineations of personal character are not always felicitous may be due to the fact that the author obtained all her information from witnesses who were not free from the prejudices which strong party-feelings awaken. on the whole, however, mary succeeded in placing herself above her subject and in proving that time had taught her to modify her extreme views and made her readier to grant certain concessions. the book is a compromise between her former principles of abstract philosophy and those of gradual evolution. although unwilling to abandon her original view that "reason beaming on the grand theatre of political changes, can prove the only sure guide to direct us to a favourable or just conclusion", and that the erroneous inferences of sensibility should be carefully guarded against, yet she felt sufficient appreciation for her old enemy burke's principle of growth to admit that the revolution was the natural consequence of intellectual improvement, gradually proceeding to perfection. never before had her hopes been so sanguine. it seemed to her that the time was at hand for the final overthrow of the tremendous empire of superstition and hypocrisy. what, in comparison with the great end in view, were the inevitable horrors of the revolution, produced by desperate and enraged factions? there is not a single page in the history of man but is tarnished by some foul deed or bloody transaction. that the vices of man in a savage state make him appear an angel compared with the refined villain of artificial life finds its cause in those unjust plans of government which exist in every part of the globe. a simpler and more effective political system would be sure to check those evils, and a faithful adherence to the new principles will lead mankind towards happiness. her feelings for mankind, however strong, were not powerful enough to interfere with the coolness of her judgment, and the light of her reason which was so soon to be temporarily eclipsed by the conflict of passions a thousand times more powerful because proceeding from within, was never obscured by the contemplation of social evils, which could not disturb her optimistic faith. the history of the french revolution is traced down to the king's removal to paris, where he was sent to stand for trial. it is, upon the whole, a successful attempt at impartial narrative not only of the course of events in paris, but also of the causes which produced them, the author indulging in a minute survey of the state of french society and politics previous to and during the catastrophe. the severity of the judgment she passes on the king and more especially on marie antoinette has been commented upon. here especially it should be remembered that she had everything from hearsay. what she heard of the character and actions of the queen struck her as characteristic of the type of womanhood she had so violently attacked in the _rights of women_. she saw in marie antoinette the product of education by a priest, who had instilled into her all those vices which mary held in abhorrence. she was devoted to a life of pleasure, vain of her good looks, but dead to intelligence and benevolence, using the fascination of her cultivated smiles and artificial weakness to exercise the tyranny of sex over a sensual, besotted husband, whose depravity she completed; an artificial dissembler, regarding only decorum, without any reference to moral character, making free with the nation's money to support a worthless brother, and depraving the morals of those around her; in short, mary wollstonecraft regarded her as the babylonian scarlet woman, a sort of "painted jezebel." her judgment is diametrically opposed to that of burke, who went into such raptures over the beauty and dignity of the queen, and gave vent to such a burst of indignation at her sad and ignominious fate that thomas paine saw fit to remind him that "while pitying the plumage, he was forgetting the dying bird." the outer revolution which was to assert the rights of the species was followed by an inner revolution in the individual which came to constitute the tragedy of mary wollstonecraft's life. the father of nature, whom she thanked for having made her so intensely alive to happiness, had also implanted in her breast an overwhelming capacity for sorrow, and after a short taste of the former, the latter became her portion to such an extent that life seemed to her unendurable. the letter to mr. johnson referring to the king's trial was the last news her friends in england received from her for eighteen months. in february 1793 war broke out between england and france and mary's nationality made it advisable for her to keep close. among her new acquaintances was an american, captain gilbert imlay, and the tenderness which about this time she began to cherish for him, was no doubt fostered by a sense of loneliness. moreover, that affection for mr. fuseli which she had so resolutely suppressed,--fuseli was happily married--left her more vulnerable than before to cupid's arrows, in addition to which imlay was to her the representative of that nation which embodied her ideals of liberty and virtue. she gave herself up body and soul to the all-devouring passion of love, and reason, seeing another in full possession of the field, "with a sigh retired." mr. imlay had served as a captain in the revolutionary army during the war of independence, and derived some slight literary fame from the publication of a short monograph on the state of america, entitled "_topographical description of the western territory of north america_." he was, therefore, a man of some accomplishments, which makes his subsequent behaviour to mary all the more unpardonable. at the time of mary's first meeting him he appears to have been in business--probably his line was timber--and the dealings of his trade claimed a great deal of his time and nearly all his attention. circumstances putting marriage out of the question,--a wedding-ceremony would have betrayed that nationality she was so anxious to conceal--she consented to live with him as his wife by virtue of their mutual affections. his correspondence shows that he regarded her as his lawful wife, and as mary fully expected the alliance to be of a permanent nature, and believed him capable of that affection which reason causes to subside into friendship after the first flame of passion is spent, she was acting in full accordance with the views she had repeatedly expressed.[50] the letters which she wrote him in the first stage of their growing intimacy are full of exquisite tenderness. her repeated "god bless you", which sterne says is equal to a kiss, shows the depth of her feelings towards him. seldom was a purer, more unselfish love wasted upon a more unworthy recipient. imlay was a "mere man", of a cheerful disposition and to a certain extent good-natured, but easy-going, self-indulgent, inconstant and incapable of appreciating a noble love which he himself could not cherish. he evidently looked upon his relation to mary as the amusement of a day,--she lavished upon him that which might have made a greater soul happy for life. she tried to draw him up to her level and failed; her efforts to cure him of his sordid love of money which so disgusted her only irritated him, and made him anxious to cast off the bonds of a union of which he soon began to tire. their agreement had been entered upon in a different spirit, and it was mary who paid the full penalty of disillusionment. a letter he wrote to mrs. bishop in november 1794, when the estrangement had already begun, at a time when mary was deeply conscious of the fact that he neglected her for business and perhaps worse, in which he states that he is "in but indifferent spirits occasioned by his long absence from mrs. imlay and their little girl" shows that he cannot even be acquitted from the charge of absolute hypocrisy. such was the individual whom mary had appointed the sole keeper of her possibilities of happiness. love had come to her late in life, but when it did, it took the shape of that complete surrender in which consists woman's greatest bliss and which she had never thought possible. it came as a revelation and brought experience in its train. who shall describe the anguish of her heart when after a short spell of ecstatic bliss, the inevitable truth began to dawn upon her! mary was not an essentially sensual woman; almost from the first she looked for that sympathy of the mind which was not forthcoming. she found him wanting, and the recognition of this probably irritated him, and ultimately made him transfer his easy-going affections to those who were less exacting. he was far too matter-of-fact to sympathise with or even understand her moments of tenderness, and too much occupied with his business to be much of a companion to her. in the month of september, after a few months together, he went to hâvre. then it was that mary's troubles began. in her letters she repeatedly protested against his prolonged absences. she grew to hate commerce, which kept him away from her. his promise "to make a power of money to indemnify her for his absence", failed to produce any impression. perhaps there was already then the vague fear of a possible desertion haunting her. she was in expectations, and the tenderness with which her letters refer to the coming event would stamp a repetition of her hopes and fears as an indelicacy. for the first time in her life, the champion of the rights of women was happy in acknowledging the superiority of a man. "let me indulge the thought that i have thrown out some tendrils to cling to the elm by which i wish to be supported." well might she say that this was talking a new language for her! the feelings, so long pent up and cheated of their birthright by tyrannical reason, were indeed asserting themselves with a vengeance! the undefined dread of coming disaster makes her letters more and more insistent. grief and indignation at imlay's neglect struggle for the mastery. at last he wrote to ask her to join him at hâvre. the irritation he had felt against her--which she humbly ascribed to the querulous tone of her correspondence--had worn away and there was a brief renewal of happiness when in the spring of 1794 a little girl was born, to whom the name of fanny was given in commemoration of the friend of mary's youth. in the course of the following august imlay went to paris, where mary joined him in september, at the end of which month he proceeded to london on business. the extensive trade he was carrying on with sweden and norway at this time completely engrossed him. mary's first letters after this fresh separation were cheerful and pleasant, although she was subject to occasional fits of depression. the conviction that imlay was about to forsake her does not appear to have taken root until the closing month of the year. the days of the terror were now over, and people once more breathed freely. mary made an heroic effort to let the future take care of itself and to concentrate her attention upon her little girl, who developed an early fondness for scarlet coats and music, and on one occasion wore the red sash in honour of j. j. rousseau, her mother confessing that "she had always been half in love with him." imlay's letters now became few and far between. his business-schemes were unsuccessful, and mary took the opportunity to point out to him the absurdity of thus wasting life in preparing to live. the tone of her correspondence betrays a growing indignation at his treatment of her, which appeared in spite of herself and which repeated protestations of unalterable affection could not hide. "i do not consent to your taking any other journey," she writes, "or the little woman and i will be off the lord knows where." she wants none of his cold kindness and distant civilities, but wishes to have him about her, enjoying life and love. the picture of sweet domesticity, of parents sharing the sacred duty of education, of pleasant evenings of homely tenderness spent at the fireside, recurred to her mind with a sense of aching regret. she would far sooner struggle with poverty than go on living this unnatural life of separation. too proud to be under pecuniary obligations to a neglectful husband, she began to consider the possibility of having to provide for herself and her child. when at last he allowed her to join him in england, she no longer cherished false hopes, but begged him to tell her frankly whether he had ceased to care. but imlay wanted her support for his business-schemes. he asked her to go to sweden and norway for him to attend to his interests and mary consented with a heavy heart, hoping that a complete change of surroundings might afford distraction, if not amusement, for she was feeling utterly worn out and ill. imlay kept up the melancholy farce a few months longer. mary wrote him a series of long epistles from scandinavia, into which, as a means of keeping her mind concentrated upon other matters, she inserted elaborate descriptions of the voyage, of the countries in which she was travelling, and of their inhabitants. of these letters, the descriptive portions of which were published in 1796, godwin speaks highly. their perusal caused him to change his opinion of the author of the _rights of women_. their first, and so far only, meeting--in november 1791--had not prepossessed him in her favour. she seemed to him to monopolize the conversation, and prevented him from listening to tom paine, who never was a great talker, and whom she reduced to absolute silence. but he now learned to think highly of her literary talent. the passages dealing with personal affairs had of course been omitted, and afterwards found their way into godwin's _posthumous edition of the works of mary wollstonecraft_, and also into mr. kegan paul's collection of _letters to imlay_. the tone of despair has on the whole given way to one of resigned melancholy. in spite of the sadness which prevailed in mary's heart, the change was doing her good, and her health was improving rapidly. before her arrival at tonsberg in sweden, she had felt very ill, a slow fever preyed on her every night. one day she found "a fine rivulet filtered through the rocks and confined in a basin for the cattle." the water was pure, and she determined to turn her morning-walks towards it and seek for health from the nymph of the fountain. she also wished to bathe, and there being no convenience near, took to rowing as a pleasant and at the same time useful exercise. while thus the flush of health was returning to her cheeks, she found it easier to arrive at a conclusion. she made up her mind that there should be an end to all uncertainty. imlay was put before a dilemma. either they must live together after her return, or part forever. still he kept flattering her with the hope that he might join her at hamburg, for a trip to switzerland, the country of her dreams since the days of neuilly. but he did not keep his word, and when mary landed at dover in october 1795, she realised that all was over and that imlay had entered into a new connection with an actress. then it was that mary made up her mind to die. the harrowing details of her fruitless attempt at suicide may be found in godwin's _memoirs_ and also in mr. kegan paul's work. after her rescue she learnt to live for her child's sake, and not to flinch from the sacred duties which tied her to life. imlay passed out of her sphere, and she parted with him in peace. but the sufferings through which he had made her pass had stamped themselves indelibly upon her heart. the "_letters written during a short residence in sweden, norway and denmark_" met with a favourable reception. being the narrative of foreign travel, they mark a new departure in her literary career. she held with rousseau that travelling, as the completion of a liberal education, ought to be adopted on rational grounds.[51] the writing of a journal was to her a means of keeping the mind employed, and preventing it from dwelling overmuch on painful recollections of disappointed hopes. her works of education and reform had been so full of the militant spirit, and her correspondence with imlay so replete with the anguish of unrequited love, that she had not yet come to recognise the soothing effect upon the mind of a close communion with nature. it is in the scandinavian correspondence that the nature-element is first met with. the contemplation of the grand coast-scenery gave her that peace and quiet for which her heart yearned. it did not bring her forgetfulness of present troubles, but it gave her the necessary strength to meet them without flinching. in her little boat, surrounded by the glorious works of nature, she found herself for the first time capable of grappling with her problem, which the sense of human insignificance reduced to its true proportions. the nature of her worship stamps her as the true spiritual child of jean-jacques. the writers of an earlier period had been able to appreciate only what is congenial in nature. the forbidding austerity of the snow-clad mountains of switzerland had produced no raptures in goldsmith's breast, and cowper's english landscape owed its attractiveness to its suggestion of peaceful harmony. rousseau had been the first to love nature also in her sterner moods and aspects; like wordsworth, "the sounding cataract haunted him like a passion", and the _nouvelle héloise_ contains the faithful record of the impressions produced upon him by the grandeur of the valais mountains. some of mary's nature-descriptions--notably those of the trolhaettan falls, and of the rocky norwegian coast--afford a parallel to these passages. she was deeply impressed by the wonders of nature she witnessed, and by the exquisite loveliness of the short northern summer. "in the evening the western gales which prevail during the day, die away, the aspen leaves tremble into stillness, and reposing nature seems to be warmed by the moon, which here assumes a genial aspect; and if a light shower has chanced to fall with the sun, the juniper, the underwood of forest, exhales a wild perfume, mixed with a thousand nameless sweets, that, soothing the heart, leave images in the memory which the imagination will ever hold dear." there is an anticipation of wordsworth in the last line of the above passage. mary recognises in nature "the nurse of sentiment", producing melancholy as well as rapture, as it touches the different chords of the human soul like the changing wind which agitates the aeolian harp. her worship of nature, like that of wordsworth, contains an element of profound piety. when she wrote her letters from sweden, mary had reached that stage in her religious life which is marked by a complete silence as far as dogma is concerned. yet this silence should not be misconstrued into indifference. her feelings on the subject were not of the nature of a systematic creed, and therefore never took an external organisation. they remained perfectly subjective in their vagueness, like the natural religion of rousseau with which they have so much in common. mary did not care to become an apostle of faith, to her religion was rather a matter of the inner life, which wanted no outlet into the world, but remained locked up in itself. she believed that her rational powers enabled her to discover certain portions of truth, but that the mystery which veiled the presence of god could not be removed by reason, but remained a matter of the heart. there is no touch of rationalism, or anything but pure sentiment, in the passage in which she describes her return from fredericshall in a perfect summer night. "a vague pleasurable sentiment absorbed me, as i opened my bosom to the embraces of nature, and my soul rose to its author, with the chirping of the solitary birds, which began to feel, rather than see, advancing day." a great deal of attention is paid in the letters to the national character of the inhabitants of sweden, norway and denmark, which she holds to be the result chiefly of the climatic conditions. never had she seen the blessings of civilisation more clearly demonstrated than by the utter lack of them among the scandinavians. especially in sweden, civilisation was at that time in its earliest infancy, and what struck mary from the first was the ignorance of the people. what she saw of their manners and customs was not calculated to make her fall in love with rousseau's golden age of simplicity. they were full of vices, and their very virtues had their origin in considerations of a lower order. they were hospitable, but their hospitality, arising from a total want of scientific pursuits, was merely the outcome of their inordinate fondness of social pleasures, "in which, the mind not having its proportion of exercise, the bottle must be pushed about." being ignorant of the advantages of the cultivation of the mind, they were content to remain as they were: ignorant, sluggish and indifferent to social progress. they moved in a narrow sphere, did not care for politics, had no interest whatever in literature and no topics of conversation, and were strangely incapable of appreciating the charms of nature. mary's experience was chiefly gained in the small provincial towns. they necessarily presented to her--so she thought--the worst side of the picture. to her, the ideal condition was "to rub off in a metropolis the rust of thought, and polish the taste which the contemplation of nature had rendered just." but no place seemed to her so disagreeable and unimproving as a small country-town. the refined amusements of a cultivated society being thus inaccessible to the swede, he will choose them of the coarsest kind. meals occupy a prominent place in the daily routine, and a good many hours are wasted at table. a "visiting-day" means a severe strain upon the powers of digestion, and to make matters worse, the brandy-bottle,--the bane of the country--passes round freely. what mary saw of wedded life in sweden did not give her a high opinion of swedish morals. the men were generally inconstant, and also the women lacked chastity--the product of the mind. the statement that in later life "the husband becomes a sot, whilst the wife spends her time in scolding the servants", likewise finds its explanation in the _rights of women_ as the natural result of vacancy of mind where youthful beauty and animal spirits have gone the way of all flesh! neither has the treatment of servants mary's sympathy. "they are not termed slaves; yet a man may strike a man with impunity because he pays him wages." but the lot of female servants is immeasurably harder. their having to eat a different kind of food from their masters strikes mary as a remnant of barbarism. the general appearance of the women is not prepossessing. too much attention to the delights of a well-provided table makes them fat and unwieldy and soon changes the natural pink of their complexions to a sallow hue. they are uncleanly of their persons, and vanity is more inherent in them than taste. their ignorance is even more profound than that of the males, and mary once had the compliment paid her that "she asked men's questions." the peasantry of sweden impressed her as more really polite and obliging than the better-situated classes, whose cold politeness consisted chiefly in tiresome ceremonies. in norway, however, the unmistakable signs of a coming dawn were noticeable. a river forms the boundary between the two countries, and yet, what a difference in the manners of the inhabitants of the two sides! instead of the sluggishness and poverty of the swede, here are industry and consequent prosperity. it is the patient labour of men who are only seeking for a subsistence which affords leisure for the cultivation of the arts and sciences that lift man so far above his first state. the world requires the hand of man to perfect it, and as this task naturally unfolds the faculties he exercises, it is physically impossible that he should remain in rousseau's golden age of stupidity. and although the cultivation of science in norway is as yet in its earliest stages--the time for universities having not yet come--yet a bright future is awaiting her. norway seemed to mary wollstonecraft the country of the greatest individual freedom. the king of denmark, it is true, was an absolute monarch, but the state of imbecility to which illness had reduced him placed the reins of government into the hands of his son the prince royal and of his wise and moderate minister count bernstorff. under their almost patriarchal authority every man was left to enjoy an almost unlimited amount of freedom. the law was mild, and the lot of those it sentenced to hard labour not unnecessarily hard. she found in norway no accumulation of property such as existed in sweden, resulting in the abject poverty of the submerged tenth. rich merchants were made to divide their personal fortunes among their children; and the distribution of all landed property into small farms,--one of the ideals hesitatingly put forward by mary in the _rights of women_--produced a degree of equality which was found nowhere else in europe. the tenants occupied their farms for life, which made them independent. there was every hope that drunkenness, the inherent vice of generations, would before long disappear, giving place to gallantry and refinement of manners; "but the change will not be suddenly produced." the norwegians love their country, but they have not yet arrived at that point where an enlarged understanding extends the love they cherish for the land of their birth to the entire human race. they have not much public spirit. however, the french revolution meets with a great deal of sympathy among the people of norway, who follow with the most lively interest the successes of the french arms. "so determined were they," says mary, "to excuse everything, disgracing the struggle of freedom by admitting the tyrant's plea necessity, that i could hardly persuade them that robespierre was a monster." mary hoped that the french revolution would have the effect of making politics a subject of discussion among them, "enlarging the heart by opening the understanding," and leading to the cultivation of that public spirit the absence of which she regretted. although the women of norway were not much more cultivated than their swedish sisters, regarding custom and opinion to such an extent that mary's educational advice was not listened to lest "the town might talk", and on the plea that "they must do as other people did"--yet they compared favourably with the latter in the matter of personal appearance and cheerfulness of disposition. they had rosy complexions, and were pronouncedly fond of dancing. they were very strict in the performance of their religious duties; yet showed the greatest toleration; nor was the norwegian sunday remarkable for that stupid dulness which characterises the english sabbath, the outcome of that fanatical spirit which mary feared was gaining ground in england. the same lack of public spirit which mary commented upon in her description of the national character of the norwegians, also struck her when observing the manners and customs of the danes in their capital. there had been a huge fire, destroying a considerable portion of the town, and held by some to be the work of pitt. it was the general opinion, that the conflagration might have been smothered in the beginning by pulling down several houses before the flames had reached them, to which, however, the inhabitants would not consent. mary found among the danes a great many vices. the men led dissolute lives, and utterly neglected their wives, who were reduced to the state of mere house-slaves. their only interest was love of gain, which, in rendering them over-cautious, sapped their energy. a visit to a theatre showed mary the state of the dramatic art in denmark and the gross taste of the audience, and the fact that well-dressed women took their children to witness the execution of a criminal as a favourite kind of entertainment, filled her with unutterable disgust. "and to think that these are the people," she exclaims, "who found fault with the late queen matilda's education of her son!" matilda, it appears, had carried some of rousseau's principles into effect, which, however, had found no favour at the court. the ignorance and coarse brutality which she found among the danes were instrumental in changing mary's opinions of the french. the parisian festivals were rendered more interesting by the sobriety of those who took part in them, a danish merry-making, however, generally degenerated into a drunken bacchanal. "i should have been less severe," she says, "in the remarks i have made on the vanity and depravity of the french, had i travelled towards the north before i visited france." the antipathy with which she had always regarded the dealings of business was increased by the experience she gained during her stay in scandinavia. at gotheburg and at hamburg the contrast between opulence and penury which the war had called forth filled her with indignation, and at laurvig, in norway, the lawyers proved to be all great chicaners. it seemed to her that traffic was necessarily allied with cunning. the gulf which now yawned between her and imlay was widened by the circumstance that she was unable to feel anything but contempt for what he had made his chief object in life. she was willing to admit that england and america to a certain extent owed their liberty to commerce, which created a new species of power to undermine the feudal system. but let them beware of the consequence, the tyranny of wealth is still more galling and debasing than that of rank! shortly after the final rupture with imlay mary renewed her acquaintance with godwin in the house of their mutual friend miss hayes. she took a fancy to him, and in the following month of april called upon him in somers town, having herself taken a lodging in pentonville. in godwin's _memoirs_ the description of their friendship, "melting into love" may be found. a temporary separation in july 1796, when godwin made an excursion into norfolk, had its effect on the mind of both parties. as godwin says, it "gave a space for the maturing of inclination," and both realised that each had become indispensable to the other. they did not at once marry. godwin, in his _political justice_, had declared himself against marriage, which compels both parties to go on cherishing a relation long after both have discovered their fatal mistake. moreover, marriage is a contract for life, and binding to both parties; and no rational being can undertake to promise that his opinions will undergo no change in the future. mary's ideas of marriage we have seen to be different, nor did she change her mind under godwin's influence. but she had been much and rudely spoken of in connection with imlay, and she could not resolve to do anything that might revive that painful topic, and therefore agreed to keep their relations a secret from the world. mary's pregnancy, however, became their motive for complying with a ceremony to which godwin in a letter to mr. wedgwood, refers as follows: "nothing but a regard for the happiness of the individual, which i had no right to injure, could have induced me to submit to an institution which i wish to see abolished, and which i would recommend to my fellowmen never to practise but with the greatest caution." the marriage took place at old st. pancras church on march 29th, 1797, but was not declared till the beginning of april. godwin records with some bitterness that certain of his friends, among whom were mrs. inchbald and mrs. siddons, from this moment treated him with coldness. in accordance with godwin's ideas of cohabitation he engaged an apartment about twenty doors from their house in somers town, where he pursued his literary occupations and sometimes remained for days together. the notes which passed between the two lovers in their five months of married life show that upon the whole they were very happy, although they had one or two slight differences. their most serious trouble in those days were the constant financial embarrassments. in june godwin went on a long excursion with his friend montagu, and the letters of both husband and wife are full of the most affectionate solicitude. the time of mary's confinement was now rapidly approaching, but her health was quite good, and she concentrated a good deal of energy upon a novel which she had begun in the first period of her intimacy with godwin. it engrossed her mind for months, and she wrote and rewrote several chapters of it with the most elaborate care. when she died, the work, to which she gave the name of "_maria, or the wrongs of woman_", was unfinished, in spite of which circumstance godwin decided to include the fragment in his edition of her posthumous works. a long and circumstantial account of mary's last days is given in mr. kegan paul's "_william godwin; his friends and contemporaries_." suffice it to say, that she gave birth to a daughter mary on the 30th of august, 1797, and in spite of the constant attendance of some of the best doctors in london, died eleven days later. in the year following her death, godwin published his _memoirs_. they are an admirable piece of writing; yet they did not produce the effect he hoped for: that of making the principles and motives by which she was actuated in life better understood and more generally appreciated. the disfavour with which his personality was regarded in many circles on account of his radicalism rendered him all unfit for the task. fortunately, later generations have done justice to the impartiality of his judgments. we, at least, realise what the unstinted praise of a man of godwin's sincerity means, although to us her character and actions require no vindication. perhaps without being aware of it himself, godwin paid his deceased wife the greatest compliment in his power when insisting on the astonishing degree of soundness which pervaded her sentiments, enabling her to supplement her husband's deficiencies. both he and mary carried farther than to their common extent the characteristics of the sexes to which they belonged. godwin, while stimulated by the love of intellectual distinction, was painfully aware of his lack of what he calls "an intuitive sense of the pleasures of the imagination." women, he says, who are more delicate and susceptible of impression than men, in proportion as they receive a less intellectual education, are more unreservedly under the empire of feeling." if this estimate of women is correct, it proves the superiority of mary wollstonecraft over the other members of her sex. for the fact that her great natural gifts, joined to her boundless energy enabled her to attain an intellectual level far beyond the reach of others, did not in any sense detract from the warmth of her heart and the intensity of her feelings, by which she proved herself above all a tender, loving woman, thoroughly capable of constituting the happiness of a husband who was himself a leader of men. when two years after mary's death godwin published "_st. leon_," he gave in his idealised description of the married life of st. leon and margaret what he felt to be a faithful account of their short spell of matrimonial happiness. well might he say of his margaret that the story of her life is the best record of her virtues. it has been the aim of the present study to prove mary wollstonecraft the spiritual child and heir to the french philosophers of her own and of the preceding century--to a poullain de la barre, a fénelon, a mme de lambert, a d'holbach, who ventured to propose a scheme for the improvement of the deplorable conditions of an erring and suffering womanhood. more extreme in her views, and more determined in her claims than her bluestocking sisters, she stands out the one great apostle of female emancipation among the revolutionary leaders who held out the hope of lasting social improvement to all mankind. that she aimed too high and failed to find that recognition among her contemporaries to which her spirit of ready sacrifice entitled her, lends her a certain tragic dignity which adds materially to the interest felt by posterity in her striking personality. and yet her work certainly was not done in vain, although it was left to a later generation to build the huge structure of modern feminism on the ruins of a hope which, together with even more comprehensive ideals, had been blasted by the rude winds of reaction. this structure the present generation beholds with feelings which are not wholly unmixed, for it is as yet full of imperfections, and much remains to be done. but those who feel doubtful of the final issue, may turn to mary wollstonecraft, to borrow from her that unshakable faith in evolution and progress which to her became a kind of religion which never forsook her. footnotes: [36] c. kegan paul, _william godwin, his friends and contemporaries_. [37] see letter from mary to everina, dated from dublin, march 24th. 1788, with which compare the following severe judgment by hannah more in her _strictures_: "it is worthy of remark that 'depart from me, i never knew you', is not the malediction denounced on the sceptic or the scoffer, but on the high professor, on the unfruitful worker of "miracles", on the unsanctified utterer of "prophecies", for even acts of piety, wanting the purifying principle, however they may dazzle men, offend god. cain sacrificed, balaam prophesied, rousseau most sublimely panegyrised the son of mary...." those who lacked true humility did not fall within the range of hannah more's compassion. [38] e. dowden, _the french revolution and english literature_. [39] w. godwin, _memoirs of the author of a vindication of the rights of women_. [40] "a slavish bondage to parents cramps every faculty of the mind." (_a vindication_, chapter on _duty to parents_). [41] the creation of congenial surroundings, and the bringing about of circumstances which involuntarily lead the pupil to draw certain illuminating inferences, is recommended also in _emile_, where the preceptor relies largely upon them. there seems nothing to be said against them, unless it were that the pupil might sooner or later discover that he was "being sold", which might be attended with awkward consequences! [42] the position of servants very naturally called for discussion in the great liberty scheme. the treatment of female servants never failed to interest mary. many years later, godwin treated the subject in an essay. [43] mr. falkland, the "high-spirited and highly cultured" gentleman of the dramatis personae, utilises all the advantages of his superior rank to crush his enemy caleb and finds the law upon his side. [44] see h. w. brailsford, _shelley, godwin and their circle_. [45] this rule, which also applies to property, and may be traced to the _contrat social_, strikes the keynote of what was the common view of the social reformers. mary's scheme of enfranchisement advocates the admission of women to the different professions to ensure their social independence. [46] see morley's _rousseau_. [47] see lilly bascho, _englische schriftstellerinnen in ihre beziehungen zur französischen revolution_. (_anglia 41)._ [48] curiously enough, hannah more,--who refers to the education of the children as "the great object to which those who are, or may be mothers, are especially called"--unwittingly copies mary wollstonecraft where she says: "in the great day of general account, may every christian mother be enabled, through divine grace, to say, with humble confidence, to her maker and redeemer, behold the children whom thou hast given me!" [49] c. kegan paul, memoir to the "_letters to imlay_". [50] "we are soon to meet, to try whether we have mind enough to keep our hearts warm". (_letter to imlay_, august 1793). [51] when emile's education is almost completed, he is sent abroad for the final touch. in this way he obtains full command of the principal languages of europe. bibliography addison and steele. the tatler; the spectator; the guardian. ascoli, g. les idées féministes en france. (revue de synthèse historique, 1906.) astell, mary. a serious proposal to the ladies. (london, 1696.) bascho, lilly. englische schriftstellerinnen in ihre beziehungen zur französischen revolution. (anglia, 41.) blease, w. lyon. the emancipation of english women. (national political press, 1913.) bled, v. du. la société française. (libraire académique, paris, 1900.) boulan, e. figures du dix-huitième siècle. (leiden, 1920.) brailsford, h. n. shelley, godwin and their circle. brunetière, f. histoire de la littérature française classique. 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(epistle ii: on the characters of women.) rauschenbusch, mrs. mary wollstonecraft and the rights of women. rousseau, j. j. emile, ou de l'education. rousseau, j. j. du contrat social. rousseau, j. j. julie, ou la nouvelle héloise. roberts, w. memoirs of the life and correspondence of mrs. hannah more. rousselot, p. histoire de l'education des femmes. schiff, m. marie de gournay. stephen, sir leslie. english thought in the eighteenth century. stopes, mrs. c. c. british free women. swift, jonathan. letter to a very young lady. swift, jonathan. hints on conversation. taylor, g. r. s. mary wollstonecraft. texte, joseph. j. j. rousseau et les origines du cosmopolitisme littéraire. toinet, r. les ecrivains moralistes au 17ième siècle. (revue d'histoire littéraire de la france, t. 23, 24, 25). villey, p. l'influence de montaigne sur les idées pédagogiques de locke et de rousseau. wheeler, e. r. famous bluestockings. (methuen and co., london.) wollstonecraft, mary. original stories from real life. " " a vindication of the rights of women. " " the french revolution. " " letters to imlay. (ed. by c. kegan paul.) " " letters from sweden. yonge, charlotte m. hannah more. (eminent women series.) stellingen 1. there never was a more fervent champion of marriage and domesticity than mary wollstonecraft, who twice lived with a man to whom she was not married. 2. the bluestocking assemblies differed in their essential qualities from the french salons both of the seventeenth and of the eighteenth century. 3. british influence was a potent factor in the intellectual revolt which preceded the french revolution. 4. those who, like st. marc girardin and lord john morley, observe that in the fifth book of rousseau's "_emile_" we are confronted with the oriental conception of women, do its author an injustice. 5. the views expressed in paine's "_rights of man_" regarding the attitude of burke towards democracy are open to criticism. 6. mr. r. h. case's interpretation of the text of shakespeare's "_the tragedy of coriolanus_", act i, scene ix, l. 45: when steel grows soft as the parasite's silk, let him be made an overture for the wars! is quite plausible. 7. the popularity of tennyson's poetry is largely due to circumstances which are independent of his greater poetic qualities. 8. there is a strong element of romance in richardson's so-called "realistic" novels. 9. behoudens het geven van eene beknopte historische inleiding is het niet wenschelijk het onderwijs in de engelsche letterkunde aan onze middelbare scholen en gymnasia uit te strekken tot die perioden welke vallen vóór shakespeare. obvious printer errors have been repaired, but spelling has not been standardized. a woman's philosophy of woman; or woman affranchised. an answer to michelet, proudhon, girardin, legouvé, comte, and other modern innovators. by madame d'héricourt. translated from the last paris edition [illustration] new york: _carleton, publisher, 413 broadway._ m dccc lxiv. entered according to act of congress, in the year 1864, by g. w. carleton, in the clerk's office of the district court of the southern district of new york. r. craighead, printer, stereotyper, and electrotyper, carton building, _81, 83, and 85 centre street_. contents introduction 7 preface 9 chap. i. michelet 17 ii. proudhon 33 iii. comte 119 iv. legouve 134 v. de girardin 155 vi. modern communists 167 vii. summary 201 part ii. objections to the emancipation of woman 211 nature and functions of woman 224 love; its functions in humanity 248 marriage 270 summary of proposed reforms 294 appeal to women 314 introduction to the american edition. the general interest evinced in the theories of michelet and other philosophers concerning the functions and province of woman, and the lively opposition to these theories manifested in many quarters, have called forth an american translation of the present work. this remarkable book of madame d'héricourt on woman is conceded to be the best reply to these philosophers extant. the work, intended by the author as "a refutation of the coarse indecency of proudhon, and of the perfumed pruriency of michelet, and the other false friends and would-be champions of woman," has had a remarkable history. published first at brussels, it was interdicted in france, and notice was given that all copies found would be seized. madame d'héricourt appealed to the censorship to know the reason of this interdiction, and was informed in reply that the reason for such proceedings never was given. not content with this, she wrote to napoleon iii, enclosing a copy of the work, and called his attention to the fact that a book by a french author could be suppressed in france without any reason being given for it, and without any chance being offered to the author to clear herself of the implied charge of immorality. immediately upon the reception of the letter, the emperor withdrew the interdiction. madame d'héricourt is well known in france as an able contributor to various philosophic journals, and also as a member of the medical profession, in which she holds a high and respected position. her opinions are entitled to great weight, and will be welcomed as throwing much light on the practical question of the sphere of woman, which is becoming one of increasing interest. the better to adapt the book to the american public, it has been slightly abbreviated in portions of local interest, referring chiefly to french legislation. it has been well received in england, as is testified by the following extract from the _london critic_, one of the ablest of the english critical journals: "the work is calculated to do an immense service to french society at the present time--just when the literature of the country is on the verge of decay from the rottenness which is eating to its very core. 'la femme affranchie' points out the remedy to the social cancer which has gnawed away the vital principle of domestic life in france, and caused that antagonism between the sexes which foreigners behold with the most profound amazement. madame d'héricourt's bold and nervous arguments completely destroy the brutal commonplaces of proudhon as regards the moral and intellectual capacity of women. she takes him on his own ground, and to his medical propositions returns medical objections of far greater weight and power, being more competent to judge the question, as she has passed examinations as 'maitresse sage femme' of 'la clinique,' and received her diploma as medical practitioner many years ago." author's preface. to my readers. readers, male and female, i am about to tell you the end of this book, and the motives which caused me to undertake it, that you may not waste your time in reading it, if its contents are not suited to your intellectual and moral temperament. my end is to prove that woman has the same rights as man. to claim, in consequence, her emancipation; lastly, to point out to the women who share my views, the principal measures that they must take to obtain justice. the word emancipation giving room for equivocation, let us in the first place establish its meaning. to emancipate woman is not to acknowledge her right to use and abuse love; such an emancipation is only the slavery of the passions; the use of the beauty and youth of woman by man; the use of man by woman for his fortune or credit. to emancipate woman is to acknowledge and declare her free, the equal of man in the social and the moral law, and in labor. at present, over the whole surface of the globe, woman, in certain respects, is not subjected to the same moral law as man; her chastity is given over almost without restriction to the brutal passions of the other sex, and she often endures alone the consequences of a fault committed by both. in marriage, woman is a serf. in public instruction, she is sacrificed. in labor, she is made inferior. civilly, she is _a_ minor. politically, she has no existence. _she is the equal of man only when punishment and the payment of taxes are in question._ i claim the rights of woman, because it is time to make the nineteenth century ashamed of its culpable denial of justice to half the human species; because the state of inferiority in which we are held corrupts morals, dissolves society, deteriorates and enfeebles the race; because the progress of enlightenment, in which woman participates, has transformed her in social power, and because this new power produces evil in default of the good which it is not permitted to do; because the time for according reforms has come, since women are protesting against the order which oppresses them; some by disdain of laws and prejudices; others by taking possession of contested positions, and by organizing themselves into societies to claim their share of human rights, as is done in america; lastly, because it seems to me useful to reply, _no longer with sentimentality_, but with vigor, to those men who, terrified by the emancipating movement, call to their aid false science to prove that woman is outside the pale of right; and carry indecorum and the opposite of courage, even to insult, even to the most revolting outrages. readers, male and female, several of the adversaries of the cause which i defend, have carried the discussion into the domain of science, and have not shrunk before the nudity of biological laws and anatomical details. i praise them for it; the body being respectable, there is no indecency in speaking of the laws which govern it; but as it would be an inconsistency on my part to believe that blamable in myself which i approve in them, you will not be surprised that i follow them on the ground which they have chosen, persuaded that science, the chaste daughter of thought, can no more lose her chastity under the pen of a pure woman than under that of a pure man. readers, male and female, i have but one request to make; namely, that you will pardon my simplicity of style. it would have cost me too much pains to write in the approved fashion; it is probable, besides, that i should not have succeeded. my work is one of conscience. if i enlighten some, if i make others reflect; if i awaken in the heart of men the sentiment of justice, in that of women the sentiment of their dignity; if i am clear to all, fully comprehended by all, useful to all, even to my adversaries, it will satisfy me and will console me for displeasing those who love ideas only as they love women: in full dress. to my adversaries. many among you, gentlemen, adversaries of the great and holy cause which i defend, have cited me, evidently without having read me, without even knowing how to write my name. to such as these i have nothing to say, unless that their opinion matters little to me. others, who have taken the trouble to read my preceding works in the _revue philosophique_ and the _ragione_, accuse me of _not writing like a woman_, of being harsh, unsparing to my adversaries, nothing but a _reasoning machine, lacking heart_. gentlemen, i cannot write otherwise than as a woman, since i have the honor to be a woman. if am i harsh and unsparing to my adversaries, it is because they appear to me to be those of reason and of justice; it is because they, the strong and well armed, attack harshly and unsparingly a sex which they have taken care to render timid and to disarm; it is, in short, because i believe it perfectly lawful to defend weakness against tyranny which has the audacity and insolence to erect itself into right. if i appear to you in the unattractive aspect of a _reasoning_ _machine_, is, in the first place, because nature has made me so, and i see no good reason for modifying her work; secondly, because it is not amiss for a woman that has attained majority to prove to you that her sex, when not fearing your judgment, reasons as well, and, often, better than you. i have no heart, you say. i am lacking in it, perhaps, towards tyrants, but the conflict that i undertake proves that i am not lacking in it towards their victims; i have therefore a sufficient quantity of it, the more, inasmuch as i neither desire to please you, nor care to be loved by any among you. be advised by me, gentlemen; break yourselves of the habit of confounding heart with nerves; cease to create an imaginary type of woman to make it the standard of your judgment of real women; it is thus that you pervert your reason and become, without wishing it, the thing of all others the most hateful and least estimable--tyrants. to my friends. now to you, my friends, known and unknown, a few lines of thanks. you all comprehend that woman, as a human being, has the right to develop herself, and to manifest, like man, her spontaneity; that she has the right, like man, to employ her activity; that she has the right, like man, to be respected in her dignity and in the use which she sees fit to make of her free will. that as half in the social order, a producer, a tax-payer, amenable to the laws, she has the right to count as half in society. you all comprehend that it is in the enjoyment of these various rights that her emancipation consists; not in the faculty of making use of love outside a moral law based on justice and self respect. thanks first to you, ausonio franchi, the representative of critical philosophy in italy, a man as eminent for the profundity of your ideas as for the impartiality and elevation of your character; and who so generously and so long lent the columns of your _ragione_ to my first labors. thanks to you, my beloved co-laborers of the _revue philosophique_ of paris, charles lemonnier, massol, guepin, brothier, etc., who have not hesitated to bring to light the question of the emancipation of my sex; who have welcomed the works of a woman to your columns with so much impartiality, and have on all occasions expressed for me interest and sympathy. thanks to you, in particular, my oldest friend, charles fauvety, the indefatigable searcher after truth, whose elegant, refined and limpid style is solely and constantly at the service of progressive ideas and generous aspirations, as your rich library and your counsels are at the service of those who are seeking to enlighten humanity. why, alas! do you join to so many talents and noble qualities the fault of always remaining in the background to give place to others! thanks to you, charles renouvier, the most learned representative of critical philosophy in france, who join to such profound doctrine, such acute perception and such sureness of judgment; i would add, such modesty and unpretending virtue, did i not know that it displeases you to bring you before the public. it is from your encouragement and approbation, my friends and former co-laborers, that i have drawn the strength necessary to the work i am undertaking; it is just, therefore, that i should thank you in the presence of all. it is equally just that i should publicly express my gratitude to the italian, english, dutch, american and german journals that have translated many of my articles; and to the men and women of these different countries as well as of france, who have kindly expressed sympathy for me, and encouraged me in the struggle which i have undertaken against the adversaries of the rights of my sex. to you all, my friends, both frenchmen and foreigners, i dedicate this work. may it be useful _everywhere_ in the triumph of the liberty of woman, and of the equality of all before the law; this is the sole wish that a frenchwoman can make who believes in the unity of the human family, as well as in the legitimacy of national autonomies, and who loves all nations, since all are the organs of a single great body,--humanity. chapter i. michelet. several women have sharply criticised michelet's "love." why are intelligent women thus dissatisfied with so upright a man as michelet? because to him woman is a perpetual invalid, who should be shut up in a gynæceum in company with a dairy maid, as fit company only for chickens and turkeys. now we, women of the west, have the audacity to contend that we are not invalids, and that we have a holy horror of the harem and the gynæceum. woman, _according to michelet_, is a being of a nature opposite to that of man; a creature weak, _always wounded, exceedingly barometrical_, and, consequently, unfit for labor. she is incapable of abstracting, of generalizing, of comprehending conscientious labors. she does not like to occupy herself with business, and she is destitute, in part, of judicial sense. but, in return, she is revealed all gentleness, all love, all grace, all devotion. _created for man_, she is the altar of his heart, his refreshment, his consolation. in her presence he gains new vigor, becomes inspirited, draws the strength necessary to the accomplishment of his high mission as worker, creator, organizer. he should love her, watch over her, maintain her; be at once her father, her lover, her instructor, her priest, her physician, her nurse, and her waiting-maid. when, at eighteen, a virgin in reason, heart and body, she is given to this husband, who should be twenty-eight, neither more nor less, he confines her in the country in a charming cottage, at a distance from her parents and friends, with the rustic maid that we just mentioned. why this sequestration in the midst of the nineteenth century, do you ask? because the husband can have no power over his wife in society, and can have full power over her in solitude. now, it is necessary that he should have this full power over her, since it belongs to him to form her heart, to give her ideas, to sketch within her the incarnation of himself. for know, readers, that woman is destined to reflect her husband, more and more, until the last shade of difference, namely, that which is maintained by the separation of the sexes, shall be at last effaced by death, and unity in love be thus effected. at the end of half a score years of housekeeping, the wife is permitted to cross the threshold of the gynæceum, and to enter the world, or _the great battle of life_. here she will meet more than one danger; but she will escape them all if she keeps the oath she has taken _to make her husband her confessor_.... it is evident that michelet respects the rights of the soul. the husband, who at this epoch has become absorbed in his profession, has necessarily degenerated, hence there is danger that the wife may love another; may become enamored, for instance, of her young nephew. in the book, she does not succumb, because she confesses everything to her husband; still it may happen that she succumbs, then repents, and solicits correction from her lord and master. the latter should at first refuse, but, if she insists, rather than drive her to despair, michelet--who would on no account drive a woman to despair--counsels the husband to administer to his wife _the chastisement that mothers infliction inflict on their darlings_. there must be no separation between the husband and wife; when the latter has given herself away, she is no longer her own property. she becomes more and more the incarnation of the man who has espoused her; fecundation transforms her into him, so that the children of the lover or of the second husband resemble the first impregnator. the husband, being ten years older than the wife, dies first; the woman must preserve her widowhood; her rôle henceforth until death is to fructify within her and about her the ideas which her husband has bequeathed, to remain the center of his friendships, to raise up to him posthumous disciples, and thus remain his property until she rejoins him in death. in case the husband survives, which may happen, the author does not tell us whether he should re-marry. probably not, since love exists only between two; unless michelet, who reproves polygamy in this world, admits it as morality in the life to come. you see, my readers, that in michelet's book, woman is created for man; without him she would be nothing; he it is who pronounces the _fiat lux_ in her intellect; he it is who makes her in his image, as god made man in his own. accepting the biblical genesis, we women can appeal from adam to god; for it was not adam, but god, who created eve. admitting the genesis of michelet, there is no pretext, no excuse for disobedience; woman must be subordinate to man and must yield to him, for she belongs to him as the work to the workman, as the vessel to the potter. the book of michelet and the two studies of proudhon on woman, are but two forms of the same thought. the sole difference that exists between these gentlemen is, that the first is as sweet as honey, and the second as bitter as wormwood. nevertheless, i prefer the rude assailant to the poet; for insults and blows rouse us to rebel and to clamor for liberty, while compliments lull us to sleep and make us weakly endure our chains. it would be somewhat cruel to be harsh to michelet, who piques himself on love and poetry, and, consequently, is thin skinned; we will therefore castigate him only over the shoulders of m. proudhon, who may be cannonaded with red-hot shot; and we will content ourselves with criticising in his book what is not found in that of proudhon. the two chief pillars of the book on love are, first, that woman is a wounded, weak, barometrical, constantly diseased being; second, that the woman belongs to the man who has fructified and incarnated himself in her; a proposition proved by the resemblance of the children of the wife to the husband, whoever may be the father. michelet and his admirers and disciples do not dispute that the only good method of proving the truth of a principle, or the legitimateness of a generalization, is _verification by facts_; neither do they dispute that to make general rules of exceptions, to create imaginary laws, and to take these pretended laws for the basis of argument, belongs only to the aberrations of the middle age, profoundly disdained by men of earnest thought and severe reason. let us apply these data unsparingly to the two principal affirmations of m. michelet. it is a principle in biology that _no physiological condition is a morbid condition_; consequently, the monthly crisis peculiar to woman is not a disease, but a normal phenomenon, the derangement of which causes disturbance in the general health. woman, therefore, is not an invalid because her sex is subject to a peculiar law. can it be said that woman is wounded because she is subjected to a periodical fracture, the cicatrice of which is almost imperceptible? by no means. it would be absurd to call a man perpetually wounded who should take a fancy to scratch the end of his finger every month. michelet is too well informed to render it necessary for me to tell him that the normal hemorrhage does not proceed from this wound of the ovary, about which he makes so much ado, but from a congestion of the gestative organ. are women ill on the recurrence of the law peculiar to their sex? _very exceptionally, yes_; but in the indolent classes, in which transgressions in diet, the lack of an intelligent physical education, and a thousand causes which i need not point out here, render women valetudinarians. _generally, no._ all our vigorous peasant women, our robust laundresses, who stand the whole time with their feet in water, our workwomen, our tradeswomen, our teachers, our servant-maids, who attend with alacrity to their business and pleasures, experience no uncomfortableness, or at most, very little. michelet, therefore, has not only erred in erecting a physiological law into a morbid condition, but he has also sinned against rational method by making general rules of a few exceptions, and by proceeding from this generalization, contradicted by the great majority of facts, to construct a system of subjection. if it is of the faculty of abstracting and generalizing that michelet, as he employs it, robs woman, we can only congratulate her on the deprivation. not only is woman diseased, says michelet, in consequence of a biological law, but she is always diseased; she has uterine affections, hereditary tendencies, which may assume a terrible form in her sex, etc. we would ask michelet whether he considers his own sex as always diseased because it is corroded by cancer, disfigured by eruptions, tortured as much as ours by hereditary tendencies; for hereditary tendencies torture it as much as ours, and it is decimated and enfeebled far more fearfully by shameful diseases, the fruits of its excesses. of what, then, is michelet thinking, in laying such stress on the diseases of women in the face of the quite as numerous diseases of men? the wife should never be divorced or re-marry, because she has become the property of the husband. this is proved by the fact that the children of the lover or of the second husband resemble the first husband. if this is true, there are no children that resemble their mother. there are no children that resemble the progenitors or collateral relatives of their parents. _every child_ resembles the first that knew his mother. can you explain, then, why it is that so often he does _not_ resemble him? why he resembles a grandfather, an uncle, an aunt, a brother, a sister of one of the parents? why, in certain cities in the south of france, the inhabitants have preserved the greek type, ascribed to the women, instead of that of their barbaric fathers? why negresses who conceive from a white, bring into the world a mulatto, oftenest with thick lips, a flat nose, and woolly hair? why many children resemble portraits which had attracted the attention of the mother? why, in fine, physiologists, impressed by numerous facts, have thought themselves justified in declaring woman _the preserver of the type_? in the face of these undeniable facts, i ask you, yourself, what becomes of your theory? it returns to the domain of chimeras. some think that woman possesses a plastic force, which makes her mould her fruit after the model which love, hate, or fear has impressed within her brain; so that the child thus becomes merely a sort of photograph of a cerebral image of the mother. by the aid of this theory, we might explain the resemblance of the child to the father, to the first husband, to beloved relatives or to friends, either living or dead; but it would be impossible, thereby, to explain how a woman can reproduce in her child the features of a progenitor of her husband or of herself, whose portrait, even, she has never seen; or how, in spite of her wishes, the child resembles no one that she loves, etc. let us keep a discreet silence; the laws of generation and of resemblance are unknown. if we succeed in discovering them, it will be only by long and patient observation, with the aid of judicious criticism, and an honorable determination to be impartial. laws are not created, but discovered; ignorance is more healthful for the mind than error; to make general rules of _a few_ facts, without taking into account facts more numerous by thousands which contradict them, is not to form a science, but a system of poetical metaphysics; and these metaphysics, however gracefully draped they may be, are opposed to reason, to science, and to truth. michelet will pardon me this short lesson in method. i should not presume to give it to him, were not men repeating, like well-trained parrots, after him and proudhon, that woman is destitute of high intellectual faculties, that she is unsuited to science, that she has no comprehension of method, and other absurdities of like weight. allegations such as these place women in a wholly exceptional position, with respect to courtesy and reserve: they owe no consideration to those who deny them these; their most important business at the present time is to prove to men that they deceive themselves, and that they are deceived; that a woman is fully capable of teaching the chief among them how a law is discovered, how its reality is verified, how, and on what conditions we have a right to believe, and to style ourselves, rational, and rationalists. before concluding, let us dwell on a few passages of the book on love. i am curious to know what woman michelet addresses when he says: "spare me your elaborate discussions on the equality of the sexes. woman is not only our equal, but in many points our superior. sooner or later she will know everything. the question to decide here is, whether she should know all in her first season of love. oh, how much she would lose by it! youth, freshness, poetry--does she wish, at the first blow, to abandon all these? is she in such haste to grow old?" pardon me, sir; you have already decreed that _there are no longer any old women_; nothing, therefore, can make woman grow old. "there is knowledge of all kinds," you say; "likewise, at all ages, the knowledge of woman should be different from that of man. it is less science that she needs, than the essence of science, and its living elixir." what is this _essence_, and this _living elixir_ of science? poetry aside, can you, in exact and definite terms, explain to me what they mean? can you prove to me, a woman, that i desire to possess knowledge differently from you? take care! disciple of liberty, you have not the right to think and to wish in my place. i have, like you, an intellect and a free will, to which you are bound, by your principles, to pay sovereign respect. now i forbid you to speak for any woman; i forbid you in the name of what you call _the rights of the soul_. "you by no means deny," you say, "that, strictly speaking, a young woman can read everything, and inform herself of everything; can pass through all the ordeals to which the mind of man is subjected, and still remain pure. you only maintain," you add, "that her soul, withered by reading, palled by novels, living habitually on the stimulus of play-houses, on the aqua-fortis of criminal courts, will become, not corrupted, perhaps, but vulgar, common, trivial, like the curb-stone in the street. this curb-stone is a good stone; you have only to break it to see that it is white within. this does not hinder it from being sadly soiled outside, in every respect as dirty as the street gutter from which it has been splashed. "is this, madam, the ideal to which you lay claim for her who should remain the temple of man, the altar of his heart, whence he daily rekindles the flame of pure love?" a truce to imagery and oratorical outbursts; none of us demand for woman any degradation whatever. there would be no need for us to demand what you censure, since it is thoroughly authorized and practised. i by no means wish to accuse you of bad faith, of want of reflection, and of too much moral tolerance; yet let us strip off your poetic mantle, and translate your thought into prose; the drapery will no longer make us forget the idea. when instruction has been demanded for the people, has any one ever taken it into his head to fancy that the point in question was to make them read novels, to swell the attendance on criminal courts, and to multiply theatres? no, you will say. what authorizes you, then, to believe that those who demand a solid education for woman, are seeking that of of which you, on your part, do not dream for the people? on the other hand, do you cultivate the intellect of man by novels, theatres, and spectacles of criminal courts? is it in these things that his knowledge consists? no, you will say. what is there, then, in common between that which you censure, and the knowledge that we desire for woman; and why attribute to us absurd ideas, that you may have the pleasure of wrangling with phantoms? all your fine ladies are nurtured on novels, plays, and judicial excitements; yet they are neither vulgar, nor trivial, nor comparable to curb-stones sullied by the mud of the streets; what you tell them, therefore, is no more true than kind. but if you pay them doubtful compliments, which they do not deserve, you absolve them too easily, in turn. listen to our principles, that you may not run the risk of appearing unjust with respect to us. corruption in our eyes, is not merely the want of chastity, or the shameful suit of gallantry, but all habitual improper sentiment, all weakening of the moral sense, and we absolutely condemn everything which has power to lessen the sensibility of the soul, and to turn it aside from the practice of justice, of virtue, and of self-respect. in consequence, we profess that the spectacles of criminal courts habituate the heart to insensibility, and should be avoided as much as executions. we profess that the modern drama is generally evil, because it excites interest for adulterers, robbers, seducers and prostitutes; that the intellect is subjected in theatres to an unhealthy and enervating atmosphere. we profess, lastly, that novels should be read with great moderation, because, in general, when they do not corrupt the morals, they pervert the judgment and waste precious time. though we love and esteem art, we are indignant at the bad use which is made of it, and we have little esteem for those who avail themselves of it to lead the heart astray, and to pervert the moral sense. we say to woman: educate yourselves, be worthy and chaste; life is earnest, employ it earnestly. you see that _woman in the image of the stained curb-stone_, is by no means the ideal of which we dream. can you, a man of heart, can you treat women as wretched and corrupt because they are willing no longer to be slaves? and besides, do you think that liberty, which in man engenders individuality and virtue, would produce in woman moral degradation? ah! leave these calumnies to those who have no heart; they ill befit you, who may deceive yourself through the lofty poetry of your soul, but who can wish for evil only because you believe it to be good. the women who ask to be free, great, mistaken poet, are those who are conscious of their dignity, of the true rôle of their sex in humanity; those who desire that the women who follow them in the career of labor should no longer be obliged _to live by man_, because to live by him is at least to prostitute their dignity, and almost always, their whole person. they wish that woman should be the equal of man, in order to love him holily, to devote herself without calculation, to cease to deceive him or to rule him by artifice, and to become to him a useful auxiliary, instead of a servant or a toy. they know our influence over you; slaves, we can only debase you; at present, we render you cowardly, selfish, and dishonest; we send you out every morning, like vultures, upon society, to provide for our foolish expenses or to endow our children; we, women of emancipation, are unwilling that our sex should longer play this odious rôle, and be, through its slavery, an instrument of demoralization and of social degradation,--and this you impute to us as a crime! ah! i do not believe it; you yourself will say that i ought not to believe it. looking from a deplorably narrow stand point, you fancied that you saw all woman-kind in a few valetudinarians, your kind heart was moved for them, and you sought to protect them. had you looked far and high, you would have seen the workers of thought and muscle; you would have comprehended that inequality is to them a source of corruption and suffering. then, in your lofty and glowing style, you would have written, not this book of love which repels all intelligent and reflective women, but a great and beautiful work to demand the right of half the human race. the misfortune, the irreparable misfortune, is that instead of climbing to the mountain top to look at every moving thing under the vast horizon, you have shut yourself up in a narrow valley, where, seeing nothing but pale violets, you have concluded that every flower must be also a pale violet; whilst nature has created a thousand other species, on the contrary, strong and vigorous, with a right, like you, to earth, air, water and sunshine. whatever may be your love, your kindness and your good intentions towards woman, your book would be immensely dangerous to the cause of her liberty, if men were in a mood to relish your ethics: but they will remain as they are; and the dignity of woman, kept waking by their brutality, their despotism, their desertion, their foul morals, will not be lulled to sleep under the fresh, verdant, alluring and treacherously perfumed foliage of this manchineel tree, called the book of _love_. in michelet's later work, "woman," by the side of many beautiful pages full of heart and poetry are found things that we regret to point out, for the sake of the author. m. michelet has evidently amended, as we shall press on him; but as a spice of vengeance, he pretends that their language has been dictated by directors, _philosophers and others_. we know some of these ladies personally, and can assure him that they have had no director of any kind--quite the contrary. is it also in consequence of rancor that the author pretends that woman loves man, not for his real worth, but because he pleases her, and that she makes god in her own image, "a god of partiality and caprice, who saves those who please him?" "in feminine theology," adds michelet, "god would say: i love thee because thou art a sinner, because thou hast no merit; i have no reason to love thee, but it is sweet to me to forgive." very well, your sex loves woman _for her real worth_; we never hear a man, enamored of some unworthy creature, say: "what matters it, i love her!" your love is always wise, and given reasonably; none but deserving women can please you. i ask why so many honest women are abandoned and unhappy, while so many that are impure and vicious, yet sought and adored, are in possession of the art of charming, of ruining and of perverting men? michelet deplores the state of divorce which is established between the sexes; we deplore it likewise; but our complaints do not remedy it. men shun marriage from motives that do them no credit: they have at their pleasure the poor girls whom want places at their mercy; they shun marriage because they do not wish a real, that is, an autonomous wife at their side; for themselves, they wish liberty, for their wife, slavery. on their side, women tend to enfranchisement, which is well for them as it is for men: they should not suffer themselves to be turned aside from their pursuit; on the other hand, as men are attracted by a costly toilette, and neglect plainly dressed women, if the latter, in the wish to please and retain them, imitate public women, whose is the fault? is it ours, who desire to please you and to be loved by you, or yours, who can only be attracted by dress? if you loved us _for our real worth_, and not because our dresses and jewels please your eye, we would not ruin you. let us point out in a few lines the contradictions and differences that are found between michelet's first and second works. in both, woman is the flame of love and of the fireside religion, harmony, poetry, the guardian of the domestic hearth, a housewife whose cares are ennobled by love: civilization is due to her grace, she should be the representative of grace if not of beauty. in both books, the household must be isolated; the wife must have no intimate friendship; mother, brothers and sisters prevent her from becoming absorbed as she ought to be in her husband. what we think of this absorption is already known; we will only say here that if the friends and relatives of the wife should be expelled, those of the husband should be none the less so; the mother and friends of the husband have more power to injure the wife than those of the wife to injure the husband; numerous sad facts prove this. in "love," woman is a receptive power, incapable of comprehending conscientious works; she must receive everything from her husband in the intellectual and moral point of view. in "woman," she is half of the couple, in the same ratio as man is capable of the most lofty speculations, and thoroughly understands administration. she gives the child the education that before all else will influence the rest of his life. "so long as woman is not the partner of labor and of _action_," says the author, "we are serfs, we can do nothing--she may even be the equal of man in medical science; she is a school, she is sole educatress, etc." very well, thus far; and doubtless michelet would have been consistent, had he not got into his head a masculine and a feminine ideal which spoils everything; he reasoned to himself: "man is a creator, woman a harmony whose end and destination is love;" and, consequently, he marks out for the latter a plan of education different from that by which man should be developed; the natural sciences are suited to woman, history should only be taught her to form in her a firm moral and religious faith. as love is her vocation, to each season of the life of woman should correspond an object of love; flowers, the doll, poor children, next the lover, then the husband and children, then the care of young orphans, prisoners, etc. in "love," the wife alone seems bound to confess to the husband. in "woman," the obligation is mutual. the widow, in "love," should not marry again, in "woman," she may espouse a friend of the husband, or still better, the one whom he may choose on his deathbed; if she is too old, she may watch over a young man; but she will do better to protect young girls, to make peace in families, to facilitate marriages, to superintend prisons, etc. we will carry the analysis no further; our objections to the author's doctrine will be found in the article on proudhon, and in the sequel of the work. chapter ii. proudhon. the tenth and eleventh studies of the last work of m. proudhon, "justice in the revolution and in the church," comprise the author's whole doctrine concerning woman, love, and marriage. before analyzing it and criticising its chief points, i must acquaint my readers with the polemical commencement which _appears_ to have given rise to the publication of the strange doctrines of our great critic. in the _revue philosophique_ of december, 1856, the following article by me was published under the title, _proudhon and the woman question_:-"women have a weakness for soldiers, it is said. it is true, but they should not be reproached for it; they love even the show of courage, which is a glorious and holy thing. i am a woman, proudhon is a great soldier of thought. i cannot therefore prevent myself from regarding him with esteem and sympathy; sentiments to which he will owe the moderation of my attack on his opinions concerning the rôle of woman in humanity. in his first "memoir on property," note on page 265, edition of 1841, we read the following paradox in the style of the koran: "between man and woman may exist love, passion, the bond of habit, whatever you like; there is not _true society_. _man and woman are not companions._ the difference of sex gives rise between them to a separation _of the same nature as that which the difference of races places between animals_. thus, far from applauding what is now called the emancipation of woman, i should be much more inclined, were it necessary to go to this extremity, _to put woman in seclusion_." in the third "memoir on property," we read: "this signifies that woman, _by nature and by destination_, is neither _associate, nor citizen, nor public functionary_." i open the "creation of order in humanity," and read there: "it is in treating of education that we must determine the part of woman in society. woman, until she becomes a wife, is _apprentice_, at most _under-superintendent_, in the work-shop, as in the family, she _remains a minor, and does not form a part of the commonwealth_. woman is not, as is commonly affirmed, _the half nor the equal of man_, but the living and sympathetic _complement_ that is lacking to make him an individual." in the "economical contradictions," we read: "for my part, the more i reflect on the destiny of woman outside of the family and the household, the less i can account for it: _courtesan or housewife_, (housewife, i say, not servant,) i see no medium." i had always laughed at these paradoxes; they had no more doctrinal value in my eyes than the thousand other freaks so common to this celebrated critic. a short time since, an obscure journal pretended that proudhon, in private conversations, had drawn up a formula of an entire system based on masculine omnipotence, and published this system in its columns. one of two things is certain, said i to myself; either the journalist speaks falsely, or he tells the truth; if he speaks falsely, his evident aim is to destroy proudhon in the confidence of the friends of progress, and to make him lose his lawful share of influence, in which case, he must be warned of it; if he tells the truth, proudhon must still be warned of the fact, since it is impossible that, being the father of _several daughters_, paternal feeling should not have set him on the road to reason. at all events, i must know about it. i wrote to proudhon, who, the next day, returned me an answer which i transcribe _verbatim_: "madam: "i know nothing of the article published by m. charles robin in the _telegraphe_ of yesterday. in order to inform myself with regard to this paraphrase, as you entitle the article of m. robin, i examined my first "memoir on property," page 265, garnier edition, (i have no other,) and found no note there. i examined the same page in my other pamphlet, and discovered no note anywhere. it is therefore impossible for me to reply to your first question. "i do not exactly know what you call _my opinions_ on woman, marriage and the family; for i believe i have given no one a right to speak of my opinions on these subjects, any more than on that of property. "i have written economical and social criticisms; in making these criticisms (i take the word in its highest signification), i may have indeed expressed judgments to a greater or less degree relative, concerning a truth. i have no where that i know of, framed a dogma, a theory, a collection of principles; in a word, a system. all that i can tell you is, in the first place, as far as concerns myself, that my opinions have been formed progressively and in an unvarying direction; that, at the time at which i write, i have not deviated from this direction; and that, with this reserve, my existing opinions accord perfectly with what they were seventeen years ago when i published my first memoirs. "in the second place, with regard to you, madam, who, in interrogating me do not leave me in ignorance of your sentiments, i will tell you with all the frankness which your letter exacts, and which you expect from a compatriot, that i do not regard the question of marriage, of woman, and of the family in the same light as yourself, or any of the innovating authors whose ideas have come to my knowledge; that i do not admit, for instance, that woman has the right at the present time to separate her cause from that of man, and to demand for herself special legislation, as though her chief tyrant and enemy were man; that further, i do not admit that, whatever reparation may be due to woman, of joint thirds with her husband (or father) and her children, the most rigorous justice can ever make her the equal of man; that neither do i admit that this inferiority of the female sex constitutes for it either servitude, or humiliation, or a diminution of dignity, liberty, or happiness. i maintain that the contrary is true. "i consider, therefore, the sort of crusade that is being carried on at this time by a few estimable ladies in both hemispheres in behalf of the prerogatives of their sex, as a symptom of the general renovation that is being wrought; but nevertheless, as an exaggerated symptom, _an infatuation that proceeds precisely from the infirmity of the sex and its incapacity to understand and to govern itself_. "i have read, madam, a few of your articles. i find that your wit, capacity and knowledge place you certainly above an infinity of males who have nothing of their sex but the proletary faculty. in this respect, were it necessary to decide on your thesis by comparisons of this kind, you would doubtless gain the cause. "but you have too much good sense not to comprehend that the question here is by no means to compare individual with individual, but the whole feminine sex in its aggregate with the whole masculine sex, in order to know whether these two halves, the complements of each other, are or are not equals in the human androgynus. "in accordance with this principle, i do not believe that your system, which is, i think, that of equality or equivalence, can be sustained, and i regard it as a weakness of our epoch. "you have interrogated me, madam, with franche-comtois abruptness. i wish you to take my words in good part, and, since i doubtless do not agree at all with you, not to see in me an enemy of woman, a detractor of your sex, worthy of the animadversions of maidens, wives and mothers. the rules of fair discussion oblige you to admit at least that you may be deceived, that i may be right, that in such case it is i who am truly the defender and friend of woman; i ask nothing more. "you and your companions have raised a very great question, which i think that you have hitherto treated quite superficially. but the indifferent manner in which this subject has been treated should not be considered as conclusive reason for not receiving it; on the contrary, i regard it as another reason for the advocates of the equality of the two sexes to make greater efforts. in this respect, madam, i doubt not that you will signalize yourself anew, and await with impatience the volume that you announce, which i promise to read with all the attention of which i am capable." on reading this letter, i transcribed the note which m. proudhon had not succeeded in finding, and sent it to him, with the article of m. charles robin. as he did not reply, his silence authorizes me to believe the journalist. ah! you persist in maintaining that woman is inferior, minor! you believe that women will bow devoutly before the high decree of your autocracy! no, no; it will not, it cannot be so. to battle, m. proudhon! but let us first dispose of the question of my personality. you consider me as an exception, by telling me that, if it were necessary to decide on my thesis by comparison between a host of men and myself, the decision would be, doubtless, in favor of my opinions. mark my reply: "_every true law is absolute._ the ignorance or folly of grammarians, moralists, jurisconsults, and other philosophers, alone invented the proverb: there is no rule without an exception. _the mania of imposing laws on nature, instead of studying nature's own laws, afterwards confirmed this aphorism of ignorance._" who said this? you, in the "creation of order in humanity." why is your letter in contradiction with this doctrine? have you changed your opinion? then i entreat you to tell me whether men of worth are not quite as exceptional in their sex, as women of merit in theirs. you have said: "whatever may be the differences existing between men, they are equal, because they are human beings." under penalty of inconsistency, you must add: whatever may be the differences existing between the sexes, they are equal, because they form a part of the human species--unless you prove that women are not a part of humanity. individual worth, not being the basis of right between men, cannot become so between the sexes. your compliment is, therefore, a contradiction. i add, lastly, that i feel myself linked with my sex by too close a solidarity ever to be content to see myself abstracted from it by an illogical process. i am a woman--i glory in it; i rejoice if any value is set upon me, not for myself, indeed, but because this contributes to modify the opinion of men with respect to my sex. a woman who is happy in hearing it said: "_you are a man_," is, in my eyes, a simpleton, an unworthy creature, avowing the superiority of the masculine sex; and the men who think that they compliment her in this manner, are vainglorious and impertinent boasters. if i acquire any desert, i thus pay honor to women, i reveal their aptitudes, i do not pass into the other sex any more than proudhon abandons his own, because he is elevated by his intellect above the level of foolish and ignorant men; and if the ignorance of the mass of men prejudges nothing against their right, no more does the ignorance of the mass of women prejudge anything against theirs. you affirm that man and woman do not form _true society_. tell us, then, what is marriage, what is society. you affirm that the difference of sex places between man and woman a separation of the same nature _as that which the difference of races places between animals_. then prove: that the race is not essentially formed of two sexes; that man and woman can be reproduced separately; that their common product is a mixed breed, or a mule; that their characteristics are dissimilar, apart from sexuality. and if you come off with honor from this great feat of strength, you will still have to prove: that to difference of race corresponds difference _of right_; that the black, the yellow, the copper-colored persons belonging to races inferior to the caucasian cannot truly associate with the latter; that they are minors. come, sir, study anthropology, physiology, and phrenology, and employ your serial dialectics to prove all this to us. you are inclined to seclude woman, instead of emancipating her? prove to men that they have the right to do so; to women, that it is their duty to suffer themselves to be placed under lock and key. i declare, for my part, that i would not submit to it. does proudhon remember how he threatens the priest who shall lay his hand on his children? well, the majority of women would not confine themselves to threats against those who might have the mussulmanic inclination of proudhon. you affirm that by _nature_, and by _destination_, woman is neither _associate_, nor _citizen_, nor _functionary_. tell us, in the first place, _what nature_ it is necessary to have to be all these. reveal to us the _nature_ of woman, since you claim to know it better than she does herself. reveal to us her _destination_, which apparently is not that which we see, nor which she believes to be such. you affirm that woman, until her marriage, is nothing more than _apprentice_, at most, under-superintendent in the social workshop; that she is _minor_ in the family, and _does not form a part of the commonwealth_. prove, then, that she does not execute in the social workshop and in the family works _equivalent_, or equal, to those of man. prove that she is less useful than man. prove that the qualities that give to man the right of citizenship, do not exist in woman. i shall be severe with you on this head. to subordinate woman in a social order in which she must _work in order to live_ is to _desire prostitution_; for disdain of the producer extends to the value of the product; and when such a doctrine is contrary to science, good sense, and progress, to sustain it is _cruelty_, is _moral monstrosity_. the woman who cannot live by working, can only do so by prostituting herself; the equal of man or a courtesan, such is the alternative. he is blind who does not see it. you see no other fate for woman than to be courtesan or housewife. open your eyes wider, and dream less, and tell me whether all those useful and courageous women are only housewives or courtesans, who support themselves honorably by arts, literature, instruction; who found numerous and prosperous manufactures; who superintend commercial establishments; who are such good managers, that many among them conceal or repair the faults resulting from the carelessness or dissipation of their husbands. prove to us, therefore, that all this is wrong; prove to us that it is not the result of human progress; prove to us that labor, the stamp of the human species--that labor, which you consider as the great emancipator--that labor, which makes men equal and free, has not virtue to make women equal and free. if you prove this to us, we shall have to register one contradiction more. you do not admit that woman should have the right of claiming for herself special legislation, as though man were her chief enemy and tyrant. you, sir, are the one that legislates specially for woman; she herself desires nothing but the common law. yes; until now, man, in subordinating woman, has been her tyrant and enemy. i am of your opinion when, in your first "memoir on property," you say that, so long as the strong and the weak are not _equals_, they are _strangers_, they cannot form an alliance, _they are enemies_. yes, thrice yes, so long as man and woman are not equals, woman is in the right in considering man as her _tyrant_ and _enemy_. "the most rigorous justice cannot make woman the equal of man." and it is to a woman whom you set in your opinion above a host of men, that you affirm such a thing! what a contradiction! "it is _an infatuation_ for women to demand their right!" _an infatuation_ like that of slaves, pretending that they were created freemen; of the citizens of '89, proving that men are equal before the law. do you know who were, who are the infatuated? the masters, the nobles, the whites, the men who have denied, who do deny, and who will deny, that slaves, citizens, blacks, and women, are born for liberty and equality. "the sex to which i belong is incapable of understanding and governing itself," say you! prove that it is destitute of intellect; prove that great empresses and great queens have not governed as well as great emperors and great kings; prove against all the facts patent that women are not in general good observers and good managers; then prove that all men understand themselves perfectly and govern themselves admirably, and that progress moves as if on wheels. "woman is neither the _half_ nor the _equal_ of man; she is _the complement that finally makes him an individual_; the two sexes form _the human androgynus_." come; seriously, what means this jingle of empty words? they are metaphors, unworthy to figure in scientific language, when our own and the other higher zoölogical species are in question. the lioness, the she-wolf and the tigress are no more the halves or the complement of their species than woman is the complement of man. or nature has established two _exteriorities_, two wills, she affirms two unities, two entireties not one, or _two halves_; the arithmetic of nature cannot be destroyed by the freaks of the imagination. is equality before the law based upon _individual_ qualities? proudhon replies in the "creation of order in humanity": "neither birth, nor figure, _nor faculties_, nor fortune, nor rank, nor profession, nor talent, nor anything that distinguishes individuals establishes between them a difference of species; all being men, and _the law regulating only human relations, it is the same for all_; so that to establish exceptions, it would be necessary to prove that the individuals excepted are _above_ or _beneath_ the human species." prove to us that women are _above_ or _beneath_ the human species, that they do not form a part of it, or, _under penalty of contradiction_, submit to the consequences of your doctrine. you say in the "social revolution;" "neither conscience, nor reason, nor liberty, nor labor, pure forces, _primary and creative faculties_, can be made mechanical without being destroyed. their reason of existence is in themselves; in their works they should find their reason of action. in this consists the human person, a sacred person, etc." prove that women have neither conscience, nor reason, nor moral liberty, and that they do not labor. if it is demonstrated that they possess the _primary and creative faculties_, respect their human person, for it is sacred. in the "creation of order in humanity," you say: "specifically, labor satisfies the desire of our personality, which tends invincibly to make a difference between itself and others, _to render itself independent_, _to conquer its liberty_ and its character." prove then that women have no special work, and, if facts contradict you, acknowledge that, it inevitably tends to _independence_, to _liberty_. do you deny that they are your equals because they are less intelligent as a whole than men? in the first place, i contest it; but i need not do so, you yourself resolve this difficulty in the "creation of order in humanity:" "the inequality of capacities, when not caused by constitutional vices, mutilation or want, results from general ignorance, insufficient method, lack or falsity of education, and divergence of intuition through lack of sequence, whence arises dispersion and confusion of ideas. now, all these facts productive of inequality are essentially abnormal, therefore the inequality of capacities is abnormal." unless you prove that women are mutilated by nature, i do not exactly see how you can escape the consequences of your syllogism: not only has feminine inferiority the same sources as masculine ignorance, but public education is refused to women, the great professional schools are closed to them, those who through their intellect equal the most intelligent among you have had twenty times as many difficulties and prejudices to overcome. you wish to subordinate women because in general they have less muscular force than you; but at this rate the weak men ought not to be the equals of the strong, and you combat this consequence yourself in your first "memoir on property," where you say: "social equilibrium is the equalization of the strong and the weak." if i have treated you with consideration, it is because you are an intelligent and progressive man, and because it is impossible that you should remain under the influence of the doctors of the middle age on one question, while you are in advance of the majority of your cotemporaries on so many others. you will cease to sustain an illogical series that is without foundation, remembering, as you have said so well in the "creation of order in humanity:" "that the greater part of philosophical aberrations and chimeras have arisen from attributing to logical series a reality that they do not possess, and endeavoring to explain the nature of man by abstractions." you will acknowledge that all the higher animal species are composed of two sexes; that in none is the female the inferior of the male, except sometimes through force, which cannot be the basis of human right; you will renounce the androgynus, which is only a dream. woman, a distinct individual, endowed with consciousness, intellect, will and activity like man, will be no longer separated from him before the laws. you will say of all, both men and women, as in your first "memoir on property:" "liberty is an absolute right, because it is to man what impenetrability is to matter, a condition _sine qua non_ of existence. equality is an _absolute right_, because without equality, there is no society." and you will thus show the second degree of sociability, which you yourself define, "the recognition in another of a personality _equal_ to our own." i appeal therefore from proudhon drunk with theology to proudhon sobered by facts and science, moved by the sorrows and disorders resulting from his own systems. i hope i shall not encounter his herculean club raised against the holy banner of truth and right; against woman,--that being physically so weak, morally so strong, who, bleeding, and steeped in gall beneath her crown of roses, is just on the point of reaching the top of the rough mountain where progress will shortly give her her lawful place by the side of man. but if my hopes are deceitful, mark me well, m. proudhon, you will find me standing firmly in the breach, and, whatever may be your strength, i vow that you shall not overthrow me. i will courageously defend the right and dignity of your daughters against the despotism and logical error of their father, and the victory will remain mine, for, definitively, it always belongs to truth." proudhon replied by the following letter in the _revue philosophique_: "to madame d'héricourt. "well, madam, what did i tell you in my last letter? "i consider the sort of crusade that is being carried on at this time by some estimable ladies in both hemispheres in behalf of their sex, as a symptom of the general revolution that is being wrought; but nevertheless as an exaggerated symptom, an infatuation that proceeds precisely from the inferiority of the sex and its incapacity to understand and to govern itself. "i begin by withdrawing the word _infatuation_, which may have wounded you, but which was not, as you know, intended for publicity. "this point adjusted, i will tell you, madam, with all the respect that i owe you as a woman, that i did not expect to see you confirm my judgment so speedily by your petulant appeal. "i was at first at a loss to know whence came the discontent that impelled the bravest, the most distinguished among you, to an assault on paternal and marital supremacy. i said to myself, not without disquietude, what is the matter? what is it that troubles them? with what do they reproach us? to which of our faculties, our virtues, our prerogatives; or else of our failings, our perfidies, our calamities, do they aspire? is this the cry of their outraged nature, or an aberration of their understanding? "your attack, joined to the studies which i immediately commenced on the subject, came at last to solve the question. "no, madam, you know nothing of your sex; you do not know the first word of the question that you and your honorable confederates are agitating with so much noise and so little success. and, if you do not comprehend this question; if, in your eight pages of reply to my letter, there are forty paralogisms, it results precisely, as i have told you, from your _sexual infirmity_. i mean by this word, the exactness of which is not, perhaps, irreproachable, the quality of your understanding, which permits you to seize the relation of things only as far as we, men, place your finger upon them. you have in the brain, as in the body, a certain organ incapable by itself of overcoming its native inertia, and which the masculine spirit alone is capable of setting in motion; and even this does not always succeed. such, madam, is the result of my direct and positive observations; i make them over to your obstetrical sagacity, and leave you to calculate therefrom the incalculable consequences to your thesis. "i will willingly enter into an elaborate discussion with you, madam, on this obscure subject, in the _revue philosophique_. but--as you will comprehend as well as i--the broader the question, the more it affects our most sacred, social, and domestic interests, the more important is it that we should approach it with seriousness and prudence. "the following course, therefore, appears to me indispensable: in the first place, you have promised us a book, and i await it. i need this work to complete my documents and to finish my demonstration. since i had the honor of receiving and replying to your letter, i have made earnest and interesting studies on woman, which i ask only to rectify if they are erroneous; as i also desire to set a seal on them if, as i have every reason to presume, your publication brings me but one confirmation more. "i have verified by facts and documents the truth of all the assertions which you call on me to retract, namely: "that the difference of sex raises up between man and woman a separation analogous--i did not say equal--to that which the difference of races and species establishes between animals; "that by reason of this separation or difference, man and woman are not _associates_; i did not say that they could not be anything else; "that, consequently, woman can only be a _citizen_ in so far as she is the wife of a citizen; as we say _madame la presidente_ to the wife of a president: which does not imply that no other rôle exists for her. "in two words, i am in a position to establish, by observation and reasoning, the facts, that woman, being weaker than man with respect to _muscular force_, as you yourself acknowledge, is not less inferior to him with respect to industrial, artistic, philosophical and moral power; so that if the condition of woman in society be regulated, as you demand for her, by the same justice as the condition of man, it is all over with her, she is a slave. "to which i add, immediately, that this system is precisely what i reject: the principle of pure, rigorous right, of that terrible right which the roman compared to an unsheathed sword, _jus strictum_, and which rules individuals of the same sex among themselves, being different from that which governs the relations between individuals of different sexes. "what is this principle, differing from justice, and which, notwithstanding, would not exist without justice; which all men feel in the depth of their souls, and of which you women alone have no idea? is it love? nothing more? i leave it to you to divine. and if your penetration succeeds in clearing up this mystery, i consent, madam, to sign you a certificate of genius; _et eris mihi magnus apollo_. but then you will have given me the cause. "such, madam, in a few words, are the conclusions to which i have arrived, and which the reading of your book surely will not modify. notwithstanding, as it is absolutely possible that your personal observations may have led you to diametrically opposite results, good faith in the discussion and respect for our readers and ourselves exact that, before entering upon the controversy, a reciprocal interchange of all the documents that we have collected should be made between us. you may take cognizance of mine. "one other condition, which i entreat you, madam, to take in good part, and from which i shall not depart under any pretext, is that you shall choose yourself a male sponsor. "you, who have declared yourself so energetically on this point, would not wish your adversary to make the least sacrifice to gallantry in so serious a discussion; and you are right. but i, madam, who am so far from admitting your pretensions, cannot thus release myself from the obligations which manly and honorable civility prescribes towards ladies; and as i propose, besides, to make you serve as a subject of experiment; as, after having made the autopsy of five or six women of the greatest merit for the instruction of my readers, i count also on making yours, you will conceive that it is quite impossible for me to argue from you, of you, and with you, without exposing myself at every word to a violation of all the rules of conventionality. "i know, madam, that such a condition will annoy you; it is one of the disadvantages of your position to which you must submit courageously. you are a plaintiff, and, as a woman, you affirm that you are oppressed. appear, then, before the judgment seat of incorruptible public opinion with this tyrannous chain which rouses your ire, and which, according to me, exists only in your disordered imagination. you will be but the more interesting for it. besides, you would deride me if, while sustaining the superiority of man, i should begin by according to you the equality of woman by disputing with you on an equal footing of companionship. you have not counted, i imagine, upon my falling into this inconsistency. "you will not lack for champions, besides. i expect of your courtesy, madam, that he whom you shall select as my antagonist, who will sign and affirm all your articles, and assume the responsibility of your affirmations and replies, shall be worthy of both you and me; so that, in fine, i shall not have a right to complain that you have pitted me against a man of straw. "what has most surprised me, since this hypothesis of the equality of the sexes, renewed by the greeks as well as by many others, has become known among us, has been to see that it numbered among its partisans almost as many men as women. i sought a long time for the reason of this strange fact, which i at first attributed to chivalric zeal; i think now that i have found it. it is not to the advantage of the knights. i shall be glad, madam, for their sake and yours, if this serious examination should prove that the new emancipators of woman are the most lofty, the broadest, and the most progressive, if not the most masculine minds of the age. "you say, madam, that women have a weakness for soldiers. it is doubtless on this account that you have lashed me soundly. _he who loveth, chasteneth._ when i was three years and a half old, my mother, to get rid of me, sent me to a school-mistress of the neighborhood, an excellent woman, called madelon. one day she threatened to whip me for some piece of mischief. it made me furious. i snatched her switch from her hand, and flung it in her face. i was always a disobedient subject. i shall be glad, therefore, to find that you do not assume towards me castigating airs, which it does not belong to a man to return; but i leave this to your discretion. strike, redouble the blows, do not spare me; and if i should chance to grow restive under the rod, believe me none the less, madam, your affectionate servant and compatriot, "proudhon." taking up the discussion in turn, i replied as follows, in the ensuing february number:- i am forbidden, sir, to answer your letter in the indecorous style which you have deemed proper to assume towards me: by respect for the gravity of my subject; by respect for our readers; by respect for myself. you find yourself ill at ease in the popilian circle that has been traced around you by the hand of a woman; all understand this, i among the rest. ill-armed for defence, worse armed, perhaps, for attack, you would like to escape; but your skill as a tactician will avail you nothing; you shall not quit the fatal circle till vanquished, either by me, or by yourself, if you confess your weakness on the point in litigation, by continuing to refuse a discussion under flimsy pretexts, or, lastly, by public opinion, which will award to you the quality of inconsistency, the least desirable of all to a dialectician. this being understood, i must tell you that, personally, i am satisfied that you should attack, in _the rights of woman_, the cause of justice and progress. it is an augury of success to this cause; you have always been fatal to all that you have sought to sustain. it is true that your attitude in this question makes you _the ally of the dogmatism of the middle age_; it is true that the _official representatives_ of this dogmatism avail themselves, at the present time, of your arguments and your name to maintain their influence over women, and through them over men and children; and this in order to revive the past, to stifle the future. is this your intention? i do not believe it. you are, in my eyes, a subverter, a destroyer, in whom instinct sometimes gets the better of intellect, and from whom it shuts out a clear view of the consequences of his writings. formed for strife, you must have adversaries; and, in default of enemies, you cruelly fall on those who are fighting in the same ranks with yourself. in all your writings, one feels that the second part of education--that which inspires respect and love of woman--is completely wanting in you. let us come to your letter. you reproach me with having made _forty paralogisms_; it was your duty at least to have cited one of these. however, let us see. you say: between man and woman there is a separation of _the same nature as that which the difference of race establishes between animals_. woman, by nature and destination, is _neither associate, nor citizen, nor functionary_. she is, until marriage, only _apprentice_, at most, _under-superintendent_ in the social workshop; she is a _minor_ in the family, and _does not form a part of the commonwealth_. you conceive of no destiny for her outside of the household: she can be only _housewife_ or _courtesan_. she is incapable _of understanding and of governing herself_. to make a paralogism is to draw a conclusion from false premises; now did i conclude from such in saying: in order that all these paradoxes may become truths, you have to prove: that man and woman are not of the same race; that they can be reproduced separately; that their common product is a mixed breed or a mule; that difference of races corresponds to difference of rights. you have to define for us an association, and also the nature of a citizen or a functionary. you have to prove that woman is less useful than man in society; that, at the present time, she is necessarily a housewife, when she is not a courtesan; that she is destitute of intellect, that she knows nothing of government. you pretend that woman has not a right _to demand for herself special legislation_. was i guilty of a paralogism in pointing out to you that it is not she, _but you_, who demand this, since you lay down as a principle the inequality of the sexes before human law? all that you say relatively to the _pretended_ inferiority of woman and the conclusions which you draw from it applying to human races inferior to our own, it would be easy for me to demonstrate that the consequence of your principles is the _re-establishment of slavery_. the nearest perfect has the right to take advantage of the weakest, instead of becoming his educator. an admirable doctrine, full of the spirit of progress, full of generosity! i compliment you most sincerely on it. you say that labor specialized is the great emancipator of man; that labor, conscience, liberty, and reason, find only in themselves their right to exist and to act; that these pure forces constitute the human person, _which is sacred_. you lay down the principle that the law is the same for all; so that, to establish exceptions, it would be necessary to prove that the individuals excepted are _above_ or _beneath_ the human species. you say that social equilibrium is the equalization of the strong and the weak; that all have the same rights, not through that which distinguishes them from each other, but through _that which is common to them_,--_the quality of human beings_. was i guilty of paralogisms in saying to you: then you cannot, by reason of her weakness or even of a supposed inferiority, exclude woman from equality of right: your principles interdict it, unless you prove: _that she is superior or inferior to the human species, and that she does not form a part of it;_ _that she is destitute of conscience, of justice, and of reason; that she does not labor, that she does not execute specialties of labor._ it is evident, that your doctrine concerning general right is in contradiction to your doctrine concerning the right of women; it is evident that you are very inconsequent, and that, however skillful you may be, you cannot extricate yourself from this embarrassment. in what you call an answer, there are a few passages that are worth the trouble of pausing to consider. you ask _what impels the bravest, the most distinguished among us to an assault on paternal and marital supremacy_. you do not comprehend the movement, or you would have said _masculine supremacy_. in my turn, i ask you: what would have impelled proudhon, a roman slave, to play the part of spartacus? what would have impelled proudhon, a feudal serf, to organize a jacquerie? what would have impelled proudhon, a black slave, to become a toussaint l'ouverture? what would have impelled proudhon, a russian serf, to take the character of poutgachef? what would have impelled proudhon, a citizen of '89, to overthrow the privileges of the nobility and the clergy? what would impel proudhon ... but i will not touch on reality. what would proudhon have replied to all the holders of _prerogatives_ and _supremacy_, who would not have failed on their part to have put to him the naïve question: "ah! what does this vile slave, this unworthy serf, this audacious and stupid citizen want of us, then? _to which of our faculties, our virtues, our prerogatives does he aspire? is this the cry of his outraged nature, or an aberration of his understanding?_" the answer that proudhon would make, is that which will be made to him by all women who have attained majority. there is in the brain of woman, say you, an organ which the masculine mind alone is capable of setting in motion. render the service then to science of pointing it out and demonstrating its manner of working. as to the other organ of which you speak, it is its inertia, doubtless, that has caused it to be defined by some, _parvum animal furibondum, octo ligamentis alligatum_. before choosing anatomical and physiological facts as proofs of your assertions, consult some learned physician; such is the counsel given you, not only by my _obstetrical, but also by my medical sagacity_. you offer to acquaint me with your _direct_ and _positive_ observations. what, sir! has it been possible for you in a few weeks to delve into the depths of the healthy and the diseased organization! to go through the whole labyrinth of functions implicated in the questions. it is more than miraculous; despite my good will, i cannot believe it, unless you prove that you are a _prophet_ in communication with some deity. shall i tell you what i really think? it is that you have studied these matters neither _directly_ nor _indirectly_, and that it belongs to me to tell you _that you do not understand woman; that you do not know the first word of the question_. your five or six _purely_ moral and intellectual autopsies prove only one thing; namely, your inexperience in physiology. you have naïvely mistaken the scalpel of your imagination for that of science. with regard to autopsies, you tell me that you are awaiting my promised work, in order to make mine. it would be doubtless a great honor to be stretched on your dissecting table in such good company as you promise me, but the instruction of my future readers does not permit me to enjoy this satisfaction. i shall not send my book to press until your own shall have appeared, for i, too, intend to make your autopsy; dissect me therefore now; i promise you on my side that i will perform my duty conscientiously, properly and delicately. "woman," you say, "being weaker than man with respect to _muscular force_, is not less inferior to him with respect to industrial, artistic, philosophical and moral power; so that if the condition of woman in society be regulated, as you demand for her, _by the same justice as the condition of man_, it is all over with her; she is a slave." terrible man, you will be then always inconsistent, you will always contradict yourself and facts! what do you hold as the basis of right? _the simple quality of being human_; everything that distinguishes individuals disappears before right. well! even though it were true that women were inferior to men, would it follow that their rights were not the same? according to you, by no means, if they form a part of the human species. there are not two kinds of justice, there is but one; there are not two kinds of right, there is but one in the absolute sense. the recognition and respect of individual autonomy in the lowest of human beings as well as in the man and woman of genius is the law which should preside over social relations; must a woman tell you this! let us now examine the value of your series of _man and woman_. with respect to the reproduction of the species, they form a series; this is beyond dispute. as to the rest, do they form a series? no. _if it were a law_ that woman is _muscularly_ weaker than man, the strongest woman would be weaker than the weakest man; facts demonstrate the contrary daily. _if it were a law_ that women are inferior to men in _industrial power_, the most skillful woman would be inferior in industrial pursuits to the least skillful man; now facts demonstrate daily that there are women who are excellent manufacturers and excellent managers; men who are unskilled in and unsuited to this kind of pursuits. _if it were a law_ that women are inferior to men in _artistic power_, the best female artist would be inferior to the most indifferent male artist; now facts daily demonstrate the contrary; there are more great female than male tragedians; many men are mediocre in music and painting, and many women, on the other hand, remarkable in both respects, etc., etc. what follows from all this? that your series is false, since facts destroy it. how did you form it? the process is a curious study. you chose a few remarkable men, in whom, by a convenient process of abstraction, you beheld _all_ men, even to cretins; you here took a few women, without taking into account in the slightest degree any differences of culture, instruction, and surroundings, and compared them with these eminent men, taking care to forget those that might have embarrassed you; then, deducing generals from particulars, creating two entities, you drew your conclusions. a strange manner of reasoning, truly! you have fallen into the mania of _imposing rules on nature, instead of studying nature's rules_, and deserve that i should apply your own words to you: "the greatest part of the philosophical aberrations and chimeras have arisen from attributing to logical series _a reality that they do not possess, and endeavoring to explain the nature of man by abstractions_." still, if this were to strengthen your doctrines concerning the _basis_ of right, it might be comprehended; but it is to overthrow them! you transform yourself into a sphinx, to propose to me a riddle. "what is that right," you say, "_which is not justice, and which, notwithstanding, would not exist without it_, which presides over the relations of both sexes, the _jus strictum_ governing only individuals of the same sex. if you divine it, you will have given me the cause." it is not necessary to be _the great apollo_, to divine that it is the _right of grace, of mercy_, towards an inferior that is not armed with strict right. if i have divined rightly, you have simply begged the question by supposing _that resolved which i dispute_. i maintain that there is only one _right_, that _one single_ _right presides over the rights of individuals and of sexes_, and that the right of mercy belongs to the domain of sentiment. you wish it proved that the new emancipators of woman are the most elevated, the broadest, and the most progressive minds of the age. rejoice, your wish is accomplished: a simple comparison between them and their adversaries will prove it to you. the emancipators, taking woman in the cradle of humanity, see her marching slowly towards civil emancipation. the intelligent disciples of progress, they wish, by extending a fraternal hand to her, to aid her in fulfilling her destiny. the non-emancipators, denying the historical law, regardless of the progressive and parallel movement of the populace, woman, and the industrial arts towards affranchisement, wish to thrust her back far beyond the middle age, to the days of romulus and the hebrew patriarchs. the emancipators, believing in individual autonomy, respecting it, and recognizing it in woman, wish to aid her to conquer it. judging of the need that a free being has of liberty by the need that they have of it themselves, they are consistent. the non-emancipators, blinded by pride, perverted by a love of dominion as unbridled as unintelligent, desire liberty only _for themselves_. these egotists, so suspicious of those that menace their own freedom, wish half the human species to be in their chains. the emancipators have enough heart and ideality to desire a companion with whom they can exchange sentiment and thought, and who can improve them in some respects and be improved by them in others; they love and respect woman. the non-emancipators, without ideality, without love, chained to their senses and their pride, despise woman; and wish to have in her only a _female, a servant, a machine to produce young ones_. they are _males, they are not yet men_. the emancipators desire perfection of the species, in a three-fold point of view: physical, moral, and intellectual. they know that races cannot be improved without selecting and perfecting the mothers. the non-emancipators are bent upon something quite different from the improvement of the species: let their children be lacking in intelligence, malicious, ugly, or deformed; they think much less of this than of being _masters_. do they know enough of physiology to have reflected that the faculties _depend on organization_, that organization is capable of modification, that modifications are transmitted, that woman has a great share in this transmission, a greater share, perhaps, than that of man? it is therefore _essential_ to place her in a condition to perform this great function in the manner most useful to humanity. the emancipators desire humanity to go forward, to vibrate no longer between the past and the future; they know the influence that women possess, first over children, then over men; they know that woman cannot serve progress _unless she finds it to her interest to do so_; that she will find it so only through liberty; that she will love it only if her intellect is elevated by study, and her heart purified from the petty selfishness of home by the predominating love of the great human family. as they desire the end sincerely, they sincerely desire the means; so long as half the human race shall labor as it is doing to destroy the edifice constructed by _a few_ _members_ of the other half; so long as half the human race, _the one that secretly governs the other_, shall have its face turned towards the past, the landmarks that point to the future will be threatened with being torn up. do you consider it a crime in the emancipators to comprehend this, to seek to conjure down the peril; and do you consider a virtue in the non-emancipators the foolish pride that places a cataract over their eyes? a few words more, and i shall have done. you would rather, you say, that i should not assume castigating airs with you. but have you really the right to complain of it, you who have constituted yourself the chief whipper-in of the economists and the socialists? i shall never go so far towards you as you have gone towards them. you must resign yourself to my abrupt, sometimes harsh style. i am implacable towards whatever appears to me false and unjust; and were you my brother, i should not war against you less sharply; before all ties of affection and family, should come the love of justice and humanity. i owe now to my readers and to you, sir, the exposition of the thesis that i undertake to sustain; for the phrase, _the emancipation of women_ has been, and is, quite variously interpreted. with respect to _right_, man and woman are equal, whether the equality of faculties be admitted or rejected. but for a truth to be useful, it must be adapted to the surroundings into which we seek to introduce it. absolute right being recognized, the practice of it remains. in practice, i see two kinds of rights: woman is ripe for the exercise of one of them; but i acknowledge that the practice of the second would be at present dangerous, by reason of the education that the majority of them have received. you comprehend me, without making it necessary for me to explain myself more clearly in a review in which social and political subjects are interdicted. the directors of the _revue_ having informed me that my adversary refused to continue the discussion, i made the following recapitulation of his creed, concerning the rights and nature of woman. to the editors of the _revue philosophique et religieuse_: you inform me that m. proudhon will not reply to the questions that i have put to him; i have neither the means nor the wish to constrain him to do so. i shall not inquire into the motives of his determination; my business now is only to make an exposition of his creed, which may be summed up in this wise: "i believe that between man and woman, there is a separation of the same nature as that which the difference of race places between animals; "i believe that, by nature and by destination, woman is neither associate, nor functionary, nor citizen; "i believe that, in the social workshop, she is, until her marriage, only apprentice, at most under-superintendent; "i believe that she is a minor in the family, art, science, manufactures, and philosophy, and that she is _nothing_ in the commonwealth; "i believe that she can only be housewife or courtesan; "i believe that she is incapable of understanding and of governing herself; "i believe firmly that the basis of the equality of rights is in the simple quality of being human; now, woman being unable to have rights equal to those of man, i affirm that she does not belong to the human species." is proudhon conscious how far his creed is in opposition to science, to facts, to the law of progress, to the tendencies of our own age, and does he dare to attempt to justify it by proofs? does he feel that this creed classes him among the abettors of the dogmatism of the middle age, and does he recoil before such a responsibility? if this were the case, i should praise him for his prudent silence, and it would be my warmest desire that he should keep it forever on the question that divides us. to treat a subject, it is necessary to love and understand it; i dare not say that proudhon does not love woman, but i do affirm that he does not understand her; he sees in her nothing more than the female of man; his peculiar organization seems to render him unfit for the investigation of such a subject. he promises, in the work that he is preparing, to treat of the sphere and the rights of women; if his doctrine has for its basis the paradoxical affirmations of his creed, i hope that he will this time take pains to rest them at least upon the semblances of proofs, which i shall examine with all the attention of which i am capable. by shrinking from discussion, he cannot escape my criticism. the two studies of proudhon are simply the development of this creed. i promised to dissect the author; therefore, i shall do so. let me not be reproached with being pitiless; proudhon has deserved it. let me not be reproached with being a reasoning machine; with such an adversary, one should be nothing else. let me not be reproached with being harsh; proudhon has shown a harshness and injustice with respect to women, even the most illustrious, that exceed all bounds. if i am harsh, i will endeavor on my part not to be unjust. i. well, m. proudhon, you have sought war with women! war you shall have. you have said, not without reason, that the comtois are an obstinate race; now, i am your countrywoman; and as woman generally carries virtues and failings farther than man, i intend to outdo you in obstinacy. i have raised the banner under which your daughters will one day take shelter if they are worthy of the name they bear; i will hold it with a firm hand and will never suffer it to be struck down; against such as you, i have the heart and claws of a lioness. you begin by saying that you by no means desired to treat of the inequality of the sexes, but that half a dozen insurgent women with ink-stained fingers having defied you to discuss the question, you will establish by facts and documents the _physical, intellectual and moral inferiority of woman_; that you will prove that her emancipation is the same thing as her prostitution, and will take her defence in hand against the rambling talk of a few impure women whom sin has rendered mad.--(_vol._ iii., p. 337.) i alone, by shutting you up in a circle of contradictions, have dared defy you to discuss the question; i sum up, therefore, in my own person, the few impure women whom sin has rendered mad. insults of this sort cannot touch me; the esteem, the regard, the precious friendship of eminently respectable men and women suffice to reduce unworthy insinuations to naught. i should not notice them, with such contempt do they inspire me, were it not necessary to tell you that the time has gone by when one might hope to stifle the voice of a woman by attacking her purity. if you do not ask the man who demands his rights and seeks to prove their legitimacy, whether he is upright, chaste, etc., no more have you the right to ask the question of the woman who makes the same claim. were i therefore so unfortunate as to be the vilest of mortals as regards chastity, this would not at all lessen the value of my claim. i greatly dislike any justification, but i owe it to the sacred cause that i defend, i owe it to my friends, to tell you that the moral education which my sainted, lamented mother gave me, together with scientific studies, serious philosophy, and continual occupation, have kept me in what is commonly called the right path, and have strengthened the horror that i feel for all tyranny, whether it be styled man or temperament. you accuse your biographer of having committed an indignity in directing an accusation against a woman, because this woman was your wife; do you not commit an indignity yourself in insulting many others? and if you blame those who calumniate the morals of proudhon because he is not of their opinion, in what light do you think that men will regard your calumnious insinuations against women, because they do not think like you? you claim that we have no morality, because we lack respect towards the dignity of others; who has set us this detestable example more than you? you, who style yourself the champion of the principles of '89--who are the men and women whom you attack? they who are in different degrees, and from different stand points, in favor of these principles. your anger has no bounds against george sand, our great prose writer, the author of the bulletins of the republic of '48. you depreciate madame de stäel, whom you have not read, and who was in advance of most of the masculine writers of her epoch. two scaffolds are erected, two women mount thereon: madame roland and marie antoinette. i, a woman, will not cast insult on the decapitated queen, dying with dignity and courage; no, i bow before the block, whatever head may lay on it, and wipe away my tears. but, marie antoinette died the victim of the faults that her princely education had caused her to commit against the modern principles; while madame roland, the chaste and noble wife, died for the revolution, and died blessing it. whence comes it that you greet the queen with your sympathies, while you have nought but words of blame and contempt for the revolutionist? and the men that belong to the great party of the future, how do you style them? the girondins, _effeminate_; robespierre and his adherents, _eunuchs_; the gentle bernardin de st. pierre, _effeminate_; m. legouvé and those who think like him concerning the emancipation of women, _effeminate_; m. de girardin, _absurd_; _béranger, a pitiable author, and effeminate_; jean jacques, not only the prince of _effeminates_, but _the greatest enemy of the people and the revolution_--he who was evidently the chief author of our "french revolution." are we not justified in asking you, whether you are for or against the revolution? m. proudhon, you have forfeited your right to all consideration, since you have none for those who have neither offended you or offered you provocation, those who have never pretended to reduce you to servitude; men have lacked courage; they ought to have stopped you when you began to descend to insulting personalities; what they have not done, i, a woman, will do, fearing nothing, or no one, except my own conscience. proudhon, the greatest enemy of the people, is the writer who, treading under foot reason and conscience, science and facts, calls to his aid all the ignorance, all the despotism of the past, to mislead the spirit of the people with respect to the rights of half the human species. proudhon, the greatest enemy of the revolution, is he who shows it to women as a toy; who detaches them from its holy cause by confounding it with the negation of their rights; who attacks and vilifies the advocates of progress; who dares, in fine, in the name of the principles of general emancipation, to proclaim the social annihilation and the conjugal servitude of one entire half of humanity. behold the enemy of the people and of the revolution! ii. i had proceeded thus far in my reply when, pausing to take breath and to reflect, i grew calm. what! said i to myself, have i then no more sense than to take in earnest that shapeless thing honored by the name of theory by the good people who are so bewildered by the noise of proudhon's drum and tam-tam that they see stars at noon-day and the sun at midnight? let me be calm, let me not give to the affair more importance than it possesses; and since i must set forth this thing to my readers, let me do it in a fitting tone. we will leave proudhon to explain himself in his own words. no sooner had i taken this good resolution, than i evoked m. proudhon, and said to him in all humility: master, i come to you that you may define for me the nature of woman, and also something of the nature of man. proudhon. you do well, for i alone am capable of instructing you; listen then to me. "the complete human being, _adequate to his destiny_, i speak of the physical, is the male, who, through his virility, attains the highest degree of muscular and nervous tension comporting with his nature and end, and thence, the maximum of action in labor and in battle. "woman is a diminutive of man, lacking one organ to become a pubescent youth. "she is a _receptacle for the germs that man alone produces_, a place of _incubation_, like the earth for the seed of the wheat; an _organ inert_ in itself, and purposeless with respect to the woman. such an organization--_presupposes the subordination of the subject_. "in herself, i speak still of the physical, woman has no reason to exist; _she is an instrument of reproduction_ which it has pleased nature to choose in preference to any other. "woman, in this first count, is inferior to man: _a sort of mean term between him and the rest of the animal kingdom_."--_justice_, vol. iii., etc. and remark that i am not alone in my opinion: "woman is not only different from man," says paracelsus, "she is different because she is lesser, because her sex constitutes for her one faculty less. wherever virility is wanting, the subject is imperfect; wherever it is taken away, the subject deteriorates. woman lacks nothing in the physical point of view except _to produce germs_. "likewise, in the intellectual point of view, woman possesses perceptions, memory and imagination, she is capable of attention, reflection, and judgment; what does she lack? "the power of producing germs, that is, ideas.--_id._ now, follow my reasoning closely: it being admitted that _strength has some weight in the establishment of right_; it being admitted, on the other hand, that woman is one third weaker than man, she will then be to man, in physical respects, as two is to three. consequently, in the social workshop, the value of the products of woman will be one third less than that of the products of man; therefore, in the division of social advantages, the proportion will be the same: _thus says justice_. "man will always be stronger and will always produce more," _which signifies that man will be the master, and that woman will obey, dura lex, sed lex_."--_id._ besides, reflect that woman falls to the charge of man during gestation; her physical weakness, her infirmities, her maternity, exclude her _inevitably_ and _judicially_ from all political, doctrinal and industrial direction.--_id._ we will now proceed to the second point. but first, mark well that woman, like all else, is autonomic; woman, considered apart from the influence of man, is the thesis; woman, considered under the influence of man, is the antithesis; it is the thesis that we are now examining. let us therefore approach the _thetic_ woman in the intellectual relation. we will first admit the principle that _thought is proportional to force_; whence we have a right to conclude that man possesses a stronger intellect than woman. thus we see man alone possessing genius. as to woman, she is nothing in science; we owe to her no invention, _not even her distaff and spindle_. she never _generalizes_, never _synthetizes_; her mind is anti-metaphysical; _she cannot produce any regular work, not even a romance_; _she composes nothing but medleys, monsters_; "she makes epigrams, satire; does not know how to express a judgment in set terms, nor assign its causes; it was not she who created abstract words, such as cause, time, space, quantity, relation. _woman is a true table rapping medium._"--_id._ i have already told you that woman does not produce intellectual germs any more than physical germs; her intellectual inferiority tells upon the quality of the product as much as upon the intensity and duration of the action and, as in this feeble nature, the defect of the idea results from the lack of energy of the thought, it may be truly said that woman possesses a mind _essentially_ false, of irremediable _falsity_. "disconnected ideas, contradictory reasonings, chimeras taken for realities, unreal analogies erected into principles, a tendency of mind inclining inevitably towards annihilation: such is the intellect of woman." yes, woman "_is a passive, enervating being, whose conversation exhausts like her embraces. he who wishes to preserve entire the strength of his mind and body will flee her._"--_id._ "_without man, who is to her prophet and word, she would not emerge from the bestial condition._" author. calm yourself, master, and tell me whether it is true that you have dealt harshly with literary women. proudhon. literary women! as if there were any! "the woman author does not exist; she is a contradiction. the part of woman in literature is the same as in manufactures; she is useful where genius is no longer of service, like a needle or a bobbin. "by cutting out of a woman's book all that is borrowed, imitated, gleaned, and common-place, we reduce it to a few pretty sayings; philosophy on nothing. to the community of ideas, woman brings nothing of her own, any more than to generation." author. ah! i understand: you mean that, in the character of author, the woman of genius does not exist. but in this respect, among the number of men that write how many are there who have genius, and who never borrow from any one? proudhon. i grant that there are many effeminate men; which does not alter the fact that woman would do better _to go and iron her collars_ than to meddle with writing; for, "it may be affirmed without fear of calumny, that the woman who dabbles with philosophy and writing destroys her progeny by the labor of her brain and her kisses which savor of man; the safest and most honorable way for her is to renounce home life and maternity; destiny has branded her on the forehead; made only for love, the title of concubine if not of courtesan suffices her."--_id._ let us now consider the _thetic_ woman in the moral point of view. we will admit in the first place the principle _that virtue exists in the ratio of strength and intellect_, whence we have a right to conclude that man is more virtuous than woman. do not laugh; it disturbs my ideas. i go further; man alone is virtuous; man alone has the sense of justice; man alone has the comprehension of right. tell me, i pray you, "what produces in man this energy of will, this confidence in himself, this frankness, this daring, all these powerful qualities that we have agreed to designate by the single word, morality. what inspires him with the sentiment of his dignity, the scorn of falsehood, the hatred of injustice, the abhorence of all tyranny? nothing else than the consciousness of his strength and reason." author. but then, master, if man is all this, why do you reproach the men of our times with lack of courage, of dignity, of justice, of reason, of good faith? when i take up in minute detail the terrible charges which you have fulminated against the masculine race, i can make nothing of the meaning of the tirade you have just uttered. proudhon. consider what you irreverently name a tirade, as the necessary check to feminine immorality. it is only to set forth the truth that of all the differences that separate her mind from ours, the conscience of woman is the most trifling, her morality is of a different nature; what she regards as right and wrong is not identically the same as what man himself regards as right and wrong, so that, relatively to us, _woman may be styled an immoral being_. "_by her nature she is in a state of constant demoralization_, always on this side or that of justice.... justice is insupportable to her.... her conscience is anti-judicial." she is aristocratic, loves privileges and distinctions; "in all revolutions that have liberty and equality for their object, women make the most resistance. they did more harm in the revolution of february than all the powers of the masculine reaction combined. "women have so little judicial sense that the legislator who fixed the age of moral responsibility at sixteen for both sexes, might have delayed it till forty-five, for women. woman's conscience is _decidedly of no value till this age_." in herself, woman is _immodest_. it is from man therefore that she receives modesty, "which is the product of manly dignity, the corollary of justice. "woman has no other inclination, no other aptitude than love. "in affairs of love, the initiative belongs truly to woman."--_justice_, _vol._ iii., pp. 364, 366. author. how many persons you will astonish, master, by revealing to them that _modesty comes from man_; that consequently all the young girls who have been seduced, all the little girls whose corruptors and violators are punished by the courts, are but jades, who, through their initiative, have caused men to forget their character as inspirers of chastity! you enlighten me, illustrious master; and i shall at once draw up a memorial to demand that all seduced and violated women and girls shall be punished as they deserve; and that, to console the seducers, suborners, corruptors and violators, poor innocent victims of feminine ferocity, for having sinned against the _corollary of justice and the product of manly dignity_, rose-trees shall be forced to blossom, in order that the _maires_ of the forty thousand communes of france and algeria may crown them winners of the roses. proudhon. jest as you please; woman is nevertheless so perverse in her nature, that, through inclination, she seeks men who are ugly, old, and wicked. author. is not this somewhat exaggerated, master? proudhon. (forgetting what he has just said,) "woman always prefers a pretty, finical puppet to an honest man; a beau, a knave can obtain from her all that he desires; she has nothing but disdain for the man who is capable of sacrificing his love to his conscience." you see what woman is: "_unproductive by nature, inert, without industry or understanding, without justice, and without modesty_, she needs that a father, a brother, a lover, a husband, a master, a man, in fine, should give her that magnetic influence, if i may thus term it, which will render her capable of manly virtues, of social and intellectual faculties."--_id._ and as "all her philosophy, her religion, her politics, her economy, her industry are resolved in one word: love; "now shall we make of this being belonging wholly to love, an overseer, an engineer, a captain, a merchant, a financier, an economist, an administrator, a scholar, an artist, a professor, a philosopher, a legislator, a judge, an orator, the general of an army, the head of a state? "the question carries its answer within itself."--_id._ i have laid down and proved my thesis, i am about to draw my conclusions. "since in economical, political and social action, the strength of the body and that of the mind concur and are multiplied, the one by the other, the physical and intellectual value of the man will be to the physical and intellectual value of woman as 3 × 3 is to 2 × 2, or as 9 to 4. "in the moral, as in the physical and intellectual point of view, her value (that of woman,) is also as 2 to 3. "their share of influence, compared together, will be as 3 × 3 × 3 is to 2 × 2 × 2 or as 27 to 8. "according to these conditions, woman cannot pretend to counterbalance the virile power; her subordination is inevitable. both by nature, and before justice, she does not weigh the third of man."--_id._ do you understand clearly? author. very clearly. your theory, if theory there be, is only a tissue of paradoxes; your pretended principles _are contradicted by facts_, your conclusions _are equally contradicted by facts_; you _affirm_ like a revelator, but you _never prove_, as a philosopher should do. there is so much ignorance and senseless metaphysics in all that you say, that i should rather give you credit for bad faith than be compelled to despise you. i have listened to you patiently while you have said to me, in saying it of all women: you are inert, passive, you possess the germ of nothing; you are a mean term between man and beast, you have no right to exist; you are immoral, immodest, imbecile, aristocratic, the enemy of liberty, equality and justice. in your turn, endeavor to listen to me calmly, while i refute your allegations by facts, by science and by reason. iii. there is, by your own confession, but one good method of demonstration; that of basing every affirmation _upon well established facts, not contradicted by others, legitimately deduced_. let us see how you have followed this method. in order to prove that the _thetic_ woman, or woman considered apart from the influence of man, is such as you depict her, it is necessary that you should bring us face to face with an assemblage of such women, and afterwards, with another assemblage composed of men who have never been subjected to the influence of women, that we may verify for ourselves the native activity of the latter and the native inertness of the former. have you had at your disposal, can you place at ours these proofs _de facto_? no; and if you neither have them nor can procure them, what is your thesis, if not the illusion of a brain sick with pride and with hatred of woman? 1. you say: man alone produces physical germs. anatomy answers: _it is woman that produces the germ_; the organ that performs this function in her, as in all other females, is the ovary. 2. you say: woman is a diminutive of the man; she is an imperfect male; anatomy says: _man and woman are two distinct beings, each one complete_, each one furnished with a special organism, the one as necessary as the other. 3. you say with paracelsus, of whom this is not the only absurdity: _where virility is wanting, the subject is imperfect; where it is taken away, the subject deteriorates_. mere good sense replies: the being can only be incomplete or deteriorate _when it differs from its type_; now the type of woman is feminity not _masculinity_.... if, like you, i were a lover of paradox, i would say: _man is an imperfect woman_, since it is the woman that produces the germ; his part in reproduction is very doubtful, and science may even learn some day to dispense with it. this is auguste comte's paradox; it is worth as much as yours. to prove that woman is only an imperfect male, it is necessary to establish by facts that man on being deprived of virility, finds the organs developed in him peculiar to woman, becomes qualified for conception, gestation, delivery, and giving suck. now i have never learned that any keeper of a seraglio had been transformed into an odahlic; have you? 4. you say: the organs peculiar to woman are inert, and purposeless with respect to herself; physiology answers: the labor that these organs accomplish is immense; pregnancy and the crisis that terminates it are incontestable proofs of this. the influence of these organs makes itself felt, not only on the general health, but in the intellectual and moral order. pathology, no less eloquent, depicts to us the grave disorders produced among women by forced continence, incontinence, the excessive or perverted vitality of these organs which you pretend are inert. 5. you say: woman is the soil, the place of incubation for the germ. anatomy has told you in reply that the woman alone produces the germ. read my reply to your friend michelet on the subject of the resemblance of children and you will know what facts add to the answer of science. your affirmation is no less absurd in the presence of these facts than that of a simpleton who should pretend that the soil in which the seed of the carnation or the oak is deposited, has the property of causing rosebushes or palm trees to spring up. from this _false_ supposition that woman has not physical germs, you conclude that she is destitute of intellectual and moral germs.... and do you really dare accuse woman of thus _taking false analogies for principles_? grant that when a man indulges in them thus wantonly, and mistakes them for principles, we ought to be more inclined to laugh than to be vexed. 6. you say that intellectually and morally, woman is in herself, nothing. now, if i am not mistaken, you admit that our functions have our organs for their basis, and you place the functions of intellect and morality in the brain, according to gall, or similarly. well, anatomy tells you: in both sexes, the cerebral mass is similar in composition and, adds phrenology, in the number of organs. biology adds: the law of development of our organs is _exercise_, which supposes action and reaction, the result of which is the augmentation of the volume, consistency and vitality of the organ exercised. the point in question then, to convince your readers of the truth of your affirmations, is to prove that _the two sexes are subjected to the same exercise of the brain and to the same stimulus_, and that despite this identity of education, woman constantly remains inferior. have you proved this? have you ever thought of doing so? no. for if you had, your theory would have fallen to to the ground, since you would have been forced to acknowledge that man and woman cannot be alike, for we say to man from his infancy: resist, struggle; to woman: yield, always submit. to man: be yourself, speak your thoughts boldly, ambition is a virtue; you can aspire to everything. to woman: dissemble, calculate your slightest word, respect prejudices; modesty, abnegation, such is your lot; you can attain to naught. to man: knowledge, talent, courage will open every career of life to you, will make you honored by all. to woman: knowledge is useless to you; if you have it, you will pass for a pedant, and if you have courage, you will be disdainfully called _virago_. to man: for you are instituted lyceums, universities, special schools, high prizes; all the institutions through which your intellect can be developed; all the libraries in which is accumulated the knowledge of the past. to woman: for you is history in madrigals, the reading of prayer-books and novels. you have nothing to do with lyceums, special schools, high prizes, anything that would elevate your mind and enlarge your views; a learned woman is ridiculous! man must display the knowledge that he often possesses but superficially, woman must hide what she really possesses. man must appear courageous when he is often but a coward; woman must feign timidity when in reality she is not afraid. for where man is reputed great and sublime, woman is found ridiculous, sometimes odious. if you had verified as you should have done, these diametrically opposite systems of training, the one tending to develop and ennoble the being, the other to degrade it and render it imbecile, instead of writing such absurdities, you would have said to yourself: woman must really have the initiative to resist the iniquitous system of repression that weighs upon her; she must have great elasticity to show herself so often superior to the majority of men in intellect, and _always in morality_. i am curious to know what you males would be if subjected to the same system as we. look at those who have not studied like you, and tell me whether they are not in general beneath uncultivated women. look then at the men who have received a feminine education; have they not all the affectation, all the narrowness of mind of silly women? look, on the contrary, at those women who, through the wish of their teachers or their own energy, have been subjected to masculine discipline, and tell me, on your conscience, whether they do not equal the most intelligent, the firmest among you? 7. you say: intellectual force is in proportion to physical force. _facts_ reply: great thoughts, useful works, date from the period when the physical forces began to decline. _facts_ say also: the athletic temperament, which is the most vigorous, is _the least intellectual_: statuaries fully comprehend this, and sculpture hercules with a large body and a small head. 8. you say that morality is in a direct ratio to physical and intellectual force combined. this pleasantry we will not refute; every one knows too well that these things have no relation, and that facts contradict your assertion. 9. you say: woman being one third weaker, should have in social labor one third the privileges of man. upon what elements do you base this proportion? in order to establish it, did you carry a dynamometer about through our districts and measure the strength of each man and of each woman? but were your affirmation true, is naught but _strength_ employed in labor? then, great economist, what do we do with _skill_? what samsonian muscles are needed to keep books, dispense justice, measure cloth, cut and sew garments, etc.! and what is the end of civilization if not to shift the employ of our strength from ourselves to machinery that we may be at liberty to use only our intellect and skill? 10. you say: the infirmities, the weaknesses, the maternity of woman, and her aptitude for love, exclude her from all functions; she is _judicially and absolutely_ excluded from all political, industrial and doctrinal direction. she cannot be a political leader.... yet history shows us numerous empresses, queens, regents and sovereign princesses who have governed with wisdom and glory, and have shown themselves far superior to many male sovereigns, unless maria theresa, catherine ii, isabella and blanche of castile, and many others, are but myths. woman cannot be a legislator.... all the women whom i have just cited have been so, and many more beside. women can be neither philosophers nor professors. hypatia, massacred by the christians, taught philosophy with luster; in the middle age and later, italian women filled chairs of philosophy, law and mathematics, and excited admiration and enthusiasm; in france, at the present time, the polytechnists are making great account of _the geometrician_, sophie germain, who has taken it into her head to study kant. woman cannot be a merchant or an administratrix... yet a great portion of the feminine population devote themselves to trade, or fill commercial positions. it is even admitted that the prosperity of commercial establishments is almost always due to the administrative genius of woman. woman cannot be an overseer, a foreman of a workshop... yet a host of women superintend workshops, invent, improve, carry on manufactures alone, and contribute, by their taste and activity, to the increase of the national wealth and the industrial reputation of france. woman cannot be artist... yet every one knows that the greatest literary artist of our age is a woman, george sand; yet every one bows before duchesnois, mars, georges, maxime, ristori, rachel, dorval; yet every one pauses before the beautiful paintings of rosa bonheur; yet since the revival of the fine arts, every century has registered many celebrated women. we meet women everywhere, working everywhere, competing with man.... yet proudhon pretends that she can be nowhere, that she is excluded from every place absolutely and _judicially_; that if she governs and legislates like maria theresa, it is a contradiction; that if she philosophises like hypatia, it is a contradiction; that if she commands an army and wins victories like the wife of the conqueror of calais; if she fights like jeanne d'arc, jeanne hachette, madame garibaldi and thousands of others, it is a contradiction; that if she is merchant, administratrix, superintendent of a workshop, like thousands of women, it is a contradiction; that if she is learned like dr. boivin, sophie germain, and many others, if she is a professor as are many among us, it is a contradiction. the thesis sustained by proudhon is, as we have just seen, contradicted by _science_ and by _facts_. we ask ourselves whether it is possible that he is ignorant of the simplest notions of anatomy and biology; we ask ourselves whether it is possible that he is so far blind as not to see that woman _is in reality_ all that he pretends that she _absolutely and judicially_ cannot be in his absurd and insulting theory; and we conclude that the author is struck with ignorance and voluntary blindness. your reproaches are pleasant; from the origin of society, man has been the master; now, the ancient world sunk beneath the weight of slavery, usury, and the most shameless vices; the modern world seems doomed to perish through inequality and its sad consequences, you yourself acknowledge that injustice _caused by your sex_ exists every where in the world, and you say that man has judicial sense! and, in the face of the inequality and oppression created by men, of their love of puerile distinctions, of the base deeds which they commit for a bit of ribbon, you accuse women of loving inequality and privileges! they may love them, _like you_, but they are better than you, if not more just; they pray for the vanquished, you kill him! i do not deny that women did much harm to the revolution of february, for they are as intelligent as men, and have great influence over them. but what did this revolution do for them, i pray? mark me well, you and all those who are blind enough, proud enough, despotic enough to resemble you, and remember what i say. woman is like the people: she desires no more of your revolutions, which decimate us for the benefit of a few ambitious babblers. she will have liberty and equality for all men and women, or she will take care that no one shall have them. we, women of progress, openly declare ourselves adversaries of whoever shall deny the right of woman to liberty. our sisters of the people, indignant at their exclusion from the popular assemblies, say to you: you have lured us long enough, it is time that this should end. we will no longer suffer ourselves to be ensnared by your high-sounding words of justice, liberty, and equality, which are only false coin so long as they are applied to but half the human species. do you wish to save the perishing world? call woman to your side. if you will not do this, let us alone, insipid phraseologists; you are naught but ambitious hypocrites; we do not wish our husbands to follow you, and they will not. iv. proudhon. let us consider woman in the antithesis. i have said that woman, considered apart from masculine influence, is _nothing_. author. yes, master, because this is a pure creation of your thought. proudhon. but woman, considered under the influence of man, is half of the human being, and _i sing litanies in her praise_. author. then you make woman re-enter humanity through the door of androgyny, in order to restore to her her share of rights.... this is absurd; no matter. proudhon. not so! not so! women have rights! never, so long as i am proudhon! she is indeed the complement of man, who, without her, would be only a brute. author. ah! my learned master, how do these things harmonize in your brain? you have said hitherto that _woman owes everything to man_, you tell me now that, without woman, man would be only a brute. is he not then, _adequate to his destiny_, as you have affirmed? and if woman is nothing without him, and he nothing without woman, i can see no longer upon what you rest in making him the guide of this poor unfortunate. proudhon. i need not explain myself, such is my idea. i am simply comparing the respective qualities of the sexes, and, as i find, they are _incommutable_. author. ah! i catch a glimpse of your meaning; then you do not weigh them in the balance since they are not alike, and, being unable to prejudice the rights of woman, you leave her free. proudhon. what! what! woman free! horrible! are you resolved to throw me into convulsions? woman, however eminent may be her talents, should serve man in silence and in all humility. author. frankly, master, all this appears to me nonsense, which, satanic as you are, you cannot yourself understand in the least. proudhon. listen without interrupting me further, if you wish to comprehend me. "without feminine grace, _man would not have emerged from the brutality of the early ages; he would violate his female, smother his little ones, and give chase to his fellows in order to devour them_. "_woman is the conscience of man personified_, the incarnation of his youth, _his reason and his justice, of all within him that is purest, most sacred, most sublime_.--_justice_, _vol._ iii., etc. "the ideality of his being, she becomes to him a _principle of animation_, a gift of strength, of prudence, of justice, of patience, of courage, of sanctity, of hope, of consolation, without which he would be incapable of sustaining the burden of life, of preserving his dignity, of enduring himself, _of fulfilling his destiny_. "it is through her, through the grace of her divine word, that man gives life and reality to his ideas, by bringing them back unceasingly from the abstract to the concrete. "_the auxiliary on the side of justice_, she is the angel of patience, of resignation, of tolerance, the guardian of his faith, the mirror of his conscience, the source of his devotion. vanquished, guilty, it is still in the bosom of woman that he finds consolation and pardon." man has strength, woman beauty. through her beauty, she should be the expression of justice, "and the attraction that draws us to it.... _she will be better than man_.... she will be the motor of all justice, all knowledge, all industry, all virtue."--_id._ also, "beauty is the true destination of the sex; it is its natural condition, its state."--_id._ woman is the soul of everything; "without her, all beauty fades; nature is sad, precious stones lose their luster, all our arts, children of love, become insipid, half of our labor is without value. "if, with respect to vigor, man is to woman as 3 to 2, woman, with respect to beauty, is to man as 3 to 2. "if, from the body, we pass to the mind and conscience, woman, through her beauty, will be revealed with new advantages."--_id._ the mind of woman is _more intuitive, more concrete, finer than that of man_; "it seems to man, and is in fact, more circumspect, more _prudent_, more reserved, _wiser_, more equable; it was _minerva_, the protectress of achilles and ulysses, who appeased the fury of the one, _and shamed the other of his paradoxes and profligacies_; it is the virgin whom the christian litany calls _the seat of wisdom_. "the quality of the feminine mind has the effect of serving the genius of man as a radiator, by reflecting his thoughts at an angle which makes them appear more beautiful if they are correct, more absurd if they are false; consequently, of simplifying our knowledge and condensing it into simple propositions, easy to seize upon as simple facts, and the intuitive, aphoristic, imaged comprehension of which, _while giving woman a share in the philosophy and the speculations of man_, makes their memory clearer to him, their digestion more easy... _there is not a man among the most learned, the most inventive, the most profound, who does not feel a sort of refreshment from conversation with women_.... "popularizers are generally minds of the feminine type; but man does not like to be subservient to the glory of man, and provident nature has assigned this part to woman. "let her speak, then, _let her write, even, i authorize and invite her to do so_; but let her do it according to the measure of her feminine intelligence, since it is on this condition that she can serve us, and _please_ us, _otherwise i withdraw the permission_. "man has strength; but that constancy of which he boasts overmuch, he derives especially from woman.... through her he endures, and learns true heroism. _upon occasion, she can set him the example of it_; she will be, then, _more sublime than he_. "woman will render the law kind, and will convert this two-edged sword into an olive branch.... there is no justice without tolerance; now, it is in the exercise of tolerance that woman excels; by the sensibility of her heart and the delicacy of her impressions, by the tenderness of her soul, by her love, in fine, she will blunt the sharp angles of justice, destroy its asperities, of a divinity of terror make a divinity of peace. justice, the mother of peace, would be only a cause of disunion to humanity, were it not for this tempering which she receives especially from woman."--_id._ and what chastity does woman possess! with what constancy she awaits her betrothed! what continence she observes during the absence or sickness of her husband! ah! "woman alone knows how to be modest.... through this modesty, which is her most precious prerogative, she triumphs over the transports of man, and ravishes his heart."--_id._ and what wisdom in her choice of the companion of her life! "she desires man to be strong, valiant, ingenious; she turns from him if he is mincing and delicate."--_id._ now, my unloved, indocile, and very irreverent disciple, let us recapitulate. woman, with respect to physical, intellectual and moral beauty, is to man as 3 to 2; "thus it may be said, indeed, that between man and woman there exists a certain equivalence, arising from their respective comparison, in the two-fold point of view of strength and beauty; if, by labor, genius, and justice, man is to woman as 27 to 8, in her turn, by graces of form and mind, by amenity of character and tenderness of heart, she is to man as 27 to 8.... but these respective qualities are incommutable, cannot be the subject of any contract.... "now, as every question of preponderance in the government of human life is within the jurisdiction either of the economical order, or of the philosophical or judicial order, it is evident that superiority of beauty, even of that which is intellectual and moral, cannot create a compensation for woman, whose condition is thus made fatally subordinate."--_id._ do you understand me now? author. i understand that this is pure sophistry, a thing easily demonstrated; that if your _thesis_ is absurd, your _antithesis_, however complimentary it may be, is quite as much so; that you have piled contradictions upon contradictions, and that it is a sad spectacle to me to see so strong and fine an intellect as yours abandon itself to such practices. you shall judge for yourself whether my reproaches and regrets are well founded. in the _thesis_ you say: man alone is in himself intelligent and just, he alone is adequate to his destiny. woman has no reason for existing; without man, she _would not emerge from the bestial condition_. in the _antithesis_: without woman, who is the principle of animation of man, the motive power of all science, of all art, of all industry, of all virtue--without woman, who renders justice possible, thought comprehensible and applicable, man, far from being in himself just, intelligent, a worker, would be but a brute, _who would violate his female, strangle his little ones, and pursue his fellow men in order to devour them_. what follows from these divergent affirmations? that if woman alone is inadequate to her destiny, man alone is inadequate to his, and that the adequateness of both is caused by the synthesis of their respective qualities. it also follows, by your own admission, that man receives as much from woman as she receives from him, since, if he rescues her from the bestial state, she rescues him from the state of brute ferocity. it follows, lastly, by your own admission, that there is equivalence between the respective qualities of the two sexes. only you pretend that these qualities cannot be measured by each other, and cannot therefore be subject for contract, and that the qualities of man being more important to the social state than those of woman, the latter should be subordinated to the former. tell me, is there commutability between the qualities that distinguish men from each other? between the man of genius and the humble rag-picker? between the philosopher who elevates the human mind and the porter who does not even know how to read? between the brain that discovers a great natural law and the one that reflects on nothing? to answer affirmatively is impossible: for we only compare things of the same nature. now, if there can be no commutability between individuals so different, is there not, according to your system, subject for social contract between them? why then do you claim that these men should be _equal socially_? why then do you admit that they may associate things in a private contract which cannot be subjected to a common measure? there is no need to be learned in philosophy or economy to know _that any contract whatsoever is an admission of personal insufficiency_; that we would not enter into partnership with others if we could dispense with them; and that in general the design of the contracting parties is _to establish commutability where it has not been established by the nature of things_. to a common work, one brings his idea, another his hands, a third, his money, a fourth, custom: if each of the parties had had all these combined, no one would have thought of forming a partnership: a happy insufficiency brought them together, and caused them to establish equivalence between the shares of capital which could not be subjected to a common measure. were it true, therefore, that the qualities of the sexes differ as you pretend, then, as through this same difference, they are _equally_ necessary to the collective work, they are _essentially_ subject to contract, and _equivalent_. but do they differ as you say? you know the answer of _science_ and _facts_. we will not return to it. all your distinctions of beauty and strength are only imaginary classifications. we all know that of eighteen millions of frenchmen, at the present time, we have a few men of genius, absorbed in specialties, a few more men of talent, perhaps not four philosophers, mediocrities in abundance, and an immense host of cyphers. it is mockery, therefore, to establish the right of prepotency of a sex from qualities which, on the one hand, do not exist in each of its members, and, on the other, are often found in the highest degree in the sex which it is claimed to reduce to subjection. besides, did your sex possess the qualities which you ascribe to it, to the exclusion of mine; since, by your admission, there would be neither civilization, nor science, nor art, nor justice, without the qualities you term peculiar to woman; and since, without these qualities, man would be only a brute and an anthropophagus, it thence follows that woman is _at least_ the equivalent of man, if not his superior. let us now notice a few of your contradictions. 1st _thesis_. woman is a sort of mean term between man and the rest of the animal kingdom. _antithesis._ no; woman is the idealisation of man, in that which is purest and most sublime in him. 2d _thesis_. woman is an inert creature, devoid of understanding, that has no reason for existing. _antithesis._ no; woman is the animating principle of man; without her, he could not fulfil his destiny; she is the motive power of all justice, all science, all industry, all civilization, all virtue. 3d _thesis_. woman does not know how to express an opinion in set terms, or to assign reasons for it; she has only disconnected ideas, erroneous reasonings; she mistakes chimeras for realities, composes nothing but medleys, monsters. _antithesis._ no; the intellect of woman is finer than that of man; she has a wiser, more prudent, more reserved mind; she is the foil of masculine ideas. she is minerva shaming ulysses for his paradoxes and profligacies; she is the seat of wisdom. 4th _thesis_. without the magnetic influence of man, woman would not emerge from the bestial state. _antithesis._ without the magnetic influence of woman, man would be but a ferocious beast. 5th _thesis_. the woman who philosophises and writes, destroys her progeny; she had better go iron her collars; she is good for nothing but to be concubine or courtesan. _antithesis._ woman should participate in the philosophy and speculations of man, and popularize them by her writings. 6th _thesis_. the conversation of woman exhausts, enervates; he who wishes to preserve intact the force of his mind and body, will flee her. _antithesis._ the conversation of woman refreshes the most eminent men. 7th _thesis_. woman has an infirm conscience; she is immoral, anti-judicial; she is worth nothing as to moral responsibility until forty-five years of age. _antithesis._ woman is the mirror of the conscience of man, the incarnation of this conscience; through her alone justice becomes possible; she is the guardian of morals; she is superior to man in moral beauty. 8th _thesis_. woman is without virtue. _antithesis._ woman excels in tolerance; through her, man learns constancy and true heroism. 9th _thesis_. woman is immodest: she takes the initiative in affairs of love. _antithesis._ woman alone knows how to be modest; in principle, there are no impure women; woman calms the sensual passions of man. 10th _thesis_. woman prefers an ugly, old, and wicked man. no; woman prefers a pretty, mincing puppet, a beau. _antithesis._ no; woman wishes man strong, valiant, ingenious; she turns from him when he is but a pretty, mincing puppet, a beau. i might go on thus to a hundred, and then make a cross to begin another hundred. can it be possible that you trifle in this manner with your readers? proudhon. the contradiction is not in my thought, but only in the terms. the woman of my thesis is she who has not been subjected to masculine magnetism, to which the woman of my antithesis, on the contrary, has been subjected. author. you would have reason to laugh at us, should we take such an answer in earnest. what! have you seen women outside of society, who would have taken men for monkeys? have you proved that in this menagerie, they think falsely, they write badly, they are worth nothing as to conscience until forty-five years of age? that there, in the absence of men, the women take the initiative in affairs of love? that the conversation of these women exhausts, enervates the men who are not there? that these women prefer the old, ugly and wicked men, or the pretty, mincing puppets, who are not at their disposal? if the woman of your thesis is the one who has not been subjected to masculine influence, why do you take the women whom you attack from among those who have been subjected to it? your contradictions, master, are genuine and fair contradictions. for you as for us, there is but one woman: she who lives in the society of man, who has, like him, faults and vices, and who influences him as much as she is influenced by him: the other has never existed except in the brain of mystics and of victims of hallucination. but we will leave this. i have been told that you have spoken of love: it would seem to me impossible, did i not know your audacity. proudhon. i have spoken of it, as well as of marriage. author. well! let us make a little excursion into these two territories. we will first speak of love. v. proudhon. love!... it wearies and annoys me greatly. i have never yet been able to make my ideas agree on this subject. i at first defined love: "the attraction of the two sexes towards each other with a view to reproduction," adding that this attraction becomes purified by the adjunction of the ideal. i even made a most beautiful discovery with respect to this, namely: that there is a sexual division because it is impossible to idealize anything but the objective.--_vol._ iii. author. how you run on! then all of the animal and vegetable species in which the sexes are separated have an ideal in love? an ideal in the brain of a horse or a mare may pass, since there is a brain; but where will you lodge that of the male and female flower? proudhon. on my honor, i never thought of asking myself that question. we will return, if you please, to the definition of human love. i say, then, that love is an attraction given with a view to reproduction; notwithstanding, i think, also, that to love, properly called, progeny is odious.--_id._ author. but this is a contradiction... proudhon. am i to blame for that! you know, that in my eyes, man and woman form _the organ of justice, the humanitary androgynus_. now i affirm that love is the moving power of justice, because it is this that attracts towards each other the two halves of the couple. it is through love, therefore, that the conscience of man and woman is opened to the knowledge of justice, which does not hinder it from being "the most powerful fatality by which nature could have found the secret of obscuring reason within us, of afflicting the conscience, and of chaining the free will."--_id._ author. the moving power of justice, the sentiment which opens the conscience of the sexes to justice, and which forms the judicial organ, disturbs the reason and afflicts the conscience! but this is a contradiction. proudhon. once more, am i to blame for it? love, sought for itself, renders man unworthy, and woman vile; and stop! "love, even when sanctioned by justice, i do not like."--_id._ author. have you not said that without the love inspired in man by the beauty of woman, there would be neither art, nor science, nor industry, nor justice; that man would be only a brute? proudhon. ah! i have said much more!... this love, the motor of justice, the father of civilization, is, notwithstanding, _the abolition of justice_, which exacts that it should be cast aside as soon as its office of motor is performed. the impulse, the movement given, it must be dispensed with. in marriage, it should play the smallest part possible; "all amorous conversation, even between betrothed lovers, even between husband and wife, is indecorous, destructive of domestic respect, of the love of labor and the practice of social duty." a marriage of pure inclination is nearly allied to shame, and "the father that gives his consent to it is deserving of censure."--_id._ author. a father deserving of censure because he unites those who yield to the motive power of justice! proudhon. let young people marry without repugnance, that is right.... but "when a son, a daughter, to satisfy inclination, tramples under foot the wishes of the father, disinheritance is his first right and most sacred duty."--_id._ author. thus love, the motor of justice, the cause of civilization, the necessity for reproduction, is at the same time a thing of shame which should be feared and banished from marriage, and that, in certain cases, deserves disinheritance!... may the gods bless your contradictions, and posterity pass lightly over them! proudhon. i can say nothing more satisfactory on the subject; but, let us talk of marriage; i am strong indeed on that point. every function supposes an organ; man is the organ of liberty; but justice exacts an organ composed of two terms: the couple. it is necessary that the two persons that compose it should be dissimilar and unequal, "because, if they were alike, they would not be completed by each other; they would be two beings wholly independent, without reciprocal action, incapable, through this cause, to produce justice.... in principle, there is no difference between man and woman, except a simple diminution of energy in their faculties. "man is stronger, woman is weaker, that is all.... man is the power of that of which woman is the ideal, and reciprocally, woman is the ideal of that of which man is the power."--_id._ androgyny laid down, i define marriage to be: "the sacrament of justice, the living mystery of universal harmony; the form given by nature itself to the religion of the human race. in a lower sphere, marriage is the act by which man and woman, elevating themselves above love and the senses, declare their wish to be united according to the law, and, as far as in them lies, to pursue the social destiny, by laboring for the progress of justice. "in this family religion, it may be said that the father is the priest, the wife the god, the children the people.... _all are in the hands of the father_, fed by his labor, protected by his sword, subjected to his government, _within the jurisdiction of his court_, heirs and continuers of his thought.... _woman remains subordinate to man_, because she is an object of worship, and because there is no common measure between the force and the ideal.... man will die for her, as he dies for his faith and his gods, but he will keep for himself the command and the responsibility."--_id._ in result, the spouses are equal, since there is community of fortune, of honor, of absolute devotion; "_in principle and practice_ ... this equality does not exist, _cannot exist_.... the equality of rights supposing an equilibrium between the advantages with which nature has endowed woman and the more powerful faculties of man, the result would be that woman, instead of being elevated by this equilibrium, would be denaturalized, debased. by the ideality of her being, woman is, so to speak, beyond price.... that she may preserve this inestimable charm, which is not a positive faculty in her, but a quality, a manner, a state, she must accept the law of marital power: _equality would render her odious_, would be the dissolution of marriage, the death of love, _the destruction of the human race_. "and the glory of man consists in reigning over this admirable creature, in being able to say: she is myself idealized, she is more than i, and, notwithstanding, would be nothing without me.... in spite of this or on account of this, i am and ought to remain the head of the community; if i yield the command to her, she becomes debased and we perish."--_id._ marriage should be monogamous, "because conscience is common between the spouses, and because it cannot, without being dissolved, admit a third participant."--_id._ it should be indissoluble, because conscience is immutable, and the spouses could not procure an exchange _without being guilty of sacrilege_. if they are obliged to separate, "the deserving one needs only to heal the wounds made in his heart and conscience, the other has no longer the right to aspire to marriage, but must be content with concubinage."--_id._ what do you think of this theory? author. hitherto i have refused to believe in the god proteus; but on contemplating you, master, i abjure my incredulity. you appear to us first under the garb and form of manou, and we discuss his physiology; you appear to us next, successively, in the shape and vestments of moses, st. thomas aquinas, and st. bonaventure; you are incarnated for a moment in paracelsus; lastly, you put on the roman toga, over which you wrap the ungraceful robe of auguste comte. all this is too old, too unsightly for our age.... have you really nothing better to give us than the resurrection of the roman law at the glorious time when cincinnatus ate his dish of lentils stark naked? proudhon. what! do you dispute that marriage by _confarreation is not the masterpiece of the human conscience_? author. do i dispute it? yes, indeed, and many other things beside. but tell me, what meaning do you give to the words _sacrament_ and _mystery_, that sound so hollow and false from your lips? proudhon. despite all my explanations concerning marriage, there nevertheless remains a mystery with respect to it. this is all i can tell you in elucidation. you must comprehend that "marriage is an institution _sui generis_, formed at the same time at the tribunal of human justice by contract, and at the spiritual tribunal by sacrament, and which perishes as soon as the one or the other of these two elements disappears."--_id._ you must also comprehend that "marriage is a function of humanity, outside of which love becomes a scourge, the distinction of the sexes has no longer any meaning, the perpetuation of the species becomes a real injury to the living, _justice is contrary to nature and the plan of the creation is absurd_."--_id._ author. the plan of the creation absurd, and justice contrary to nature without marriage! what does this mean in plain language? proudhon. what! is your intellect so feeble that it does not comprehend that, without marriage, there is not, there cannot be justice? author. then marriage is necessary to all? proudhon. no; but "all participate in it and receive its influence through filiation, consanguinity, adoption which, universal in its essence, in order to act, has no need of cohabitation.... in the animic or spiritual point of view, marriage is to each of us a condition of felicity.... every adult, healthy in mind and body, whom solitude or abstraction has not sequestered from the rest of mankind, loves, and by virtue of this love, contracts marriage in his heart.... justice, which is the end of love, and which can be obtained either by domestic initiation, by civic communion, or, lastly, by mystical love," suffices "for happiness in every condition of age and fortune."--_id._ and do not confound marriage with any other union, with concubinage, for example, "which is the mark of a feeble conscience." i do not however condemn the concubinary, for "society is not the work of a day, virtue is difficult to practise, without speaking of those to whom marriage is _inaccessible_."--_id._ in my opinion, it is for the interest of woman, of children, and of morals, that concubinage should be regulated by legislation. every child should bear the name of the concubinary father, who should provide for his subsistence and for the expenses of his education; "the forsaken concubine should also have a right to an indemnity, unless she has been the first to enter into another concubinage."--_id._ but it is not from concubinage, but from marriage that all justice, all right proceeds. this is so true, that if you "take away marriage, the mother is left with her tenderness, but without authority, without rights: _she can no longer do justice to her son_; there is illegitimacy, a first step backward, a return to immorality."--_id._ author. all that you have just said concerning love, marriage, justice and right, contains so many equivocations, errors, sophisms, and so much pathos, that nothing less than a huge volume would suffice to refute, after first explaining you. we will content ourselves, therefore, with dwelling on the principal points. vi. 1. the androgynus, by definition, is a being combining the two sexes. now marriage does not make of man and woman _a single being_; each preserves his individuality; your humanitary androgynus is not therefore worth the trouble of discussion; it is only a fantasy. 2. every organ supposes a function, it is true, but what _facts_ authorize you to say that the married couple is the organ of justice? especially when you take the trouble to contradict yourself, in admitting that justice is produced outside of marriage; that there is no need of being married to be just? the organ of justice, like all other organs, is in each of us; it is the moral sense which comes into action when the point in question is the appreciation of the moral value of an act, or to apply to our own conduct the moral science accepted by the reason of the age. 3. according to you, equilibrium is _equality_; _equality is justice_: there is, therefore, a contradiction on your part in exacting of two beings, endowed each with liberty, will and intellect, that they should acknowledge themselves _unequal_ to produce _equality_. 4. to affirm, as you have done, that progress is the realization of the ideal through free will; that, consequently, the ideal is superior to the reality, and that man progresses because he suffers himself to be guided by it; then to affirm that woman is the ideal of man and that, notwithstanding, she is _less_ and should _obey_, is a double contradiction. if the point from which you start be admitted, logic would exact that man should permit himself to be guided by woman. but what is the use of discussing a thing that is devoid of meaning to the intellect? if man, according to you, represents in reality strength, reason, justice, woman being the idealization of man, would therefore represent the greatest strength, the loftiest reason, the most sublime justice.... do you pretend to say this, you who affirm the contrary? 5. to say that marriage is an institution _sui generis_, a _sacrament_, a _mystery_, is to affirm what? and what enlightenment do you fancy that you have given us? are you fully sure of comprehending yourself better than we comprehend you? i doubt it. 6. can you demonstrate why, in an association between strong, intelligent men, and weak, narrow-minded men, justice exacts _equality_, respect for the dignity of all, and declares the slave _debased_ who submits; whilst in the association of man and woman, _identical in species_ according to you, the woman who is always, according to you, the weak and narrow-minded being, would be _debased_ and would become _odious_ by equality? 7. can you explain also how, in a couple which stands for the producer of justice or equality, this equality _would be the death of love and the destruction of the human race_? grant that such a farrago of nonsense and contradictions presents as many unfathomable _mysteries_ as your marriage. we will say nothing of divorce: we leave it to modern reason and conscience whether the dissolution of morals and of the family, due in a great measure to the indissolubility of marriage, does not give cause that it should be granted. what reasons do you give, besides, to support your opinions? an absurdity: that the rupture of marriage is _sacrilege_; an affirmation contradicted by facts: that conscience is immutable. 8. between the bastard and his mother, there is no justice, say you. your conscience is younger by two thousand and some hundred years than the modern conscience. in the work of reproduction, the task to be performed with reference to the new being, is divided between the parents. on the woman, as the more vital, more elastic, and more resisting, devolves the more perilous part of this task. you shall risk your life to form humanity from your own substance, says nature to her. to the man it belongs to pay his debt to his children by erecting the roof under which they take shelter, by bringing the food which you elaborate or prepare for them. to him it belongs to accomplish his duty towards his sons by the use of his strength, as you accomplish yours by supplying them with your blood and your milk. your rights over the child arise, adds conscience, from his incapacity to take care of himself, from the duties which you fulfil towards him, from the obligation under which you are placed to form his reason and conscience, and to make him a useful and moral citizen. well, what happens most of the time, in cases of illegitimacy? that the father having weakly, cruelly, contrary to all justice, deserted his task, the mother performs double duty towards her children: _she is at once father and mother_. and it is when this mother has a _double_ right that you dare to say that she has _none_! that between her and her son there is no justice! in truth, i should rather live among savages than in a society that thinks and _feels_ like you. a mother has an incontestable right over her child, for she has risked her own life to give it birth: the father acquires rights over it only when ever he fulfils his duty; when he does not fulfil it, he has no right; thus says reason. in this question, marriage signifies nothing. if i were illegitimate, and my father had basely abandoned me, i should despise and hate him as the executioner of my mother; as a man without heart and conscience, a vile egotist; and i should doubly love and respect her who had been at once my mother and my father. such are the dictates of my conscience, my reason, and my heart. 9. what is your marriage, _the first form given by nature to the religion of the human race_, in which woman is an idol who does the cooking and mends the stockings of her priest? what is this institution, in which man is reputed to defend his wife and children with his sword, whom the law defends, even against him? in which man is reputed to support by his labor those who often labor more than he, or who bring him a dowry? _the wife and children are under the jurisdiction of the tribunal of man!_ may the gods preserve us from this frightful return to the manners and customs of the patriarchs and romans. women and children are under the jurisdiction of the social tribunal, and it is safer for them: the french wife has not at least to fear that her abraham will sacrifice her little isaac, nor that her domestic despot, leaving the child on the ground, like the ancient roman, will thus condemn it to death. society has a heart and generous proctors who, happily, no longer see the family tribunal in the same light as proudhon. it is true that our author is an epimenides, awaking after a sleep of more than two thousand years. i have finished, master; have you anything more to say? proudhon. certainly. i have to speak of the sphere of woman. this sphere is "the care of the household, the education of childhood, the instruction of young girls under the superintendence of the magistrates, the service of public charity. we dare not add the national festivals and spectacles, which might be considered as the seed-time of love. "man is the worker, woman the housewife. "the household is the full manifestation of woman. "for woman, the household is an honorable necessity. "as all her literary productions are always reduced to a domestic novel, the whole value of which is to serve, through love and sentiment, to the popularization of justice, so her industrial production is brought back in conclusion, to the labors of the household; she will never depart from this circle."--_id._ author. pardon my astonishment, master, that woman, whose mind is _irremediably false_, who is _immoral_, who composes nothing but _medleys_, _monsters_, who _takes chimeras for realities, who does not even know how to write a novel_, knows how, notwithstanding, by your own admission, to write a novel in order to popularize justice through sentiment and love. she therefore comprehends, feels, and loves justice? i remark next, that the cares of the household are _labor_; that education is _labor_; that the service of public charity is _labor_; that the arrangement and superintendence of festivals and spectacles presume varied _labors_; that to popularize justice through a domestic novel is _labor_; whence it follows that woman is a _worker_, that is, a useful producer; she differs from man, therefore, merely in the kind of production; and we have only to ascertain whether the labor of woman is as useful to society as that of man. i charge myself, when you like, with establishing this _equivalence_ by _facts_. i remark, in the second place, that the education of childhood, the instruction of young girls, the service of public charity, the arrangement of festivals and spectacles, the popularization of justice by literature, do not form a part of the labors of the household; and that woman, therefore, is not _merely housewife_. i remark, thirdly, that our female superintendents, merchants, artists, accountants, clerks, and professors, are no more housewives than your male superintendents, merchants, artists, book keepers, clerks, and professors; that our female cooks and waiting-maids are no more housewives, than your male cooks, bakers, confectioners, and footmen; that, in all these functions, and in many others, women equal men, which proves that they are not less fitted than you for employments that do not pertain to the household, and that you are not less adapted than they to those that do pertain to it. rude facts thus stifle your affirmations, and show us that woman may be _something else than housewife or courtesan_. lastly, master, what is the position of all women relatively to all men? proudhon. inferiority; for the entire feminine sex fills the place with regard to the other sex, in certain respects, of the wife with regard to the husband: this proceeds from the sum total of the respective faculties. author. so there is neither liberty nor equality even for the woman who has not a father or husband? proudhon. "the truly free woman is the woman who is chaste; the chaste woman is she who experiences no amorous emotion for any one, _not even for her husband_."--_vol._ iii. author. such a woman is not chaste: she is a statue. chastity being a _virtue_, supposes the dominion of the reason and the moral sense over an instinct: the chaste woman, therefore, is she who controls a certain instinct, not she who is destitute of it. i add that the woman who yields herself to her husband without attraction, plays the part of a prostitute. i knew well that you understood nothing either of love or of woman! shall we, in conclusion, compare your doctrine concerning the right of woman with that which you profess concerning right in general? proudhon. willingly ... since i cannot do otherwise. author. do you admit that woman is identical in species with man? proudhon. yes, only her faculties are less energetic. author. i grant you this for the sake of discussion. expound your general theory concerning right, i will apply it to woman, and you shall draw the conclusion. vii. proudhon. "the law regulating only human relations, _it is the same for all_; so that, to establish exceptions, it will be necessary to prove that the individuals excepted are of superior order, or inferior to the human species."--_creation of order in humanity._ author. now you admit that woman is neither superior nor inferior to the human species, but is identical in species with man; the law is therefore the same for her as for man. proudhon. i draw the contrary conclusion, _because man is the stronger_. author. a contradiction, master. proudhon. "neither figure, nor birth, nor _the faculties_, nor fortune, nor rank, nor profession, nor talent, _nor anything which distinguishes individuals apart_, establishes between them a difference of species: all being men, and the law only regulating human relations, it is the same for all."--_id._ author. now, woman is in essence identical with man; she differs from him only in manners and qualities which, according to you, by no means make her differ in essence; once more, therefore, the law is the same for her as for man. proudhon. it is logical; but i conclude the contrary, _because man is the stronger_. author. a contradiction, master. proudhon. "social equilibrium is the equalization of the strong and the weak. so long as the strong and the weak are not equal, they are _strangers_, they cannot form an alliance, they are _enemies_."--1st _memoir on property_. author. now, according to you, man is the strong and woman the weak of an identical species; social equilibrium ought therefore to _equalize_ them, that they may be neither strangers nor enemies. proudhon. it is logical; but i claim that they should be _made unequal_ in society and in marriage. man should have the prepotence, _because he is the stronger_. author. a contradiction, master. proudhon. "from the identity of reason in all men, and the sentiment of respect which leads them to maintain their mutual dignity at any cost, follows equality before justice."--(_justice_, _vol._ iii, etc.) all are born free: between individual liberties there is no other judge than equilibrium, _which is equality_; the identity of essence does not permit the creation of a hierarchy.--_vol._ ii, the whole of the 8th _study_. author. now, woman is in essence identical with man. she is born free; between her and man there is, therefore, no other judge than equality; it is not permissible, therefore, to establish a hierarchy between them. proudhon. it is logical. but i conclude, on the contrary, that it is necessary to create a hierarchy between the sexes, and to give the prepotence to man, _because he is the stronger_. author. a contradiction, master. proudhon. "the dignity of the human soul consists in being unwilling to suffer any one of its powers _to subordinate_ the others, to require all to be at the service of the collective whole; this is morality, this is virtue. whoever speaks of harmony or agreement, in fact, necessarily supposes terms in opposition. attempt a hierarchy, a prepotence! _you think to create order, you create nothing but absolutism._"--_justice_, _vol._ ii. author. woman, according to you, forms with man an organism, that of justice. now, according to you, the two halves of the androgynus have different qualities, which are required to harmonize with each other in equality under pain of creating absolutism instead of order; the feminine faculty is therefore required to form an equipoise with the masculine faculty. proudhon. it is logical; but i conclude that the dignity of the humanitary androgynus lies in subjugating the feminine faculty and creating despotism, _because man is the stronger_. author. a contradiction, master. proudhon. "justice is the respect spontaneously felt for and _reciprocally guarantied_ to human dignity, in _whatever person_ and whatever circumstance it may be found compromised."--_justice_, _vol._ i. author. now, woman is a human being, possessing a dignity which should be respected and guarantied by the law of reciprocity; therefore one cannot be wanting in respect to feminine dignity without being wanting in justice. proudhon. it is logical; but although woman is a human being, identical in species with man, and although i believe that there is no other basis of right than equality, i nevertheless affirm that the dignity of woman is inferior to that of man, _because he is the stronger_. author. a contradiction, master. proudhon. "right is to each the faculty of exacting from others respect for human dignity in his person," duty is "the obligation of each to respect this dignity in another."--_justice_, _vol._ i. author. now, woman being identical in species, man possesses a dignity _equal_ to hers; therefore she should be respected in her dignity, that is, in her person, her liberty, her property, her affections; this is her right as a human being, and man cannot deny it without failing in justice and in his duty. proudhon. it is logical. but i claim that woman has not the right which my principles attribute to her; that man alone has rights, _because man is the stronger_. author. a contradiction, master. proudhon. "liberty is an _absolute_ right, because it is to man what impenetrability is to matter, a condition _sine qua non_ of existence."--1st _memoir on property_. author. now, woman is a human being, she has therefore an _absolute_ right to liberty, which is her condition _sine qua non_ of existence. proudhon. it is logical. but i conclude, on the contrary, that woman has no need of liberty; that this condition _sine qua non_ of existence for our species, does not regard one half of the species; that man alone cannot exist without liberty, _because he is the stronger_. author. a contradiction, master. proudhon. "equality is an absolute right, _because without equality, there is no society_."--_id._ author. now, woman is a human and social being; she has an absolute right, therefore, to this equality, without which she would be but a pariah in society. proudhon. it is logical. but i nevertheless conclude from this that woman has no more right to equality than to liberty. that, although of the same species as man, and consequently amenable to the law of equality, nevertheless she is not amenable to it, and should be unequal and in subjection to man, _because he is the stronger_. author. fie, master! to contradict yourself thus is disgraceful to your reputation. it would be better to maintain that woman has not the same rights as man, because she is of a different species. proudhon. woman is bound to feel that she does not possess a dignity equal to that of man; in the association formed between them to produce justice, _the notions of right and duty shall be no longer correlative_. man shall have all rights, and shall accept only such duties as it shall please him to recognize. author. reflect that man, after having denied the dignity and the right of woman, will labor to stultify her more and more in the interest of his despotism! proudhon. that does not concern me: the family should be immured: the husband is priest and king therein. if, as in the case with all liberty oppressed, the woman grows restive, we will tell her _that she does not know herself, that she is incapable of judging and ruling herself_; that she is a cypher; we will outrage her in her moral worth; we will deny her intellect and activity: and by dint of intimidating her, we will succeed in forcing her to be silent: for man must remain master, _since he is the stronger_! author. deny and insult us, master, this does us no harm: the lords of the middle age employed this method with their serfs, your sires ... we are now indignant at them. slaveholders employed and still employ this method with the blacks, and the civilized world is indignant at them, slavery is restricted, and is on the way to disappear. meanwhile, i point out your contradictions to my readers; your authority over minds will be thereby lessened, i hope. those who claim, in accordance with the major of the preceding syllogisms, that you found right upon identity of species, an abstraction of individual qualities; that you believe right and duty correlative; that you desire equality and liberty, will be quite as nearly right as those who claim, in accordance with the conclusion of the same syllogisms, that you base right upon force, superiority of faculties; that you accept inequality and despotism, deny individual liberty and social equality, and do not believe in the correlation of right and duty. if it is painful to you to have fallen into contradictions so monstrous, believe that it is not less painful to me to be forced, in the interest of my cause, to point them out to the world. having taken in hand the cause of my sex, i was under obligations to parry your attacks by turning against yourself your allegations against us. it was necessary to do this, not by denials and declamations which prove nothing, or by affirmations without proofs, according to your method of proceeding; but by opposing to you science and facts; by making use only of the rational method which you extol without employing it, by charging you often with contradicting yourself when proofs _de facto_ would have demanded too much detail and time. you accuse women of _taking chimeras for realities_. i have proved to you that you deserve this reproach, since your theory is in contradiction to science and facts. you accuse women of _erecting unreal analogies into principles_.... i have proved that you have done so as well, in deducing from the _pretended_ absence of physical germs in woman, the absence of intellectual and moral germs. you accuse woman of _reasoning wrongly_.... i have brought you face to face with your own principles, that you might draw from them contradictory conclusions. you accuse woman of creating nothing but _medleys, monsters_.... the anatomy of your theory proves that you know how to do so quite as well. you accuse woman of lacking intellect, of want of justice, virtue, chastity.... i appeal from you to yourself, and you say positively the contrary. where you are fantastic, contradictory, i, _a woman_, appeal to logic. where you are wanting in method, i, _a woman_, employ scientific and rational method. where you contradict your own principles, i appeal to these same principles to judge and condemn you. which of us two is the more reasonable and more rational? my modesty suffers, i acknowledge, at the thought that i have played the part of _minerva shaming ulysses_ _of his paradoxes and his profligacies_. at last, this tiresome part is ended! i have addressed so many harsh things to you in so firm and resolute a tone, that i should be sorry to quit you without a few friendly words coming from my heart. you ought to be fully convinced of my sincerity, for you see that you have to deal with a woman who shrinks from no one; who is never intimidated, however great may be her opponent, or whatever name he may bear. you may be my adversary: i shall never be your enemy, for i regard you as an honest man, a vigorous thinker, one of the glories of france, one of the great men of our comté, always so dear to the heart of her children; lastly, one of the admirations of my youth. you and i belong to the great army that is assaulting the citadel of abuse, and endeavoring to mine and sap it; i do not shun this solidarity. is it so necessary that we should fight? let us live in peace; i can entreat it of you without stooping, since i do not fear you. understand one thing that i tell you without bitterness: that you are incapable of understanding woman, and that by continuing the struggle, you will inevitably range her under the banner of the anti-revolutionists. your pride has set enmity between you and woman, and you have bruised her heel: no one would be more sorry than i to see her crush your head. chapter iii. comte. what thought auguste comte, who died in september, 1857. to solve this question, it is necessary first to divide the man into two parts; not as the wise king solomon designed to divide the child disputed for by two mothers, but in thought, by making of him two distinct men; a philosopher and a revealer. m. comte, who denied and insulted his master, saint simon, is only the popularizer of his recently edited works: so much for the rational phase. what belongs to him exclusively is a socio-religious organization, which cannot be the work of a healthy mind. what belongs to him exclusively, is a heavy, dry, insulting style, arrogant to the point of being revolting, loaded and overloaded with adjectives and adverbs. what belongs to him exclusively, are a few ideas that he has submerged in volumes, containing not less than from seven hundred and fifty to eight hundred pages, in small type. i do not advise you to peruse them, readers, unless in your heart and soul you believe yourself deserving of many years of purgatory, which you prefer to expiate on the earth ... i do not know whether i ought to say above or below, since astronomy has reversed the positions of the material and spiritual worlds. the disciples of comte are divided into two schools: that of the positivist philosophers, and that of the priesthood. the first reject the religious organization of comte, and are in reality nothing but the children of modern philosophy, and very estimable adversaries of that nebulous thing which is called metaphysics. we could not therefore have them in sight in this article; so, let not m. littré and his honorable friends frown in reading us: we are about to find fault only with the high priest and his priesthood. the doctrine of comte concerning woman being connected with the whole of his religious system, let us first say a word about this system. _there is no god; there is no soul_: the object of our adoration should be humanity, represented by the best of our species.... there are three social elements: woman, priest, and man. woman is the moral providence, the guardian of morals. had it not been for the wholly mystical love, i willingly believe, that comte had for madame clotilde de vaux, it is probable that woman would not have been the _moral providence_; thanks to this love, she is nothing less than this. we will see that neither is she anything more. of a nature superior to that of man (in the opinion of comte), she is nevertheless subject to him, in consequence of a philosophical paradox which we need not refute here. the function of woman is to render man _moral_; a task which she can perform well only in private life; all social and sacerdotal functions are therefore interdicted her. she should be _preserved from labor_, should renounce dowry and inheritance; man is charged with maintaining her; daughter, she is supported by her father or her brothers; wife, by her husband; widow, by her sons. in default of her natural maintainers, the state, _on the requisition of the priesthood_, provides for her wants. marriage is instituted for the perfecting of the married couple, above all, for that of the man: the reproduction of the species has so little to do with its end, that the progress of science permits us to hope that, some day, woman will be able _alone_ to reproduce humanity, so as to realize and to generalize the hypothesis of the virgin mother. then it will be possible to regulate human production, by entrusting to none but the most deserving women the task of conceiving children and bringing them into the world, especially members of the priesthood. divorce is not permitted, and widowhood is eternal for both sexes. such, in brief, is the comtist doctrine concerning woman, marriage and procreation. as the reader might suspect us of malicious exaggeration, we entreat him to read attentively the following pages, emanating from the pen of the originator of the system. according to him, women have never demanded their emancipation; the men who claim it for them are, after comte's usual courteous style, nothing but _utopists corrupted by retrogression_. "all transitional ages,' he says, "have given rise, like our own, to sophistical aberrations concerning the social condition of woman. but the natural law which assigns to the effective sex an existence essentially domestic, has never been materially altered.... women were then (in antiquity) too low to reject worthily, even by their silence, the doctoral aberrations of their pretended defenders.... but among the moderns, the happy liberty of the western women permits them to manifest a decisive repugnance which is sufficient, in default of rational ratification, to neutralize these wanderings of the mind, _inspired by the intemperance of the heart_. "without discussing unreal retrograde utopias, it is of importance to feel, the better to appreciate real order, that if women should ever obtain this temporal equality demanded, without their consent, by their pretended defenders, their social guaranties would suffer thereby as much as their moral character. for they would find themselves thus subjected, in the majority of occupations, to an active daily competition which they could not sustain, while at the same time the practical rivalry would corrupt the principal sources of mutual affection. man should support woman, such is the natural law of our species."--_politique positive_, t. i. "it is necessary to consider the just independence of the affective sex as founded upon two connected conditions, its universal affranchisement from labor outside the household, and its free renunciation of all wealth.... "domestic priestesses of humanity, born to modify by affection the necessary reign of force, they should shun, as radically degrading, all participation in command."--_id._ t. iv. "the moral degradation appears to me still greater when woman enriches herself by her own labor. the continued eagerness of gain makes her then lose even that spontaneous kindness which preserves the other type in the midst of its dissipations. "no worse industrial chiefs can exist than women."--_caté._ _pos._ so ladies, ye who prefer labor to prostitution, who pass days and nights in providing for the wants of your family, it is understood of course that you _are degraded_; a woman ought not to do anything; respect and honor belong to idleness. you, victoria of england, isabella of spain,--you command, therefore you _are radically degraded_. m. comte pretends that masculine superiority is incontestable in all that concerns the properly called "source of command ... that the intellect of man is stronger, more extended than that of woman. "a healthy appreciation of the universal order will make the affective sex comprehend how important _submission_ is to dignity. "the priesthood will make women feel the merit of _submission_, by developing this _admirable_ maxim of aristotle: _the chief strength of woman consists in surmounting the difficulty of obeying_; their education will have prepared them to comprehend that all dominion, far from really elevating, necessarily degrades them, by depreciating their chief worth so as to expect from strength the ascendancy which is due to love alone."--_ibid._ here are a few pages from the system of politique positive, t. iv., which are too curious not to interest the reader. "the better to characterize feminine independence, i think it best to introduce a bold hypothesis, which human progress perhaps will realize, although it is my business neither to examine when nor how. "if the masculine apparatus contributes to our generation only after a simple excitement, derived from its organic destination, the possibility may be conceived of replacing this stimulant _by another or several others, of which the woman would dispose at will_. the absence of such a faculty among the neighboring species cannot be sufficient to interdict it to the most eminent and most modifiable race.... "if feminine independence can ever reach this limit, in accordance with the sum total of moral, intellectual, and even material progress, the social function of the affective sex will be found notably improved. then all fluctuation between the animal appreciation which still prevails, and the noble doctrine systematized by positivism, would cease. the most essential production (that of our species) would become independent of the caprices of a perturbating instinct, the normal repression of which has hitherto constituted the principal obstacle to human discipline. such a privilege would be naturally found transferred, with full responsibility, to the organs best fitted to its use, alone capable of guarding themselves from vicious impulses, so as to realize all the advantages that it permits." which means in good english, my female readers, that perhaps the time will come when you will create children without the co-operation of these gentlemen; that this function will be confided to those among you who shall be most worthy of it, and that they will be held responsible for the imperfection of the product. "thenceforth," resumes the author, "the utopia of the virgin mother will become to the purest and most eminent an ideal goal, directly suited to sum up human perfection, thus carried even to systematizing procreation, while ennobling it.... success depends most of all on the general development of the relations between the soul and the body, its continued search (that of the problem of fruitful virginity) will worthily institute the systematic study of vital harmony, by procuring to it at once the noblest aim and the best organs."--_ibid._ translated: the study of the relations of the brain with the body will lead us to discover the means of procreating children without the co-operation of man; this is the noblest aim of this study, as the faculty of being a virgin mother should be the ideal which the purest and most eminent women should seek to attain. "thus," continues m. comte, "i am led to represent the utopia of the virgin mother as the synthetic résume of positive religion, all the phases of which it combines."--_ibid._ translation: to procreate children without the concurrence of man, _sums up positive religion, and combines all its phases_. this may be very fine, but as to being _rational_ and _positive_--what do you think, readers? "the rationality of the problem," adds the author, "is founded upon the determination of the true office of the masculine apparatus, designed especially to supply to the blood an excitative fluid, capable of strengthening all the vital operations, whether animal or organic. in comparison with this general service, the special use of the fecundative stimulus becomes more and more secondary in proportion as the organism is elevated. it may thus be conceived that in the noblest species, this liquid ceases to be indispensable to the awakening of the germ, which may result artificially from several other, and even from material sources, especially from a better reaction of the nervous upon the vascular system."--_ibid._ all this would be possible, i grant, _if_ the fluid of which you speak, high priest, had, above all, the general function which you attribute to it; _if_ the reproduction of our species by the co-operation of the two sexes were not a _law_; _if_ we could preserve a species while destroying its law; _if_ facts did not contradict the possibility of the hypothesis. now, to place an _if_ before a natural law and the phenomena which are its expression, is only a gross absurdity: we explain laws, we do not reform them without profoundly modifying the being that they govern; we do not destroy without destroying this being: for the individual being is _the law in form_. the author dwells as follows on the consequences of the absurd hypothesis. "thence it may be conceived that civilization not only disposes man better to appreciate woman, but augments the participation of this sex in human reproduction, which ought, finally, _to emanate from it alone_. "regarded individually, such a modification ought to improve the cerebral and corporal constitution of both sexes, by developing therein continued chastity, the importance of which has been felt more and more by universal instinct, even during irregularities.--p. 277. "considered domestically, this transformation would render the constitution of the human family more in conformity with the general spirit of sociocracy, by completing the just emancipation of woman, thus made, even physically, independent of man. the normal ascendancy of the affective sex would be no longer contestable with respect to children _emanated from it exclusively_. "but the principal result would consist in perfecting the fundamental institution of marriage (the improvement of the married couple without sexual motive), the positive theory of which would then become unexceptionable. thus purified, the conjugal tie would experience an amelioration as marked as when polygamy was replaced by monogamy: for we should generalize the utopia of the middle age, in which maternity was reconciled with virginity. "regarded civilly, this institution alone permits the regulation of the most important of productions, which can never become sufficiently susceptible of systematization, so long as it shall be accomplished in delirium and without responsibility. "reserved to its best organs, this function would perfect the human race by better determining the transmission of ameliorations due to external influences, both social and personal.... systematic procreation coming to remain more or less concentrated among the better types, the comparison of the two cases would give rise not only to valuable enlightenment, but also to an important institution which would procure to sociocracy the principal advantage of theocracy. for the development of the new mode would soon cause a non-hereditary caste to spring up, better adapted than the common populace _for the recruital of spiritual and even temporal chiefs_, whose authority would then rest on a truly _superior_ origin, which would not shun investigation. all these indications will suffice to show the value of the utopia of the virgin mother, destined to procure to positivism a synthetic résume, equivalent to that which the institution of the eucharist furnishes to catholicism."--_ibid._ it is much to be feared, alas! that the disciples of this great man, however ardent seekers of _vital harmony_ they may be, will never find the _synthetic résume_ of positivism, the _equivalent_ of the eucharist: and it will be a great pity: to order children as we order shoes, and leave them on the mother's hands when they do not suit, would be very convenient. and what, i ask you, will the future leaders of humanity do, if they can only obtain respect and obedience on the condition of proving that they are _sons of virgins_? but we will not jest with so grave a personage as the high priest of humanity: we will only say in passing, that never was atheist seen to show himself more profoundly a christian through contempt for works of the flesh. hear what he says on page 286 of the work before cited: "useless to individual conservation, the sexual instinct co-operates only in an _accessory and even equivocal_ manner to the propagation of the species. philosophers truly freed from superstition should regard it more and more as tending above all to disturb the principal design of the vivifying fluid. but without waiting for the feminine utopia to be realized, we may determine, _if not the atrophy, at least the inertia of this cerebral superfoetation_, with more facility than is indicated by the insufficient efforts of theologism. while positive education will make the vices of such an instinct everywhere felt, and _will raise up the continued hope of its desuetude_, the whole final system ought naturally to institute a revulsive treatment with respect to it, more efficacious than catholic austerities. for the universal aspiration of domestic existence and of public life will develop the sympathetic faculties to such a degree, that sentiment, intellect, and activity will always concur to stigmatize and repress the most perturbing of selfish propensities." despite all this _aspiration_, and all these stigmas, do not trust to it, high priest! be advised by me, use camphor, and plenty of it; scatter it everywhere as a certain amphitryon scattered nutmeg. it is in prevision of the excommunications hurled by you against this _vile_, this _useless_ instinct, that nature has been prodigal of camphor. upon the whole, you see, my female readers, that if m. comte believes us weaker than man in body, mind, and character, in return, he believes us better. we are moral providence, guardian angels: he dreams of affranchisement for us through the subversion of a natural law. but meanwhile he places us under the yoke of man by exempting us from labor; he rivets our chains by persuading us cajolingly to despoil ourselves of our property; he says to us in the gentlest voice imaginable: never command: it would degrade you; your great strength is in obeying him whom _it is your destiny to direct_. you will be naught in the temple, naught in the state. in the family, you are domestic priestesses, the auxiliaries of the priesthood. three sacraments out of nine are refused you: that of destiny, because, for you, it is confounded with that of marriage; that of retirement, because you have no profession; lastly, that of incorporation, because a woman cannot, in herself, merit a personal and public apotheosis. if you have been worthy auxiliaries, you shall be interred near those whom you shall have influenced, like their other useful auxiliaries: the horse, the dog, the cow, and the ass; and mention shall be made of you when honors shall be paid to the member of humanity to whom you shall have belonged. shall we refute such doctrines? no. our answer to them finds a fitter place in the article devoted to m. proudhon, who has drawn largely from the doctrine of m. comte. as to the priests who continue the teachings of their master, it suffices to refer them to what i said to m. comte in the _revue philosophique_ of december, 1855. the women of the present time are in general intelligent, because they receive an education superior to that of their mothers. the majority of them devote themselves to an active life either in the arts or the trades; men acknowledge them as their competitors in these, and even confess that they are superior in management. no man, worthy of the name, would dare contest that woman is his equal, and that the day of her civil emancipation is close at hand. women, on their side, more independent and more deserving, without having lost anything of their grace and gentleness, no longer accept the famous axiom: _man should support woman_; still less do they accept the _admirable_ maxim of aristotle, fit for the slaves of the gyneceum. be sure that every _true_ woman will laugh at the raiment of clouds which you pretend to give her, at the incense with which you wish to asphyxiate her; for she cares no longer for adoration. she wishes to carry her intellect and activity unfettered into spheres suited to her aptitudes; she wishes to aid her brother, man, in clearing up the field of theory, the domain of practice; she claims that every human being is the judge of his own aptitudes; she does not recognize in any man or in any doctrine the right of fixing her place, and of marking out her road. through the labor of war was the patriciate constituted; through peaceful labor was servitude emancipated; _through labor_, also, does woman claim to conquer her civil rights. such is what many women are, what they wish to be to-day; see if it is not madness to seek to revive the gyneceum and the atrium for these women, impregnated with the ideas of the eighteenth century, wrought upon by the ideas of '89 and of the modern reformers. to say to such women that they shall have no place in the state, nor in marriage, nor in science, nor in art, nor in the trades, nor even in your subjective paradise, is something so monstrous that i cannot conceive, for my part, how aberration could go so far. you will no longer find an interlocutress to say: "that a woman can scarcely ever deserve a personal and public apotheosis ... that views involving the fullest experience and the profoundest reflection are _naturally interdicted_ to the sex whose contemplations can scarcely go beyond the circle of private life _with success_ ... that _the moral degradation of woman is_ _still greater when she enriches herself by her own labor_ ... that there are no worse industrial chiefs than women...." and if any woman behind the times should be so imbecile and immodest as to hold such language, all men of any worth whatever would regard her only with disdain. but you, who wish to annihilate woman, from what principle do you draw such a consequence? that she is an affective power, you say ... yes, but, as to that, man is such, likewise; and is not woman, as well as he, alike intellect and activity? by reason of a purely accidental predominance, can one half of the human species be banished beyond the clouds of sentimentality? and ought not all serious discipline to tend to develop, not one phase of the being, but the ponderation, the harmony of all its phases? want of harmony is the source of disorder and deformity. the woman who is solely sentimental commits irreparable errors; the man who is solely rational is a species of monster, and the person in whom activity predominates is but a brute. since you believe in gall and spurzheim, you know that the encephalon of the two sexes is alike, that it is modifiable in both, that all education is founded on this modificability; why has it never occurred to you that if man _en masse_ is more rational than woman, it is because education, laws and custom have developed in him the anterior lobes of the brain; while in woman, education, laws and custom develop especially the posterior lobes of this organ; and why, having established these facts, have you not been led to conclude that, since organs are developed only in consequence of the excitants applied to them, it is probable that man and woman, subjected to the same cerebral excitants, would be developed in the same manner, with the shades of difference peculiar to each individuality; and that for woman to be developed harmoniously under her three aspects, she must manifest herself socially under three aspects? be sure, sir, your principle is thrice false, thrice in contradiction to science and reason; in the presence of the physiology of the brain, all theories of classification fall to the ground: before the nervous system, women are the equals of men: they can be their inferiors only before muscular supremacy, attacked by the invention of powder, and about to be reduced to dust by the triumph of mechanism. i should say many more things to you, sir, were not this critical sketch too long already; but imperfect though it may be, having to my mind only the meaning of a woman's protest against your doctrines, i shall pause here. chapter iv. legouvé. the inheritor of a name which commands respect, ernest legouvé, an elegant, eloquent, and impassioned author, has written a moral history of women, whence exhales a perfume of purity and love which refreshes the heart and calms the soul. in every page of this book, we detect the impulse of an upright heart and lofty mind, indignant at injustice, oppression, and moral deformity. the author has deserved well of women, and it is with pleasure that i seize the opportunity of thanking him in the name of those who, at the present time, are struggling in various countries for the emancipation of half the human race. what is the object of legouvé's work? we will let him tell it himself. "the object of this book is summed up in these words: to lay claim to feminine liberty in the name of the two very principles of the adversaries of this liberty: tradition and difference (of the sexes), that is to say, to show in tradition progress, and in difference equality. god created the human species double, we utilize but half of it; nature says two, we say one; we must agree with nature. unity itself, instead of perishing thereby, would only then be true unity; that is, not the sterile absorption of one of two terms for the benefit of the other, but the living fusion of two fraternal individualities, increasing the common power with all the force of their individual development. "the feminine spirit is stifled, but not dead.... we cannot annihilate at our pleasure a force created by god, or extinguish a torch lighted by his hand; but turned aside from its purpose, this force, instead of creating, destroys; this torch consumes instead of giving light. "let us then open wide the gates of the world to this new element: we have need of it." then, examining the position of women, the author adds: "no history presents, we believe, more iniquitous prejudices to combat, more secret wounds to heal. "shall we speak of the present? as daughters, no public education for them, no professional instruction, no possible life without marriage, no marriage without a dowry. wives--they do not legally possess their property, they do not possess their persons, they cannot give, they cannot receive, they are under the ban of an eternal interdict. mothers--they have not the legal right to direct the education of their children, they can neither marry them, nor prevent them from marrying, nor banish them from the paternal house nor retain them there. members of the commonwealth, they can neither be the guardians of other orphans than their sons or their grand-sons, nor take part in a family council, nor witness a will; they have not the right of testifying in the state to the birth of a child! among the working people, what class is most wretched? women. who are they that earn from sixteen to eighteen sous for twelve hours of labor? women. upon whom falls all the expense of illegitimate children? upon women. who bear all the disgrace of faults committed through passion? women." then, after showing the position of rich women, he continues: "and thus, slaves everywhere, slaves of want, slaves of wealth, slaves of ignorance, they can only maintain themselves great and pure by force of native nobleness and almost superhuman virtue. can such domination endure? evidently not. it necessarily falls before the principle of natural equity; and the moment has come to claim for women their share of rights and, above all, of duties; to demonstrate what subjection takes away from them, and what true liberty will restore to them; to show, in short, the good that they do not and the good they might do." the history of the past shows us woman more and more oppressed in proportion as we trace back the course of centuries. "the french revolution (itself), which renewed the whole order of things in order to affranchise men, did nothing, we may say, for the affranchisement of women.... '91 respected almost all of the feminine disabilities of '88, and the consulate confirmed them in the civil code." this, in legouvé's opinion was the fault of the philosophy of the eighteenth century, for "woman is, according to diderot, a courtesan; according to montesquieu, an attractive child; according to rousseau, an object of pleasure to man; according to voltaire, nothing.... condorcet and sieyès demanded even the political emancipation of woman; but their protests were stifled by the powerful voices of the three great continuers of the eighteenth century, mirabeau, danton, and robespierre." under the consulate, "feminine liberty had no more decided enemy (than bonaparte:) a southerner, the spirituality of woman was lost on him; a warrior, he saw in the family a camp, and there required, before all else, discipline; a despot, he saw in it a state, and there required, before all else, obedience. he it was who concluded a discussion in council with these words: _there is one thing that is not french; that a woman can do as she pleases_.... always man (in the thought of bonaparte), always the honor of man! as to the happiness of woman, it is not a single time in question (in the civil code.)" it is in behalf of the weakness of women, it is in behalf of tradition which shows them constantly subordinate, it is in behalf of their household functions, that the adversaries of the emancipation of women oppose it. "to educate them is to deform them; and they do not want their playthings spoiled," says m. legouvé, ironically. he then continues in a serious strain: "what matters tradition to us? what matters history to us? there is an authority more powerful than the consent of the human race: _it is the right_. though a thousand more centuries of servitude should be added to those which have already passed, their accord could not banish the primordial right which rules over everything, the absolute right of perfecting one's self which every being has received from the sole fact that he has been created." to those who base their opposition on the domestic functions of woman, he answers: "if there (in the household) is their kingdom, then there they should be queens; their own faculties assure them there of authority, and their adversaries are forced, by their own principles, to emancipate them as daughters, as wives, as mothers. or, on the contrary, it is sought to extend their influence, to give them a rôle in the state, _and we believe that they should have one_: well; it is also in this dissimilarity (between the two sexes), that it is fitting to seek it. when two beings are of value to each other, it is almost always because they differ from, not because they resemble each other. far from dispossessing men, the mission of women therefore would be to do what men leave undone, to aspire to empty places, in short, to represent in the commonwealth the spirit of woman." as is evident, legouvé demands the civil emancipation of woman in the name of the eternal right, in the name of the happiness of the family, in the name of the commonwealth; their long standing oppression is an iniquitous fact, and he casts blame on all who have perpetuated it. this blame from a man of heart and justice may perhaps have some weight with those women who are so much accustomed to bondage that they do not blush at it--that they even no longer feel it! in his first book, "the daughter," which is divided into seven chapters, legouvé takes the child from her birth; he shows her made inferior in the ancient religions and systems of legislation by menu, by moses, at rome, at sparta, at athens, and under the feudal régime; and he asks why, even in our days, the birth of a daughter is received with a sort of disfavor. it is because she will neither continue the name nor the works of her father, says he; it is because her future gives rise to a thousand anxieties. "life is so rude and so uncertain for a girl! poor, how many chances of misery! rich, how many chances of moral suffering! if she is to have only her labor for a maintenance, how shall we give her an occupation that will support her in a state of society in which women scarcely earn wherewith not to die? if she has no dowry, how can she marry in this world in which woman, never representing anything but a passive being, is forced to buy a husband?... from this _début_, and in this child's cradle, we have found and caught a glimpse of all the chains that await women: insufficiency of education for the rich girl; insufficiency of wages for the poor girl; exclusion from the greater part of the professions; subordination in the conjugal abode." in the second chapter, the author shows by what gradations the daughter, deprived of the right of inheritance, has come in our times to share equally with her brothers; then, passing to the right of education, he answers those who pretend that to give a solid education to woman would be to corrupt her and to injure the family: "the diversity of their nature (man and woman) being developed by the identity of their studies, it may be said that women would become so much the more fully women in proportion as they received a masculine education. "well! it is in the name of the family, in the name of the salvation of the family, in the name of maternity, of marriage, of the household, that a solid and earnest education must be demanded for girls.... without knowledge, no mother is completely a mother, without knowledge no wife is truly a wife. the question is not, in revealing to the feminine intellect the laws of nature, to make all our girls astronomers or physicians; do we see all men become latinists by spending ten years of their life in the study of latin? the question is to strengthen their minds by acquaintance with science; and to prepare them to participate in all the thoughts of their husbands, all the studies of their children.... ignorance leads to a thousand faults, a thousand errors in the wife. the husband who scoffs at science might have been saved by it from dishonor." insisting upon the rights of woman, the author adds: "as such (the work of god) she has the right to the most complete development of her mind and heart. away then with these vain objections, drawn from the laws of a day! it is in the name of eternity that you owe her enlightenment." further on, he exclaims indignantly: "what! the state maintains a university for men, a polytechnic school for men, academies of art and trades for men, agricultural schools for men--and for woman, what has it established? primary schools! and even these were not founded by the state, but by the commune. no inequality could be more humiliating. there are courts and prisons for women, there should be public education for women; you have not the right to punish those whom you do not instruct!" m. legouvé demands, in consequence, public education for girls in athenæums, "which, by thorough instruction with respect to france, her laws, her annals, and her poetry, shall make her women french women in truth. the country alone can teach love of country." ancient religions and systems of legislation punished misdemeanors and crimes against the purity of women severely (says m. legouvé in his fourth chapter). our code, profoundly immoral, does not punish seduction, and punishes corruption only derisively, and violation insufficiently. to declare void the promise of marriage is fearful immorality; to permit no investigation of paternity and to admit that of maternity, is as cruel as it is immoral. if the solicitude of the legislator for property be compared with his solicitude for purity, we shall soon see how little the law cares for the latter. "the law recognizes as criminal only a single kind of robbery of honor, _violation_, but it defines, pursues and punishes two kinds of robbery of money, _larceny_ and _fraud_; there are thieves of coin, there are no sharpers in chastity." when a man has seduced a girl fifteen years old under promise of marriage, he has "a right to come before a magistrate and say: this is my signature, it is true; but i refuse to acknowledge it; a debt of love is void in law." the indignant author exclaims, further on: "thus, therefore, on every side, in practice and in theory, in the world and in the law, for the rich as for the poor, we see abandonment of public purity, and a loose rein to all ungoverned or depraved desires.... manufacturers seduce their workwomen, foremen of workshops discharge young girls who will not yield to them, masters corrupt their servant maids. of 5083 lost women, enumerated by the grave parent-duchâtelet at paris in 1830, 285 were servants, seduced by their masters, and discarded. clerks, merchants, officers, students deprave poor country girls and bring them to paris, where they abandon them, and prostitution gathers them up.... at rheims, at lille, in all the great centres of industry, are found organized companies for the recruital of the houses of debauchery of paris." with the indignation of an upright man, m. legouvé adds: "punish the guilty woman if you will, but punish also the man! she is already punished; punished by abandonment, punished by dishonor, punished by remorse, punished by nine months of suffering, punished by the burden of rearing a child: let him then be smitten in turn; or else, it is not public decency that you are protecting, as you say, it is masculine sovereignty, in its vilest form: seigniorial right! "impunity assured to men doubles the number of illegitimate children. impunity fosters libertinism; libertinism enervates the race, wastes fortunes and blights offspring. impunity fosters prostitution; prostitution destroys the public health, and makes a profession of idleness and license. impunity, in short, surrenders half the human race as a prey to the vices of the other half: behold its condemnation in a single word." in the fifth chapter, the author finding, with reason, that girls are married too young, desires that they should not enter upon family duties until twenty-two years old; works of charity, solid studies, innocent pleasures, and the ideal of pure love will suffice to keep them pure till this age. "if the young maiden learns that nothing is more fatal to this divine sentiment (love) than the ephemeral fancies which dare call themselves by its name; if she perceives in it one of those rare treasures which we win only by conquering them, which we keep only by deserving them; if she knows that the heart which would be worthy to receive it must be purified like a sanctuary and enlarged like a temple; then be sure that this sublime ideal, engraven within her, will disgust her, by its beauty alone, with the vain images that profane or parody it; idols are not worshipped when god is known." "what is marriage?" asks m. legouvé. "the union of two free beings, forming an alliance in order to perfect themselves through love." neither antiquity nor the middle age considered it in this light. the father, in ancient times, transmitted to the husband his right of property in his daughter in consideration of a certain sum. at athens, the daughter, even when married, formed part of the paternal inheritance, and was bound to leave her husband to espouse the heir. at rome, the father, after having given his daughter in marriage, had the power to take her back and to espouse her to another. among the barbarians, she belonged to him who paid the _mundium_ to her father. under the feudal system, the law disposed also of the daughter without her consent. the french revolution emancipated her in this respect; she is required now to consent to her marriage; but the customs of the age take from her the benefit of this emancipation; she is married too young to know what she is doing, and interest almost always determines her parents to give her in marriage. for woman to profit by her legal emancipation, she should be at least twenty-two years old when she marries; she should make her choice freely; and her relatives should content themselves with keeping her apart from those whom she ought not to choose, and should only enlighten and counsel her; for on the love between the married couple depends the happiness and virtue of the wife. examining next the origin of the dower, the transferral of the dowry, the betrothal and the marriage, he shows the _mundium_ paid at first to the father or the brother; then later, to the maiden, becoming, with the rest of the nuptial gifts, the origin of the dower, which he wishes to see made obligatory in modern times. passing to the dowry, he proves that, becoming by degrees a custom among the romans, it was at first the property of the husband; then, as the world progressed, it became the property of the wife. our code fully protects the dowry; but the law should oblige wealthy parents to endow their daughters so that they can marry. in olden times, a maiden was betrothed by pledges exchanged by the father and the man who asked her in marriage; at a later date the pledge was given to the maiden instead of the father, and the law intervened to render obligatory promises of marriage. at the present day, in france, there are no longer betrothed, but future spouses. in his second book, the author distinguishes the beloved one from the mistress, the adoration of pure from that of sensual love; the first produces goodness, patriotism, and respect for woman; the second regards her only as an object of pleasure and of disdain. antiquity had no knowledge of pure love; the middle age, which comprehended it, was divided equally between it and sensual love; to-day, we have learned to comprehend that the two loves should be united; that the beloved and the mistress should make one in the person of the wife. the third book, "the wife," is divided into seven chapters. the subordination of woman in marriage, with contempt for the mother, arose from two erroneous ideas: the inferiority of her nature; her passivity in the reproduction of the species, in which she performed the part of the earth with respect to the reception of germs. modern science has destroyed these bases of inferiority by demonstrating: 1st, that the human germ, before taking its definitive form, passes, in the bosom of its mother, through progressive degrees of animal life; 2d, that in all species, both animal and vegetable, the females are the conservers of the race, which they bring to their own type. among the romans, two forms of marriage placed the wife, soul, body and estate, _in the hands_ of her husband; in a third form, which left her in her father's family, she received a dowry, inherited, and administered her property. barbarism and feudality made the wife a ward, the husband an administrator, and a step was taken towards the equality of the spouses by the institution of _acquêts_, or property belonging to both, though obtained by but one. to-day, the maiden is married sometimes under the dotal system, occasionally under that of the separation of property, and chiefly under that of communion of goods. this last, which is the rule, permits the husband to dispose of the property of his partner, to sell the household furniture, to take possession of the very jewels of his wife to adorn his mistress. "thus, this law respects no dignity, no delicacy, nothing whatever," says m. legouvé. the omnipotence of the husband is a crime of the law in every point of view; it is in manifest violation of the modern principle, which exacts that all authority shall be limited and placed under surveillance. "to surrender to the husband the fortune of the wife is to condemn her to an eternal moral minority, to create him absolute master of the actions and almost of the soul of his companion." the author next addresses himself to those who pretend to justify marital omnipotence by the incapacity of woman: "in vain do facts protest against this alleged incapacity; in vain does reality say: to whom is the prosperity of most of our commercial houses due? to women. who establish, who superintend the thousands of establishments of millinery and objects of taste? women. by whom are the boarding-schools, the farms, often even, the manufactories, sustained? by women. it matters not, the code denies to the wife the foresight to preserve, the judgment to administer, even the maternal tenderness to economize, and the marriage certificate becomes the expression of this disdainful phrase: the most reasonable woman never attains the good sense of a boy fourteen years of age." how shall we set to work to remedy this iniquitous and shameful state of affairs? the property of the partners should be divided into three shares: one for the wife, to be placed at her disposal five years after marriage, one for the husband, and a third common to both, to be administered by the husband under the direction of a family council, which council, in case of incapacity or waste, shall have the right provisionally to take away the management from him, to entrust it to his wife. if anything is iniquitous and revolting, it is the power of the husband over the person and the actions of his wife; the right over her of correction, still tolerated in our days. there must be a directing power in the household; the husband must be the depositary of this power, which should be limited, and controlled by the family council. legal omnipotence demoralizes the husband, who believes in the end in the lawfulness of his despotism. it is said that custom establishes precisely the contrary of what the laws prescribe: this is generally true, but it is at the expense of the moral character of the wife, thus forced to have recourse to artifice. "restore liberty to women, since liberty is truth!" exclaims legouvé. "this will be, at the same time, to affranchise man. servitude always creates two slaves: he who holds the chain and he who wears it." antiquity, the middle age, and the centuries nearer our own, punished the adultery of the wife severely, even cruelly, yet did not admit that a man could become guilty of this offence with respect to his spouse. our present code acknowledges, indeed, that the husband can commit adultery, but only in case he maintains his mistress under the conjugal roof; the wife is an adulteress everywhere, and is punished severely; as to the husband, his punishment is a farce. "such impunity," says m. legouvé, "is not only injurious to order, it is an insult to public morals, _it is a lesson of debauchery, given by the law itself_." if, by adultery, the wife wounds the heart of an honorable man, introduces false heirs into the family, she at least can abstract nothing from the common fortune; while the husband, in the same case, can ruin the family, while increasing the number of natural children and provoking his wife to wrong by his neglect and brutality. the husband, besides, is more criminal than the wife, for he seeks adultery, while, on the contrary, it comes to the wife under a thousand attractive forms. notwithstanding, the adultery of the woman deserves greater punishment than that of the man.... ah! m. legouvé, is this logic? the oriental wife was and is still, a slave, a generatrix; the roman wife was something more than this; the wife of the middle age owed her body to her husband, but the courts of love had decided that her affections could, nay, should belong to another. to-day, the ideal of marriage is enlarged; we comprehend that it is the fusion of two souls, a school for mutual perfection, and that the two spouses should belong wholly to each other. we have been led to this new ideal of the conjugal union by the civilizing struggles of the church against divorce and repudiation. in its nature, marriage is indissoluble, but in the existing state of things in which the ideal is but very exceptionally realized, the legislator has deemed it right to render possible the separation of the spouses: this measure is immoral and unfortunate both for the partners and for their children. the only remedy for family difficulties is _divorce_, a question with which the church has nothing to do. the whole of the last chapter of the third book is a condemnation of fickleness in love, and an affirmation of the indissolubility of marriage and of the sanctity of the conjugal tie. the fourth book, "the mother," comprises six chapters. until a late day, it was believed that woman was only the soil in which man, the creator of the species, deposited the human germ. modern science has overthrown this false doctrine, and elevated woman by demonstrating these three incontestable facts: 1st, that, dating from the moment of conception, the human germ passes through successive degrees of animal life until it acquires its proper form; 2d, that the female sex is the conserver of the race, since it always brings them to its own type, as well in the human as in the animal and vegetable species; 3d, that woman is physiologically of a nature superior to man, since it is now demonstrated that the higher the respiratory apparatus is placed in the organism, the more elevated is the species in the scale of beings; and that woman breathes from the upper, and man from the lower part of the lungs. maternity does not give to women rights over their children, but contributes, notwithstanding, to their emancipation; thus, in india, a woman who had borne sons could not be repudiated, and at rome, a woman emerged from tutelage at maternity. it is iniquitous to give the paternal authority to the father alone; the mother should have an equal right with him over her children. supremacy of direction belongs indeed to the father, but this direction should be limited and superintended by a family council, and transferred to the mother in case of the unworthiness of her spouse. the education of the children belongs of right to the mother, because she understands them best, and because it is necessary that she should acquire that entire influence over her sons which she will need afterwards to counsel and to console them. public education is not fit for boys until they have attained their twelfth year; younger, it is injurious in its results to their character. the author demands that the maternal grand-parents shall not be made inferior in guardianship, as is the case now in the law; and he considers it as sacrilege not to give to the mother an equal right with respect to consent to the marriage of their children. legitimate maternity is happiness to the rich woman; want, often grief, to the poor woman. illegitimate maternity is to women of all ranks a source of sorrow, shame and crime. to the rich girl it is dishonor, an eternal bar to marriage; to the poor girl it is poverty, shame if she keeps her child; crime, if she destroys it. yet the law dares grant impunity to the corrupter, to the seducer, to the man who has not hesitated to sacrifice to a moment of passion the whole future of a woman, the whole future of a child! the state ought to come to the aid of all poor mothers, because it is for its interest that the race should be strong and vigorous, and because mothers are the preservers of the race. let the genius of women be set to work; let infant schools and infant asylums be founded in every quarter of france. the hindoo widow was burned; the jewish widow was bound to re-marry certain men designated by the law; the grecian and the gothic widow passed under the guardianship of her son, and the latter could not even re-marry without his permission; the christian widow was condemned to seclusion; none of these women had any rights over their children. the french code restores full liberty to the widow, renders to her the right of majority, appoints her the guardian and directress of her children; it is a preliminary step to liberty in marriage. the fifth book, _woman_, is divided into five chapters. all antiquity oppressed woman, although it recognized in her something superior, and made her a priestess or a prophetess. the christian woman of the early ages, who alone could dethrone the pagan woman, not only endured martyrdom as courageously as man, but was distinguished for her great charity, for the purity and lucidity of doctrine which rendered her the counsellor of learned men. we do not know, in reality, to what heights woman can attain; we cannot judge her by what she is to-day, since she is the work of the eternal oppression of man. "who can say whether many of the ills that rend society, and of the insoluble problems that trouble it, may not be caused in part by the annihilation of one of the two forces of creation, the ban placed on female genius? have we a right to say to half the human kind: you shall not have your share in life and in the state? is it not to deny to them (to women) their title of human beings? is it not to disinherit the state itself? yes, woman should have her place in civil life," concludes legouvé. woman and man are equal, but different. to man, belong synthesis, superiority in all that demands comprehensive views, genius, muscular force; to woman, belong the spirit of analysis, the comprehension of details, imagination, tenderness, grace. man has more strength of reason and body, woman more strength of heart, with a marvelous perspicacity to which man will never attain. the division thus fixed, what ought woman to do? in the family, the task of the wife is the management of domestic affairs, the education of the children, and the comfort of the husband, of whom she should be the inspiration. by the side of the eminent man, yet in the shade, there is always a woman; this career of hidden utility and of modest devotion is the one best suited to woman. in civil life there are several fields of occupation which they may enter with success: art, literature, instruction, _administration_, medicine. "modesty itself demands that we should call in women as physicians, not to men, but to women; for it is an abiding outrage upon all purity that their ignorance should forcibly expose to masculine curiosity the sufferings of their sisters.... nervous diseases, especially, would find in feminine genius the only adversary able to understand and combat them." the author says that it is the duty of society to see that poor women do not work for one-third or one-fourth the wages of men; and that, in manufactures, they have not the most dangerous and least remunerative labors. "parent-duchâtelet," says he, "attests that of three thousand lost women, _only thirty-five had an occupation that could support them_, and that fourteen hundred had been precipitated into this horrible life by destitution. one of them, when she resolved on this course, _had eaten nothing for three days_." m. legouvé thinks it shameful that men should enter into competition with women in the manufacture of articles of dress and taste. in the fifth and last chapter, the author recognizes the remarkable capacity of women in administration, of which he cites numerous examples. he demands that they should have the superintendence of prisons for women, hospitals, charitable institutions, the legal guardianship of foundlings, the management, in short, of all that concerns social charity, because they will acquit themselves in it infinitely better than men. but he refuses to them all participation in political acts and in all that concerns the government, because they have no aptitude for things of this nature. finally, he concludes thus: "our task is finished; we have examined the principal phases of the life of women, in the character of daughters, wives, mothers, and women, comparing the present with the past, and endeavoring to indicate the future; that is, by pointing out the bad, verifying the better, seeking the best. "what principle has served us in this as a guide? equality in difference. "in the name of this principle, what ameliorations have we demanded in the laws and customs? "for daughters: "reform in education. "laws against seduction. "the postponement of the marriageable age. "the actual participation of the betrothed parties in the execution of their contract. "abolition of the formal request to the father of consent to marriage, which is an insult to the father and an injustice to the child. "for wives: "an age of legal majority. "administration, and the right of disposing of a portion of their private property. "the right to appear in law without the consent of their husbands. "the limitation of the power of the husband over the person of the wife. "the creation of a family council, charged with controlling this part of the power. "for mothers: "the right of government. "the right of direction. "the right of education. "the right of consent to the marriage of their children. "a law requiring the investigation of paternity. "the creation of a family council to decide on serious disagreements between father and mother. "for women: "admission to guardianship and the family council. "admission to all professions. "admission within the bounds of their capabilities and duties to public offices." it is evident that legouvé has but one end, that of advancing the emancipation of women a single step; he does not demand all that he believes just, but all that seems to him mature and possible. we should thank him for his prudence: he has brought over many men to our cause, and has prepared them to hear the voice of woman, speaking loudly and firmly by her right as a wife and a human being, as a worker and a member of the social body. by the side of legouvé, outside the social schools, are a phalanx of just and generous men who have written in our favor. we thank them all for their good words. chapter v. de girardin. on page 42 of his pamphlet, "liberty in marriage," de girardin says, with great reason: "man is born of woman. everything, therefore, that benefits woman will benefit man." "to fight and conquer for her is to fight and conquer for himself." inspired by these excellent sentiments, the celebrated publicist has investigated the causes of the slavery and degradation of woman, and the means of paralyzing them. _every child has for its father the husband of its mother_: this, according to m. de girardin, is the principle of two great wrongs: the servitude of the married woman; the inequality of children before the law, which classes them as legitimate and illegitimate. that children may become equal, that woman may be affranchised from the yoke of man, it is necessary, says the author, to substitute the system of maternity for that of paternity; to modify marriage, and to render woman independent through the institution and universalizing of the dower. we will let m. de girardin expound the rest of his doctrine himself. "we must choose," says he, "between these two systems: "between the system of _presumed_ paternity, _which is the system of the law_, and the system of maternity, _bearing its proof within itself, which is the system of nature_; the latter is in conformity with incontestable truth, the former is condemned by undisputed statistics. the system of paternity is _inequality of children before the mother and before the law; it is woman possessed and not possessing_; ... it is no longer the legal slavery of woman, _but is still conjugal servitude_."--_liberty in marriage._ "without equality of children before the mother, equality of citizens before the law _is only an imposture_, for evidently and incontestably, this equality does not exist for 2,800,000 children, who, arbitrarily entitled illegitimate, are placed outside of common right in violation of natural law."--_id._ according to de girardin, the logical consequences of the system of maternity would be: the abolition of civil marriage; the mother's name alone given to the child; the inheritance placed solely in the maternal line. "marriage," says he, "is a purely individual act, and, as regards its celebration, a purely religious act.-"marriage is an act of faith, not of law: it is for faith to govern it, _not for law to make rules for it_. "as soon as the law intervenes, it intervenes _without right_, without necessity, _without utility_. "for one abuse that it pretends to avert, it gives rise to innumerable others which are worse, and from which society afterwards suffers seriously, without taking into account the cause that produced them. "legal liberty in marriage is durable love in the household; indissolubility of marriage is habitual love outside of the household."--_id._ with respect to inheritance and dowry, the author expresses himself thus: "to inherit at the death of the mother, because maternity and certitude are two equipollent terms, and to receive a support from the father, because paternity and doubt are two inseparable terms; such is the true law of nature."--_id._ in de girardin's opinion, woman has the same rights as man to liberty and equality; the sexes are equal, not through _similitude_ but _equivalence_ of faculties and functions; man produces, acquires, woman administers, economizes; it belongs therefore to man to provide for the expenses of the household. it is his duty, on uniting himself to a woman, to settle on her an inalienable dower that will permit her to perform her maternal functions properly, and to escape from the vices that frequently result from want and abandonment. to the objection that the wages of the working people are insufficient to satisfy this duty, the generous publicist replies: well, raise the rate of wages by excluding from industrial occupations the women and children that lower it by competition with men. and if this measure be not sufficient to balance receipts and expenses, increase the wages, for "there is no consideration weighty enough to make me admit that, in order not to diminish the profits of some men, others shall be eternally condemned to insufficient wages; and that to shelter some women from violation, others shall be necessarily devoted to prostitution."--_id._ in comparing the lot of the wife under the two systems, de girardin expresses himself thus: "under the system of paternity, the wife, loaded with the gifts of fortune, sinks under the weight of an idleness which most frequently inflames and disorders her imagination. she does not know what to do to employ her time. woman does nothing because man does everything. "the wife who has brought no dowry and received no dower, sinks under the weight of a toil contrary to nature which obliges her, through economy, to separate herself from her child a few days after giving it birth, and to put it away from her to nurse, for the consideration of five or six francs a month; to go to work in one direction while her husband works in the other, and not to rejoin him till evening, when each returns from the workshop which has kept them absent from their household all day: if this is what is called the family, _is it indeed worth all the stir that is made about it_? "under the system of maternity, on the contrary, the richer a woman is, the further she is removed from idleness; for not only has she her children to nurse, to rear, to instruct, and to watch over, but she has also to administer her fortune which will one day be theirs. "to preserve this fortune, to increase it still more: here is wherewith to occupy her leisure, to calm her imagination, to place her under curb. it is wrong to suppose women not qualified for the management of business; they excel in it, however little may have been their practice or application. "long enough has man been the personification of war, of slavery, of conquest; it is the turn of woman to be the personification of peace, of liberty, of civilization. "in this new system (_that of maternity_), each of the two has his part: to man labor, the genius of enterprise; to woman economy and the spirit of foresight. "man speculates, woman administers; "man acquires, woman preserves; "man brings in, woman transmits; "the dowry remains the attribute of the father, the inheritance becomes the privilege of the mother; "each of the two thus exercises the function that is _natural_ to him, and in conformity with the essence of things."--_id._ a number of women have asked whether de girardin recognizes political right for women. he says nothing about it, either in his work "liberty in marriage," or in his "universal politics." but when a man writes that: "woman, belonging to herself, and being dependent only on her reason, has the same rights as man to liberty and equality." that "universal suffrage should be _individual_ and _direct_." that "every holder of a general insurance has a right to be a party to it." it is evident that we may deduce, without any great stretch of logic, that, woman being _free and equal to man_, woman being comprised in universality, woman holding, like man, her policy of insurance, has a right, like man, to be elector, to be eligible to office, and to vote _individually and directly_. now, as m. de girardin is not one of those who recoil from the consequences of their principles, we are led to believe that he admits to woman the exercise of political right for woman. i have been told that, in 1848, one of those pitiable individuals who have neither intellect enough to be logical, nor justice enough to comprehend the oppressed, was haranguing before m. de girardin against the claims of certain women to enter political life. "why not?" asked m. de girardin. "do you believe that madame de girardin would deposit a less intelligent vote in the electoral urn than that of her footman?" if this anecdote be true, the opinion of the publicist concerning the political right of woman is not doubtful. _la liberté dans le mariage_ has raised a tempest of indignation, to a greater or less degree feigned, among the prudes; and for some time it required courage openly to proclaim one's self the (feminine) champion of the author. abolish marriage! cry some, veiling their faces with an air of offended modesty. make a speculation of love! exclaim others who, apparently, have preserved their holy innocence and baptismal ignorance. come, ladies, we might say,--a truce to conventional delicacy and sentimentality. let men suffer themselves to be deceived by our mask, nothing is more natural; but what is the use of playing the farce among women? m. de girardin does not really suppress marriage; he changes it in some respects, but leaves it intact in a religious point of view. if his system should be adopted, therefore, you might be married in the presence of the clergymen of your respective faiths, precisely as was done some seventy years ago, and you would have no fewer scruples than your grandmothers, who believed themselves then sufficiently married. on the other hand, in suppressing civil marriage, the author does not interdict such and such particular stipulations; if therefore you hold in any degree to the religion of the code, it will be lawful for you to stipulate in your notarial contract: 1. that you will be submissive to your husbands; 2. that you will permit them to manage your fortune, even contrary to your interests and to those of your children; 3. that without authority from them, you will neither go to law, nor undertake anything, nor sell anything, nor receive anything, nor give anything away; 4. that, so long as they shall live, you renounce all authority over your children; that they can, if they please, take them from you, banish you from them, have them reared by whoever they choose, even by their mistress, finally, give them in marriage contrary to your will; 5. that you recognise their right to carry elsewhere their love, their attentions, their fortune and your own; provided that this does not happen under your roof; 6. that, lastly, you grant their right, if, abandoned by them, you attach yourself to another, to drag you before the bar, to dishonor you, to imprison you with thieves and prostitutes; that even in such case you declare them excusable in killing you. yes, ladies, you might stipulate all this, for m. de girardin disputes no one the rights of lacking dignity and being imbecile; of what then do you complain? you reproach m. de girardin with wishing to make a speculation of love! be good enough to tell me what you call the greater part of the marriages of the present time, in which men have the heartlessness to speculate even on death!--in which they ask how much a young girl has, what are her expectations, and _how old are her parents_. answer, women: is it true that the great majority of seduced women are incapacitated, through shame and poverty, from rearing their children? that what you call a first fault, drives the greater part of them to make a traffic of their charms? that the great majority of men forget, after satisfying their passion, both the woman whom they have led astray, and the innocent creature that owes its life to them? is it true that the horrible and cruel selfishness of men and the insane confidence of women produces annually a fearful number of so called illegitimate children, the greater part of which people the prisons, the galleys, and the public brothels? is it true, lastly, that this same selfishness and this same confidence are the cause of thousands of human lives being criminally sacrificed? and if all this shame, all these griefs, all these crimes are true? if there are so many women seduced and heartbroken; if there are so many children abandoned; if there are so many infanticides; if the law does not protect the woman deceived and made a mother; if this law does not compel the seducer to any reparation; if public opinion leaves to the victim all the shame; why do you reproach a man for reminding a young girl that from love may proceed maternity? for telling her that she ought to provide in advance for the child that may be born, in order that it may not be cast upon public charity, and that she herself may not risk falling into those sinks of impurity that are the shame and degradation of our sex? do you reproach a man then for taking our part against the selfish and animal passions of his sex, and against the impunity accorded them by the laws? do you reproach him for taking in hand the cause of morals and health, in opposition to the degradation of soul and body? a young girl stipulate the sale of her person! say you? what essential difference do you find between this kind of contract, and those that are made to-day before the notary on the occasion of a marriage? did not most among you, ladies, purchase your husbands with so much dowry, so much income, so much _expectations_? and if these husbands of yours did not think it shameful to be sold, and if you do not esteem them less for it, be good enough to tell me from what principle you judge it shameful for a young girl to do the same in order to rear her children, and to live without prostituting herself? for my part, i do not see. ladies, you are grown-up children: men feign to have contempt for the woman who thinks of her interests in love ... because they wish, if possible, to keep their money, that is all. is this to say that i admit all the ideas of m. de girardin? no. i admit with him, that woman can only be free and the equal of man, in so far as she is a wife, through a change in marriage. that, in the state of insecurity in which she is placed with respect to wages and to maternity outside of marriages, woman _does well_ to take measures to prevent man from shifting the obligations of paternity from himself to her. i would willingly admit that the child should bear the mother's name only, if men did not object so strongly to it. the child, belonging to both, should bear both names, and choose, at majority, the one that he preferred; or else the daughters should bear the name of the mother and the sons that of the father, from the time of majority. i readily admit the equality of children before the mother and the law; for bastardy is meaningless in nature and is social iniquity. but what i do not admit, is the ideal m. de girardin has formed with regard to the respective functions of each sex: the exclusion of woman from active occupations; the universalizing of the dower; lastly, family education. to say that man represents labor, the genius of enterprise, that he speculates, acquires, brings in,--that woman represents economy, the spirit of foresight,--that she administers, preserves, transmits, is to establish a series which does not appear to me at all in conformity with the nature of things, since it is notorious that a great number of women do what m. de girardin attributes to the other sex, and _vice versâ_. functions, to be properly performed, should be the result of aptitudes. now nature, except in what concerns the reproduction of the species, does not appear to have classed these according to the sexes. since the origin of society, we have attempted to do it, but history is at hand to reveal to us that, in acting thus, we have only succeeded in tyrannizing over the sturdy minorities that have given the lie to such pretensions. now, m. de girardin, admitting a false series, _à priori_, is led without perceiving it to forge chains for all women whom nature has not made in conformity with the conventional order which he wishes to see realized. to exclude woman from active occupations in order to confine her to the cares of the household is to attempt an impossibility, to close the way to progress, and to replace woman beneath the yoke of man. it is to attempt an impossibility, because there are branches of manufactures that can be executed only by women; because many women who would not marry, or who would be left portionless widows without resources, could only remain pure by devoting themselves to some active employment which, notwithstanding, would be interdicted to them. to see woman in the household alone, is to view her from a contracted stand point, which retards the advent of her liberty. it is to close the way to progress, because there are social functions which will never be well performed until woman shall participate in them, and social questions that will never be resolved until woman shall stand by the side of man to elucidate them. it is to replace woman beneath the yoke of man, because it is in human nature to rule and domineer over those whom we provide with their daily bread. to wish to erect the dower into an institution, is to wish to restore one of the most lamentable phases of the past at the moment when humanity is marching towards the future--that which shows us woman purchased by man. the universalizing of the dower would be therefore a criminal attempt on the liberty and moral dignity of woman. lastly, to claim that every mother ought to educate her children herself appears to us to propose as great impossibility as social danger. if every well constituted woman is fit to bring children into the world and to nourish them with her milk, very few are capable of developing their intellect and heart, for education is a special function, requiring a particular aptitude, with which all mothers cannot be endowed. next, family education perpetuates divergence of opinions and sentiments, maintains prejudices, favors the development of vanity and selfishness, and tends, by this means, to paralyze the most noble, the most civilizing sentiment--that of universal solidarity. assuredly, at the present time, many motives may justify family education, but for the good of humanity it is to be desired that parents who sympathize in progressive ideas should assemble their children together to form them for social life, instead of rearing them each by himself. i submit this critical sketch to m. de girardin in the name of the principle that he has always defended:--_individual dignity and human liberty_. chapter vi. modern communists. the communists hold as the principle of social organization, not _the agrarian law_, as has been charged on them through ignorance or bad faith, but the enjoyment _in common_ of the soil, of implements of labor, and of products. _from each one according to his strength, to each one according to his needs_, is the formula of most among them. it is not our business to examine the social value of this doctrine, but only to show what communism thinks of woman and her rights. the modern communists may be divided into two classes: the religious and the political. among the first are the saint simonians, the fusionists and the philadelphians. among the second, are the equalitarians, the unitarians, the icarians, etc. the first consider woman as the equal of man. to the others, she is free; among some, with a shade of subordination. the unitarians, who have drawn largely from fourier, proclaim woman free, and equal with man. we shall speak here of only a few of the communistic sects, reserving for separate articles what relates to the saint simonians and the fusionists. the philadelphians, admitting god and the immortality of the soul, lay down these two principles: god is the chief of the social order; fraternity is the law that governs human relations. religion, to the philadelphians, is the practice of fraternity; progress is a dogma, community is the law of the individual before god and conscience. touching the relations of the sexes and the rights of woman, m. pecqueur thus expresses himself in his work _la république de dieu_, pp. 194, 195: "complete equality of the man and the woman." the monogamic marriage, intentionally indissoluble as a normal condition; such is the second practical consequence of the dogma of religious fraternity. 1. equality. "we bring no proofs in evidence of this; _his reason is blotted out by prejudice and his heart chilled by egotism_, who is not impressed at once with the truth of equality. "in the state of society created by the religion of fraternity and equality, women will find, from their earliest years, _the same means and the same conditions of development of function and of remuneration_, in short, the same rights, the same social aim to pursue as men; and in proportion as custom shall correspond with the religious and moral ends of the union, will the living law deduce the practical consequences of all order, contained in the germ in the dogma of the complete equality of the sexes. "4. monogamy and indissolubility. "to comprehend the lawfulness of the unlimited or indefinite monogamic marriage, it suffices to consider: 1st. the exigencies of our inmost nature, that is, the characteristics of love; its instinctive aspiration to the union and the fusion of two beings, to duration and to perpetuity; the necessity of possessing each other reciprocally and of having faith in this possession _in order to love each other_; in short, instinct, desire; the irresistible and universal affections, and the joys of paternity and of the family; 2d. the physiological conditions of generation, which exact monogamy in order to assure the reproduction and the good and progressive conservation of the species; 3d. social and religious exigencies, which require relations of all kinds to be predetermined and regulated, that each one may be secure in his expectation and his possession, and that there may be a possibility of satisfying the fundamental propensities of our natures.... to claim to introduce polygamy, promiscuousness, or union for a term of years into such surroundings, (the philadelphian society,) is evidently to decree selfishness and mere carnal pleasure, while proclaiming duty and dignity. it is inconceivable that two moral beings, once united by pure love, should ever cease to love each other, to delight in each other, or at least to endure each other, when they are presumed already to be devoted and sacrificing without distinction in their love to their brothers and sisters. "still less is it conceivable that their brothers and sisters would dream of diverting this reciprocal love of two members of the family to their personal advantage; _for this would be infamy_." m. pecqueur admits, notwithstanding, that in very rare cases, divorce may be granted on account of incompatibility of temper. in such case the offending party would be excluded from the republic, and the other would be at liberty to remarry. according to m. pecqueur, indissolubility of marriage does not relate to the present antagonistic state of society, as he says: "divorce is a great misfortune, not only to the parties concerned, but to religion; notwithstanding, in the kingdom of cæsar in which pure justice is the question, it is the lesser evil, when the individuals are determined on a separation in fact, and are lusting after other ties. they do evil clandestinely; they are the cause or the occasion of the temptation or the fall of others. do what they will, the scandal is known; so that neither society, nor the spouses, nor the children, nor morality derive benefit from the consecration of absolute perpetuity. "it is not charitable, it is _impious_ to force two beings to remain together, one of which, to say the least, maltreats, detests, takes advantage of, or domineers over the other. it is equally wrong to grant them a separation from bed and board without at the same time permitting them to yield to chaste affections when they acknowledge these in purity and liberty." so then, to the philadelphians, expounded by m. pecqueur, marriage is monogamous, indissoluble by intention; divorce is a sad necessity of the existing state of society, whilst separation is immorality. in short, woman is _free and the equal of man_. another communist sect, that of the icarians, takes no notice either of the nature or the rights of women. its chief, m. cabet, an ex-attorney-general, was too fully imbued with the doctrines of the civil code, that inelegant paraphrase of the apostle paul, not to be persuaded that woman ought to remain outside the pale of political right, and that she ought to be subordinate to man in general, and to her husband, good or bad, in particular. let us do justice however to m. cabet's disciples; i have never found a single one of them of his opinion on this great question. one evening in 1848, as m. cabet was presiding over a well attended club, he was requested by a woman to put the question: _is woman the equal of man before social and political rights?_ almost every hand was raised in the affirmative; in the negative, not a hand was raised, not a man protested against the affirmation. a round of applause followed from the galleries filled with women; and m. cabet was somewhat disconcerted by the result. he seemed to be ignorant that the people, always eminently logical, are never guilty of quibbling to elude or to limit the principles that they have adopted. this vote of the cabet club was repeated in three others, in my presence. the men in paletots laughed at the demands of brave jeanne deroin; the men in blouses did not even smile at them. m. dezamy representing another shade of communism, thus expresses himself in the code of the community; "away with marital dominion! freedom of alliance! _perfect equality of both sexes!_ freedom of divorce!" he adds, under the heading; laws for the union of the sexes, designed to prevent all discord and debauchery, page 266: "art. i. mutual love, inmost sympathy, purity of heart between two beings, form and legalize their union. "art. ii. _there should be perfect equality between the two sexes._ "art. iii. no bond except that of mutual love can link the man and the woman together. "art. iv. nothing shall prevent lovers who have separated from forming new ties as often as they shall be attracted to another person." the ethics of m. dezamy are not to our taste; we prefer those of the communist, pecqueur; but we are glad to prove that modern communism, divided on the questions of marriage, the family, and morals in relations of the sexes, is unanimous with respect to the liberty of woman and the equality of the sexes before the law and society. in this, modern communism is greatly superior to that of the ancient school, practised among several nations, and taught by plato, morelly, etc. we recognize a sign of the times in this juster appreciation of woman, with the introduction of the principle of her rights into doctrines which formerly never took them into account. the greater part of the communists belong to the working class; which proves that the people most of all feel the great truth, _that the liberty of woman is identical with that of the masses_; and it will take more than mm. proudhon, comte, michelet and their adepts, to throw cold water on their feelings and to make them retrace their steps. saint simonians. my mother, a zealous protestant and very austere in morals, disapproved of st. simonianism, and never permitted any one to speak of it in my presence except to condemn it; she took great care that not a line of the new doctrine should fall under my eyes. whether from a natural spirit of opposition or from instinctive justice, i know not, but i by no means shared in the censure that i heard expressed about me; one thing alone resulted from it--curiosity to become acquainted with what were called immoral dogmas. i was in this frame of mind when one day while with my mother in the neighborhood of the _palais du justice_, i saw a company of men advancing, clad in a graceful costume; they were the saint simonians going in a body to defend their infant church against prosecution at the bar. i was greatly moved by the sight; i felt in communion with these youth who were about to bear testimony to their faith; they did not seem like strangers, but as struggling for my own cause or for one that deserved my sympathy, and tears sprang to my eyes. i could have heartily embraced those whom i heard defending them, and as heartily have assailed those who claimed that it would be just to condemn them. my mother being too generous to join with the latter, we departed in silence. i knew, without having any knowledge of the details, that the church of st. simon had been dispersed. it was not until some years after that, having made the acquaintance of a st. simonian lady, i was enabled to read the doctrinal writings and to form an idea of the aspirations and the dogmas of the school of st. simon. if the nature of this work forbids me their analysis, it cannot reproach me for expressing my sympathies for those who have had great and generous aspirations; for those who, in a critical point of view, have rendered real services to the cause of progress; for those who have brought to light the solution of the two capital problems of our epoch; _the emancipation of woman and of the workman_. the st. simonians have been enough assailed, enough calumniated to justify a woman who is not a st. simonian in considering it a duty to render them justice, by acknowledging the good which they have done. yes, you have a right to be proud of your name of st. simonians, you who have proclaimed the obligation of laboring without respite for the physical, moral and intellectual amelioration of the most numerous and the poorest class; you who have proclaimed the _sanctity_ of science, art, manufactures, and labor in every form; you who have proclaimed the equality of the sexes in the family, the church, and the state; you who have preached of peace and fraternity to a world given over to wars of cannon and competition. you who have criticised the ancient dogma, and all the evil institutions that have thence arisen; yes, i repeat, you have deserved well of progress, you have deserved well of humanity; and you have a right to bear with pride your great scholastic name; for it was noble to desire the emancipation of woman, of labor, and of the laborer; it was generous to consecrate youth and fortune to it, as so many among you have done. through your aspirations, you have been the continuers of '89, since you dreamed of realizing what was contained in the germ in the declaration of rights: these are your titles of greatness; this is why your name will not perish. but if, through your sentiments, you belonged to the great era of '89, the social form in which you claimed to incarnate your principles, belonged to the middle ages; the age therefore has done right to leave you behind. seduced by trinitarian mysticism, deluded by an erroneous historical point of view, you claimed to resuscitate hierarchy and theocracy in a system of humanity fashioned in conformity with the opposing principle; the triumph of individual liberty in social equality. this is the reason that the age could not follow you. no more could women follow you, for they felt that they could only be affranchised through labor and through purity of morals; by ruling over, not imitating masculine passions. they felt that their power of moralization was due as much to their chastity as to their intellect; they knew that those who make use of the most liberty in love, neither love nor esteem the other sex; that, in general, they employ their ascendancy over it to pervert it to ruin and afflict their companions, and to dissolve the family and civilization; that, in consequence, they are the most dangerous enemies of the emancipation of their sex; for man, sobered of his passion, can never desire to emancipate those by whom he has been deceived, ruined and demoralized. the st. simonian orthodoxy is therefore, in my opinion, greatly mistaken with respect to the ways and means of realization. shall we impute this to it as a crime? no, indeed! social problems are not mathematical problems; there is merit in propounding them; courage and devotion in pursuing their solution, even when we fail completely to attain it. we all know the spirit of the st. simonians who first brought before the public mind of the age the question of female emancipation; it would be ungrateful in the women who demand liberty and equality not to recognize the debt of gratitude which they have contracted toward them. it is their duty to say to their companions: the seal of st. simonianism is the safeguard of the liberty of woman; wherever therefore you meet a st. simonian, you may press his hand fraternally; you have in him a defender of your right. let us sketch the general outline of the st. simonian doctrine, touching woman and her rights. all of the st. simonians admit that the sexes are equal; that the couple forms the social individual; that marriage is the sacred bond of generations; the association of a man and a woman for the accomplishment of a sacerdotal, scientific, artistic, or industrial work; all admit divorce, and transition to another union; but some are more severe than others with respect to the conditions of divorce. there is a division among them on the question of morals. olinde rodrigues and bazard do not admit any _liaison_ of love outside of marriage. m. enfantine, on the contrary, claims the greatest liberty in love. we should add that he gives to this opinion a fixed and provisional value only, since he says that the law of the relations of sexes can only be established in a sure and definitive manner by the concurrence of the woman; and since, on the other hand, he prescribes continence to his closest followers, until the coming of the woman, of which he regards himself the precursor. in addition, to give our readers a more precise idea of the sentiments of the st. simonians concerning woman, we will cite some passages of their writings. "the use of woman by man still exists," says m. enfantin; "_this it is that constitutes the necessity of our apostleship_. this use, this subalternation _contrary to nature_, with respect to the future, results on the one hand, in falsehood and fraud; on the other, in violence and animal passions; it is necessary to put an end to these vices."--(_religion st. simonienne_, 1832, p. 5.) "woman, as we have said, _is the equal of man_; she is now a slave; it belongs to her master to affranchise her." (_id._ p. 12.) "there will be no definitive law and morality until woman shall have spoken." (_id._ p. 18.) "in the name of god," exclaims m. enfantin in his _appel à la femme_, "in the name of god and of all the sufferings which humanity, his loved child, endures to-day in her flesh; in the name of the poorest and most numerous class whose daughters are sold to indolence and whose sons are given up to war; in the name of all those men and of all those women, who cast the glittering veil of falsehood or the filthy rays of debauchery over their secret or public prostitution; in the name of st. simon who came to announce to man and woman _their moral, social and religious equality_, i conjure woman to answer me!" (_entretien du 7 décembre_, 1831.) on his side, bazard concludes a pamphlet, published in january, 1832, with these words: "and we too have hastened the coming of woman; we too summon her with all our might; but it is in the name of the pure love with which she has imbued the heart of man, and which man is now ready to give her in return; it is in the name of the dignity which is promised her in marriage; it is lastly and above all, in the name of the most numerous and poorest class, _whose servitudes and humiliations she has hitherto shared_, and whom her enchanting voice can alone to-day have power finally to release from the harsh imposition with which it is still weighed down by the wrecks of the past." ah! you are to a great extent right, enfantin and bazard! so long as woman is not free and the equal of man; so long as she is not everywhere at his side, sorrows, disorders, war, the exploitation of the weak, will be the sad lot of humanity. pierre leroux, the gentlest, best and most simple man that i know, writes in turn in the fourth volume of his _encyclopédie nouvelle_, article _egalité_, the following remarkable paragraphs: "there are not two different beings, man and woman, there is but a single human being with two phases, which correspond and are united by love. "man and woman exist to form the couple; they are the two parts of it. _outside of the couple, outside of love and marriage, there is no longer any sex_; there are human beings of a common origin and of like faculties. man at every moment of his life is sensation, sentiment, knowledge; so is woman. the definition is therefore the same." after having proved, according to his idea, that the type of woman differs from that of man, he continues: "but this type does not separate them from the rest of humanity, and does not make of them a separate race which must be distinguished philosophically from man.... love being absent, they manifest themselves to man as human beings, and are ranked, like man, under the various categories of civil society." after having observed that, however different men may be, they are therefore none the less equal, since they all are sensation, sentiment and knowledge, pierre leroux, applying this principle to the question of the right of woman, adds: "from whatever side we look at this question, we are led to proclaim the equality of man and woman. for, if we consider woman in the couple, woman is the equal of man, since the couple itself is founded on equality, since love is equality in itself, and since where justice, that is, equality, does not reign, there love cannot reign, but the contrary of love. "and if we consider woman outside of the couple, she is a being like unto man, endowed with the same faculties in various degrees; one of those varieties in unity which constitute the world and human society." the author says that woman should lay claim to equality only as a spouse and a human being; that to acknowledge her as free because she has sex, is to declare her at liberty not only to use but also to abuse love; and that the abuse of love must not be the appanage and sign of liberty. he says that woman has sex only for him whom she loves and by whom she is loved; that to all others she can be merely a human being. "from this point of view," continues he, "we must say to women: you have a right to equality by two distinct titles; as human beings and as wives. as wives, you are our equals, for love in itself is equality. as human beings, your cause is that of all, _it is the same as that of the people; it is allied to the great revolutionary cause_; that is, to the general progress of the human kind. _you are our equals, not because you are women but because there are no longer either slaves or serfs._ "this is the truth that must be spoken to men and women; but it would be to pervert this truth and to transform it into error to say to women: you are a sex apart, a sex in the possession of love. emancipate yourselves; that is, use and abuse love. woman thus transformed into an unchaste venus, loses at once her dignity as a human being and as a woman; that is, as a being capable of forming a human couple under the sacred law of love." the excellent leroux asks who does not feel, who does not admit at the present day the equality of the sexes? who would dare maintain that woman is an inferior being, of whom man is the guide and beacon light? that woman is elevated by man, who is elevated only by himself and by god? who would dare maintain such absurdities to-day, brave and upright leroux? p. j. proudhon, the man who called you _theopompe_ and _pâlissier_--m. michelet, who claims that woman was created to be the most tiresome doll of her loving husband. but to return to yourself. you affirm that god is androgynous; that in him coexist the male and female principles on the footing of equality: that consequently, man and woman are equal in god. i assent to this willingly, although i know absolutely nothing about it. but when you add that woman is deserving of quite as much as man, because she has shared in all the agonizing crises of the progressive education of the human race; that love, which cannot exist without the woman, has led us from the law of slavery to that of equality; that consequently woman represents half in the work of the ages; in this there is no mystery; i join you therefore with all my heart in repeating to men the invitations and the lessons which you give to these ungrateful and stubborn males: "if we are free, it is in part by woman; let her then be made free by us. "but is she so? is she treated by us as an equal? "a wife--does she find equality in love and marriage? "a human being, does she find equality in the state? "this is the question. "on the subject of woman, our civil law is a model of absurd contradictions. according to the roman law, woman lived perpetually under tutelage; in this system of legislation, everything was at least in perfect harmony; woman was always a minor. we, on our part, declare her in a multitude of cases to be free as man. she is no longer under general or fictitious tutelage; her age of majority is fixed; she is competent to inherit in her own right; she inherits in equal proportion; she controls and disposes of her property; more than this, in the system of communion of goods between husband and wife, we admit the separation of property. but let the marriage bond itself be in question, in which wealth is no longer at stake, but ourselves and our mothers, ourselves and our sisters, ourselves and our daughters; then we are found intractable in our laws; we no longer admit equality; we require woman to declare herself our inferior and servant, and to swear obedience to us. "truly we cling more to money than to love; we have more consideration for money-bags than for human dignity; for we emancipate women as soon as they become freeholders; but as soon as they become wives the law declares them our inferiors. here notwithstanding, that bond is in question in which the equality of man and woman is most evident; that bond in which this equality breaks forth, as it were; that bond in which it is so necessary to proclaim that without equality, the bond itself exists no longer. yet, by an absurd contradiction, our civil law chooses this moment to proclaim the inferiority of woman; it condemns her to obedience, makes her take a false oath, and takes advantage of love to make it outrage itself. "i have no doubt that, to future ages, the characteristic symbol of our moral condition will be that article of our laws which sanctions in set terms inequality in love. it will be said of us: they had so little comprehension of justice, that they did not comprehend love which is justice in even its holiest type; they had so little comprehension of love, that they did not even admit justice in it; and that in their written law, their code, the form of marriage, the only sacrament of which they yet had any idea, instead of sanctioning equality, sanctions inequality; instead of union, disunion; instead of the love that equalizes and identifies its objects, some contradictory and monstrous relation, founded at the same time upon identity, and upon inferiority and slavery. yes, like those forms of the law of the twelve tables, that we quote now to prove the barbarity of the ancient romans and their ignorance of justice, this article of our code will be some day cited to characterize our grossness and ignorance, for the absence of an elevated notion of justice is as marked in it as is the absence of an elevated notion of love. "thence follows everything relative to the condition of woman; or rather, everything is connected with this point; for will we respect the equality of woman as a human being when we are senseless enough to deny her this quality as a wife? is woman to-day, in so far as a human being, really treated as the equal of man? i will not enter upon this broad subject. i confine myself to a single question; what education do women receive? you treat them as you treat the people. to these too you leave the old religion that fits us no longer. they are children kept as long as possible in swaddling clothes, as though this were not the true way to deform them, to destroy at once the rectitude of their mind and the candor of their soul. besides, what does society do for them? to what new careers does she give them access? yet, notwithstanding, it is evident to every thinking mind that our arts, our sciences, our manufactures will make as much new progress when women are called to take a part in them, as they did a few years ago, when they were opened to the serfs. you complain of the want and wretchedness that weighs down your systems of society; _abolish the castes that are still subsisting; abolish the caste in which you hold immured the half of the human race_." these few pages, my readers, give you the compass of the sentiments of the st. simonians, both orthodox and dissenters, and justify the sympathy entertained by women who have attained _majority_ for those who have so ardently pleaded their cause. fusionists. louis de tourreil, the revealer of fusionism, is a man whom it is impossible to behold without sympathy or to hear without pleasure; he is kindly, he speaks well, and his ideas are most logically deduced; his principles once admitted, one is constrained to follow him to the end. tourreil expresses himself in the _revue philosophique_ of may, 1856, on the subject of woman and her rights, as follows: "nature is reduced to three great co-eternal principles or productive agents of all things. these principles are: "the female or passive principle, "the male or active principle, "and the mixed or unificative principle, participating in both, which is called love. "god is therefore female, male and androgynous, in his trinary unity. "he is simultaneously from all eternity mother, father and love, instead of being, as the theologians say, father, son, and holy spirit; three agents of like sex, incapable of producing anything. "you will easily conceive, my dear brother, that if the masculine and the feminine sex hold the same rank in the divine trinity, they will be also found in the same rank in humanity. the part which the divine woman plays in heaven, the human woman will play on earth.... "were he (_god_) only of the masculine sex, men would say that the masculine sex alone is noble, and that woman is created merely for the service of man, as man is created for that of god. they would even question whether she had a soul, and would think that they were doing her a favor in admitting her as something in life." after quoting the teachings of the apostle paul with respect to woman and marriage, the author continues: "behold, my dear brother, the part which christianity assigns to woman. if this doctrine therefore were followed in every point, and if it ought to be replaced by no higher one, woman would find herself condemned in perpetuity to a subalternization humiliating to her nature. "but fusionism, which is the doctrine of salvation for all, does not permit any one to be sacrificed; for this reason, woman is the equal of man and man the equal of woman, as in god, the eternal mother is the equal of the eternal father, and the eternal father is the equal of the eternal mother." de tourreil believes that the mother gives form and the father life, two things equally necessary to constitute the being. "since woman is the equal of man in absolute principle," continues he, "and since she is co-eternal with him, there is injustice in subordinating her to man in the relative; and the book of _genesis_ commits a gross error in making her proceed from man: "if either of the two could be before the other, it would be the woman, for strictly speaking, we could conceive of the being without the life, but it would be quite impossible to conceive of the life without the being: the being without the life would be a dead being, but what would the life be without the being? it would be a life without existence, negation, the absence of life, nothingness. therefore, in logical order, woman is first.... "not only ought woman to be the equal of man, as we have seen, but in enunciation and classification, she should be named and classed first. "woman is the mould by which the species is perfected or depraved, according as the mould is good or bad. the fate of humanity depends therefore on woman, since she has all powerful influence on the fruit that she bears in her bosom. "pure, good, intelligent, she will produce healthy, intelligent and good beings. "impure, narrow, and wicked, she will produce unhealthy, unintelligent and wicked beings. "in a word, the child will be what its mother is, for nothing can give what it has not. "it is important therefore that woman should be developed like man, that her education should be comprehensive, that her person should be honored, respected, and tenderly cared for, in order that nothing in the social surroundings may shape it to evil. "destined by the supreme being to form the human being from her flesh, her blood and her soul, destined to nourish it with her milk and to give it its earliest education, the two acts which have the greatest influence over the individual life, woman should be considered as the chief agent of perfection. this _rôle_ classes her naturally in a very elevated rank in society, and exacts of her superior perfections. "thus in the future she will be the image of divine wisdom on earth, as man will represent divine power. "to man more especially will belong action; to woman, counsel. "man will take the initiative in difficult enterprises; woman will moderate or excite ardor therein. "man will rule the planet; woman will embellish it. "man will symbolize science and manufactures; woman will symbolize poetry and art. "the one will always have need of the other; they will walk together side by side, and will find completeness reciprocally in each other. "such, my dear friend, after a brief fashion, is the idea which should be formed of woman. man and woman are not two beings radically separated; both together make but a single being. to subordinate woman to man or man to woman is therefore to mutilate the human being, or to fail to comprehend its interests. that humanity may be happy, neither of its halves must suffer. and how can it help suffering if it is reduced to servitude and oppressed by the other? "our destiny on earth is to constitute the collective being in his own consciousness. for this, it is necessary to realize the humanitary androgynus. now the humanitary androgynus necessitates first the individual androgynus which can only be constituted by harmonious marriage. "marriage is therefore the great formative or deformative law of the collective being, according as it is expressed by the legislator in a manner conformably or contrary to human destiny. "it is in marriage that the sources of good and evil are found; would you know why? "because in the act that joins the man to the woman, and by which the couple are made to form but one body, the two souls are fused by means of a reciprocal donation, which unites the souls of the two for eternity. "so that, after the conjunction, the soul of the woman adheres to the soul of the man and accompanies it everywhere, while the soul of the man adheres to the woman and never more quits it. "whence it follows that if the soul of the man be depraved, it depraves the woman to whom it is united, by exercising over her a continued action, even at a distance. so also does the depravity of the woman united to the man deprave him without his knowing it by an occult and permanent action. "the souls of two depraved beings may be therefore inseparably conjoined, without thus constituting the individual androgynus, which is the divine end of marriage or the union of the sexes. "the individual androgynus is only possible to the condition of unity. but unity cannot be constituted by evil. "the good, the true and the perfect alone can combine the conditions of unity. the evil, the false and the imperfect are essentially inharmonious in their nature. "two wicked, insincere and vicious beings will only produce by their conjunction a still greater difference. they will be united, but only reciprocally to torment each other. unity will never be constituted by them; and without the constitution of unity or the individual androgynus, it will be impossible to realize the human destiny. "in order that the individual androgynus may exist in the couple, there must be perfect spiritual communion between them; that is, communion of thought, of feeling, and of will. but how can two individuals who, instead of being ruled by truth, are ruled only by their misdirected passions,--how can these two make but one? it is impossible. "you will comprehend, my dear brother, from these few words, how sacred is marriage, and how important it is to contract none but harmonious unions, for the unhappiness of a lifetime often depends on an inconsiderate conjunction." having had several opportunities of meeting m. de tourreil, i asked him for some exact details in respect to the liberty of woman and marriage. the following is an abstract of those that he has kindly given me; education should be the same for both sexes; woman should be at liberty to follow the vocation which comes to her from god; and of which she alone is judge; "in all grades and employments in the republic of god, woman should be at the side of man; after the age of fifty, all individuals of both sexes should be rulers and priests; the reproduction of the species being the work of the love of persons healthy in mind and in body, before marriage, the bride should be required to make confession to a priestess and the bridegroom to a priest, in order to be enlightened with respect to the opportuneness or unsuitableness of the union. dissolution of marriage should take place but in a single case,--when the husband and wife have attained to complete fusion; that is, to feeling and knowing reciprocally that they have no longer anything to exchange. it then becomes necessary to form new ties, and, each one to labor to fuse with a new consort. in the existing condition of humanity, this fusion cannot take place; but in the future, when we shall be nearer perfection, it will become possible several times in life. fusionism is, as is evident, mystical socialism. its votaries are gentle and good, and very tolerant towards those who do not think like them. phalansterians. the motto of the fourieristic, societary or phalansterian school is _respect for individual liberty_, based on the following notions: all nature is good; it becomes perverted only when performing its functions in evil surroundings. no person exactly resembling the rest, each one should be the sole judge of his capacities, and should receive laws only from himself. attractions are proportional to destinies. if the disciples of my compatriot, charles fourier, do not express themselves exactly in this wise, all that have written bears the imprint of these thoughts. are fourier and his disciples right in believing that the law of passional attraction _alone_ is required to organize the industrial, moral and social world? that the primordial element of a system of society should be the societary or phalansterian association? that the most opposite, the most diverse passions are the conditions _sine quâ non_ of harmony? that the compensation of labor and of competition should be regulated according to labor, capital and talent? we are not called on to examine this here. the only thing that need occupy us in this rapid review of contemporaneous opinions is the investigation of the sentiments and ideas of fourier and his school in that which concerns the principal object of this book. a few pages from the chief of the order, and a summary analysis will suffice for this. in the _théorie des quatre mouvements_, m. fourier writes; "that the ancient philosophers of greece and rome should have disdained the interests of women is by no means surprising, since these rhetoricians were all ultra partisans of the pederasty which they had brought in high honor in _la belle antiquité_. they cast ridicule upon the associating with women; this passion was considered dishonorable.... these manners obtained the unanimous suffrage of the philosophers who, from the virtuous socrates to the delicate anacreon, affected sodomitish love alone and contempt for women, who were banished to the upper apartments, immured as in a seraglio, and exiled from the society of men. "these fantastic tastes not having found favor among the moderns, there is reason for surprise that our philosophers should have inherited the hatred that the ancient scholars bore to women, and that they should continue to disparage the sex on account of a few wiles to which woman is forced by the oppression which weighs upon her; for every word or thought in conformity with the voice of nature is made in her a crime. "what can be more inconsistent than the opinion of diderot, who pretends that, to write to woman, one has only to dip his pen in the rainbow, and sprinkle the writing with dust from butterflies' wings? women might reply to the philosopher: your civilization persecutes us as soon as we obey nature; we are obliged to assume a fictitious character and to listen to impulses contrary to our desires. to give us a relish for this doctrine, you are forced to bring in play deceitful illusions and language, as you do with respect to the soldier whom you cradle in laurels and immortality to divert his thoughts from his wretched condition. if he were truly happy, he would welcome the plain and truthful language which you take care not to address to him. it is the same with women; if they were free and happy, they would be less eager for illusions and cajoleries, and it would no longer be necessary in writing to them to place rainbows and butterflies' wings under contribution. "when it (philosophy) rails at the vices of women, it criticises itself; this it is that produces these vices by a social system which, repressing their faculties from their infancy and through the whole course of their life, forces them to have recourse to fraud in order to yield to nature. "to attempt to judge of women by the vicious character which they display in civilization is like attempting to judge of human nature by the character of the russian peasant, who is destitute of all ideas of honor and liberty; or like judging the beaver by the stupidity which they show when domesticated, whilst in a condition of liberty combined with labor, they become the most intelligent of all quadrupeds. the same contrast will reign between the women who are slaves of civilization and those who are free in the combined order; they will surpass men in industrial devotion, in loyalty, in nobleness; but outside of the free and combined state, woman, like the domesticated beaver or the russian peasant, becomes a being so inferior to her destiny and talents that we are inclined to despise her when judging her superficially according to appearances. "it is a surprising thing that women should have always shown themselves superior to men when they have had it in their power to display on the throne their natural talents, of which the diadem assured them a free use. is it not certain that of eight queens, independent and unmarried, seven will be found to have reigned with glory, while of eight kings, we count habitually seven feeble sovereigns. ... the elizabeths and catherines did not make war in person, but they knew how to choose their generals; and it is enough that these are good. in every other branch of administration, has not woman given lessons to man? what prince has surpassed in firmness maria theresa who, in a disastrous moment, when the fidelity of her subjects was tottering and her ministers were struck with terror, undertook herself alone to inspire all with new courage? she intimidated by her presence, the disaffected diet of hungary; she harangued the magnates in the latin tongue, and brought her very enemies to swear on their sabres to die for her. this is an indication of the prodigies that would be wrought by feminine emulation in a social order which would permit free scope to her faculties. "and you, the oppressing sex,--would you not go beyond the faults imputed to women if you, like them, had been moulded by a servile education to believe yourselves automatons created to obey prejudices and to cringe before the master whom chance had given you? have we not seen your pretensions to superiority confounded by catharine, who trampled under foot the masculine sex? in creating titled favorites, she trailed man in the dust, and proved that it is possible for him in full liberty to abase himself beneath woman, whose degradation is forced, and consequently, excusable. it would be necessary, to confound the tyranny of man that, for the space of a century, a third sex should exist, which should be both male and female, and stronger than man. this new sex would prove by dint of blows that men as well as women were made for its pleasures; then we should hear men protest against the tyranny of the hermaphrodite sex, and confess that force ought not to be the sole law of right. now why are these privileges, this independence, which they would reclaim from this third sex, refused by them to women. "in singling out those women who have had power to soar, from the virago, like maria theresia, to those of a gentler type, like the ninons and the sévignés, i am authorized in saying that woman, in a state of liberty, will surpass man in all functions of the mind and body which are not the attributes of physical strength. "man seems already to foresee this; he becomes indignant and alarmed when women give the lie to the prejudice that accuses them of inferiority. _masculine jealousy has especially broken out against women authors; philosophy has kept them out of academic honors, and has sent them back ignominiously to the household._"... (p. 148.) "what is their existence to-day (that of women)? they exist in privations alone, even in the trades, in which man has encroached on everything, _even to the minutest occupations of the needle and the pen, while women are seen employed in the toilsome labors of the field. is it not scandalous to see athletes thirty years old squatted before a desk, or carrying a cup of coffee with muscular arms_, as if there were not women and children enough to attend to the minor details of the counting-room and the household. "what then are the means of subsistence for women destitute of fortune? the distaff, or else their charms if they have any. _yes, prostitution more or less glossed over is their only resource_, which philosophy again contests to them; this is the abject fate to which they are reduced by this civilization, this conjugal slavery which they have not even thought of attacking." (p. 150.) fourier bitterly reproaches women authors for having neglected to seek the means whereby to put an end to such a state of affairs, and adds with great reason: "their indolence in this respect is one of the causes that have accrued from the contempt of man. _the slave is never more contemptible than by a blind submission which persuades the oppressor that his victim was born for slavery._, (p. 150)." fourier is right, but ... to elevate others is to risk being lost one's self in the crowd; and every one is not capable of this degree of abnegation. to combat for the right of the weak when men have admitted you to their ranks, is to prepare for yourself a rough way and a heavy cross. in the first place, you are exposed to the hatred and raillery of men, then half-cultured women corroded by jealousy, invent a thousand calumnies for your destruction; they feign to be scandalized that a woman dare protest against the inferiority and use of her sex; they enter into league with the masters, clamor louder than they and satirize you without mercy. now all women are not made to shrug their shoulders in the face of this cohort of morbid minds ... they love peace too well, they lack courage, and _they do not care enough for justice_; is it not so, ladies? let us return to fourier. it is known that he admits several social periods. according to him, the pivot of each of them hinges on love and the degree of liberty of woman. "as a general rule," he says, "_social progress and changes of the period will be wrought in proportion to the progress of women towards liberty, and the decay of the social order will be wrought in proportion to the decline of the liberty of women_." in another place, he adds in speaking of philosophers: "if they treat of morals, they forget to recognize and to claim the rights of the weaker sex, _the oppression of which destroys the basis of justice_." he says again, elsewhere: "now, god recognizes as liberty only that which is extended to both sexes, and not to one alone; so he has prescribed that all the germs of social evils, as the savage state, barbarism, civilization, should have no other pivot than the enthrallment of women; and that all the germs of social good, as the sixth, seventh and eighth period, should have no other pivot, no other compass, than the progressive affranchisement of the weaker sex." fourier is reproached with having desired the emancipation of woman in love; nothing is more true. but to impute this to him as immorality, men must censure their own morals. now, these gentlemen considering themselves as wholly _pure_, though themselves representing the _butterfly_ in love, infidelity and the simultaneous possession of several women being only a pastime to them, i do not really see what they can blame in fourier. either what they do is right, and therefore cannot be wrong in woman; or what they do is wrong; then why do they do it? fourier believed in the unity of the moral law and in the equality of the sexes; he believed in the lawfulness of the morals of these gentlemen, _minus perfidy and hypocrisy_; this is the reason that he claims emancipation in love for woman: he is logical. besides, he repeats continually that the ethics that he depicts would cause disorder in the civilized period; and that they can only be established progressively in subsequent periods. many among the phalansterians reject fourier's ethics with respect to love as well as his theodicy, and i myself have heard several discourses in which the orator condemned, not only falsity in conjugal relations, but also looseness of morals. fourier and the saint simonian orthodoxy have both been guilty of the same error with regard to the emancipation of woman; but, men, i repeat, must be very audacious to impute it to them as a crime, since they indulge themselves in worse; as to women, sustained and loved by these reformers, let them imitate the pious conduct of shem and japhet; one owes respect to his father, whatever may be the idea or the wine with which he is drunken. now that we have cited the master, let us enumerate the principal points of the fourierist doctrine, touching the liberty of woman and the equality of the sexes: 1. man and woman are composed of the same physical, moral and intellectual elements; there is, therefore, between the sexes, identity of nature. 2. the proportion of these elements differs in the two sexes, and constitutes the difference that exists between them. 3. this difference is so equalized that the value shall be equal. where man is the stronger, he takes precedence of woman; where woman is stronger, she takes precedence of man. 4. man belongs to the _major mode_: he has the ascendency over woman in intellect, in logic, in the larger manufactures, in friendship; it belongs to him therefore to create positive science, to connect facts, to regulate commercial relations, to bind together interests, and to organize groups and series. to all these things, woman brings her indispensable aid, but by reason of her aptitudes, her services are only secondary therein. 5. woman belongs to the _minor mode_; she has the ascendency over man in the kind of intellect that applies and adapts, in the intuition that puts man on the track of the good to which masculine logic should attain; in the sphere of maternity in which she presides over education, for she comprehends the means to be employed to ameliorate the species in every respect better than man; in the sphere of love in which she has the right and the power to civilize and refine the relations of the sexes; and to stimulate man to conquest of the intellect, to the amelioration of the physical conditions of the globe, of industry, of art, of social relations, etc. woman intervenes to a certain point in the major mode, so does man enter into the minor mode, in which his coöperation is indispensable. thus, in general, in man the head predominates, in woman, the heart; but as both have a heart and a head, man, through his heart, becomes an aid in the minor mode, and woman, through her head, becomes an aid in the major mode. 6. there are men who are women both in head and in heart; women who are men both in heart and in head; in humanity they form the eighth of an exception. full liberty and right are granted to them. 7. each member of the phalanstery follows his vocation, obeys his attractions, _for attractions are proportional to destinies_. therefore the eighth of an exception in both sexes, having an attraction towards labors that belong more especially to the other sex, is at liberty to yield to them. 8. all major men and women have an equal vote. 9. all matters are regulated by chiefs _of both sexes_, chosen by the free vote of both sexes. 10. all offices, from the presidency of the group to that of the globe, are filled jointly by men and women, who divide between them the details of this common function. 11. the mother is the instructress of her children; they belong to her alone; the father has no rights over them unless the mother chooses to confer these on him. such is the summary of the fourierist doctrine on the subject of which we treat. if the societary school has not reached perfect truth, it must be at least acknowledged that it has taken the right way to attain it. whether its theory of the classification and the predominance of faculties in conformity with the sexes be exact or not, the error will not be productive of mischievous results in practice. woman being free to follow her aptitudes, being half in rights and functions, could always place herself in the exceptional eighth, without fear of encountering jealous individuals, better fitted than herself to warble in the minor key, who would send her back to the duties of the household. i remember, in this connection, a certain advocate, by no means _feminine_, professing a superb disdain of the sex to which his mother belonged, worthy in a word, to be the disciple of p. j. proudhon; would you know what this man had retained of all his lessons in law? the art of sweeping a room properly, of polishing furniture, of hemming napkins and pocket handkerchiefs neatly, and of compounding sauces. do you not think, illustrious proudhon, that he might have been advised with more justice to _go and iron his collars_, than certain women who write good articles on philosophy. but let us return to fourier. among the socialist schools, that of fourier occupies a distinguished place; it is the one most deserving of the gratitude of women through the principles that it has laid down. be it understood, we separate in this connection the principles of liberty and equality from all that relates to the question of ethics, which we cannot resolve in the same manner as fourier, _any more for woman than man_. chapter vii. summary. appear, all ye modern innovators, before your judge, the public. sum up your opinions. communist. the two sexes differ, do not perform the same functions, but _they are equal before the law_. for woman to be really emancipated, society must be remoulded economically, and marriage suppressed. philadelphian and icarian. we are of your opinion, brother, except in what concerns marriage. orthodox st. simonian. if christianity has despised and oppressed woman, it has been because, in its sight, she represented matter, the world, evil. we, who are come to give the true meaning of the trinity, rehabilitate or explain what our predecessors have condemned. woman is the equal of man, because in god, who comprises everything, matter is equal to spirit. with man, woman forms the couple which is the social individual, the functionary. as woman is very different from man, we do not take the liberty of judging her; we content ourselves with _summoning_ her that she may reveal herself. notwithstanding we think that she can only be affranchised by being emancipated in love. pierre leroux _agitated_. take care! it is not so much in sex that woman should be affranchised; it is only in her quality of _wife and human being_. she has sex only for him she loves; to all other men she is what they are themselves: sensation, sentiment, sense. she must be free in marriage and in the commonwealth as man himself should be. fusionist _interrupting him_. you are right, pierre leroux; yet neither is the previous speaker wholly wrong; woman is free and the equal of man in everything, because spirit and matter are equal in god; because the man and the woman form together the human androgynus, the derivation of the divine androgynus. it is not so, my dear sister? myself. excuse me, brothers, from joining in your theological discussion; my wings are not strong enough to follow you into the bosom of god, in order to assure myself whether he is spirit or matter, androgynus or not, binary, trinary, quarternary, or nothing of all these. it is enough for me that you all grant that woman should be free, and the equal of man. i permit myself only a single observation; that your notion of the couple or of the androgynus, at the bottom one and the same thing, tends fatally to the subjugation of my sex; if, by a metaphor, a fiction, we make of two beings, endowed each with a separate will, free-will and intellect, a single unity; _in social practice_, this unity is manifested by a single will, a single free-will, a single intellect, and the individuality that prevails in our society is that which is endowed with strength of arm; the other is annihilated, and the right given to the couple is in reality only the right of the stronger. the use that m. proudhon has made of androgyny ought to cure you of this fancy; as the use which your predecessors made of the ternary ought to have preserved you from trinitary metaphysics. be it said without offence to you, gentlemen, i have a decided antipathy to any trinities and androgynies whatsoever; i am a sworn enemy to all metaphysics, whether profane or sacred,--a constitutional vice, aggravated in me by kant and his school. phalansterian. for god's sake, gentlemen, let us quit this mysticism. man and woman are different, but the one is as necessary as the other to the great work that should be accomplished by humanity; therefore they are equal. as each individual has a right to develop himself integrally, to manifest himself completely in order to perform the parcellary task which his attractions assign to him, the liberty of one sex can no more be called in question than can that of the other. man modulates in major, woman in minor, with an exceptional eighth; but, as in all the general functions, the combination of the two modes is necessary, it is evident that each of them ought to be double, and that woman ought everywhere to be equal with man. m. de girardin _somewhat abruptly_. gentlemen, i agree with you that woman ought to be free and equal with man; only i maintain that her function is to manage, to economize, and to rear her children, while man labors and brings into the household the product of his industry. as i wish woman to be freed from servitude and all children to be rendered legitimate, i suppress civil marriage, and institute universal dowry. m. legouve _smiling_. you go too fast and too far, my dear sir, you will frighten everybody. at least, i believe like you in the equality of the sexes through the equivalence of their functions, but i take good care not to breathe a word of it. i content myself with claiming for woman instruction, diminution of conjugal servitude, and offices of charity; counting, between ourselves, that these victories obtained, women will be in a position through their education and proved utility, to affranchise themselves completely. well! despite my reserve and moderation, you see that some call me _effeminate_, others _sans culotte_. m. michelet, _rising with tears in his eyes_. alas, gentlemen, you are all in the wrong road; and i am very sorry, my beloved academician legouvé, to see you employ your elegant pen in leading woman in so perilous and irrational a way. as to you, gentlemen, who lay claim to liberty and equality of rights for woman, you are not authorized by her to do so; she demands no right, what should she do with it--a being always feeble, always sick, always wounded. poor creature! what can be her rôle here below, if not to be adored by her husband, whose duty it is to constitute himself her instructor, her physician, her confessor, her sick nurse, her waiting-maid; to keep her in a hot-house, and with all these multiplied cares to earn beside the daily bread; for woman cannot, ought not to work; she is the love and the altar of the heart of man. some among you have dared utter the vile word: divorce. no divorce! the woman who has given herself away, has received the imprint of man. you should not abandon her, however guilty she may be. i thought in the beginning that after your death she ought to wear mourning to the tomb, beyond which, she and her husband would be fused into the unity of love. but i have thought better of it; you may appoint a successor. while michelet is seating himself, wiping his eyes, the lid of a coffin is seen to rise, and comte exclaims in a sepulchral tone: _worthily_ and _admirably_ spoken, illustrious professor! what! you here? exclaims the assembly. then one does not perish entirely, as you taught your disciples? comte. no, gentlemen, and i was very agreeably surprised to see myself mistaken. but it is not to instruct you about the life beyond the tomb that i return; that would not have been worth the trouble of disturbing myself. it is to express to the great professor michelet all the satisfaction that i feel in seeing him so richly poetise the ideal that i set up, and strew so many flowers over the _admirable_ maxim of aristotle and the _commandment_ of the great st. paul. yes, thrice illustrious master, you have rightly said: woman is made for man, she should obey him, be devoted to him; she is only a doll in private life, absolutely nothing in public life. yes, men should labor for her; yes, marriage is indissoluble; all this is irreproachable. auguste comtism. i regret but one thing--that you have not preserved the ejaculatory orisons of the wife to the husband, and of the husband to the wife; it would have been a good example and have made a fine effect to see them every morning kneeling face to face, with clasped hands and closed eyes. i hope that this is only forgetfulness, and that you will reëstablish this detail in your next edition. i congratulate you openly on the happy thought that you have conceived of justifying the absorption of woman by man by aid of a wound and the mysteries of impregnation; this will have a great effect on the ignorant. rebellious women, and the madmen _with corrupt hearts_ who sustain them, say that you are a poetic and ingenuous egotist, that our beloved proudhon is a brutal egotist; that i am an egotist by a + b. let them say so; i approve and bless you." the apparition was preparing to lie down again in his coffin when, having a passion for encountering phantoms, i seized a corner of his winding sheet, and, notwithstanding an unequivocal sign from him of _vade retro_, i had the courage to represent humbly to the defunct high priest that the brow of m. proudhon deserved quite as much to be blessed as that of m. michelet. the defunct gravely crossed his fleshless fore finger and thumb over the haughty and irreverent head of the great critic, who neither bowed nor seemed infinitely flattered. it being his turn to speak, proudhon rose and said: "gentlemen communists, philadelphians, fusionists, phalansterians, saint simonians, and you, mm. girardin and legouvé, as well as all of your adherents, you are all _effeminate_, men _hardened in absurdity_. "if my friend michelet has gilded, perfumed and sugared the pill for you, i cannot imitate his address and moderation, for you know that in temperament i, p. j. proudhon, am neither tender nor poetical. permit me then roughly to tell you the truth concerning a question _of which you do not understand the first word_. "the church, st. thomas d'aquinas, st. bonaventure, st. paul, and auguste comte, as well as the romans, the greeks, manu and mahomet teach that woman is made for the pleasure and use of man, and that she should be subjected to him; now i have sufficiently established these great truths by affirmations without reply. it is demonstrated to-day, therefore, to all who believe in me that woman is a passive being, having the germ of nothing, who owes everything to man, and that, consequently, she belongs to him as the work to the workman. lest my solution might appear somewhat harsh to you, or to savor too much of antiquity of the middle ages, i have borrowed of the modern innovators their farce of androgyny; i have made the couple the organ of justice; in this couple, woman, transformed by man, becomes a triple deity, a domestic idol, subject in everything to her priest. i shut her up in the household, and permit her to have only the superintendence of festivals and spectacles, the education of children and maidens, etc. "is it not evident, gentlemen, that woman, because she is weaker than we, is, _by justice_, condemned to obey us, and that _her liberty consists in experiencing no amorous emotion, even for her husband_? is it not evident, in consequence, that you, who do not think as i, are _effeminate, absurd_ men, and that the women who are no more willing to be slaves than we were in '89 are _insurgents, impure women whom sin has rendered mad_?" the majority of the assembly laugh; de girardin shrugs his shoulders; legouvé bites his lip in order not to laugh; michelet appears troubled at this sally which may spoil everything. as, in uttering the word _insurgent_, the orator glances at me with marked design, i cannot help saying "yes, i deserve the name of _insurgent_ like our fathers of '89. as to you, if you do not amend, i fear greatly that i shall see you die duly confessed and blessed with extreme unction ... and you will have well deserved it!" now, gentlemen, let us ascertain the vote of your honorable assembly. four schools,--the communists, the st. simonians, the fusionians and the phalansterians,--with one publicist, m. de girardin, who makes as much noise by himself alone as a whole school, are for the liberty of woman and the equality of the sexes. mm. comte, proudhon and michelet are against the liberty of women and the equality of the sexes. m. legouvé and his innumerable adherents wish liberty for woman, and desire that she should labor to become equal to man through equivalence of functions. which means that the great majority of those _who think_ are, in different degrees, for our emancipation. now that my readers are acquainted with your several opinions, gentlemen, it belongs to me, a woman, to speak myself in behalf of my right, without leaning on anything but justice and reason. part ii. objections to the emancipation of woman. nature and functions of woman. love. marriage. legal reforms. summary. objections to the emancipation of women. i. what arguments do the adversaries of the emancipation of women use to refute the equality of the rights of the sexes? some, theosophists of the old school, claim that one half of humanity is condemned by god himself to submit to the other half, because, they say, the first woman sinned. not wishing to depart from the firm ground of justice, reason and proved facts, we will not argue with this class of adversaries. others, who claim to be imbued with the modern spirit, and pretend to be disciples of the doctrines of liberty, condemn woman to inferiority and obedience because, they say, she is weaker physically and intellectually than man; because she performs functions of an inferior order; because she produces less than man in an industrial point of view; because her peculiar temperament prevents her from performing certain functions; because she is only fit for in-door life; because her vocation is to be mother and housewife, to devote herself entirely to her husband and children; because man protects and supports her; because man is her proxy, and exercises rights both for her and himself; because woman has no more time than capacity to exercise certain rights. the rights of woman are in her beauty and our love, add some, gallantly. woman does not claim her rights; many women themselves are scandalized by the demands made by a few of their sex, continue other men. and they spare the courageous women who plead the cause of right, and the men who sustain them neither calumnies, nor mockery, nor insult, hoping to intimidate the former and disgust the latter. vain hope! the time in which we could be intimidated has gone by. if it is justifiable to fear the opinion of those whom we deem juster and more intelligent than ourselves, it would be folly to be disturbed by those whose irrationality and injustice we feel able to demonstrate. this double demonstration we are about to attempt, taking up one by one the arguments of these gentlemen. 1. woman cannot have the same rights as man, because she is inferior to him in intellectual faculties, you say. from this proposition, we have a right to conclude that you consider the _human faculties as the basis of right_; that, the law proclaiming equality of right for your sex, you are all equal in qualities, all alike strong and alike intelligent. that, lastly, no woman is as strong and as intelligent as you; i cannot say, as the least among you, since, if right is founded on qualities, as it is equal, your qualities must be equal. now gentlemen, what becomes of these pretensions in the presence of _facts_ that show you all unequal in strength and in intellect? what becomes of these pretensions in the presence of _facts_ that show us a host of women stronger than many men; a host of women more intelligent than the great mass of men? being unequal in strength and in intellect, and notwithstanding declared equal in right, it is evident therefore that you have not founded right on qualities. and if you have not taken these qualities into account when your right has been in question, why then do you talk so loudly of them when the question is that of the right of woman. if the faculties were the basis of right, as the faculties are unequal, the right would be unequal; and, to be just, it would be necessary to accord right to those who made good their claims to the necessary faculties and to exclude the rest; by this standard many women would be chosen and an infinite number of men excluded. see where we end when we have not the intellectual energy to take principles into consideration! you have but one means of evicting us of equality; namely, to prove that we do not belong to the same species as you. 2. woman, you add, cannot have the same rights as man because, as mother and housewife, she performs only functions of an inferior order. from this second proposition, we have a right to conclude that _functions are the basis of right_; that your functions are equivalent, since your right is equal! that the functions of woman are not equivalent to those of man. you have to prove then, gentlemen, that the functions _individually_ performed by each of you are equivalent; that, for example, cuvier, geoffroy st. hilaire, arago, fulton, jacquard, and other inventors and scholars have not done more, are not doing more for humanity and civilization than an equal number of manufacturers of pins' heads. you have to prove next that the labors of maternity, those of the household to which the workman owes his life, his health, his strength, the possibility of accomplishing his task--that these functions without which there would be no humanity, are not equivalent; that is, as useful to the social body as those of the manufacturer of jewels or of toys. you have to prove lastly that the functions of the female teacher, merchant, book keeper, clerk, dressmaker, milliner, cook, waiting-maid, etc., are not equivalent to those of the male teacher, merchant, accountant, clerk, cook, tailor, hatter, footman, etc.; i grant that it is embarrassing to your triumphant argument to encounter the thousands of _facts_ which show us the _real_ woman performing numerous functions in competition with you; so it is, and these facts must be taken into account. but gentlemen, i have you in a dilemma! if functions are the basis of right, as right is equal, functions are equivalent; in which case those performed by woman are not inferior, since none are so. the functions which she performs are therefore equivalent to yours, and, by this equivalence, she again becomes equal. or else functions are not the basis of right; did you not take them into account when the establishment of your right was in question; why then do you speak of functions when the question is the right of woman? extricate yourself from this as you can; i shall not help you. ii. 3. woman produces less than man industrially, you say. admitting this to be true, do you count as nothing the great maternal function--the risks that woman runs in accomplishing it; do you count as nothing the labors of the household, the cares that are lavished upon you, and to which you owe cleanliness and health? if the quantity of the product be the origin of the equality of right, why have those who produce little, those who produce nothing, and all of you who produce unequally, equal right? why are all those women who produce, while their husbands and sons enjoy and dissipate, destitute of the rights which the latter possess? you do not admit the question of product into that of right when man is in question, why then do you admit it when woman is in question? you see that this is inconsiderate, irrational, unjust. 4. woman cannot be the equal of man, because her peculiar temperament interdicts to her certain functions. well, then a legislator can, without being unreasonable, decree that all men who are unfitted by temperament for the profession of arms, for instance, are excluded from equality of right! temperament, the source of right? if a woman had written anything so absurd, she would have been cried down from one end of the world to the other. why, gentlemen, do you not exclude from equality all men who are weak, all those who are incapable of performing the functions that you _prejudge_ woman incapable of performing? when you are in question, you admit indeed that the right to perform every function supposes neither the faculty nor the inclination to make use of it; why do you not reason in the same manner when the question concerns us? what would you think of women if, having your rights while you were in subjection, they should keep you in an inferior position because you could not accomplish the great functions of gestation and lactation. man, they would say, being unable to be mother and nurse, shall not have the right of being instructed like us; of having, like us, civil dignity. his coarser temperament renders him incapable of being a witness to a certificate of birth or death; it is evident that his clumsiness excludes him judicially from diplomatic functions; we cannot therefore recognize his right to solicit them, etc. ah! gentlemen, you reason in the same manner in excluding woman from equality under the pretext that, in general, she is of a temperament weaker than your own; that is, you reason absurdly. 5. woman cannot be the equal of man in right because he protects and maintains her. if it is because you protect and maintain us, that we ought not to have our right, restore it then to unmarried women who are of age, and to widows whom you neither protect nor maintain. restore their right then to the wives who have no need of your protection, since the law protects them, even against you; to the wives whom you do not maintain, since they bring you either a dowry, or a profession, or services which you would be obliged to recompense if any other rendered them to you. and if to be maintained by another, suffices to deprive an individual of his right, take it away from the host of men who are maintained by the incomes or the labor of their wives. 6. man, in the exercise of certain rights, is the proxy of woman. gentleman, a proxy is chosen freely, and is not imposed on an individual; i do not accept you as proxies: i am intelligent enough to transact my business myself, and i pray you to restore to me, as well as to all the women who think as i do, an authority which you use unworthily. if married women, to have peace, are willing to continue you as their authority, it is their business; but none of you can legitimately retain that of widows and unmarried women who have attained majority. 7. woman has not the same rights as man, because she has no more time than capacity to exercise them. has woman less time and capacity than your working men, pinned twelve hours a day to their petty and stultifying tasks? affirm it if you dare! does it need less time and capacity to make a deposition in a criminal suit, as woman does, than to witness a civil act or a notarial contract, a right that woman has not. does it need less time and capacity to be the guardian of sons and to administer their fortune, as woman does, than to be the guardian of a stranger or of a nephew, and administer their property, a right that woman has not. does it need less time and capacity to superintend a manufactory, a commercial establishment, workmen, as do so many women, than to be at the head of an office, or of a public administration, and to superintend its officials, a right that woman has not? does it need less time and capacity to devote one's self to instruction in a large boarding school, as do so many women, than in the chair of a professorship, as man alone has the right to do? woman proves, _by her works_, that she lacks capacity and time no more than you. facts stifle affirmations for which you should blush. fie! i am glad that i am not a man, lest i might say like things and be led to pretend that an instructress, a literary woman, a woman artist, an experienced female merchant has not the capacity of a porter or a rag-picker because she has not a beard on her chin. 8. the rights of woman are in her beauty and in the love of man. rights, based on beauty, and on that fragile thing styled man's love! what are these worth, i ask you, gentlemen? then woman shall have rights if she is beautiful, and as long as she shall continue so; if she is beloved, and as long as she shall continue so? old, ugly and forsaken, she must be thrown into the car of the condemned to be transported to the guillotine? if a woman should say such things, what a universal hue and cry would be raised? yet men pretend that they are rational! we congratulate woman on having too much common sense ever to be so in this wise. after all these arguments, none of which will bear analysis, comes at last the triumphant objection: women do not claim their rights, many among them are even scandalized by the demand made by a few in the name of all. do not women demand them, gentlemen? what are a host of american women doing at the present time? what have a number of english women done already? what did jean deroin, pauline roland and many others, do here in 1848? what am i doing to-day, in the name of a legion of women of whom i am the interpreter? _all_ women do not make reclamations, no; but do you not know that every demand of right is made at first singly? that slaves accustomed to their chains, do not feel them until their instigators to revolt show them the bruises on their flesh? a few only demand their rights, you say; but is it in accordance with principle or with numbers that you judge of the justice of a cause? did you wait until _all_ the male population demanded their right of universal suffrage in order to decree it to them? did you wait for the revendication of _all_ the slaves of your colonies before emancipating them? yes, it is true, gentlemen, that many women are opposed to the emancipation of their sex. what does this prove? that there are human beings abased enough to have lost all sentiment of dignity; but not that right is not right. among the blacks, there are many who hate, denounce, and deliver up to the scourge and to death those among them who are meditating how to break their chains; which is right, which has the sentiment of human dignity, the latter or the former? we demand our place at your side, gentlemen, because identity of species gives us the right to occupy it. we demand our right, because the inferiority inwhich we are kept is one of the most active causes of the decay of morals. we demand our right, because we are persuaded that woman has to set her stamp on science, philosophy, justice and politics. we demand our right, lastly, because we are convinced that the general questions, the lack of solution of which threatens our modern civilization with ruin, can only be resolved by the co-operation of woman delivered from her fetters and left free in her genius. is it not a great proof of our insanity, our _impurity_, gentlemen, that we feel this ardent desire to check the corruption of morals, and to labor for the triumph of justice, the coming of the reign of duty and reason, the establishment of an order of things in which humanity, worthier and happier, shall pursue its glorious destinies without the accompaniment of cannon or the shedding of blood? is it not because the advocates of emancipation are _impure women whom sin has rendered mad, beings incapable of comprehending justice and conscientious works_? iii. gentlemen, we will conclude. though that were true which i deny; that woman is inferior to you; though that were true which _facts_ prove false; that she can perform none of the functions which you perform, that she is fit only for maternity and the household, she would be none the less your equal in right, because right is based neither on superiority of faculties nor on that of the functions which proceed from them, but on identity of species. a human being, like you, having, like you, intellect, will, free will and various aptitudes, woman has the right, like you, to be free and autonomous, to develop her faculties freely, to exercise her activity freely; to mark out her path, to reduce her to subjection, as you do, is therefore a violation of human right in the person of woman--an odious abuse of force. from the stand point of facts, this violation of right takes the form of grievous inconsistency; for we find many women far superior to the majority of men; whence it follows that right is granted to those who ought not to have it, according to your doctrine, and refused to those who ought to possess it, according to the same doctrine, since they make good their claim to the qualities requisite. we find that you accord right to qualities and functions, _because the individual is a man_, and that you cease to recognize it in the same case, _because the individual is a woman_. yet you boast of your lofty reason,--yet you boast of possessing the sense of justice! take care, gentlemen! our rights have the same foundation as yours: in denying the former, you deny the latter in principle. a word more to you, pretended disciples of the doctrines of '89, and we have done. do you know why so many women took part with our revolution, armed the men, and rocked their children to the song of the _marseillaise_! it was because they thought they saw under the declaration of the rights of men and citizens, the declaration of the rights of women and female citizens. when the assembly took it upon itself to undeceive them, by lacking logic with respect to them, and closing their meetings, they abandoned the revolution, and you know what ensued. do you know why, in 1848, so many women, especially among the people, declared themselves for the revolution? it was because they hoped that this revolution would be more consistent with respect to them than the former had been. when, in their senseless arrogance and lack of intelligence, the representatives not only forbid them to assemble, but _drove_ them from the assemblies of men, the women abandoned the revolution by detaching their husbands and sons from it, and you know what ensued. do you comprehend at last? i tell you truly; all your struggles are in vain, if woman does not go with you. an order of things may be established by a _coup de main_, but it is only maintained by the adhesion of majorities; and these majorities, gentlemen, are formed by us women, through the influence that we possess over men, through the education that we give them with our milk. we have it in our power to inspire them from their cradles with love, hatred or indifference for certain principles; in this is our strength; and you are blind not to comprehend that if man is on one side and woman on the other, humanity is condemned to weave penelope's web. gentlemen, woman is ripe for civil liberty, and we declare to you that we shall henceforth regard whoever shall rise against our lawful claim as an enemy of progress and of the revolution; while we shall rank among the friends of progress and of the revolution, those who declare themselves in favor of our civil emancipation, should they be your adversaries? if you refuse to listen to our lawful demands, we shall accuse you before posterity of the crime with which you reproach the holders of slaves. we shall accuse you before posterity of having denied the faculties of woman, because you feared her competition. we shall accuse you before posterity of having refused her justice, because you wished to make her your servant and plaything. we shall accuse you before posterity of being enemies of right and progress. and our accusation will remain standing and living before future generations who, more enlightened, more just, more moral than you, will turn away their eyes with disdain and contempt from the tomb of their fathers. nature and functions of woman i. i think that we have sufficiently though summarily proved to all honest inquiries that social right is identical for both sexes since they are identical in species. the question of right being placed beyond discussion, we can now ask what use woman shall make of her right; in other terms, what functions she is qualified to perform in accordance with her whole nature. let us first mark the profound difference that exists between right and function, then define and divide the latter. _right_ is the condition _sine qua non_ of the development and manifestations of the human being: it is absolute, general for the whole species, because the individuals who compose it should be able lawfully to develop and manifest themselves. _function_ is the use of the faculties of the individual with a view to a purpose useful to himself and to others; function is therefore a production of utility and, in conclusion, the manifestation of the aptitudes predominating in each of us, whether naturally, or in consequence of education and habit. society, having needs of every kind, has functions of every nature and various scope; these functions may be classified as follows: 1. scientific and philosophic functions; 2. industrial functions; 3. artistic functions; 4. educational functions; 5. medical functions; 6. functions for the preservation of safety; 7. judicial functions; 8. functions of exchange and circulation; 9. administrative and governmental functions; 10. legislative functions; 11. functions of solidarity or of social benevolence and of institutions for the prevention of crime. this classification, which would be very imperfect and insufficient, were this a treatise on social organization, being all that is needed for the use that we have to make of it, we shall adhere to it in this place. men, and women after them, have deemed proper hitherto to class man and woman separately; to define each type, and to deduce from this ideal the functions suited to each sex. neither have chosen to see that numerous facts contradict their classification. what! exclaims the classifiers, do you deny that the sexes differ? do you deny that, if they differ, they should have different functions? if our classification does not seem good to you, criticise it, we ask nothing more; but replace it by a better one. to criticise your classification, ladies and gentlemen, is what i intend to do; but if the elements are wanting to establish a better, can you, ought you even to require me to present you one. do you think me a man, that you exact of me abuse of the _à priora_, and a startling arbitrary course of reasoning. "proudhon is right," murmur these gentlemen; "woman is incapable of abstract reasoning, of generalizing, of _knowing herself_".... really, gentlemen, do you think that it is through incapacity that i am unwilling to present to you a classification of the sexes, a theory of the nature of woman?... let us hasten then to prove the contrary: instead of one theory, we will give you _four_. man and woman form a series only with respect to the reproduction of the species: all the other characteristics by which it has been attempted to make a distinction between them are only generalities contradicted by a multitude of facts; now, as a generality is not a law, nothing can be therefore concluded from these, nothing absolute deduced from them in a functional point of view. on the other hand, the greatest radical difference of zoological species lies in the nervous system, especially in the greater or lesser bulk and complexity of the encephalus; now, anatomy admits, after numerous experiments, that, in proportion to the whole size of the body, the brain of woman equals in volume that of man; that the composition of both is the same, and phrenology adds that the organs of the brain are the same in both sexes. lastly, it is a biological principle that organs are developed by exercise and atrophied by continued repose; now, man and woman do not exercise their encephalic organs in the same manner; educational training, manners, prejudice, enforced habits tend to develop in the masculine what becomes atrophied in the feminine head; whence it follows that the differences empirically established are by no means the result of nature, but of the accidental causes by which they have been produced. conclusion: the two sexes therefore, when reared alike become developed alike, and are fit for the same functions, except those which concern the reproduction of the species. here, gentlemen, is a theory complete in all its parts, tenable in an anatomo-biologic point of view, and which i challenge you to prove false, for i shall find replies to all your objections. ii. we admit the principle that the sexes form series in physical, moral, intellectual, consequently functional respects. we believe that they should become subordinate to each other in proportion to their relative excellence; and we take the destiny of the species as the touchstone of their respective value. if we compare the sexes with each other, we prove in a general way, that man is merely woman on a coarser scale; we prove in the second place that he is far more animal than woman, since his muscular system is more fully developed and since he respires lower; so that he is most evidently a medium between woman and the higher species of apes. woman alone contains and develops the human germ; she is the creator and preserver of the race. it is not quite certain that the co-operation of man is necessary for the work of reproduction; _this is the means chosen by nature_, but human science will succeed, we hope, in delivering woman from this insupportable subjection. analogy authorises us to believe that woman, the sole depositary of the human germ, is equally the sole depositary of all the moral and intellectual germs, whence it follows that she is the inspirer of all knowledge, all discoveries, all justice, the mother of all virtue. our analogous deductions are confirmed by facts; woman employs her intellect in the concrete; she is an acute observer; man is only fit to construct paradoxes and to lose himself in the abyss of metaphysics; science has only emerged from the limbo of _à priora_ without confirmation, since the advent into this domain of the form of the feminine mind; we shall affirm, therefore, that true scholars are feminized minds. in moral respects, man and woman differ greatly; the former is harsh, rough, without delicacy, devoid of sensibility and modesty; his habitual relations with the other sex modify him only with great difficulty; woman is naturally gentle, loving, feeling, equitable, modest; to her, man owes justice and his other virtues, when he has any; whence it follows that it is really to woman alone that social progress is due; hence it is that every step made towards civilization is marked by an advance of woman towards liberty. if we consider each of the sexes in their relation to human destiny, we are forced to admit that, if there was reason for the predominance of man in the necessity of hewing out this destiny, the pre-eminence of woman is ensured in the future reign of right and peace. it was necessary to struggle and fight in order to establish justice and to subject nature to humanity; this belonged of right to man, who represents muscular force, the spirit of conflict; but as we already foresee in the approaching future, the coming of peace, the substitution of pacific labor and negotiations for war, it is clear that woman will take rightfully the direction of human affairs, to which she will be called by her faculties, found better adapted to the end henceforth to be pursued. woman should be the last to develop and manifest herself socially, for the same reason that the human species is the last creation of our globe; the perfect being always appears after those that have served to pave the way. as it is demonstrated, on the other hand, that, in the scale of the various organisms, the organ that is superadded to the others to constitute a change of species, governs those which the individual derives from inferior species, so woman, fully developed in a social body organized for peace and pacific labor, will be the new organ that will govern the social body. does this signify that woman should oppress man? by no means; she would thus be ungrateful for the services rendered her, and would trespass against her gentle nature; but she will teach him to comprehend that _his glory is to obey_, to become subordinate to the other sex, because he is less perfect, and because his qualities are no longer necessary to the general good. you laugh, gentlemen, at this second theory; you think it absurd.... so it is; for it is the counterpart of the thetic woman of proudhon. let us proceed then to the third theory. iii. every classification of the human species is a pure subjective creation; that is, one which exists only in the form given to the perception by the intellect; the very conception of humanity with the enumeration of the characteristics which are reputed to distinguish it from the other species, is stamped with subjectivity. the truth is that not a single human being resembles his neighbor; that there are as many different men and women as there are men and women composing the species. classifications, in all things, are illusions of the mind, for nature hates identity and never repeats herself: there are not two grains of sand, not two drops of water, not two leaves alike; and most probably the sun, since the commencement of its existence, has not appeared twice identically the same at its rising. yet despite the evidence of these truths, despite the conviction which we have attained of the illusion of the senses, of the weakness of our intellect, which can know nothing of the inmost nature of beings; which can only seize upon a few fleeting traces of their personal characteristics; yet despite all these things we dare establish series, attribute to them characteristics which are speedily contradicted by facts, and torture and do violence to the only beings that really exist; namely, individuals, in the name of that other thing which exists only in our sick brain: kind, class! the bitter fruits that have been produced by our mania for classification ought to cure us of this. has not this malady, impelling theocratists and legislators to divide humanity into castes and classes, caused most of the calamities of our species? have we not, thanks to these execrable divisions, a hideous past, the echoes of which bring back to our shrinking ears naught but sobs, cries of anger, rebellion, malediction and vengeance, and sinister clanking of weapons and chains? have we not also to thank them that, on the pages of our history, all stained with blood and tears and exhaling an odor of the charnel house, we read nought but tyranny, brutishness and demoralization? have we not further to thank them that king and subject, master and serf, white and black, man and woman become demoralized by oppression, injustice and cruelty on one hand; and intrigue, baseness, and vengeance on the other? are not wrong and wretchedness found everywhere, because inequality, the offspring of insane classifications, is found everywhere? ah! who shall deliver us from our infatuation! let us class animals, vegetables, minerals if we will! our errors do not influence and cannot disturb them; but let us respect the human species which will escape all classification, however reasonable the process may be, because every human being is changeable, progressive, and differs far more from his fellows than the most intelligent animal from the rest of his species. let us leave each one then to make his own autonomic law and to manifest himself in conformity with his nature, and take care only that right shall be equal for all; that the strong shall not oppress the weak; that each function shall be entrusted to the one individual that is proved the best qualified to perform it; this is all that we can do, all that we should do, if we seek to show ourselves wise and just. harmony exists in nature, because each being in it follows peaceably the laws that govern his individuality; it will be the same in humanity, when universal reason shall comprehend that human order is pre-established in the co-operation of individual faculties left free in their manifestations; and that to establish a factitious, wholly imaginary order; that is, true disorder, is to retard the coming of order, peace and happiness. let us refrain then from all classification of faculties and functions according to the sexes: besides being false, they will lead us to cruelty; for we shall oppress those, whether men or women, who are neither yielding enough to submit to it nor hypocritical enough to appear to do so; and we shall do this without profit to human destiny, but, on the contrary, to its detriment. here, gentlemen, is a _nominalistic_ theory which i challenge you to overthrow by sufficient reasons: for, as in the first, i shall have answers to all your objections. we now come to our last theory, which is yours in the major and minor terms, but the opposite in the conclusions. iv. all the different parts of the same organism are modified by each other, and in this manner the functions become mutually modified. now, man and woman differ from each other in important organs. each of the sexes must therefore differ from the other not only through the organs that distinguish them, but through the modifications produced by the presence of these organs. this, gentleman, is my first syllogism: i know that we shall not contest this point--it is classical biology. let us investigate anatomically the organic differences to which sexuality subjects man and woman. _nervous system._ the so called nerves of feeling are more fully developed in woman than in man, those of motion are less developed in the former than in the latter; the cerebellum is more fully developed in the head of man than in that of woman; in the latter, the antero-posterior diameter of the brain preponderates over the bi-lateral, which is greater in proportion in the masculine sex: it is also observed that the organs of observation, circumspection, subtleness and philoprogenitiveness are more prominent in the head of woman than in that of man, in which the reasoning organs, with those of combativeness and destructiveness predominate. _locomotive system._ man is larger than woman, he has more compact bones, and larger and better developed muscles, his thorax is the reverse of that of woman, in which, the greatest breadth is between the shoulders, while, with him, it is at the base; the pelvis is larger and broader in the female than the male sex. _epidermic and cellular systems._ man has a more hairy skin than woman; what is called fat is less abundant in the masculine than in the feminine organism; in general, the skin of man is rougher, and his form less round; woman has longer and more silky hair. _splanchnic organs._ the cerebral mass is the same in proportion in both sexes, as well as the organs of the brain, with the exception of the predominances which we have pointed out; the respiratory systems differ somewhat; woman breaths higher than man; in the latter, the circulation is more active and energetic. to these physical differences correspond intellectual and moral differences. woman, having the nerves of feeling more fully developed, is more impressionable and more mobile than man. being weaker and as persistent, she obtains by address and stratagem what she cannot obtain by force; her weakness gives her timidity, circumspection, the necessity of feeling herself protected. the kinds of labor that require strength are repugnant to her. her maternal destiny renders her an enemy of destruction, of war; and her more delicate organization makes her dread and shun contention. this same maternal destination impresses a peculiar stamp on her intellect; she loves the concrete, and is always inclined to transform thought into facts, to incarnate it, to give it a fixed form; her reasoning is intuition or quick perception of a general relation, of a truth that man elucidates only with great difficulty, by the aid of stilted logic. woman is a better observer than man, and carries induction farther than he; she is consequently more penetrating, and is a much better judge of the moral and intellectual value of those about her. she has, more than man, sentiment of the beautiful, delicacy of heart, love of good, respect for modesty, veneration for everything superior. more provident than he, she has more order and economy, and looks after administrative details with a carefulness which is often carried to puerility. woman is adroit, sedulous; she excels in works of taste, and possesses strong artistic tendencies. gentler, more tender, more patient than man, she loves everything that is weak, protects everything that suffers; every sorrow, every calamity brings a tear to her eye and draws a sigh from her breast. this is woman, such as you paint her, gentlemen. you then add: the vocation of woman therefore is love, maternity, the household, sedentary occupations. she is too weak for occupations that demand strength, and for those of war. she is too impressionable and too feeling, too good, too gentle to be legislator, judge or juror. her taste for household details, a retired life, and the grave functions of maternity indicate clearly that she is not made for public employments. she is too variable to cultivate science with profit; too feeble and too much occupied beside to pursue protracted experiments. her kind of rationality renders her unsuited to the elaboration of theories; and she is too fond of the concrete and of details to become seriously interested in general ideas; which excludes her from all high professional functions and from those requiring serious study. her place is therefore at the fireside to make man better, to sustain him, to care for him, to procure him the joys of paternity, and to fill the place of a good housewife. such are your conclusions: here are mine, admitting as a hypothesis, what i affirm with you of woman. v. 1. woman carrying into philosophy and science her subtleness of observation, her love of the concrete, will correct the exaggerated tendency of man for abstract reasoning, and demonstrate the falsity of theories constructed, _à priori_, on a few facts alone. then only will ontology disappear, then will it be recognized that a hypothesis is merely an interrogation point; that truth is always intelligible in its nature, however unknown it may be; we shall generalize nothing but known facts, we shall carefully avoid erecting simple generalities into laws, and we shall thus have veritable philosophy, and true human science, because they will bear the imprint of both sexes. 2. woman carrying her peculiar faculties into the arts and manufactures, will increasingly introduce therein art, perfection in details. cultivated in the direction of her aptitudes, she will find ingenious methods of application of scientific discoveries. 3. patient, gentle, good, more moral than man, she is the born educator of childhood, the moralizer of the grown man; the majority of the educational functions revert to her of right, and she has her assigned place in special instruction. 4. by her quick intuition and her acuteness of observation, woman alone can discover the therapeutics of nervous affections; her dexterity will render her valuable in all delicate surgical operations. on her should devolve the care of treating the diseases of women and children, because she alone is capable of fully comprehending them; she has her especial place in hospitals, not only for the cure of disease, but also for the execution and surveillance of the details of management and the care of the patients. 5. the presence of woman in judicial functions, as juror and arbiter, will be a guarantee of veritable human justice to all; that is, of equity. woman alone through her gentleness, her mercy, her sympathetic disposition, and her subtleness and observation, can comprehend that society has its share of culpability in every fault committed; for it should be organized to prevent wrong rather than to punish it. this point of view, especially feminine, will transform the penitentiary system and raise up numerous institutions. then only will the world comprehend that the punishment inflicted on the guilty should be a means of reparation and regeneration; society will no longer slay its prisoners as if weak and fearful: it will amend the assassin instead of imitating him; it will force the thief to work to make restitution of what he has stolen; it will no longer believe that it has the right by imprisoning a criminal to deprive him of his reason, to drive him to despair, to suicide by solitary confinement; to deprive him completely of marriage; to couple him with those more corrupt than himself. conscious of its own share of culpability, society will repair in penitentiaries the fault of its carelessness: it will be firm, yet kind and moralizing: it will give in them the education which it ought to have given outside, and will prepare work houses for the liberated convicts in order that the contempt and horror often shown toward them by men worse than they may not drive them to a second offence. 7. woman, carrying into the social household her spirit of order and economy, her love of details and abhorrence of waste and foolish expense, will reform government: she will simplify everything; will suppress sinecures and the accumulation of offices, and will produce much from little instead of, like man, producing little from much: the purse of the tax-payers will not complain of the change. 8. under the direct influence of woman as legislator, we shall have a reconstruction of all laws; first and before everything, we shall have preventive measures, a compulsory education; then the form of legal proceedings will be simplified, the civil code recast, and all laws concerning illegitimate children and the inequality of the sexes banished from it; the laws concerning morals will be more severe, and the penal code more rational and equitable. by her administrative reforms born of the economical instinct of woman, taxes will be diminished; her abhorrence of blood and war will greatly reduce the fearful impost of blood-shed. having a deliberative voice, and knowing, by her griefs and love the value of a man, it will be only from sheer necessity that she will consent to vote bevies of citizens for the shambles called wars: she will do this only when her country is menaced or when it is necessary to protect oppressed nationalities; in all other cases, she will employ the system of conciliation. 9. woman, being much more economical and a better analyst than man, when thoroughly instructed, will soon perceive that nations, like individuals, differ in aptitudes, and that the end of these differences is union and fraternity through exchange of products: she will therefore deter her country from cultivating certain branches of the acts and manufactures in which other nations excel and which they can produce to better advantage; she will cure it of the foolish pretension of being sufficient unto itself, and will prevent it from sacrificing the interest of the mass of consumers to that of a few producers: thus the barriers and custom duties that separate the different organs of humanity will fall by degrees; there will be treaties of free trade, and all will be gainers by the cheapness of products, and the suppression of the expenses of maintaining a too often annoying department of customs. the qualities and faculties of woman not only make her an educator, but assure her preponderance in all functions arising from social solidarity; she alone knows how to console, to encourage, to moralize with gentleness, to comfort with delicacy; she has the genius of charity; to her therefore should revert the superintendence and direction of hospitals and prisons for women, the management of charitable institutions, the care of abandoned children, etc. she should create institutions to furnish employment to workmen out of work, and to save liberated convicts from indolence and relapse into crime. thus, gentleman, without departing from the data of your theory, you behold woman placed everywhere by the side of man, except in the hard labor from which you yourselves will soon be released by machinery, and in the military institutions which, in all probability, will some day disappear. hitherto institutions, laws, sciences, philosophy have chiefly borne the masculine imprint; all of these things are only half human; in order that they may become wholly so, woman must be associated in them ostensibly and lawfully, consequently, she must be cultivated like you; culture will not make her like you, do not fear it; the rose and the carnation growing in the same soil, under the same sky, in the same sunshine, with the cares of the same gardener, remain rose and carnation: they are more beautiful in proportion as they are better cultivated, and as the elements which they absorb are more abundant: if man and woman differ, a similar education will only make them differ still more, because each will employ it in the development of that which is peculiar to himself. for the interest of all things and people it is necessary that woman should enter all the avocations of life, that she should have her function in all the functions: _after_ the general interest of humanity, comes that of the family; it cannot go _before_ it. since woman now is generally mother and housewife while performing at the same time a host of other functions, she will become none the less so in taking upon herself a few more; besides, the time of life at which an individual enters certain important functions is that at which woman has finished her maternal task. a few women acting as public functionaries will not hinder the great majority of their companions from remaining in private life, any more than a few men in the same position hinder the mass of men from continuing there. vi. you admit a classification at last, you say, and still more you grant that there are masculine and feminine functions. you are mistaken, gentlemen: you accused me of being incapable of giving you a complete theory, i have given you the outlines of four--outlines which it would be easy for me to extend and perfect. but i do not admit a single one of these theories as a whole. are you eclectic, then? the gods forbid! i have as much repugnance to eclecticism, as to _mystic trinitarianism_ and _androgyny_. i do not admit the theory of the identity of the sexes, because i believe with biology that an essential organic difference modifies the entire being; that therefore woman must differ from man. i do not admit the theory of the superiority of either sex, because it is absurd; humanity is man-woman or woman-man; we do not know what one sex would be if it were not incessantly modified by its relations with the other, and we know them only as thus modified: what we know to a certainty is that they form together the existing condition of humanity; that they are equally necessary and equally useful to each other and to society. i do not admit my third theory because it is ultra-nominalism nominalism; if it is really true that all the individuals of both sexes differ among themselves in a far more remarkable manner than those of the other species, it is none the less true that a classification, founded upon a constant anatomical characteristic, is legitimate, and that the principle of classification lies in the nature of things, for if things appear to us classified, it is because they are so; the laws of the mind are the same as those of nature so far as knowledge is concerned; we must admit this, unless we are sceptics or idealists, and i am neither the one nor the other; neither am i a realist in the philosophic acceptation of the word, for i do not believe that the species is something apart from the individuals in which it is manifested; it is in them and through them; this repeats the affirmation that there are individuals identical in one or several respects, although different in all others. lastly, i do not admit the fourth theory, although it may be true in principle, because the numerous facts that contradict the distinguishing characteristics, do not permit me to believe that these characteristics are laws established by sexuality. in fact, there are brains of men in heads of women, and _vice versa_. men mobile and impressionable; women firm and insensible. women large, strong and muscular, lifting a man like a feather; men small, frail, and of extreme delicacy of constitution. women with a stentorian voice and abrupt manners; men with a soft voice and graceful manners. women with short, harsh hair, bearded, with rough skin and angular figures; men with long, silky hair without beard, round and portly. women with an energetic circulation of blood; men in whose veins it courses feebly and slowly. women frank, inconsiderate and daring; men strategic, dissembling and timid. women violent, loving strife, war and contention, and wont to storm on every occasion; men gentle, patient, dreading strife, and exceedingly timid. women loving abstract reasoning, generalizing and synthetizing much, and without intuition of any sort; men intuitive, acute observers, good analysts, incapable of generalizing.... i know many such. women insensible to works of art, and without the sentiment of the beautiful; men full of enthusiasm for both. women immoral, immodest, respecting nothing or no one; men moral, chaste and reverential. women extravagant and disorderly; men economical and parsimonious to avarice. women thoroughly selfish, rigid, disposed to take advantage of the weakness, kindness, folly or misery of others; men full of generosity, mansuetude, and self-sacrifice. what follows from these undeniable facts? that the law of sexual differences is not manifested through the several characteristics which have been laid down. that these characteristics may be only the result of education, of the difference of prejudices, of that of occupations, etc. that, as these generalities may be the fruit of the difference of training and surroundings, nothing can be legitimately deduced from them as to the functions of woman; would it not be absurd, in fact, to pretend that a woman who is organized for philosophy and the sciences _can not_, ought not to occupy herself with them because she is a woman, while a man, who is incapable of them but foolish and vain enough to be ignorant of his incapacity, can and ought to engage in them because he is a man? functions belong to those who prove their aptitude for them, and not to an abstraction called sex, for, definitively, every function is individual in its aggregate or in its elements. vii. we have explained why we reject the theories that we have sketched; we will now explain why we neither give nor wish to give a classification of the sexes. we do not give a classification, because we neither have nor can have one; the elements for its establishment are lacking. a biological deduction permits us to affirm that such a one exists; but it is impossible to disengage its law in the present surroundings; the veritable feminine stamp will be known only after one or two centuries of like education and equal rights: then there will be no need of a classification, for the function will fall naturally to the proper functionary under a system of equality in which the social elements classify themselves. my belief and my hopes concerning the future, i shall not confess; for i may be in error, since i have no facts to control my intuitions, and everything that is purely utopian has always a dangerous side. besides have i not said that, had i formed a classification, i should not give it? why not? because, a detestable use would be made of it, as usual, if it were adopted. hitherto, have not men availed themselves of classifications based upon characteristics afterwards recognized as purely imaginary to oppress, distort and calumniate those banished to the inferior ranks? history is at hand to give us this salutary lesson. where is now to-day the _ville-pedaille_, the villains and base-tenants, fit only to drain ditches and to be stripped to the skin? inventing, governing, making laws for, and gradually transforming our globe, devastated by the _superior and only capable_ species, into a smiling and peaceful domain. upon all classification of the human species, whether in castes, in classes, or in sexes, are based three wrongs. the first is to make it a crime in the individual degraded into the lower series, that he does not resemble the conventional type that has been formed of this series, while the so called superior being is not required to resemble his type; thus a weak, cowardly, unintelligent man, a _man milliner_ or an _embroiderer_, is none the less a man, while a virago, a firm and courageous woman, a great queen, a woman philosopher are not women, but men whom none love and who are given over as a prey to wild beasts, jealous, effeminate men, to devour. the second wrong is to take advantage of the conventional type to deform the being classed in the inferior series in order to kill his energies and to hinder his progress. then, to attain this end, education, social surroundings are organized, prejudices are invented; and so successfully is this done in general that the oppressed, ignorant of himself, believes himself really of an inferior nature, resigns himself to his chains, and is even indignant at the rebellion of those of his series who are too energetic and individual not to react against the part to which social imbecility has condemned them. the third wrong is to take advantage of the state of debasement to which the oppressed has been reduced, to calumniate him and deny his rights; men exclaim, look! see the serf! see the slave! see the negro! see the workingman! see woman! what rights would you grant these inferior and feeble natures? _they are incapable of knowing and ruling themselves_: we must therefore think for them, wish for them, and govern them. ah no, gentlemen, these are not men and women; they are the deplorable results of your selfishness, of your frightful spirit of domination, of your imbecility.... if there were infernal gods, i should devote you to them relentlessly with all my heart. instead of calumniating your fellows that you may preserve your privileges, give them instruction and liberty; then only will you have the right to pass judgment on their nature: for we can only know the nature of a human being when it has become freely developed in equality. i think that i have justified my repugnance to give a classification of the sexes, both by the impossibility of actually establishing a reasonable one, and by the very legitimate fear of the bad use that would be made of it. but it will be objected, and not without reason, that a classification is necessary for social practice. i consent to it with all my heart, since i have reserved my positions, and proved the worthlessness of existing classifications. as it is my principle that the function should fall to the functionary who proves his capacity, i say that at present, through the difference of education, man and woman have distinct functions; and that we must give to the latter the place that in general she deserves. i add that it is a violation of the natural right of woman to form her with a view to certain functions to which she is destined; she should in all respects enjoy the rights common to all; it cannot rightfully be said to her any more than to man, "your sex cannot do that, cannot pretend to that;" if it does it and pretends to it, it is because the sex can do it and pretend to it; if it could not, it would not do it; the first right is liberty, the first duty, the culture of one's aptitudes, the development of his reason and his power of usefulness: if a god should affirm the contrary, not conscience, but the god would speak falsely. let woman take the place therefore that is suited to her present development, but let her never cease to remember that this place is not a fixed point, and that she should continually strive to mount upwards until, her peculiar nature revealing itself through equality of education, instruction, right and duty, she takes her rightful place by the side of man and on a level with him. let her laugh at all the utopian follies elaborated concerning her nature, her functions determined for eternity, and remember that she is not what nature, but what subjection, prejudice, ignorance has made her; let her escape from all her chains, and no longer permit herself to be intimidated and debased. thus, gentlemen, all my ideas on the nature and functions of woman may be summed up in these few propositions: i believe, because a physiological deduction authorizes me to do so, that general humanity common to both sexes is stamped by sexuality. in _fact_, i know not, and you know no better than i, what are the true characteristics arising from the distinction of the sexes, and i believe that they can be revealed only by liberty in equality, parity of instruction and of education. in social practice, functions should belong to those who can perform them: woman therefore should perform those functions for which she shows herself qualified, and society should become so organized that this may be possible. what are these functions relative to her degree of present development? i will tell you directly. love; its function in humanity. i. you tell the child that lies, "it is wrong to deceive; you would not wish others to deceive you." you tell the child that pilfers, "it is wrong to steal; you would not wish others to steal from you." you tell the child that takes advantage of his strength and knowledge to torment his younger companion; "you would not wish others to do these things to you; you are wicked and cowardly." these are good lessons. why then, when the child has become a young man, do you say: _young men must sow their wild oats_? _to sow their wild oats_ is to deceive young girls, to destroy their future, to practice adultery, to keep mistresses, to visit brothels. yet mothers, women thus consent to the profanation of their sex! those who forbade their child to steal a toy, permit him to steal the honor and repose of human beings! those who shamed their son for falsehood, permit him to deceive poor young girls! those who made it a crime in their son to oppress those weaker than themselves, permit him to be oppressive and perfidious toward women! then they complain later that their sons treat them ill; that they dishonor and ruin themselves; that they desire the death of their parents, in order to enrich the usurers from whom they have borrowed money to maintain their mistresses in luxury. they complain that they destroy their health, and give their mothers puny grandchildren, for whose existence they are in continual anxiety. ah! ladies, you have only what you deserve; bear the weight of a joint responsibility which you cannot escape. you authorized your sons to sow their wild oats; endure the consequences. but a mother cannot be the confident of her son, it is said. why not, madam, if you have brought him up in such a way as to have no dishonorable confidence to make to you. he would have none to make, if you had accustomed him to conquer himself, to respect every woman as though she were his mother, every young girl as though she were his sister; to treat others as he would think it right to be treated by them; if you had fully inculcated on him that there is but one system of morality, which both sexes are equally bound to obey; if you had caused him to honor, love and practice labor; if you had told him that we live to improve ourselves, to practise justice and kindness, and to render back to humanity what it does for us in protecting us, enlightening us, rendering us moral, surrounding us with security and comfort; that in fine our glory lies in subjecting ourselves to the great law of duty. if you had reared him in this manner, madam, on surprising in your son the first signs of the ardent attraction that man feels toward the other sex, far from abandoning the education of this instinct to the chances of inexperience, you would do for it what you did for the others; you would teach the young man to subject it to a wise discipline. instead of repeating the stupidly atrocious phrase; _young men must sow their wild oats_, you would have taken your son's hand affectionately in your own, and, looking in his face, would have said: "my child, nature decrees that a woman should henceforth attract you more strongly than i, and should maintain or destroy what i have so laboriously built up: i do not murmur at this; it must be so. but my affection and duty require me to enlighten you in this grave juncture. tell me, if a young man, to satisfy the instinct which is now awakening in you, should corrupt your sister, should sacrifice her life, what would you think of him? what would you do?" the young man, accustomed from childhood to practise justice, would not fail to reply: "i should think him depraved and cowardly. would he not be punished?" "no, my son, the seducer is not punished by the law." "well! i would kill him, for my right of justice reverts to me when the law makes no provision." "right, my child. then you will be neither depraved nor cowardly with respect to any young girl; you will not deserve the sentence which you have pronounced; namely, death. you will respect all young girls and women as you would wish your sister, your daughter to be respected. "another question: what would you think of a man who should persuade me to betray your father; who should rob him of my heart and cares; who should draw me aside from the grave duties of maternity? what would you think of the man who should act thus with respect to your own companion?" "i would judge him like the former and would treat him no better." "right again. then you will respect all married women as you would wish your mother and your wife to be respected; and if you should meet any one towards whom you should feel attracted, or who should be disloyal enough to seek to attract you, you will shun her: for flight is the sole remedy for passion. "a multitude of women, innocent at first, have been turned aside from the right path by men who do not think as you do. they now avenge themselves upon your sex for the evil it has done them. they corrupt and ruin men who, in their company, lose all sense of morality, who learn to laugh at what you believe and venerate, and undermine and destroy their health. do you feel the deplorable courage to expose yourself to such risks?" the young man, practised from childhood to subject his inclinations to reason and justice, would reply: "no, mother, i will not do what i would not wish my companion to do; i will neither degrade myself morally, nor destroy my health, nor contribute my share towards perpetuating a state of things which degrades the sex to which belongs my mother, my sister, my wife and my daughters, should i be so happy as to possess them. "i acknowledge frankly that i foresee a violent struggle with myself, but, thanks to the moral training to which you have accustomed me, thanks to the ideal of destiny which you have given me, which i have accepted in the plenitude of my reason, and which my duty marks out for me, i do not despair of subduing myself."--"this victory will be less difficult to obtain, if you employ yourself usefully and seriously; for you will thus attract your vitality to the superior regions of the brain. you will do wisely to add to this, much physical exercise; to abstain from too substantial a diet, and especially from stimulating drinks! you know the reaction of the physical upon the moral system. carefully avoid licentious reading and improper conversation; give a place in your mind to the virgin who will be united to you; think and act as if in her presence; it will guard you and keep you pure. this sweet ideal will strengthen you against temptation, and contribute greatly to render you insensible towards those women who should have no place in your heart." "love, my child, is a thing most serious in its results; for the beings whom it unites become modified by each other; it leaves its traces, however short may be its duration. "its end is marriage, one of the ends of which is the continuity of the species. now, you know the effects of solidarity of blood; it is most important therefore that you should choose for your companion a woman whose character, morals and principles are in unison with your own; not only for your happiness, but for the _organization_ of your children, the harmony of their nature and conduct. "if passion does not leave you sufficiently free in your judgment, come to me: i will see for you, and if i say: my son, this woman will debase you, will cause you to commit faults; be sure that your children will have evil propensities; she is not adapted to rear them according to your ideal, which she will never accept, because she is vain and selfish; if i tell you this, i know, my son, that whatever may be your suffering, you will renounce a woman whom you would cease to love after a few months' union, and will prefer a transient sadness to a life of unhappiness." ii. the mother who has just shown her son why love should be subjected to reason and justice, and has pointed out to him what he should do to subdue its animal phase, perceives also the awakening of this instinct in her daughter. she wins her attention and gains her confidence by revealing to her what is passing within her heart, telling her that, at her age, she felt the same. "hitherto," continues she, "you have been but a child; your career as a woman is now commencing. you desire the affection of a man, and your heart is moved at the sweet thought of becoming a mother. do not blush, my daughter; it is lawful, on condition that your desires are made subject to reason and the law of duty. "many snares will be spread before your steps; for men of all ages address to a young girl innumerable flattering speeches, and surround her with homage which renders her vain and coquettish if she has the weakness to suffer herself to be intoxicated thereby. persuade yourself fully that all this adoration is not addressed to you individually, but to your youth, to the brightness of your eyes, to the freshness of your complexion, and that, were you far better than you are and far superior in intellect, these men would be ceremoniously and frigidly polite, were you thirty years older. this thought present in your mind will make you smile at their frivolous and common-place jargon, and will preserve you from many weaknesses, such as rivalry of dress, petty jealousies, and the ridiculous blunder of playing the young girl at fifty. "as you can espouse but one man, it is sufficient to be loved by one in the manner that you wish. a woman who comports herself voluntarily so as to captivate the hearts of many men, and leaves each to believe that she prefers him above all, is an unworthy coquette, who sins against justice and kindness: against justice, inasmuch as she demands a sentiment for which she can make no return; as she acts towards others as she would think it unjust that others should act towards her; against kindness, inasmuch as she risks causing suffering to sincere hearts and sacrificing their repose to a pleasurable impulse of vanity: such a woman, my child, is contemptible; she is a dangerous enemy of her sex; first, because she gives a bad opinion of it; next, because she is an enemy to the repose of other women; i know that you are too ingenuous, too true and too worthy to fear that you will fall into such errors. "you have acknowledged to me that your young imagination had pictured to itself a man. far from banishing this ideal, let it be always present to your mind, much less in its physical aspect than in that of intellect, morality and industry. this image will do more to keep you safe than all my counsels, than all the surveillance that i might, but never would exercise over you, because this would be unworthy of us both. "do not forget however that an ideal is absolute; that the reality is always defective; do not therefore seek in the man to whom you shall give your heart, a realization of the ideal, but the qualities and faculties which, with your aid, will permit him to approximate to what you wish to see him. you yourself are the ideal of a man, not such as you are, but such as he will aid you to become. "i dwell upon this point, my daughter, because nothing is more dangerous than to insist on finding the ideal in the reality; this makes us over difficult and lacking in indulgence; and, if we have a lively imagination and little reason, renders us unhappy and involves us in innumerable errors. you know and feel that the end of love is marriage; now one of your duties as lover and spouse is the improvement of the one to whom you shall be united. you will stand with him in two different relations! first as his betrothed, afterwards as his wife. your modifying power will, in the first case, be exercised in a direct proportion to his desire to please and to be worthy of you; in the second, in proportion to his confidence, esteem and affection for you. in the first case, he will _wish_ to modify himself; in the second, he will do so without knowing it." "what, mother, will he not always love me the same?" "love, my child, undergoes transformations which we should expect and to which we should submit; in the beginning it is a fever of the soul; but fever is a condition which cannot last without destroying life. your husband, while loving you perhaps more deeply, will love you less ardently than before marriage. your love will become transformed, why shall not his be the same? "you cannot imagine how much trouble results from the ignorance of women on this point, and from the vain pursuit of the ideal in love. many women, believing that their husband loves them no longer because he loves them in a different manner, become detached from him, suffer, and betray their duties; others, dreaming of perfection in the loved one, fancy that they have found it, and becoming disabused after the fever has past, quit him, accusing him of having deceived them; they love others with the same illusion, followed by the same disenchantment, until age creeps on without curing them of the chimera. lastly, there are others who, comprehending only the first period of love, cease to love the man who has passed beyond it, and pursue another love which will bring them the same fever; these, as you comprehend, have not the slightest idea of woman's grave duties in love. "what i have just said of women is equally true of men. you will avoid these dangers, my daughter, you who have been accustomed from childhood to submit to reason; who know that all reality is imperfect, that habit weakens sentiment, you will therefore take the man who suits you, as he is, designing to improve him and to render him happy, knowing in advance that his love will change without becoming extinguished, if you succeed in gaining his affection, confidence and esteem, so that he will find in you good counsel, peace, assistance and security. you are too pure, my daughter, to foresee all the snares that will be spread for you. it belongs to me therefore to arm your youthful prudence: you will perhaps encounter men married or betrothed who, according to the common expression, _will pay court to you_, and will utter innumerable sophisms to justify their conduct." "their sophisms would fall to the ground before the simple answer: sir, as i should be driven to despair if another woman should rob me of him whom i loved, as i should despise and hate her, all your compliments cannot persuade me that it is right for me to do what i would not that others should do to me. if you return to the subject, i shall inform the person interested. "right, my child: but if a young man who was free should speak of love, and urge you to write to him in secret?" "might he not have good reason for acting in this manner?" "none, my child. you must know that men are exceedingly corrupt; that many among them eschew marriage, flit from one woman to another, take advantage of our credulity, and make use of the most impassioned language to lead us in the way of shame and perdition. now, my child, know besides that we bear the weight of men's faults as well as of our own; the verbal and written promises of a man bind him to nothing. if, suffering yourself to be led astray, you should become a mother, the child would remain your charge; and you could no longer hope for marriage; i say nothing of our grief and shame, nor of the terrible risks to which you would expose your brother, who might perish in punishing the vile seducer whom the law does not touch. if a man seeks you therefore unknown to us, be sure that it is because his intentions are evil; that he considers you as a toy which he purposes to break when it ceases to amuse him. now, my daughter, you know that woman is created to be the worthy companion of man; that she is not born to be sacrificed to him as an object of pleasure. instead therefore of suffering yourself to be seduced, profit by the influence over men which is given you by your beauty and grace, to recall them to their duties: in this manner, you may be the means of saving many women; you will give a favorable opinion of your sex, and will prepare a good example for your daughter by setting one to your companions, many of whom will follow it in order to share in the esteem that will surround you; always remember that our acts not only injure ourselves, but we have a joint responsibility with others, and consequently no one can be lost or saved alone. "one word more, my child. in your uncertainties, do not hesitate to confide your troubles to me; do not say, my mother is too reasonable to understand me in this. was it not by becoming a child again in order to comprehend you, that i fulfilled my sacred task of instructor? be persuaded that it will not be more difficult for me to become a young girl again in order to comprehend, while remaining a tender and experienced mother to advise you. "you are free: i am not your censor, but your elder sister, who loves you with devotion and desires your happiness before all things. as a recompense for my love and my long-continued cares, i only ask to be your best friend; that is, the one in whose presence you will think and speak aloud. is this asking too much of you, who are my joy and crown." this is the way, ladies, in which the woman who has attained majority, strives to educate the world in love. iii. the young girl and young man enter into society. the prudent mother knows that it is gently insinuated to her son that she is a _prude_, a _dotard_ who knows nothing of the passions; who does not suspect that _everything in nature is good_, and should be respected; and who has read the history of our species to so little purpose that she has not perceived that humanity has love in all forms: the _polygamic_ and _polyandric_, and even ... the _ambiguous_. she knows also, that he is told that the satisfaction of the animal instinct is necessary to the _health_ of man, and that brothels are places of public utility. she knows, lastly, that young and giddy girls, with lax principles, make dangerous confidences to her daughter. it is time, in opposition to these lax doctrines and pernicious examples, to give to her children the philosophy of love. according to her method, she suffers is to elucidate itself. my son, says she, what is the end of the attraction of mineral molecules towards each other? son. the _production_ of a body having a determined form. mother. what is the end of the attraction of the plant for heat, light, air, the elements which it absorbs? son. the _production_ of its own body, the development of its organs, and of its properties, its preservation. mother. and do you know, my daughter, what is the end of the attraction of the pistil and stamens of the flower. daughter. the _production_ of a being resembling its parents. mother. why do we as well as the animals experience an inclination or attraction for certain kinds of food? son. it is evidently in order to incite to action the organs which procure to the organism the elements adapted to _produce_ blood. mother. why do both sexes of the same species experience an attraction towards each other? daughter. for the _production_ of young to perpetuate the species. mother. why do the females, and often males among animals experience an inclination or attraction to take care of the young? daughter. in order to preserve them and to educate them as far as is in their power, that they may be able to provide for themselves. mother. are you quite sure, my children, that the end of these attractions is not the attraction itself, the procurement of a pleasure? son. the pleasure seems to me only the means of impelling the being to fulfill a necessary or useful function. thus the end of our scientific, artistic and industrial inclinations or attractions is not the pleasure which we take in their satisfaction, but the _production_ of science, art and industry. daughter. that is, the increase and progress of our intellect through the knowledge of the laws of nature, in order to modify this nature with a view to our wants and pleasures. mother. to what inclination or attraction is society due? son. to our attraction for our fellow beings. daughter. this attraction is the father of justice and of goodness: it _produces_ them. mother. will you generalize the character of this inclination or attraction in accordance with what we have just said? son. the end of all attraction or inclination is the _production_, _progress_ and _preservation_ of beings. mother. are all instincts good which are merely inclinations or attractions? son. for animals, which are subject to fatality, they are; because they tend directly to their end, without ever appearing to deviate from it. in our species, they are good in principle, if we regard their end; but they may become evil through the deviation to which our liberty subjects them. mother. by what token can we know that our instinct has a right tendency? daughter. by comparing its use with its end; by assuring ourselves that this use is not prejudicial to the practice of justice, that it does not detract from the right of any of our faculties; that is, that it disturbs neither our individual harmony nor that of others; for it is on these conditions alone that it can coöperate in the realization of the social ideal. mother. very well. now apply this general doctrine to human love, my children. son. since love is one of the forms of attraction, and since the general end of attraction is the production, progress and preservation of beings and species, it is evident that human love should possess these characteristics. its principal function appears to me to be the reproduction of the species. daughter. it seems to me, brother, that this is not enough; since true husbands and wives do not cease to love each other after this end has been fulfilled, and since persons may love without having children. mother. you are right, my daughter; our faculties being more numerous and more fully developed than those of the animals, our love cannot be incomplete like theirs; it cannot be of the same nature in our progressive species as in those species fatal and unprogressive of themselves. in us, each faculty, properly employed, aids in the improvement of all the rest, wrongly employed, it interrupts our harmony and lowers us; it is the same with our love. or rather this passion is the one that most of all causes us to grow or to decline. you know, my children, that humanity advances only by forming itself an ideal and endeavoring to realize it. every passion has its ideal, which is modified by that of the whole. in the beginning, man, in the animal state, made the end of love the pleasure resulting from the satisfaction of a wholly physical want: he cared nothing for the most evident aim--progeny. a little later, man less gross, loved woman for her beauty and fruitfulness; this was the patriarchal age of love. later still, the northern races wrought a change in this instinct; love became decomposed, as it were; the lover possessed the love of the soul; the woman was loved not only for her beauty, but as the inspirer of lofty deeds; the husband was the possessor of the body alone and the children were the fruit of marriage; this was the chivalrous age of love. since pacific labor has been organized and has gained a place in public opinion, love has entered a new phase; many among the moderns consider it as the initiative of labor. some regard the attraction of pleasure as playing the chief part in industrial production, and leave full liberty to the attraction, however inconsistent it may be; others preserve the couple, and transform woman into the moving power of action; the love that she inspires excites the efforts of the worker. the progress hitherto made by humanity is therefore that love has now for its end the perpetuation of the species, the modification of man by woman, and the production of labor. in a higher ideal of justice, the sexes being equal in rights, love will have a higher end; the spouses will unite on account of conformity of principles, union of hearts, wedding of intellects, common labor: love will join them to double their strength, to modify them by each other, from the friction of their hearts will be struck out sentiments which neither would have had alone; from the union of their intellects will be born thoughts which neither would have had alone; from the aid that they will lend each other in their common labor will proceed works that neither would have accomplished alone, as from the union of their whole being, will be born new generations more perfect than the preceding because they will be the product of the greatest possible harmony. it will be only when woman shall take her lawful place that humanity will see love in all its splendor, and that this passion, subversive to-day in inequality and incoherence, will become what it should be; one of the great instruments of progress. we, my children, who are too rational to mistake the means by which nature impels us to accomplish her designs for the designs themselves, will take care not to fancy that the end of love is pleasure; on the other hand, we have too much respect for equality to imagine that it is for the benefit of one sex alone. we will remain faithful to the ideal of our lofty destinies, in defining love as the reciprocal attraction of man and woman with the end of perpetuating the species, of improving the partners mutually with respect to intellect and feeling, and of advancing science, art and industry by the labor of the pair. iv. sophists have told you, my son, that all our inclinations are in nature; that they are good and should be respected. you asked them doubtless whether the inclinations to theft, to assassination, to violation, to anthropophagy, which are in nature, are good, and why, instead of respecting them, society punishes their manifestation. you demonstrated to them, i hope, that there is nothing commendable in the exaggeration or the perversion of instincts. you demonstrated to them, i hope, that nature is brutal fatality against which we are bound to struggle both within and without ourselves; that our justice and virtue are composed only of conquests made over it in us, as all that constitutes our physical well-being is only the result of conquests made over it outside of us. these sophists have told you that love comes and goes without our knowing how or wherefore; and that we can no more command it to spring up than to endure. this is true, my son, of the brutal desires of the flesh, which is the passion of animals alone, and is extinguished by possession. this is also true of that complex passion which has its seat in the imagination and the senses, and ends with the illusion that is always of short duration. but it is not true of genuine love; this sees both the faults and the virtues of the loved one; but softens the first and exalts the last, and hopes by degrees to put an end to that which wounds it. this sentiment which takes possession of the heart, is patient; it bears lest it become effaced, it surrounds itself with precautions in order to remain constant; if it becomes extinct, it is not unconsciously: for we suffer cruel tortures before resolving to cease to love. you have been told that love is irrepressible; are we then beings of fatality? this sophism renders man cowardly and depraves him; for what is the use of struggling against what we know to be unconquerable, and why not sacrifice to it the best of our tendencies? examine the conduct of the partisans of such a doctrine. the human ideal requires that they shall not do to others what they would not think it just that others should do to them; yet they seduce maidens, make them mothers, and abandon them without caring about the children born of these unions; without caring whether the young mother commits suicide, dies of grief, or becomes depraved; without caring whether the parents go down to the grave. like deadly reptiles, they glide to the domestic fireside of others, rob their friend of the affection of his wife, and force him to labor for the children of adultery. the woman who believes in irrepressible love breaks her pledges to her husband; lives a life of deceit; brings trouble and sorrow into the houses of other women, whose lives are blighted by her. it is in this way that those who practice this sophistry fulfil their duty to be just, not to afflict their fellows, to labor for the happiness and improvement of those about them, to preserve the weak from oppression and wrong. to this pretended irrepressibility of love, they sacrifice justice, goodness, the happiness, repose and honor of others; lead them into the path of dissipation; bring dissolution into the family and society; in a word, offer up as a sacrifice to animal instinct, moral sense and reason. you have also been told that every species of love is found in nature; the polyamic and polygandric, as well as that of the constant pair. yes, my child, every species of love is found in nature, as is every species of vice and every species of virtue. but you know that it is not enough that a thing exists within us to prove it to be good; it must be in conformity with the ideal of our destiny, with our harmony: it is wrong in the opposite case. love, such as we have defined it, needs duration and equality; duration, because we do not become modified in a few months; because we do not accomplish great works in a few months; because we do not rear children in a few months; duration is so truly an aspiration of love, that it imagines that eternity will hardly suffice for it. it must have equality; division is hateful to it; it will therefore have a unit for a unit, both male and female. now polygamy and polyandria are the negation of equality, of dignity in love. let us consider the effects of these two deviations of instinct. oriental polygamy renders human beings profoundly unequal, transforms women into cattle, mutilates thousands of men to guard the harems, depraves the possessor of women by despotism and cruelty, concentrates all his vitality upon a single instinct at the expense of intellect, reason and activity; whence it follows that he is lost to science, art, industry, society according to right: that he submits without repugnance to despotism, and passively extends his neck to the halter. there, no influence is wielded by woman, who is subjected to designed enervation, who is depraved in as hideous a manner as the eunuch, her keeper. thus, inequality in love and in right, abandonment of art, science and industry, intellectual and physical enervation, debasement of the moral sense--such are vices inherent to the polygamy of the east. you see that this is far from the ideal of our destinies. in our west, polygamy _de facto_ produces the cattle of the brothel, legions of courtesans who ruin families. as many of these women are diseased, they infect those who associate with them with fearful maladies which undermine their constitutions, and thus pave the way for puny offspring, consequently, for weak minds and feeble intellects. i appeal for proof to the conscription; never were so many exemptions seen as now on account of under size, although the standard has been lowered, never were so many exemptions seen as now for constitutional imperfections and acquired disease. to vitiate the generation in its germ is not the only crime of our polygamy; it enervates those who practice it, for nothing leads to excess, consequently to enervation, so much as the change of relations. on the other hand, our polygamists become transformed into machines of sensation; then intellect grows weak; they become stupid and selfish. look at the pitiable young men of the present time, emaciated by their vices and by those of their sires; scoffers, faithless, jesting at the most sacred things, despising, not only the corrupt women, their worthy companions, but also the whole sex to which their mothers belong; look at them; so gross as to sicken the observer, nothing longer commands their respect; they thrust aside gray haired women from the sidewalk into the gutter; they are impertinent to old men; they put young girls to the blush with their cynical speeches; polygamy has rendered them ignoble, and has destroyed our native urbanity as well as all dignity. they will tell you that women are but little better than they. but this result becomes inevitable in a country in which women are not kept in seclusion. polyandria becomes the necessary companion of polygamy; for since men consider themselves at liberty to have more than one woman, why should women consider themselves forbidden to have more than one man? finally, my son, the results of irrepressible love, polygamy and polyandria in our western country are: the seduction and corruption of women; adultery, debasement of character; the moral and intellectual enfeebling of both sexes; the enervation and degeneracy of the race; falsehood, deceit, cruelty, injustice of every kind, the use of woman by man for her beauty, that of man by woman for his money or position; the dissolution and ruin of the family; several thousand illegitimate children annually, without counting abortions; such is the value of these theories put in practice. is this in conformity with our ideal of human love? is it in conformity with our ideal of human destiny, which requires that we shall progress and cause others to progress in good; that we shall practice justice and goodness? a word more, and we have done. when rome had ceased to believe in chastity, in the sacredness of oaths; when she wallowed in polygamic and polyandric customs; when she took pleasure for her end, tyranny appeared. nothing was more natural: man binds captive those only who have first suffered themselves to be bound under the yoke of bestial instinct: he who knows how to govern himself does not yield obedience to man; he bows only before the law when it is the expression of reason. remember, my son, that we are powerful only through chastity; only thus can we produce great works in science, art and industry; only thus can we practice justice, be worthy of liberty. outside of chastity, there is nothing but degradation, injustice, impotence, slavery; and every nation that forsakes it falls from the arms of despotism into the grave. do not suffer yourself therefore to be moved by modern sophisms, have always before your thoughts your obligations as a moral and a free being, your duties as a member of humanity; subject all that is within you to reason, to justice, to the sentiment of your dignity, and live like a man, not like a brute. marriage, a dialogue. reader. we are about to speak of marriage from the stand point of the modern ideal--how do you define it? author. love, sanctioned by society. reader. do you consider marriage as indissoluble? author. before the law, i do not; but at the moment of their union, the spouses should have full confidence that the bond will never be dissolved. i believe that marriage becomes indissoluble by the will alone of the spouses; that it can be so only in this manner. reader. what part do you assign to society in marriage? author. you shall fix it yourself after recalling our principles. if man and woman are free beings at any period of their life, they cannot _legally and validly_ lose their liberty. if man and woman are beings socially equal in any of their relations, the one cannot _legally, validly_ be subordinated to the other. if the continual end of the human being is to become perfected through liberty, and to seek happiness, no law can legitimately, _validly_ turn him aside from its pursuit. if the end of society should be to render individuals _equal_ it cannot, under penalty of forfeiting its mission, constitute inequality of persons and of rights. if society cannot without iniquity enter the domain of individual liberty, it cannot _lawfully, validly_ prescribe duties that pertain only to the jurisdiction of the conscience, and annul moral liberty. now draw your conclusions. reader. from these principles, it follows that man and woman should remain free and equal in marriage; that society has no right to intervene in their association except to render them equal; that it has no right to prescribe to them duties which proceed only from love, nor consequently to punish their violation, that it cannot in principle grant or refuse divorce, because it belongs to the husband and wife alone to know whether it is useful for their happiness and progress to be separated from each other. author. your conclusions are right, but if society has no right over the body or the soul of the husband and wife in their capacity of spouses, if it cannot without abuse of power interfere in any of their intimate relations, it is its right and duty to intervene in marriage as regards interests and children. reader. in fact, in the union of the sexes, there is not merely an association of two free and equal persons, but also a partnership of capital and labor; then, from the marriage, children are born for whose education, occupation and subsistence it is necessary to provide. author. now, the general protection of material interests and of the rising generation devolves of right upon society. in the sight of the law, the husband and wife ought to be regarded only as partners, engaging to employ a certain share of capital, together with their labor, for a definite purpose. society takes note only of a contract of interests, the execution of which it guarantees like that of any other contract, and the breach of which it makes public, should it take place by the wish of the parties interested. on the other hand, the education of the rising generation is a question of life and death to society. the children being free with respect to development, and liable to be useful or injurious to their fellow citizens according to the training which they have received, society has a right to watch over them, to secure their material support, their moral future, to fix the age of marriage, to entrust the children to the more deserving parent in case of separation, and if both are unworthy, to take them away entirely. reader. do you not go a little too far; on the one hand, do not children belong to their parents, on the other, may not society err with respect to the choice of the principles to be instilled in them? author. children do not belong to their parents because they are not things: to those who obstinately persist in believing them _property_, we say that society has the right of dispossession for the public good. then the social right over children is limited so far as principles are concerned to those of morality. society has no right over religious beliefs which belong to the domain of spiritual jurisdiction. the power that should take away children from their parents because they were not of a certain religious faith would be guilty of despotism, and would merit universal execration. if you say that society has no right to impose a dogma upon children, you speak truly; but i cannot conceive how you can entertain the thought of forbidding it the right to teach them, even against the will of their parents, enlightening science, purifying morality. is it not the duty of society to secure the progress of its members, and can any one have a right to keep a human being in ignorance and evil? reader. you are right, and i condemn myself. let us return to marriage. i see with pleasure that you differ in opinion from a number of modern innovators who deny the lawfulness of social interference in the union of the sexes. author. if the union were without protection, who would suffer by it? not men, but rather women and children. no one can compel a man to live with a woman whom he has ceased to love; but he must be constrained to fulfill his duties with respect to the children born of this union, and to keep his business engagements: in wronging his companion and escaping from the burdens of paternity, he takes advantage of his liberty to the detriment of others: society has a right to prevent this. reader. so you do not grant to society the right of binding souls or bodies; but that of guaranteeing the contract of marriage, and the obligations of the spouses towards their future children; of forcing them, in case of separation, to fulfill this last obligation? author. yes; thus in case of the rupture of the marriage tie, society has only to state publicly the responsibilities of the spouses, the number of children, and the name of the parent on whom their guardianship devolves, either by mutual consent or by social authority. and in confining itself to this part, society would do more to prevent the separation of married couples than by all that it has hitherto foolishly invented for the purpose. the parties would be free to marry again; but what woman would be willing to unite herself to a man who was burdened with several children, or who had treated his first companion unkindly? what man would consent to wed a woman in the same position? do you not think that the difficulty that would be experienced in contracting a new marriage would be a curb on the inconstancy and bad conduct that lead to a rupture? reader. i believe indeed that marriage, as you understand it, would have more chances of duration than ours: first, because it is our nature to cling most closely to that which we may lose. i have often asked myself why many men remain faithful to their mistresses and treat them kindly, while they are disrespectful and unfaithful to their wives; i have asked myself also why many couples who had long lived happily together when voluntarily united, were unhappy and often driven to a legal separation when they had finally married; and the only reason that i have been able to find is that we set the most value on that which we know may escape us. man has more respect for a woman who is not his legal property, his inferior, than for her who is thus transformed by the law. notwithstanding, it must be acknowledged that your ideas appear eccentric. author. yet they are nothing more than an application of our laws; indeed, do they not decree that covenants can have _things_ only, not _persons_ for their object. that society _does not recognize vows_, and that proceedings cannot be instituted against their violation? now the existing law of marriage _alienates_ one of the partners in favor of the other; the wife _belongs_ to the husband; she is in his _power_. what is such a contract, if not the violation of the principle which affirms that no covenant can be made involving persons? can it be more lawful to alienate one's person by a contract of slavery? some say that we are at liberty to dispose of our freedom as we choose, even though it be to renounce it. indeed, we may do this, as we may commit suicide, but to make use of our liberty to renounce it or to commit suicide is much less to use aright than to violate the laws of moral or physical nature; these are acts of insanity which we should pity, but which we are not at liberty to erect into a law. why does society refuse to recognize vows and to punish their violation, if not because it admits that it is forbidden to penetrate into the jurisdiction of the conscience? if not because it does not admit that an individual may alienate his moral and intellectual being any more than his body, and devote himself to immobility when it is his duty, on the contrary, to go forward? i ask then if this same society is not inconsistent in exacting perpetual vows from the husband and wife, in exacting from the wife a vow of obedience, a tacit vow to deliver up her person to the desires of the husband? is not the moral liberty of the spouses as worthy of respect as that of nuns, priests and monks? have married persons more right in nature and reason, to alienate their moral and intellectual being, their liberty and their person than the celibates of the church? another inconsistency of the law is that it declares marriage an association; the contract of marriage is therefore a contract of partnership. now i ask whether, in a single contract of this kind, it is enjoined by law on one of the partners to _obey_, to be subjected to a _perpetual minority_, to be _absorbed_? i doubt not that the law would declare such a contract between independent partners void; why then does it legalize such a monstrosity in the partnership of husband and wife? it is a relic of barbarism, as you will see if you reflect on it. reader. i hope that, through reason and necessity, the law will be reformed sooner or later: but a reformation which will not take place is that of the forms of religious marriage, which prescribe to the spouses the same oaths as the code, and like it, subject the wife to the husband. author. well, what matters it to us, since, thanks to liberty, the religious marriage is merely a benediction with which we can dispense. those who have a disposition to go to the church, the temple, or the synagogue should have full liberty to receive the blessing of their respective priests! this does not concern society. what we need is that, if afterward their vows should not seem to them binding, social authority should not make them obligatory; they have a right to be absurd, but society has no right to impose absurdity on them. its duty is, on the contrary, to enlighten them, and to render them free. iv. reader. those who subordinate woman in marriage rest on the assertion that unity of direction, consequently a ruling power, is needed in the family; now, your theory evidently destroys this ruling power. author. what is the ruling power? practically, it is manifested through the function of government. formerly, it was based upon two principles, now recognized as radically false: _divine right_ and _inequality_. it was the _right_ of those who exercised it to call themselves kings, autocrats, priests, men; it was the _duty_ therefore of the people, the church, woman to obey the elect of god, their superiors by the grace of right delegated from on high. but in modern opinion, the ruling power is nothing more than a function delegated by the parties interested in order to execute their will. it is not our business to inquire here whether this modern interpretation has become incarnated in facts; whether the old principle is not still struggling with the new; whether the holders of political and familial authority are not still making insane pretensions to divine right; we have only to show what the notion of the ruling power has become in the present state of thought and feeling. what will be the ruling power in marriage, in accordance with modern opinion, if not the delegation by one spouse to the other of the management of business and of the family--a delegation of function; no longer a right? and if man and woman are socially equal in principle, if the aptitudes, upon which all functions are based, are not dependent on sex, by what right does society interfere to give the authority either to the husband or the wife? if there is need of a ruling power in the household, are not the parties themselves best capable of bestowing it on the one who can best and most usefully exercise it? but among partners, is there really room for a ruling power? no, there is room only for division of labor, mutual understanding with respect to common interests. to consult each other, to come to an agreement, to divide the tasks, to remain master each of his own department; this is what the spouses should do, and what they do in general. the law has so little part in our customs that to-day things happen in this wise: many rich women translate two articles of the code as follows; _the husband shall obey his wife, and shall follow her wherever she sees fit to dwell or sojourn_. and the husbands obey, because it would not do to offend a wife with a large dowry; because it would make a scandal to thwart their wife; because they need her, being unable, without dishonoring themselves, to keep a mistress. husbands in the great centres of population escape obedience through love outside of marriage; they lay no restrictions on their part; madame is free. among the working classes of the citizens and the people, it is practically admitted that neither shall command, and that the husband shall do nothing without consulting his wife and obtaining her consent. in all classes, if any husband is simple enough to take his pretended right in earnest, he is cited as a bad man, an intolerable despot whom his wife may hate and deceive with a safe conscience; and it is a curious fact that the greater part of the legal separations are for no other cause at the bottom than the exercise of the rights and prerogatives conceded to the husbands by law. i ask you now, what is the use of maintaining against reason and custom, an authority which does not exist, or which is transferred to the spouse condemned to subjection. reader. on this point, i am wholly of your opinion; not a single woman of modern times takes the rights of her husband in earnest. but your theory not only attacks his authority; it also wages war against the indissolubility of marriage, which it is affirmed, is necessary to the dignity of this tie; to the happiness and future of the children, to the morality of the family. author. i claim, on the contrary, that my theory secures, as far as is humanly possible, the perpetuity and purity of marriage. at present, when the knot is tied, the spouses, no longer fearing to lose each other, find in the absence of this fear the germ of a mutual coolness; they may quarrel, be discourteous or unfaithful to each other; there will be scandal, a legal separation perhaps, but they are riveted together; they can never become strangers. contrast with this picture a household in which the bond is dissoluble; all is changed; the despotic or brutal husband represses his evil propensities, because he knows that his companion, whom after all he loves, would quit him and transfer to another the attentions she lavishes on him; and that no honest woman would be willing to take her place. the husband disposed to be unfaithful would continue in the path of duty, because his abandonment and offences would alienate his wife, blast his reputation, and prevent him from forming an honorable alliance. the worn out profligate would no longer espouse the dowry of a young girl, because he would know that, promptly disenchanted, the young wife, instead of having recourse to adultery, would break the ill assorted union. the woman who should take advantage of her dowry, of the necessity of her husband to remain faithful, to tyrannise over him, would fear a divorce which would throw the blame on her and condemn her to a life of solitude. a shrewish wife would no longer dare to inflict suffering on her husband, or a coquette to deceive or torment him; who would marry them after a separation? do you not see that free marriages are happier and more lasting than any others? have you not yourself admitted that to separate the parties in these unions, it often suffices to join them legally? i know myself of a voluntary union that was very happy during _twenty-two_ years, and was dissolved by separation at the end of three years of legal marriage; i have known of many others of a shorter duration which legality contributed to dissolve instead of rendering eternal. you would hardly believe how many married couples reformed in their treatment of each other in 1848, when they feared that the law of divorce might be accepted. if the simple expedient of divorce has power to produce good results, what may not be expected from a rational law. we need only to reflect in order to comprehend that voluntary dissolubility, without social intervention, would render unions better assorted, for it would be for one's interest, for his own reputation, to enter into them only with the moral conviction of being able to preserve them; then only would no excuse be found for infidelity; loyalty would make part of the relations of the spouses. the law of perpetuity has perverted everything, corrupted everything; on the side of the woman, it favors, yes, necessitates stratagem; on the side of the man, it favors brutality and despotism; it provokes on both sides adultery, poisoning and assassination; and leads to those separations which are daily increasing in number, and which, by giving the lie to the indissolubility of marriage, place the partners in a painful and perilous situation, and bring in their train a host of irregularities. in fact, if the spouses are separated while young, concubinage is their refuge. the man in this false position finds many to excuse him; but the woman is forced to conceal herself, to tremble at the thought of a pregnancy and to make it disappear. legal separation leads the spouses not only to concubinage, to mutual hatred, but causes the birth of thousands of children whose future is compromised, destroyed by the fact of their illegitimacy. let the spouses be free in accordance with their right, and all will fall into its proper order, for all will be done openly and truly. reader. but the future of the children? author. the morality of the children is better insured under the system of liberty than under that of indissolubility, for they will not be witnesses for years of the bitter contention and licentiousness which now render them deceitful and vicious, and inspire them with contempt or hatred for one of the authors of their being, sometimes of both, when they do not take them for models; if life in common becomes impossible to the parents, which will be more rare under the law of liberty, the children will not be subjected to the power of those who violate the law of received morality; they may see these parents contract a new alliance _as now_, but this alliance will be honored by all. from these unions children may be born _as now_, but these children, instead of being cast into the hospital, will share with the first the affection and inheritance of their father or mother. the so-styled legitimate children will lose in fortune, it is true; but they will gain in good examples; many children who are now in the category of the illegitimate will be ranked among the former, and will be no longer condemned by desertion to die young, or else to grovel in ignorance, vice and misery; to see their brow branded with the fault of their parents as of their own by a host of imbeciles and men without heart, who have no other guarantee for what they call their legitimacy than the presumption accorded them by the law. iii. reader. it will be long yet, perhaps, before collective reason comprehends liberty in the union of the sexes as you do, and men will ascribe to themselves the right not only of binding the interests, but the souls and bodies of the spouses. author. as far as we can foresee, society must necessarily? pass through two stages to realize our opinion; it must first grant divorce _for a declared cause_; later it will grant divorce decreed in private on the petition of one or both of the spouses. we will not take up this last form of the rupture of the conjugal tie, but that which is nearest us--divorce for a declared cause. what are the reasons which you would consider valid for a petition for divorce? reader. first, those which now give rise to separation from bed and board: adultery of the wife, cruelty, grave abuses, condemnation of one of the spouses to punishment affecting the liberty or person, the fraudulent management of the property by the husband; next, infidelity of the husband, qualified adultery, incompatibility of temper, notable vices, such as drunkenness, gaming, etc. author. very well; these causes suffice. reader. during the proceedings for divorce, the wife should be as free as the husband. the child that should be born to her after more than ten months' separation should be reputed natural, even though the divorce had not been pronounced; and should bear her name and inherit from her like one of her legitimate children. author. who should take custody of the children and the property during the proceedings? reader. the court should decide who should have the care of the children, in accordance with the causes for the petition for divorce and the testimony of the parents, friends and neighbors. author. but if the spouses ask to be divorced only on account of incompatibility of temper, and are both honorable? reader. they should be requested to agree mutually either to share the children, or to entrust them to one of the two, or to give the younger children to the mother, leaving the sons over fifteen to the father. the court, besides, should appoint from the family of the mother, a guardian to watch over the conduct of the father towards the children left in his care; and from the family of the father, a similar guardian to the mother and the children remaining with her. this guardianship, which should be strictly moral, should continue till the children had attained majority. author. and in case the parents should be alike unworthy? reader. in such a case, which would seldom happen, the judge, in behalf of society, should deprive them of the custody of the children, and entrust it to a member of the family of one of the parents, appointing a guardian to watch over his conduct and protect the interests of his ward from the family of the other. author. very well; i see with pleasure that you are cured of the erroneous belief that the children _belong_ to the parents, and that you comprehend the high function of society as the protector of minors. during the suit for divorce, who shall have the control of the property? reader. if the contract has been made under the system of separation of property, and for paraphernalia, there is no need of putting the question; each one will manage his own. but i am somewhat puzzled how to answer you in case of communion of goods, or in case the capital is embarked in a common business, carried on solely by one of the parties. the present law does not seem to me sufficiently to protect the interests of the wife in case of separation. author. without entangling ourselves in a host of individual cases which modify or contradict each other, let us provide that in case of communion of goods, the administration of the property shall be taken from the spouse holding it if the petition for divorce be based on his bad management, his dissipated habits, or his condemnation to a penalty affecting his liberty or person; that in all other cases, he shall make an inventory of the property and the condition of the business; and a person shall be appointed from the family of the spouse excluded from the management to watch over the conduct of the spouse to whom it is entrusted, who shall be bound to pay alimony to the other until the divorce shall be decreed. reader. and if there is no fortune? author. until the spouses become strangers, they owe assistance to each other: the court should therefore require the spouse that earns the more to aid the other. reader. how long a time should elapse between the admission of the petition and the judgment of divorce? author. a year, in order that the parties may have time for reflection. reader. the divorce being granted, and the ex-partners restored to liberty, would you permit them to marry others? author. most assuredly; else what signifies our arguments against separation? reader. what! the adulterous and brutal spouse, he who has inflicted suffering on his partner, who has been wholly in the wrong, should enjoy like the other the privilege of marrying again? i confess that this shocks me. author. because you are not sufficiently imbued with the doctrines of liberty and the sentiment of right. marriage is the natural right of every adult; society has no right therefore to prohibit it or to make it a privilege; on the other hand, in every divorce, there is wrong or the lack of something on either side with respect to the other; the man or woman who commits adultery may be a model of fidelity to a partner better suited to his or her temperament and disposition; he who has been brutal and violent may be wholly different with a wife possessing a different character; in short, we repeat, to prohibit marriage is to permit libertinism, and it is not the interest of society to pervert itself. both partners therefore should have a right to marry, but the law should take care that all should be informed of the burdens resting upon them by reason of their first marriage, and know that they are divorced. consequently, society has a right to publish the bill of divorce, and to require that the parties divorced should provide for the necessities of their minor children, and that the bill of divorce, joined to the one setting forth this obligation, should accompany the publication of the bans of a new marriage; in this, there is neither injustice nor abuse of power; for each one will submit to the consequence of what he has done in perfect freedom. reader. and would you not fix the number of times that a divorced person might re-marry? author. why fix it? do you fix the number of times that a widow or widower may marry again? reader. but a libertine, a bad man might marry ten times, and thus render ten women unhappy. author. what are you talking of! do you seriously believe that there would be a woman insane enough to marry a man _nine times_ divorced, a man obliged to accompany the publication of his bans with nine bills of divorce, with nine judgements compelling him to pay so much yearly for the support of seven, eight or nine children. do you seriously believe that a woman would consent to become the companion of such a man! this man might indeed marry twice--but three times! do you think that it would be possible? reader. you are right, and on reflection, the measures which you advocate appear perhaps severe. author. i know it; but our aim is not to favor divorces nor subsequent unions; but, on the contrary, to prevent the former as far as possible by the difficulties of forming the latter. now for this it is not necessary to restrict the liberty of the individual, but to render him responsible for his acts, and to rivet the chain that he has forged for himself in such a manner that he can neither cast it aside nor lay the burden of it on others unless they are duly warned of it and consent thereto. iv. reader. ought society to permit unions disproportioned in age? is it not to expose a woman to adultery, to marry her at seventeen or eighteen to a man of thirty, forty or even fifty years of age? what harmony of sentiments and views can exist at that time between the spouses? the wife sees in her husband a sort of father, whom notwithstanding she can neither love nor respect like a father, and she remains a minor all her life. author. these unions are very prejudicial to woman and the race, and they would be for the most part averted, if the law should fix the marriageable age at twenty-four or twenty-five for both sexes. at seventeen, we marry to be called madame, and to wear a bridal dress and a wreath of orange flowers; we certainly should not do this at twenty-five. if the flower is not called on to form its fruit until it is fully matured, neither should man and woman: now, in our climate the organization of neither is complete until twenty-four or twenty-five. woman gives more to the great work of reproduction and wears out faster in it; to render her liable to become a mother prematurely is therefore to expose her to greater sufferings. in the first place, she is forced to share between herself and her offspring the elements necessary to her own nutrition, which weakens both her and the child. her development is checked, her constitution is changed, she becomes predisposed to uterine affections, and runs the risk of becoming an invalid at the age when she ought to enjoy robust health. the enervation of the body brings with it that of the mind: the woman becomes nervous, irritable, and often capricious; she cannot nurse her children; she will not be capable of rearing them properly, she will make dolls of them, and will favor the development of faults which afterwards becoming vices, will afflict the family and society. this woman, a mother before her time, not only will never become the thoughtful companion and counsellor of her husband who, being much older than she, will amuse himself with her as with a child, but will be his ward for her whole life, and will have recourse to artifice to have her own way. thus to weaken woman in every respect, to shorten her life, to put her under guardianship, to prepare the way for puny and badly reared offspring,--such are the most obvious results of her precocious marriage. to hold women in voluntary subjection and to organize the harem among us, we need only take advantage of the permission of the law authorising their marriage at the age of fifteen. that woman may not be in subjection; that she may be able to become a mother without detriment to her health and under circumstances favorable to the good organization of her children; that she may be a worthy and earnest wife, prepared to fulfill all her duties, she must not be married, i repeat, before twenty-four or twenty-five; and she must not marry a man older than herself. reader. but it is claimed that the husband ought to be ten years older than the wife, because the latter grows old faster, and because it is necessary that the husband should have had experience in life in order to appreciate his wife and to render her happy. author. errors and prejudices all. woman grows old sooner than man only through premature marriage and maternity; a well preserved man and woman are alike old at the same age. but the woman consents to grow old while the man is much less willing to do so, since he does not blush when gray haired, to marry a young girl, and to set up the ridiculous pretention of being loved by her for love. men must be broken of the habit of believing themselves perpetually at the age of pleasing; of imagining that they are quite as agreeable to our eyes when they are old and ugly as if they were adonises. they must be told unceasingly that what is unbecoming in us is equally so in them; and that an old woman would be no more ridiculous in seeking the love of a young man, than an old man in pretending to that of a young girl. the husband and wife should be nearly of the same age; first, to treat each other more easily as equals; next, because there will be more harmony in their feelings and views, as well as in their temperaments, all things very necessary to the organization of children. it is necessary besides, in order that the woman may not be tempted to infidelity; you know how many troubles arise from unions disproportioned in age. the husband must have _seen life_, it is said; this is the opinion of those who permit their sons to _sow their wild oats_; who believe that man is at liberty to wallow in the mire of dens of infamy, and that there are two kinds of morality. we do not belong to this class. you would not give your daughter to a man who had _seen life_, because he would be _blasé_, because he would pervert her or expose her, through the disenchantment that would follow, to seek in another what she did not find in her husband. what we have said as regards your daughter applies also to your son; he must not marry a woman younger than himself; for you would no more desire a disadvantageous position for your daughter-in-law than for your daughter; both are dear to you and worthy of respect before the solidarity of sex. reader. i shall educate my son to comprehend that the form of marriage prescribed by the code is merely a relic of barbarism, that his wife owes obedience only to duty, that she is a free being and his equal; and that he has no rights over her person but those which she herself accords to him. i shall tell him that love is a tender plant which must be tended carefully to keep it alive; that it is blighted by unceremoniousness and slovenliness; that he should therefore be as careful of his personal appearance after marriage as he was to be pleasing to the eyes of his betrothed. i shall say to him: ask nothing except from the love of your wife; remember that more than one husband has excited repulsion by the brutality of the wedding night. marriage, my son, is a grave and holy thing; purity is its choicest jewel; know that many men have owed the adultery of their wife to the deplorable pains that they have taken to deprave her imagination. far from using your influence over her who will be the half of yourself in order to render her docile to your wishes, and to make her your echo, develop reason and character in her; in elevating her, you will become better, and will prepare for yourself a counsel and stay. i have married you under the system of separation of goods in order that your wife may be protected against you, should you depart from your principles; and should you ever grieve me by straying from them, your wife will became doubly my daughter. i shall be her companion and consoler, and shall close my arms and my doors on you. author. right, and you will do well to add: interest your wife in your occupation; take care that she is always busy, for labor is the preserver of chastity. reader. to my daughter i will say: the social order in which we live requires, my child, that you shall superintend your house; the state of society is still far distant in which our sex will be relieved from this function. do not forget that the prosperity of the family depends on the spirit of order and economy of the wife. what your fortune or special business exempts you from executing, superintend and direct. extravagance of dress and furniture now surpasses all bounds. luxury is not wrong in itself, but in the existing state of things, it is a great relative evil, for we have not yet resolved the problem of increasing and varying products without at the same time increasing the wretchedness and debasement of their producers. be simple therefore: this does not exclude elegance, but only those piles of silks and laces which trail in the dust of the streets, those diamonds and precious stones which make the fortune of the few at the expense of the morality of the many, and which are only dead capital, the liberation of which would be productive of great good. do not suffer yourself to be ensnared by the sophism that honest women must adorn themselves to hinder men from passing their time with courtesans. would you not be ashamed to compete in dress with women whom you do not esteem, and would the man who could be retained by such means be worth the trouble? i have instructed you in your legal position as wife, mother and property holder; i marry you under the system of separation of goods in order to spare your husband the temptation of regarding himself as your master; in order that he may be obliged to take your advice and to look upon you as his partner. despite these precautions, you will be a minor, since the law thus decrees. but our law is not reason: never forget that you are a human being; that is, a being endowed like your husband with intellect, sentiments, free will, and inclination; that you owe submission only to reason and your conscience; that if it is your duty to make sacrifices to the peace in little things, and to tolerate the faults of your husband as he should tolerate yours, it is none the less your duty resolutely to resist a brutal--_i will have it so_. you will be a mother, i hope; nurse your children yourself, rear them in the principles of right and duty which i have instilled into your intellect and heart, in order to make of them, not only just, good, chaste men and women, but laborers in the great work of progress. you understand the great destiny of our species; you understand your rights and duties; i need not therefore repeat to you that woman is no more made for man than man for woman; that consequently woman cannot, without failing in her duty, become lost and absorbed in man; for with him, she should love her children, her country, humanity; she owes more to her children than she does to him; and if forced to choose between family interests and generous sentiments of a higher order woman should no more hesitate than should man to sacrifice the former to justice. author. it will be said that you instruct your daughter in a very manly way. reader. since in our days men play the mandolin, is it not necessary that women should speak seriously? since men, in the name of their naïve selfishness, claim the right to confiscate woman to their use, to extol to her the charms of the gyneceum, to suppress her rights, and to preach to her the sweets of absorption, must not women re-act against these soporific doctrines, and recall their daughters to the sentiment of dignity and individuality. author. i endorse you with all my heart! now that we are nearly agreed on all points, we have only to sum up what we have said, and to give an outline of the principal reforms necessary to be wrought in order that woman my be placed in a position more in conformity with right and justice. summary of proposed reforms. i. author. identity of right being based on identity of species, and woman being of the same species as man, what ought she to be before civil dignity, in the employment of her activity and in marriage? reader. the equal of man. author. how will she become the equal of man in civil dignity? reader. when she shall hold a place on the jury and by the side of all civil functionaries; shall be a member of boards of trade and mercantile associations; and shall be a witness in all cases in which the testimony of man is required. author. why ought the testimony of woman to be admitted in all cases in which that of man is required? reader. because woman is as credible as man; because she is, like him, a civil personage. author. why ought woman to have a place on the jury? reader. because the code declaring her the equal of man as regards culpability, misdemeanor, crime and punishment, she is thus declared capable like him of comprehending wrong in others; because the jury being a guarantee for the male culprit, the female culprit should have a similar guarantee; because if the _male_ criminal is better comprehended by men, the _female_ criminal will be better comprehended by women; because society in its aggregate being offended by the crime, it is necessary that this society, composed of two sexes, should be represented by both to judge and to condemn it. because, lastly, where the moral sense is concerned, the feminine element is the more necessary inasmuch as men claim that our sex is in general more moral and more merciful than their own. author. why ought woman to hold a place among civil functionaries? reader. because society, represented by these functionaries, is composed of two sexes; because even now in a number of public functions, there is a department more especially belonging to woman; because, in the ceremony of the marriage celebration for instance, if woman does not appear as magistrate, not only is society insufficiently represented, but the wife may regard herself as delivered up to the power of a man by all the men of the country. author. why ought woman to have her place in boards of trade and mercantile associations? reader. because she shares equally in industrial production; because she shares equally in commerce; because she understands business transactions and contracts as well if not better than man; because, in all questions of interests, she should be her own representative. author. when will woman become the equal of man in the employment of her activity and of her other faculties? reader. when she shall have colleges, academies and schools for special instruction, and when all vocations shall be accessible to her. author. why ought women to receive the same national education as men? reader. because they exercise a vast influence over the ideas, sentiments and conduct of men, and because it is for the interest of society that this influence should be salutary; because it is for the interest of all to enlarge the views and elevate the sentiments of women, in order that they may use their natural ascendency for the advancement of progress, of truth, of good, of moral beauty; because woman has a right, like man, to cultivate her intellect, and to acquire the knowledge bestowed by the state; because, lastly, as she pays her part of the expenses of national education, it is robbery to prohibit her from participating in it. author. why ought woman to be admitted to academies and professional schools? reader. because society, not having a right to deny the existence of any aptitude among its members, has consequently no right to prevent those who claim to possess them from cultivating them, nor to lock up from them the treasures of science and practice which are at its disposal. because there are women who are born chemists, physicians, mathematicians, etc., and because these women have a right to find in social institutions the same resources as man for the cultivation of their aptitudes; because there are professions practised by women who need the instruction that is interdicted them. author. why ought every field of occupation to be accessible to woman? reader. because woman is a free being, whose vocation no one has a right to contest or to restrict; because she, no more than man, will enter vocations forbidden her by temperament, lack of aptitude or want of time; and it is therefore quite as unnecessary to interdict them to her as to those men who are unfit to enter them. author. do you not even interdict to her those vocations in which strength is needed, or which are attended with danger? reader. women are not forbidden to be carpenters or tilers, yet they do not become such, because their nature opposes it; it is precisely because nature does oppose it, that i think society unreasonable in meddling with the nature. there is no need to prohibit what is impossible; and if what has been declared impossible is done, it is because it is possible: now society has no right to prohibit what is possible to any of its members; this appears even absurd where vocation is in question. author. let each one follow his private occupation at his own risk and peril, then; but are there not certain public functions which are not suitable for women? reader. no one knows this, since they are not open for her admission; and, were it so, the prohibition would be useless: competition would show the falsity of ill-founded pretentions. author. when will woman become the equal of man in marriage? reader. when the person of the wife is not pledged in marriage; when the engagements are reciprocal, and when the wife is not treated as a minor and absorbed in the husband. and this should be so: because it is not allowable to alienate one's personality, such an alienation, being _immoral_ and _void_ of itself; because the wife being a distinct individual, cannot be actually absorbed by the husband, and a law is absurd when it rests on a fiction and supposes an impossibility; because, in fine, woman, being the equal of man before society, cannot, under any pretext, lose this equality by reason of a closer association with him. author. there are two questions in marriage, aside from that of the person--property and children. do you not think that the married woman ought, like the unmarried woman who has attained majority, to be mistress of her property, to be free to exercise any profession that suits her, and to be at liberty to sell, to buy, to give, to receive, and to institute suits at law? reader. the married man having all these rights, it is evident that the married woman ought to have them under the law of equality. are you not of the same opinion? author. in all partnerships, we pledge a portion of our liberty on certain points agreed upon. now the husband and wife are partners; they cannot therefore be as perfectly free with respect to each other as though they were strangers; but it is necessary, we repeat, that their position should be the same and their pledges mutual. if the wife can neither sell, nor alienate, nor give, nor receive, nor appear in court without the consent of the husband, it is not allowable for the husband to do these things without the consent of the wife; if the wife is not permitted to practise a profession without the consent of the husband, the husband is not at liberty to do so without the consent of the wife; if the wife cannot pledge the common property without authority from the husband, the husband cannot pledge it without the consent of the wife. i go further; i would not willingly permit the wife, before the age of twenty-five, to give her husband authority to alienate anything belonging to one of the two; the husband has too much influence over her for her to be really free before this age. reader. but what if one of the parties through caprice or evil motives is unwilling that the other should do something that is proper and advantageous? author. arbiters are frequently chosen in the differences that arise between partners in business; society, represented by the judicial power, is the general arbiter between the husband and wife; still we think that it would be well to establish between them a perpetual arbiter, holding the first degree of jurisdiction: this might be the family council, organized differently from the present. before this confidential tribunal, better fitted than any other to understand the case, the husband and wife should carry, not only the differences arising between them concerning questions of interests, but those relating to the education, profession and marriage of the children. this tribunal should give the first judgment, and much scandal would be avoided by its decisions, from which besides one could always appeal to the social court. i need not add that the right of the father and the mother over the children is absolutely equal, and that, if the right of either could be contested, it would not be that of the mother, who alone can say, i _know_, i am _certain_ that these children are mine. reader. in fact, it is odious that the plenitude of right should be found on the side of the mere legal presumption, the act of faith, uncertainty. regarding marriage as a partnership of equals, do you not think that it would be well to mark this equality and the distinction of personalities in the name borne by the spouses and their children? author. certainly, on the day of marriage each of the spouses should join his partner's name to his own; this is done already in certain cantons of switzerland, and even in france, among a few individuals. the children should bear the double name of their parents until marriage, when the daughters should keep the mother's name, and the sons the father's; or else, if we wish to bring into the question the system of liberty, it might be decreed that, on attaining majority, the child himself should choose which of the two names he would bear and transmit. ii. reader. now, let us take up the political right. author. a nation is an association of free and equal individuals, co-operating, by their labor and contributions, to the maintenance of the common work; they have an incontestible right to do whatever is necessary to protect their persons, their rights and their property from injury. man has political rights because he is free and the equal of his co-partners; according to others, because he is a producer and a tax-payer; now, woman being, through identity of species, free and the equal of man; being in point of fact, a producer and a tax-payer; and having the same general instincts as man, it is evident that she has the same political rights as he. such are the principles, let us proceed to the application. we have said elsewhere, that it is not enough that a thing should be true in an absolute sense; it is necessary under penalty of transforming good into evil, to take into account the surroundings into which we seek to introduce it; this men too often forget, the _practical_ truth in our question is that it is profitable to recognize political rights _only to the extent to which it is demanded_, because those who do not demand it are intellectually incapable of making use of it, and because if they should exercise it, in a majority of cases, it would be against their own interests; prudence exacts that we should be sure that the possessor of a right is really emancipated, and that he will not be the blind tool of a man or a party. now, in the existing state of affairs, women not only do not demand their political rights, but laugh at those who address them on the subject; they pride themselves on being thought unfit for that which regards general interests; they recognize themselves therefore as incapable. on the other hand, they are minors civilly, slaves of prejudice, deprived of general education, submissive for the most part to the influence of their husbands, lovers or confessors, clinging as a majority to the ways of the past. if therefore they should enter without preparation into political life, they would either duplicate men or cause humanity to retrograde. you comprehend now why many women who are more capable than an infinite number of men of coöperating in great political acts, choose rather to renounce them than to compromise the cause of progress by the extension of political right to all women. reader. personally, i am of your opinion; but it is necessary to foresee and to refute the objections that may be made to you by very intelligent women; these women will say, reflect, the negation of right is iniquitous, for it is the negation of equality and of human nature. it is as false as dangerous to lay down the principle of the recognition of right only to the extent in which it is claimed; for it is notorious that slaves are not the ones in general to demand their own rights; your affirmation therefore condemns the emancipation of slaves and serfs, and universal suffrage. the objection that you raise against the right on account of the incapacity of women and the low use which they would make of it, might apply quite as well to men who are scarcely more fully emancipated than they; who are often the duplicate of their wife or confessor, or who have no other opinion than that of their electoral committee. in right, as in everything else, an apprenticeship is necessary: woman will make use of it at first badly, then better, then well; for we learn to play on an instrument much more quickly by using it than by learning its theory. the exercise of right gives elevation and dignity, elevates the individual in his own esteem, and causes him to study questions which he would have neglected had he not been obliged to examine them in order to concur in and resolve them. do you wish women to take to heart matters of general interest? then give them political right. these objections, may be raised against you. author. they were raised against me in 1848 by a number of eminent women, and by many men devoted to the triumph of the new principles. i answered them then and i answer them again to-day: we should speedily agree, if our modern society were not the scene of conflict between two diametrically opposite principles. the question is not to decide whether political right belongs to woman, whether she would develop it, enlarge it, etc., but rather whether she would use it to ensure the triumph of the principle that says to humanity, advance! or of that which gives as the word of command, retreat! what is the end of political right? evidently, to accomplish a great duty in the direction of progress. well, is it not dangerous to accord it to those who would employ it against this end? what! you struggle for right, in order to obtain the triumph of a holy cause, yet feel no hesitation in according it to those who would certainly make use of right to kill right! you reproach me for acting like the jesuits, who value justice much less than expediency. well, gentlemen, if you had had half their ability, you would have been successful long ago. like true savages, you would think yourselves dishonored by possessing prudence and practical sense, by offering yourselves to battle otherwise than with naked bodies; this may be very fine, very courageous--but as to being sensible, that is another thing. i am not guilty of the crime of denying right, since i do not deny it; i only desire that it shall not be demanded since this would be suicidal, i do not lay down the principle that _every kind_ of right should be recognized only to the extent in which it is claimed, since i speak to you of political rights alone; there are rights which make their own demand, such as those of living, of development, of enjoyment, of the fruit of one's labor, and it is shameful for society not to recognize them to their full extent. but we awaken later to the sentiment of civil right, and still later to that of political right; take the logical advance of humanity into account therefore and do not remain in the absolute. i know that my objection on the score of the incapacity of women is quite as applicable to that of men; but is it a reason, because you have admitted the right of the ignorant masses of men who had not demanded it, to show yourselves equally unwise with respect to women who are in the same position? i will correct myself, gentlemen, of what you term my _aristocratic_ spirit, when i see your political freedmen comprehending the tendencies of civilization, and making use of their right to drive the abettors of the past to despair by promoting the triumph of liberty and equality. until then, permit me to keep my opinion. and i have kept my opinion, which is this: the exercise of political right is a means of reform and progress, only if those who enjoy it believe in progress and are anxious for reforms: in the opposite case, the popular vote can be nothing but the expression of prejudices, errors and passions--instead of learning to exercise it through the use of it, as it is urged, they employ it simply to cut their own fingers. reader. may it not be objected that, in accordance with your theory of right, all being equal, no one can arrogate to himself the function of distributing rights? author. theory is the ideal towards which practice should tend; if we had not this ideal, we could not know by what principle to guide ourselves; but in social _reality_, there are individuals who have attained majority, and others who, being minors, are destined to attain it. if i should assert that those who have attained majority can rightfully accord or refuse right to the minors, i should depart essentially from my principles; it is by the _law_, which is the expression of the conscience of those most advanced, while waiting till it shall be the conscience of all, that political majority is decreed and that its conditions are established. the right is virtual in each of us; no one therefore has the right to give it, to take it away, or to contest it; it is recognized when we are in a condition to exercise and to demand it; and we prove that we are in a condition to exercise it when we satisfy the conditions fixed by the law. reader. what should be these conditions for the enjoyment of political right, in your opinion? author. twenty-five years of age; and a certificate attesting that the individual knows how to read, write and reckon, that he possesses an elementary knowledge of the history and geography of his country; together with a correct theory with respect to right and duty, and the destiny of humanity upon earth. the knowledge of a small volume would be sufficient, as you see, to enable every man and woman, twenty-five years of age and healthy in mind, to enjoy political rights, after having been subjected to an initiation by the enjoyment of civil rights. but, i ask you, what could those do with political right who confound liberty with license, who scarcely know the meaning of the words right and duty, and who are even incapable of writing their own vote! men have their rights, let them keep them! a right once admitted cannot be taken away: let them render themselves fit to exercise them. as to women, let them first emancipate themselves civilly and become educated: their turn will come. reader. it is very important that men should comprehend that you do not deny, but merely postpone the political rights of our sex. author. be easy; they will comprehend it rightly; they will not mistake counsel dictated by prudence for an acknowledgement of inferiority and a resignation of functions. iii. reader. will you now state the legal reforms which we should demand successively. author. so far as civil life is concerned, we should ask: that a woman who is a foreigner may be able to become naturalized in a country otherwise than by marriage. that woman shall not lose her nationality by the same sacrament. that woman be admitted to sign, as a witness, all certificates of social condition, with all others that have been hitherto interdicted to her. you know that already, in derogation of the law, midwives sign certificates of birth of unacknowledged natural children, and that, in certain notarial documents, drawn up by justices of the peace, to attest to a fact in the absence of written evidence, the testimony of women is admitted. we demand that tradeswomen and merchant women shall form a part of the boards of trade; that in every criminal trial, women shall be placed on the jury: that to women shall be entrusted the management and superintendence of hospitals, prisons for women, and charitable associations. that in every district, a woman shall be appointed to superintend girls' schools, infant asylums, and nurses. you know that women are already filling public employments in derogation of the law, since the teaching and inspection of girls' schools, and other asylums, are entrusted to them, and since women keep post-offices, stamp offices, etc. reader. this regards civil right in general; what reforms shall we demand concerning married women? author. that the conjugal abode shall be that which is inhabited by the husband and wife _together_, no longer by the man alone. that the articles shall be suppressed which command the wife to obey her husband, and to follow him wherever he sees fit to reside. that the prohibition to sell, mortgage, receive, give, appear in law, etc., without the consent of the husband or court, shall be extended to the husband as far as to the wife. that marriage under the system of separation of goods shall become the public law. reader. what reforms do you demand with respect to the family council and guardianship? author. we demand that the family council shall be composed of twenty persons; ten men and ten women, parents, relatives and friends, chosen by the spouses. that the powers of this council, presided over by the justice of the peace, shall be so determined that it shall give the first judgment in differences arising between the spouses as to children, property, guardianship, etc. we demand that every woman may be qualified to be appointed guardian or to watch over the conduct of the guardian towards the ward. that the guardianship of the spouse interdicted shall be always confessed by the family council. that the wife like the husband, may name a definitive guardian and a council of guardianship for her surviving spouse. that the spouses may name during their lifetime, the father, a male inspecting guardian from his family, the mother, a female inspecting guardian from hers, that in case of pre-decease, the children may be always under the influence of both sexes. that this superior guardianship, in the absence of any expressed desire, belongs of right to a member of the family of the defunct, who must be of the same sex. that in case of a second marriage, if the child is maltreated or unhappy, the inspecting guardian, whether male or female, can have it adjudged to him by the family council, without excluding the appeal of the guardian to the courts. that in case of the death of the father or mother, the guardianship belongs of right to the nearest ancestor, and the inspecting guardianship to the nearest ancestor of the other line. if there be competition between the two lines, the family councils shall choose the guardian from one family and the inspecting guardian from the other, and of opposite sex. that the duties of guardianship and inspecting guardianship shall comprehend, not only the material, but also the moral and intellectual interests of the wards. that the father who is guardian, shall lose the right of guardianship over the children if he re-marries without first having had it continued to him by the family council. that lastly, the state shall so organize a board of guardianship for abandoned children that the boys shall be under the superintendence of the men and the girls under that of the women; this board will form a great family council. reader. i like your system better than that of the law, not only because woman is the equal of man therein, but because wards will be better protected by it; i have known men to cause their wives, over-excited by their ill treatment, to be placed under interdict, in order to remain masters of their property; on the other hand, you know how many children are wronged or made unhappy by the second marriage of their father. a step-mother has full power to inflict suffering on the little unfortunates. but you have said nothing of the authority of parents over their children. author. the authority of the parents over the children is the same; the expression, paternal authority, is incomplete; the true phrase would be _parental_ authority. on this head, we demand that if there be dissension between the father and mother with regard to the children, the family council shall decide in the first instance. that neither the father nor the mother shall have power to shut up the child unless _both are agreed_. that the father or the mother acting as guardian shall not have power to have recourse to this measure except with the concurrence of the inspecting guardian, or, in case of difference, with the approbation of the family council, always reserving the right of appeal to the court. that the marriageable age shall be fixed at twenty-five for both sexes. reader. shall we demand the suppression of separation from bed and board? author. no; but we must demand that _divorce shall be established_. that divorce may be obtained for the adultery of one of the parties, cruelty, grave abuses, condemnation to punishment affecting the liberty or person, notorious vices, incompatibility of temper, mutual consent. that, during the suit for separation or for divorce, the guardianship of the children shall be given to the most deserving parent; and that, if both are alike unworthy, a guardian and inspecting guardian of different sexes shall be appointed. that, if both are deserving, they shall settle it amicably between themselves before the family council. that parties married under the dotal system or under that of the separation of goods, shall have control of their own property. that if the petition for divorce be on account of the bad management of the common property, the administration shall be taken away from the husband and entrusted to the wife. that if the petition be on account of the condemnation of one of the parties to punishment affecting the liberty or person, the other shall remain administrator. that, in all other cases, an inventory shall be made and the spouse best fitted to the task be appointed guardian under the surveillance of one or two members of the family of the other spouse, with the obligation of furnishing estovers to the other. that the decree granting the divorce or separation shall bear the number, name and age of the children born of the marriage, together with the annual sum that each party is bound to furnish for their maintenance and education. that this decree shall state to whose custody the children are entrusted, whether by natural consent or by familial or judicial authority. that it shall be placarded publicly in the courts, and inserted in the leading journals of the vicinity. that this instrument shall accompany the publication of the bans of a subsequent marriage, under pain of heavy penalties. reader. these measures are severe; if it would be easy to become divorced, it would not be easy to marry afterwards. author. i do not deny it; but it is better to prevent divorce by the difficulty of marrying afterwards, than by placing restrictions upon it; in the first case, the difficulty comes from the fetters which the individual has forged for himself; he makes his own destiny; in the second, individual liberty is infringed upon by social authority, which is an abuse of power. reader. let us enter upon the legal reforms concerning morals. author. we demand that every promise of marriage which is not fulfilled shall be punished with a fine and damages. that every man whom an unmarried mother can prove by witnesses or letters, to be the father of her child, shall be subject to the burdens of paternity. that the investigation of paternity shall be authorized like that of maternity. that the seduction of an unmarried woman under twenty-five shall be severely punished. that no unmarried woman can be registered among the public women before twenty-five years old, and that she shall be put into the house of correction if she abandons herself to prostitution before this age. that every abandoned woman who receives a man under twenty-five years of age shall be punished with fine and imprisonment, and that the penalty shall be terrible if she is diseased. reader. it will be said that paternity cannot be proved. author. i do not deny that it may be possible that the father attributed to the natural child will not be the true one; but it will be necessary to establish by proofs that he has rendered himself liable to be reputed such: it is the probability of paternity in marriage extended to paternity out of marriage. so much the worse for men who suffer themselves to be caught! it is shameful to attach impunity to the most disorderly and subversive of selfish desires; women must no longer bear alone the burden of natural children, and no longer be tempted to abandon them. reader. but what if it be proved that a married man has rendered himself liable to become a father outside his household. author. this should be first a case of divorce; next, of punishment for him and his accomplice. as to the child, the man should bear the charge of it in concert with the mother. reader. these are indeed draconian laws! author. do you not see that corruption is shutting us in, body and soul; and that if we do not create a vigorous reaction against it by the severity of the laws, the reform of education, and the awakening of the ideal, our society will be, ere long, only an immense brothel? reader. alas! it is but too true. author. let us demand then, not only a rational reform of the national education, but also that the number of lyceums shall be doubled for girls. that all the institutions of higher instruction dependent on the state shall be open to them as to boys. that they shall be admitted to receive the same university degrees, and the same diplomas of capacity as men. that every field of occupation shall be opened to them as to men; so that, elevated in public opinion by equality, their activity shall no longer be nominally compensated; that they may live by their labor, and that want, discouragement and suicide may no longer terminate their life when they do not make choice of the sad part of elements of demoralization. i. appeal to women. progressive women, to you, i address my last words, listen in the name of the general good, in the name of your sons and your daughters. you say: the manners of our time are corrupt; the laws concerning our sex need reform. it is true; but do you think that to verify the evil suffices to cure it? you say: so long as woman shall be a minor in the city, the state and marriage, she will be so in social labor; she will be forced to be supported by man; that is to debase him while humbling herself. it is true; but do you believe that to verify these things suffices to remedy our abasement? you say: the education that both sexes receive is deplorable in view of the destiny of humanity. it is true; but do you believe that to affirm this suffices to improve, to transform the method of education? will words, complaints and protestations have power to change any of these things? it is not to lament over them that is needed; it is to act. it is not merely to demand justice and reform that is needed; it is to labor ourselves for reform; it is to prove _by our works_ that we are worthy to obtain justice; it is to take possession resolutely of the contested place; it is, in a word, to have intellect, courage and activity. upon whom then will you have a right to count, if you abandon yourselves? upon men? your carelessness and silence have in part discouraged those who maintained your right; it is much if they defend you against those who, to oppress you, call to their aid every species of ignorance, every species of despotism, every selfish passion, all the paradoxes which they despise when their own sex is in question. you are insulted, you are outraged, you are denied or you are blamed in order that you may be reduced to subjection, and it is much if your indignation is roused thereby! when will you be ashamed of the part to which you are condemned? when will you respond to the appeal that generous and intelligent men have made to you? when will you cease to be masculine photographs, and resolve to complete the revolution of humanity by finally making the word of woman heard in religion, in justice, in politics and in science? what are we to do, you say? what are you to do, ladies? well! what is done by women believing. look at those who have given their soul to a dogma; they form organizations, teach, write, act on their surroundings and on the rising generation in order to secure the triumph of the faith that has the support of their conscience. why do not you do as much as they? your rivals write books stamped with supernaturalism and individualistic morality, why do you not write those that bear the stamp of rationalism, of solidary morality and of a holy faith in progress? your rivals found educational institutions and train up professors in order to gain over the new generation to their dogmas and their practices, why do not you do as much for the benefit of the new ideas? your rivals organize industrial associations, why do not you imitate them? would not what is lawful to them be so to you. could a government which professes to revive the principles of '89, and which is the offspring of revolutionary right, entertain the thought of fettering the direct heirs of the principles laid down by '89, while leaving those free to act who are more or less their enemies? can any one of you admit such a possibility? what are we to do? you are to establish a journal to maintain your claims. you are to appoint an encyclopedic committee to draw up a series of treatises on the principal branches of human knowledge for the enlightenment of women and the people. you are to found a polytechnic institute for women. you are to aid your sisters of the laboring classes to organize themselves in trades associations on economical principles more equitable than those of the present time. you are to facilitate the return to virtue of the lost women who ask you for aid and counsel. you are to labor with all your might for the reform of educational methods. yet, in the face of a task so complicated, you ask: what are we to do? ah, ye women who have attained majority, arise, if ye have heart and courage! arise, and let those among you who are the most intelligent, the most instructed, and who have the most time and liberty constitute an _apostleship of women_. around this apostleship, let all the women of progress be ranged, that each one may serve the common cause according to her means. and remember, remember above all things, that _union is strength_. the end. new books and new editions recently issued by carleton, publisher, new york. _418 broadway, corner of lispenard street._ n.b.--the publisher, upon receipt of the price in advance, will send any of the following books, by mail, postage free, to any part of the united states. this convenient and very safe mode may be adopted when the neighboring booksellers are not supplied with the desired work. state name and address in full. victor hugo. les miserables.--the only unabridged english translation of "the grandest and best novel ever written." one large octavo vol., paper covers, $1.00, or cloth $1.50 les miserables.--a superior edition of the same novel, in five octavo vols.--"fantine," "cosette," "marius," "st. denis," and "valjean." cloth, each vol., $1.00 the life of victor hugo.--(understood to be an autobiography.) "as charming and interesting as a novel." octavo, cloth $1.50 by the author of "rutledge." rutledge.--a deeply interesting novel. 12mo. cloth, $1.50 the sutherlands.- $1.50 frank warrington.- $1.50 louie's last term at st. mary's.- $1.50 a new novel.--_in press._ hand-books of good society. the habits of good society; with thoughts, hints, and anecdotes, concerning nice points of taste, good manners, and the art of making oneself agreeable. reprinted from the london edition. the best and most entertaining work of the kind ever published. 12mo. cloth, $ 1.50 the art of conversation.--with directions for self-culture. a sensible and instructive work, that ought to be in the hands of every one who wishes to be either an agreeable talker or listener. 12mo. cloth, $ 1.25 mrs. mary j. holmes' works. darkness and daylight.--_just published._ 12mo. cl. $ 1.50 'lena rivers.- a novel. $ 1.50 tempest and sunshine.- $ 1.50 marian grey.- $ 1.50 meadow brook.- $ 1.50 english orphans.- $ 1.50 dora deane.- $ 1.50 cousin maude.- $ 1.50 homestead on the hillside.- $ 1.50 artemus ward. his book.--an irresistibly funny volume of writings by the immortal american humorist and showman; with plenty of comic illustrations. 12mo. cloth, $ 1.25 miss muloch. john halifax, gentleman. a novel. 12mo. cloth, $ 1.50 a life for a life.- $ 1.50 charlotte bronte (currer bell). jane eyre.--a novel. 12mo. cloth, $ 1.50 shirley.- $ 1.50 villette.- $ 1.50 edmund kirke. among the pines.--a thrilling work. 12mo. cloth, my southern friends.- down in tennessee.--_just published._ cuthbert bede. verdant green.--a rollicking, humorous novel of student life in an english university; with more than 200 comic illustrations. 12mo. cloth, $ 1.50 richard b. kimball. was he successful?- a novel. 12mo. cloth, $ 1.50 undercurrents.- $ 1.50 saint leger.- $ 1.50 romance of student life.- $ 1.50 in the tropics.--edited by r. b. kimball. $ 1.50 epes sargent. peculiar.--one of the most remarkable and successful novels published in this country. 12mo. cloth, $ 1.50 miss augusta j. evans. beulah.--a novel of great power. 12mo. cloth, $ 1.50 a. s. roe's works. a long look ahead.- a novel. 12mo. cloth, $ 1.50 to love and to be loved.- $ 1.50 time and tide.- $ 1.50 i've been thinking.- $ 1.50 the star and the cloud.- $ 1.50 true to the last.- $ 1.50 how could he help it.- $ 1.50 like and unlike.- $ 1.50 a new novel.--_in press._ $ 1.50 walter barrett, clerk. old merchants of new york.--being personal incidents, interesting sketches, bits of biography, and gossipy events in the life of nearly every leading merchant in new york city. two series. 12mo. cloth, each, $ 1.50 t. s. arthur's new works. light on shadowed paths.- a novel. 12mo. cloth, $ 1.50 out in the world.--_in press._ $ 1.50 nothing but gold.- $ 1.50 the orpheus c. kerr papers. a collection of exquisitely satirical and humorous military criticisms. two series. 12mo. cloth, each, $ 1.25 m. michelet's works. love (l'amour).--from the french. 12mo. cloth, $ 1.25 woman (la femme).- $ 1.25 woman made free.--french of d'hericourt, $ 1.50 novels by ruffini. dr. antonio.--a love story of italy. 12mo. cloth, $ 1.50 lavinia; or, the italian artist.- $ 1.50 vincenzo; or, sunken rocks.- 8vo. cloth, $ 1.50 rev. john cumming, d.d., of london. the great tribulation.--two series. 12mo. cloth, $ 1.25 the great preparation.- $ 1.25 the great consummation.- $ 1.25 teach us to pray.- $ 1.25 ernest renan. the life of jesus.--translated by c. e. wilbour from the celebrated french work. 12mo. cloth, $ 1.50 religious history and criticism.- 8vo. cloth, $ 2.50 charles reade. the cloister and the hearth.--a magnificent new novel, by the author of "hard cash," etc. 8vo. cloth, $ 1.50 the opera. tales from the operas.--a collection of clever stories, based upon the plots of all the famous operas. 12mo. cl., $ 1.25 j. c. jeaffreson. a book about doctors.--an exceedingly humorous and entertaining volume of sketches, stories, and facts, about famous physicians and surgeons. 12mo. cloth, $ 1.50 fred. s. cozzens. the sparrowgrass papers.--a capital humorous work, with illustrations by darley. 12mo. cloth, $ 1.25 f. d. guerrazzi beatrice cenci.--a great historical novel. translated from the italian; with a portrait of the cenci, from guido's famous picture in rome. 12mo. cloth, $ 1.50 private miles o'reilly. his book.--rich with his songs, services, and speeches, and comically illustrated. 12mo. cloth, $ 1.25 the new york central park. a superb gift book.--the central park pleasantly described, and magnificently embellished with more than 50 exquisite photographs of the principal views and objects of interest. a large quarto volume, sumptuously bound in turkey morocco, $25.00 joseph rodman drake. the culprit fay.--the most charming faery poem in the english language. beautifully printed. 12mo. cloth, $ 0.75 mother goose for grown folks. humorous rhymes for grown people; based upon the famous "mother goose melodies." 12mo. cloth, $ 1.00 stephen massett. drifting about.--a comic illustrated book of the life and travels of "jeems pipes." 12mo. cloth, $ 1.25 a new sporting work. the game fish of the north.--one of the best books on fish and fishing ever published. entertaining as well as instructive, and full of illustrations. 12mo. cloth, $ 1.50 balzac's novels. cesar birotteau.--from the french. 12mo. cloth, $ 1.25 the alchemist.- $ 1.25 eugenie grandet.- $ 1.25 petty annoyances of married life.- $ 1.25 thomas bailey aldrich. babie bell, and other poems.--blue and gold binding, $ 1.00 out of his head.--a new romance. 12mo. cloth, $ 1.00 richard h. stoddard. the king's bell.--a new poem. 12mo. cloth, $ 0.75 the morgesons.--a novel. by mrs. r. h. stoddard. $ 1.00 edmund c. stedman. alice of monmouth.--a new poem. 12mo. cloth, $ 1.00 lyrics and idyls.- $ 0.75 m. t. walworth. lulu.--a new novel. 12mo. cloth, $ 1.50 hotspur.- _in press_. author of "olie." nepenthe.--a new novel. 12mo. cloth, $ 1.50 together.- _in press_. quest. a new romance.--_in press._ 12mo. cloth, victoire. a new novel.--_in press._ 12mo. cloth, $ 1.50 red-tape. and pigeon-hole generals, as seen by a citizen-soldier in the army of the potomac. 12mo. cloth, $ 1.25 author "green mountain boys." centeola.--a new work, _in press_. 12mo. cloth, $ 1.50 c. french richards. john guilderstring's sin.--a novel. 12mo. cloth, j. r. beckwith. the winthrops.--a novel, _in press_. 12mo. cloth, $ 1.50 jas. h. hackett. notes and comments on shakspeare.- 12mo. cloth, $ 1.50 miscellaneous works. alexander von humboldt.--life and travels. 12mo. cl., $ 1.50 life of hugh miller, the geologist. $ 1.50 adam gurowski.--diary for 1863. $ 1.25 doesticks.--the elephant club, illustrated. $ 1.50 husband and wife, or human development. $ 1.25 rockford.--a novel by mrs. l. d. umsted. $ 1.00 the prisoner of state.--by d. a. mahony. $ 1.25 the partisan leader.--by beverly tucker. $ 1.25 sprees and splashes.--by henry morford. $ 1.00 around the pyramids.--by gen. aaron ward. $ 1.50 china and the chinese.--by w. l. g. smith. $ 1.00 wanderings of a beauty.--mrs. edwin james. $ 1.00 the u. s. tax law.--"government edition." $ 0.75 treatise on deafness.--by dr. e. b. lighthill. $ 1.00 lyrics of a day.--or newspaper poetry. $ 1.00 garret van horn.--a novel by j. s. sauzade. $ 1.25 the national school for the soldier.- $ 0.50 fort lafayette.--a novel by benjamin wood. $ 1.00 the yachtman's primer.--by t. r. warren. $ 0.50 gen. nathaniel lyon.--life and writings. $ 1.00 philip thaxter.--a novel. $ 1.00 literary essays.--by george brimley. $ 1.50 haying time to hopping.--a novel. $ 1.25 the vagabond.--essays by adam badeau. $ 1.00 edgar poe and his critics.--by mrs. whitman. $ 0.75 tactics; or, cupid in shoulder-straps. $ 1.00 john doe and richard roe.--a novel. $ 1.25 lola montez.--her life and lectures. $ 1.50 debt and grace.--by rev. c. f. hudson. $ 1.50 husband _vs._ wife.--a comic illustrated poem. $ 0.50 transition.--edited by rev. h. s. carpenter. $ 1.00 roumania.--by dr. jas. o. noyes, illustrated. $ 1.50 vernon grove.--a novel. $ 1.25 answer to hugh miller.--by t. a. davies. $ 1.25 cosmogony.--by thomas a. davies. 8vo. cl., $ 1.50 national hymns.--by richard grant white. $ 1.50 twenty years around the world.--j. guy vassar. $ 3.50 spirit of hebrew poetry.--by isaac taylor. $ 2.50 the story of a pioneer by anna howard shaw, d.d., m.d. with the collaboration of elizabeth jordan to the women pioneers of america they cut a path through tangled underwood of old traditions, out to broader ways. they lived to here their work called brave and good, but oh! the thorns before the crown of bays. the world gives lashes to its pioneers until the goal is reached--then deafening cheers. adapted by anna howard shaw. contents i. first memories ii. in the wilderness iii. high-school and college days iv. the wolf at the door v. shepherd of a divided flock vi. cape cod memories vii. the great cause viii. drama in the lecture field ix. "aunt susan" x. the passing of "aunt susan" xi. the widening suffrage stream xii. building a home xiii. president of "the national" xiv. recent campaigns xv. convention incidents xvi. council episodes xvii. vale! illustrations reverend anna howard shaw in her pulpit robes loch-an-eilan castle dr shaw's mother, nicolas shaw, at seventeen alnwick castle dr. shaw at thirty-two dr. shaw at fifty dr. shaw and "her baby"--the daughter of rachel foster avery dr. shaw's mother at eighty dr. shaw's father at eighty dr. shaw's sister mary, who died in 1883 lucy e. anthony, dr. shaw s friend and "aunt susan's" favorite niece the wood road near dr. shaw's cape cod home, the haven dr. shaw's cottage, the haven, at wianno, cape cod--the first home she built gate entrance to dr. shaw's home at moylan the second house that dr. shaw built susan b. anthony miss mary garrett, the life-long friend of miss thomas miss m. carey thomas, president of bryn mawr college elizabeth cady stanton carrie chapman catt lucy stone mary a. livermore four pioneers in the suffrage movement fireplace in the living-room, showing aunt susan's" chair hallway in dr. shaw's home at moylan dr. shaw's home (alnwick lodge) and her two oaks the veranda at alnwick lodge saccawagea alnwick lodge, dr. shaw's home the rock-bordered brook which dr. shaw loves the story of a pioneer i. first memories my father's ancestors were the shaws of rothiemurchus, in scotland, and the ruins of their castle may still be seen on the island of loch-an-eilan, in the northern highlands. it was never the picturesque castle of song and story, this home of the fighting shaws, but an austere fortress, probably built in roman times; and even to-day the crumbling walls which alone are left of it show traces of the relentless assaults upon them. of these the last and the most successful were made in the seventeenth century by the grants and rob roy; and it was into the hands of the grants that the shaw fortress finally fell, about 1700, after almost a hundred years of ceaseless warfare. it gives me no pleasure to read the grisly details of their struggles, but i confess to a certain satisfaction in the knowledge that my ancestors made a good showing in the defense of what was theirs. beyond doubt they were brave fighters and strong men. there were other sides to their natures, however, which the high lights of history throw up less appealingly. as an instance, we have in the family chronicles the blood-stained page of allen shaw, the oldest son of the last lady shaw who lived in the fortress. it appears that when the father of this young man died, about 1560, his mother married again, to the intense disapproval of her son. for some time after the marriage he made no open revolt against the new-comer in the domestic circle; but finally, on the pretext that his dog had been attacked by his stepfather, he forced a quarrel with the older man and the two fought a duel with swords, after which the victorious allen showed a sad lack of chivalry. he not only killed his stepfather, but he cut off that gentleman's head and bore it to his mother in her bedchamber--an action which was considered, even in that tolerant age, to be carrying filial resentment too far. probably allen regretted it. certainly he paid a high penalty for it, and his clan suffered with him. he was outlawed and fled, only to be hunted down for months, and finally captured and executed by one of the grants, who, in further virtuous disapproval of allen's act, seized and held the shaw stronghold. the other shaws of the clan fought long and ably for its recovery, but though they were helped by their kinsmen, the mackintoshes, and though good scotch blood dyed the gray walls of the fortress for many generations, the castle never again came into the hands of the shaws. it still entails certain obligations for the grants, however, and one of these is to give the king of england a snowball whenever he visits loch-an-eilan! as the years passed the shaw clan scattered. many shaws are still to be found in the mackintosh country and throughout southern scotland. others went to england, and it was from this latter branch that my father sprang. his name was thomas shaw, and he was the younger son of a gentleman--a word which in those days seemed to define a man who devoted his time largely to gambling and horse-racing. my grandfather, like his father before him, was true to the traditions of his time and class. quite naturally and simply he squandered all he had, and died abruptly, leaving his wife and two sons penniless. they were not, however, a helpless band. they, too, had their traditions, handed down by the fighting shaws. peter, the older son, became a soldier, and died bravely in the crimean war. my father, through some outside influence, turned his attention to trade, learning to stain and emboss wallpaper by hand, and developing this work until he became the recognized expert in his field. indeed, he progressed until he himself checked his rise by inventing a machine that made his handwork unnecessary. his employer at once claimed and utilized this invention, to which, by the laws of those days, he was entitled, and thus the cornerstone on which my father had expected to build a fortune proved the rock on which his career was wrecked. but that was years later, in america, and many other things had happened first. for one, he had temporarily dropped his trade and gone into the flour-and-grain business; and, for another, he had married my mother. she was the daughter of a scotch couple who had come to england and settled in alnwick, in northumberland county. her father, james stott, was the driver of the royal-mail stage between alnwick and newcastle, and his accidental death while he was still a young man left my grandmother and her eight children almost destitute. she was immediately given a position in the castle of the duke of northumberland, and her sons were educated in the duke's school, while her daughters were entered in the school of the duchess. my thoughts dwell lovingly on this grandmother, nicolas grant stott, for she was a remarkable woman, with a dauntless soul and progressive ideas far in advance of her time. she was one of the first unitarians in england, and years before any thought of woman suffrage entered the minds of her country-women she refused to pay tithes to the support of the church of england--an action which precipitated a long-drawn-out conflict between her and the law. in those days it was customary to assess tithes on every pane of glass in a window, and a portion of the money thus collected went to the support of the church. year after year my intrepid grandmother refused to pay these assessments, and year after year she sat pensively upon her door-step, watching articles of her furniture being sold for money to pay her tithes. it must have been an impressive picture, and it was one with which the community became thoroughly familiar, as the determined old lady never won her fight and never abandoned it. she had at least the comfort of public sympathy, for she was by far the most popular woman in the countryside. her neighbors admired her courage; perhaps they appreciated still more what she did for them, for she spent all her leisure in the homes of the very poor, mending their clothing and teaching them to sew. also, she left behind her a path of cleanliness as definite as the line of foam that follows a ship; for it soon became known among her protegees that nicolas stott was as much opposed to dirt as she was to the payment of tithes. she kept her children in the schools of the duke and duchess until they had completed the entire course open to them. a hundred times, and among many new scenes and strange people, i have heard my mother describe her own experiences as a pupil. all the children of the dependents of the castle were expected to leave school at fourteen years of age. during their course they were not allowed to study geography, because, in the sage opinion of their elders, knowledge of foreign lands might make them discontented and inclined to wander. neither was composition encouraged--that might lead to the writing of love-notes! but they were permitted to absorb all the reading and arithmetic their little brains could hold, while the art of sewing was not only encouraged, but proficiency in it was stimulated by the award of prizes. my mother, being a rather precocious young person, graduated at thirteen and carried off the first prize. the garment she made was a linen chemise for the duchess, and the little needlewoman had embroidered on it, with her own hair, the august lady's coat of arms. the offering must have been appreciated, for my mother's story always ended with the same words, uttered with the same air of gentle pride, "and the duchess gave me with her own hands my bible and my mug of beer!" she never saw anything amusing in this association of gifts, and i always stood behind her when she told the incident, that she might not see the disrespectful mirth it aroused in me. my father and mother met in alnwick, and were married in february, 1835. ten years after his marriage father was forced into bankruptcy by the passage of the corn law, and to meet the obligations attending his failure he and my mother sold practically everything they possessed--their home, even their furniture. their little sons, who were away at school, were brought home, and the family expenses were cut down to the barest margin; but all these sacrifices paid only part of the debts. my mother, finding that her early gift had a market value, took in sewing. father went to work on a small salary, and both my parents saved every penny they could lay aside, with the desperate determination to pay their remaining debts. it was a long struggle and a painful one, but they finally won it. before they had done so, however, and during their bleakest days, their baby died, and my mother, like her mother before her, paid the penalty of being outside the fold of the church of england. she, too, was a unitarian, and her baby, therefore, could not be laid in any consecrated burial-ground in her neighborhood. she had either to bury it in the potter's field, with criminals, suicides, and paupers, or to take it by stage-coach to alnwick, twenty miles away, and leave it in the little unitarian churchyard where, after her strenuous life, nicolas stott now lay in peace. she made the dreary journey alone, with the dear burden across her lap. in 1846, my parents went to london. there they did not linger long, for the big, indifferent city had nothing to offer them. they moved to newcastle-on-tyne, and here i was born, on the fourteenth day of february, in 1847. three boys and two girls had preceded me in the family circle, and when i was two years old my younger sister came. we were little better off in newcastle than in london, and now my father began to dream the great dream of those days. he would go to america. surely, he felt, in that land of infinite promise all would be well with him and his. he waited for the final payment of his debts and for my younger sister's birth. then he bade us good-by and sailed away to make an american home for us; and in the spring of 1851 my mother followed him with her six children, starting from liverpool in a sailing-vessel, the john jacob westervelt. i was then little more than four years old, and the first vivid memory i have is that of being on shipboard and having a mighty wave roll over me. i was lying on what seemed to be an enormous red box under a hatchway, and the water poured from above, almost drowning me. this was the beginning of a storm which raged for days, and i still have of it a confused memory, a sort of nightmare, in which strange horrors figure, and which to this day haunts me at intervals when i am on the sea. the thing that stands out most strongly during that period is the white face of my mother, ill in her berth. we were with five hundred emigrants on the lowest deck of the ship but one, and as the storm grew wilder an unreasoning terror filled our fellow-passengers. too ill to protect her helpless brood, my mother saw us carried away from her for hours at a time, on the crests of waves of panic that sometimes approached her and sometimes receded, as they swept through the black hole in which we found ourselves when the hatches were nailed down. no madhouse, i am sure, could throw more hideous pictures on the screen of life than those which met our childish eyes during the appalling three days of the storm. our one comfort was the knowledge that our mother was not afraid. she was desperately ill, but when we were able to reach her, to cling close to her for a blessed interval, she was still the sure refuge she had always been. on the second day the masts went down, and on the third day the disabled ship, which now had sprung a leak and was rolling helplessly in the trough of the sea, was rescued by another ship and towed back to queenstown, the nearest port. the passengers, relieved of their anxieties, went from their extreme of fear to an equal extreme of drunken celebration. they laughed, sang, and danced, but when we reached the shore many of them returned to the homes they had left, declaring that they had had enough of the ocean. we, however, remained on the ship until she was repaired, and then sailed on her again. we were too poor to return home; indeed, we had no home to which we could return. we were even too poor to live ashore. but we made some penny excursions in the little boats that plied back and forth, and to us children at least the weeks of waiting were not without interest. among other places we visited spike island, where the convicts were, and for hours we watched the dreary shuttle of labor swing back and forth as the convicts carried pails of water from one side of the island, only to empty them into the sea at the other side. it was merely "busy work," to keep them occupied at hard labor; but even then i must have felt some dim sense of the irony of it, for i have remembered it vividly all these years. our second voyage on the john jacob westervelt was a very different experience from the first. by day a glorious sun shone overhead; by night we had the moon and stars, as well as the racing waves we never wearied of watching. for some reason, probably because of my intense admiration for them, which i showed with unmaidenly frankness, i became the special pet of the sailors. they taught me to sing their songs as they hauled on their ropes, and i recall, as if i had learned it yesterday, one pleasing ditty: haul on the bow-line, kitty is my darling, haul on the bow-line, the bow-line--haul! when i sang "haul" all the sailors pulled their hardest, and i had an exhilarating sense of sharing in their labors. as a return for my service of song the men kept my little apron full of ship sugar--very black stuff and probably very bad for me; but i ate an astonishing amount of it during that voyage, and, so far as i remember, felt no ill effects. the next thing i recall is being seriously scalded. i was at the foot of a ladder up which a sailor was carrying a great pot of hot coffee. he slipped, and the boiling liquid poured down on me. i must have had some bad days after that, for i was terribly burned, but they are mercifully vague. my next vivid impression is of seeing land, which we sighted at sunset, and i remember very distinctly just how it looked. it has never looked the same since. the western sky was a mass of crimson and gold clouds, which took on the shapes of strange and beautiful things. to me it seemed that we were entering heaven. i remember also the doctors coming on board to examine us, and i can still see a line of big irishmen standing very straight and holding out their tongues for inspection. to a little girl only four years old their huge, open mouths looked appalling. on landing a grievous disappointment awaited us; my father did not meet us. he was in new bedford, massachusetts, nursing his grief and preparing to return to england, for he had been told that the john jacob westervelt had been lost at sea with every soul on board. one of the missionaries who met the ship took us under his wing and conducted us to a little hotel, where we remained until father had received his incredible news and rushed to new york. he could hardly believe that we were really restored to him; and even now, through the mists of more than half a century, i can still see the expression in his wet eyes as he picked me up and tossed me into the air. i can see, too, the toys he brought me--a little saw and a hatchet, which became the dearest treasures of my childish days. they were fatidical gifts, that saw and hatchet; in the years ahead of me i was to use tools as well as my brothers did, as i proved when i helped to build our frontier home. we went to new bedford with father, who had found work there at his old trade; and here i laid the foundations of my first childhood friendship, not with another child, but with my next-door neighbor, a ship-builder. morning after morning this man swung me on his big shoulder and took me to his shipyard, where my hatchet and saw had violent exercise as i imitated the workers around me. discovering that my tiny petticoats were in my way, my new friend had a little boy's suit made for me; and thus emancipated, at this tender age, i worked unwearyingly at his side all day long and day after day. no doubt it was due to him that i did not casually saw off a few of my toes and fingers. certainly i smashed them often enough with blows of my dull but active hatchet. i was very, very busy; and i have always maintained that i began to earn my share of the family's living at the age of five--for in return for the delights of my society, which seemed never to pall upon him, my new friend allowed my brothers to carry home from the shipyard all the wood my mother could use. we remained in new bedford less than a year, for in the spring of 1852 my father made another change, taking his family to lawrence, massachusetts, where we lived until 1859. the years in lawrence were interesting and formative ones. at the tender age of nine and ten i became interested in the abolition movement. we were unitarians, and general oliver and many of the prominent citizens of lawrence belonged to the unitarian church. we knew robert shaw, who led the first negro regiment, and judge storrow, one of the leading new england judges of his time, as well as the cabots and george a. walton, who was the author of walton's arithmetic and head of the lawrence schools. outbursts of war talk thrilled me, and occasionally i had a little adventure of my own, as when one day, in visiting our cellar, i heard a noise in the coal-bin. i investigated and discovered a negro woman concealed there. i had been reading uncle tom's cabin, as well as listening to the conversation of my elders, so i was vastly stirred over the negro question. i raced up-stairs in a condition of awe-struck and quivering excitement, which my mother promptly suppressed by sending me to bed. no doubt she questioned my youthful discretion, for she almost convinced me that i had seen nothing at all--almost, but not quite; and she wisely kept me close to her for several days, until the escaped slave my father was hiding was safely out of the house and away. discovery of this serious offense might have borne grave results for him. it was in lawrence, too, that i received and spent my first twenty-five cents. i used an entire day in doing this, and the occasion was one of the most delightful and memorable of my life. it was the fourth of july, and i was dressed in white and rode in a procession. my sister mary, who also graced the procession, had also been given twenty-five cents; and during the parade, when, for obvious reasons, we were unable to break ranks and spend our wealth, the consciousness of it lay heavily upon us. when we finally began our shopping the first place we visited was a candy store, and i recall distinctly that we forced the weary proprietor to take down and show us every jar in the place before we spent one penny. the first banana i ever ate was purchased that day, and i hesitated over it a long time. its cost was five cents, and in view of that large expenditure, the eating of the fruit, i was afraid, would be too brief a joy. i bought it, however, and the experience developed into a tragedy, for, not knowing enough to peel the banana, i bit through skin and pulp alike, as if i were eating an apple, and then burst into ears of disappointment. the beautiful conduct of my sister mary shines down through the years. she, wise child, had taken no chances with the unknown; but now, moved by my despair, she bought half of my banana, and we divided the fruit, the loss, and the lesson. fate, moreover, had another turn of the screw for us, for, after mary had taken a bite of it, we gave what was left of the banana to a boy who stood near us and who knew how to eat it; and not even the large amount of candy in our sticky hands enabled us to regard with calmness the subsequent happiness of that little boy. another experience with fruit in lawrence illustrates the ideas of my mother and the character of the training she gave her children. our neighbors, the cabots, were one day giving a great garden party, and my sister was helping to pick strawberries for the occasion. when i was going home from school i passed the berry-patches and stopped to speak to my sister, who at once presented me with two strawberries. she said mrs. cabot had told her to eat all she wanted, but that she would eat two less than she wanted and give those two to me. to my mind, the suggestion was generous and proper; in my life strawberries were rare. i ate one berry, and then, overcome by an ambition to be generous also, took the other berry home to my mother, telling her how i had got it. to my chagrin, mother was deeply shocked. she told me that the transaction was all wrong, and she made me take back the berry and explain the matter to mrs. cabot. by the time i reached that generous lady the berry was the worse for its journey, and so was i. i was only nine years old and very sensitive. it was clear to me that i could hardly live through the humiliation of the confession, and it was indeed a bitter experience the worst, i think, in my young life, though mrs. cabot was both sympathetic and understanding. she kissed me, and sent a quart of strawberries to my mother; but for a long time afterward i could not meet her kind eyes, for i believed that in her heart she thought me a thief. my second friendship, and one which had a strong influence on my after-life, was formed in lawrence. i was not more than ten years old when i met this new friend, but the memory of her in after-years, and the impression she had made on my susceptible young mind, led me first into the ministry, next into medicine, and finally into suffrage-work. living next door to us, on prospect hill, was a beautiful and mysterious woman. all we children knew of her was that she was a vivid and romantic figure, who seemed to have no friends and of whom our elders spoke in whispers or not at all. to me she was a princess in a fairy-tale, for she rode a white horse and wore a blue velvet riding-habit with a blue velvet hat and a picturesquely drooping white plume. i soon learned at what hours she went forth to ride, and i used to hover around our gate for the joy of seeing her mount and gallop away. i realized that there was something unusual about her house, and i had an idea that the prince was waiting for her somewhere in the far distance, and that for the time at least she had escaped the ogre in the castle she left behind. i was wrong about the prince, but right about the ogre. it was only when my unhappy lady left her castle that she was free. very soon she noticed me. possibly she saw the adoration in my childish eyes. she began to nod and smile at me, and then to speak to me, but at first i was almost afraid to answer her. there were stories now among the children that the house was haunted, and that by night a ghost walked there and in the grounds. i felt an extraordinary interest in the ghost, and i spent hours peering through our picket fence, trying to catch a glimpse of it; but i hesitated to be on terms of neighborly intimacy with one who dwelt with ghosts. one day the mysterious lady bent and kissed me. then, straightening up, she looked at me queerly and said: "go and tell your mother i did that." there was something very compelling in her manner. i knew at once that i must tell my mother what she had done, and i ran into our house and did so. while my mother was considering the problem the situation presented, for she knew the character of the house next door, a note was handed in to her--a very pathetic little note from my mysterious lady, asking my mother to let me come and see her. long afterward mother showed it to me. it ended with the words: "she will see no one but me. no harm shall come to her. trust me." that night my parents talked the matter over and decided to let me go. probably they felt that the slave next door was as much to be pitied as the escaped-negro slaves they so often harbored in our home. i made my visit, which was the first of many, and a strange friendship began and developed between the woman of the town and the little girl she loved. some of those visits i remember as vividly as if i had made them yesterday. there was never the slightest suggestion during any of them of things i should not see or hear, for while i was with her my hostess became a child again, and we played together like children. she had wonderful toys for me, and pictures and books; but the thing i loved best of all and played with for hours was a little stuffed hen which she told me had been her dearest treasure when she was a child at home. she had also a stuffed puppy, and she once mentioned that those two things alone were left of her life as a little girl. besides the toys and books and pictures, she gave me ice-cream and cake, and told me fairy-tales. she had a wonderful understanding of what a child likes. there were half a dozen women in the house with her, but i saw none of them nor any of the men who came. once, when we had become very good friends indeed and my early shyness had departed, i found courage to ask her where the ghost was--the ghost that haunted her house. i can still see the look in her eyes as they met mine. she told me the ghost lived in her heart, and that she did not like to talk about it, and that we must not speak of it again. after that i never mentioned it, but i was more deeply interested than ever, for a ghost that lived in a heart was a new kind of ghost to me at that time, though i have met many of them since then. during all our intercourse my mother never entered the house next door, nor did my mysterious lady enter our home; but she constantly sent my mother secret gifts for the poor and the sick of the neighborhood, and she was always the first to offer help for those who were in trouble. many years afterward mother told me she was the most generous woman she had ever known, and that she had a rarely beautiful nature. our departure for michigan broke up the friendship, but i have never forgotten her; and whenever, in my later work as minister, physician, and suffragist, i have been able to help women of the class to which she belonged, i have mentally offered that help for credit in the tragic ledger of her life, in which the clean and the blotted pages were so strange a contrast. one more incident of lawrence i must describe before i leave that city behind me, as we left it for ever in 1859. while we were still there a number of lawrence men decided to go west, and amid great public excitement they departed in a body for kansas, where they founded the town of lawrence in that state. i recall distinctly the public interest which attended their going, and the feeling every one seemed to have that they were passing forever out of the civilized world. their farewells to their friends were eternal; no one expected to see them again, and my small brain grew dizzy as i tried to imagine a place so remote as their destination. it was, i finally decided, at the uttermost ends of the earth, and it seemed quite possible that the brave adventurers who reached it might then drop off into space. fifty years later i was talking to a california girl who complained lightly of the monotony of a climate where the sun shone and the flowers bloomed all the year around. "but i had a delightful change last year," she added, with animation. "i went east for the winter." "to new york?" i asked. "no," corrected the california girl, easily, "to lawrence, kansas." nothing, i think, has ever made me feel quite so old as that remark. that in my life, not yet, to me at least, a long one, i should see such an arc described seemed actually oppressive until i realized that, after all, the arc was merely a rainbow of time showing how gloriously realized were the hopes of the lawrence pioneers. the move to michigan meant a complete upheaval in our lives. in lawrence we had around us the fine flower of new england civilization. we children went to school; our parents, though they were in very humble circumstances, were associated with the leading spirits and the big movements of the day. when we went to michigan we went to the wilderness, to the wild pioneer life of those times, and we were all old enough to keenly feel the change. my father was one of a number of englishmen who took up tracts in the northern forests of michigan, with the old dream of establishing a colony there. none of these men had the least practical knowledge of farming. they were city men or followers of trades which had no connection with farm life. they went straight into the thick timber-land, instead of going to the rich and waiting prairies, and they crowned this initial mistake by cutting down the splendid timber instead of letting it stand. thus bird's-eye maple and other beautiful woods were used as fire-wood and in the construction of rude cabins, and the greatest asset of the pioneers was ignored. father preceded us to the michigan woods, and there, with his oldest son, james, took up a claim. they cleared a space in the wilderness just large enough for a log cabin, and put up the bare walls of the cabin itself. then father returned to lawrence and his work, leaving james behind. a few months later (this was in 1859), my mother, my two sisters, eleanor and mary, my youngest brother, henry, eight years of age, and i, then twelve, went to michigan to work on and hold down the claim while father, for eighteen months longer, stayed on in lawrence, sending us such remittances as he could. his second and third sons, john and thomas, remained in the east with him. every detail of our journey through the wilderness is clear in my mind. at that time the railroad terminated at grand rapids, michigan, and we covered the remaining distance--about one hundred miles--by wagon, riding through a dense and often trackless forest. my brother james met us at grand rapids with what, in those days, was called a lumber-wagon, but which had a horrible resemblance to a vehicle from the health department. my sisters and i gave it one cold look and turned from it; we were so pained by its appearance that we refused to ride in it through the town. instead, we started off on foot, trying to look as if we had no association with it, and we climbed into the unwieldy vehicle only when the city streets were far behind us. every available inch of space in the wagon was filled with bedding and provisions. as yet we had no furniture; we were to make that for ourselves when we reached our cabin; and there was so little room for us to ride that we children walked by turns, while james, from the beginning of the journey to its end, seven days later, led our weary horses. to my mother, who was never strong, the whole experience must have been a nightmare of suffering and stoical endurance. for us children there were compensations. the expedition took on the character of a high adventure, in which we sometimes had shelter and sometimes failed to find it, sometimes were fed, but often went hungry. we forded innumerable streams, the wheels of the heavy wagon sinking so deeply into the stream-beds that we often had to empty our load before we could get them out again. fallen trees lay across our paths, rivers caused long detours, while again and again we lost our way or were turned aside by impenetrable forest tangles. our first day's journey covered less than eight miles, and that night we stopped at a farm-house which was the last bit of civilization we saw. early the next morning we were off again, making the slow progress due to the rough roads and our heavy load. at night we stopped at a place called thomas's inn, only to be told by the woman who kept it that there was nothing in the house to eat. her husband, she said, had gone "outside" (to grand rapids) to get some flour, and had not returned--but she added that we could spend the night, if we chose, and enjoy shelter, if not food. we had provisions in our wagon, so we wearily entered, after my brother had got out some of our pork and opened a barrel of flour. with this help the woman made some biscuits, which were so green that my poor mother could not eat them. she had admitted to us that the one thing she had in the house was saleratus, and she had used this ingredient with an unsparing hand. when the meal was eaten she broke the further news that there were no beds. "the old woman can sleep with me," she suggested, "and the girls can sleep on the floor. the boys will have to go to the barn." she and her bed were not especially attractive, and mother decided to lie on the floor with us. we had taken our bedding from the wagon, and we slept very well; but though she was usually superior to small annoyances, i think my mother resented being called an "old woman." she must have felt like one that night, but she was only about forty-eight years of age. at dawn the next morning we resumed our journey, and every day after that we were able to cover the distance demanded by the schedule arranged before we started. this meant that some sort of shelter usually awaited us at night. but one day we knew there would be no houses between the place we left in the morning and that where we were to sleep. the distance was about twenty miles, and when twilight fell we had not made it. in the back of the wagon my mother had a box of little pigs, and during the afternoon these had broken loose and escaped into the woods. we had lost much time in finding them, and we were so exhausted that when we came to a hut made of twigs and boughs we decided to camp in it for the night, though we knew nothing about it. my brother had unharnessed the horses, and my mother and sister were cooking dough-god--a mixture of flour, water, and soda, fried in a pan-when two men rode up on horseback and called my brother to one side. immediately after the talk which followed james harnessed his horses again and forced us to go on, though by that time darkness had fallen. he told mother, but did not tell us children until long afterward, that a man had been murdered in the hut only the night before. the murderer was still at large in the woods, and the new-comers were members of a posse who were searching for him. my brother needed no urging to put as many miles as he could between us and the sinister spot. in that fashion we made our way to our new home. the last day, like the first, we traveled only eight miles, but we spent the night in a house i shall never forget. it was beautifully clean, and for our evening meal its mistress brought out loaves of bread which were the largest we had ever seen. she cut great slices of this bread for us and spread maple sugar on them, and it seemed to us that never before had anything tasted so good. the next morning we made the last stage of our journey, our hearts filled with the joy of nearing our new home. we all had an idea that we were going to a farm, and we expected some resemblance at least to the prosperous farms we had seen in new england. my mother's mental picture was, naturally, of an english farm. possibly she had visions of red barns and deep meadows, sunny skies and daisies. what we found awaiting us were the four walls and the roof of a good-sized log-house, standing in a small cleared strip of the wilderness, its doors and windows represented by square holes, its floor also a thing of the future, its whole effect achingly forlorn and desolate. it was late in the afternoon when we drove up to the opening that was its front entrance, and i shall never forget the look my mother turned upon the place. without a word she crossed its threshold, and, standing very still, looked slowly around her. then something within her seemed to give way, and she sank upon the ground. she could not realize even then, i think, that this was really the place father had prepared for us, that here he expected us to live. when she finally took it in she buried her face in her hands, and in that way she sat for hours without moving or speaking. for the first time in her life she had forgotten us; and we, for our part, dared not speak to her. we stood around her in a frightened group, talking to one another in whispers. our little world had crumbled under our feet. never before had we seen our mother give way to despair. night began to fall. the woods became alive with night creatures, and the most harmless made the most noise. the owls began to hoot, and soon we heard the wildcat, whose cry--a screech like that of a lost and panic-stricken child--is one of the most appalling sounds of the forest. later the wolves added their howls to the uproar, but though darkness came and we children whimpered around her, our mother still sat in her strange lethargy. at last my brother brought the horses close to the cabin and built fires to protect them and us. he was only twenty, but he showed himself a man during those early pioneer days. while he was picketing the horses and building his protecting fires my mother came to herself, but her face when she raised it was worse than her silence had been. she seemed to have died and to have returned to us from the grave, and i am sure she felt that she had done so. from that moment she took up again the burden of her life, a burden she did not lay down until she passed away; but her face never lost the deep lines those first hours of her pioneer life had cut upon it. that night we slept on boughs spread on the earth inside the cabin walls, and we put blankets before the holes which represented our doors and windows, and kept our watch-fires burning. soon the other children fell asleep, but there was no sleep for me. i was only twelve years old, but my mind was full of fancies. behind our blankets, swaying in the night wind, i thought i saw the heads and pushing shoulders of animals and heard their padded footfalls. later years brought familiarity with wild things, and with worse things than they. but to-night that which i most feared was within, not outside of, the cabin. in some way which i did not understand the one sure refuge in our new world had been taken from us. i hardly knew the silent woman who lay near me, tossing from side to side and staring into the darkness; i felt that we had lost our mother. ii. in the wilderness like most men, my dear father should never have married. though his nature was one of the sweetest i have ever known, and though he would at any call give his time to or risk his life for others, in practical matters he remained to the end of his days as irresponsible as a child. if his mind turned to practical details at all, it was solely in their bearing toward great developments of the future. to him an acorn was not an acorn, but a forest of young oaks. thus, when he took up his claim of three hundred and sixty acres of land in the wilderness of northern michigan, and sent my mother and five young children to live there alone until he could join us eighteen months later, he gave no thought to the manner in which we were to make the struggle and survive the hardships before us. he had furnished us with land and the four walls of a log cabin. some day, he reasoned, the place would be a fine estate, which his sons would inherit and in the course of time pass on to their sons--always an englishman's most iridescent dream. that for the present we were one hundred miles from a railroad, forty miles from the nearest post-office, and half a dozen miles from any neighbors save indians, wolves, and wildcats; that we were wholly unlearned in the ways of the woods as well as in the most primitive methods of farming; that we lacked not only every comfort, but even the bare necessities of life; and that we must begin, single-handed and untaught, a struggle for existence in which some of the severest forces of nature would be arrayed against us--these facts had no weight in my father's mind. even if he had witnessed my mother's despair on the night of our arrival in our new home, he would not have understood it. from his viewpoint, he was doing a man's duty. he was working steadily in lawrence, and, incidentally, giving much time to the abolition cause and to other big public movements of his day which had his interest and sympathy. he wrote to us regularly and sent us occasional remittances, as well as a generous supply of improving literature for our minds. it remained for us to strengthen our bodies, to meet the conditions in which he had placed us, and to survive if we could. we faced our situation with clear and unalarmed eyes the morning after our arrival. the problem of food, we knew, was at least temporarily solved. we had brought with us enough coffee, pork, and flour to last for several weeks; and the one necessity father had put inside the cabin walls was a great fireplace, made of mud and stones, in which our food could be cooked. the problem of our water-supply was less simple, but my brother james solved it for the time by showing us a creek a long distance from the house; and for months we carried from this creek, in pails, every drop of water we used, save that which we caught in troughs when the rain fell. we held a family council after breakfast, and in this, though i was only twelve, i took an eager and determined part. i loved work--it has always been my favorite form of recreation--and my spirit rose to the opportunities of it which smiled on us from every side. obviously the first thing to do was to put doors and windows into the yawning holes father had left for them, and to lay a board flooring over the earth inside our cabin walls, and these duties we accomplished before we had occupied our new home a fortnight. there was a small saw-mill nine miles from our cabin, on the spot that is now big rapids, and there we bought our lumber. the labor we supplied ourselves, and though we put our hearts into it and the results at the time seemed beautiful to our partial eyes, i am forced to admit, in looking back upon them, that they halted this side of perfection. we began by making three windows and two doors; then, inspired by these achievements, we ambitiously constructed an attic and divided the ground floor with partitions, which gave us four rooms. the general effect was temperamental and sketchy. the boards which formed the floor were never even nailed down; they were fine, wide planks without a knot in them, and they looked so well that we merely fitted them together as closely as we could and lightheartedly let them go at that. neither did we properly chink the house. nothing is more comfortable than a log cabin which has been carefully built and finished; but for some reason--probably because there seemed always a more urgent duty calling to us around the corner--we never plastered our house at all. the result was that on many future winter mornings we awoke to find ourselves chastely blanketed by snow, while the only warm spot in our living-room was that directly in front of the fireplace, where great logs burned all day. even there our faces scorched while our spines slowly congealed, until we learned to revolve before the fire like a bird upon a spit. no doubt we would have worked more thoroughly if my brother james, who was twenty years old and our tower of strength, had remained with us; but when we had been in our new home only a few months he fell and was forced to go east for an operation. he was never able to return to us, and thus my mother, we three young girls, and my youngest brother--harry, who was only eight years old--made our fight alone until father came to us, more than a year later. mother was practically an invalid. she had a nervous affection which made it impossible for her to stand without the support of a chair. but she sewed with unusual skill, and it was due to her that our clothes, notwithstanding the strain to which we subjected them, were always in good condition. she sewed for hours every day, and she was able to move about the house, after a fashion, by pushing herself around on a stool which james made for her as soon as we arrived. he also built for her a more comfortable chair with a high back. the division of labor planned at the first council was that mother should do our sewing, and my older sisters, eleanor and mary, the housework, which was far from taxing, for of course we lived in the simplest manner. my brothers and i were to do the work out of doors, an arrangement that suited me very well, though at first, owing to our lack of experience, our activities were somewhat curtailed. it was too late in the season for plowing or planting, even if we had possessed anything with which to plow, and, moreover, our so-called "cleared" land was thick with sturdy tree-stumps. even during the second summer plowing was impossible; we could only plant potatoes and corn, and follow the most primitive method in doing even this. we took an ax, chopped up the sod, put the seed under it, and let the seed grow. the seed did grow, too--in the most gratifying and encouraging manner. our green corn and potatoes were the best i have ever eaten. but for the present we lacked these luxuries. we had, however, in their place, large quantities of wild fruit--gooseberries, raspberries, and plums--which harry and i gathered on the banks of our creek. harry also became an expert fisherman. we had no hooks or lines, but he took wires from our hoop-skirts and made snares at the ends of poles. my part of this work was to stand on a log and frighten the fish out of their holes by making horrible sounds, which i did with impassioned earnestness. when the fish hurried to the surface of the water to investigate the appalling noises they had heard, they were easily snared by our small boy, who was very proud of his ability to contribute in this way to the family table. during our first winter we lived largely on cornmeal, making a little journey of twenty miles to the nearest mill to buy it; but even at that we were better off than our neighbors, for i remember one family in our region who for an entire winter lived solely on coarse-grained yellow turnips, gratefully changing their diet to leeks when these came in the spring. such furniture as we had we made ourselves. in addition to my mother's two chairs and the bunks which took the place of beds, james made a settle for the living-room, as well as a table and several stools. at first we had our tree-cutting done for us, but we soon became expert in this gentle art, and i developed such skill that in later years, after father came, i used to stand with him and "heart" a log. on every side, and at every hour of the day, we came up against the relentless limitations of pioneer life. there was not a team of horses in our entire region. the team with which my brother had driven us through the wilderness had been hired at grand rapids for that occasion, and, of course, immediately returned. our lumber was delivered by ox-teams, and the absolutely essential purchases we made "outside" (at the nearest shops, forty miles away) were carried through the forest on the backs of men. our mail was delivered once a month by a carrier who made the journey in alternate stages of horseback riding and canoeing. but we had health, youth, enthusiasm, good appetites, and the wherewithal to satisfy them, and at night in our primitive bunks we sank into abysses of dreamless slumber such as i have never known since. indeed, looking back upon them, those first months seem to have been a long-drawn-out and glorious picnic, interrupted only by occasional hours of pain or panic, when we were hurt or frightened. naturally, our two greatest menaces were wild animals and indians, but as the days passed the first of these lost the early terrors with which we had associated them. we grew indifferent to the sounds that had made our first night a horror to us all--there was even a certain homeliness in them--while we regarded with accustomed, almost blase eyes the various furred creatures of which we caught distant glimpses as they slunk through the forest. their experience with other settlers had taught them caution; it soon became clear that they were as eager to avoid us as we were to shun them, and by common consent we gave each other ample elbow-room. but the indians were all around us, and every settler had a collection of hair-raising tales to tell of them. it was generally agreed that they were dangerous only when they were drunk; but as they were drunk whenever they could get whisky, and as whisky was constantly given them in exchange for pelts and game, there was a harrowing doubt in our minds whenever they approached us. in my first encounter with them i was alone in the woods at sunset with my small brother harry. we were hunting a cow james had bought, and our young eyes were peering eagerly among the trees, on the alert for any moving object. suddenly, at a little distance, and coming directly toward us, we saw a party of indians. there were five of them, all men, walking in single file, as noiselessly as ghosts, their moccasined feet causing not even a rustle among the dry leaves that carpeted the woods. all the horrible stories we had heard of indian cruelty flashed into our minds, and for a moment we were dumb with terror. then i remembered having been told that the one thing one must not do before them is to show fear. harry was carrying a rope with which we had expected to lead home our reluctant cow, and i seized one end of it and whispered to him that we would "play horse," pretending he was driving me. we pranced toward the indians on feet that felt like lead, and with eyes so glazed by terror that we could see nothing save a line of moving figures; but as we passed them they did not give to our little impersonation of care-free children even the tribute of a side-glance. they were, we realized, headed straight for our home; and after a few moments we doubled on our tracks and, keeping at a safe distance from them among the trees, ran back to warn our mother that they were coming. as it happened, james was away, and mother had to meet her unwelcome guests supported only by her young children. she at once prepared a meal, however, and when they arrived she welcomed them calmly and gave them the best she had. after they had eaten they began to point at and demand objects they fancied in the room--my brother's pipe, some tobacco, a bowl, and such trifles--and my mother, who was afraid to annoy them by refusal, gave them what they asked. they were quite sober, and though they left without expressing any appreciation of her hospitality, they made her a second visit a few months later, bringing a large quantity of venison and a bag of cranberries as a graceful return. these indians were ottawas; and later we became very friendly with them and their tribe, even to the degree of attending one of their dances, which i shall describe later. our second encounter with indians was a less agreeable experience. there were seven "marquette warriors" in the next group of callers, and they were all intoxicated. moreover, they had brought with them several jugs of bad whisky--the raw and craze-provoking product supplied them by the fur-dealers--and it was clear that our cabin was to be the scene of an orgy. fortunately, my brother james was at home on this occasion, and as the evening grew old and the indians, grouped together around the fire, became more and more irresponsible, he devised a plan for our safety. our attic was finished, and its sole entrance was by a ladder through a trap-door. at james's whispered command my sister eleanor slipped up into the attic, and from the back window let down a rope, to which he tied all the weapons we had--his gun and several axes. these eleanor drew up and concealed in one of the bunks. my brother then directed that as quietly as possible, and at long intervals, one member of the family after another was to slip up the ladder and into the attic, going quite casually, that the indians might not realize what we were doing. once there, with the ladder drawn up after us and the trap-door closed, we would be reasonably safe, unless our guests decided to burn the cabin. the evening seemed endless, and was certainly nerve-racking. the indians ate everything in the house, and from my seat in a dim corner i watched them while my sisters waited on them. i can still see the tableau they made in the firelit room and hear the unfamiliar accents of their speech as they talked together. occasionally one of them would pull a hair from his head, seize his scalping-knife; and cut the hair with it--a most unpleasant sight! when either of my sisters approached them some of the indians would make gestures, as if capturing and scalping her. through it all, however, the whisky held their close attention, and it was due to this that we succeeded in reaching the attic unobserved, james coming last of all and drawing the ladder after him. mother and the children were then put to bed; but through that interminable night james and eleanor lay flat upon the floor, watching through the cracks between the boards the revels of the drunken indians, which grew wilder with every hour that crawled toward sunrise. there was no knowing when they would miss us or how soon their mood might change. at any moment they might make an attack upon us or set fire to the cabin. by dawn, however, their whisky was all gone, and they were in so deep a stupor that, one after the other, the seven fell from their chairs to the floor, where they sprawled unconscious. when they awoke they left quietly and without trouble of any kind. they seemed a strangely subdued and chastened band; probably they were wretchedly ill after their debauch on the adulterated whisky the traders had given them. that autumn the ottawa tribe had a great corn celebration, to which we and the other settlers were invited. james and my older sisters attended it, and i went with them, by my own urgent invitation. it seemed to me that as i was sharing the work and the perils of our new environment, i might as well share its joys; and i finally succeeded in making my family see the logic of this position. the central feature of the festivity was a huge kettle, many feet in circumference, into which the indians dropped the most extraordinary variety of food we had ever seen combined. deer heads went into it whole, as well as every kind of meat and vegetable the members of the tribe could procure. we all ate some of this agreeable mixture, and later, with one another, and even with the indians, we danced gaily to the music of a tom-tom and a drum. the affair was extremely interesting until the whisky entered and did its unpleasant work. when our hosts began to fall over in the dance and slumber where they lay, and when the squaws began to show the same ill effects of their refreshments, we unostentatiously slipped away. during the winter life offered us few diversions and many hardships. our creek froze over, and the water problem became a serious one, which we met with increasing difficulty as the temperature steadily fell. we melted snow and ice, and existed through the frozen months, but with an amount of discomfort which made us unwilling to repeat at least that special phase of our experience. in the spring, therefore, i made a well. long before this, james had gone, and harry and i were now the only outdoor members of our working-force. harry was still too small to help with the well; but a young man, who had formed the neighborly habit of riding eighteen miles to call on us, gave me much friendly aid. we located the well with a switch, and when we had dug as far as we could reach with our spades, my assistant descended into the hole and threw the earth up to the edge, from which i in turn removed it. as the well grew deeper we made a half-way shelf, on which i stood, he throwing the earth on the shelf, and i shoveling it up from that point. later, as he descended still farther into the hole we were making, he shoveled the earth into buckets and passed them up to me, i passing them on to my sister, who was now pressed into service. when the excavation was deep enough we made the wall of slabs of wood, roughly joined together. i recall that well with calm content. it was not a thing of beauty, but it was a thoroughly practical well, and it remained the only one we had during the twelve years the family occupied the cabin. during our first year there was no school within ten miles of us, but this lack failed to sadden harry or me. we had brought with us from lawrence a box of books, in which, in winter months, when our outdoor work was restricted, we found much comfort. they were the only books in that part of the country, and we read them until we knew them all by heart. moreover, father sent us regularly the new york independent, and with this admirable literature, after reading it, we papered our walls. thus, on stormy days, we could lie on the settle or the floor and read the independent over again with increased interest and pleasure. occasionally father sent us the ledger, but here mother drew a definite line. she had a special dislike for that periodical, and her severest comment on any woman was that she was the type who would "keep a dog, make saleratus biscuit, and read the new york ledger in the daytime." our modest library also contained several histories of greece and rome, which must have been good ones, for years later, when i entered college, i passed my examination in ancient history with no other preparation than this reading. there were also a few arithmetics and algebras, a historical novel or two, and the inevitable copy of uncle tom's cabin, whose pages i had freely moistened with my tears. when the advantages of public education were finally extended to me, at thirteen, by the opening of a school three miles from our home, i accepted them with growing reluctance. the teacher was a spinster forty-four years of age and the only genuine "old maid" i have ever met who was not a married woman or a man. she was the real thing, and her name, prudence duncan, seemed the fitting label for her rigidly uncompromising personality. i graced prudence's school for three months, and then left it at her fervid request. i had walked six miles a day through trackless woods and western blizzards to get what she could give me, but she had little to offer my awakened and critical mind. my reading and my lawrence school-work had already taught me more than prudence knew--a fact we both inwardry--admitted and fiercely resented from our different viewpoints. beyond doubt i was a pert and trying young person. i lost no opportunity to lead prudence beyond her intellectual depth and leave her there, and prudence vented her chagrin not alone upon me, but upon my little brother. i became a thorn in her side, and one day, after an especially unpleasant episode in which harry also figured, she plucked me out, as it were, and cast me for ever from her. from that time i studied at home, where i was a much more valuable economic factor than i had been in school. the second spring after our arrival harry and i extended our operations by tapping the sugar-bushes, collecting all the sap, and carrying it home in pails slung from our yoke-laden shoulders. together we made one hundred and fifty pounds of sugar and a barrel of syrup, but here again, as always, we worked in primitive ways. to get the sap we chopped a gash in the tree and drove in a spile. then we dug out a trough to catch the sap. it was no light task to lift these troughs full of sap and empty the sap into buckets, but we did it successfully, and afterward built fires and boiled it down. by this time we had also cleared some of our ground, and during the spring we were able to plow, dividing the work in a way that seemed fair to us both. these were strenuous occupations for a boy of nine and a girl of thirteen, but, though we were not inordinately good children, we never complained; we found them very satisfactory substitutes for more normal bucolic joys. inevitably, we had our little tragedies. our cow died, and for an entire winter we went without milk. our coffee soon gave out, and as a substitute we made and used a mixture of browned peas and burnt rye. in the winter we were always cold, and the water problem, until we had built our well, was ever with us. father joined us at the end of eighteen months, but though his presence gave us pleasure and moral support, he was not an addition to our executive staff. he brought with him a rocking-chair for mother and a new supply of books, on which i fell as a starving man falls upon food. father read as eagerly as i, but much more steadily. his mind was always busy with problems, and if, while he was laboring in the field, a new problem presented itself to him, the imperishable curiosity that was in him made him scurry at once to the house to solve it. i have known him to spend a planting season in figuring on the production of a certain number of kernels of corn, instead of planting the corn and raising it. in the winter he was supposed to spend his time clearing land for orchards and the like, but instead he pored over his books and problems day after day and often half the night as well. it soon became known among our neighbors, who were rapidly increasing in number, that we had books and that father like to read aloud, and men walked ten miles or more to spend the night with us and listen to his reading. often, as his fame grew, ten or twelve men would arrive at our cabin on saturday and remain over sunday. when my mother once tried to check this influx of guests by mildly pointing out, among other things, the waste of candles represented by frequent all-night readings, every man humbly appeared again on the following saturday with a candle in each hand. they were not sensitive; and, as they had brought their candles, it seemed fitting to them and to father that we girls should cook for them and supply them with food. father's tolerance of idleness in others, however, did not extend to tolerance of idleness in us, and this led to my first rebellion, which occurred when i was fourteen. for once, i had been in the woods all day, buried in my books; and when i returned at night, still in the dream world these books had opened to me, father was awaiting my coming with a brow dark with disapproval. as it happened, mother had felt that day some special need of me, and father reproached me bitterly for being beyond reach--an idler who wasted time while mother labored. he ended a long arraignment by predicting gloomily that with such tendencies i would make nothing of my life. the injustice of the criticism cut deep; i knew i had done and was doing my share for the family, and already, too, i had begun to feel the call of my career. for some reason i wanted to preach--to talk to people, to tell them things. just why, just what, i did not yet know--but i had begun to preach in the silent woods, to stand up on stumps and address the unresponsive trees, to feel the stir of aspiration within me. when my father had finished all he wished to say, i looked at him and answered, quietly, "father, some day i am going to college." i can still see his slight, ironical smile. it drove me to a second prediction. i was young enough to measure success by material results, so i added, recklessly: "and before i die i shall be worth ten thousand dollars!" the amount staggered me even as it dropped from my lips. it was the largest fortune my imagination could conceive, and in my heart i believed that no woman ever had possessed or would possess so much. so far as i knew, too, no woman had gone to college. but now that i had put my secret hopes into words, i was desperately determined to make those hopes come true. after i became a wage-earner i lost my desire to make a fortune, but the college dream grew with the years; and though my college career seemed as remote as the most distant star, i hitched my little wagon to that star and never afterward wholly lost sight of its friendly gleam. when i was fifteen years old i was offered a situation as school-teacher. by this time the community was growing around us with the rapidity characteristic of these western settlements, and we had nearer neighbors whose children needed instruction. i passed an examination before a schoolboard consisting of three nervous and self-conscious men whose certificate i still hold, and i at once began my professional career on the modest salary of two dollars a week and my board. the school was four miles from my home, so i "boarded round" with the families of my pupils, staying two weeks in each place, and often walking from three to six miles a day to and from my little log school-house in every kind of weather. during the first year i had about fourteen pupils, of varying ages, sizes, and temperaments, and there was hardly a book in the school-room except those i owned. one little girl, i remember, read from an almanac, while a second used a hymn-book. in winter the school-house was heated by a woodstove, to which the teacher had to give close personal attention. i could not depend on my pupils to make the fires or carry in the fuel; and it was often necessary to fetch the wood myself, sometimes for long distances through the forest. again and again, after miles of walking through winter storms, i reached the school-house with my clothing wet through, and in these soaked garments i taught during the day. in "boarding round" i often found myself in one-room cabins, with bunks at the end and the sole partition a sheet or a blanket, behind which i slept with one or two of the children. it was the custom on these occasions for the man of the house to delicately retire to the barn while we women got to bed, and to disappear again in the morning while we dressed. in some places the meals were so badly cooked that i could not eat them, and often the only food my poor little pupils brought to school for their noonday meal was a piece of bread or a bit of raw pork. i earned my two dollars a week that year, but i had to wait for my wages until the dog tax was collected in the spring. when the money was thus raised, and the twenty-six dollars for my thirteen weeks of teaching were graciously put into my hands, i went "outside" to the nearest shop and joyously spent almost the entire amount for my first "party dress." the gown i bought was, i considered, a beautiful creation. in color it was a rich magenta, and the skirt was elaborately braided with black cable-cord. my admiration for it was justified, for it did all a young girl's eager heart could ask of any gown--it led to my first proposal. the youth who sought my hand was about twenty years old, and by an unhappy chance he was also the least attractive young person in the countryside--the laughing-stock of the neighbors, the butt of his associates. the night he came to offer me his heart there were already two young men at our home calling on my sisters, and we were all sitting around the fire in the living-room when my suitor appeared. his costume, like himself, left much to be desired. he wore a blue flannel shirt and a pair of trousers made of flour-bags. such trousers were not uncommon in our region, and the boy's mother, who had made them for him, had thoughtfully selected a nice clean pair of sacks. but on one leg was the name of the firm that made the flour--a. and g. w. green--and by a charming coincidence a. and g. w. green happened to be the two young men who were calling on my sisters! on the back of the bags, directly in the rear of the wearer, was the simple legend, "96 pounds"; and the striking effect of the young man's costume was completed by a bright yellow sash which held his trousers in place. the vision fascinated my sisters and their two guests. they gave it their entire attention, and when the new-comer signified with an eloquent gesture that he was calling on me, and beckoned me into an inner room, the quartet arose as one person and followed us to the door. then, as we inhospitably closed the door, they fastened their eyes to the cracks in the living-room wall, that they might miss none of the entertainment. when we were alone my guest and i sat down in facing chairs and in depressed silence. the young man was nervous, and i was both frightened and annoyed. i had heard suppressed giggles on the other side of the wall, and i realized, as my self-centered visitor failed to do, that we were not enjoying the privacy the situation seemed to demand. at last the youth informed me that his "dad" had just given him a cabin, a yoke of steers, a cow, and some hens. when this announcement had produced its full effect, he straightened up in his chair and asked, solemnly, "will ye have me?" an outburst of chortles from the other side of the wall greeted the proposal, but the ardent youth ignored it, if indeed he heard it. with eyes staring straight ahead, he sat rigid, waiting for my answer; and i, anxious only to get rid of him and to end the strain of the moment, said the first thing that came into my head. "i can't," i told him. "i'm sorry, but--but--i'm engaged." he rose quickly, with the effect of a half-closed jack-knife that is suddenly opened, and for an instant stood looking down upon me. he was six feet two inches tall, and extremely thin. i am very short, and, as i looked up, his flour-bag trousers seemed to join his yellow sash somewhere near the ceiling of the room. he put both hands into his pockets and slowly delivered his valedictory. "that's darned disappointing to a fellow," he said, and left the house. after a moment devoted to regaining my maidenly composure i returned to the living-room, where i had the privilege of observing the enjoyment of my sisters and their visitors. helpless with mirth and with tears of pleasure on their cheeks, the four rocked and shrieked as they recalled the picture my gallant had presented. for some time after that incident i felt a strong distaste for sentiment. clad royally in the new gown, i attended my first ball in november, going with a party of eight that included my two sisters, another girl, and four young men. the ball was at big rapids, which by this time had grown to be a thriving lumber town. it was impossible to get a team of horses or even a yoke of oxen for the journey, so we made a raft and went down the river on that, taking our party dresses with us in trunks. unfortunately, the raft "hung up" in the stream, and the four young men had to get out into the icy water and work a long time before they could detach it from the rocks. naturally, they were soaked and chilled through, but they all bore the experience with a gay philosophy. when we reached big rapids we dressed for the ball, and, as in those days it was customary to change one's gown again at midnight, i had an opportunity to burst on the assemblage in two costumes--the second made of bedroom chintz, with a low neck and short sleeves. we danced the "money musk," and the "virginia reel," "hoeing her down" (which means changing partners) in true pioneer style. i never missed a dance at this or any subsequent affair, and i was considered the gayest and the most tireless young person at our parties until i became a methodist minister and dropped such worldly vanities. the first time i preached in my home region all my former partners came to hear me, and listened with wide, understanding, reminiscent smiles which made it very hard for me to keep soberly to my text. in the near future i had reason to regret the extravagant expenditure of my first earnings. for my second year of teaching, in the same school, i was to receive five dollars a week and to pay my own board. i selected a place two miles and a half from the school-house, and was promptly asked by my host to pay my board in advance. this, he explained, was due to no lack of faith in me; the money would enable him to go "outside" to work, leaving his family well supplied with provisions. i allowed him to go to the school committee and collect my board in advance, at the rate of three dollars a week for the season. when i presented myself at my new boarding-place, however, two days later, i found the house nailed up and deserted; the man and his family had departed with my money, and i was left, as my committeemen sympathetically remarked, "high and dry." there were only two dollars a week coming to me after that, so i walked back and forth between my home and my school, almost four miles, twice a day; and during this enforced exercise there was ample opportunity to reflect on the fleeting joy of riches. in the mean time war had been declared. when the news came that fort sumter had been fired on, and that lincoln had called for troops, our men were threshing. there was only one threshing-machine in the region at that time, and it went from place to place, the farmers doing their threshing whenever they could get the machine. i remember seeing a man ride up on horseback, shouting out lincoln's demand for troops and explaining that a regiment was being formed at big rapids. before he had finished speaking the men on the machine had leaped to the ground and rushed off to enlist, my brother jack, who had recently joined us, among them. in ten minutes not one man was left in the field. a few months later my brother tom enlisted as a bugler--he was a mere boy at the time--and not long after that my father followed the example of his sons and served until the war was ended. he had entered on the twenty-ninth of august, 1862, as an army steward; he came back to us with the rank of lieutenant and assistant surgeon of field and staff. between those years i was the principal support of our family, and life became a strenuous and tragic affair. for months at a time we had no news from the front. the work in our community, if it was done at all, was done by despairing women whose hearts were with their men. when care had become our constant guest, death entered our home as well. my sister eleanor had married, and died in childbirth, leaving her baby to me; and the blackest hours of those black years were the hours that saw her passing. i can see her still, lying in a stupor from which she roused herself at intervals to ask about her child. she insisted that our brother tom should name the baby, but tom was fighting for his country, unless he had already preceded eleanor through the wide portal that was opening before her. i could only tell her that i had written to him; but before the assurance was an hour old she would climb up from the gulf of unconsciousness with infinite effort to ask if we had received his reply. at last, to calm her, i told her it had come, and that tom had chosen for her little son the name of arthur. she smiled at this and drew a deep breath; then, still smiling, she passed away. her baby slipped into her vacant place and almost filled our heavy hearts, but only for a short time; for within a few months after his mother's death his father married again and took him from me, and it seemed that with his going we had lost all that made life worth while. the problem of living grew harder with everyday. we eked out our little income in every way we could, taking as boarders the workers in the logging-camps, making quilts, which we sold, and losing no chance to earn a penny in any legitimate manner. again my mother did such outside sewing as she could secure, yet with every month of our effort the gulf between our income and our expenses grew wider, and the price of the bare necessities of exisence{sic} climbed up and up. the largest amount i could earn at teaching was six dollars a week, and our school year included only two terms of thirteen weeks each. it was an incessant struggle to keep our land, to pay our taxes, and to live. calico was selling at fifty cents a yard. coffee was one dollar a pound. there were no men left to grind our corn, to get in our crops, or to care for our live stock; and all around us we saw our struggle reflected in the lives of our neighbors. at long intervals word came to us of battles in which my father's regiment--the tenth michigan cavalry volunteers--or those of my brothers were engaged, and then longer intervals followed in which we heard no news. after eleanor's death my brother tom was wounded, and for months we lived in terror of worse tidings, but he finally recovered. i was walking seven and eight miles a day, and doing extra work before and after school hours, and my health began to fail. those were years i do not like to look back upon--years in which life had degenerated into a treadmill whose monotony was broken only by the grim messages from the front. my sister mary married and went to big rapids to live. i had no time to dream my dream, but the star of my one purpose still glowed in my dark horizon. it seemed that nothing short of a miracle could lift my feet from their plodding way and set them on the wider path toward which my eyes were turned, but i never lost faith that in some manner the miracle would come to pass. as certainly as i have ever known anything, i knew that i was going to college! iii. high-school and college days the end of the civil war brought freedom to me, too. when peace was declared my father and brothers returned to the claim in the wilderness which we women of the family had labored so desperately to hold while they were gone. to us, as to others, the final years of the war had brought many changes. my sister eleanor's place was empty. mary, as i have said, had married and gone to live in big rapids, and my mother and i were alone with my brother harry, now a boy of fourteen. after the return of our men it was no longer necessary to devote every penny of my earnings to the maintenance of our home. for the first time i could begin to save a portion of my income toward the fulfilment of my college dream, but even yet there was a long, arid stretch ahead of me before the college doors came even distantly into sight. the largest salary i could earn by teaching in our northern woods was one hundred and fifty-six dollars a year, for two terms of thirteen weeks each; and from this, of course, i had to deduct the cost of my board and clothing--the sole expenditure i allowed myself. the dollars for an education accumulated very, very slowly, until at last, in desperation, weary of seeing the years of my youth rush past, bearing my hopes with them, i took a sudden and radical step. i gave up teaching, left our cabin in the woods, and went to big rapids to live with my sister mary, who had married a successful man and who generously offered me a home. there, i had decided, i would learn a trade of some kind, of any kind; it did not greatly matter what it was. the sole essential was that it should be a money-making trade, offering wages which would make it possible to add more rapidly to my savings. in those days, almost fifty years ago, and in a small pioneer town, the fields open to women were few and unfruitful. the needle at once presented itself, but at first i turned with loathing from it. i would have preferred the digging of ditches or the shoveling of coal; but the needle alone persistently pointed out my way, and i was finally forced to take it. fate, however, as if weary at last of seeing me between her paws, suddenly let me escape. before i had been working a month at my uncongenial trade big rapids was favored by a visit from a universalist woman minister, the reverend marianna thompson, who came there to preach. her sermon was delivered on sunday morning, and i was, i think, almost the earliest arrival of the great congregation which filled the church. it was a wonderful moment when i saw my first woman minister enter her pulpit; and as i listened to her sermon, thrilled to the soul, all my early aspirations to become a minister myself stirred in me with cumulative force. after the services i hung for a time on the fringe of the group that surrounded her, and at last, when she was alone and about to leave, i found courage to introduce myself and pour forth the tale of my ambition. her advice was as prompt as if she had studied my problem for years. "my child," she said, "give up your foolish idea of learning a trade, and go to school. you can't do anything until you have an education. get it, and get it now." her suggestion was much to my liking, and i paid her the compliment of acting on it promptly, for the next morning i entered the big rapids high school, which was also a preparatory school for college. there i would study, i determined, as long as my money held out, and with the optimism of youth i succeeded in confining my imagination to this side of that crisis. my home, thanks to mary, was assured; the wardrobe i had brought from the woods covered me sufficiently; to one who had walked five and six miles a day for years, walking to school held no discomfort; and as for pleasure, i found it, like a heroine of fiction, in my studies. for the first time life was smiling at me, and with all my young heart i smiled back. the preceptress of the high school was lucy foot, a college graduate and a remarkable woman. i had heard much of her sympathy and understanding; and on the evening following my first day in school i went to her and repeated the confidences i had reposed in the reverend marianna thompson. my trust in her was justified. she took an immediate interest in me, and proved it at once by putting me into the speaking and debating classes, where i was given every opportunity to hold forth to helpless classmates when the spirit of eloquence moved me. as an aid to public speaking i was taught to "elocute," and i remember in every mournful detail the occasion on which i gave my first recitation. we were having our monthly "public exhibition night," and the audience included not only my classmates, but their parents and friends as well. the selection i intended to recite was a poem entitled "no sects in heaven," but when i faced my audience i was so appalled by its size and by the sudden realization of my own temerity that i fainted during the delivery of the first verse. sympathetic classmates carried me into an anteroom and revived me, after which they naturally assumed that the entertainment i furnished was over for the evening. i, however, felt that if i let that failure stand against me i could never afterward speak in public; and within ten minutes, notwithstanding the protests of my friends, i was back in the hall and beginning my recitation a second time. the audience gave me its eager attention. possibly it hoped to see me topple off the platform again, but nothing of the sort occurred. i went through the recitation with self-possession and received some friendly applause at the end. strangely enough, those first sensations of "stage fright" have been experienced, in a lesser degree, in connection with each of the thousands of public speeches i have made since that time. i have never again gone so far as to faint in the presence of an audience; but i have invariably walked out on the platform feeling the sinking sensation at the pit of the stomach, the weakness of the knees, that i felt in the hour of my debut. now, however, the nervousness passes after a moment or two. from that night miss foot lost no opportunity of putting me into the foreground of our school affairs. i took part in all our debates, recited yards of poetry to any audience we could attract, and even shone mildly in our amateur theatricals. it was probably owing to all this activity that i attracted the interest of the presiding elder of our district--dr. peck, a man of progressive ideas. there was at that time a movement on foot to license women to preach in the methodist church, and dr. peck was ambitious to be the first presiding elder to have a woman ordained for the methodist ministry. he had urged miss foot to be this pioneer, but her ambitions did not turn in that direction. though she was a very devout methodist, she had no wish to be the shepherd of a religious flock. she loved her school-work, and asked nothing better than to remain in it. gently but persistently she directed the attention of dr. peck to me, and immediately things began to happen. without telling me to what it might lead, miss foot finally arranged a meeting at her home by inviting dr. peck and me to dinner. being unconscious of any significance in the occasion, i chatted light-heartedly about the large issues of life and probably settled most of them to my personal satisfaction. dr. peck drew me out and led me on, listened and smiled. when the evening was over and we rose to go, he turned to me with sudden seriousness: "my quarterly meeting will be held at ashton," he remarked, casually. "i would like you to preach the quarterly sermon." for a moment the earth seemed to slip away from my feet. i stared at him in utter stupefaction. then slowly i realized that, incredible as it seemed, the man was in earnest. "why," i stammered, "_i_ can't preach a sermon!" dr. peck smiled at me. "have you ever tried?" he asked. i started to assure him vehemently that i never had. then, as if time had thrown a picture on a screen before me, i saw myself as a little girl preaching alone in the forest, as i had so often preached to a congregation of listening trees. i qualified my answer. "never," i said, "to human beings." dr. peck smiled again. "well," he told me, "the door is open. enter or not, as you wish." he left the house, but i remained to discuss his overwhelming proposition with miss foot. a sudden sobering thought had come to me. "but," i exclaimed, "i've never been converted. how can i preach to any one?" we both had the old-time idea of conversion, which now seems so mistaken. we thought one had to struggle with sin and with the lord until at last the heart opened, doubts were dispersed, and the light poured in. miss foot could only advise me to put the matter before the lord, to wrestle and to pray; and thereafter, for hours at a time, she worked and prayed with me, alternately urging, pleading, instructing, and sending up petitions in my behalf. our last session was a dramatic one, which took up the entire night. long before it was over we were both worn out; but toward morning, either from exhaustion of body or exaltation of soul, i seemed to see the light, and it made me very happy. with all my heart i wanted to preach, and i believed that now at last i had my call. the following day we sent word to dr. peck that i would preach the sermon at ashton as he had asked, but we urged him to say nothing of the matter for the present, and miss foot and i also kept the secret locked in our breasts. i knew only too well what view my family and my friends would take of such a step and of me. to them it would mean nothing short of personal disgrace and a blotted page in the shaw record. i had six weeks in which to prepare my sermon, and i gave it most of my waking hours as well as those in which i should have been asleep. i took for my text: "and as moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the son of man be lifted up; that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have eternal life." it was not until three days before i preached the sermon that i found courage to confide my purpose to my sister mary, and if i had confessed my intention to commit a capital crime she could not have been more disturbed. we two had always been very close, and the death of eleanor, to whom we were both devoted, had drawn us even nearer to each other. now mary's tears and prayers wrung my heart and shook my resolution. but, after all, she was asking me to give up my whole future, to close my ears to my call, and i felt that i could not do it. my decision caused an estrangement between us which lasted for years. on the day preceding the delivery of my sermon i left for ashton on the afternoon train; and in the same car, but as far away from me as she could get, mary sat alone and wept throughout the journey. she was going to my mother, but she did not speak to me; and i, for my part, facing both alienation from her and the ordeal before me, found my one comfort in lucy foot's presence and understanding sympathy. there was no church in ashton, so i preached my sermon in its one little school-house, which was filled with a curious crowd, eager to look at and hear the girl who was defying all conventions by getting out of the pew and into the pulpit. there was much whispering and suppressed excitement before i began, but when i gave out my text silence fell upon the room, and from that moment until i had finished my hearers listened quietly. a kerosene-lamp stood on a stand at my elbow, and as i preached i trembled so violently that the oil shook in its glass globe; but i finished without breaking down, and at the end dr. peck, who had his own reasons for nervousness, handsomely assured me that my first sermon was better than his maiden effort had been. it was evidently not a failure, for the next day he invited me to follow him around in his circuit, which included thirty-six appointments; he wished me to preach in each of the thirty-six places, as it was desirable to let the various ministers hear and know me before i applied for my license as a local preacher. the sermon also had another result, less gratifying. it brought out, on the following morning, the first notice of me ever printed in a newspaper. this was instigated by my brother-in-law, and it was brief but pointed. it read: a young girl named anna shaw, seventeen years old, [1] preached at ashton yesterday. her real friends deprecate the course she is pursuing. [footnote 1: a misstatement by the brother-in-law. dr. shaw was at this time twenty-three years old.--e. j.] the little notice had something of the effect of a lighted match applied to gunpowder. an explosion of public sentiment followed it, the entire community arose in consternation, and i became a bone of contention over which friends and strangers alike wrangled until they wore themselves out. the members of my family, meeting in solemn council, sent for me, and i responded. they had a proposition to make, and they lost no time in putting it before me. if i gave up my preaching they would send me to college and pay for my entire course. they suggested ann arbor, and ann arbor tempted me sorely; but to descend from the pulpit i had at last entered--the pulpit i had visualized in all my childish dreams--was not to be considered. we had a long evening together, and it was a very unhappy one. at the end of it i was given twenty-four hours in which to decide whether i would choose my people and college, or my pulpit and the arctic loneliness of a life that held no family-circle. it did not require twenty-four hours of reflection to convince me that i must go my solitary way. that year i preached thirty-six times, at each of the presiding elder's appointments; and the following spring, at the annual methodist conference of our district, held at big rapids, my name was presented to the assembled ministers as that of a candidate for a license to preach. there was unusual interest in the result, and my father was among those who came to the conference to see the vote taken. during these conferences a minister voted affirmatively on a question by holding up his hand, and negatively by failing to do so. when the question of my license came up the majority of the ministers voted by raising both hands, and in the pleasant excitement which followed my father slipped away. those who saw him told me he looked pleased; but he sent me no message showing a change of viewpoint, and the gulf between the family and its black sheep remained unbridged. though the warmth of mary's love for me had become a memory, the warmth of her hearthstone was still offered me. i accepted it, perforce, and we lived together like shadows of what we had been. two friends alone of all i had made stood by me without qualification--miss foot and clara osborn, the latter my "chum" at big rapids and a dweller in my heart to this day. in the mean time my preaching had not interfered with my studies. i was working day and night, but life was very difficult; for among my schoolmates, too, there were doubts and much head-shaking over this choice of a career. i needed the sound of friendly voices, for i was very lonely; and suddenly, when the pressure from all sides was strongest and i was going down physically under it, a voice was raised that i had never dared to dream would speak for me. mary a. livermore came to big rapids, and as she was then at the height of her career, the entire countryside poured in to hear her. far back in the crowded hall i sat alone and listened to her, thrilled by the lecture and tremulous with the hope of meeting the lecturer. when she had finished speaking i joined the throng that surged forward from the body of the hall, and as i reached her and felt the grasp of her friendly hand i had a sudden conviction that the meeting was an epoch in my life. i was right. some one in the circle around us told her that i wanted to preach, and that i was meeting tremendous opposition. she was interested at once. she looked at me with quickening sympathy, and then, suddenly putting an arm around me, drew me close to her side. "my dear," she said, quietly, "if you want to preach, go on and preach. don't let anybody stop you. no matter what people say, don't let them stop you!" for a moment i was too overcome to answer her. these were almost my first encouraging words, and the morning stars singing together could not have made sweeter music for my ears. before i could recover a woman within hearing spoke up. "oh, mrs. livermore," she exclaimed, "don't say that to her! we're all trying to stop her. her people are wretched over the whole thing. and don't you see how ill she is? she has one foot in the grave and the other almost there!" mrs. livermore turned upon me a long and deeply thoughtful look. "yes," she said at last, "i see she has. but it is better that she should die doing the thing she wants to do than that she should die because she can't do it." her words were a tonic which restored my voice. "so they think i'm going to die!" i cried. "well, i'm not! i'm going to live and preach!" i have always felt since then that without the inspiration of mrs. livermore's encouragement i might not have continued my fight. her sanction was a shield, however, from which the criticisms of the world fell back. fate's more friendly interest in my affairs that year was shown by the fact that she sent mrs. livermore into my life before i had met anna dickinson. miss dickinson came to us toward spring and lectured on joan of arc. never before or since have i been more deeply moved by a speaker. when she had finished her address i made my happy way to the front of the hall with the others who wished to meet the distinguished guest. it was our local manager who introduced me, and he said, "this is our anna shaw. she is going to be a lecturer, too." i looked up at the brilliant miss dickinson with the trustfulness of youth in my eyes. i remembered mrs. livermore and i thought all great women were like her, but i was now to experience a bitter disillusionment. miss dickinson barely touched the tips of my fingers as she looked indifferently past the side of my face. "ah," she said, icily, and turned away. in later years i learned how impossible it is for a public speaker to leave a gracious impression on every life that for a moment touches her own; but i have never ceased to be thankful that i met mrs. livermore before i met miss dickinson at the crisis in my career. in the autumn of 1873 i entered albion college, in albion, michigan. i was twenty-five years of age, but i looked much younger--probably not more than eighteen to the casual glance. though i had made every effort to save money, i had not been successful, for my expenses constantly outran my little income, and my position as preacher made it necessary for me to have a suitable wardrobe. when the time came to enter college i had exactly eighteen dollars in the world, and i started for albion with this amount in my purse and without the slightest notion of how i was to add to it. the money problem so pressed upon me, in fact, that when i reached my destination at midnight and discovered that it would cost fifty cents to ride from the station to the college, i saved that amount by walking the entire distance on the railroad tracks, while my imagination busied itself pleasantly with pictures of the engine that might be thundering upon me in the rear. i had chosen albion because miss foot had been educated there, and i was encouraged by an incident that happened the morning after my arrival. i was on the campus, walking toward the main building, when i saw a big copper penny lying on the ground, and, on picking it up, i discovered that it bore the year of my birth. that seemed a good omen, and it was emphatically underlined by the finding of two exactly similar pennies within a week. though there have been days since then when i was sorely tempted to spend them, i have those three pennies still, and i confess to a certain comfort in their possession! as i had not completed my high-school course, my first days at albion were spent in strenuous preparation for the entrance examinations; and one morning, as i was crossing the campus with a history of the united states tucked coyly under my arm, i met the president of the college, dr. josclyn. he stopped for a word of greeting, during which i betrayed the fact that i had never studied united states history. dr. josclyn at once invited me into his office with, i am quite sure, the purpose of explaining as kindly as he could that my preparation for college was insufficient. as an opening to the subject he began to talk of history, and we talked and talked on, while unheeded hours were born and died. we discussed the history of the united states, the governments of the world, the causes which led to the influence of one nation on another, the philosophical basis of the different national movements westward, and the like. it was the longest and by far the most interesting talk i have ever had with a highly educated man, and during it i could actually feel my brain expand. when i rose to go president josclyn stopped me. "i have something to give you," he said, and he wrote a few words on a slip of paper and handed the slip to me. when, on reaching the dormitory, i opened it, i found that the president had passed me in the history of the entire college course! this, moreover, was not the only pleasant result of our interview, for within a few weeks president and mrs. josclyn, whose daughter had recently died, invited me to board with them, and i made my home with them during my first year at albion. my triumph in history was followed by the swift and chastening discovery that i was behind my associates in several other branches. owing to my father's early help, i was well up in mathematics, but i had much to learn of philosophy and the languages, and to these i devoted many midnight candles. naturally, i soon plunged into speaking, and my first public speech at college was a defense of xantippe. i have always felt that the poor lady was greatly abused, and that socrates deserved all he received from her, and more. i was glad to put myself on record as her champion, and my fellow-students must soon have felt that my admiration for xantippe was based on similarities of temperament, for within a few months i was leading the first college revolt against the authority of the men students. albion was a coeducational institution, and the brightest jewels in its crown were its three literary societies--the first composed of men alone, the second of women alone, and the third of men and women together. each of the societies made friendly advances to new students, and for some time i hesitated on the brink of the new joys they offered, uncertain which to choose. a representative of the mixed society, who was putting its claims before me, unconsciously helped me to make up my mind. "women," he pompously assured me, "need to be associated with men, because they don't know how to manage meetings." on the instant the needle of decision swung around to the women's society and remained there, fixed. "if they don't," i told the pompous young man, "it's high time they learned. i shall join the women, and we'll master the art." i did join the women's society, and i had not been a member very long before i discovered that when there was an advantage of any kind to be secured the men invariably got it. while i was brooding somberly upon this wrong an opportunity came to make a formal and effective protest against the men's high-handed methods. the quinquennial reunion of all the societies was about to be held, and the special feature of this festivity was always an oration. the simple method of selecting the orator which had formerly prevailed had been for the young men to decide upon the speaker and then announce his name to the women, who humbly confirmed it. on this occasion, however, when the name came in to us, i sent a message to our brother society to the effect that we, too, intended to make a nomination and to send in a name. at such unprecedented behavior the entire student body arose in excitement, which, among the girls, was combined with equal parts of exhilaration and awe. the men refused to consider our nominee, and as a friendly compromise we suggested that we have a joint meeting of all the societies and elect the speaker at this gathering; but this plan also the men at first refused, giving in only after weeks of argument, during which no one had time for the calmer pleasures of study. when the joint meeting was finally held, nothing was accomplished; we girls had one more member than the boys had, and we promptly re-elected our candidate, who was as promptly declined by the boys. two of our girls were engaged to two of the boys, and it was secretly planned by our brother society that during a second joint meeting these two men should take the girls out for a drive and then slip back to vote, leaving the girls at some point sufficiently remote from college. we discovered the plot, however, in time to thwart it, and at last, when nothing but the unprecedented tie-up had been discussed for months, the boys suddenly gave up their candidate and nominated me for orator. this was not at all what i wanted, and i immediately declined to serve. we girls then nominated the young man who had been first choice of our brother society, but he haughtily refused to accept the compliment. the reunion was only a fortnight away, and the programme had not been printed, so now the president took the situation in hand and peremptorily ordered me to accept the nomination or be suspended. this was a wholly unexpected boomerang. i had wished to make a good fight for equal rights for the girls, and to impress the boys with the fact of our existence as a society; but i had not desired to set the entire student body by the ears nor to be forced to prepare and deliver an oration at the eleventh hour. moreover, i had no suitable gown to wear on so important an occasion. one of my classmates, however, secretly wrote to my sister, describing my blushing honors and explaining my need, and my family rallied to the call. my father bought the material, and my mother and mary paid for the making of the gown. it was a white alpaca creation, trimmed with satin, and the consciousness that it was extremely becoming sustained me greatly during the mental agony of preparing and delivering my oration. to my family that oration was the redeeming episode of my early career. for the moment it almost made them forget my crime of preaching. my original fund of eighteen dollars was now supplemented by the proceeds of a series of lectures i gave on temperance. the temperance women were not yet organized, but they had their speakers, and i was occasionally paid five dollars to hold forth for an hour or two in the little country school-houses of our region. as a licensed preacher i had no tuition fees to pay at college; but my board, in the home of the president and his wife, was costing me four dollars a week, and this was the limit of my expenses, as i did my own laundry-work. during my first college year the amount i paid for amusement was exactly fifty cents; that went for a lecture. the mental strain of the whole experience was rather severe, for i never knew how much i would be able to earn; and i was beginning to feel the effects of this when christmas came and brought with it a gift of ninety-two dollars, which miss foot had collected among my big rapids friends. that, with what i could earn, carried me through the year. the following spring our brother james, who was now living in st. johnsbury, vermont, invited my sister mary and me to spend the summer with him, and mary and i finally dug a grave for our little hatchet and went east together with something of our old-time joy in each other's society. we reached st. johnsbury one saturday, and within an hour of our arrival learned that my brother had arranged for me to preach in a local church the following day. that threatened to spoil the visit for mary and even to disinter the hatchet! at first she positively refused to go to hear me, but after a few hours of reflection she announced gloomily that if she did not go i would not have my hair arranged properly or get my hat on straight. moved by this conviction, she joined the family parade to the church, and later, in the sacristy, she pulled me about and pinned me up to her heart's content. then, reluctantly, she went into the church and heard me preach. she offered no tributes after our return to the house, but her protests ceased from that time, and we gave each other the love and understanding which had marked our girlhood days. the change made me very happy; for mary was the salt of the earth, and next only to my longing for my mother, i had longed for her in the years of our estrangement. every sunday that summer i preached in or near st. johnsbury, and toward autumn we had a big meeting which the ministers of all the surrounding churches attended. i was asked to preach the sermon--a high compliment--and i chose that important day to make a mistake in quoting a passage from scripture. i asked, "can the ethiopian change his spots or the leopard his skin?" i realized at once that i had transposed the words, and no doubt a look of horror dawned in my eyes; but i went on without correcting myself and without the slightest pause. later, one of the ministers congratulated me on this presence of mind. "if you had corrected yourself," he said, "all the young people would have been giggling yet over the spotted nigger. keep to your rule of going right ahead!" at the end of the summer the various churches in which i had preached gave me a beautiful gold watch and one hundred dollars in money, and with an exceedingly light heart i went back to college to begin my second year of work. from that time life was less complex. i had enough temperance-work and preaching in the country school-houses and churches to pay my college expenses, and, now that my financial anxieties were relieved, my health steadily improved. several times i preached to the indians, and these occasions were among the most interesting of my experiences. the squaws invariably brought their babies with them, but they had a simple and effective method of relieving themselves of the care of the infants as soon as they reached the church. the papooses, who were strapped to their boards, were hung like a garment on the back wall of the building by a hole in the top of the board, which projected above their heads. each papoose usually had a bit of fat pork tied to the end of a string fastened to its wrist, and with these sources of nourishment the infants occupied themselves pleasantly while the sermon was in progress. frequently the pork slipped down the throat of the papoose, but the struggle of the child and the jerking of its hands in the strangulation that followed pulled the piece safely out again. as i faced the congregation i also faced the papooses, to whom the indifferent backs of their mothers were presented; it seemed to me there was never a time when some papoose was not choking, but no matter how much excitement or discomfort was going on among the babies, not one squaw turned her head to look back at them. in that assemblage the emotions were not allowed to interrupt the calm intellectual enjoyment of the sermon. my most dramatic experience during this period occurred in the summer of 1874, when i went to a northern lumber-camp to preach in the pulpit of a minister who was away on his honeymoon. the stage took me within twenty-two miles of my destination, to a place called seberwing. to my dismay, however, when i arrived at seberwing, saturday evening, i found that the rest of the journey lay through a dense woods, and that i could reach my pulpit in time the next morning only by having some one drive me through the woods that night. it was not a pleasant prospect, for i had heard appalling tales of the stockades in this region and of the women who were kept prisoners there. but to miss the engagement was not to be thought of, and when, after i had made several vain efforts to find a driver, a man appeared in a two-seated wagon and offered to take me to my destination, i felt that i had to go with him, though i did not like his appearance. he was a huge, muscular person, with a protruding jaw and a singularly evasive eye; but i reflected that his forbidding expression might be due, in part at least, to the prospect of the long night drive through the woods, to which possibly he objected as much as i did. it was already growing dark when we started, and within a few moments we were out of the little settlement and entering the woods. with me i had a revolver i had long since learned to use, but which i very rarely carried. i had hesitated to bring it now--had even left home without it; and then, impelled by some impulse i never afterward ceased to bless, had returned for it and dropped it into my hand-bag. i sat on the back seat of the wagon, directly behind the driver, and for a time, as we entered the darkening woods, his great shoulders blotted out all perspective as he drove on in stolid silence. then, little by little, they disappeared like a rapidly fading negative. the woods were filled with norway pines, hemlocks, spruce, and tamaracks-great, somber trees that must have shut out the light even on the brightest days. to-night the heavens held no lamps aloft to guide us, and soon the darkness folded around us like a garment. i could see neither the driver nor his horses. i could hear only the sibilant whisper of the trees and the creak of our slow wheels in the rough forest road. suddenly the driver began to talk, and at first i was glad to hear the reassuring human tones, for the experience had begun to seem like a bad dream. i replied readily, and at once regretted that i had done so, for the man's choice of topics was most unpleasant. he began to tell me stories of the stockades--grim stories with horrible details, repeated so fully and with such gusto that i soon realized he was deliberately affronting my ears. i checked him and told him i could not listen to such talk. he replied with a series of oaths and shocking vulgarities, stopping his horses that he might turn and fling the words into my face. he ended by snarling that i must think him a fool to imagine he did not know the kind of woman i was. what was i doing in that rough country, he demanded, and why was i alone with him in those black woods at night? though my heart missed a beat just then, i tried to answer him calmly. "you know perfectly well who i am," i reminded him. "and you understand that i am making this journey to-night because i am to preach to-morrow morning and there is no other way to keep my appointment." he uttered a laugh which was a most unpleasant sound. "well," he said, coolly, "i'm damned if i'll take you. i've got you here, and i'm going to keep you here!" i slipped my hand into the satchel in my lap, and it touched my revolver. no touch of human fingers ever brought such comfort. with a deep breath of thanksgiving i drew it out and cocked it, and as i did so he recognized the sudden click. "here! what have you got there?" he snapped. "i have a revolver," i replied, as steadily as i could. "and it is cocked and aimed straight at your back. now drive on. if you stop again, or speak, i'll shoot you." for an instant or two he blustered. "by god," he cried, "you wouldn't dare." "wouldn't i?" i asked. "try me by speaking just once more." even as i spoke i felt my hair rise on my scalp with the horror of the moment, which seemed worse than any nightmare a woman could experience. but the man was conquered by the knowledge of the waiting, willing weapon just behind him. he laid his whip savagely on the backs of his horses and they responded with a leap that almost knocked me out of the wagon. the rest of the night was a black terror i shall never forget. he did not speak again, nor stop, but i dared not relax my caution for an instant. hour after hour crawled toward day, and still i sat in the unpierced darkness, the revolver ready. i knew he was inwardly raging, and that at any instant he might make a sudden jump and try to get the revolver away from me. i decided that at his slightest movement i must shoot. but dawn came at last, and just as its bluish light touched the dark tips of the pines we drove up to the log hotel in the settlement that was our destination. here my driver spoke. "get down," he said, gruffly. "this is the place." i sat still. even yet i dared not trust him. moreover, i was so stiff after my vigil that i was not sure i could move. "you get down," i directed, "and wake up the landlord. bring him out here." he sullenly obeyed and aroused the hotel-owner, and when the latter appeared i climbed out of the wagon with some effort but without explanation. that morning i preached in my friend's pulpit as i had promised to do, and the rough building was packed to its doors with lumbermen who had come in from the neighboring camp. their appearance caused great surprise, as they had never attended a service before. they formed a most picturesque congregation, for they all wore brilliant lumber-camp clothing--blue or red shirts with yellow scarfs twisted around their waists, and gay-colored jackets and logging-caps. there were forty or fifty of them, and when we took up our collection they responded with much liberality and cheerful shouts to one another. "put in fifty cents!" they yelled across the church. "give her a dollar!" the collection was the largest that had been taken up in the history of the settlement, but i soon learned that it was not the spiritual comfort i offered which had appealed to the lumber-men. my driver of the night before, who was one of their number, had told his pals of his experience, and the whole camp had poured into town to see the woman minister who carried a revolver. "her sermon?" said one of them to my landlord, after the meeting. "huh! i dunno what she preached. but, say, don't make no mistake about one thing: the little preacher has sure got grit!" iv. the wolf at the door when i returned to albion college in the autumn of 1875 i brought with me a problem which tormented me during my waking hours and chattered on my pillow at night. should i devote two more years of my vanishing youth to the completion of my college course, or, instead, go at once to boston university, enter upon my theological studies, take my degree, and be about my father's business? i was now twenty-seven years old, and i had been a licensed preacher for three years. my reputation in the northwest was growing, and by sermons and lectures i could certainly earn enough to pay the expenses of the full college course. on the other hand, boston was a new world. there i would be alone and practically penniless, and the opportunities for work might be limited. quite possibly in my final two years at albion i could even save enough money to make the experience in boston less difficult, and the clear common sense i had inherited from my mother reminded me that in this course lay wisdom. possibly it was some inheritance from my visionary father which made me, at the end of three months, waive these sage reflections, pack my few possessions, and start for boston, where i entered the theological school of the university in february, 1876. it was an instance of stepping off a solid plank and into space; and though there is exhilaration in the sensation, as i discovered then and at later crises in life when i did the same thing, there was also an amount of subsequent discomfort for which even my lively imagination had not prepared me. i went through some grim months in boston--months during which i learned what it was to go to bed cold and hungry, to wake up cold and hungry, and to have no knowledge of how long these conditions might continue. but not more than once or twice during the struggle there, and then only for an hour or two in the physical and mental depression attending malnutrition, did i regret coming. at that period of my life i believed that the lord had my small personal affairs very much on his mind. if i starved and froze it was his test of my worthiness for the ministry, and if he had really chosen me for one of his servants, he would see me through. the faith that sustained me then has still a place in my life, and existence without it would be an infinitely more dreary affair than it is. but i admit that i now call upon the lord less often and less imperatively than i did before the stern years taught me my unimportance in the great scheme of things. my class at the theological school was composed of forty-two young men and my unworthy self, and before i had been a member of it an hour i realized that women theologians paid heavily for the privilege of being women. the young men of my class who were licensed preachers were given free accommodations in the dormitory, and their board, at a club formed for their assistance, cost each of them only one dollar and twenty-five cents a week. for me no such kindly provision was made. i was not allowed a place in the dormitory, but instead was given two dollars a week to pay the rent of a room outside. neither was i admitted to the economical comforts of the club, but fed myself according to my income, a plan which worked admirably when there was an income, but left an obvious void when there was not. with characteristic optimism, however, i hired a little attic room on tremont street and established myself therein. in lieu of a window the room offered a pale skylight to the february storms, and there was neither heat in it nor running water; but its possession gave me a pleasant sense of proprietorship, and the whole experience seemed a high adventure. i at once sought opportunities to preach and lecture, but these were even rarer than firelight and food. in albion i had been practically the only licensed preacher available for substitute and special work. in boston university's three theological classes there were a hundred men, each snatching eagerly at the slightest possibility of employment; and when, despite this competition, i received and responded to an invitation to preach, i never knew whether i was to be paid for my services in cash or in compliments. if, by a happy chance, the compensation came in cash, the amount was rarely more than five dollars, and never more than ten. there was no help in sight from my family, whose early opposition to my career as a minister had hotly flamed forth again when i started east. i lived, therefore, on milk and crackers, and for weeks at a time my hunger was never wholly satisfied. in my home in the wilderness i had often heard the wolves prowling around our door at night. now, in boston, i heard them even at high noon. there is a special and almost indescribable depression attending such conditions. no one who has not experienced the combination of continued cold, hunger, and loneliness in a great, strange, indifferent city can realize how it undermines the victim's nerves and even tears at the moral fiber. the self-humiliation i experienced was also intense. i had worked my way in the northwest; why could i not work my way in boston? was there, perhaps, some lack in me and in my courage? again and again these questions rose in my mind and poisoned my self-confidence. the one comfort i had in those black days was the knowledge that no one suspected the depth of the abyss in which i dwelt. we were all struggling; to the indifferent glance--and all glances were indifferent--my struggle was no worse than that of my classmates whose rooms and frugal meals were given them. after a few months of this existence i was almost ready to believe that the lord's work for me lay outside of the ministry, and while this fear was gripping me a serious crisis came in my financial affairs. the day dawned when i had not a cent, nor any prospect of earning one. my stock of provisions consisted of a box of biscuit, and my courage was flowing from me like blood from an opened vein. then came one of the quick turns of the wheel of chance which make for optimism. late in the afternoon i was asked to do a week of revival work with a minister in a local church, and when i accepted his invitation i mentally resolved to let that week decide my fate. my shoes had burst open at the sides; for lack of car-fare i had to walk to and from the scene of my meetings, though i had barely strength for the effort. if my week of work brought me enough to buy a pair of cheap shoes and feed me for a few days i would, i decided, continue my theological course. if it did not, i would give up the fight. never have i worked harder or better than during those seven days, when i put into the effort not only my heart and soul, but the last flame of my dying vitality, we had a rousing revival--one of the good old-time affairs when the mourners' benches were constantly filled and the air resounded with alleluias. the excitement and our success, mildly aided by the box of biscuit, sustained me through the week, and not until the last night did i realize how much of me had gone into this final desperate charge of mine. then, the service over and the people departed, i sank, weak and trembling, into a chair, trying to pull myself together before hearing my fate in the good-night words of the minister i had assisted. when he came to me and began to compliment me on the work i had done, i could not rise. i sat still and listened with downcast eyes, afraid to lift them lest he read in them something of my need and panic in this moment when my whole future seemed at stake. at first his words rolled around the empty church as if they were trying to get away from me, but at last i began to catch them. i was, it seemed, a most desirable helper. it had been a privilege and a pleasure to be associated with me. beyond doubt, i would go far in my career. he heartily wished that he could reward me adequately. i deserved fifty dollars. my tired heart fluttered at this. probably my empty stomach fluttered, too; but in the next moment something seemed to catch my throat and stop my breath. for it appeared that, notwithstanding the enthusiasm and the spiritual uplift of the week, the collections had been very disappointing and the expenses unusually heavy. he could not give me fifty dollars. he could not give me anything at all. he thanked me warmly and wished me good night. i managed to answer him and to get to my feet, but that journey down the aisle from my chair to the church door was the longest journey i have ever made. during it i felt not only the heart-sick disappointment of the moment, but the cumulative unhappiness of the years to come. i was friendless, penniless, and starving, but it was not of these conditions that i thought then. the one overwhelming fact was that i had been weighed and found wanting. i was not worthy. i stumbled along, passing blindly a woman who stood on the street near the church entrance. she stopped me, timidly, and held out her hand. then suddenly she put her arms around me and wept. she was an old lady, and i did not know her, but it seemed fitting that she should cry just then, as it would have seemed fitting to me if at that black moment all the people on the earth had broken into sudden wailing. "oh, miss shaw," she said, "i'm the happiest woman in the world, and i owe my happiness to you. to-night you have converted my grandson. he's all i have left, but he has been a wild boy, and i've prayed over him for years. hereafter he is going to lead a different life. he has just given me his promise on his knees." her hand fumbled in her purse. "i am a poor woman," she went on, "but i have enough, and i want to make you a little present. i know how hard life is for you young students." she pressed a bill into my fingers. "it's very little," she said, humbly; "it is only five dollars." i laughed, and in that exultant moment i seemed to hear life laughing with me. with the passing of the bill from her hand to mine existence had become a new experience, wonderful and beautiful. "it's the biggest gift i have ever had," i told her. "this little bill is big enough to carry my future on its back!" i had a good meal that night, and i bought the shoes the next morning. infinitely more sustaining than the food, however, was the conviction that the lord was with me and had given me a sign of his approval. the experience was the turning-point of my theological career. when the money was gone i succeeded in obtaining more work from time to time--and though the grind was still cruelly hard, i never again lost hope. the theological school was on bromfield street, and we students climbed three flights of stairs to reach our class-rooms. through lack of proper food i had become too weak to ascend these stairs without sitting down once or twice to rest, and within a month after my experience with the appreciative grandmother i was discovered during one of these resting periods by mrs. barrett, the superintendent of the woman's foreign missionary society, which had offices in our building. she stopped, looked me over, and then invited me into her room, where she asked me if i felt ill. i assured her that i did not. she asked a great many additional questions and, little by little, under the womanly sympathy of them, my reserve broke down and she finally got at the truth, which until that hour i had succeeded in concealing. she let me leave without much comment, but the next day she again invited me into her office and came directly to the purpose of the interview. "miss shaw," she said, "i have been talking to a friend of mine about you, and she would like to make a bargain with you. she thinks you are working too hard. she will pay you three dollars and a half a week for the rest of this school year if you will promise to give up your preaching. she wants you to rest, study, and take care of your health." i asked the name of my unknown friend, but mrs. barrett said that was to remain a secret. she had been given a check for seventy-eight dollars, and from this, she explained, my allowance would be paid in weekly instalments. i took the money very gratefully, and a few years later i returned the amount to the missionary society; but i never learned the identity of my benefactor. her three dollars and a half a week, added to the weekly two dollars i was allowed for room rent, at once solved the problem of living; and now that meal-hours had a meaning in my life, my health improved and my horizon brightened. i spent most of my evenings in study, and my sundays in the churches of phillips brooks and james freeman clark, my favorite ministers. also, i joined the university's praying-band of students, and took part in the missionary-work among the women of the streets. i had never forgotten my early friend in lawrence, the beautiful "mysterious lady" who had loved me as a child, and, in memory of her, i set earnestly about the effort to help unfortunates of her class. i went into the homes of these women, followed them to the streets and the dance-halls, talked to them, prayed with them, and made friends among them. some of them i was able to help, but many were beyond help; and i soon learned that the effective work in that field is the work which is done for women before, not after, they have fallen. during my vacation in the summer of 1876 i went to cape cod and earned my expenses by substituting in local pulpits. here, at east dennis, i formed the friendship which brought me at once the greatest happiness and the deepest sorrow of that period of my life. my new friend was a widow whose name was persis addy, and she was also the daughter of captain prince crowell, then the most prominent man in the cape cod community--a bank president, a railroad director, and a citizen of wealth, as wealth was rated in those days. when i returned to the theological school in the autumn mrs. addy came to boston with me, and from that time until her death, two years later, we lived together. she was immensely interested in my work, and the friendly part she took in it diverted her mind from the bereavement over which she had brooded for years, while to me her coming opened windows into a new world. i was no longer lonely; and though in my life with her i paid my way to the extent of my small income, she gave me my first experience of an existence in which comfort and culture, recreation, and leisurely reading were cheerful commonplaces. for the first time i had some one to come home to, some one to confide in, some one to talk to, listen to, and love. we read together and went to concerts together; and it was during this winter that i attended my first theatrical performance. the star was mary anderson, in "pygmalion and galatea," and play and player charmed me so utterly that i saw them every night that week, sitting high in the gallery and enjoying to the utmost the unfolding of this new delight. it was so glowing a pleasure that i longed to make some return to the giver of it; but not until many years afterward, when i met madame navarro in london, was i able to tell her what the experience had been and to thank her for it. i did not long enjoy the glimpses into my new world, for soon, and most tragically, it was closed to me. in the spring following our first boston winter together mrs. addy and i went to hingham, massachusetts, where i had been appointed temporary pastor of the methodist church. there mrs. addy was taken ill, and as she grew steadily worse we returned to boston to live near the best available physicians, who for months theorized over her malady without being able to diagnose it. at last her father, captain crowell, sent to paris for dr. brown-sequard, then the most distinguished specialist of his day, and dr. brown-sequard, when he arrived and examined his patient, discovered that she had a tumor on the brain. she had had a great shock in her life--the tragic death of her husband at sea during their wedding tour around the world--and it was believed that her disease dated from that time. nothing could be done for her, and she failed daily during our second year together, and died in march, 1878, just before i finished my theological course and while i was still temporary pastor of the church at hingham. every moment i could take from my parish and my studies i spent with her, and those were sorrowful months. in her poor, tortured brain the idea formed that i, not she, was the sick person in our family of two, and when we were at home together she insisted that i must lie down and let her nurse me; then for hours she brooded over me, trying to relieve the agony she believed i was experiencing. when at last she was at peace her father and i took her home to cape cod and laid her in the graveyard of the little church where we had met at the beginning of our brief and beautiful friendship; and the subsequent loneliness i felt was far greater than any i had ever suffered in the past, for now i had learned the meaning of companionship. three months after mrs. addy's death i graduated. she had planned to take me abroad, and during our first winter together we had spent countless hours talking and dreaming of our european wanderings. when she found that she must die she made her will and left me fifteen hundred dollars for the visit to europe, insisting that i must carry out the plan we had made; and during her conscious periods she constantly talked of this and made me promise that i would go. after her death it seemed to me that to go without her was impossible. everything of beauty i looked upon would hold memories of her, keeping fresh my sorrow and emphasizing my loneliness; but it was her last expressed desire that i should go, and i went. first, however, i had graduated--clad in a brandnew black silk gown, and with five dollars in my pocket, which i kept there during the graduation exercises. i felt a special satisfaction in the possession of that money, for, notwithstanding the handicap of being a woman, i was said to be the only member of my class who had worked during the entire course, graduated free from debt, and had a new outfit as well as a few dollars in cash. i graduated without any special honors. possibly i might have won some if i had made the effort, but my graduation year, as i have just explained, had been very difficult. as it was, i was merely a good average student, feeling my isolation as the only woman in my class, but certainly not spurring on my men associates by the display of any brilliant gifts. naturally, i missed a great deal of class fellowship and class support, and throughout my entire course i rarely entered my class-room without the abysmal conviction that i was not really wanted there. but some of the men were goodhumoredly cordial, and several of them are among my friends to-day. between myself and my family there still existed the breach i had created when i began to preach. with the exception of mary and james, my people openly regarded me, during my theological course, as a dweller in outer darkness, and even my mother's love was clouded by what she felt to be my deliberate and persistent flouting of her wishes. toward the end of my university experience, however, an incident occurred which apparently changed my mother's viewpoint. she was now living with my sister mary, in big rapids, michigan, and, on the occasion of one of my rare and brief visits to them i was invited to preach in the local church. here, for the first time, my mother heard me. dutifully escorted by one of my brothers, she attended church that morning in a state of shivering nervousness. i do not know what she expected me to do or say, but toward the end of the sermon it became clear that i had not justified her fears. the look of intense apprehension left her eyes, her features relaxed into placidity, and later in the day she paid me the highest compliment i had yet received from a member of my family. "i liked the sermon very much," she peacefully told my brother. "anna didn't say anything about hell, or about anything else!" when we laughed at this handsome tribute, she hastened to qualify it. "what i mean," she explained, "is that anna didn't say anything objectionable in the pulpit!" and with this recognition i was content. between the death of my friend and my departure for europe i buried myself in the work of the university and of my little church; and as if in answer to the call of my need, mary e. livermore, who had given me the first professional encouragement i had ever received, re-entered my life. her husband, like myself, was pastor of a church in hingham, and whenever his finances grew low, or there was need of a fund for some special purpose--conditions that usually exist in a small church--his brilliant wife came to his assistance and raised the money, while her husband retired modestly to the background and regarded her with adoring eyes. on one of these occasions, i remember, when she entered the pulpit to preach her sermon, she dropped her bonnet and coat on an unoccupied chair. a little later there was need of this chair, and mr. livermore, who sat under the pulpit, leaned forward, picked up the garments, and, without the least trace of selfconsciousness, held them in his lap throughout the sermon. one of the members of the church, who appeared to be irritated by the incident, later spoke of it to him and added, sardonically, "how does it feel to be merely 'mrs. livermore's husband'?" in reply mr. livermore flashed on him one of his charming smiles. "why, i'm very proud of it," he said, with the utmost cheerfulness. "you see, i'm the only man in the world who has that distinction." they were a charming couple, the livermores, and they deserved far more than they received from a world to which they gave so freely and so richly. to me, as to others, they were more than kind; and i never recall them without a deep feeling of gratitude and an equally deep sense of loss in their passing. it was during this period, also, that i met frances e. willard. there was a great moody revival in progress in boston, and miss willard was the righthand assistant of mr. moody. to her that revival must have been marked with a star, for during it she met for the first time miss anna gordon, who became her life-long friend and her biographer. the meetings also laid the foundation of our friendship, and for many years miss willard and i were closely associated in work and affection. on the second or third night of the revival, during one of the "mixed meetings," attended by both women and men, mr. moody invited those who were willing to talk to sinners to come to the front. i went down the aisle with others, and found a seat near miss willard, to whom i was then introduced by some one who knew us both. i wore my hair short in those days, and i had a little fur cap on my head. though i had been preaching for several years, i looked absurdly young--far too young, it soon became evident, to interest mr. moody. he was already moving about among the men and women who had responded to his invitation, and one by one he invited them to speak, passing me each time until at last i was left alone. then he took pity on me and came to my side to whisper kindly that i had misunderstood his invitation. he did not want young girls to talk to his people, he said, but mature women with worldly experience. he advised me to go home to my mother, adding, to soften the blow, that some time in the future when there were young girls at the meeting i could come and talk to them. i made no explanations to him, but started to leave, and miss willard, who saw me departing, followed and stopped me. she asked why i was going, and i told her that mr. moody had sent me home to grow. frances willard had a keen sense of humor, and she enjoyed the joke so thoroughly that she finally convinced me it was amusing, though at first the humor of it had escaped me. she took me back to mr. moody and explained the situation to him, and he apologized and put me to work. he said he had thought i was about sixteen. after that i occasionally helped him in the intervals of my other work. the time had come to follow mrs. addy's wishes and go to europe, and i sailed in the month of june following my graduation, and traveled for three months with a party of tourists under the direction of eben tourgee, of the boston conservatory of music. we landed in glasgow, and from there went to england, belgium, holland, germany, france, and last of all to italy. our company included many clergymen and a never-to-be-forgotten widow whose light-hearted attitude toward the memory of her departed spouse furnished the comedy of our first voyage. it became a pet diversion to ask her if her husband still lived, for she always answered the question in the same mournful words, and with the same manner of irrepressible gaiety. "oh no!" she would chirp. "my dear departed has been in our heavenly father's house for the past eight years!" at its best, the vacation without my friend was tragically incomplete, and only a few of its incidents stand out with clearness across the forty-six years that have passed since then. one morning, i remember, i preached an impromptu sermon in the castle of heidelberg before a large gathering; and a little later, in genoa, i preached a very different sermon to a wholly different congregation. there was a gospel-ship in the harbor, and one saturday the pastor of it came ashore to ask if some american clergyman in our party would preach on his ship the next morning. he was an old-time, orthodox presbyterian, and from the tips of his broad-soled shoes to the severe part in the hair above his sanctimonious brow he looked the type. i was not present when he called at our hotel, and my absence gave my fellow-clergymen an opportunity to play a joke on the gentleman from the gospel-ship. they assured him that "dr. shaw" would preach for him, and the pastor returned to his post greatly pleased. when they told me of his invitation, however, they did not add that they had neglected to tell him dr. shaw was a woman, and i was greatly elated by the compliment i thought had been paid me. our entire party of thirty went out to the gospelship the next morning, and when the pastor came to meet us, lank and forbidding, his austere lips vainly trying to curve into a smile of welcome, they introduced me to him as the minister who was to deliver the sermon. he had just taken my hand; he dropped it as if it had burned his own. for a moment he had no words to meet the crisis. then he stuttered something to the effect that the situation was impossible that his men would not listen to a woman, that they would mob her, that it would be blasphemous for a woman to preach. my associates, who had so light-heartedly let me in for this unpleasant experience, now realized that they must see me through it. they persuaded him to allow me to preach the sermon. with deep reluctance the pastor finally accepted me and the situation; but when the moment came to introduce me, he devoted most of his time to heartfelt apologies for my presence. he explained to the sailors that i was a woman, and fervidly assured them that he himself was not responsible for my appearance there. with every word he uttered he put a brick in the wall he was building between me and the crew, until at last i felt that i could never get past it. i was very unhappy, very lonely, very homesick; and suddenly the thought came to me that these men, notwithstanding their sullen eyes and forbidding faces, might be lonely and homesick, too. i decided to talk to them as a woman and not as a minister, and i came down from the pulpit and faced them on their own level, looking them over and mentally selecting the hardest specimens of the lot as the special objects of my appeal. one old fellow, who looked like a pirate with his red-rimmed eyes, weather-beaten skin, and fimbriated face, grinned up at me in such sardonic challenge that i walked directly in front of him and began to speak. i said: "my friends, i hope you will forget everything dr. blank has just said. it is true that i am a minister, and that i came here to preach. but now i do not intend to preach--only to have a friendly talk, on a text which is not in the bible. i am very far from home, and i feel as homesick as some of you men look. so my text is, 'blessed are the homesick, for they shall go home.'" in my summers at cape cod i had learned something about sailors. i knew that in the inprepossessing congregation before me there were many boys who had run away from home, and men who had left home because of family troubles. i talked to the young men first, to those who had forgotten their mothers and thought their mothers had forgotten them, and i told of my experiences with waiting, heavy-hearted mothers who had sons at sea. some heads went down at that, and here and there i saw a boy gulp, but the old fellow i was particularly anxious to move still grinned up at me like a malicious monkey. then i talked of the sailor's wife, and of her double burden of homemaking and anxiety, and soon i could pick out some of the husbands by their softened faces. but still my old man grinned and squinted. last of all i described the whalers who were absent from home for years, and who came back to find their children and their grandchildren waiting for them. i told how i had seen them, in our new england coast towns, covered, as a ship is covered with barnacles, by grandchildren who rode on their shoulders and sat astride of their necks as they walked down the village streets. and now at last the sneer left my old man's loose lips. he had grandchildren somewhere. he twisted uneasily in his seat, coughed, and finally took out a big red handkerchief and wiped his eyes. the episode encouraged me. "when i came here," i added, "i intended to preach a sermon on 'the heavenly vision.' now i want to give you a glimpse of that in addition to the vision we have had of home." i ended with a bit of the sermon and a prayer, and when i raised my head the old man of the sardonic grin was standing before me. "missus," he said in a husky whisper, "i'd like to shake your hand." i took his hard old fist, and then, seeing that many of the other sailors were beginning to move hospitably but shyly toward me, i said: "i would like to shake hands with every man here." at the words they surged forward, and the affair became a reception, during which i shook hands with every sailor of my congregation. the next day my hand was swollen out of shape, for the sailors had gripped it as if they were hauling on a hawser; but the experience was worth the discomfort. the best moment of the morning came, however, when the pastor of the ship faced me, goggle-eyed and marveling. "i wouldn't have believed it," was all he could say. "i thought the men would mob you." "why should they mob me?" i wanted to know. "why," he stammered, "because the thing is so--so--unnatural." "well," i said, "if it is unnatural for women to talk to men, we have been living in an unnatural world for a long time. moreover, if it is unnatural, why did jesus send a woman out as the first preacher?" he waived a discussion of that question by inviting us all to his cabin to drink wine with him--and as we were "total abstainers," it seemed as unnatural to us to have him offer us wine as a woman's preaching had seemed to him. the next european incident on which memory throws a high-light was our audience with pope leo xiii. as there were several distinguished americans in our party, a private audience was arranged for us, and for days before the time appointed we nervously rehearsed the etiquette of the occasion. when we reached the vatican we were marched between rows of swiss guards to the throne room, only to learn there that we were to be received in the tapestry room. here we found a very impressive assemblage of cardinals and vatican officials, and while we were still lost in the beauty of the picture they made against the room's superb background, the approach of the pope was announced. every one immediately knelt, except a few persons who tried to show their democracy by standing; but i am sure that even these individuals felt a thrill when the slight, exquisite figure appeared at the door and gave us a general benediction. then the pope passed slowly down the line, offering his hand to each of us, and radiating a charm so gracious and so human that few failed to respond to the appeal of his engaging personality. there was nothing fleshly about leo xiii. his body was so frail, so wraithlike, that one almost expected to see through it the magnificent tapestries on the walls. but from the moment he appeared every eye clung to him, every thought was concentrated upon him. this effect i think he would have produced even if he had come among us unrecognized, for through the thin shell that housed it shone the steady flame of a wonderful spirit. i had previously remarked to my friends that kissing the pope's ring after so many other lips had touched it did not appeal to me as hygienic, and that i intended to kiss his hand instead. when my opportunity came i kept my word; but after i had kissed the venerable hand i remained kneeling for an instant with bowed head, a little aghast at my daring. the gentle father thought, however, that i was waiting for a special blessing. he gave it to me gravely and passed on, and i devoted the next few hours to ungodly crowing over the associates who had received no such individual attention. in venice we attended the great fete celebrating the first visit of king humbert and queen margherita. it was also the first time venice had entertained a queen since the italian union, and the sea-queen of the adriatic outdid herself in the gorgeousness and the beauty of her preparations. the grand canal was like a flowing rainbow, reflecting the brilliant decorations on every side, and at night the moonlight, the music, the chiming church-bells, the colored lanterns, the gay voices, the lapping waters against the sides of countless gondolas made the experience seem like a dream of a new and unbelievably beautiful world. forty thousand persons were gathered in the square of st. mark and in front of the palace, and i recall a pretty incident in which the gracious queen and a little street urchin figured. the small, ragged boy had crept as close to the royal balcony as he dared, and then, unobserved, had climbed up one of its pillars. at the moment when a sudden hush had fallen on the crowd this infant, overcome by patriotism and a glimpse of the royal lady on the balcony above him, suddenly piped up shrilly in the silence. "long live the queen!" he cried. "long live the queen!" the gracious margherita heard the childish voice, and, amused and interested, leaned over the balcony to see where it came from. what she saw doubtless touched the mother-heart in her. she caught the eye of the tattered urchin clinging to the pillar, and radiantly smiled on him. then, probably thinking that the king was absorbing the attention of the great assemblage, she indulged in a little diversion. leaning far forward, she kissed the tip of her lace handkerchief and swept it caressingly across the boy's brown cheek, smiling down at him as unconsciously as if she and the enraptured youngster were alone together in the world. the next instant she had straightened up and flushed, for the watchful crowd had seen the episode and was wild with enthusiasm. for ten minutes the people cheered the queen without ceasing, and for the next few days they talked of little but the spontaneous, girlish action which had delighted them all. one more sentimental record, and i shall have reached another mile-stone. as i have said, my friend mrs. addy left me in her will fifteen hundred dollars for my visit to europe, and before i sailed her father, who was one of the best friends i have ever had, made a characteristically kind proposition in connection with the little fund. instead of giving me the money, he gave me two railroad bonds, one for one thousand dollars, the other for five hundred dollars, and each drawing seven per cent. interest. he suggested that i deposit these bonds in the bank of which he was president, and borrow from the bank the money to go abroad. then, when i returned and went into my new parish, i could use some of my salary every month toward repaying the loan. these monthly payments, he explained, could be as small as i wished, but each month the interest on the amount i paid would cease. i gladly took his advice and borrowed seven hundred dollars. after i returned from europe i repaid the loan in monthly instalments, and eventually got my bonds, which i still own. they will mature in 1916. i have had one hundred and five dollars a year from them, in interest, ever since i received them in 1878--more than twice as much interest as their face value--and every time i have gone abroad i have used this interest toward paying my passage. thus my friend has had a share in each of the many visits i have made to europe, and in all of them her memory has been vividly with me. with my return from europe my real career as a minister began. the year in the pulpit at hingham had been merely tentative, and though i had succeeded in building up the church membership to four times what it had been when i took charge, i was not reappointed. i had paid off a small church debt, and had had the building repaired, painted, and carpeted. now that it was out of its difficulties it offered some advantages to the occupant of its pulpit, and of these my successor, a man, received the benefit. i, however, had small ground for complaint, for i was at once offered and accepted the pastorate of a church at east dennis, cape cod. here i went in october, 1878, and here i spent seven of the most interesting years of my life. v. shepherd of a divided flock on my return from europe, as i have said, i took up immediately and most buoyantly the work of my new parish. my previous occupation of various pulpits, whether long or short, had always been in the role of a substitute. now, for the first time, i had a church of my own, and was to stand or fall by the record made in it. the ink was barely dry on my diploma from the boston theological school, and, as it happened, the little church to which i was called was in the hands of two warring factions, whose battles furnished the most fervid interest of the cape cod community. but my inexperience disturbed me not at all, and i was blissfully ignorant of the division in the congregation. so i entered my new field as trustfully as a child enters a garden; and though i was in trouble from the beginning, and resigned three times in startling succession, i ended by remaining seven years. my appointment did not cause even a lull in the warfare among my parishioners. before i had crossed the threshold of my church i was made to realize that i was shepherd of a divided flock. exactly what had caused the original breach i never learned; but it had widened with time, until it seemed that no peacemaker could build a bridge large enough to span it. as soon as i arrived in east dennis each faction tried to pour into my ears its bitter criticisms of the other, but i made and consistently followed the safe rule of refusing to listen to either side, i announced publicly that i would hear no verbal charges whatever, but that if my two flocks would state their troubles in writing i would call a board meeting to discuss and pass upon them. this they both resolutely refused to do (it was apparently the first time they had ever agreed on any point); and as i steadily declined to listen to complaints, they devised an original method of putting them before me. during the regular thursday-night prayer-meeting, held about two weeks after my arrival, and at which, of course, i presided, they voiced their difficulties in public prayer, loudly and urgently calling upon the lord to pardon such and such a liar, mentioning the gentleman by name, and such and such a slanderer, whose name was also submitted. by the time the prayers were ended there were few untarnished reputations in the congregation, and i knew, perforce, what both sides had to say. the following thursday night they did the same thing, filling their prayers with intimate and surprising details of one another's history, and i endured the situation solely because i did not know how to meet it. i was still young, and my theological course had set no guide-posts on roads as new as these. to interfere with souls in their communion with god seemed impossible; to let them continue to utter personal attacks in church, under cover of prayer, was equally impossible. any course i could follow seemed to lead away from my new parish, yet both duty and pride made prompt action necessary. by the time we gathered for the third prayermeeting i had decided what to do, and before the services began i rose and addressed my erring children. i explained that the character of the prayers at our recent meetings was making us the laughingstock of the community, that unbelievers were ridiculing our religion, and that the discipline of the church was being wrecked; and i ended with these words, each of which i had carefully weighed: "now one of two things must happen. either you will stop this kind of praying, or you will remain away from our meetings. we will hold prayermeetings on another night, and i shall refuse admission to any among you who bring personal criticisms into your public prayers." as i had expected it to do, the announcement created an immediate uproar. both factions sprang to their feet, trying to talk at once. the storm raged until i dismissed the congregation, telling the members that their conduct was an insult to the lord, and that i would not listen to either their protests or their prayers. they went unwillingly, but they went; and the excitement the next day raised the sick from their beds to talk of it, and swept the length and breadth of cape cod. the following sunday the little church held the largest attendance in its history. seemingly, every man and woman in town had come to hear what more i would say about the trouble, but i ignored the whole matter. i preached the sermon i had prepared, the subject of which was as remote from church quarrels as our atmosphere was remote from peace, and my congregation dispersed with expressions of such artless disappointment that it was all i could do to preserve a dignified gravity. that night, however, the war was brought into my camp. at the evening meeting the leader of one of the factions rose to his feet with the obvious purpose of starting trouble. he was a retired sea-captain, of the ruthless type that knocks a man down with a belaying-pin, and he made his attack on me in a characteristically "straight from the shoulder" fashion. he began with the proposition that my morning sermon had been "entirely contrary to the scriptures," and for ten minutes he quoted and misquoted me, hammering in his points. i let him go on without interruption. then he added: "and this gal comes to this church and undertakes to tell us how we shall pray. that's a highhanded measure, and i, for one, ain't goin' to stand it. i want to say right here that i shall pray as i like, when i like, and where i like. i have prayed in this heavenly way for fifty years before that gal was born, and she can't dictate to me now!" by this time the whole congregation was aroused, and cries of "sit down!" "sit down!" came from every side of the church. it was a hard moment, but i was able to rise with some show of dignity. i was hurt through and through, but my fighting blood was stirring. "no," i said, "captain sears has the floor. let him say now all he wishes to say, for it is the last time he will ever speak at one of our meetings." captain sears, whose exertions had already made him apoplectic, turned a darker purple. "what's that?" he shouted. "what d'ye mean?" "i mean," i replied, "that i do not intend to allow you or anybody else to interfere with my meetings. you are a sea-captain. what would you do to me if i came on board your ship and started a mutiny in your crew, or tried to give you orders?" captain sears did not reply. he stood still, with his legs far apart and braced, as he always stood when talking, but his eyes shifted a little. i answered my own question. "you would put me ashore or in irons," i reminded him. "now, captain sears, i intend to put you ashore. i am the master of this ship. i have set my course, and i mean to follow it. if you rebel, either you will get out or i will. but until the board asks for my resignation, i am in command." as it happened, i had put my ultimatum in the one form the old man could understand. he sat down without a word and stared at me. we sang the doxology, and i dismissed the meeting. again we had omitted prayers. the next day captain sears sent me a letter recalling his subscription toward the support of the church; and for weeks he remained away from our services, returning under conditions i will mention later. even at the time, however, his attack helped rather than hurt me. at the regular meeting the following thursday night no personal criticisms were included in the prayers, and eventually we had peace. but many battles were lost and won before that happy day arrived. captain sears's vacant place among us was promptly taken by another captain in east dennis, whose name was also sears. a few days after my encounter with the first captain i met the second on the street. he had never come to church, and i stopped and invited him to do so. he replied with simple candor. "i ain't comin'," he told me. "there ain't no gal that can teach me nothin'." "perhaps you are wrong, captain sears," i replied. "i might teach you something." "what?" demanded the captain, with chilling distrust. "oh," i said, cheerfully, "let us say tolerance, for one thing." "humph!" muttered the old man. "the lord don't want none of your tolerance, and neither do i." i laughed. "he doesn't object to tolerance," i said. "come to church. you can talk, too; and the lord will listen to us both." to my surprise, the captain came the following sunday, and during the seven years i remained in the church he was one of my strongest supporters and friends. i needed friends, for my second battle was not slow in following my first. there was, indeed, barely time between in which to care for the wounded. we had in east dennis what was known as the "free religious group," and when some of the members of my congregation were not wrangling among themselves, they were usually locking horns with this group. for years, i was told, one of the prime diversions of the "free religious" faction was to have a dance in our town hall on the night when we were using it for our annual church fair. the rules of the church positively prohibited dancing, so the worldly group took peculiar pleasure in attending the fair, and during the evening in getting up a dance and whirling about among us, to the horror of our members. then they spent the remainder of the year boasting of the achievement. it came to my ears that they had decided to follow this pleasing programme at our christmas church celebration, so i called the church trustees together and put the situation to them. "we must either enforce our discipline," i said, "or give it up. personally i do not object to dancing, but, as the church has ruled against it, i intend to uphold the church. to allow these people to make us ridiculous year after year is impossible. let us either tell them that they may dance or that they may not dance; but whatever we tell them, let us make them obey our ruling." the trustees were shocked at the mere suggestion of letting them dance. "very well," i ended. "then they shall not dance. that is understood." captain crowell, the father of my dead friend mrs. addy, and himself my best man friend, was a strong supporter of the free religious group. when its members raced to him with the news that i had said they could not dance at the church's christmas party, captain crowell laughed goodhumoredly and told them to dance as much as they pleased, cheerfully adding that he would get them out of any trouble they got into. knowing my friendship for him, and that i even owed my church appointment to him, the free religious people were certain that i would never take issue with him on dancing or on any other point. they made all their preparations for the dance, therefore, with entire confidence, and boasted that the affair would be the gayest they had ever arranged. my people began to look at me with sympathy, and for a time i felt very sorry for myself. it seemed sufficiently clear that "the gal" was to have more trouble. on the night of the party things went badly from the first. there was an evident intention among the worst of the free religious group to embarrass us at every turn. we opened the exercises with the lord's prayer, which this element loudly applauded. a live kitten was hung high on the christmas tree, where it squalled mournfully beyond reach of rescue, and the young men of the outside group threw cake at one another across the hall. finally tiring of these innocent diversions, they began to prepare for their dance, and i protested. the spokesman of the group waved me to one side. "captain crowell said we could," he remarked, airily. "captain crowell," i replied, "has no authority whatever in this matter. the church trustees have decided that you cannot dance here, and i intend to enforce their ruling." it was interesting to observe how rapidly the men of my congregation disappeared from that hall. like shadows they crept along the walls and vanished through the doors. but the preparations for the dance went merrily on. i walked to the middle of the room and raised my voice. i was always listened to, for my hearers always had the hope, usually realized, that i was about to get into more trouble. "you are determined to dance," i began. "i cannot keep you from doing so. but i can and will make you regret that you have done so. the law of the state of massachusetts is very definite in regard to religious meetings and religious gatherings. this hall was engaged and paid for by the wesleyan methodist church, of which i am pastor, and we have full control of it to-night. every man and woman who interrupts our exercises by attempting to dance, or by creating a disturbance of any kind, will be arrested to-morrow morning." surprise at first, then consternation, swept through the ranks of the free religious group. they denied the existence of such a law as i had mentioned, and i promptly read it aloud to them. the leaders went off into a corner and consulted. by this time not one man in my parish was left in the hall. as a result of the consultation in the corner, a committee of the would-be dancers came to me and suggested a compromise. "will you agree to arrest the men only?" they wanted to know. "no," i declared. "on the contrary, i shall have the women arrested first! for the women ought to be standing with me now in the support of law and order, instead of siding with the hoodlum element you represent." that settled it. no girl or woman dared to go on the dancing-floor, and no man cared to revolve merrily by himself. a whisper went round, however, that the dance would begin when i had left. when the clock struck twelve, at which hour, according to the town rule, the hall had to be closed, i was the last person to leave it. then i locked the door myself, and carried the key away with me. there had been no free religious dance that night. on the following sunday morning the attendance at my church broke all previous records. every seat was occupied and every aisle was filled. men and women came from surrounding towns, and strange horses were tied to all the fences in east dennis. every person in that church was looking for excitement, and this time my congregation got what it expected. before i began my sermon i read my resignation, to take effect at the discretion of the trustees. then, as it was presumably my last chance to tell the people and the place what i thought of them, i spent an hour and a half in fervidly doing so. in my study of english i had acquired a fairly large vocabulary. i think i used it all that morning--certainly i tried to. if ever an erring congregation and community saw themselves as they really were, mine did on that occasion. i was heartsick, discouraged, and full of resentment and indignation, which until then had been pent up. under the arraignment my people writhed and squirmed. i ended: "what i am saying hurts you, but in your hearts you know you deserve every word of it. it is high time you saw yourselves as you are--a disgrace to the religion you profess and to the community you live in." i was not sure the congregation would let me finish, but it did. my hearers seemed torn by conflicting sentiments, in which anger and curiosity led opposing sides. many of them left the church in a white fury, but others--more than i had expected--remained to speak to me and assure me of their sympathy. once on the streets, different groups formed and mingled, and all day the little town rocked with arguments for and against "the gal." night brought another surprisingly large attendance. i expected more trouble, and i faced it with difficulty, for i was very tired. just as i took my place in the pulpit, captain sears entered the church and walked down the aisle--the captain sears who had left us at my invitation some weeks before and had not since attended a church service. i was sure he was there to make another attack on me while i was down, and, expecting the worst, i wearily gave him his opportunity. the big old fellow stood up, braced himself on legs far apart, as if he were standing on a slippery deck during a high sea, and gave the congregation its biggest surprise of the year. he said he had come to make a confession. he had been angry with "the gal" in the past, as they all knew. but he had heard about the sermon she had preached that morning, and this time she was right. it was high time quarreling and backbiting were stopped. they had been going on too long, and no good could come of them. moreover, in all the years he had been a member of that congregation he had never until now seen the pulpit occupied by a minister with enough backbone to uphold the discipline of the church. "i've come here to say i'm with the gal," he ended. "put me down for my original subscription and ten dollars extra!" so we had the old man back again. he was a tower of strength, and he stood by me faithfully until he died. the trustees would not accept my resignation (indeed, they refused to consider it at all), and the congregation, when it had thought things over, apparently decided that there might be worse things in the pulpit than "the gal." it was even known to brag of what it called my "spunk," and perhaps it was this quality, rather than any other, which i most needed in that particular parish at that time. as for me, when the fight was over i dropped it from my mind, and it had not entered my thoughts for years, until i began to summon these memories. at the end of my first six months in east dennis i was asked to take on, also, the temporary charge of the congregational church at dennis, two miles and a half away. i agreed to do this until a permanent pastor could be found, on condition that i should preach at dennis on sunday afternoons, using the same sermon i preached in my own pulpit in the morning. the arrangement worked so well that it lasted for six and a half years--until i resigned from my east dennis church. during that period, moreover, i not only carried the two churches on my shoulders, holding three meetings each sunday, but i entered upon and completed a course in the boston medical school, winning my m.d. in 1885, and i also lectured several times a month during the winter seasons. these were, therefore, among the most strenuous as well as the most interesting years of my existence, and i mention the strain of them only to prove my life-long contention, that congenial work, no matter how much there is of it, has never yet killed any one! after my battle with the free religious group things moved much more smoothly in the parish. captain crowell, instead of resenting my defiance of his ruling, helped to reconcile the divided factions in the church; and though, as i have said, twice afterward i submitted my resignation, in each case the fight i was making was for a cause which i firmly believed in and eventually won. my second resignation was brought about by the unwillingness of the church to have me exchange pulpits with the one minister on cape cod broad-minded enough to invite me to preach in his pulpit. i had done so, and had then sent him a return invitation. he was a gentleman and a scholar, but he was also a unitarian; and though my people were willing to let me preach in his church, they were loath to let him preach in mine. after a surprising amount of discussion my resignation put a different aspect on the matter; it also led to the satisfactory ruling that i could exchange pulpits not only with this minister, but with any other in good standing in his own church. my third resignation went before the trustees in consequence of my protest from the pulpit against a small drinking and gambling saloon in east dennis; which was rapidly demoralizing our boys. theoretically, only "soft drinks" were sold, but the gambling was open, and the resort was constantly filled with boys of all ages. there were influences back of this place which tried to protect it, and its owner was very popular in the town. after my first sermon i was waited upon by a committee, that warmly advised me to "let east dennis alone" and confine my criticisms "to saloons in boston and other big towns." as i had nothing to do with boston, and much to do with east dennis, i preached on that place three sundays in succession, and feeling became so intense that i handed in my resignation and prepared to depart. then my friends rallied and the resort was suppressed. that was my last big struggle. during the remaining five years of my pastorate on cape cod the relations between my people and myself were wholly harmonious and beautiful. if i have seemed to dwell too much on these small victories, it must be remembered that i find in them such comfort as i can. i have not yet won the great and vital fight of my life, to which i have given myself, heart and soul, for the past thirty years--the campaign for woman suffrage. i have seen victories here and there, and shall see more. but when the ultimate triumph comes--when american women in every state cast their ballots as naturally as their husbands do--i may not be in this world to rejoice over it. it is interesting to remember that during the strenuous period of the first few months in east dennis, and notwithstanding the division in the congregation, we women of the church got together and repainted and refurnished the building, raising all the money and doing much of the work ourselves, as the expense of having it done was prohibitive. we painted the church, and even cut down and modernized the pulpit. the total cost of material and furniture was not half so great as the original estimate had indicated, and we had learned a valuable lesson. after this we spent very little money for labor, but did our own cleaning, carpet-laying, and the like; and our little church, if i may be allowed to say so, was a model of neatness and good taste. i have said that at the end of two years from the time of my appointment the long-continued warfare in the church was ended. i was not immediately allowed, however, to bask in an atmosphere of harmony, for in october, 1880, the celebrated contest over my ordination took place at the methodist protestant conference in tarrytown, new york; and for three days i was a storm-center around which a large number of truly good and wholly sincere men fought the fight of their religious lives. many of them strongly believed that women were out of place in the ministry. i did not blame them for this conviction. but i was in the ministry, and i was greatly handicapped by the fact that, although i was a licensed preacher and a graduate of the boston theological school, i could not, until i had been regularly ordained, meet all the functions of my office. i could perform the marriage service, but i could not baptize. i could bury the dead, but i could not take members into my church. that had to be done by the presiding elder or by some other minister. i could not administer the sacraments. so at the new england spring conference of the methodist episcopal church, held in boston in 1880, i formally applied for ordination. at the same time application was made by another woman--miss anna oliver--and as a preliminary step we were both examined by the conference board, and were formally reported by that board as fitted for ordination. our names were therefore presented at the conference, over which bishop andrews presided, and he immediately refused to accept them. miss oliver and i were sitting together in the gallery of the church when the bishop announced his decision, and, while it staggered us, it did not really surprise us. we had been warned of this gentleman's deep-seated prejudice against women in the ministry. after the services were over miss oliver and i called on him and asked him what we should do. he told us calmly that there was nothing for us to do but to get out of the church. we reminded him of our years of study and probation, and that i had been for two years in charge of two churches. he set his thin lips and replied that there was no place for women in the ministry, and, as he then evidently considered the interview ended, we left him with heavy hearts. while we were walking slowly away, miss oliver confided to me that she did not intend to leave the church. instead, she told me, she would stay in and fight the matter of her ordination to a finish. i, however, felt differently. i had done considerable fighting during the past two years, and my heart and soul were weary. i said: "i shall get out, i am no better and no stronger than a man, and it is all a man can do to fight the world, the flesh, and the devil, without fighting his church as well. i do not intend to fight my church. but i am called to preach the gospel; and if i cannot preach it in my own church, i will certainly preach it in some other church!" as if in response to this outburst, a young minister named mark trafton soon called to see me. he had been present at our conference, he had seen my church refuse to ordain me, and he had come to suggest that i apply for ordination in his church--the methodist protestant. to leave my church, even though urged to do so by its appointed spokesman, seemed a radical step. before taking this i appealed from the decision of the conference to the general conference of the methodist episcopal church, which held its session that year in cincinnati, ohio. miss oliver also appealed, and again we were both refused ordination, the general conference voting to sustain bishop andrews in his decision. not content with this achievement, the conference even took a backward step. it deprived us of the right to be licensed as local preachers. after this blow i recalled with gratitude the reverend mark trafton's excellent advice, and i immediately applied for ordination in the methodist protestant church. my name was presented at the conference held in tarrytown in october, 1880, and the fight was on. during these conferences it is customary for each candidate to retire while the discussion of his individual fitness for ordination is in progress. when my name came up i was asked, as my predecessors had been, to leave the room for a few moments. i went into an anteroom and waited--a half-hour, an hour, all afternoon, all evening, and still the battle raged. i varied the monotony of sitting in the anteroom by strolls around tarrytown, and i think i learned to know its every stone and turn. the next day passed in the same way. at last, late on saturday night, it was suddenly announced by my opponents that i was not even a member of the church in which i had applied for ordination. the statement created consternation among my friends. none of us had thought of that! the bomb, timed to explode at the very end of the session, threatened to destroy all my hopes. of course, my opponents had reasoned, it would be too late for me to do anything, and my name would be dropped. but it was not too late. dr. lyman davis, the pastor of the methodist protestant church in tarrytown, was very friendly toward me and my ordination, and he proved his friendship in a singularly prompt and efficient fashion. late as it was, he immediately called together the trustees of his church, and they responded. to them i made my application for church membership, which they accepted within five minutes. i was now a member of the church, but it was too late to obtain any further action from the conference. the next day, sunday, all the men who had applied for ordination were ordained, and i was left out. on monday morning, however, when the conference met in its final business session, my case was reopened, and i was eventually called before the members to answer questions. some of these were extremely interesting, and several of the episodes that occurred were very amusing. one old gentleman i can see as i write. he was greatly excited, and he led the opposition by racing up and down the aisles, quoting from the scriptures to prove his case against women ministers. as he ran about he had a trick of putting his arms under the back of his coat, making his coat-tails stand out like wings and incidentally revealing two long white tapestrings belonging to a flannel undergarment. even in the painful stress of those hours i observed with interest how beautifully those tape-strings were ironed! i was there to answer any questions that were asked of me, and the questions came like hailstones in a sudden summer storm. "paul said, 'wives, obey your husbands,'" shouted my old man of the coat-tails. "suppose your husband should refuse to allow you to preach? what then?" "in the first place," i answered, "paul did not say so, according to the scriptures. but even if he did, it would not concern me, for i am a spinster." the old man looked me over. "you might marry some day," he predicted, cautiously. "possibly," i admitted. "wiser women than i am have married. but it is equally possible that i might marry a man who would command me to preach; and in that case i want to be all ready to obey him." at this another man, a bachelor, also began to draw from the scriptures. "an elder," he quoted, "shall be the husband of one wife." and he demanded, triumphantly, "how is it possible for you to be the husband of a wife?" in response to that i quoted a bit myself. "paul said, 'anathema unto him who addeth to or taketh from the scriptures,'" i reminded this gentleman; and added that a twisted interpretation of the scriptures was as bad as adding to or taking from them, and that no one doubted that paul was warning the elders against polygamy. then i went a bit further, for by this time the absurd character of the questions was getting on my nerves. "even if my good brother's interpretation is correct," i said, "he has overlooked two important points. though he is an elder, he is also a bachelor; so i am as much of a husband as he is!" a good deal of that sort of thing went on. the most satisfactory episode of the session, to me, was the downfall of three pert young men who in turn tried to make it appear that as the duty of the conference was to provide churches for all its pastors, i might become a burden to the church if it proved impossible to provide a pastorate for me. at that, one of my friends in the council rose to his feet. "i have had official occasion to examine into the matter of miss shaw's parish and salary," he said, "and i know what salaries the last three speakers are drawing. it may interest the conference to know that miss shaw's present salary equals the combined salaries of the three young men who are so afraid she will be a burden to the church. if, before being ordained, she can earn three times as much as they now earn after being ordained, it seems fairly clear that they will never have to support her. we can only hope that she will never have to support them." the three young ministers subsided into their seats with painful abruptness, and from that time my opponents were more careful in their remarks. still, many unpleasant things were said, and too much warmth was shown by both sides. we gained ground through the day, however, and at the end of the session the conference, by a large majority, voted to ordain me. the ordination service was fixed for the following evening, and even the gentlemen who had most vigorously opposed me were not averse to making the occasion a profitable one. the contention had already enormously advertised the conference, and the members now helped the good work along by sending forth widespread announcements of the result. they also decided that, as the attendance at the service would be very large, they would take up a collection for the support of superannuated ministers. the three young men who had feared i would become a burden were especially active in the matter of this collection; and, as they had no sense of humor, it did not seem incongruous to them to use my ordination as a means of raising money for men who had already become burdens to the church. when the great night came (on october 12, 1880), the expected crowd came also. and to the credit of my opponents i must add that, having lost their fight, they took their defeat in good part and gracefully assisted in the services. sitting in one of the front pews was mrs. stiles, the wife of dr. stiles, who was superintendent of the conference. she was a dear little old lady of seventy, with a big, maternal heart; and when she saw me rise to walk up the aisle alone, she immediately rose, too, came to my side, offered me her arm, and led me to the altar. the ordination service was very impressive and beautiful. its peace and dignity, following the battle that had raged for days, moved me so deeply that i was nearly overcome. indeed, i was on the verge of a breakdown when i was mercifully saved by the clause in the discipline calling for the pledge all ministers had to make--that i would not indulge in the use of tobacco. when this vow fell from my lips a perceptible ripple ran over the congregation. i was homesick for my cape cod parish, and i returned to east dennis immediately after my ordination, arriving there on saturday night. i knew by the suppressed excitement of my friends that some surprise awaited me, but i did not learn what it was until i entered my dear little church the following morning. there i found the communion-table set forth with a beautiful new communion-service. this had been purchased during my absence, that i might dedicate it that day and for the first time administer the sacrament to my people. vi. cape cod memories looking back now upon those days, i see my cape cod friends as clearly as if the intervening years had been wiped out and we were again together. among those i most loved were two widely differing types--captain doane, a retired sea-captain, and relief paine, an invalid chained to her couch, but whose beautiful influence permeated the community like an atmosphere. captain doane was one of the finest men i have ever known--highminded, tolerant, sympathetic, and full of understanding, he was not only my friend, but my church barometer. he occupied a front pew, close to the pulpit; and when i was preaching without making much appeal he sat looking me straight in the face, listening courteously, but without interest. when i got into my subject, he would lean forward--the angle at which he sat indicating the degree of attention i had aroused--and when i was strongly holding my congregation brother doane would bend toward me, following every word i uttered with corresponding motions of his lips. when i resigned we parted with deep regret, but it was not until i visited the church several years afterward that he overcame his reserve enough to tell me how much he had felt my going. "oh, did you?" i asked, greatly touched. "you're not saying that merely to please me?" the old man's hand fell on my shoulder. "i miss you," he said, simply. "i miss you all the time. you see, i love you." then, with precipitate selfconsciousness, he closed the door of his new england heart, and from some remote corner of it sent out his cautious after-thought. "i love you," he repeated, primly, "as a sister in the lord." relief paine lived in brewster. her name seemed prophetic, and she once told me that she had always considered it so. her brother-in-law was my sunday-school superintendent, and her family belonged to my church. very soon after my arrival in east dennis i went to see her, and found her, as she always was, dressed in white and lying on a tiny white bed covered with pansies, in a room whose windows overlooked the sea. i shall never forget the picture she made. over her shoulders was an exquisite white lace shawl brought from the other side of the world by some seafaring friend, and against her white pillow her hair seemed the blackest i had ever seen. when i entered she turned and looked toward me with wonderful dark eyes that were quite blind, and as she talked her hands played with the pansies around her. she loved pansies as she loved few human beings, and she knew their colors by touching them. she was then a little more than thirty years of age. at sixteen she had fallen downstairs in the dark, receiving an injury that paralyzed her, and for fifteen years she had lain on one side, perfectly still, the stella maris of the cape. all who came to her, and they were many, went away the better for the visit, and the mere mention of her name along the coast softened eyes that had looked too bitterly on life. relief and i became close friends. i was greatly drawn to her, and deeply moved by the tragedy of her situation, as well as by the beautiful spirit with which she bore it. during my first visit i regaled her with stories of the community and of my own experiences, and when i was leaving it occurred to me that possibly i had been rather frivolous. so i said: "i am coming to see you often, and when i come i want to do whatever will interest you most. shall i bring some books and read to you?" relief smiled--the gay, mischievous little smile i was soon to know so well, but which at first seemed out of place on the tragic mask of her face. "no, don't read to me," she decided. "there are enough ready to do that. talk to me. tell me about our life and our people here, as they strike you." and she added, slowly: "you are a queer minister. you have not offered to pray with me!" "i feel," i told her, "more like asking you to pray for me." relief continued her analysis. "you have not told me that my affliction was a visitation from god," she added; "that it was discipline and well for me i had it." "i don't believe it was from god," i said. "i don't believe god had anything to do with it. and i rejoice that you have not let it wreck your life." she pressed my hand. "thank you for saying that," she murmured. "if i thought god did it i could not love him, and if i did not love him i could not live. please come and see me very often--and tell me stories!" after that i collected stories for relief. one of those which most amused her, i remember, was about my horse, and this encourages me to repeat it here. in my life in east dennis i did not occupy the lonely little parsonage connected with my church, but instead boarded with a friend--a widow named crowell. (there seemed only two names in cape cod: sears and crowell.) to keep in touch with my two churches, which were almost three miles apart, it became necessary to have a horse. as mrs. crowell needed one, too, we decided to buy the animal in partnership, and miss crowell, the daughter of the widow, who knew no more about horses than i did, undertook to lend me the support of her presence and advice during the purchase. we did not care to have the entire community take a passionate interest in the matter, as it would certainly have done if it had heard of our intention; so my friend and i departed somewhat stealthily for a neighboring town, where, we had heard, a very good horse was offered for sale. we saw the animal and liked it; but before closing the bargain we cannily asked the owner if the horse was perfectly sound, and if it was gentle with women. he assured us that it was both sound and gentle with women, and to prove the latter point he had his wife harness it to the buggy and drive it around the stable-yard. the animal behaved beautifully. after it had gone through its paces, miss crowell and i leaned confidingly against its side, patting it and praising its beauty, and the horse seemed to enjoy our attentions. we bought it then and there, drove it home, and put it in our barn; and the next morning we hired a man in the neighborhood to come over and take care of it. he arrived. five minutes later a frightful racket broke out in the barn--sounds of stamping, kicking, and plunging, mingled with loud shouts. we ran to the scene of the trouble, and found our "hired man" rushing breathlessly toward the house. when he was able to speak he informed us that we had "a devil in there," pointing back to the barn, and that the new horse's legs were in the air, all four of them at once, the minute he went near her. we insisted that he must have frightened or hurt her, but, solemnly and with anxious looks behind, he protested that he had not. finally miss crowell and i went into the barn, and received a dignified welcome from the new horse, which seemed pleased by our visit. together we harnessed her and, without the least difficulty, drove her out into the yard. as soon as our man took the reins, however, she reared, kicked, and smashed our brand-new buggy. we changed the man and had the buggy repaired, but by the end of the week the animal had smashed the buggy again. then, with some natural resentment, we made a second visit to the man from whom we had bought her, and asked him why he had sold us such a horse. he said he had told us the exact truth. the horse was sound and she was extremely gentle with women, but--and this point he had seen no reason to mention, as we had not asked about it--she would not let a man come near her. he firmly refused to take her back, and we had to make the best of the bargain. as it was impossible to take care of her ourselves, i gave some thought to the problem she presented, and finally devised a plan which worked very well. i hired a neighbor who was a small, slight man to take care of her, and made him wear his wife's sunbonnet and waterproof cloak whenever he approached the horse. the picture he presented in these garments still stands out pleasantly against the background of my cape cod memories. the horse, however, did not share our appreciation of it. she was suspicious, and for a time she shied whenever the man and his sunbonnet and cloak appeared; but we stood by until she grew accustomed to them and him; and as he was both patient and gentle, she finally allowed him to harness and unharness her. but no man could drive her, and when i drove to church i was forced to hitch and unhitch her myself. no one else could do it, though many a gallant and subsequently resentful man attempted the feat. on one occasion a man i greatly disliked, and who i had reason to know disliked me, insisted that he could unhitch her, and started to do so, notwithstanding my protests and explanations. at his approach she rose on her hind-legs, and when he grasped her bridle she lifted him off his feet. his expression as he hung in mid-air was an extraordinary mixture of surprise and regret. the moment i touched her, however, she quieted down, and when i got into the buggy and gathered up the reins she walked off like a lamb, leaving the man staring after her with his eyes starting from his head. the previous owner had called the horse daisy, and we never changed the name, though it always seemed sadly inappropriate. time proved, however, that there were advantages in the ownership of daisy. no man would allow his wife or daughter to drive behind her, and no one wanted to borrow her. if she had been a different kind of animal she would have been used by the whole community, we kept daisy for seven years, and our acquaintance ripened into a pleasant friendship. another cape cod resident to whose memory i must offer tribute in these pages was polly ann sears--one of the dearest and best of my parishioners. she had six sons, and when five had gone to sea she insisted that the sixth must remain at home. in vain the boy begged her to let him follow his brothers. she stood firm. the sea, she said, should not swallow all her boys; she had given it five--she must keep one. as it happened, the son she kept at home was the only one who was drowned. he was caught in a fish-net and dragged under the waters of the bay near his home; and when i went to see his mother to offer such comfort as i could, she showed that she had learned the big lesson of the experience. "i tried to be a special providence," she moaned, "and the one boy i kept home was the only boy i lost. i ain't a-goin' to be a providence no more." the number of funerals on cape cod was tragically large. i was in great demand on these occasions, and went all over the cape, conducting funeral services--which seemed to be the one thing people thought i could do--and preaching funeral sermons. besides the victims of the sea, many of the residents who had drifted away were brought back to sleep their last sleep within sound of the waves. once i asked an old sea-captain why so many cape cod men and women who had been gone for years asked to be buried near their old homes, and his reply still lingers in my memory. he poked his toe in the sand for a moment and then said, slowly: "wal, i reckon it's because the cape has such warm, comfortable sand to lie down in." my friend mrs. addy lay in the crowell family lot, and during my pastorate at east dennis i preached the funeral sermon of her father, and later of her mother. long after i had left cape cod i was frequently called back to say the last words over the coffins of my old friends, and the saddest of those journeys was the one i made in response to a telegram from the mother of relief paine. when i had arrived and we stood together beside the exquisite figure that seemed hardly more quiet in death than in life, mrs. paine voiced in her few words the feeling of the whole community--"where shall we get our comfort and our inspiration, now that relief is gone?" the funeral which took all my courage from me, however, was that of my sister mary. in its suddenness, mary's death, in 1883, was as a thunderbolt from the blue; for she had been in perfect health three days before she passed away. i was still in charge of my two parishes in cape cod, but, as it mercifully happened, before she was stricken i had started west to visit mary in her home at big rapids. when i arrived on the second day of her illness, knowing nothing of it until i reached her, i found her already past hope. her disease was pneumonia, but she was conscious to the end, and her greatest desire seemed to be to see me christen her little daughter and her husband before she left them. this could not be realized, for my brotherin-law was absent on business, and with all his haste in returning did not reach his wife's side until after her death. as his one thought then was to carry out her last wishes, i christened him and his little girl just before the funeral; and during the ceremony we all experienced a deep conviction that mary knew and was content. she had become a power in her community, and was so dearly loved that on the day her body was borne to its last resting-place all the business houses in big rapids were closed, and the streets were filled with men who stood with bent, uncovered heads as the funeral procession went by. my father and mother, also, to whom she had given a home after they left the log-cabin where they had lived so long, had made many friends in their new environment and were affectionately known throughout the whole region as "grandma and grandpa shaw." when i returned to east dennis i brought my mother and mary's three children with me, and they remained throughout the spring and summer. i had hoped that they would remain permanently, and had rented and furnished a home for them with that end in view; but, though they enjoyed their visit, the prospect of the bleak winters of cape cod disturbed my mother, and they all returned to big rapids late in the autumn. since entering upon my parish work it had been possible for me to help my father and mother financially; and from the time of mary's death i had the privilege, a very precious one, of seeing that they were well cared for and contented. they were always appreciative, and as time passed they became more reconciled to the career i had chosen, and which in former days had filled them with such dire forebodings. after i had been in east dennis four years i began to feel that i was getting into a rut. it seemed to me that all i could do in that particular field had been done. my people wished me to remain, however, and so, partly as an outlet for my surplus energy, but more especially because i realized the splendid work women could do as physicians, i began to study medicine. the trustees gave me permission to go to boston on certain days of each week, and we soon found that i could carry on my work as a medical student without in the least neglecting my duty toward my parish. i entered the boston medical school in 1882, and obtained my diploma as a full-fledged physician in 1885. during this period i also began to lecture for the massachusetts woman suffrage association, of which lucy stone was president. henry blackwell was associated with her, and together they developed in me a vital interest in the suffrage cause, which grew steadily from that time until it became the dominating influence in my life. i preached it in the pulpit, talked it to those i met outside of the church, lectured on it whenever i had an opportunity, and carried it into my medical work in the boston slums when i was trying my prentice hand on helpless pauper patients. here again, in my association with the women of the streets, i realized the limitations of my work in the ministry and in medicine. as minister to soul and body one could do little for these women. for such as them, one's efforts must begin at the very foundation of the social structure. laws for them must be made and enforced, and some of those laws could only be made and enforced by women. so many great avenues of life were opening up before me that my cape cod environment seemed almost a prison where i was held with tender force. i loved my people and they loved me--but the big outer world was calling, and i could not close my ears to its summons. the suffrage lectures helped to keep me contented, however, and i was certainly busy enough to find happiness in my work. i was in boston three nights a week, and during these nights subject to sick calls at any hour. my favorite associates were dr. caroline hastings, our professor of anatomy, and little dr. mary safford, a mite of a woman with an indomitable soul. dr. safford was especially prominent in philanthropic work in massachusetts, and it was said of her that at any hour of the day or night she could be found working in the slums of boston. i, too, could frequently be found there--often, no doubt, to the disadvantage of my patients. i was quite famous in three boston alleys--maiden's lane, fellows court, and andrews court. it most fortunately happened that i did not lose a case in those alleys, though i took all kinds, as i had to treat a certain number of surgical and obstetrical cases in my course. no doubt my patients and i had many narrow escapes of which we were blissfully ignorant, but i remember two which for a long time afterward continued to be features of my most troubled dreams. the first was that of a big irishman who had pneumonia. when i looked him over i was as much frightened as he was. i had got as far as pneumonia in my course, and i realized that here was a bad case of it. i knew what to do. the patient must be carefully packed in towels wrung out of cold water. when i called for towels i found that there was nothing in the place but a dish-towel, which i washed with portentous gravity. the man owned but one shirt, and, in deference to my visit, his wife had removed that to wash it. i packed the patient in the dish-towel, wrapped him in a piece of an old shawl, and left after instructing his wife to repeat the process. when i reached home i remembered that the patient must be packed "carefully," and i knew that his wife would do it carelessly. that meant great risk to the man's life. my impulse was to rush back to him at once, but this would never do. it would destroy all confidence in the doctor. i walked the floor for three hours, and then casually strolled in upon my patient, finding him, to my great relief, better than i had left him. as i was leaving, a child rushed into the room, begging me to come to an upper floor in the same building. "the baby's got the croup," she gasped, "an' he's chokin' to death." we had not reached croup in our course, and i had no idea what to do, but i valiantly accompanied the little girl. as we climbed the long flights of stairs to the top floor i remembered a conversation i had overheard between two medical students. one of them had said: "if the child is strangling when it inhales, as if it were breathing through a sponge, then give it spongia; but if it is strangling when it breathes out, give it aconite." when i reached the baby i listened, but could not tell which way it was strangling. however, i happened to have both medicines with me, so i called for two glasses and mixed the two remedies, each in its own glass. i gave them both to the mother, and told her to use them alternately, every fifteen minutes, until the baby was better. the baby got well; but whether its recovery was due to the spongia or to the aconite i never knew. in my senior year i fell in love with an infant of three, named patsy. he was one of nine children when i was called to deliver his mother of her tenth child. she was drunk when i reached her, and so were two men who lay on the floor in the same room. i had them carried out, and after the mother and baby had been attended to i noticed patsy. he was the most beautiful child i had ever seen--with eyes like italian skies and yellow hair in tight curls over his adorable little head; but he was covered with filthy rags. i borrowed him, took him home with me, and fed and bathed him, and the next day fitted him out with new clothes. every hour i had him tightened his hold on my heart-strings. i went to his mother and begged her to let me keep him, but she refused, and after a great deal of argument and entreaty i had to return him to her. when i went to see him a few days later i found him again in his horrible rags. his mother had pawned his new clothes for drink, and she was deeply under its influence. but no pressure i could exert then or later would make her part with patsy. finally, for my own peace of mind, i had to give up hope of getting him--but i have never ceased to regret the little adopted son i might have had. vii. the great cause there is a theory that every seven years each human being undergoes a complete physical reconstruction, with corresponding changes in his mental and spiritual make-up. possibly it was due to this reconstruction that, at the end of seven years on cape cod, my soul sent forth a sudden call to arms. i was, it reminded me, taking life too easily; i was in danger of settling into an agreeable routine. the work of my two churches made little drain on my superabundant vitality, and not even the winning of a medical degree and the increasing demands of my activities on the lecture platform wholly eased my conscience. i was happy, for i loved my people and they seemed to love me. it would have been pleasant to go on almost indefinitely, living the life of a country minister and telling myself that what i could give to my flock made such a life worth while. but all the time, deep in my heart, i realized the needs of the outside world, and heard its prayer for workers. my theological and medical courses in boston, with the experiences that accompanied them, had greatly widened my horizon. moreover, at my invitation, many of the noble women of the day were coming to east dennis to lecture, bringing with them the stirring atmosphere of the conflicts they were waging. one of the first of these was my friend mary a. livermore; and after her came julia ward howe, anna garlin spencer, lucy stone, mary f. eastman, and many others, each charged with inspiration for my people and with a special message for me, which she sent forth unknowingly and which i alone heard. they were fighting great battles, these women--for suffrage, for temperance, for social purity--and in every word they uttered i heard a rallying-cry. so it was that, in 1885, i suddenly pulled myself up to a radical decision and sent my resignation to the trustees of the two churches whose pastor i had been since 1878. the action caused a demonstration of regret which made it hard to keep to my resolution and leave these men and women whose friendship was among the dearest of my possessions. but when we had all talked things over, many of them saw the situation as i did. no doubt there were those, too, who felt that a change of ministry would be good for the churches. during the weeks that followed my resignation i received many odd tributes, and of these one of the most amusing came from a young girl in the parish, who broke into loud protests when she heard that i was going away. to comfort her i predicted that she would now have a man minister--doubtless a very nice man. but the young person continued to sniffle disconsolately. "i don't want a man," she wailed. "i don't like to see men in pulpits. they look so awkward." her grief culminated in a final outburst. "they're all arms and legs!" she sobbed. when my resignation was finally accepted, and the time of my departure drew near, the men of the community spent much of their leisure in discussing it and me. the social center of east dennis was a certain grocery, to which almost every man in town regularly wended his way, and from which all the gossip of the town emanated. here the men sat for hours, tilted back in their chairs, whittling the rungs until they nearly cut the chairs from under them, and telling one another all they knew or had heard about their fellow-townsmen. then, after each session, they would return home and repeat the gossip to their wives. i used to say that i would give a dollar to any woman in east dennis who could quote a bit of gossip which did not come from the men at that grocery. even my old friend captain doane, fine and high-minded citizen though he was, was not above enjoying the mild diversion of these social gatherings, and on one occasion at least he furnished the best part of the entertainment. the departing minister was, it seemed, the topic of the day's discussion, and, to tease captain doane one young man who knew the strength of his friendship for me suddenly began to speak, then pursed up his lips and looked eloquently mysterious. as he had expected, captain doane immediately pounced on him. "what's the matter with you?" demanded the old man. "hev you got anything agin miss shaw?" the young man sighed and murmured that if he wished he could repeat a charge never before made against a cape cod minister, but--and he shut his lips more obviously. the other men, who were in the plot, grinned, and this added the last touch to captain doane's indignation. he sprang to his feet. one of his peculiarities was a constant misuse of words, and now, in his excitement, he outdid himself. "you've made an incineration against miss shaw," he shouted. "do you hear--an incineration! take it back or take a lickin'!" the young man decided that the joke had gone far enough, so he answered, mildly: "well, it is said that all the women in town are in love with miss shaw. has that been charged against any other minister here?" the men roared with laughter, and captain doane sat down, looking sheepish. "all i got to say is this," he muttered: "that gal has been in this community for seven years, and she 'ain't done a thing during the hull seven years that any one kin lay a finger on!" the men shouted again at this back-handed tribute, and the old fellow left the grocery in a huff. later i was told of the "incineration" and his eloquent defense of me, and i thanked him for it. but i added: "i hear you said i haven't done a thing in seven years that any one can lay a finger on?" "i said it," declared the captain, "and i'll stand by it." "haven't i done any good?" i asked. "sartin you have," he assured me, heartily. "lots of good." "well," i said, "can't you put your finger on that?" the captain looked startled. "why--why--sister shaw," he stammered, "you know i didn't mean that! what i meant," he repeated, slowly and solemnly, "was that the hull time you been here you ain't done nothin' anybody could put a finger on!" captain doane apparently shared my girl parishioner's prejudice against men in the pulpit, for long afterward, on one of my visits to cape cod, he admitted that he now went to church very rarely. "when i heard you preach," he explained, "i gen'ally followed you through and i knowed where you was a-comin' out. but these young fellers that come from the theological school--why, sister shaw, the lord himself don't know where they're comin' out!" for a moment he pondered. then he uttered a valedictory which i have always been glad to recall as his last message, for i never saw him again. "when you fust come to us," he said, "you had a lot of crooked places, an' we had a lot of crooked places; and we kind of run into each other, all of us. but before you left, sister shaw, why, all the crooked places was wore off and everything was as smooth as silk." "yes," i agreed, "and that was the time to leave--when everything was running smoothly." all is changed on cape cod since those days, thirty years ago. the old families have died or moved away, and those who replaced them were of a different type. i am happy in having known and loved the cape as it was, and in having gathered there a store of delightful memories. in later strenuous years it has rested me merely to think of the place, and long afterward i showed my continued love of it by building a home there, which i still possess. but i had little time to rest in this or in my moylan home, of which i shall write later, for now i was back in boston, living my new life, and each crowded hour brought me more to do. we were entering upon a deeply significant period. for the first time women were going into industrial competition with men, and already men were intensely resenting their presence. around me i saw women overworked and underpaid, doing men's work at half men's wages, not because their work was inferior, but because they were women. again, too, i studied the obtrusive problems of the poor and of the women of the streets; and, looking at the whole social situation from every angle, i could find but one solution for women--the removal of the stigma of disfranchisement. as man's equal before the law, woman could demand her rights, asking favors from no one. with all my heart i joined in the crusade of the men and women who were fighting for her. my real work had begun. naturally, at this period, i frequently met the members of boston's most inspiring group--the emersons and john greenleaf whittier, james freeman clark, reverend minot savage, bronson alcott and his daughter louisa, wendell phillips, william lloyd garrison, stephen foster, theodore weld, and the rest. of them all, my favorite was whittier. he had been present at my graduation from the theological school, and now he often attended our suffrage meetings. he was already an old man, nearing the end of his life; and i recall him as singularly tall and thin, almost gaunt, bending forward as he talked, and wearing an expression of great serenity and benignity. i once told susan b. anthony that if i needed help in a crowd of strangers that included her, i would immediately turn to her, knowing from her face that, whatever i had done, she would understand and assist me. i could have offered the same tribute to whittier. at our meetings he was like a vesper-bell chiming above a battle-field. garrison always became excited during our discussions, and the others frequently did; but whittier, in whose big heart the love of his fellow-man burned as unquenchably as in any heart there, always preserved his exquisite tranquillity. once, i remember, stephen foster insisted on having the word "tyranny" put into a resolution, stating that women were deprived of suffrage by the tyranny of men. mr. garrison objected, and the debate that followed was the most exciting i have ever heard. the combatants actually had to adjourn before they could calm down sufficiently to go on with their meeting. knowing the stimulating atmosphere to which he had grown accustomed, i was not surprised to have theodore weld explain to me; long afterward, why he no longer attended suffrage meetings. "oh," he said, "why should i go? there hasn't been any one mobbed in twenty years!" the ralph waldo emersons occasionally attended our meetings, and mr. emerson, at first opposed to woman suffrage, became a convert to it during the last years of his life--a fact his son and daughter omitted to mention in his biography. after his death i gave two suffrage lectures in concord, and each time mrs. emerson paid for the hall. at these lectures louisa m. alcott graced the assembly with her splendid, wholesome presence, and on both occasions she was surrounded by a group of boys. she frankly cared much more for boys than for girls, and boys inevitably gravitated to her whenever she entered a place where they were. when women were given school suffrage in massachusetts, miss alcott was the first woman to vote in concord, and she went to the polls accompanied by a group of her boys, all ardently "for the cause." my general impression of her was that of a fresh breeze blowing over wide moors. she was as different as possible from exquisite little mrs. emerson, who, in her daintiness and quiet charm, suggested an old new england garden. of abby may and edna cheney i retain a general impression of "bagginess"--of loose jackets over loose waistbands, of escaping locks of hair, of bodies seemingly one size from the neck down. both women were utterly indifferent to the details of their appearance, but they were splendid workers and leading spirits in the new england woman's club. it was said to be the trouble between abby may and kate gannett wells, both of whom stood for the presidency of the club, that led to the beginning of the anti-suffrage movement in boston. abby may was elected president, and all the suffragists voted for her. subsequently kate gannett wells began her anti-suffrage campaign. mrs. wells was the first anti-suffragist i ever knew in this country. before her there had been mrs. dahlgren, wife of admiral dahlgren, and mrs. william tecumseh sherman. on one occasion elizabeth cady stanton challenged mrs. dahlgren to a debate on woman suffrage, and in the light of later events mrs. dahlgren's reply is amusing. she declined the challenge, explaining that for anti-suffragists to appear upon a public platform would be a direct violation of the principle for which they stood--which was the protection of female modesty! recalling this, and the present hectic activity of the anti-suffragists, one must feel that they have either abandoned their principle or widened their views. for julia ward howe i had an immense admiration; but, though from first to last i saw much of her, i never felt that i really knew her. she was a woman of the widest culture, interested in every progressive movement. with all her big heart she tried to be a democrat, but she was an aristocrat to the very core of her, and, despite her wonderful work for others, she lived in a splendid isolation. once when i called on her i found her resting her mind by reading greek, and she laughingly admitted that she was using a latin pony, adding that she was growing "rusty." she seemed a little embarrassed by being caught with the pony, but she must have been reassured by my cheerful confession that if _i_ tried to read either latin or greek i should need an english pony. of frances e. willard, who frequently came to boston, i saw a great deal, and we soon became closely associated in our work. early in our friendship, and at miss willard's suggestion, we made a compact that once a week each of us would point out to the other her most serious faults, and thereby help her to remedy them; but we were both too sane to do anything of the kind, and the project soon died a natural death. the nearest i ever came to carrying it out was in warning miss willard that she was constantly defying all the laws of personal hygiene. she never rested, rarely seemed to sleep, and had to be reminded at the table that she was there for the purpose of eating food. she was always absorbed in some great interest, and oblivious to anything else, i never knew a woman who could grip an audience and carry it with her as she could. she was intensely emotional, and swayed others by their emotions rather than by logic; yet she was the least conscious of her physical existence of any one i ever knew, with the exception of susan b. anthony. like "aunt susan," miss willard paid no heed to cold or heat or hunger, to privation or fatigue. in their relations to such trifles both women were disembodied spirits. another woman doing wonderful work at this time was mrs. quincy shaw, who had recently started her day nurseries for the care of tenement children whose mothers labored by the day. these nurseries were new in boston, as was the kindergarten system she also established. i saw the effect of her work in the lives of the people, and it strengthened my growing conviction that little could be done for the poor in a spiritual or educational way until they were given a certain amount of physical comfort, and until more time was devoted to the problem of prevention. indeed, the more i studied economic issues, the more strongly i felt that the position of most philanthropists is that of men who stand at the bottom of a precipice gathering up and trying to heal those who fall into it, instead of guarding the top and preventing them from going over. of course i had to earn my living; but, though i had taken my medical degree only a few months before leaving cape cod, i had no intention of practising medicine. i had merely wished to add a certain amount of medical knowledge to my mental equipment. the massachusetts woman suffrage association, of which lucy stone was president, had frequently employed me as a lecturer during the last two years of my pastorate. now it offered me a salary of one hundred dollars a month as a lecturer and organizer. though i may not have seemed so in these reminiscences, in which i have written as freely of my small victories as of my struggles and failures, i was a modest young person. the amount seemed too large, and i told mrs. stone as much, after which i humbly fixed my salary at fifty dollars a month. at the end of a year of work i felt that i had "made good"; then i asked for and received the one hundred dollars a month originally offered me. during my second year miss cora scott pond and i organized and carried through in boston a great suffrage bazaar, clearing six thousand dollars for the association--a large amount in those days. elated by my share in this success, i asked that my salary should be increased to one hundred and twenty-five dollars a month--but this was not done. instead, i received a valuable lesson. it was freely admitted that my work was worth one hundred and twenty-five dollars, but i was told that one hundred was the limit which could be paid, and i was reminded that this was a good salary for a woman. the time seemed to have come to make a practical stand in defense of my principles, and i did so by resigning and arranging an independent lecture tour. the first month after my resignation i earned three hundred dollars. later i frequently earned more than that, and very rarely less. eventually i lectured under the direction of the slaton lecture bureau of chicago, and later still for the redpath bureau of boston. my experience with the redpath people was especially gratifying. mrs. livermore, who was their only woman lecturer, was growing old and anxious to resign her work. she saw in me a possible successor, and asked them to take me on their list. they promptly refused, explaining that i must "make a reputation" before they could even consider me. a year later they wrote me, making a very good offer, which i accepted. it may be worth while to mention here that through my lecture-work at this period i earned all the money i have ever saved. i lectured night after night, week after week, month after month, in "chautauquas" in the summer, all over the country in the winter, earning a large income and putting aside at that time the small surplus i still hold in preparation for the "rainy day" every working-woman inwardly fears. i gave the public at least a fair equivalent for what it gave me, for i put into my lectures all my vitality, and i rarely missed an engagement, though again and again i risked my life to keep one. my special subjects, of course, were the two i had most at heart-suffrage and temperance. for frances willard, then president of the woman's christian temperance union, had persuaded me to head the franchise department of that organization, succeeding ziralda wallace, the mother of gen. lew wallace; and miss susan b. anthony, who was beginning to study me closely, soon swung me into active work with her, of which, later, i shall have much to say. but before taking up a subject as absorbing to me as my friendship for and association with the most wonderful woman i have ever known, it may be interesting to record a few of my pioneer experiences in the lecture-field. in those days--thirty years ago--the lecture bureaus were wholly regardless of the comfort of their lecturers. they arranged a schedule of engagements with exactly one idea in mind--to get the lecturer from one lecture-point to the next, utterly regardless of whether she had time between for rest or food or sleep. so it happened that all-night journeys in freight-cars, engines, and cabooses were casual commonplaces, while thirty and forty mile drives across the country in blizzards and bitter cold were equally inevitable. usually these things did not trouble me. they were high adventures which i enjoyed at the time and afterward loved to recall. but there was an occasional hiatus in my optimism. one night, for example, after lecturing in a town in ohio, it was necessary to drive eight miles across country to a tiny railroad station at which a train, passing about two o'clock in the morning, was to be flagged for me. when we reached the station it was closed, but my driver deposited me on the platform and drove away, leaving me alone. the night was cold and very dark. all day i had been feeling ill and in the evening had suffered so much pain that i had finished my lecture with great difficulty. now toward midnight, in this desolate spot, miles from any house, i grew alarmingly worse. i am not easily frightened, but that time i was sure i was going to die. off in the darkness, very far away, as it seemed, i saw a faint light, and with infinite effort i dragged myself toward it. to walk, even to stand, was impossible; i crawled along the railroad track, collapsing, resting, going on again, whipping my will power to the task of keeping my brain clear, until after a nightmare that seemed to last through centuries i lay across the door of the switch-tower in which the light was burning. the switchman stationed there heard the cry i was able to utter, and came to my assistance. he carried me up to his signal-room and laid me on the floor by the stove; he had nothing to give me except warmth and shelter; but these were now all i asked. i sank into a comatose condition shot through with pain. toward two o'clock in the morning he waked me and told me my train was coming, asking if i felt able to take it. i decided to make the effort. he dared not leave his post to help me, but he signaled to the train, and i began my progress back to the station. i never clearly remembered how i got there; but i arrived and was helped into a car by a brakeman. about four o'clock in the morning i had to change again, but this time i was left at the station of a town, and was there met by a man whose wife had offered me hospitality. he drove me to their home, and i was cared for. what i had, it developed, was a severe case of ptomaine poisoning, and i soon recovered; but even after all these years i do not like to recall that night. to be "snowed in" was a frequent experience. once, in minnesota, i was one of a dozen travelers who were driven in an omnibus from a country hotel to the nearest railroad station, about two miles away. it was snowing hard, and the driver left us on the station platform and departed. time passed, but the train we were waiting for did not come. a true western blizzard, growing wilder every moment, had set in, and we finally realized that the train was not coming, and that, moreover, it was now impossible to get back to the hotel. the only thing we could do was to spend the night in the railroad station. i was the only woman in the group, and my fellow-passengers were cattlemen who whiled away the hours by smoking, telling stories, and exchanging pocket flasks. the station had a telegraph operator who occupied a tiny box by himself, and he finally invited me to share the privacy of his microscopic quarters. i entered them very gratefully, and he laid a board on the floor, covered it with an overcoat made of buffalo-skins, and cheerfully invited me to go to bed. i went, and slept peacefully until morning. then we all returned to the hotel, the men going ahead and shoveling a path. again, one sunday, i was snowbound in a train near faribault, and this time also i was the only woman among a number of cattlemen. they were an odoriferous lot, who smoked diligently and played cards without ceasing, but in deference to my presence they swore only mildly and under their breath. at last they wearied of their game, and one of them rose and came to me. "i heard you lecture the other night," he said, awkwardly, "and i've bin tellin' the fellers about it. we'd like to have a lecture now." their card-playing had seemed to me a sinful thing (i was stricter in my views then than i am to-day), and i was glad to create a diversion. i agreed to give them a lecture, and they went through the train, which consisted of two day coaches, and brought in the remaining passengers. a few of them could sing, and we began with a moody and sankey hymn or two and the appealing ditty, "where is my wandering boy to-night?" in which they all joined with special zest. then i delivered the lecture, and they listened attentively. when i had finished they seemed to think that some slight return was in order, so they proceeded to make a bed for me. they took the bottoms out of two seats, arranged them crosswise, and one man folded his overcoat into a pillow. inspired by this, two others immediately donated their fur overcoats for upper and lower coverings. when the bed was ready they waved me toward it with a most hospitable air, and i crept in between the overcoats and slumbered sweetly until i was aroused the next morning by the welcome music of a snow-plow which had been sent from st. paul to our rescue. to drive fifty or sixty miles in a day to meet a lecture engagement was a frequent experience. i have been driven across the prairies in june when they were like a mammoth flower-bed, and in january when they seemed one huge snow-covered grave--my grave, i thought, at times. once during a thirty-mile drive, when the thermometer was twenty degrees below zero, i suddenly realized that my face was freezing. i opened my satchel, took out the tissue-paper that protected my best gown, and put the paper over my face as a veil, tucking it inside of my bonnet. when i reached my destination the tissue was a perfect mask, frozen stiff, and i had to be lifted from the sleigh. i was due on the lecture platform in half an hour, so i drank a huge bowl of boiling ginger tea and appeared on time. that night i went to bed expecting an attack of pneumonia as a result of the exposure, but i awoke next morning in superb condition. i possess what is called "an iron constitution," and in those days i needed it. that same winter, in kansas, i was chased by wolves, and though i had been more or less intimately associated with wolves in my pioneer life in the michigan woods, i found the occasion extremely unpleasant. during the long winters of my girlhood wolves had frequently slunk around our log cabin, and at times in the lumber-camps we had even heard them prowling on the roofs. but those were very different creatures from the two huge, starving, tireless animals that hour after hour loped behind the cutter in which i sat with another woman, who, throughout the whole experience, never lost her head nor her control of our frantic horses. they were mad with terror, for, try as they would, they could not outrun the grim things that trailed us, seemingly not trying to gain on us, but keeping always at the same distance, with a patience that was horrible. from time to time i turned to look at them, and the picture they made as they came on and on is one i shall never forget. they were so near that i could see their eyes and slavering jaws, and they were as noiseless as things in a dream. at last, little by little, they began to gain on us, and they were almost within striking distance of the whip, which was our only weapon, when we reached the welcome outskirts of a town and they fell back. some of the memories of those days have to do with personal encounters, brief but poignant. once when i was giving a series of chautauqua lectures, i spoke at the chautauqua in pontiac, illinois. the state reformatory for boys was situated in that town, and, after the lecture the superintendent of the reformatory invited me to visit it and say a few words to the inmates. i went and spoke for half an hour, carrying away a memory of the place and of the boys which haunted me for months. a year later, while i was waiting for a train in the station at shelbyville, a lad about sixteen years old passed me and hesitated, looking as if he knew me. i saw that he wanted to speak and dared not, so i nodded to him. "you think you know me, don't you?" i asked, when he came to my side. "yes'm, i do know you," he told me, eagerly. "you are miss shaw, and you talked to us boys at pontiac last year. i'm out on parole now, but i 'ain't forgot. us boys enjoyed you the best of any show we ever had!" i was touched by this artless compliment, and anxious to know how i had won it, so i asked, "what did i say that the boys liked?" the lad hesitated. then he said, slowly, "well, you didn't talk as if you thought we were all bad." "my boy," i told him, "i don't think you are all bad. i know better!" as if i had touched a spring in him, the lad dropped into the seat by my side; then, leaning toward me, he said, impulsively, but almost in a whisper: "say, miss shaw, some of us boys says our prayers!" rarely have i had a tribute that moved me more than that shy confidence; and often since then, in hours of discouragement or failure, i have reminded myself that at least there must have been something in me once to make a lad of that age so open up his heart. we had a long and intimate talk, from which grew the abiding interest i feel in boys today. naturally i was sometimes inconvenienced by slight misunderstandings between local committees and myself as to the subjects of my lectures, and the most extreme instance of this occurred in a town where i arrived to find myself widely advertised as "mrs. anna shaw, who whistled before queen victoria"! transfixed, i gaped before the billboards, and by reading their additional lettering discovered the gratifying fact that at least i was not expected to whistle now. instead, it appeared, i was to lecture on "the missing link." as usual, i had arrived in town only an hour or two before the time fixed for my lecture; there was the briefest interval in which to clear up these painful misunderstandings. i repeatedly tried to reach the chairman who was to preside at the entertainment, but failed. at last i went to the hall at the hour appointed, and found the local committee there, graciously waiting to receive me. without wasting precious minutes in preliminaries, i asked why they had advertised me as the woman who had "whistled before queen victoria." "why, didn't you whistle before her?" they exclaimed in grieved surprise. "i certainly did not," i explained. "moreover, i was never called 'the american nightingale,' and i have never lectured on 'the missing link.' where did you get that subject? it was not on the list i sent you." the members of the committee seemed dazed. they withdrew to a corner and consulted in whispers. then, with clearing brow, the spokesman returned. "why," he said, cheerfully, "it's simple enough! we mixed you up with a shaw lady that whistles; and we've been discussing the missing link in our debating society, so our citizens want to hear your views." "but i don't know anything about the missing link," i protested, "and i can't speak on it." "now, come," they begged. "why, you'll have to! we've sold all our tickets for that lecture. the whole town has turned out to hear it." then, as i maintained a depressed silence, one of them had a bright idea. "i'll tell you how to fix it!" he cried. "speak on any subject you please, but bring in something about the missing link every few minutes. that will satisfy 'em." "very well," i agreed, reluctantly. "open the meeting with a song. get the audience to sing 'america' or 'the star-spangled banner.' that will give me a few minutes to think, and i will see what can be done." led by a very nervous chairman, the big audience began to sing, and under the inspiration of the music the solution of our problem flashed into my mind. "it is easy," i told myself. "woman is the missing link in our government. i'll give them a suffrage speech along that line." when the song ended i began my part of the entertainment with a portion of my lecture on "the fate of republics," tracing their growth and decay, and pointing out that what our republic needed to give it a stable government was the missing link of woman suffrage. i got along admirably, for every five minutes i mentioned "the missing link," and the audience sat content and apparently interested, while the members of the committee burst into bloom on the platform. viii. drama in the lecture-field my most dramatic experience occurred in a city in michigan, where i was making a temperance campaign. it was an important lumber and shipping center, and it harbored much intemperance. the editor of the leading newspaper was with the temperance-workers in our fight there, and he had warned me that the liquor people threatened to "burn the building over my head" if i attempted to lecture. we were used to similar threats, so i proceeded with my preparations and held the meeting in the town skating-rink--a huge, bare, wooden structure. lectures were rare in that city, and rumors of some special excitement on this occasion had been circulated; every seat in the rink was filled, and several hundred persons stood in the aisles and at the back of the building. just opposite the speaker's platform was a small gallery, and above that, in the ceiling, was a trap-door. before i had been speaking ten minutes i saw a man drop through this trap-door to the balcony and climb from there to the main floor. as he reached the floor he shouted "fire!" and rushed out into the street. the next instant every person in the rink was up and a panic had started. i was very sure there was no fire, but i knew that many might be killed in the rush which was beginning. so i sprang on a chair and shouted to the people with the full strength of my lungs: "there is no fire! it's only a trick! sit down! sit down!" the cooler persons in the crowd at once began to help in this calming process. "sit down!" they repeated. "it's all right! there's no fire! sit down!" it looked as if we had the situation in hand, for the people hesitated, and most of them grew quiet; but just then a few words were hissed up to me that made my heart stop beating. a member of our local committee was standing beside my chair, speaking in a terrified whisper: "there is a fire, miss shaw," he said. "for god's sake get the people out--quickly!" the shock was so unexpected that my knees almost gave way. the people were still standing, wavering, looking uncertainly toward us. i raised my voice again, and if it sounded unnatural my hearers probably thought it was because i was speaking so loudly. "as we are already standing," i cried, "and are all nervous, a little exercise will do us good. so march out, singing. keep time to the music! later you can come back and take your seats!" the man who had whispered the warning jumped into the aisle and struck up "jesus, lover of my soul." then he led the march down to the door, while the big audience swung into line and followed him, joining in the song. i remained on the chair, beating time and talking to the people as they went; but when the last of them had left the building i almost collapsed; for the flames had begun to eat through the wooden walls and the clang of the fire-engines was heard outside. as soon as i was sure every one was safe, however, i experienced the most intense anger i had yet known. my indignation against the men who had risked hundreds of lives by setting fire to a crowded building made me "see red"; it was clear that they must be taught a lesson then and there. as soon as i was outside the rink i called a meeting, and the congregational minister, who was in the crowd, lent us his church and led the way to it. most of the audience followed us, and we had a wonderful meeting, during which we were able at last to make clear to the people of that town the character of the liquor interests we were fighting. that episode did the temperance cause more good than a hundred ordinary meetings. men who had been indifferent before became our friends and supporters, and at the following election we carried the town for prohibition by a big majority. there have been other occasions when our opponents have not fought us fairly. once, in an ohio town, a group of politicians, hearing that i was to lecture on temperance in the court-house on a certain night, took possession of the building early in the evening, on the pretense of holding a meeting, and held it against us. when, escorted by a committee of leading women, i reached the building and tried to enter, we found that the men had locked us out. our audience was gathering and filling the street, and we finally sent a courteous message to the men, assuming that they had forgotten us and reminding them of our position. the messenger reported that the men would leave "about eight," but that the room was "black with smoke and filthy with tobacco-juice." we waited patiently until eight o'clock, holding little outside meetings in groups, as our audience waited with us. at eight we again sent our messenger into the hall, and he brought back word that the men were "not through, didn't know when they would be through, and had told the women not to wait." naturally, the waiting townswomen were deeply chagrined by this. so were many men in the outside crowd. we asked if there was no other entrance to the hall except through the locked front doors, and were told that the judge's private room opened into it, and that one of our committee had the key, as she had planned to use this room as a dressing and retiring room for the speakers. after some discussion we decided to storm the hall and take possession. within five minutes all the women had formed in line and were crowding up the back stairs and into the judge's room. there we unlocked the door, again formed in line, and marched into the hall, singing "onward, christian soldiers!" there were hundreds of us, and we marched directly to the platform, where the astonished men got up to stare at us. more and more women entered, coming up the back stairs from the street and filling the hall; and when the men realized what it all meant, and recognized their wives, sisters, and women friends in the throng, they sheepishly unlocked the front doors and left us in possession, though we politely urged them to remain. we had a great meeting that night! another reminiscence may not be out of place. we were working for a prohibition amendment in the state of pennsylvania, and the night before election i reached coatesville. i had just completed six weeks of strenuous campaigning, and that day i had already conducted and spoken at two big outdoor meetings. when i entered the town hall of coatesville i found it filled with women. only a few men were there; the rest were celebrating and campaigning in the streets. so i arose and said: "i would like to ask how many men there are in the audience who intend to vote for the amendment to-morrow?" every man in the hall stood up. "i thought so," i said. "now i intend to ask your indulgence. as you are all in favor of the amendment, there is no use in my setting its claims before you; and, as i am utterly exhausted, i suggest that we sing the doxology and go home!" the audience saw the common sense of my position, so the people laughed and sang the doxology and departed. as we were leaving the hall one of coatesville's prominent citizens stopped me. "i wish you were a man," he said. "the town was to have a big outdoor meeting to-night, and the orator has failed us. there are thousands of men in the streets waiting for the speech, and the saloons are sending them free drinks to get them drunk and carry the town to-morrow." "why," i said, "i'll talk to them if you wish." "great scott!" he gasped. "i'd be afraid to let you. something might happen!" "if anything happens, it will be in a good cause," i reminded him. "let us go." down-town we found the streets so packed with men that the cars could not get through, and with the greatest difficulty we reached the stand which had been erected for the speaker. it was a gorgeous affair. there were flaring torches all around it, and a "bull's-eye," taken from the head of a locomotive, made an especially brilliant patch of light. the stand had been erected at a point where the city's four principal streets meet, and as far as i could see there were solid masses of citizens extending into these streets. a glee-club was doing its best to help things along, and the music of an organette, an instrument much used at the time in campaign rallies, swelled the joyful tumult. as i mounted the platform the crowd was singing "vote for betty and the baby," and i took that song for my text, speaking of the helplessness of women and children in the face of intemperance, and telling the crowd the only hope of the coatesville women lay in the vote cast by their men the next day. directly in front of me stood a huge and extraordinarily repellent-looking negro. a glance at him almost made one shudder, but before i had finished my first sentence he raised his right arm straight above him and shouted, in a deep and wonderfully rich bass voice, "hallelujah to the lamb!" from that point on he punctuated my speech every few moments with good, old-fashioned exclamations of salvation which helped to inspire the crowd. i spoke for almost an hour. three times in my life, and only three times, i have made speeches that have satisfied me to the degree, that is, of making me feel that at least i was giving the best that was in me. the speech at coatesville was one of those three. at the end of it the good-natured crowd cheered for ten minutes. the next day coatesville voted for prohibition, and, rightly or wrongly, i have always believed that i helped to win that victory. here, by the way, i may add that of the two other speeches which satisfied me one was made in chicago, during the world's fair, in 1893, and the other in stockholm, sweden, in 1912. the international council of women, it will be remembered, met in chicago during the fair, and i was invited to preach the sermon at the sunday-morning session. the occasion was a very important one, bringing together at least five thousand persons, including representative women from almost every country in europe, and a large number of women ministers. these made an impressive group, as they all wore their ministerial robes; and for the first time i preached in a ministerial robe, ordered especially for that day. it was made of black crepe de chine, with great double flowing sleeves, white silk undersleeves, and a wide white silk underfold down the front; and i may mention casually that it looked very much better than i felt, for i was very nervous. my father had come on to chicago especially to hear my sermon, and had been invited to sit on the platform. even yet he was not wholly reconciled to my public work, but he was beginning to take a deep interest in it. i greatly desired to please him and to satisfy miss anthony, who was extremely anxious that on that day of all days i should do my best. i gave an unusual amount of time and thought to that sermon, and at last evolved what i modestly believed to be a good one. i never write out a sermon in advance, but i did it this time, laboriously, and then memorized the effort. the night before the sermon was to be delivered miss anthony asked me about it, and when i realized how deeply interested she was i delivered it to her then and there as a rehearsal. it was very late, and i knew we would not be interrupted. as she listened her face grew longer and longer and her lips drooped at the corners. her disappointment was so obvious that i had difficulty in finishing my recitation; but i finally got through it, though rather weakly toward the end, and waited to hear what she would say, hoping against hope that she had liked it better than she seemed to. but susan b. anthony was the frankest as well as the kindest of women. resolutely she shook her head. "it's no good, anna," she said; firmly. "you'll have to do better. you've polished and repolished that sermon until there's no life left in it. it's dead. besides, i don't care for your text." "then give me a text," i demanded, gloomily. "i can't," said aunt susan. i was tired and bitterly disappointed, and both conditions showed in my reply. "well," i asked, somberly, "if you can't even supply a text, how do you suppose i'm going to deliver a brand-new sermon at ten o'clock to-morrow morning?" "oh," declared aunt susan, blithely, "you'll find a text." i suggested several, but she did not like them. at last i said, "i have it--'let no man take thy crown.'" "that's it!" exclaimed miss anthony. "give us a good sermon on that text." she went to her room to sleep the sleep of the just and the untroubled, but i tossed in my bed the rest of the night, planning the points of the new sermon. after i had delivered it the next morning i went to my father to assist him from the platform. he was trembling, and his eyes were full of tears. he seized my arm and pressed it. "now i am ready to die," was all he said. i was so tired that i felt ready to die, too; but his satisfaction and a glance at aunt susan's contented face gave me the tonic i needed. father died two years later, and as i was campaigning in california i was not with him at the end. it was a comfort to remember, however, that in the twilight of his life he had learned to understand his most difficult daughter, and to give her credit for earnestness of purpose, at least, in following the life that had led her away from him. after his death, and immediately upon my return from california, i visited my mother, and it was well indeed that i did, for within a few months she followed father into the other world for which all of her unselfish life had been a preparation. our last days together were perfect. her attitude was one of serene and cheerful expectancy, and i always think of her as sitting among the primroses and bluebells she loved, which seemed to bloom unceasingly in the windows of her room. i recall, too, with gratitude, a trifle which gave her a pleasure out of all proportion to what i had dreamed it would do. she had expressed a longing for some english heather, "not the hot-house variety, but the kind that blooms on the hills," and i had succeeded in getting a bunch for her by writing to an english friend. its possession filled her with joy, and from the time it came until the day her eyes closed in their last sleep it was rarely beyond reach of her hand. at her request, when she was buried we laid the heather on her heart--the heart of a true and loyal woman, who, though her children had not known it, must have longed without ceasing throughout her new world life for the old world of her youth. the scandinavian speech was an even more vital experience than the chicago one, for in stockholm i delivered the first sermon ever preached by a woman in the state church of sweden, and the event was preceded by an amount of political and journalistic opposition which gave it an international importance. i had also been invited by the norwegian women to preach in the state church of norway, but there we experienced obstacles. by the laws of norway women are permitted to hold all public offices except those in the army, navy, and church--a rather remarkable militant and spiritual combination. as a woman, therefore, i was denied the use of the church by the minister of church affairs. the decision created great excitement and much delving into the law. it then appeared that if the use of a state church is desired for a minister of a foreign country the government can give such permission. it was thought that i might slip in through this loophole, and application was made to the government. the reply came that permission could be received only from the entire cabinet; and while the cabinet gentlemen were feverishly discussing the important issue, the norwegian press became active, pointing out that the minister of church affairs had arrogantly assumed the right of the entire cabinet in denying the application. the charge was taken up by the party opposed to the government party in parliament, and the minister of church affairs swiftly turned the whole matter over to his conferees. the cabinet held a session, and by a vote of four to three decided not to allow a woman to preach in the state church. i am happy to add that of the three who voted favorably on the question one was the premier of norway. again the newspapers grasped their opportunity--especially the organs of the opposition party. my rooms were filled with reporters, while daily the excitement grew. the question was brought up in parliament, and i was invited to attend and hear the discussion there. by this time every newspaper in scandinavia was for or against me; and the result of the whole matter was that, though the state church of norway was not opened to me, a most unusual interest had been aroused in my sermon in the state church of sweden. when i arrived there to keep my engagement, not only was the wonderful structure packed to its walls, but the waiting crowds in the street were so large that the police had difficulty in opening a way for our party. i shall never forget my impression of the church itself when i entered it. it will always stand forth in my memory as one of the most beautiful churches i have ever visited. on every side were monuments of dead heroes and statesmen, and the high, vaulted blue dome seemed like the open sky above our heads. over us lay a light like a soft twilight, and the great congregation filled not only all the pews, but the aisles, the platform, and even the steps of the pulpit. the ushers were young women from the university of upsala, wearing white university caps with black vizors, and sashes in the university colors. the anthem was composed especially for the occasion by the first woman cathedral organist in sweden--the organist of the cathedral in gothenburg--and she had brought with her thirty members of her choir, all of them remarkable singers. the whole occasion was indescribably impressive, and i realized in every fiber the necessity of being worthy of it. also, i experienced a sensation such as i had never known before, and which i can only describe as a seeming complete separation of my physical self from my spiritual self. it was as if my body stood aside and watched my soul enter that pulpit. there was no uncertainty, no nervousness, though usually i am very nervous when i begin to speak; and when i had finished i knew that i had done my best. but all this is a long way from the early days i was discussing, when i was making my first diffident bows to lecture audiences and learning the lessons of the pioneer in the lecture-field. i was soon to learn more, for in 1888 miss anthony persuaded me to drop my temperance work and concentrate my energies on the suffrage cause. for a long time i hesitated. i was very happy in my connection with the woman's christian temperance union, and i knew that miss willard was depending on me to continue it. but miss anthony's arguments were irrefutable, and she was herself, as always, irresistible. "you can't win two causes at once," she reminded me. "you're merely scattering your energies. begin at the beginning. win suffrage for women, and the rest will follow." as an added argument, she took me with her on her kansas campaign, and after that no further arguments were needed. from then until her death, eighteen years later, miss anthony and i worked shoulder to shoulder. the most interesting lecture episode of our first kansas campaign was my debate with senator john j. ingalls. before this, however, on our arrival at atchison, mrs. ingalls gave a luncheon for miss anthony, and rachel foster avery and i were also invited. miss anthony sat at the right of senator ingalls, and i at his left, while mrs. ingalls, of course, adorned the opposite end of her table. mrs. avery and i had just been entertained for several days at the home of a vegetarian friend who did not know how to cook vegetables, and we were both half starved. when we were invited to the ingalls home we had uttered in unison a joyous cry, "now we shall have something to eat!" at the luncheon, however, senator ingalls kept miss anthony and me talking steadily. he was not in favor of suffrage for women, but he wished to know all sorts of things about the cause, and we were anxious to have him know them. the result was that i had time for only an occasional mouthful, while down at the end of the table mrs. avery ate and ate, pausing only to send me glances of heartfelt sympathy. also, whenever she had an especially toothsome morsel on the end of her fork she wickedly succeeded in catching my eye and thus adding the last sybaritic touch to her enjoyment. notwithstanding the wealth of knowledge we had bestowed upon him, or perhaps because of it, the following night senator ingalls made his famous speech against suffrage, and it fell to my lot to answer him. in the course of his remarks he asked this question: "would you like to add three million illiterate voters to the large body of illiterate voters we have in america to-day?" the audience applauded light-heartedly, but i was disturbed by the sophistry of the question. one of senator ingalls's most discussed personal peculiarities was the parting of his hair in the middle. cartoonists and newspaper writers always made much of this, so when i rose to reply i felt justified in mentioning it. "senator ingalls," i began, "parts his hair in the middle, as we all know, but he makes up for it by parting his figures on one side. last night he gave you the short side of his figures. at the present time there are in the united states about eighteen million women of voting age. when the senator asked whether you wanted three million additional illiterate women voters, he forgot to ask also if you didn't want fifteen million additional intelligent women voters! we will grant that it will take the votes of three million intelligent women to wipe out the votes of three million illiterate women. but don't forget that that would still leave us twelve million intelligent votes to the good!" the audience applauded as gaily as it had applauded senator ingalls when he spoke on the other side, and i continued: "now women have always been generous to men. so of our twelve million intelligent voters we will offer four million to offset the votes of the four million illiterate men in this country--and then we will still have eight million intelligent votes to add to the other intelligent votes which are cast." the audience seemed to enjoy this. "the anti-suffragists are fairly safe," i ended, "as long as they remain on the plane of prophecy. but as soon as they tackle mathematics they get into trouble!" miss anthony was much pleased by the wide publicity given to this debate, but senator ingalls failed to share her enthusiasm. it was shortly after this encounter that i had two traveling experiences which nearly cost me my life. one of them occurred in ohio at the time of a spring freshet. i know of no state that can cover itself with water as completely as ohio can, and for no apparent reason. on this occasion it was breaking its own record. we had driven twenty miles across country in a buggy which was barely out of the water, and behind horses that at times were almost forced to swim, and when we got near the town where i was to lecture, though still on the opposite side of the river from it, we discovered that the bridge was gone. we had a good view of the town, situated high and dry on a steep bank; but the river which rolled between us and that town was a roaring, boiling stream, and the only possible way to cross it, i found, was to walk over a railroad trestle, already trembling under the force of the water. there were hundreds of men on the river-bank watching the flood, and when they saw me start out on the empty trestle they set up a cheer that nearly threw me off. the river was wide and the ties far apart, and the roar of the stream below was far from reassuring; but in some way i reached the other side, and was there helped off the trestle by what the newspapers called "strong and willing hands." another time, in a desperate resolve to meet a lecture engagement, i walked across the railroad trestle at elmira, new york, and when i was halfway over i heard shouts of warning to turn back, as a train was coming. the trestle was very high at that point, and i realized that if i turned and faced an oncoming train i would undoubtedly lose my nerve and fall. so i kept on, as rapidly as i could, accompanied by the shrieks of those who objected to witnessing a violent death, and i reached the end of the trestle just as an express-train thundered on the beginning of it. the next instant a policeman had me by the shoulders and was shaking me as if i had been a bad child. "if you ever do such a thing again," he thundered, "i'll lock you up!" as soon as i could speak i assured him fervently that i never would; one such experience was all i desired. occasionally a flash of humor, conscious or unconscious, lit up the gloom of a trying situation. thus, in parkersburg, west virginia, the train i was on ran into a coal-car. i was sitting in a sleeper, leaning back comfortably with my feet on the seat in front of me, and the force of the collision lifted me up, turned me completely over, and deposited me, head first, two seats beyond. on every side i heard cries and the crash of human bodies against unyielding substances as my fellow-passengers flew through the air, while high and clear above the tumult rang the voice of the conductor: "keep your seats!" he yelled. "keep your seats!" nobody in our car was seriously hurt; but, so great is the power of vested authority, no one smiled over that order but me. many times my medical experience was useful. once i was on a train which ran into a buggy and killed the woman in it. her little daughter, who was with her, was badly hurt, and when the train had stopped the crew lifted the dead woman and the injured child on board, to take them to the next station. as i was the only doctor among the passengers, the child was turned over to me. i made up a bed on the seats and put the little patient there, but no woman in the car was able to assist me. the tragedy had made them hysterical, and on every side they were weeping and nerveless. the men were willing but inefficient, with the exception of one uncouth woodsman whose trousers were tucked into his boots and whose hands were phenomenally big and awkward. but they were also very gentle, as i realized when he began to help me. i knew at once that he was the man i needed, notwithstanding his unkempt hair, his general ungainliness, the hat he wore on the back of his head, and the pink carnation in his buttonhole, which, by its very incongruity, added the final accent to his unprepossessing appearance. together we worked over the child, making it as comfortable as we could. it was hardly necessary to tell my aide what i wanted done; he seemed to know and even to anticipate my efforts. when we reached the next station the dead woman was taken out and laid on the platform, and a nurse and doctor who had been telegraphed for were waiting to care for the little girl. she was conscious by this time, and with the most exquisite gentleness my rustic bayard lifted her in his arms to carry her off the train. quite unnecessarily i motioned to him not to let her see her dead mother. he was not the sort who needed that warning; he had already turned her face to his shoulder, and, with head bent low above her, was safely skirting the spot where the long, covered figure lay. evidently the station was his destination, too, for he remained there; but just as the train pulled out he came hurrying to my window, took the carnation from his buttonhole, and without a word handed it to me. and after the tragic hour in which i had learned to know him the crushed flower, from that man, seemed the best fee i had ever received. ix. "aunt susan" in the life of susan b. anthony it is mentioned that 1888 was a year of special recognition of our great leader's work, but that it was also the year in which many of her closest friends and strongest supporters were taken from her by death. a. bronson alcott was among these, and louisa m. alcott, as well as dr. lozier; and special stress is laid on miss anthony's sense of loss in the diminishing circle of her friends--a loss which new friends and workers came forward, eager to supply. "chief among these," adds the record, "was anna shaw, who, from the time of the international council in '88, gave her truest allegiance to miss anthony." it is true that from that year until miss anthony's death in 1906 we two were rarely separated; and i never read the paragraph i have just quoted without seeing, as in a vision, the figure of "aunt susan" as she slipped into my hotel room in chicago late one night after an evening meeting of the international council. i had gone to bed--indeed, i was almost asleep when she came, for the day had been as exhausting as it was interesting. but notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, "aunt susan," then nearing seventy, was still as fresh and as full of enthusiasm as a young girl. she had a great deal to say, she declared, and she proceeded to say it--sitting in a big easy-chair near the bed, with a rug around her knees, while i propped myself up with pillows and listened. hours passed and the dawn peered wanly through the windows, but still miss anthony talked of the cause always of the cause--and of what we two must do for it. the previous evening she had been too busy to eat any dinner, and i greatly doubt whether she had eaten any luncheon at noon. she had been on her feet for hours at a time, and she had held numerous discussions with other women she wished to inspire to special effort. yet, after it all, here she was laying out our campaigns for years ahead, foreseeing everything, forgetting nothing, and sweeping me with her in her flight toward our common goal, until i, who am not easily carried off my feet, experienced an almost dizzy sense of exhilaration. suddenly she stopped, looked at the gas-jets paling in the morning light that filled the room, and for a fleeting instant seemed surprised. in the next she had dismissed from her mind the realization that we had talked all night. why should we not talk all night? it was part of our work. she threw off the enveloping rug and rose. "i must dress now," she said, briskly. "i've called a committee meeting before the morning session." on her way to the door nature smote her with a rare reminder, but even then she did not realize that it was personal. "perhaps," she remarked, tentatively, "you ought to have a cup of coffee." that was "aunt susan." and in the eighteen years which followed i had daily illustrations of her superiority to purely human weaknesses. to her the hardships we underwent later, in our western campaigns for woman suffrage, were as the airiest trifles. like a true soldier, she could snatch a moment of sleep or a mouthful of food where she found it, and if either was not forthcoming she did not miss it. to me she was an unceasing inspiration--the torch that illumined my life. we went through some difficult years together--years when we fought hard for each inch of headway we gained--but i found full compensation for every effort in the glory of working with her for the cause that was first in both our hearts, and in the happiness of being her friend. later i shall describe in more detail the suffrage campaigns and the national and international councils in which we took part; now it is of her i wish to write--of her bigness, her many-sidedness, her humor, her courage, her quickness, her sympathy, her understanding, her force, her supreme common-sense, her selflessness; in short, of the rare beauty of her nature as i learned to know it. like most great leaders, she took one's best work for granted, and was chary with her praise; and even when praise was given it usually came by indirect routes. i recall with amusement that the highest compliment she ever paid me in public involved her in a tangle from which, later, only her quick wit extricated her. we were lecturing in an especially pious town which i shall call b----, and just before i went on the platform miss anthony remarked, peacefully: "these people have always claimed that i am irreligious. they will not accept the fact that i am a quaker--or, rather, they seem to think a quaker is an infidel. i am glad you are a methodist, for now they cannot claim that we are not orthodox." she was still enveloped in the comfort of this reflection when she introduced me to our audience, and to impress my qualifications upon my hearers she made her introduction in these words: "it is a pleasure to introduce miss shaw, who is a methodist minister. and she is not only orthodox of the orthodox, but she is also my right bower!" there was a gasp from the pious audience, and then a roar of laughter from irreverent men, in which, i must confess, i light-heartedly joined. for once in her life miss anthony lost her presence of mind; she did not know how to meet the situation, for she had no idea what had caused the laughter. it bubbled forth again and again during the evening, and each time miss anthony received the demonstration with the same air of puzzled surprise. when we had returned to our hotel rooms i explained the matter to her. i do not remember now where i had acquired my own sinful knowledge, but that night i faced "aunt susan" from the pedestal of a sophisticated worldling. "don't you know what a right bower is?" i demanded, sternly. "of course i do," insisted "aunt susan." "it's a right-hand man--the kind one can't do without." "it is a card," i told her, firmly--"a leading card in a game called euchre." "aunt susan" was dazed. "i didn't know it had anything to do with cards," she mused, mournfully. "what must they think of me?" what they thought became quite evident. the newspapers made countless jokes at our expense, and there were significant smiles on the faces in the audience that awaited us the next night. when miss anthony walked upon the platform she at once proceeded to clear herself of the tacit charge against her. "when i came to your town," she began, cheerfully, "i had been warned that you were a very religious lot of people. i wanted to impress upon you the fact that miss shaw and i are religious, too. but i admit that when i told you she was my right bower i did not know what a right bower was. i have learned that, since last night." she waited until the happy chortles of her hearers had subsided, and then went on. "it interests me very much, however," she concluded, "to realize that every one of you seemed to know all about a right bower, and that i had to come to your good, orthodox town to get the information." that time the joke was on the audience. miss anthony's home was in rochester, new york, and it was said by our friends that on the rare occasions when we were not together, and i was lecturing independently, "all return roads led through rochester." i invariably found some excuse to go there and report to her. together we must have worn out many rochester pavements, for "aunt susan's" pet recreation was walking, and she used to walk me round and round the city squares, far into the night, and at a pace that made policemen gape at us as we flew by. some disrespectful youth once remarked that on these occasions we suggested a race between a ruler and a rubber ball--for she was very tall and thin, while i am short and plump. to keep up with her i literally bounded at her side. a certain amount of independent lecturing was necessary for me, for i had to earn my living. the national american woman suffrage association has never paid salaries to its officers, so, when i became vice-president and eventually, in 1904, president of the association, i continued to work gratuitously for the cause in these positions. even miss anthony received not one penny of salary for all her years of unceasing labor, and she was so poor that she did not have a home of her own until she was seventy-five. then it was a very simple one, and she lived with the utmost economy. i decided that i could earn my bare expenses by making one brief lecture tour each year, and i made an arrangement with the redpath bureau which left me fully two-thirds of my time for the suffrage work i loved. this was one result of my all-night talk with miss anthony in chicago, and it enabled me to carry out her plan that i should accompany her in most of the campaigns in which she sought to arouse the west to the need of suffrage for women. from that time on we traveled and lectured together so constantly that each of us developed an almost uncanny knowledge of the other's mental processes. at any point of either's lecture the other could pick it up and carry it on--a fortunate condition, as it sometimes became necessary to do this. miss anthony was subject to contractions of the throat, which for the moment caused a slight strangulation. on such occasions--of which there were several--she would turn to me and indicate her helplessness. then i would repeat her last sentence, complete her speech, and afterward make my own. the first time this happened we were in washington, and "aunt susan" stopped in the middle of a word. she could not speak; she merely motioned to me to continue for her, and left the stage. at the end of the evening a prominent washington man who had been in our audience remarked to me, confidentially: "that was a nice little play you and miss anthony made to-night--very effective indeed." for an instant i did not catch his meaning, nor the implication in his knowing smile. "very clever, that strangling bit, and your going on with the speech," he repeated. "it hit the audience hard." "surely," i protested, "you don't think it was a deliberate thing--that we planned or rehearsed it." he stared at me incredulously. "are you going to pretend," he demanded, "that it wasn't a put-up job?" i told him he had paid us a high compliment, and that we must really have done very well if we had conveyed that impression; and i finally convinced him that we not only had not rehearsed the episode, but that neither of us had known what the other meant to say. we never wrote out our speeches, but our subject was always suffrage or some ramification of suffrage, and, naturally, we had thoroughly digested each other's views. it is said by my friends that i write my speeches on the tips of my fingers--for i always make my points on my fingers and have my fingers named for points. when i plan a speech i decide how many points i wish to make and what those points shall be. my mental preparation follows. miss anthony's method was much the same; but very frequently both of us threw over all our plans at the last moment and spoke extemporaneously on some theme suggested by the atmosphere of the gathering or by the words of another speaker. from miss anthony, more than from any one else, i learned to keep cool in the face of interruptions and of the small annoyances and disasters inevitable in campaigning. often we were able to help each other out of embarrassing situations, and one incident of this kind occurred during our campaign in south dakota. we were holding a meeting on the hottest sunday of the hottest month in the year--august--and hundreds of the natives had driven twenty, thirty, and even forty miles across the country to hear us. we were to speak in a sod church, but it was discovered that the structure would not hold half the people who were trying to enter it, so we decided that miss anthony should speak from the door, in order that those both inside and outside might hear her. to elevate her above her audience, she was given an empty dry-goods box to stand on. this makeshift platform was not large, and men, women, and children were seated on the ground around it, pressing up against it, as close to the speaker as they could get. directly in front of miss anthony sat a woman with a child about two years old--a little boy; and this infant, like every one else in the packed throng, was dripping with perspiration and suffering acutely under the blazing sun. every woman present seemed to have brought children with her, doubtless because she could not leave them alone at home; and babies were crying and fretting on all sides. the infant nearest miss anthony fretted most strenuously; he was a sturdy little fellow with a fine pair of lungs, and he made it very difficult for her to lift her voice above his dismal clamor. suddenly, however, he discovered her feet on the drygoods box, about on a level with his head. they were clad in black stockings and low shoes; they moved about oddly; they fascinated him. with a yelp of interest he grabbed for them and began pinching them to see what they were. his howls ceased; he was happy. miss anthony was not. but it was a great relief to have the child quiet, so she bore the infliction of the pinching as long as she could. when endurance had found its limit she slipped back out of reach, and as his new plaything receded the boy uttered shrieks of disapproval. there was only one way to stop his noise; miss anthony brought her feet forward again, and he resumed the pinching of her ankles, while his yelps subsided to contented murmurs. the performance was repeated half a dozen times. each time the ankles retreated the baby yelled. finally, for once at the end of her patience, "aunt susan" leaned forward and addressed the mother, whose facial expression throughout had shown a complete mental detachment from the situation. "i think your little boy is hot and thirsty," she said, gently. "if you would take him out of the crowd and give him a drink of water and unfasten his clothes, i am sure he would be more comfortable." before she had finished speaking the woman had sprung to her feet and was facing her with fierce indignation. "this is the first time i have ever been insulted as a mother," she cried; "and by an old maid at that!" then she grasped the infant and left the scene, amid great confusion. the majority of those in the audience seemed to sympathize with her. they had not seen the episode of the feet, and they thought miss anthony was complaining of the child's crying. their children were crying, too, and they felt that they had all been criticized. other women rose and followed the irate mother, and many men gallantly followed them. it seemed clear that motherhood had been outraged. miss anthony was greatly depressed by the episode, and she was not comforted by a prediction one man made after the meeting. "you've lost at least twenty votes by that little affair," he told her. "aunt susan" sighed. "well," she said, "if those men knew how my ankles felt i would have won twenty votes by enduring the torture as long as i did." the next day we had a second meeting. miss anthony made her speech early in the evening, and by the time it was my turn to begin all the children in the audience--and there were many--were both tired and sleepy. at least half a dozen of them were crying, and i had to shout to make my voice heard above their uproar. miss anthony remarked afterward that there seemed to be a contest between me and the infants to see which of us could make more noise. the audience was plainly getting restless under the combined effect, and finally a man in the rear rose and added his voice to the tumult. "say, miss shaw," he yelled, "don't you want these children put out?" it was our chance to remove the sad impression of yesterday, and i grasped it. "no, indeed," i yelled back. "nothing inspires me like the voice of a child!" a handsome round of applause from mothers and fathers greeted this noble declaration, after which the blessed babies and i resumed our joint vocal efforts. when the speech was finished and we were alone together, miss anthony put her arm around my shoulder and drew me to her side. "well, anna," she said, gratefully, "you've certainly evened us up on motherhood this time." that south dakota campaign was one of the most difficult we ever made. it extended over nine months; and it is impossible to describe the poverty which prevailed throughout the whole rural community of the state. there had been three consecutive years of drought. the sand was like powder, so deep that the wheels of the wagons in which we rode "across country" sank half-way to the hubs; and in the midst of this dry powder lay withered tangles that had once been grass. every one had the forsaken, desperate look worn by the pioneer who has reached the limit of his endurance, and the great stretches of prairie roads showed innumerable canvas-covered wagons, drawn by starved horses, and followed by starved cows, on their way "back east." our talks with the despairing drivers of these wagons are among my most tragic memories. they had lost everything except what they had with them, and they were going east to leave "the woman" with her father and try to find work. usually, with a look of disgust at his wife, the man would say: "i wanted to leave two years ago, but the woman kept saying, 'hold on a little longer.'" both miss anthony and i gloried in the spirit of these pioneer women, and lost no opportunity to tell them so; for we realized what our nation owes to the patience and courage of such as they were. we often asked them what was the hardest thing to bear in their pioneer life, and we usually received the same reply: "to sit in our little adobe or sod houses at night and listen to the wolves howl over the graves of our babies. for the howl of the wolf is like the cry of a child from the grave." many days, and in all kinds of weather, we rode forty and fifty miles in uncovered wagons. many nights we shared a one-room cabin with all the members of the family. but the greatest hardship we suffered was the lack of water. there was very little good water in the state, and the purest water was so brackish that we could hardly drink it. the more we drank the thirstier we became, and when the water was made into tea it tasted worse than when it was clear. a bath was the rarest of luxuries. the only available fuel was buffalo manure, of which the odor permeated all our food. but despite these handicaps we were happy in our work, for we had some great meetings and many wonderful experiences. when we reached the black hills we had more of this genuine campaigning. we traveled over the mountains in wagons, behind teams of horses, visiting the mining-camps; and often the gullies were so deep that when our horses got into them it was almost impossible to get them out. i recall with special clearness one ride from hill city to custer city. it was only a matter of thirty miles, but it was thoroughly exhausting; and after our meeting that same night we had to drive forty miles farther over the mountains to get the early morning train from buffalo gap. the trail from custer city to buffalo gap was the one the animals had originally made in their journeys over the pass, and the drive in that wild region, throughout a cold, piercing october night, was an unforgetable experience. our host at custer city lent miss anthony his big buffalo overcoat, and his wife lent hers to me. they also heated blocks of wood for our feet, and with these protections we started. a full moon hung in the sky. the trees were covered with hoar-frost, and the cold, still air seemed to sparkle in the brilliant light. again miss anthony talked to me throughout the night--of the work, always of the work, and of what it would mean to the women who followed us; and again she fired my soul with the flame that burned so steadily in her own. it was daylight when we reached the little station at buffalo gap where we were to take the train. this was not due, however, for half an hour, and even then it did not come. the station was only large enough to hold the stove, the ticket-office, and the inevitable cuspidor. there was barely room in which to walk between these and the wall. miss anthony sat down on the floor. i had a few raisins in my bag, and we divided them for breakfast. an hour passed, and another, and still the train did not come. miss anthony, her back braced against the wall, buried her face in her hands and dropped into a peaceful abyss of slumber, while i walked restlessly up and down the platform. the train arrived four hours late, and when eventually we had reached our destination we learned that the ministers of the town had persuaded the women to give up the suffrage meeting scheduled for that night, as it was sunday. this disappointment, following our all-day and all-night drive to keep our appointment, aroused miss anthony's fighting spirit. she sent me out to rent the theater for the evening, and to have some hand-bills printed and distributed, announcing that we would speak. at three o'clock she made the concession to her seventy years of lying down for an hour's rest. i was young and vigorous, so i trotted around town to get somebody to preside, somebody to introduce us, somebody to take up the collection, and somebody who would provide music--in short, to make all our preparations for the night meeting. when evening came the crowd which had assembled was so great that men and women sat in the windows and on the stage, and stood in the flies. night attractions were rare in that dakota town, and here was something new. nobody went to church, so the churches were forced to close. we had a glorious meeting. both miss anthony and i were in excellent fighting trim, and miss anthony remarked that the only thing lacking to make me do my best was a sick headache. the collection we took up paid all our expenses, the church singers sang for us, the great audience was interested, and the whole occasion was an inspiring success. the meeting ended about half after ten o'clock, and i remember taking miss anthony to our hotel and escorting her to her room. i also remember that she followed me to the door and made some laughing remark as i left for my own room; but i recall nothing more until the next morning when she stood beside me telling me it was time for breakfast. she had found me lying on the cover of my bed, fully clothed even to my bonnet and shoes. i had fallen there, utterly exhausted, when i entered my room the night before, and i do not think i had even moved from that time until the moment--nine hours later--when i heard her voice and felt her hand on my shoulder. after all our work, we did not win dakota that year, but miss anthony bore the disappointment with the serenity she always showed. to her a failure was merely another opportunity, and i mention our experience here only to show of what she was capable in her gallant seventies. but i should misrepresent her if i did not show her human and sentimental side as well. with all her detachment from human needs she had emotional moments, and of these the most satisfying came when she was listening to music. she knew nothing whatever about music, but was deeply moved by it; and i remember vividly one occasion when nordica sang for her, at an afternoon reception given by a chicago friend in "aunt susan's" honor. as it happened, she had never heard nordica sing until that day; and before the music began the great artiste and the great leader met, and in the moment of meeting became friends. when nordica sang, half an hour later, she sang directly to miss anthony, looking into her eyes; and "aunt susan" listened with her own eyes full of tears. when the last notes had been sung she went to the singer and put both arms around her. the music had carried her back to her girlhood and to the sentiment of sixteen. "oh, nordica," she sighed, "i could die listening to such singing!" another example of her unquenchable youth has also a chicago setting. during the world's fair a certain clergyman made an especially violent stand in favor of closing the fair grounds on sunday. miss anthony took issue with him. "if i had charge of a young man in chicago at this time," she told the clergyman, "i would much rather have him locked inside the fair grounds on sunday or any other day than have him going about on the outside." the clergyman was horrified. "would you like to have a son of yours go to buffalo bill's wild west show on sunday?" he demanded. "of course i would," admitted miss anthony. "in fact, i think he would learn more there than from the sermons preached in some churches." later this remark was repeated to colonel cody ("buffalo bill"), who, of course, was delighted with it. he at once wrote to miss anthony, thanking her for the breadth of her views, and offering her a box for his "show." she had no strong desire to see the performance, but some of us urged her to accept the invitation and to take us with her. she was always ready to do anything that would give us pleasure, so she promised that we should go the next afternoon. others heard of the jaunt and begged to go also, and miss anthony blithely took every applicant under her wing, with the result that when we arrived at the box-office the next day there were twelve of us in the group. when she presented her note and asked for a box, the local manager looked doubtfully at the delegation. "a box only holds six," he objected, logically. miss anthony, who had given no thought to that slight detail, looked us over and smiled her seraphic smile. "why, in that case," she said, cheerfully, "you'll have to give us two boxes, won't you?" the amused manager decided that he would, and handed her the tickets; and she led her band to their places in triumph. when the performance began colonel cody, as was his custom, entered the arena from the far end of the building, riding his wonderful horse and bathed, of course, in the effulgence of his faithful spot-light. he rode directly to our boxes, reined his horse in front of miss anthony, rose in his stirrups, and with his characteristic gesture swept his slouch-hat to his saddle-bow in salutation. "aunt susan" immediately rose, bowed in her turn and, for the moment as enthusiastic as a girl, waved her handkerchief at him, while the big audience, catching the spirit of the scene, wildly applauded. it was a striking picture this meeting of the pioneer man and woman; and, poor as i am, i would give a hundred dollars for a snapshot of it. on many occasions i saw instances of miss anthony's prescience--and one of these was connected with the death of frances e. willard. "aunt susan" had called on miss willard, and, coming to me from the sick-room, had walked the floor, beating her hands together as she talked of the visit. "frances willard is dying," she exclaimed, passionately. "she is dying, and she doesn't know it, and no one around her realizes it. she is lying there, seeing into two worlds, and making more plans than a thousand women could carry out in ten years. her brain is wonderful. she has the most extraordinary clearness of vision. there should be a stenographer in that room, and every word she utters should be taken down, for every word is golden. but they don't understand. they can't realize that she is going. i told anna gordon the truth, but she won't believe it." miss willard died a few days later, with a suddenness which seemed to be a terrible shock to those around her. of "aunt susan's" really remarkable lack of selfconsciousness we who worked close to her had a thousand extraordinary examples. once, i remember, at the new orleans convention, she reached the hall a little late, and as she entered the great audience already assembled gave her a tremendous reception. the exercises of the day had not yet begun, and miss anthony stopped short and looked around for an explanation of the outburst. it never for a moment occurred to her that the tribute was to her. "what has happened, anna?" she asked at last. "you happened, aunt susan," i had to explain. again, on the great "college night" of the baltimore convention, when president m. carey thomas of bryn mawr college had finished her wonderful tribute to miss anthony, the audience, carried away by the speech and also by the presence of the venerable leader on the platform, broke into a whirlwind of applause. in this "aunt susan" artlessly joined, clapping her hands as hard as she could. "this is all for you, aunt susan," i whispered, "so it isn't your time to applaud." "aunt susan" continued to clap. "nonsense," she said, briskly. "it's not for me. it's for the cause--the cause!" miss anthony told me in 1904 that she regarded her reception in berlin, during the meeting of the international council of women that year, as the climax of her career. she said it after the unexpected and wonderful ovation she had received from the german people, and certainly throughout her inspiring life nothing had happened that moved her more deeply. for some time mrs. carrie chapman catt, of whose splendid work for the cause i shall later have more to say, had cherished the plan of forming an international suffrage alliance. she believed the time had come when the suffragists of the entire world could meet to their common benefit; and miss anthony, always mrs. catt's devoted friend and admirer, agreed with her. a committee was appointed to meet in berlin in 1904, just before the meeting of the international council of women, and miss anthony was appointed chairman of the committee. at first the plan of the committee was not welcomed by the international council; there was even a suspicion that its purpose was to start a rival organization. but it met, a constitution was framed, and officers were elected, mrs. catt--the ideal choice for the place--being made president. as a climax to the organization, a great public mass-meeting had been arranged by the german suffragists, but at the special plea of the president of the international council miss anthony remained away from this meeting. it was represented to her that the interests of the council might suffer if she and other of its leading speakers were also leaders in the suffrage movement. in the interest of harmony, there fore, she followed the wishes of the council's president--to my great unhappiness and to that of other suffragists. when the meeting was opened the first words of the presiding officer were, "where is susan b. anthony?" and the demonstration that followed the question was the most unexpected and overwhelming incident of the gathering. the entire audience rose, men jumped on their chairs, and the cheering continued without a break for ten minutes. every second of that time i seemed to see miss anthony, alone in her hotel room, longing with all her big heart to be with us, as we longed to have her. i prayed that the loss of a tribute which would have meant so much might be made up to her, and it was. afterward, when we burst in upon her and told her of the great demonstration the mere mention of her name had caused, her lips quivered and her brave old eyes filled with tears. as we looked at her i think we all realized anew that what the world called stoicism in susan b. anthony throughout the years of her long struggle had been, instead, the splendid courage of an indomitable soul--while all the time the woman's heart had longed for affection and recognition. the next morning the leading berlin newspaper, in reporting the debate and describing the spontaneous tribute to miss anthony, closed with these sentences: "the americans call her 'aunt susan.' she is our 'aunt susan,' too!" throughout the remainder of miss anthony's visit she was the most honored figure at the international council. every time she entered the great convention-hall the entire audience rose and remained standing until she was seated; each mention of her name was punctuated by cheers; and the enthusiasm when she appeared on the platform to say a few words was beyond bounds. when the empress of germany gave her reception to the officers of the council, she crowned the hospitality of her people in a characteristically gracious way. as soon as miss anthony was presented to her the empress invited her to be seated, and to remain seated, although every one else, including the august lady herself, was standing. a little later, seeing the intrepid warrior of eighty-four on her feet with the other delegates, the empress sent one of her aides across the room with this message: "please tell my friend miss anthony that i especially wish her to be seated. we must not let her grow weary." in her turn, miss anthony was fascinated by the empress. she could not keep her eyes off that charming royal lady. probably the thing that most impressed her was the ability of her majesty as a linguist. receiving women from every civilized country on the globe, the empress seemed to address each in her own tongue-slipping from one language into the next as easily as from one topic to another. "and here i am," mourned "aunt susan," "speaking only one language, and that not very well." at this berlin quinquennial, by the way, i preached the council sermon, and the occasion gained a certain interest from the fact that i was the first ordained woman to preach in a church in germany. it then took on a tinge of humor from the additional fact that, according to the german law, as suddenly revealed to us by the police, no clergyman was permitted to preach unless clothed in clerical robes in the pulpit. it happened that i had not taken my clerical robes with me--i am constantly forgetting those clerical robes!--so the pastor of the church kindly offered me his robes. now the pastor was six feet tall and broad in proportion, and i, as i have already confessed, am very short. his robes transformed me into such an absurd caricature of a preacher that it was quite impossible for me to wear them. what, then, were we to do? lacking clerical robes, the police would not allow me to utter six words. it was finally decided that the clergyman should meet the letter of the law by entering the pulpit in his robes and standing by my side while i delivered my sermon. the law soberly accepted this solution of the problem, and we offered the congregation the extraordinary tableau of a pulpit combining a large and impressive pastor standing silently beside a small and inwardly convulsed woman who had all she could do to deliver her sermon with the solemnity the occasion required. at this same conference i made one of the few friendships i enjoy with a member of a european royal family, for i met the princess blank of italy, who overwhelmed me with attention during my visit, and from whom i still receive charming letters. she invited me to visit her in her castle in italy, and to accompany her to her mother's castle in austria, and she finally insisted on knowing exactly why i persistently refused both invitations. "because, my dear princess," i explained, "i am a working-woman." "nobody need know that," murmured the princess, calmly. "on the contrary," i assured her, "it is the first thing i should explain." "but why?" the princess wanted to know. i studied her in silence for a moment. she was a new and interesting type to me, and i was glad to exchange viewpoints with her. "you are proud of your family, are you not?" i asked. "you are proud of your great line?" the princess drew herself up. "assuredly," she said. "very well," i continued. "i am proud, too. what i have done i have done unaided, and, to be frank with you, i rather approve of it. my work is my patent of nobility, and i am not willing to associate with those from whom it would have to be concealed or with those who would look down upon it." the princess sighed. i was a new type to her, too, as new as she was to me; but i had the advantage of her, for i could understand her point of view, whereas she apparently could not follow mine. she was very gracious to me, however, showing me kindness and friendship in a dozen ways, giving me an immense amount of her time and taking rather more of my time than i could spare, but never forgetting for a moment that her blood was among the oldest in europe, and that all her traditions were in keeping with its honorable age. after the berlin meeting miss anthony and i were invited to spend a week-end at the home of mrs. jacob bright, that "aunt susan" might renew her acquaintance with annie besant. this visit is among my most vivid memories. originally "aunt susan" had greatly admired mrs. besant, and had openly lamented the latter's concentration on theosophical interests--when, as miss anthony put it, "there are so many live problems here in this world." now she could not conceal her disapproval of the "other-worldliness" of mrs. besant, mrs. bright, and her daughter. some remarkable and, to me, most amusing discussions took place among the three; but often, during mrs. besant's most sustained oratorical flights, miss anthony's interest would wander, and she would drop a remark that showed she had not heard a word. she had a great admiration for mrs. besant's intellect; but she disapproved of her flowing and picturesque white robes, of her bare feet, of her incessant cigarette-smoking; above all, of her views. at last, one day.{sic} the climax of the discussions came. "annie," demanded "aunt susan," "why don't you make that aura of yours do its gallivanting in this world, looking up the needs of the oppressed, and investigating the causes of present wrongs? then you could reveal to us workers just what we should do to put things right, and we could be about it." mrs. besant sighed and said that life was short and aeons were long, and that while every one would be perfected some time, it was useless to deal with individuals here. "but, annie!" exclaimed miss anthony, pathetically. "we are here! our business is here! it's our duty to do what we can here." mrs. besant seemed not to hear her. she was in a trance, gazing into the aeons. "i'd rather have one year of your ability, backed up with common sense, for the work of making this world better," cried the exasperated "aunt susan," "than a million aeons in the hereafter!" mrs. besant sighed again. it was plain that she could not bring herself back from the other world, so miss anthony, perforce, accompanied her to it. "when your aura goes visiting in the other world," she asked, curiously, "does it ever meet your old friend charles bradlaugh?" "oh yes," declared mrs. besant. "frequently." "wasn't he very much surprised," demanded miss anthony, with growing interest, "to discover that he was not dead?" mrs. besant did not seem to know what emotion mr. bradlaugh had experienced when that revelation came. "well," mused "aunt susan," "i should think he would have been surprised. he was so certain he was going to be dead that it must have been astounding to discover he wasn't. what was he doing in the other world?" mrs. besant heaved a deeper sigh. "i am very much discouraged over mr. bradlaugh," she admitted, wanly. "he is hovering too near this world. he cannot seem to get away from his mundane interests. he is as much concerned with parliamentary affairs now as when he was on this plane." "humph!" said miss anthony; "that's the most sensible thing i've heard yet about the other world. it encourages me. i've always felt sure that if i entered the other life before women were enfranchised nothing in the glories of heaven would interest me so much as the work for women's freedom on earth. now," she ended, "i shall be like mr. bradlaugh. i shall hover round and continue my work here." when mrs. besant had left the room mrs. bright felt that it was her duty to admonish "aunt susan" to be more careful in what she said. "you are making too light of her creed," she expostulated. "you do not realize the important position mrs. besant holds. why, in india, when she walks from her home to her school all those she meets prostrate themselves. even the learned men prostrate themselves and put their faces on the ground as she goes by." "aunt susan's" voice, when she replied, took on the tones of one who is sorely tried. "but why in heaven's name does any sensible englishwoman want a lot of heathen to prostrate themselves as she goes up the street?" she demanded, wearily. "it's the most foolish thing i ever heard." the effort to win miss anthony over to the theosophical doctrine was abandoned. that night, after we had gone to our rooms, "aunt susan" summed up her conclusions on the interview: "it's a good thing for the world," she declared, "that some of us don't know so much. and it's a better thing for this world that some of us think a little earthly common sense is more valuable than too much heavenly knowledge." x. the passing of "aunt susan" on one occasion miss anthony had the doubtful pleasure of reading her own obituary notices, and her interest in them was characteristically naive. she had made a speech at lakeside, ohio, during which, for the first time in her long experience, she fainted on the platform. i was not with her at the time, and in the excitement following her collapse it was rumored that she had died. immediately the news was telegraphed to the associated press of new york, and from there flashed over the country. at miss anthony's home in rochester a reporter rang the bell and abruptly informed her sister, miss mary anthony, who came to the door, that "aunt susan" was dead. fortunately miss mary had a cool head. "i think," she said, "that if my sister had died i would have heard about it. please have your editors telegraph to lakeside." the reporter departed, but came back an hour later to say that his newspaper had sent the telegram and the reply was that susan b. anthony was dead. "i have just received a better telegram than that," remarked mary anthony. "mine is from my sister; she tells me that she fainted to-night, but soon recovered and will be home to-morrow." nevertheless, the next morning the american newspapers gave much space to miss anthony's obituary notices, and "aunt susan" spent some interesting hours reading them. one that pleased her vastly was printed in the wichita eagle, whose editor, mr. murdock, had been almost her bitterest opponent. he had often exhausted his brilliant vocabulary in editorial denunciations of suffrage and suffragists, and miss anthony had been the special target of his scorn. but the news of her death seemed to be a bitter blow to him; and of all the tributes the american press gave to susan b. anthony dead, few equaled in beauty and appreciation the one penned by mr. murdock and published in the eagle. he must have been amused when, a few days later, he received a letter from "aunt susan" herself, thanking him warmly for his changed opinion of her and hoping that it meant the conversion of his soul to our cause. it did not, and mr. murdock, though never again quite as bitter as he had been, soon resumed the free editorial expression of his antisuffrage sentiments. times have changed, however, and to-day his son, now a member of congress, is one of our strongest supporters in that body. in 1905 it became plain that miss anthony's health was failing. her visits to germany and england the previous year, triumphant though they had been, had also proved a drain on her vitality; and soon after her return to america she entered upon a task which helped to exhaust her remaining strength. she had been deeply interested in securing a fund of $50,000 to enable women to enter rochester university, and, one morning, just after we had held a session of our executive committee in her rochester home, she read a newspaper announcement to the effect that at four o'clock that afternoon the opportunity to admit women to the university would expire, as the full fifty thousand dollars had not been raised. the sum of eight thousand dollars was still lacking. with characteristic energy, miss anthony undertook to save the situation by raising this amount within the time limit. rushing to the telephone, she called a cab and prepared to go forth on her difficult quest; but first, while she was putting on her hat and coat, she insisted that her sister, mary anthony, should start the fund by contributing one thousand dollars from her meager savings, and this miss mary did. "aunt susan" made every second count that day, and by half after three o'clock she had secured the necessary pledges. several of the trustees of the university, however, had not seemed especially anxious to have the fund raised, and at the last moment they objected to one pledge for a thousand dollars, on the ground that the man who had given it was very old and might die before the time set to pay it; then his family, they feared, might repudiate the obligation. without a word miss anthony seized the pledge and wrote her name across it as an indorsement. "i am good for it," she then said, quietly, "if the gentleman who signed it is not." that afternoon she returned home greatly fatigued. a few hours later the girl students who had been waiting admission to the university came to serenade her in recognition of her successful work for them, but she was too ill to see them. she was passing through the first stage of what proved to be her final breakdown. in 1906, when the date of the annual convention of the national american woman suffrage association in baltimore was drawing near, she became convinced that it would be her last convention. she was right. she showed a passionate eagerness to make it one of the greatest conventions ever held in the history of the movement; and we, who loved her and saw that the flame of her life was burning low, also bent all our energies to the task of realizing her hopes. in november preceding the convention she visited me and her niece, miss lucy anthony, in our home in mount airy, philadelphia, and it was clear that her anxiety over the convention was weighing heavily upon her. she visibly lost strength from day to day. one morning she said abruptly, "anna, let's go and call on president m. carey thomas, of bryn mawr." i wrote a note to miss thomas, telling her of miss anthony's desire to see her, and received an immediate reply inviting us to luncheon the following day. we found miss thomas deep in the work connected with her new college buildings, over which she showed us with much pride. miss anthony, of course, gloried in the splendid results miss thomas had achieved, but she was, for her, strangely silent and preoccupied. at luncheon she said: "miss thomas, your buildings are beautiful; your new library is a marvel; but they are not the cause of our presence here." "no," miss thomas said; "i know you have something on your mind. i am waiting for you to tell me what it is." "we want your co-operation, and that of miss garrett," began miss anthony, promptly, "to make our baltimore convention a success. we want you to persuade the arundel club of baltimore, the most fashionable club in the city, to give a reception to the delegates; and we want you to arrange a college night on the programme--a great college night, with the best college speakers ever brought together." these were large commissions for two extremely busy women, but both miss thomas and miss garrett--realizing miss anthony's intense earnestness--promised to think over the suggestions and see what they could do. the next morning we received a telegram from them stating that miss thomas would arrange the college evening, and that miss garrett would reopen her baltimore home, which she had closed, during the convention. she also invited miss anthony and me to be her guests there, and added that she would try to arrange the reception by the arundel club. "aunt susan" was overjoyed. i have never seen her happier than she was over the receipt of that telegram. she knew that whatever miss thomas and miss garrett undertook would be accomplished, and she rightly regarded the success of the convention as already assured. her expectations were more than realized. the college evening was undoubtedly the most brilliant occasion of its kind ever arranged for a convention. president ira remsen of johns hopkins university presided, and addresses were made by president mary e. woolley of mount holyoke, professor lucy salmon of vassar, professor mary jordan of smith, president thomas herself, and many others. from beginning to end the convention was probably the most notable yet held in our history. julia ward howe and her daughter, florence howe hall, were also guests of miss garrett, who, moreover, entertained all the speakers of "college night." miss anthony, now eighty-six, arrived in baltimore quite ill, and mrs. howe, who was ninety, was taken ill soon after she reached there. the two great women made a dramatic exchange on the programme, for on the first night, when miss anthony was unable to speak, mrs. howe took her place, and on the second night, when mrs. howe had succumbed, miss anthony had recovered sufficiently to appear for her. clara barton was also an honored figure at the convention, and miss anthony's joy in the presence of all these old and dear friends was overflowing. with them, too, were the younger women, ready to take up and carry on the work the old leaders were laying down; and "aunt susan," as she surveyed them all, felt like a general whose superb army is passing in review before him. at the close of the college programme, when the final address had been made by miss thomas, miss anthony rose and in a few words expressed her feeling that her life-work was done, and her consciousness of the near approach of the end. after that night she was unable to appear, and was indeed so ill that she was confined to her bed in miss garrett's most hospitable home. nothing could have been more thoughtful or more beautiful than the care miss garrett and miss thomas bestowed on her. they engaged for her one of the best physicians in baltimore, who, in turn, consulted with the leading specialists of johns hopkins, and they also secured a trained nurse. this final attention required special tact, for miss anthony's fear of "giving trouble" was so great that she was not willing to have a nurse. the nurse, therefore, wore a housemaid's uniform, and "aunt susan" remained wholly unconscious that she was being cared for by one of the best nurses in the famous hospital. between sessions of the convention i used to sit by "aunt susan's" bed and tell her what was going on. she was triumphant over the immense success of the convention, but it was clear that she was still worrying over the details of future work. one day at luncheon miss thomas asked me, casually: "by the way, how do you raise the money to carry on your work?" when i told her the work was wholly dependent on voluntary contributions and on the services of those who were willing to give themselves gratuitously to it, miss thomas was greatly surprised. she and miss garrett asked a number of practical questions, and at the end of our talk they looked at each other. "i don't think," said miss thomas, "that we have quite done our duty in this matter." the next day they invited a number of us to dinner, to again discuss the situation; and they admitted that they had sat up throughout the previous night, talking the matter over and trying to find some way to help us. they had also discussed the situation with miss anthony, to her vast content, and had finally decided that they would try to raise a fund of $60,000, to be paid in yearly instalments of $12,000 for five years--part of these annual instalments to be used as salaries for the active officers. the mere mention of so large a fund startled us all. we feared that it could not possibly be raised. but miss anthony plainly believed that now the last great wish of her life had been granted. she was convinced that miss thomas and miss garrett could accomplish anything--even the miracle of raising $60,000 for the suffrage cause--and they did, though "aunt susan" was not here to glory over the result when they had achieved it. on the 15th of february we left baltimore for washington, where miss anthony was to celebrate her eighty-sixth birthday. for many years the national american woman suffrage association had celebrated our birthdays together, as hers came on the 15th of the month and mine on the 14th. there had been an especially festive banquet when she was seventy-four and i was forty-seven, and our friends had decorated the table with floral "4's" and "7's"--the centerpiece representing "74" during the first half of the banquet, and "47" the latter half. this time "aunt susan" should not have attempted the washington celebration, for she was still ill and exhausted by the strain of the convention. but notwithstanding her sufferings and the warnings of her physicians, she insisted on being present; so miss garrett sent the trained nurse to washington with her, and we all tried to make the journey the least possible strain on the patient's vitality. on our arrival in washington we went to the shoreham, where, as always, the proprietor took pains to give miss anthony a room with a view of the washington monument, which she greatly admired. when i entered her room a little later i found her standing at a window, holding herself up with hands braced against the casement on either side, and so absorbed in the view that she did not hear my approach. when i spoke to her she answered without turning her head. "that," she said, softly, "is the most beautiful monument in the world." i stood by her side, and together we looked at it in silence i realizing with a sick heart that "aunt susan" knew she was seeing it for the last time. the birthday celebration that followed our executive meeting was an impressive one. it was held in the church of our father, whose pastor, the rev. john van schaick, had always been exceedingly kind to miss anthony. many prominent men spoke. president roosevelt and other statesmen sent most friendly letters, and william h. taft had promised to be present. he did not come, nor did he, then or later, send any excuse for not coming--an omission that greatly disappointed miss anthony, who had always admired him. i presided at the meeting, and though we all did our best to make it gay, a strange hush hung over the assemblage a solemn stillness, such as one feels in the presence of death. we became more and more conscious that miss anthony was suffering, and we hastened the exercises all we could. when i read president roosevelt's long tribute to her, miss anthony rose to comment on it. "one word from president roosevelt in his message to congress," she said, a little wearily, "would be worth a thousand eulogies of susan b. anthony. when will men learn that what we ask is not praise, but justice?" at the close of the meeting, realizing how weak she was, i begged her to let me speak for her. but she again rose, rested her hand on my shoulder, and, standing by my side, uttered the last words she ever spoke in public, pleading with women to consecrate themselves to the cause, assuring them that no power could prevent its ultimate success, but reminding them also that the time of its coming would depend wholly on their work and their loyalty. she ended with three words--very fitting words from her lips, expressing as they did the spirit of her life-work--"failure is impossible." the next morning she was taken to her home in rochester, and one month from that day we conducted her funeral services. the nurse who had accompanied her from baltimore remained with her until two others had been secured to take her place, and every care that love or medical science could suggest was lavished on the patient. but from the first it was plain that, as she herself had foretold, "aunt susan's" soul was merely waiting for the hour of its passing. one of her characteristic traits was a dislike to being seen, even by those nearest to her, when she was not well. during the first three weeks of her last illness, therefore, i did what she wished me to do--i continued our work, trying to do hers as well as my own. but all the time my heart was in her sick-room, and at last the day came when i could no longer remain away from her. i had awakened in the morning with a strong conviction that she needed me, and at the breakfast-table i announced to her niece, miss lucy anthony, the friend who for years has shared my home, that i was going at once to "aunt susan." "i shall not even wait to telegraph," i declared. "i am sure she has sent for me; i shall take the first train." the journey brought me very close to death. as we were approaching wilkes-barre our train ran into a wagon loaded with powder and dynamite, which had been left on the track. the horses attached to it had been unhitched by their driver, who had spent his time in this effort, when he saw the train coming, instead of in signaling to the engineer. i was on my way to the dining-car when the collision occurred, and, with every one else who happened to be standing, i was hurled to the floor by the impact; flash after flash of blinding light outside, accompanied by a terrific roar, added to the panic of the passengers. when the train stopped we learned how narrow had been our escape from an especially unpleasant form of death. the dynamite in the wagon was frozen, and therefore had not exploded; it was the explosion of the powder that had caused the flashes and the din. the dark-green cars were burned almost white, and as we stood staring at them, a silent, stunned group, our conductor said, quietly, "you will never be as near death again, and escape, as you have been to-day." the accident caused a long delay, and it was ten o'clock at night when i reached rochester and miss anthony's home. as i entered the house miss mary anthony rose in surprise to greet me. "how did you get here so soon?" she cried. and then: "we sent for you this afternoon. susan has been asking for you all day." when i reached my friend's bedside one glance at her face showed me the end was near; and from that time until it came, almost a week later, i remained with her; while again, as always, she talked of the cause, and of the life-work she must now lay down. the first thing she spoke of was her will, which she had made several years before, and in which she had left the small property she possessed to her sister mary, her niece lucy, and myself, with instructions as to the use we three were to make of it. now she told me we were to pay no attention to these instructions, but to give every dollar of her money to the $60,000 fund miss thomas and miss garrett were trying to raise. she was vitally interested in this fund, as its success meant that for five years the active officers of the national american woman suffrage association, including myself as president, would for the first time receive salaries for our work. when she had given her instructions on this point she still seemed depressed. "i wish i could live on," she said, wistfully. "but i cannot. my spirit is eager and my heart is as young as it ever was, but my poor old body is worn out. before i go i want you to give me a promise: promise me that you will keep the presidency of the association as long as you are well enough to do the work." "but how can i promise that?" i asked. "i can keep it only as long as others wish me to keep it." "promise to make them wish you to keep it," she urged. "just as i wish you to keep it." i would have promised her anything then. so, though i knew that to hold the presidency would tie me to a position that brought in no living income, and though for several years past i had already drawn alarmingly upon my small financial reserve, i promised her that i would hold the office as long as the majority of the women in the association wished me to do so. "but," i added, "if the time comes when i believe that some one else can do better work in the presidency than i, then let me feel at liberty to resign it." this did not satisfy her. "no, no," she objected. "you cannot be the judge of that. promise me you will remain until the friends you most trust tell you it is time to withdraw, or make you understand that it is time. promise me that." i made the promise. she seemed content, and again began to talk of the future. "you will not have an easy path," she warned me. "in some ways it will be harder for you than it has ever been for me. i was so much older than the rest of you, and i had been president so long, that you girls have all been willing to listen to me. it will be different with you. other women of your own age have been in the work almost as long as you have been; you do not stand out from them by age or length of service, as i did. there will be inevitable jealousies and misunderstandings; there will be all sorts of criticism and misrepresentation. my last word to you is this: no matter what is done or is not done, how you are criticized or misunderstood, or what efforts are made to block your path, remember that the only fear you need have is the fear of not standing by the thing you believe to be right. take your stand and hold it; then let come what will, and receive blows like a good soldier." i was too much overcome to answer her; and after a moment of silence she, in her turn, made me a promise. "i do not know anything about what comes to us after this life ends," she said. "but if there is a continuance of life beyond it, and if i have any conscious knowledge of this world and of what you are doing, i shall not be far away from you; and in times of need i will help you all i can. who knows? perhaps i may be able to do more for the cause after i am gone than while i am here." nine years have passed since then, and in each day of them all it seems to me, in looking back, i have had some occasion to recall her words. when they were uttered i did not fully comprehend all they meant, or the clearness of the vision that had suggested them. it seemed to me that no position i could hold would be of sufficient importance to attract jealousy or personal attacks. the years have brought more wisdom; i have learned that any one who assumes leadership, or who, like myself, has had leadership forced upon her, must expect to bear many things of which the world knows nothing. but with this knowledge, too, has come the memory of "aunt susan's" last promise, and again and yet again in hours of discouragement and despair i have been helped by the blessed conviction that she was keeping it. during the last forty-eight hours of her life she was unwilling that i should leave her side. so day and night i knelt by her bed, holding her hand and watching the flame of her wonderful spirit grow dim. at times, even then, it blazed up with startling suddenness. on the last afternoon of her life, when she had lain quiet for hours, she suddenly began to utter the names of the women who had worked with her, as if in a final roll-call. many of them had preceded her into the next world; others were still splendidly active in the work she was laying down. but young or old, living or dead, they all seemed to file past her dying eyes that day in an endless, shadowy review, and as they went by she spoke to each of them. not all the names she mentioned were known in suffrage ranks; some of these women lived only in the heart of susan b. anthony, and now, for the last time, she was thanking them for what they had done. here was one who, at a moment of special need, had given her small savings; here was another who had won valuable recruits to the cause; this one had written a strong editorial; that one had made a stirring speech. in these final hours it seemed that not a single sacrifice or service, however small, had been forgotten by the dying leader. last of all, she spoke to the women who had been on her board and had stood by her loyally so long--rachel foster avery, alice stone blackwell, carrie chapman catt, mrs. upton, laura clay, and others. then, after lying in silence for a long time with her cheek on my hand, she murmured: "they are still passing before me--face after face, hundreds and hundreds of them, representing all the efforts of fifty years. i know how hard they have worked i know the sacrifices they have made. but it has all been worth while!" just before she lapsed into unconsciousness she seemed restless and anxious to say something, searching my face with her dimming eyes. "do you want me to repeat my promise?" i asked, for she had already made me do so several times. she made a sign of assent, and i gave her the assurance she desired. as i did so she raised my hand to her lips and kissed it--her last conscious action. for more than thirty hours after that i knelt by her side, but though she clung to my hand until her own hand grew cold, she did not speak again. she had told me over and over how much our long friendship and association had meant to her, and the comfort i had given her. but whatever i may have been to her, it was as nothing compared with what she was to me. kneeling close to her as she passed away, i knew that i would have given her a dozen lives had i had them, and endured a thousand times more hardship than we had borne together, for the inspiration of her companionship and the joy of her affection. they were the greatest blessings i have had in all my life, and i cherish as my dearest treasure the volume of her history of woman suffrage on the fly-leaf of which she had written this inscription: reverend anna howard shaw: this huge volume iv i present to you with the love that a mother beareth, and i hope you will find in it the facts about women, for you will find them nowhere else. your part will be to see that the four volumes are duly placed in the libraries of the country, where every student of history may have access to them. with unbounded love and faith, susan b. anthony. that final line is still my greatest comfort. when i am misrepresented or misunderstood, when i am accused of personal ambition or of working for personal ends, i turn to it and to similar lines penned by the same hand, and tell myself that i should not allow anything to interfere with the serenity of my spirit or to disturb me in my work. at the end of eighteen years of the most intimate companionship, the leader of our cause, the greatest woman i have ever known, still felt for me "unbounded love and faith." having had that, i have had enough. for two days after "aunt susan's" death she lay in her own home, as if in restful slumber, her face wearing its most exquisite look of peaceful serenity; and here her special friends, the poor and the unfortunate of the city, came by hundreds to pay their last respects. on the third day there was a public funeral, held in the congregational church, and, though a wild blizzard was raging, every one in rochester seemed included in the great throng of mourners who came to her bier in reverence and left it in tears. the church services were conducted by the pastor, the rev. c. c. albertson, a lifelong friend of miss anthony's, assisted by the rev. william c. gannett. james g. potter, the mayor of the city, and dr. rush rhees, president of rochester university, occupied prominent places among the distinguished mourners, and mrs. jerome jeffries, the head of a colored school, spoke in behalf of the negro race and its recognition of miss anthony's services. college clubs, medical societies, and reform groups were represented by delegates sent from different states, and miss anna gordon had come on from illinois to represent the woman's national christian temperance union. mrs. catt delivered a eulogy in which she expressed the love and recognition of the organized suffrage women of the world for miss anthony, as the one to whom they had all looked as their leader. william lloyd garrison spoke of miss anthony's work with his father and other antislavery leaders, and mrs. jean brooks greenleaf spoke in behalf of the new york state suffrage association. then, as "aunt susan" had requested, i made the closing address. she had asked me to do this and to pronounce the benediction, as well as to say the final words at her grave. it was estimated that more than ten thousand persons were assembled in and around the church, and after the benediction those who had been patiently waiting out in the storm were permitted to pass inside in single file for a last look at their friend. they found the coffin covered by a large american flag, on which lay a wreath of laurel and palms; around it stood a guard of honor composed of girl students of rochester university in their college caps and gowns. all day students had mounted guard, relieving one another at intervals. on every side there were flowers and floral emblems sent by various organizations, and just over "aunt susan's" head floated the silk flag given to her by the women of colorado. it contained four gold stars, representing the four enfranchised states, while the other stars were in silver. on her breast was pinned the jeweled flag given to her on her eightieth birthday by the women of wyoming--the first place in the world where in the constitution of the state women were given equal political rights with men. here the four stars representing the enfranchised states were made of diamonds, the others of silver enamel. just before the lid was fastened on the coffin this flag was removed and handed to mary anthony, who presented it to me. from that day i have worn it on every occasion of importance to our cause, and each time a state is won for woman suffrage i have added a new diamond star. at the time i write this--in 1914--there are twelve. as the funeral procession went through the streets of rochester it was seen that all the city flags were at half-mast, by order of the city council. many houses were draped in black, and the grief of the citizens manifested itself on every side. all the way to mount hope cemetery the snow whirled blindingly around us, while the masses that had fallen covered the earth as far as we could see a fitting winding-sheet for the one who had gone. under the fir-trees around her open grave i obeyed "aunt susan's" wish that i should utter the last words spoken over her body as she was laid to rest: "dear friend," i said, "thou hast tarried with us long. now thou hast gone to thy well-earned rest. we beseech the infinite spirit who has upheld thee to make us worthy to follow in thy steps and to carry on thy work. hail and farewell." xi. the widening suffrage stream in my chapters on miss anthony i bridged the twenty years between 1886 and 1906, omitting many of the stirring suffrage events of that long period, in my desire to concentrate on those which most vitally concerned her. i must now retrace my steps along the widening suffrage stream and describe, consecutively at least, and as fully as these incomplete reminiscences will permit, other incidents that occurred on its banks. of these the most important was the union in 1889 of the two great suffrage societies--the american association, of which lucy stone was the president, and the national association, headed by susan b. anthony and elizabeth cady stanton. at a convention held in washington these societies were merged as the national american woman suffrage association--the name our association still bears--and mrs. stanton was elected president. she was then nearly eighty and past active work, but she made a wonderful presiding officer at our subsequent meetings, and she was as picturesque as she was efficient. miss anthony, who had an immense admiration for her and a great personal pride in her, always escorted her to the capital, and, having worked her utmost to make the meeting a success, invariably gave mrs. stanton credit for all that was accomplished. she often said that mrs. stanton was the brains of the new association, while she herself was merely its hands and feet; but in truth the two women worked marvelously together, for mrs. stanton was a master of words and could write and speak to perfection of the things susan b. anthony saw and felt but could not herself express. usually miss anthony went to mrs. stanton's house and took charge of it while she stimulated the venerable president to the writing of her annual address. then, at the subsequent convention, she would listen to the report with as much delight and pleasure as if each word of it had been new to her. even after mrs. stanton's resignation from the presidency--at the end, i think, of three years--and miss anthony's election as her successor, "aunt susan" still went to her old friend whenever an important resolution was to be written, and mrs. stanton loyally drafted it for her. mrs. stanton was the most brilliant conversationalist i have ever known; and the best talk i have heard anywhere was that to which i used to listen in the home of mrs. eliza wright osborne, in auburn, new york, when mrs. stanton, susan b. anthony, emily howland, elizabeth smith miller, ida husted harper, miss mills, and i were gathered there for our occasional week-end visits. mrs. osborne inherited her suffrage sympathies, for she was the daughter of martha wright, who, with mrs. stanton and lucretia mott, called the first suffrage convention in seneca falls, new york. i must add in passing that her son, thomas mott osborne, who is doing such admirable work in prison reform at sing sing, has shown himself worthy of the gifted and high-minded mother who gave him to the world. most of the conversation in mrs. osborne's home was contributed by mrs. stanton and miss anthony, while the rest of us sat, as it were, at their feet. many human and feminine touches brightened the lofty discussions that were constantly going on, and the varied characteristics of our leaders cropped up in amusing fashion. mrs. stanton, for example, was rarely accurate in giving figures or dates, while miss anthony was always very exact in such matters. she frequently corrected mrs. stanton's statements, and mrs. stanton usually took the interruption in the best possible spirit, promptly admitting that "aunt susan" knew best. on one occasion i recall, however, she held fast to her opinion that she was right as to the month in which a certain incident had occurred. "no, susan," she insisted, "you're wrong for once. i remember perfectly when that happened, for it was at the time i was beginning to wean harriet." aunt susan, though somewhat staggered by the force of this testimony, still maintained that mrs. stanton must be mistaken, whereupon the latter repeated, in exasperation, "i tell you it happened when i was weaning harriet." and she added, scornfully, "what event have you got to reckon from?" miss anthony meekly subsided. mrs. stanton had wonderful blue eyes, which held to the end of her life an expression of eternal youth. during our conventions she usually took a little nap in the afternoon, and when she awoke her blue eyes always had an expression of pleased and innocent surprise, as if she were gazing on the world for the first time--the round, unwinking, interested look a baby's eyes have when something attractive is held up before them. let me give in a paragraph, before i swing off into the bypaths that always allure me, the consecutive suffrage events of the past quarter of a century. having done this, i can dwell on each as casually as i choose, for it is possible to describe only a few incidents here and there; and i shall not be departing from the story of my life, for my life had become merged in the suffrage cause. of the preliminary suffrage campaigns in kansas, made in company with "aunt susan," i have already written, and it remains only to say that during the second kansas campaign yellow was adopted as the suffrage color. in 1890, '92, and '93 we again worked in kansas and in south dakota, with such indefatigable and brilliant speakers as mrs. catt (to whose efforts also were largely due the winning of colorado in '93), mrs. laura johns of kansas, mrs. julia nelson, henry b. blackwell, dr. helen v. putnam of dakota, mrs. emma smith devoe, rev. olympia browne of wisconsin, and dr. mary seymour howell of new york. in '94, '95, and '96 special efforts were devoted to idaho, utah, california, and washington, and from then on our campaigns were waged steadily in the western states. the colorado victory gave us two full suffrage states, for in 1869 the territory of wyoming had enfranchised women under very interesting conditions, not now generally remembered. the achievement was due to the influence of one woman, esther morris, a pioneer who was as good a neighbor as she was a suffragist. in those early days, in homes far from physicians and surgeons, the women cared for one another in sickness, and esther morris, as it happened, once took full and skilful charge of a neighbor during the difficult birth of the latter's child. she had done the same thing for many other women, but this woman's husband was especially grateful. he was also a member of the legislature, and he told mrs. morris that if there was any measure she wished put through for the women of the territory he would be glad to introduce it. she immediately took him at his word by asking him to introduce a bill enfranchising women, and he promptly did so. the legislature was democratic, and it pounced upon the measure as a huge joke. with the amiable purpose of embarrassing the governor of the territory, who was a republican and had been appointed by the president, the members passed the bill and put it up to him to veto. to their combined horror and amazement, the young governor did nothing of the kind. he had come, as it happened, from salem, ohio, one of the first towns in the united states in which a suffrage convention was held. there, as a boy, he had heard susan b. anthony make a speech, and he had carried into the years the impression it made upon him. he signed that bill; and, as the legislature could not get a two-thirds vote to kill it, the disgusted members had to make the best of the matter. the following year a democrat introduced a bill to repeal the measure, but already public sentiment had changed and he was laughed down. after that no further effort was ever made to take the ballot away from the women of wyoming. when the territory applied for statehood, it was feared that the woman-suffrage clause in the constitution might injure its chance of admission, and the women sent this telegram to joseph m. carey: "drop us if you must. we can trust the men of wyoming to enfranchise us after our territory becomes a state." mr. carey discussed this telegram with the other men who were urging upon congress the admission of their territory, and the following reply went back: "we may stay out of the union a hundred years, but we will come in with our women." there is great inspiration in those two messages--and a great lesson, as well. in 1894 we conducted a campaign in new york, when an effort was made to secure a clause to enfranchise women in the new state constitution; and for the first time in the history of the woman-suffrage movement many of the influential women in the state and city of new york took an active part in the work. miss anthony was, as always, our leader and greatest inspiration. mrs. john brooks greenleaf was state president, and miss mary anthony was the most active worker in the rochester headquarters. mrs. lily devereaux blake had charge of the campaign in new york city, and mrs. marianna chapman looked after the brooklyn section, while a most stimulating sign of the times was the organization of a committee of new york women of wealth and social influence, who established their headquarters at sherry's. among these were mrs. josephine shaw lowell, mrs. joseph h. choate, dr. mary putnam jacobi, mrs. j. warren goddard, and mrs. robert abbe. miss anthony, then in her seventy-fifth year, spoke in every county of the state sixty in all. i spoke in forty, and mrs. catt, as always, made a superb record. miss harriet may mills, a graduate of cornell, and miss mary g. hay, did admirable organization work in the different counties. our disappointment over the result was greatly soothed by the fact that only two years later both idaho and utah swung into line as full suffrage states, though california, in which we had labored with equal zeal, waited fifteen years longer. among these campaigns, and overlapping them, were our annual conventions--each of which i attended from 1888 on--and the national and international councils, to a number of which, also, i have given preliminary mention. when susan b. anthony died in 1906, four american states had granted suffrage to woman. at the time i write--1914--the result of the american women's work for suffrage may be briefly tabulated thus: suffrage status full suffrage for women number of state year won electoral votes wyoming 1869 3 colorado 1893 6 idaho 1896 4 utah 1896 4 washington 1910 7 california 1911 13 arizona 1912 3 kansas 1912 10 oregon 1912 5 alaska 1913 - nevada 1914 3 montana 1914 4 presidential and municipal suffrage for women number of state year won electoral votes illinois 1913 29 states where amendment has passed one legislature and must pass another number goes to state house senate voters electoral votes iowa 81-26 31-15 1916 13 massachusetts 169-39 34-2 1915 18 new jersey 49-4 15-3 1915 14 new york 125-5 40-2 1915 45 north dakota 77-29 31-19 1916 5 pennsylvania 131-70 26-22 1915 38 to tabulate the wonderful work done by the conventions and councils is not possible, but a con secutive list of the meetings would run like this: first national convention, washington, d.c., 1887. first international council of women, washington, d.c., 1888. national suffrage convention, washington, d.c., 1889. national suffrage convention, washington, d.c., 1890. national suffrage convention, washington, d.c., 1891. national suffrage convention, washington, d.c., 1892. national suffrage convention, washington, d.c., 1893. international council, chicago, 1893. national suffrage convention, washington, d.c., 1894. national suffrage convention, atlanta, ga., 1895. national suffrage convention, washington, d.c., 1896. national suffrage convention, des moines, iowa, 1897. national suffrage convention, washington, d.c., 1898. national suffrage convention, grand rapids, mich., 1899. international council, london, england, 1899. national suffrage convention, washington, d.c., 1900. national suffrage convention, minneapolis, minn., 1901. national suffrage convention, washington, d.c., 1902. national suffrage convention, new orleans, la., 1903. national suffrage convention, washington, d.c., 1904. international council of women, berlin, germany, 1904. formation of intern'l suffrage alliance, berlin, germany, 1904. national suffrage convention, portland, oregon, 1905. national suffrage convention, baltimore, md., 1906. international suffrage alliance, copenhagen, denmark, 1906. national suffrage convention, chicago, iii., 1907. international suffrage alliance, amsterdam, holland, 1908. national suffrage convention, buffalo, n. y., 1908. new york headquarters established, 1909. national suffrage convention, seattle, wash., 1909. international suffrage alliance, london, england, 1909. national suffrage convention, washington, d.c., 1910. international council, genoa, italy, 1911. national suffrage convention, louisville, ky., 1911. international suffrage alliance, stockholm, sweden, 1911. national suffrage convention, philadelphia, pa., 1912. international council, the hague, holland, 1913 national suffrage convention, washington, d.c.; 1913. international suffrage alliance, budapest, hungary, 1913. national suffrage convention, nashville, tenn., 1914. international council, rome, italy, 1914. the winning of the suffrage states, the work in the states not yet won, the conventions, gatherings, and international councils in which women of every nation have come together, have all combined to make this quarter of a century the most brilliant period for women in the history of the world. i have set forth the record baldly and without comment, because the bare facts are far more eloquent than words. it must not be forgotten, too, that these great achievements of the progressive women of to-day have been accomplished against the opposition of a large number of their own sex--who, while they are out in the world's arena fighting against progress for their sisters, still shatter the ear-drum with their incongruous war-cry, "woman's place is in the home!" here: we were attending the republican state nominating convention at mitchell--miss anthony, mrs. catt, other leaders, and myself--having been told that it would be at once the largest and the most interesting gathering ever held in the state as it proved to be. all the leading politicians of the state were there, and in the wake of the white men had come tribes of indians with their camp outfits, their wives and their children--the groups forming a picturesque circle of tents and tepees around the town. it was a great occasion for them, an indian powwow, for by the law all indians who had lands in severalty were to be permitted to vote the following year. they were present, therefore, to study the ways of the white man, and an edifying exhibition of these was promptly offered them. the crowd was so great that it was only through the courtesy of major pickler, a member of congress and a devoted believer in suffrage, that miss anthony, mrs. catt, and the rest of us were able to secure passes to the convention, and when we reached the hall we were escorted to the last row of seats on the crowded platform. as the space between us and the speakers was filled by rows upon rows of men, as well as by the band and their instruments, we could see very little that took place. some of our friends pointed out this condition to the local committee and asked that we be given seats on the floor, but received the reply that there was "absolutely no room on the floor except for delegates and distinguished visitors." our persistent friends then suggested that at least a front seat should be given to miss anthony, who certainly came under the head of a "distinguished visitor"; but this was not done--probably because a large number of the best seats were filled by russian laborers wearing badges inscribed "against woman suffrage and susan b. anthony." we remained, perforce, in our rear seats, finding such interest as we could in the back view of hundreds of heads. just before the convention was called to order it was announced that a delegation of influential indians was waiting outside, and a motion to invite the red men into the hall was made and carried with great enthusiasm. a committee of leading citizens was appointed to act as escort, and these gentlemen filed out, returning a few moments later with a party of indian warriors in full war regalia, even to their gay blankets, their feathered head-dresses, and their paint. when they appeared the band struck up a stirring march of welcome, and the entire audience cheered while the indians, flanked by the admiring committee, stalked solemnly down the aisle and were given seats of honor directly in front of the platform. all we could see of them were the brilliant feathers of their war-bonnets, but we got the full effect of their reception in the music and the cheers. i dared not look at miss anthony during this remarkable scene, and she, craning her venerable neck to get a glimpse of the incident from her obscure corner, made no comment to me; but i knew what she was thinking. the following year these indians would have votes. courtesy, therefore, must be shown them. but the women did not matter, the politicians reasoned, for even if they were enfranchised they would never support the element represented at that convention. it was not surprising that, notwithstanding our hard work, we did not win the state, though all the conditions had seemed most favorable; for the state was new, the men and women were working side by side in the fields, and there was discontent in the ranks of the political parties. after the election, when we analyzed the vote county by county, we discovered that in every county whose residents were principally americans the amendment was carried, whereas in all counties populated largely by foreigners it was lost. in certain counties--those inhabited by russian jews--the vote was almost solidly against us, and this notwithstanding the fact that the wives of these russian voters were doing a man's work on their farms in addition to the usual women's work in their homes. the fact that our cause could be defeated by ignorant laborers newly come to our country was a humiliating one to accept; and we realized more forcibly than ever before the difficulty of the task we had assumed--a task far beyond any ever undertaken by a body of men in the history of democratic government throughout the world. we not only had to bring american men back to a belief in the fundamental principles of republican government, but we had also to educate ignorant immigrants, as well as our own indians, whose degree of civilization was indicated by their war-paint and the flaunting feathers of their head-dresses. the kansas campaign, which miss anthony, mrs. catt, mrs. johns, and i conducted in 1894, held a special interest, due to the populist movement. there were so many problems before the people--prohibition, free silver, and the populist propaganda--that we found ourselves involved in the bitterest campaign ever fought out in the state. our desire, of course, was to get the indorsement of the different political parties and religious bodies, we succeeded in obtaining that of three out of four of the methodist episcopal conferences--the congregational, the epworth league, and the christian endeavor league--as well as that of the state teachers' association, the woman's christian temperance union, and various other religious and philanthropic societies. to obtain the indorsement of the political parties was much more difficult, and we were facing conditions in which partial success was worse than complete failure. it had long been an unwritten law before it became a written law in our national association that we must not take partisan action or line up with any one political party. it was highly important, therefore, that either all parties should support us or that none should. the populist convention was held in topeka before either the democratic or republican convention, and after two days of vigorous fighting, led by mrs. anna diggs and other prominent populist women, a suffrage plank was added to the platform. the populist party invited me, as a minister, to open the convention with prayer. this was an innovation, and served as a wedge for the admission of women representatives of the suffrage association to address the convention. we all did so, miss anthony speaking first, mrs. catt second, and i last; after which, for the first time in history, the doxology was sung at a political convention. at the democratic convention we made the same appeal, and were refused. instead of indorsing us, the democrats put an anti-suffrage plank in their platform--but this, as the party had little standing in kansas, probably did us more good than harm. trouble came thick and fast, however, when the republicans, the dominant party in the state, held their convention; and a mighty struggle began over the admission of a suffrage plank. there was a woman's republican club in kansas, which held its convention in topeka at the same time the republicans were holding theirs. there was also a mrs. judith ellen foster, who, by stirring up opposition in this republican club against the insertion of a suffrage plank, caused a serious split in the convention. miss anthony, mrs. catt, and i, of course, urged the republican women to stand by their sex, and to give their support to the republicans only on condition that the latter added suffrage to their platform. at no time, and in no field of work, have i ever seen a more bitter conflict in progress than that which raged for two days during this republican women's convention. liquor-dealers, joint-keepers, "boot-leggers," and all the lawless element of kansas swung into line at a special convention held under the auspices of the liquor league of kansas city, and cast their united weight against suffrage by threatening to deny their votes to any candidate or political party favoring our cause. the republican women's convention finally adjourned with nothing accomplished except the passing of a resolution mildly requesting the republican party to indorse woman suffrage. the result was, of course, that it was not indorsed by the republican convention, and that it was defeated at the following election. it was at the time of these campaigns that i was elected vice-president of the national association and lecturer at large, and the latter office brought in its train a glittering variety of experiences. on one occasion an episode occurred which "aunt susan" never afterward wearied of describing. there was a wreck somewhere on the road on which i was to travel to meet a lecture engagement, and the trains going my way were not running. looking up the track, however, i saw a train coming from the opposite direction. i at once grasped my hand-luggage and started for it. "wait! wait!" cried miss anthony. "that train's going the wrong way!" "at least it's going somewhere!" i replied, tersely, as the train stopped, and i climbed the steps. looking back when the train had started again, i saw "aunt susan" standing in the same spot on the platform and staring after it with incredulous eyes; but i was right, for i discovered that by going up into another state i could get a train which would take me to my destination in time for the lecture that night. it was a fine illustration of my pet theory that if one intends to get somewhere it is better to start, even in the wrong direction, than to stand still. again and again in our work we had occasion to marvel over men's lack of understanding of the views of women, even of those nearest and dearest to them; and we had an especially striking illustration of this at one of our hearings in washington. a certain distinguished gentleman (we will call him mr. h----) was chairman of the judiciary, and after we had said what we wished to say, he remarked: "your arguments are logical. your cause is just. the trouble is that women don't want suffrage. my wife doesn't want it. i don't know a single woman who does want it." as it happened for this unfortunate gentleman, his wife was present at the hearing and sitting beside miss anthony. she listened to his words with surprise, and then whispered to "aunt susan": "how can he say that? _i_ want suffrage, and i've told him so a hundred times in the last twenty years." "tell him again now," urged miss anthony. "here's your chance to impress it on his memory." "here!" gasped the wife. "oh, i wouldn't dare." "then may i tell him?" "why--yes! he can think what he pleases, but he has no right to publicly misrepresent me." the assent, hesitatingly begun, finished on a sudden note of firmness. miss anthony stood up. "it may interest mr. h----," she said, "to know that his wife does wish to vote, and that for twenty years she has wished to vote, and has often told him so, though he has evidently forgotten it. she is here beside me, and has just made this explanation." mr. h---stammered and hesitated, and finally decided to laugh. but there was no mirth in the sound he made, and i am afraid his wife had a bad quarter of an hour when they met a little later in the privacy of their home. among other duties that fell to my lot at this period were numerous suffrage debates with prominent opponents of the cause. i have already referred to the debate in kansas with senator ingalls. equaling this in importance was a bout with dr. buckley, the distinguished methodist debater, which had been arranged for us at chautauqua by bishop vincent of the methodist church. the bishop was not a believer in suffrage, nor was he one of my admirers. i had once aroused his ire by replying to a sermon he had delivered on "god's women," and by proving, to my own satisfaction at least, that the women he thought were god's women had done very little, whereas the work of the world had been done by those he believed were not "god's women." there was considerable interest, therefore, in the buckley-shaw debate he had arranged; we all knew he expected dr. buckley to wipe out that old score, and i was determined to make it as difficult as possible for the distinguished gentleman to do so. we held the debate on two succeeding days, i speaking one afternoon and dr. buckley replying the following day. on the evening before i spoke, however, dr. buckley made an indiscreet remark, which, blown about chautauqua on the light breeze of gossip, was generally regarded as both unchivalrous and unfair. as the hall in which we were to speak was enormous, he declared that one of two things would certainly happen. either i would scream in order to be heard by my great audience, or i would be unable to make myself heard at all. if i screamed it would be a powerful argument against women as public speakers; if i could not be heard, it would be an even better argument. in either case, he summed up, i was doomed to failure. following out this theory, he posted men in the extreme rear of the great hall on the day of my lecture, to report to him whether my words reached them, while he himself graciously occupied a front seat. bishop vincent's antagonistic feeling was so strong, however, that though, as the presiding officer of the occasion, he introduced me to the audience, he did not wait to hear my speech, but immediately left the hall--and this little slight added to the public's interest in the debate. it was felt that the two gentlemen were not quite "playing fair," and the champions of the cause were especially enthusiastic in their efforts to make up for these failures in courtesy. my friends turned out in force to hear the lecture, and on the breast of every one of them flamed the yellow bow that stood for suffrage, giving to the vast hall something of the effect of a field of yellow tulips in full bloom. when dr. buckley rose to reply the next day these friends were again awaiting him with an equally jocund display of the suffrage color, and this did not add to his serenity. during his remarks he made the serious mistake of losing his temper; and, unfortunately for him, he directed his wrath toward a very old man who had thoughtlessly applauded by pounding on the floor with his cane when dr. buckley quoted a point i had made. the doctor leaned forward and shook his fist at him. "think she's right, do you?" he asked. "yes," admitted the venerable citizen, briskly, though a little startled by the manner of the question. "old man," shouted dr. buckley, "i'll make you take that back if you've got a grain of sense in your head!" the insult cost him his audience. when he realized this he lost all his self-possession, and, as the buffalo courier put it the next day, "went up and down the platform raving like a billingsgate fishwife." he lost the debate, and the supply of yellow ribbon left in the surrounding counties was purchased that night to be used in the suffrage celebration that followed. my friends still refer to the occasion as "the day we wiped up the earth with dr. buckley"; but i do not deserve the implied tribute, for dr. buckley would have lost his case without a word from me. what really gave me some satisfaction, however, was the respective degree of freshness with which he and i emerged from our combat. after my speech miss anthony and i were given a reception, and stood for hours shaking hands with hundreds of men and women. later in the evening we had a dinner and another reception, which, lasting, as they did, until midnight, kept us from our repose. dr. buckley, poor gentleman, had to be taken to his hotel immediately after his speech, given a hot bath, rubbed down, and put tenderly to bed; and not even the sympathetic heart of susan b. anthony yearned over him when she heard of his exhaustion. it was also at chautauqua, by the way, though a number of years earlier, that i had my much misquoted encounter with the minister who deplored the fashion i followed in those days of wearing my hair short. this young man, who was rather a pompous person, saw fit to take me to task at a table where a number of us were dining together. "miss shaw," he said, abruptly, "i have been asked very often why you wear your hair short, and i have not been able to explain. of course"--this kindly--"i know there is some good reason. i ventured to advance the theory that you have been ill and that your hair has fallen out. is that it?" "no," i told him. "there is a reason, as you suggest. but it is not that one." "then why--" he insisted. "i am rather sensitive about it," i explained. "i don't know that i care to discuss the subject." the young minister looked pained. "but among friends--" he protested. "true," i conceded. "well, then, among friends, i will admit frankly that it is a birthmark. i was born with short hair." that was the last time my short hair was criticized in my presence, but the young minister was right in his disapproval and i was wrong, as i subsequently realized. a few years later i let my hair grow long, for i had learned that no woman in public life can afford to make herself conspicuous by any eccentricity of dress or appearance. if she does so she suffers for it herself, which may not disturb her, and to a greater or less degree she injures the cause she represents, which should disturb her very much. xii. building a home it is not generally known that the meeting of the international council of women held in chicago during the world's fair was suggested by miss anthony, as was also the appointment of the exposition's "board of lady managers." "aunt susan" kept her name in the background, that she might not array against these projects the opposition of those prejudiced against woman suffrage. we both spoke at the meetings, however, as i have already explained, and one of our most chastening experiences occurred on "actress night." there was a great demand for tickets for this occasion, as every one seemed anxious to know what kind of speeches our leading women of the stage would make; and the programme offered such magic names as helena modjeska, julia marlowe, georgia cayvan, clara morris, and others of equal appeal. the hall was soon filled, and to keep out the increasing throng the doors were locked and the waiting crowd was directed to a second hall for an overflow meeting. as it happened, miss anthony and i were among the earliest arrivals at the main hall. it was the first evening we had been free to do exactly as we pleased, and we were both in high spirits, looking forward to the speeches, congratulating each other on the good seats we had been given on the platform, and rallying the speakers on their stage fright; for, much to our amusement, we had found them all in mortal terror of their audience. georgia cayvan, for example, was so nervous that she had to be strengthened with hot milk before she could speak, and julia marlowe admitted freely that her knees were giving way beneath her. they really had something of an ordeal before them, for it was decided that each actress must speak twice going immediately from the hall to the overflow meeting and repeating there the speech she had just made. but in the mean time some one had to hold the impatient audience in the second hall, and as it was a duty every one else promptly repudiated, a row of suddenly imploring faces turned toward miss anthony and me. i admit that we responded to the appeal with great reluctance. we were so comfortable where we were--and we were also deeply interested in the first intimate glimpse we were having of these stars in the dramatic sky. we saw our duty, however, and with deep sighs we rose and departed for the second hall, where a glance at the waiting throng did not add to our pleasure in the prospect before us. when i walked upon the stage i found myself facing an actually hostile audience. they had come to look at and listen to the actresses who had been promised them, and they thought they were being deprived of that privilege by an interloper. never before had i gazed out on a mass of such unresponsive faces or looked into so many angry eyes. they were exchanging views on their wrongs, and the general buzz of conversation continued when i appeared. for some moments i stood looking at them, my hands behind my back. if i had tried to speak they would undoubtedly have gone on talking; my silence attracted their attention and they began to wonder what i intended to do. when they had stopped whispering and moving about, i spoke to them with the frankness of an overburdened heart. "i think," i said, slowly and distinctly, "that you are the most disagreeable audience i ever faced in my life." they gasped and stared, almost open-mouthed in their surprise. "never," i went on, "have i seen a gathering of people turn such ugly looks upon a speaker who has sacrificed her own enjoyment to come and talk to them. do you think i want to talk to you?" i demanded, warming to my subject. "i certainly do not. neither does miss anthony want to talk to you, and the lady who spoke to you a few moments ago, and whom you treated so rudely, did not wish to be here. we would all much prefer to be in the other hall, listening to the speakers from our comfortable seats on the stage. to entertain you we gave up our places and came here simply because the committee begged us to do so. i have only one thing more to say. if you care to listen to me courteously i am willing to waste time on you; but don't imagine that i will stand here and wait while you criticize the management." by this time i felt as if i had a child across my knee to whom i was administering maternal chastisement, and the uneasiness of my audience underlined the impression. they listened rather sulkily at first; then a few of the best-natured among them laughed, and the laugh grew and developed into applause. the experience had done them good, and they were a chastened band when clara morris appeared, and i gladly yielded the floor to her. all the actresses who spoke that night delivered admirable addresses, but no one equaled madame modjeska, who delivered exquisitely a speech written, not by herself, but by a friend and countrywoman, on the condition of polish women under the regime of russia. we were all charmed as we listened, but none of us dreamed what that address would mean to modjeska. it resulted in her banishment from poland, her native land, which she was never again permitted to enter. but though she paid so heavy a price for the revelation, i do not think she ever really regretted having given to america the facts in that speech. during this same period i embarked upon a high adventure. i had always longed for a home, and my heart had always been loyal to cape cod. now i decided to have a home at wianno, across the cape from my old parish at east dennis. deep-seated as my home-making aspiration had been, it was realized largely as the result of chance. a special hobby of mine has always been auction sales. i dearly love to drop into auction-rooms while sales are in progress, and bid up to the danger-point, taking care to stop just in time to let some one else get the offered article. but of course i sometimes failed to stop at the psychological moment, and the result was a sudden realization that, in the course of the years, i had accumulated an extraordinary number of articles for which i had no shelter and no possible use. the crown jewel of the collection was a bedroom set i had picked up in philadelphia. usually, cautious friends accompanied me on my auction-room expeditions and restrained my ardor; but this time i got away alone and found myself bidding at the sale of a solid bog-wood bedroom set which had been exhibited as a show-piece at the world's fair, and was now, in the words of the auctioneer, "going for a song." i sang the song. i offered twenty dollars, thirty dollars, forty dollars, and other excited voices drowned mine with higher bids. it was very thrilling. i offered fifty dollars, and there was a horrible silence, broken at last by the auctioneer's final, "going, going, gone!" i was mistress of the bog-wood bedroom set--a set wholly out of harmony with everything else i possessed, and so huge and massive that two men were required to lift the head-board alone. like many of the previous treasures i had acquired, this was a white elephant; but, unlike some of them, it was worth more than i had paid for it. i was offered sixty dollars for one piece alone, but i coldly refused to sell it, though the tribute to my judgment warmed my heart. i had not the faintest idea what to do with the set, however, and at last i confided my dilemma to my friend, mrs. ellen dietrick, who sagely advised me to build a house for it. the idea intrigued me. the bog-wood furniture needed a home, and so did i. the result of our talk was that mrs. dietrick promised to select a lot for me at wianno, where she herself lived, and even promised to supervise the building of my cottage, and to attend to all the other details connected with it. thus put, the temptation was irresistible. besides mrs. dietrick, many other delightful friends lived at wianno--the garrisons, the chases of rhode island, the wymans, the wellingtons--a most charming community. i gave mrs. dietrick full authority to use her judgment in every detail connected with the undertaking, and the cottage was built. having put her hand to this plow of friendship, mrs. dietrick did the work with characteristic thoroughness. i did not even visit wianno to look at my land. she selected it, bought it, engaged a woman architect--lois howe of boston--and followed the latter's work from beginning to end. the only stipulation i made was that the cottage must be far up on the beach, out of sight of everybody--really in the woods; and this was easily met, for along that coast the trees came almost to the water's edge. the cottage was a great success, and for many years i spent my vacations there, filling the place with young people. from the time of my sister mary's death i had had the general oversight of her two daughters, lola and grace, as well as of nicolas and eleanor, the two motherless daughters of my brother john. they were all with me every summer in the new home, together with lucy anthony, her sister and brother, mrs. rachel foster avery, and other friends. we had special fishing costumes made, and wore them much of the time. my nieces wore knickerbockers, and i found vast contentment in short, heavy skirts over bloomers. we lived out of doors, boating, fishing, and clamming all day long, and, as in my early pioneer days in michigan, my part of the work was in the open. i chopped all the wood, kept the fires going, and looked after the grounds. rumors of our care-free and unconventional life began to circulate, and presently our eden was invaded by the only serpent i have ever found in the newspaper world--a girl reporter from boston. she telegraphed that she was coming to see us; and though, when she came, we had been warned of her propensities and received her in conventional attire, formally entertaining her with tea on the veranda, she went away and gave free play to a hectic fancy. she wrote a sensational full-page article for a sunday newspaper, illustrated with pictures showing us all in knickerbockers. in this striking work of art i carried a fish net and pole and wore a handkerchief tied over my head. the article, which was headed the adamless eden, was almost libelous, and i admit that for a long time it dimmed our enjoyment of our beloved retreat. then, gradually, my old friends died, mrs. dietrick among the first; others moved away; and the character of the entire region changed. it became fashionable, privacy was no longer to be found there, and we ceased to visit it. for five years i have not even seen the cottage. in 1908 i built the house i now occupy (in moylan, pennsylvania), which is the realization of a desire i have always had--to build on a tract which had a stream, a grove of trees, great boulders and rocks, and a hill site for the house with a broad outlook, and a railroad station conveniently near. the friend who finally found the place for me had begun his quest with the pessimistic remark that i would better wait for it until i got to paradise; but two years later he telegraphed me that he had discovered it on this planet, and he was right. i have only eight acres of land, but no one could ask a more ideal site for a cottage; and on the place is my beloved forest, including a grove of three hundred firs. from every country i have visited i have brought back a tiny tree for this little forest, and now it is as full of memories as of beauty. to the surprise of my neighbors, i built my house with its back toward the public road, facing the valley and the stream. "but you will never see anybody go by," they protested. i answered that the one person in the house who was necessarily interested in passers-by was my maid, and she could see them perfectly from the kitchen, which faced the road. i enjoy my views from the broad veranda that overlooks the valley, the stream, and the country for miles around. every suffragist i have ever met has been a lover of home; and only the conviction that she is fighting for her home, her children, for other women, or for all of these, has sustained her in her public work. looking back on many campaign experiences, i am forced to admit that it is not always the privations we endure which make us think most tenderly of home. often we are more overcome by the attentions of well-meaning friends. as an example of this i recall an incident of one oregon campaign. i was to speak in a small city in the southern part of the state, and on reaching the station, hot, tired, and covered with the grime of a midsummer journey, i found awaiting me a delegation of citizens, a brass-band, and a white carriage drawn by a pair of beautiful white horses. in this carriage, and devotedly escorted by the citizens and the band, the latter playing its hardest, i was driven to the city hall and there met by the mayor, who delivered an address, after which i was crowned with a laurel wreath. subsequently, with this wreath still resting upon my perspiring brow, i was again driven through the streets of the city; and if ever a woman felt that her place was in the home and longed to be in her place, i felt it that day. an almost equally trying occasion had san francisco for its setting. the city had arranged a fourth of july celebration, at which miss anthony and i were to speak. here we rode in a carriage decorated with flowers--yellow roses--while just in front of us was the mayor in a carriage gorgeously festooned with purple blossoms. behind us, for more than a mile, stretched a procession of uniformed policemen, soldiers, and citizens, while the sidewalks were lined with men and women whose enthusiastic greetings came to miss anthony from every side. she was enchanted over the whole experience, for to her it meant, as always, not a personal tribute, but a triumph of the cause. but i sat by her side acutely miserable; for across my shoulders and breast had been draped a huge sash with the word "orator" emblazoned on it, and this was further embellished by a striking rosette with streamers which hung nearly to the bottom of my gown. it is almost unnecessary to add that this remarkable decoration was furnished by a committee of men, and was also worn by all the men speakers of the day. possibly i was overheated by the sash, or by the emotions the sash aroused in me, for i was stricken with pneumonia the following day and experienced my first serious illness, from which, however, i soon recovered. on our way to california in 1895 miss anthony and i spent a day at cheyenne, wyoming, as the guests of senator and mrs. carey, who gave a dinner for us. at the table i asked senator carey what he considered the best result of the enfranchisement of wyoming women, and even after the lapse of twenty years i am able to give his reply almost word for word, for it impressed me deeply at the time and i have since quoted it again and again. "there have been many good results," he said, "but the one i consider above all the others is the great change for the better in the character of our candidates for office. consider this for a moment: since our women have voted there has never been an embezzlement of public funds, or a scandalous misuse of public funds, or a disgraceful condition of graft. i attribute the better character of our public officials almost entirely to the votes of the women." "those are inspiring facts," i conceded, "but let us be just. there are three men in wyoming to every woman, and no candidate for office could be elected unless the men voted for him, too. why, then, don't they deserve as much credit for his election as the women?" "because," explained senator carey, promptly, "women are politically an uncertain factor. we can go among men and learn beforehand how they are going to vote, but we can't do that with women; they keep us guessing. in the old days, when we went into the caucus we knew what resolutions put into our platforms would win the votes of the ranchmen, what would win the miners, what would win the men of different nationalities; but we did not know how to win the votes of the women until we began to nominate our candidates. then we immediately discovered that if the democrats nominated a man of immoral character for office, the women voted for his republican opponent, and we learned our first big lesson--that whatever a candidate's other qualifications for office may be, he must first of all have a clean record. in the old days, when we nominated a candidate we asked, 'can he hold the saloon vote?' now we ask, 'can he hold the women's vote?' instead of bidding down to the saloon, we bid up to the home." following the dinner there was a large public meeting, at which miss anthony and i were to speak. mrs. jenkins, who was president of the suffrage association of the state, presided and introduced us to the assemblage. then she added: "i have introduced you ladies to your audience. now i would like to introduce your audience to you." she began with the two senators and the member of congress, then introduced the governor, the lieutenant-governor, the state superintendent of education, and numerous city and state officials. as she went on miss anthony grew more and more excited, and when the introductions were over, she said: "this is the first time i have ever seen an audience assembled for woman suffrage made up of the public officials of a state. no one can ever persuade me now that men respect women without political power as much as they respect women who have it; for certainly in no other state in the union would it be possible to gather so many public officials under one roof to listen to the addresses of women." the following spring we again went west, with mrs. catt, lucy anthony, miss hay and miss sweet, her secretary, to carry on the pacific coast campaign of '96, arranged by mrs. cooper and her daughter harriet, of oakland--both women of remarkable executive ability. headquarters were secured in san francisco, and miss hay was put in charge, associated with a large group of california women. it was the second time in the history of campaigns--the first being in new york--that all the money to carry on the work was raised by the people of the state. the last days of the campaign were extremely interesting, and one of their important events was that the hon. thomas reed, then speaker of the house of representatives, for the first time came out publicly for suffrage. mr. reed had often expressed himself privately as in favor of the cause--but he had never made a public statement for us. at oakland, one day, the indefatigable and irresistible "aunt susan" caught him off his guard by persuading his daughter, kitty reed, who was his idol, to ask him to say just one word in favor of our amendment. when he arose we did not know whether he had promised what she asked, and as his speech progressed our hearts sank lower and lower, for all he said was remote from our cause. but he ended with these words: "there is an amendment of the constitution pending, granting suffrage to women. the women of california ought to have suffrage. the men of california ought to give it to them--and the next speaker, dr. shaw, will tell you why." the word was spoken. and though it was not a very strong word, it came from a strong man, and therefore helped us. election day, as usual, brought its surprises and revelations. mrs. cooper asked her chinese cook how the chinese were voting--i. e., the native-born chinamen who were entitled to vote--and he replied, blithely, "all chinamen vote for billy mckee and 'no' to women!" it is an interesting fact that every chinese vote was cast against us. all day we went from one to another of the polling-places, and i shall always remember the picture of miss anthony and the wife of senator sargent wandering around the polls arm in arm at eleven o'clock at night, their tired faces taking on lines of deeper depression with every minute; for the count was against us. however, we made a fairly good showing. when the final counts came in we found that we had won the state from the north down to oakland, and from the south up to san francisco; but there was not a sufficient majority to overcome the adverse votes of san francisco and oakland. with more than 230,000 votes cast, we were defeated by only 10,000 majority. in san francisco the saloon element and the most aristocratic section of the city made an equal showing against us, while the section occupied by the middle working-class was largely in favor of our amendment. i dwell especially on this campaign, partly because such splendid work was done by the women of california, and also because, during the same election, utah and idaho granted full suffrage to women. this gave us four suffrage states--wyoming, colorado, utah, and idaho--and we prepared for future struggles with very hopeful hearts. it was during this california campaign, by the way, that i unwittingly caused much embarrassment to a worthy young man. at a mass-meeting held in san francisco, rabbi vorsanger, who was not in favor of suffrage for women, advanced the heartening theory that in a thousand years more they might possibly be ready for it. after a thousand years of education for women, of physically developed women, of uncorseted women, he said, we might have the ideal woman, and could then begin to talk about freedom for her. when the rabbi sat down there was a shout from the audience for me to answer him, but all i said was that the ideal woman would be rather lonely, as it would certainly take another thousand years to develop an ideal man capable of being a mate for her. on the following night prof. howard griggs, of stanford university, made a speech on the modern woman--a speech so admirably thought out and delivered that we were all delighted with it. when he had finished the audience again called on me, and i rose and proceeded to make what my friends frankly called "the worst break" of my experience. rabbi vorsanger's ideal woman was still in my mind, and i had been rather hard on the men in my reply to the rabbi the night before; so now i hastened to give this clever young man his full due. i said that though the rabbi thought it would take a thousand years to make an ideal woman, i believed that, after all, it might not take as long to make the ideal man. we had something very near it in a speaker who could reveal such ability, such chivalry, and such breadth of view as professor griggs had just shown that he possessed. that night i slept the sleep of the just and the well-meaning, and it was fortunate i did, for the morning newspapers had a surprise for me that called for steady nerves and a sense of humor. across the front page of every one of them ran startling head-lines to this effect: dr. shaw has found her ideal man the prospects are that she will remain in california professor griggs was young enough to be my son, and he was already married and the father of two beautiful children; but these facts were not permitted to interfere with the free play of fancy in journalistic minds. for a week the newspapers were filled with all sorts of articles, caricatures, and editorials on my ideal man, which caused me much annoyance and some amusement, while they plunged professor griggs into an abysmal gloom. in the end, however, the experience proved an excellent one for him, for the publicity attending his speech made him decide to take up lecturing as a profession, which he eventually did with great success. but neither of us has yet heard the last of the ideal man episode. only a few years ago, on his return to california after a long absence, one of the leading sunday newspapers of the state heralded professor griggs's arrival by publishing a full-page article bearing his photograph and mine and this flamboyant heading: she made him and dr. shaw's ideal man became the idol of american women and earns $30,000 a year we had other unusual experiences in california, and the display of affluence on every side was not the least impressive of them. in one town, after a heavy rain, i remember seeing a number of little boys scraping the dirt from the gutters, washing it, and finding tiny nuggets of gold. we learned that these boys sometimes made two or three dollars a day in this way, and that the streets of the town--i think it was marysville--contained so much gold that a syndicate offered to level the whole town and repave the streets in return for the right to wash out the gold. this sounds like the kind of thing americans tell to trustful visitors from foreign lands, but it is quite true. nuggets, indeed, were so numerous that at one of our meetings, when we were taking up a collection, i cheerfully suggested that our audience drop a few into the box, as we had not had a nugget since we reached the state. there were no nuggets in the subsequent collection, but there was a note which read: "if dr. shaw will accept a gold nugget, i will see that she does not leave town without one." i read this aloud, and added, "i have never refused a gold nugget in my life." the following day brought me a pin made of a very beautiful gold nugget, and a few days later another californian produced a cluster of smaller nuggets which he had washed out of a panful of earth and insisted on my accepting half of them. i was not accustomed to this sort of generosity, but it was characteristic of the spirit of the state. nowhere else, during our campaign experiences, were we so royally treated in every way. as a single example among many, i may mention that mrs. leland stanford once happened to be on a train with us and to meet miss anthony. as a result of this chance encounter she gave our whole party passes on all the lines of the southern pacific railroad, for use during the entire campaign. similar generosity was shown us on every side, and the question of finance did not burden us from the beginning to the end of the california work. in our utah and idaho campaigns we had also our full share of new experiences, and of these perhaps the most memorable to me was the sermon i preached in the mormon tabernacle at salt lake city. before i left new york the mormon women had sent me the invitation to preach this sermon, and when i reached salt lake city and the so-called "gentile" women heard of the plan, they at once invited me to preach to the "gentiles" on the evening of the same sunday, in the salt lake city opera house. on the morning of the sermon i approached the mormon tabernacle with much more trepidation than i usually experienced before entering a pulpit. i was not sure what particular kind of trouble i would get into, but i had an abysmal suspicion that trouble of some sort lay in wait for me, and i shivered in the anticipation of it. fortunately, my anxiety was not long drawn out. i arrived only a few moments before the hour fixed for the sermon, and found the congregation already assembled and the tabernacle filled with the beautiful music of the great organ. on the platform, to which i was escorted by several leading dignitaries of the church, was the characteristic mormon arrangement of seats. the first row was occupied by the deacons, and in the center of these was the pulpit from which the deacons preach. above these seats was a second row, occupied by ordained elders, and there they too had their own pulpit. the third row was occupied by, the bishops and the highest dignitaries of the church, with the pulpit from which the bishops preach; and behind them all, an effective human frieze, was the really wonderful mormon choir. as i am an ordained elder in my church, i occupied the pulpit in the middle row of seats, with the deacons below me and the bishops just behind. scattered among the congregation were hundreds of "gentiles" ready to leap mentally upon any concession i might make to the mormon faith; while the mormons were equally on the alert for any implied criticism of them and their church. the problem of preaching a sermon which should offer some appeal to both classes, without offending either, was a perplexing one, and i solved it to the best of my ability by delivering a sermon i had once given in my own church to my own people. when i had finished i was wholly uncertain of its effect, but at the end of the services one of the bishops leaned toward me from his place in the rear, and, to my mingled horror and amusement, offered me this tribute, "that is one of the best mormon sermons ever preached in this tabernacle." i thanked him, but inwardly i was aghast. what had i said to give him such an impression? i racked my brain, but could recall nothing that justified it. i passed the day in a state of nervous apprehension, fully expecting some frank criticism from the "gentiles" on the score of having delivered a mormon sermon to ingratiate myself into the favor of the mormons and secure their votes for the constitutional amendment. but nothing of the kind was said. that evening, after the sermon to the "gentiles," a reception was given to our party, and i drew my first deep breath when the wife of a well-known clergyman came to me and introduced herself in these words: "my husband could not come here to-night, but he heard your sermon this morning. he asked me to tell you how glad he was that under such unusual conditions you held so firmly to the teachings of christ." the next day i was still more reassured. a reception was given us at the home of one of brigham young's daughters, and the receiving-line was graced by the presiding elder of the methodist episcopal church. he was a bluff and jovial gentleman, and when he took my hand he said, warmly, "well, sister shaw, you certainly gave our mormon friends the biggest dose of methodism yesterday that they ever got in their lives." after this experience i reminded myself again that what frances willard so frequently said is true; all truth is our truth when it has reached our hearts; we merely rechristen it according to our individual creeds. during the visit i had an interesting conversation with a number of the younger mormon women. i was to leave the city on a midnight train, and about twenty of them, including four daughters of brigham young, came to my hotel to remain with me until it was time to go to the station. they filled the room, sitting around in school-girl fashion on the floor and even on the bed. it was an unusual opportunity to learn some things i wished to know, and i could not resist it. "there are some questions i would like to ask you," i began, "and one or two of them may seem impertinent. but they won't be asked in that spirit--and please don't answer any that embarrass you." they exchanged glances, and then told me to ask as many questions as i wished. "first of all," i said, "i would like to know the real attitude toward polygamy of the present generation of mormon women. do you all believe in it?" they assured me that they did. "how many of you," i then asked, "are polygamous wives?" there was not one in the group. "but," i insisted, "if you really believe in polygamy, why is it that some of your husbands have not taken more than one wife?" there was a moment of silence, while each woman looked around as if waiting for another to answer. at last one of them said, slowly: "in my case, i alone was to blame. for years i could not force myself to consent to my husband's taking another wife, though i tried hard. by the time i had overcome my objection the law was passed prohibiting polygamy." a second member of the group hastened to tell her story. she had had a similar spiritual struggle, and just as she reached the point where she was willing to have her husband take another wife, he died. and now the room was filled with eager voices. four or five women were telling at once that they, too, had been reluctant in the beginning, and that when they had reached the point of consent this, that, or another cause had kept the husbands from marrying again. they were all so passionately in earnest that they stared at me in puzzled wonder when i broke into the sudden laughter i could not restrain. "what fortunate women you all were!" i exclaimed, teasingly. "not one of you arrived at the point of consenting to the presence of a second wife in your home until it was impossible for your husband to take her." they flushed a little at that, and then laughed with me; but they did not defend themselves against the tacit charge, and i turned the conversation into less personal channels. i learned that many of the mormon young men were marrying girls outside of the church, and that two sons of a leading mormon elder had married and were living very happily with catholic girls. at this time the mormon candidate for congress (a man named roberts) was a bitter opponent of woman suffrage. the mormon women begged me to challenge him to a debate on the subject, which i did, but mr. roberts declined the challenge. the ground of his refusal, which he made public through the newspapers, was chastening to my spirit. he explained that he would not debate with me because he was not willing to lower himself to the intellectual plane of a woman. xiii. president of "the national" in 1900 miss anthony, then over eighty, decided that she must resign the presidency of our national association, and the question of the successor she would choose became an important one. it was conceded that there were only two candidates in her mind--mrs. carrie chapman catt and myself--and for several months we gave the suffrage world the unusual spectacle of rivals vigorously pushing each other's claims. miss anthony was devoted to us both, and i think the choice was a hard one for her to make. on the one hand, i had been vice-president at large and her almost constant companion for twelve years, and she had grown accustomed to think of me as her successor. on the other hand, mrs. catt had been chairman of the organization committee, and through her splendid executive ability had built up our organization in many states. from miss anthony down, we all recognized her steadily growing powers; she had, moreover, abundant means, which i had not. in my mind there was no question of her superior qualification for the presidency. she seemed to me the logical and indeed the only possible successor to miss anthony; and i told "aunt susan" so with all the eloquence i could command, while simultaneously mrs. catt was pouring into miss anthony's other ear a series of impassioned tributes to me. it was an unusual situation and a very pleasant one, and it had two excellent results: it simplified "aunt susan's" problem by eliminating the element of personal ambition, and it led to her eventual choice of mrs. catt as her successor. i will admit here for the first time that in urging mrs. catt's fitness for the office i made the greatest sacrifice of my life. my highest ambition had been to succeed miss anthony, for no one who knew her as i did could underestimate the honor of being chosen by her to carry on her work. at the convention in washington that year she formally refused the nomination for re-election, as we had all expected, and then, on being urged to choose her own successor, she stepped forward to do so. it was a difficult hour, for her fiery soul resented the limitations imposed by her worn-out body, and to such a worker the most poignant experience in life is to be forced to lay down one's work at the command of old age. on this she touched briefly, but in a trembling voice; and then, in furtherance of the understanding between the three of us, she presented the name of mrs. catt to the convention with all the pride and hope a mother could feel in the presentation of a daughter. her faith was fully justified. mrs. catt made an admirable president, and during every moment of the four years she held the office she had miss anthony's whole-hearted and enthusiastic support, while i, too, in my continued office of vice-president, did my utmost to help her in every way. in 1904, however, mrs. catt was elected president of the international suffrage alliance, as i have mentioned before, and that same year she resigned the presidency of our national association, as her health was not equal to the strain of carrying the two offices. miss anthony immediately urged me to accept the presidency of the national association, which i was now most unwilling to do; i had lost my ambition to be president, and there were other reasons, into which i need not go again, why i felt that i could not accept the post. at last, however, miss anthony actually commanded me to take the place, and there was nothing to do but obey her. she was then eighty-four, and, as it proved, within two years of her death. it was no time for me to rebel against her wishes; but i yielded with the heaviest heart i have ever carried, and after my election to the presidency at the national convention in washington i left the stage, went into a dark corner of the wings, and for the first time since my girlhood "cried myself sick." in the work i now took up i found myself much alone. mrs. catt was really ill, and the strength of "aunt susan" must be saved in every way. neither could give me much help, though each did all she should have done, and more. mrs. catt, whose husband had recently died, was in a deeply despondent frame of mind, and seemed to feel that the future was hopelessly dark. my own panacea for grief is work, and it seemed to me that both physically and mentally she would be helped by a wise combination of travel and effort. during my lifetime i have cherished two ambitions, and only two: the first, as i have already confessed, had been to succeed miss anthony as president of our association; the second was to go around the world, carrying the woman-suffrage ideal to every country, and starting in each a suffrage society. long before the inception of the international suffrage alliance i had dreamed this dream; and, though it had receded as i followed it through life, i had never wholly lost sight of it. now i realized that for me it could never be more than a dream. i could never hope to have enough money at my disposal to carry it out, and it occurred to me that if mrs. catt undertook it as president of the international suffrage alliance the results would be of the greatest benefit to the cause and to her. in my first visit to her after her husband's death i suggested this plan, but she replied that it was impossible for her to consider it. i did not lose thought of it, however, and at the next international conference, held in copenhagen in 1907, i suggested to some of the delegates that we introduce the matter as a resolution, asking mrs. catt to go around the world in behalf of woman suffrage. they approved the suggestion so heartily that i followed it up with a speech setting forth the whole plan and mrs. catt's peculiar fitness for the work. several months later mrs. catt and dr. aletta jacobs, president of the holland suffrage association, started on their world tour; and not until after they had gone did i fully realize that the two great personal ambitions of my life had been realized, not by me, but by another, and in each case with my enthusiastic co-operation. in 1904, following my election to the presidency, a strong appeal came from the board of managers of the exposition to be held in portland, oregon, urging us to hold our next annual convention there during the exposition. it was the first time an important body of men had recognized us in this manner, and we gladly responded. so strong a political factor did the men of oregon recognize us to be that every political party in the state asked to be represented on our platform; and one entire evening of the convention was given over to the representatives chosen by the various parties to indorse the suffrage movement. thus we began in oregon the good work we continued in 1906, and of which we reaped the harvest in 1912. next to "suffrage night," the most interesting feature of the exposition to us was the unveiling of the statue of saccawagea, the young indian girl who led the lewis and clark expedition through the dangerous passes of the mountain ranges of the northwest until they reached the pacific coast. this statue, presented to the exposition by the women of oregon, is the belated tribute of the state to its most dauntless pioneer; and no one can look upon the noble face of the young squaw, whose outstretched hand points to the ocean, without marveling over the ingratitude of the nation that ignored her supreme service. to saccawagea is due the opening up of the entire western country. there was no one to guide lewis and clark except this indian, who alone knew the way; and she led the whole party, carrying her papoose on her back. she was only sixteen, but she brought every man safely through an experience of almost unparalleled hardship and danger, nursing them in sickness and setting them an example of unfaltering courage and endurance, until she stood at last on the pacific coast, where her statue stands now, pointing to the wide sweep of the columbia river as it flows into the sea. this recognition by women is the only recognition she ever received. both lewis and clark were sincerely grateful to her and warmly recommended her to the government for reward; but the government allowed her absolutely nothing, though each man in the party she had led was given a large tract of land. tradition says that she was bitterly disappointed, as well she might have been, and her indian brain must have been sadly puzzled. but she was treated little worse than thousands of the white pioneer women who have followed her; and standing: there to-day on the bank of her river, she still seems sorrowfully reflective over the strange ways of the nation she so nobly served. the oregon campaign of 1906 was the carrying out of one of miss anthony's dearest wishes, and we who loved her set about this work soon after her death. in the autumn preceding her passing, headquarters had been established in oregon, and miss laura gregg had been placed in charge, with miss gale laughlin as her associate. as the money for this effort was raised by the national association, it was decided, after some discussion, to let the national association develop the work in oregon, which was admittedly a hard state to carry and full of possible difficulties which soon became actual ones. as a beginning, the legislature had failed to submit an amendment; but as the initiative and referendum was the law in oregon, the amendment was submitted through initiative patent. the task of securing the necessary signatures was not an easy one, but at last a sufficient number of signatures were secured and verified, and the authorities issued the necessary proclamation for the vote, which was to take place at a special election held on the 5th of june. our campaign work had been carried on as extensively as possible, but the distances were great and the workers few, and as a result of the strain upon her miss gregg's health soon failed alarmingly. all this was happening during miss anthony's last illness, and it added greatly to our anxieties. she instructed me to go to oregon immediately after her death and to take her sister mary and her niece lucy with me, and we followed these orders within a week of her funeral, arriving in portland on the third day of april. i had attempted too much, however, and i proved it by fainting as i got off the train, to the horror of the friendly delegation waiting to receive us. the portland women took very tender care of me, and in a few days i was ready for work, but we found conditions even worse than we had expected. miss gregg had collapsed utterly and was unable to give us any information as to what had been done or planned, and we had to make a new foundation. miss laura clay, who had been in the portland work for a few weeks, proved a tower of strength, and we were soon aided further by ida porter boyer, who came on to take charge of the publicity department. during the final six weeks of the campaign alice stone blackwell, of boston, was also with us, while kate gordon took under her special charge the organization of the city of portland and the parlor-meeting work. miss clay went into the state, where emma smith devoe and other speakers were also working, and i spent my time between the office headquarters and "the road," often working at my desk until it was time to rush off and take a train for some town where i was to hold a night meeting. miss mary and miss lucy anthony confined themselves to office-work in the portland headquarters, where they gave us very valuable assistance. i have always believed that we would have carried oregon that year if the disaster of the california earthquake had not occurred to divert the minds of western men from interest in anything save that great catastrophe. on election day it seemed as if the heavens had opened to pour floods upon us. never before or since have i seen such incessant, relentless rain. nevertheless, the women of portland turned out in force, led by mrs. sarah evans, president of the oregon state federation of women's clubs, while all day long dr. pohl took me in her automobile from one polling-place to another. at each we found representative women patiently enduring the drenching rain while they tried to persuade men to vote for us. we distributed sandwiches, courage, and inspiration among them, and tried to cheer in the same way the women watchers, whose appointment we had secured that year for the first time. two women had been admitted to every polling-place--but the way in which we had been able to secure their presence throws a high-light on the difficulties we were meeting. we had to persuade men candidates to select these women as watchers; and the only men who allowed themselves to be persuaded were those running on minority tickets and hopeless of election--the prohibitionists, the socialists, and the candidates of the labor party. the result of the election taught us several things. we had been told that all the prohibitionists and socialists would vote for us. instead, we discovered that the percentage of votes for woman suffrage was about the same in every party, and that whenever the voter had cast a straight vote, without independence enough to "scratch" his ticket, that vote was usually against us. on the other hand, when the ticket was "scratched" the vote was usually in our favor, whatever political party the man belonged to. another interesting discovery was that the early morning vote was favorable to our cause the vote cast by working-men on their way to their employment. during the middle of the forenoon and afternoon, when the idle class was at the polls, the vote ran against us. the late vote, cast as men were returning from their work, was again largely in our favor--and we drew some conclusions from this. also, for the first time in the history of any campaign, the anti-suffragists had organized against us. portland held a small body of women with antisuffrage sentiments, and there were others in the state who formed themselves into an anti-suffrage society and carried on a more or less active warfare. in this campaign, for the first time, obscene cards directed against the suffragists were circulated at the polls; and while i certainly do not accuse the oregon anti-suffragists of circulating them, it is a fact that the cards were distributed as coming from the anti-suffragists--undoubtedly by some vicious element among the men which had its own good reason for opposing us. the "antis" also suffered in this campaign from the "pernicious activity" of their spokesman--a lawyer with an unenviable reputation. after the campaign was over this man declared that it had cost the opponents of our measure $300,000. in 1907 mrs. o. h. p. belmont began to show an interest in suffrage work, and through the influence of several leaders in the movement, notably that of mrs. ida husted harper, she decided to assist in the establishment of national headquarters in the state of new york. for a long time the association's headquarters had been in warren, ohio, the home of mrs. harriet taylor upton, then national treasurer, and it was felt that their removal to a larger city would have a great influence in developing the work. in 1909 mrs. belmont attended as a delegate the meeting of the international suffrage alliance in london, and her interest in the cause deepened. she became convinced that the headquarters of the association should be in new york city, and at our seattle convention that same year i presented to the delegates her generous offer to pay the rent and maintain a press department for two years, on condition that our national headquarters were established in new york. this proposition was most gratefully accepted, and we promptly secured headquarters in one of the most desirable buildings on fifth avenue. the wisdom of the change was demonstrated at once by the extraordinary growth of the work. during our last year in warren, for example, the proceeds from the sale of our literature were between $1,200 and $1,300. during the first year in new york our returns from such sales were between $13,000 and $14,000, and an equal growth was evident in our other departments. at the end of two years mrs. belmont ceased to support the press department or to pay the rent, but her timely aid had put us on our feet, and we were able to continue our splendid progress and to meet our expenses. the special event of 1908 was the successful completion of the fund president m. carey thomas of bryn mawr and miss mary garrett had promised in 1906 to raise for the cause. for some time after miss anthony's death nothing more was said of this, but i knew those two indefatigable friends were not idle, and "aunt susan" had died in the blessed conviction that their success was certain. in 1907 i received a letter from miss thomas telling me that the project was progressing; and later she sent an outline of her plan, which was to ask a certain number of wealthy persons to give five hundred dollars a year each for a term of years. in all, a fund of $60,000 was to be raised, of which we were to have $12,000 a year for five years; $4,500 of the $12,000 was to be paid in salaries to three active officers, and the remaining $7,500 was to go toward the work of the association. the entire fund was to be raised by may 1, 1908, she added, or the plan would be dropped. i was on a lecture tour in ohio in april, 1908, when one night, as i was starting for the hall where the lecture was to be given, my telephone bell rang. "long distance wants you," the operator said, and the next minute a voice i recognized as that of miss thomas was offering congratulations. "the last dollar of the $60,000," she added, "was pledged at four o'clock this afternoon." i was so overcome by the news that i dropped the receiver and shook in a violent nervous attack, and this trembling continued throughout my lecture. it had not seemed possible that such a burden could be lifted from my shoulders; $7,500 a year would greatly aid our work, and $4,500 a year, even though divided among three officers, would be a most welcome help to each. as subsequently arranged, the salaries did not come to us through the national association treasury; they were paid directly by miss thomas and miss garrett as custodians of the fund. so it is quite correct to say that no salaries have ever been paid by the national association to its officers. three years later, in 1911, another glorious surprise came to me in a very innocent-looking letter. it was one of many in a heavy mail, and i opened it absent-mindedly, for the day had been problem-filled. the writer stated very simply that she wished to put a large amount into my hands to invest, to draw on, and to use for the cause as i saw fit. the matter was to be a secret between us, and she wished no subsequent accounting, as she had entire faith in my ability to put the money to the best possible use. the proposition rather dazed me, but i rallied my forces and replied that i was infinitely grateful, but that the amount she mentioned was a large one and i would much prefer to share the responsibility of disbursing it. could she not select one more person, at least, to share the secret and act with me? she replied, telling me to make the selection, if i insisted on having a confidante, and i sent her the names of miss thomas and miss garrett, suggesting that as miss thomas had done so much of the work in connection with the $60,000 fund, miss garrett might be willing to accept the detail work of this fund. my friend replied that either of these ladies would be perfectly satisfactory to her. she knew them both, she said, and i was to arrange the matter as i chose, as it rested wholly in my hands. i used this money in subsequent state campaigns, and i am very sure that to it was largely due the winning of arizona, kansas, and oregon in 1912, and of montana and nevada in 1914. it enabled us for the first time to establish headquarters, secure an office force, and engage campaign speakers. i also spent some of it in the states we lost then but will win later--ohio, wisconsin, and michigan--using in all more than fifteen thousand dollars. in september, 1913, i received another check from the same friend, showing that she at least was satisfied with the results we had achieved. "it goes to you with my love," she wrote, "and my earnest hopes for further success--not the least of this a crowning of your faithful, earnest, splendid work for our beloved cause. how blessed it is that you are our president and leader!" i had talked to this woman only twice in my life, and i had not seen her for years when her first check came; so her confidence in me was an even greater gift than her royal donation toward our cause. xiv. recent campaigns the interval between the winning of idaho and utah in 1896 and that of washington in 1910 seemed very long to lovers of the cause. we were working as hard as ever--harder, indeed, for the opposition against us was growing stronger as our opponents realized what triumphant woman suffrage would mean to the underworld, the grafters, and the whited sepulchers in public office. but in 1910 we were cheered by our washington victory, followed the next year by the winning of california. then, with our splendid banner year of 1912 came the winning of three states--arizona, kansas, and oregon--preceded by a campaign so full of vim and interest that it must have its brief chronicle here. to begin, we conducted in 1912 the largest number of campaigns we had ever undertaken, working in six states in which constitutional amendments were pending--ohio, michigan, wisconsin, oregon, arizona, and kansas. personally, i began my work in ohio in august, with the modest aspiration of speaking in each of the principal towns in every one of these states. in michigan i had the invaluable assistance of mrs. lawrence lewis, of philadelphia, and i visited at this time the region of my old home, greatly changed since the days of my girlhood, and talked to the old friends and neighbors who had turned out in force to welcome me. they showed their further interest in the most satisfactory way, by carrying the amendment in their part of the state. at least four and five speeches a day were expected, and as usual we traveled in every sort of conveyance, from freight-cars to eighty horse-power french automobiles. in eau clair, wisconsin, i spoke at the races immediately after the passing of a procession of cattle. at the end of the procession rode a woman in an ox-cart, to represent pioneer days. she wore a calico gown and a sunbonnet, and drove her ox-team with genuine skill; and the last touch to the picture she made was furnished by the presence of a beautiful biplane which whirred lightly in the air above her. the obvious comparison was too good to ignore, so i told my hearers that their women to-day were still riding in ox-teams while the men soared in the air, and that women's work in the world's service could be properly done only when they too were allowed to fly. in oregon we were joined by miss lucy anthony. there, at pendleton, i spoke during the great "round up," holding the meeting at night on the street, in which thousands of horsemen--cowboys, indians, and ranchmen--were riding up and down, blowing horns, shouting, and singing. it seemed impossible to interest an audience under such conditions, but evidently the men liked variety, for when we began to speak they quieted down and closed around us until we had an audience that filled the streets in every direction and as far as our voices could reach. never have we had more courteous or enthusiastic listeners than those wild and happy horsemen. best of all, they not only cheered our sentiments, but they followed up their cheers with their votes. i spoke from an automobile, and when i had finished one of the cowboys rode close to me and asked for my new york address. "you will hear from me later," he said, when he had made a note of it. in time i received a great linen banner, on which he had made a superb pen-and-ink sketch of himself and his horse, and in every corner sketches of scenes in the different states where women voted, together with drawings of all the details of cowboy equipment. over these were drawn the words: woman suffrage--we are all for it. the banner hangs to-day in the national headquarters. in california mr. edwards presented me with the money to purchase the diamond in miss anthony's flag pin representing the victory of his state the preceding year; and in arizona one of the highlights of the campaign was the splendid effort of mrs. frances munds, the state president, and mrs. alice park, of palo alto, california, who were carrying on the work in their headquarters with tremendous courage, and, as it seemed to me, almost unaided. mrs. park's specialty was the distribution of suffrage literature, which she circulated with remarkable judgment. the governor of arizona was in favor of our cause, but there were so few active workers available that to me, at least, the winning of the state was a happy surprise. in kansas we stole some of the prestige of champ clark, who was making political speeches in the same region. at one station a brass-band and a great gathering were waiting for mr. clark's train just as our train drew in; so the local suffragists persuaded the band to play for us, too, and i made a speech to the inspiring accompaniment of "hail to the chief." the passengers on our train were greatly impressed, thinking it was all for us; the crowd at the station were glad to be amused until the great man came, and i was glad of the opportunity to talk to so many representative men--so we were all happy. in the soldiers' home at leavenworth i told the old men of the days when my father and brothers left us in the wilderness, and my mother and i cared for the home while they fought at the front--and i have always believed that much of the large vote we received at leavenworth was cast by those old soldiers. no one who knows the conditions doubts that we really won michigan that year as well as the three other states, but strange things were done in the count. for example, in one precinct in detroit forty more votes were counted against our amendment than there were voters in the district. in other districts there were seven or eight more votes than voters. under these conditions it is not surprising that, after the vigorous recounting following the first wide-spread reports of our success, michigan was declared lost to us. the campaign of 1914, in which we won montana and nevada, deserves special mention here. i must express also my regret that as this book will be on the presses before the campaign of 1915 is ended, i cannot include in these reminiscences the results of our work in new york and other states. as a beginning of the 1914 campaign i spent a day in chicago, on the way to south dakota, to take my part in a moving-picture suffrage play. it was my first experience as an actress, and i found it a taxing one. as a modest beginning i was ordered to make a speech in thirty-three seconds--something of a task, as my usual time allowance for a speech is one hour. the manager assured me, however, that a speech of thirty-three seconds made twenty-seven feet of film--enough, he thought, to convert even a lieutenant-governor! the dakota campaigns, as usual, resolved themselves largely into feats of physical endurance, in which i was inspired by the fine example of the state presidents--mrs. john pyle of south dakota and mrs. clara v. darrow of north dakota. every day we made speeches from the rear platform of the trains on which we were traveling--sometimes only two or three, sometimes half a dozen. one day i rode one hundred miles in an automobile and spoke in five different towns. another day i had to make a journey in a freight-car. it was, with a few exceptions, the roughest traveling i had yet known, and it took me six hours to reach my destination. while i was gathering up hair-pins and pulling myself together to leave the car at the end of the ride i asked the conductor how far we had traveled. "forty miles," said he, tersely. "that means forty miles ahead," i murmured. "how far up and down?" "oh, a hundred miles up and down," grinned the conductor, and the exchange of persiflage cheered us both. though we did not win, i have very pleasant memories of north dakota, for mrs. darrow accompanied me during the entire campaign, and took every burden from my shoulders so efficiently that i had nothing to do but make speeches. in montana our most interesting day was that of the state fair, which ended with a suffrage parade that i was invited to lead. on this occasion the suffragists wished me to wear my cap and gown and my doctor's hood, but as i had not brought those garments with me, we borrowed and i proudly wore the cap and gown of the unitarian minister. it was a small but really beautiful parade, and all the costumes for it were designed by the state president, miss jeannette rankin, to whose fine work, by the way, combined with the work of her friends, the winning of montana was largely due. in butte the big strike was on, and the town was under martial law. a large banquet was given us there, and when we drove up to the club-house where this festivity was to be held we were stopped by two armed guards who confronted us with stern faces and fixed bayonets. the situation seemed so absurd that i burst into happy laughter, and thus deeply offended the earnest young guards who were grasping the fixed bayonets. this sad memory was wiped out, however, by the interest of the banquet--a very delightful affair, attended by the mayor of butte and other local dignitaries. in nevada the most interesting feature of the campaign was the splendid work of the women. in each of the little towns there was the same spirit of ceaseless activity and determination. the president of the state association, miss anne martin, who was at the head of the campaign work, accompanied me one sunday when we drove seventy miles in a motor and spoke four times, and she was also my companion in a wonderful journey over the mountains. miss martin was a tireless and worthy leader of the fine workers in her state. in missouri, under the direction of mrs. walter mcnabb miller, and in nebraska, where mrs. e. draper smith was managing the campaign, we had some inspiring meetings. at lincoln mrs. william jennings bryan introduced me to the biggest audience of the year, and the programme took on a special interest from the fact that it included mrs. bryan's debut as a speaker for suffrage. she is a tall and attractive woman with an extremely pleasant voice, and she made an admirable speech--clear, terse, and much to the point, putting herself on record as a strong supporter of the woman-suffrage movement. there was also an amusing aftermath of this occasion, which secretary bryan himself confided to me several months later when i met him in atlantic city. he assured me, with the deep sincerity he assumes so well, that for five nights after my speech in lincoln his wife had kept him awake listening to her report of it--and he added, solemnly, that he now knew it "by heart." a less pleasing memory of nebraska is that i lost my voice there and my activities were sadly interrupted. but i was taken to the home of mr. and mrs. francis a. brogan, of omaha, and supplied with a trained nurse, a throat specialist, and such care and comfort that i really enjoyed the enforced rest--knowing, too, that the campaign committee was carrying on our work with great enthusiasm. in missouri one of our most significant meetings was in bowling green, the home of champ clark, speaker of the house. mrs. clark gave a reception, made a speech, and introduced me at the meeting, as mrs. bryan had done in lincoln. she is one of the brightest memories of my missouri experience, for, with few exceptions, she is the most entertaining woman i have ever met. subsequently we had an all-day motor journey together, during which mrs. clark rarely stopped talking and i even more rarely stopped laughing. xv. convention incidents from 1887 to 1914 we had a suffrage convention every year, and i attended each of them. in preceding chapters i have mentioned various convention episodes of more or less importance. now, looking back over them all as i near the end of these reminiscences, i recall a few additional incidents which had a bearing on later events. there was, for example, the much-discussed attack on suffrage during the atlanta convention of 1895, by a prominent clergyman of that city whose name i mercifully withhold. on the sunday preceding our arrival this gentleman preached a sermon warning every one to keep away from our meetings, as our effort was not to secure the franchise for women, but to encourage the intermarriage of the black and white races. incidentally he declared that the suffragists were trying to break up the homes of america and degrade the morals of women, and that we were all infidels and blasphemers. he ended with a personal attack on me, saying that on the previous sunday i had preached in the epworth memorial methodist church of cleveland, ohio, a sermon which was of so blasphemous a nature that nothing could purify the church after it except to burn it down. as usual at our conventions, i had been announced to preach the sermon at our sunday conference, and i need hardly point out that the reverend gentleman's charge created a deep public interest in this effort. i had already selected a text, but i immediately changed my plans and announced that i would repeat the sermon i had delivered in cleveland and which the atlanta minister considered so blasphemous. the announcement brought out an audience which filled the opera house and called for a squad of police officers to keep in order the street crowd that could not secure entrance. the assemblage had naturally expected that i would make some reply to the clergyman's attack, but i made no reference whatever to him. i merely repeated, with emphasis, the sermon i had delivered in cleveland. at the conclusion of the service one of the trustees of my reverend critic's church came and apologized for his pastor. he had a high regard for him, the trustee said, but in this instance there could be no doubt in the mind of any one who had heard both sermons that of the two mine was the tolerant, the reverent, and the christian one. the attack made many friends for us, first because of its injustice, and next because of the good-humored tolerance with which the suffragists accepted it. the atlanta convention, by the way, was arranged and largely financed by the misses howard--three sisters living in columbus, georgia, and each an officer of the georgia woman suffrage association. it is a remarkable fact that in many of our southern states the suffrage movement has been led by three sisters. in kentucky the three clay sisters were for many years leaders in the work. in texas the three finnegan sisters did splendid work; in louisiana the gordon sisters were our stanchest allies, while in virginia we had the invaluable aid of mary johnston, the novelist, and her two sisters. we used to say, laughingly, if there was a failure to organize any state in the south, that it must be due to the fact that no family there had three sisters to start the movement. from the atlanta convention we went directly to washington to attend the convention of the national council of women, and on the first day of this council frederick douglass came to the meeting. mr. douglass had a special place in the hearts of suffragists, for the reason that at the first convention ever held for woman suffrage in the united states (at seneca falls, new york) he was the only person present who stood by elizabeth cady stanton when she presented her resolution in favor of votes for women. even lucretia mott was startled by this radical step, and privately breathed into the ear of her friend, "elizabeth, thee is making us ridiculous!" frederick douglass, however, took the floor in defense of mrs. stanton's motion, a service we suffragists never forgot. therefore, when the presiding officer of the council, mrs. may wright sewall, saw mr. douglass enter the convention hall in washington on this particular morning, she appointed susan b. anthony and me a committee to escort him to a seat on the platform, which we gladly did. mr. douglass made a short speech and then left the building, going directly to his home. there, on entering his hall, he had an attack of heart failure and dropped dead as he was removing his overcoat. his death cast a gloom over the convention, and his funeral, which took place three days later, was attended by many prominent men and women who were among the delegates. miss anthony and i were invited to take part in the funeral services, and she made a short address, while i offered a prayer. the event had an aftermath in atlanta, for it led our clerical enemy to repeat his charges against us, and to offer the funeral of frederick douglass as proof that we were hand in glove with the negro race. under the gracious direction of miss kate gordon and the louisiana woman suffrage association, we held an especially inspiring convention in new orleans in 1903. in no previous convention were arrangements more perfect, and certainly nowhere else did the men of a community co-operate more generously with the women in entertaining us. a club of men paid the rent of our hall, chartered a steamboat and gave us a ride on the mississippi, and in many other ways helped to make the occasion a success. miss gordon, who was chairman of the programme committee, introduced the innovation of putting me before the audience for twenty minutes every evening, at the close of the regular session, as a target for questions. those present were privileged to ask any questions they pleased, and i answered them--if i could. we were all conscious of the dangers attending a discussion of the negro question, and it was understood among the northern women that we must take every precaution to avoid being led into such discussion. it had not been easy to persuade miss anthony of the wisdom of this course; her way was to face issues squarely and out in the open. but she agreed that we must respect the convictions of the southern men and women who were entertaining us so hospitably. on the opening night, as i took my place to answer questions, almost the first slip passed up bore these words: what is your purpose in bringing your convention to the south? is it the desire of suffragists to force upon us the social equality of black and white women? political equality lays the foundation for social equality. if you give the ballot to women, won't you make the black and white woman equal politically and therefore lay the foundation for a future claim of social equality? i laid the paper on one side and did not answer the question. the second night it came to me again, put in the same words, and again i ignored it. the third night it came with this addition: evidently you do not dare to answer this question. therefore our conclusion is that this is your purpose. when i had read this i went to the front of the platform. "here," i said, "is a question which has been asked me on three successive nights. i have not answered it because we northern women had decided not to enter into any discussion of the race question. but now i am told by the writer of this note that we dare not answer it. i wish to say that we dare to answer it if you dare to have it answered--and i leave it to you to decide whether i shall answer it or not." i read the question aloud. then the audience called for the answer, and i gave it in these words, quoted as accurately as i can remember them: "if political equality is the basis of social equality, and if by granting political equality you lay the foundation for a claim of social equality, i can only answer that you have already laid that claim. you did not wait for woman suffrage, but disfranchised both your black and your white women, thus making them politically equal. but you have done more than that. you have put the ballot into the hands of your black men, thus making them the political superiors of your white women. never before in the history of the world have men made former slaves the political masters of their former mistresses!" the point went home and it went deep. i drove it in a little further. "the women of the south are not alone," i said, "in their humiliation. all the women of america share it with them. there is no other nation in the world in which women hold the position of political degradation our american women hold to-day. german women are governed by german men; french women are governed by french men. but in these united states american women are governed by every race of men under the light of the sun. there is not a color from white to black, from red to yellow, there is not a nation from pole to pole, that does not send its contingent to govern american women. if american men are willing to leave their women in a position as degrading as this they need not be surprised when american women resolve to lift themselves out of it." for a full moment after i had finished there was absolute silence in the audience. we did not know what would happen. then, suddenly, as the truth of the statement struck them, the men began to applaud--and the danger of that situation was over. another episode had its part in driving the suffrage lesson home to southern women. the legislature had passed a bill permitting tax-paying women to vote at any election where special taxes were to be imposed for improvements, and the first election following the passage of this bill was one in new orleans, in which the question of better drainage for the city was before the public. miss gordon and the suffrage association known as the era club entered enthusiastically into the fight for good drainage. according to the law women could vote by proxy if they preferred, instead of in person, so miss gordon drove to the homes of the old conservative creole families and other families whose women were unwilling to vote in public, and she collected their proxies while incidentally she showed them what position they held under the law. with each proxy it was necessary to have the signature of a witness, but according to the louisiana law no woman could witness a legal document. miss gordon was driven from place to place by her colored coachman, and after she had secured the proxy of her temporary hostess it was usually discovered that there was no man around the place to act as a witness. this was miss gordon's opportunity. with a smile of great sweetness she would say, "i will have sam come in and help us out"; and the colored coachman would get down from his box, and by scrawling his signature on the proxy of the aristocratic lady he would give it the legal value it lacked. in this way miss gordon secured three hundred proxies, and three hundred very conservative women had an opportunity to compare their legal standing with sam's. the drainage bill was carried and interest in woman suffrage developed steadily. the special incident of the buffalo convention of 1908 was the receipt of a note which was passed up to me as i sat on the platform. when i opened it a check dropped out--a check so large that i was sure it had been sent by mistake. however, after asking one or two friends on the platform if i had read it correctly, i announced to the audience that if a certain amount were subscribed immediately i would reveal a secret--a very interesting secret. audiences are as curious as individuals. the amount was at once subscribed. then i held up a check for $10,000, given for our campaign work by mrs. george howard lewis, in memory of susan b. anthony, and i read to the audience the charming letter that accompanied it. the money was used during the campaigns of the following year--part of it in washington, where an amendment was already submitted. in a previous chapter i have described the establishment of our new york headquarters as a result of the generous offer of mrs. o. h. p. belmont at the seattle convention in 1909. during our first year in these beautiful fifth avenue rooms mrs. pankhurst made her first visit to america, and we gave her a reception there. this, however, was before the adoption of the destructive methods which have since marked the activities of the band of militant suffragists of which mrs. pankhurst is president. there has never been any sympathy among american suffragists for the militant suffrage movement in england, and personally i am wholly opposed to it. i do not believe in war in any form; and if violence on the part of men is undesirable in achieving their ends, it is much more so on the part of women; for women never appear to less advantage than in physical combats with men. as for militancy in america, no generation that attempted it could win. no victory could come to us in any state where militant methods were tried. they are undignified, unworthy--in other words, un-american. the washington convention of 1910 was graced by the presence of president taft, who, at the invitation of mrs. rachel foster avery, made an address. it was understood, of course, that he was to come out strongly for woman suffrage; but, to our great disappointment, the president, a most charming and likable gentleman, seemed unable to grasp the significance of the occasion. he began his address with fulsome praise of women, which was accepted in respectful silence. then he got round to woman suffrage, floundered helplessly, became confused, and ended with the most unfortunately chosen words he could have uttered: "i am opposed," he said, "to the extension of suffrage to women not fitted to vote. you would hardly expect to put the ballot into the hands of barbarians or savages in the jungle!" the dropping of these remarkable words into a suffrage convention was naturally followed by an oppressive silence, which mr. taft, now wholly bereft of his self-possession, broke by saying that the best women would not vote and the worst women would. in his audience were many women from suffrage states--high-minded women, wives and mothers, who had voted for mr. taft. the remarks to which they had just listened must have seemed to them a poor return. some one hissed--some man, some woman--no one knows which except the culprit--and a demonstration started which i immediately silenced. then the president finished his address. he was very gracious to us when he left, shaking hands with many of us, and being especially cordial to senator owens's aged mother, who had come to the convention to hear him make his maiden speech on woman suffrage. i have often wondered what he thought of that speech as he drove back to the white house. probably he regretted as earnestly as we did that he had made it. in 1912, at an official board meeting at bryn mawr, mrs. stanley mccormack was appointed to fill a vacancy on the national board. subsequently she contributed $6,000 toward the payment of debts incident to our temporary connection with the woman's journal of boston, and did much efficient work for us, to me, personally, the entrance of mrs. stanley mccormack into our work has been a source of the deepest gratification and comfort. i can truly say of her what susan b. anthony said of me, "she is my right bower." at nashville, in 1914, she was elected first vice-president, and to a remarkable degree she has since relieved me of the burden of the technical work of the presidency, including the oversight of the work at headquarters. to this she gives all her time, aided by an executive secretary who takes charge of the routine work of the association. she has thus made it possible for me to give the greater part of my time to the field in which such inspiring opportunities still confront us--campaign work in the various states. to mrs. medill mccormack also we are indebted for most admirable work and enthusiastic support. at the washington (d.c.) convention in 1913 she was made the chairman of the congressional committee, with mrs. antoinette funk, mrs. helen gardner of washington, and mrs. booth of chicago as her assistants. the results they achieved were so brilliant that they were unanimously re-elected to the same positions this year, with the addition of miss jeannette rankin, whose energy and service had helped to win for us the state of montana. it was largely due to the work of this congressional committee, supported by the large number of states which had been won for suffrage, that we secured such an excellent vote in the lower house of congress on the bill to amend the national constitution granting suffrage to the women of the united states. this measure, known as the susan b. anthony bill, had been introduced into every congress for forty-three years by the national woman suffrage association. in 1914, for the first time, it was brought out of committee, debated, and voted upon in the lower house. we received 174 votes in favor of it to 204 against it. the previous spring, in the same congress, the same bill passed the senate by 35 votes for it to 33 votes against it. the most interesting features of the washington convention of 1913 were the labor mass-meetings led by jane addams and the hearing before the rules committee of the lower house of congress--the latter the first hearing ever held before this committee for the purpose of securing a committee on suffrage in the lower house to correspond with a similar committee in the senate. for many years we had had hearings before the judiciary committee of the lower house, which was such a busy committee that it had neither time nor interest to give to our measure. we therefore considered it necessary to have a special committee of our own. the hearing began on the morning of wednesday, the third of december, and lasted for two hours. then the anti-suffragists were given time, and their hearing began the following day, continued throughout that day and during the morning of the next day, when our national association was given an opportunity for rebuttal argument in the afternoon. it was the longest hearing in the history of the suffrage movement, and one of the most important. during the session of congress in 1914 another strenuous effort was made to secure the appointment of a special suffrage committee in the lower house. but when success began to loom large before us the democrats were called in caucus by the minority leader, mr. underwood, of alabama, and they downed our measure by a vote of 127 against it to 58 for it. this was evidently done by the democrats because of the fear that the united votes of republican and progressive members, with those of certain democratic members, would carry the measure; whereas if this caucus were called, and an unfavorable vote taken, "the gentlemen's agreement" which controls democratic party action in congress would force democrats in favor of suffrage to vote against the appointment of the committee, which of course would insure its defeat. the caucus blocked the appointment of the committee, but it gave great encouragement to the suffragists of the country, for they knew it to be a tacit admission that the measure would receive a favorable vote if it came before congress unhampered. another feature of the 1913 convention was the new method of electing officers, by which a primary vote was taken on nominations, and afterward a regular ballot was cast; one officer was added to the members of the official board, making nine instead of eight, the former number. the new officers elected were mrs. breckenridge of kentucky, the great-granddaughter of henry clay, and mrs. catherine ruutz-rees of greenwich, connecticut. the old officers were re-elected--miss jane addams as first vice-president, mrs. breckenridge and mrs. ruutz-rees as second and third vice-presidents, mrs. mary ware dennett as corresponding secretary, mrs. susan fitzgerald as recording secretary, mrs. stanley mccormack as treasurer, mrs. joseph bowen of chicago and mrs. james lees laidlaw of new york city as auditors. it would be difficult to secure a group of women of more marked ability, or better-known workers in various lines of philanthropic and educational work, than the members composing this admirable board. at the convention of 1914, held in nashville, several of them resigned, and at present (in 1914) the "national's" affairs are in the hands of this inspiring group, again headed by the much-criticized and chastened writer of these reminiscences: mrs. stanley mccormack, first vice-president. mrs. desha breckenridge, second vice-president. dr. katharine b. davis, third vice-president. mrs. henry wade rogers, treasurer. mrs. john clark, corresponding secretary. mrs. susan walker fitzgerald, recording secretary. mrs. medill mccormack, } } auditors mrs. walter mcnabb miller, of missouri } in a book of this size, and covering the details of my own life as well as the development of the great cause, it is, of course, impossible to mention by name each woman who has worked for us--though, indeed, i would like to make a roll of honor and give them all their due. in looking back i am surprised to see how little i have said about many women with whom i have worked most closely--rachel foster avery, for example, with whom i lived happily for several years; ida husted harper, the historian of the suffrage movement and the biographer of miss anthony, with whom i made many delightful voyages to europe; alice stone blackwell, rev. mary saffard, jane addams, katharine waugh mccullough, ella stewart, mrs. mary wood swift, mrs. mary s. sperry, mary cogshall, florence kelly, mrs. ogden mills reid and mrs. norman whitehouse (to mention only two of the younger "live wires" in our new york work), sophonisba breckenridge, mrs. clara b. arthur, rev. caroline bartlett crane, mrs. james lees laidlaw, mrs. raymond brown, the splendidly executive president of our new york state suffrage association, and my benefactress, mrs. george howard lewis of buffalo. to all of them, and to thousands of others, i make my grateful acknowledgment of indebtedness for friendship and for help. xvi. council episodes i have said much of the interest attending the international meetings held in chicago, london, berlin, and stockholm. that i have said less about those in copenhagen, geneva, the hague, budapest, and other cities does not mean that these were less important, and certainly the wonderful women leaders of europe who made them so brilliant must not be passed over in silence. first, however, the difference between the suffrage alliance meetings and the international council meetings should be explained. the council meetings are made up of societies from the various nations which are auxiliary to the international council--these societies representing all lines of women's activities, whether educational, industrial, or social, while the membership, including more than eleven million women, represents probably the largest organization of women in the world. the international suffrage alliance represents the suffrage interest primarily, whereas the international council has only a suffrage department. so popular did this international alliance become after its formation in berlin by mrs. catt, in 1904, that at the copenhagen meeting, only three years later, more than sixteen different nations were represented by regular delegates. it was unfortunate, therefore, that i chose this occasion to make a spectacular personal failure in the pulpit. i had been invited to preach the convention sermon, and for the first time in my life i had an interpreter. few experiences, i believe, can be more unpleasant than to stand up in a pulpit, utter a remark, and then wait patiently while it is repeated in a tongue one does not understand, by a man who is putting its gist in his own words and quite possibly giving it his own interpretative twist. i was very unhappy, and i fear i showed it, for i felt, as i looked at the faces of those friends who understood danish, that they were not getting what i was giving them. nor were they, for i afterward learned that the interpreter, a good orthodox brother, had given the sermon an ultra-orthodox bias which those who knew my creed certainly did not recognize. the whole experience greatly disheartened me, but no doubt it was good for my soul. during the copenhagen meeting we were given a banquet by the city council, and in the course of his speech of welcome one of the city fathers airily remarked that he hoped on our next visit to copenhagen there would be women members in the council to receive us. at the time this seemed merely a pleasant jest, but two years from that day a bill was enacted by parliament granting municipal suffrage to the women of denmark, and seven women were elected to the city council of copenhagen. so rapidly does the woman suffrage movement grow in these inspiring days! recalling the international council of 1899 in london, one of my most vivid pictures has queen victoria for its central figure. the english court was in mourning at the time and no public audiences were being held; but we were invited to windsor with the understanding that, although the queen could not formally receive us, she would pass through our lines, receiving lady aberdeen and giving the rest of us an opportunity to courtesy and obtain her majesty's recognition of the cause. the queen arranged with her chamberlain that we should be given tea and a collation; but before this refreshment was served, indeed immediately after our arrival, she entered her familiar little pony-cart and was driven slowly along lines of bowing women who must have looked like a wheat-field in a high wind. among us was a group of indian women, and these, dressed in their native costumes, contributed a picturesque bit of brilliant color to the scene as they deeply salaamed. they arrested the eye of the queen, who stopped and spoke a few cordial words to them. this gave the rest of us an excellent opportunity to observe her closely, and i admit that my english blood stirred in me suddenly and loyally as i studied the plump little figure. she was dressed entirely and very simply in black, with a quaint flat black hat and a black cape. the only bit of color about her was a black-and-white parasol with a gold handle. it was, however, her face which held me, for it gave me a wholly different impression of the queen from those i had received from her photographs. her pictured eyes were always rather cold, and her pictured face rather haughty; but there was a very sweet and winning softness in the eyes she turned upon the indian women, and her whole expression was unexpectedly gentle and benignant. behind her, as a personal attendant, strode an enormous east-indian in full native costume, and closely surrounding her were gentlemen of her household, each in uniform. by this time my thoughts were on my courtesy, which i desired to make conventional if not graceful; but nature has not made it easy for me to double to the earth as lady aberdeen and the indian women were doing, and i fear i accomplished little save an exhibition of good intentions. the queen, however, was getting into the spirit of the occasion. she stopped to speak to a canadian representative, and she would, i think, have ended by talking to many others; but, just at the psychological moment, a woman rushed out of the line, seized her majesty's hand and kissed it--and victoria, startled and possibly fearing a general onslaught, hurriedly passed on. another picture i recall was made by the duchess of sutherland, the countess of aberdeen, and the countess of warwick standing together to receive us at the foot of the marble stairway in sutherland house. all of them literally blazed with jewels, and the countess of aberdeen wore the famous aberdeen emerald. at lady battersea's reception i had my first memorial meeting with mary anderson navarro, and was able to thank her for the pleasure she had given me in boston so long ago. then i reproached her mildly for taking herself away from us, pointing out that a great gift had been given her which she should have continued to share with the world. "come and see my baby," laughed madame navarro. "that's the best argument i can offer to refute yours." at the same reception i had an interesting talk with james bryce. he had recently written his american commonwealth, and i had just read it. it was, therefore, the first subject i introduced in our conversation. mr. bryce's comment amused me. he told me he had quite changed his opinion toward the suffrage aspirations of women, because so many women had read his book that he really believed they were intelligent, and he had come to feel much more kindly toward them. these were not his exact words, but his meaning was unmistakable and his mental attitude artlessly sincere. and, on reflection, i agree with him that the american commonwealth is something of an intellectual hurdle for the average human mind. in 1908 the international council was held in geneva, and here, for the first time, we were shown, as entertainment, the dances of a country--the scene being an especially brilliant one, as all the dancers wore their native costumes. also, for the first time in the history of geneva, the buildings of parliament were opened to women and a woman's organization was given the key to the city. at that time the swiss women were making their fight for a vote in church matters, and we helped their cause as much as we could. to-day many swiss women are permitted to exercise this right--the first political privilege free switzerland has given them. the international alliance meeting in amsterdam in 1909 was the largest held up to that time, and much of its success was due to dr. aletta jacobs, the president of the national suffrage association of holland. dr. jacobs had some wonderful helpers among the women of her country, and she herself was an ideal leader--patient, enthusiastic, and tireless. that year the governments of australia, norway, and finland paid the expenses of the delegates from those countries--a heartening innovation. one of the interesting features of the meeting was a cantata composed for the occasion and given by the queen's royal band, under the direction of a woman--catharine van rennes, one of the most distinguished composers and teachers in holland. she wrote both words and music of her cantata and directed it admirably; and the musicians of the queen's band entered fully into its spirit and played like men inspired. that night we had more music, as well as a never-to-be-forgotten exhibition of folk-dancing. the same year, in june, we held the meeting of the international council in toronto, and, as canada has never been eagerly interested in suffrage, an unsuccessful effort was made to exclude this subject from the programme. i was asked to preside at the suffrage meetings on the artless and obvious theory that i would thus be kept too busy to say much. i had hoped that the countess of aberdeen, who was the president of the international council, would take the chair; but she declined to do this, or even to speak, as the earl of aberdeen had recently been appointed viceroy of ireland, and she desired to spare him any embarrassment which might be caused by her public activities. we recognized the wisdom of her decision, but, of course, regretted it; and i was therefore especially pleased when, on suffrage night, the countess, accompanied by her aides in their brilliant uniforms, entered the hall. we had not been sure that she would be with us, but she entered in her usual charming and gracious manner, took a seat beside me on the platform, and showed a deep interest in the programme and the great gathering before us. as the meeting went on i saw that she was growing more and more enthusiastic, and toward the end of the evening i quietly asked her if she did not wish to say a few words. she said she would say a very few. i had put myself at the end of the programme, intending to talk about twenty minutes; but before beginning my speech i introduced the countess, and by this time she was so enthusiastic that, to my great delight, she used up my twenty minutes in a capital speech in which she came out vigorously for woman suffrage. it gave us the best and timeliest help we could have had, and was a great impetus to the movement. in london, at the alliance council of 1911, we were entertained for the first time by a suffrage organization of men, and by the organized actresses of the nation, as well as by the authors. in stockholm, the following year, we listened to several of the most interesting women speakers in the world--selma lagerlof, who had just received the nobel prize, rosica schwimmer of hungary, dr. augsburg of munich, and mrs. philip snowden of england. miss schwimmer and mrs. snowden have since become familiar to american audiences, but until that time i had not heard either of them, and i was immensely impressed by their ability and their different methods--miss schwimmer being all force and fire, alive from her feet to her finger-tips, mrs. snowden all quiet reserve and dignity. dr. augsburg wore her hair short and dressed in a most eccentric manner; but we forgot her appearance as we listened to her, for she was an inspired speaker. selma lagerlof's speech made the great audience weep. men as well as women openly wiped their eyes as she described the sacrifice and suffering of swedish women whose men had gone to america to make a home there, and who, when they were left behind, struggled alone, waiting and hoping for the message to join their husbands, which too often never came. the speech made so great an impression that we had it translated and distributed among the swedes of the united states wherever we held meetings in swedish localities. miss lagerlof interested me extremely, and i was delighted by an invitation to breakfast with her one morning. at our first meeting she had seemed rather cold and shy--a little "difficult," as we say; but when we began to talk i found her frank, cordial, and full of magnetism. she is self-conscious about her english, but really speaks our language very well. her great interest at the time was in improving the condition of the peasants near her home. she talked of this work and of her books and of the council programme with such friendly intimacy that when we parted i felt that i had always known her. at the hague council in 1913 i was the guest of mrs. richard halter, to whom i am also indebted for a beautiful and wonderful motor journey from end to end of holland, bringing up finally in amsterdam at the home of dr. aletta jacobs. here we met two young holland women, miss boissevain and rosa manus, both wealthy, both anxious to help their countrywomen, but still a little uncertain as to the direction of their efforts. they came to mrs. catt and me and asked our advice as to what they should do, with the result that later they organized and put through, largely unaided, a national exposition showing the development of women's work from 1813 to 1913. the suffrage-room at this exposition showed the progress of suffrage in all parts of the world; but when the queen of holland visited the building she expressed a wish not to be detained in this room, as she was not interested in suffrage. the prince consort, however, spent much time in it, and wanted the whole suffrage movement explained to him, which was done cheerfully and thoroughly by miss boissevain and miss manus. the following winter, when the queen read her address from the throne, she expressed an interest in so changing the constitution of holland that suffrage might possibly be extended to women. we felt that this change of heart was due to the suffrage-room arranged by our two young friends--aided, probably, by a few words from the prince consort! immediately after these days at amsterdam we started for budapest to attend the international alliance convention there, and incidentally we indulged in a series of two-day conventions en route--one at berlin, one at dresden, one at prague, and one at vienna. at prague i disgraced myself by being in my hotel room in a sleep of utter exhaustion at the hour when i was supposed to be responding to an address of welcome by the mayor; and the high-light of the evening session in that city falls on the intellectual brow of a bohemian lady who insisted on making her address in the czech language, which she poured forth for exactly one hour and fifteen minutes. i began my address at a quarter of twelve and left the hall at midnight. later i learned that the last speaker began her remarks at a quarter past one in the morning. it may be in order to add here that vienna did for me what berlin had done for susan b. anthony--it gave me the ovation of my life. at the conclusion of my speech the great audience rose and, still standing, cheered for many minutes. i was immensely surprised and deeply touched by the unexpected tribute; but any undue elation i might have experienced was checked by the memory of the skeptical snort with which one of my auditors had received me. he was very german, and very, very frank. after one pained look at me he rose to leave the hall. "that old woman!" he exclaimed. "she cannot make herself heard." he was half-way down the aisle when the opening words of my address caught up with him and stopped him. whatever their meaning may have been, it was at least carried to the far ends of that great hall, for the old fellow had piqued me a bit and i had given my voice its fullest volume. he crowded into an already over-occupied pew and stared at me with goggling eyes. "mein gott!" he gasped. "mein gott, she could be heard anywhere." the meeting at budapest was a great personal triumph for mrs. catt. no one, i am sure, but the almost adored president of the international suffrage alliance could have controlled a convention made up of women of so many different nationalities, with so many different viewpoints, while the confusion of languages made a general understanding seem almost hopeless. but it was a great success in every way--and a delightful feature of it was the hospitality of the city officials and, indeed, of the whole hungarian people. after the convention i spent a week with the contessa iska teleki in her chateau in the tatra mountains, and a friendship was there formed which ever since has been a joy to me. together we walked miles over the mountains and along the banks of wonderful streams, while the countess, who knows all the folk-lore of her land, told me stories and answered my innumerable questions. when i left for vienna i took with me a basket of tiny fir-trees from the tops of the tatras; and after carrying the basket to and around vienna, florence, and genoa, i finally got the trees home in good condition and proudly added them to the "forest of arden" on my place at moylan. xvii. vale! in looking back over the ten years of my administration as president of the national american woman suffrage association, there can be no feeling but gratitude and elation over the growth of the work. our membership has grown from 17,000 women to more than 200,000, and the number of auxiliary societies has increased in proportion. instead of the old-time experience of one campaign in ten years, we now have from five to ten campaigns each year. from an original yearly expenditure of $14,000 or $15,000 in our campaign work, we now expend from $40,000 to $50,000. in new york, in 1915, we have already received pledges of $150,000 for the new york state campaign alone, while pennsylvania, massachusetts, and new jersey have made pledges in proportion. in 1906 full suffrage prevailed in four states; we now have it in twelve. our movement has advanced from its academic stage until it has become a vital political factor; no reform in the country is more heralded by the press or receives more attention from the public. it has become an issue which engages the attention of the entire nation--and toward this result every woman working for the cause has contributed to an inspiring degree. splendid team-work, and that alone, has made our present success possible and our eventual triumph in every state inevitable. every officer in our organization, every leader in our campaigns, every speaker, every worker in the ranks, however humble, has done her share. i do not claim anything so fantastic and utopian as universal harmony among us. we have had our troubles and our differences. i have had mine. at every annual convention since the one at washington in 1910 there has been an effort to depose me from the presidency. there have been some splendid fighters among my opponents--fine and high-minded women who sincerely believe that at sixty-eight i am getting too old for my big job. possibly i am. certainly i shall resign it with alacrity when the majority of women in the organization wish me to do so. at present a large majority proves annually that it still has faith in my leadership, and with this assurance i am content to work on. looking back over the period covered by these reminiscences, i realize that there is truth in the grave charge that i am no longer young; and this truth was once voiced by one of my little nieces in a way that brought it strongly home to me. she and her small sister of six had declared themselves suffragettes, and as the first result of their conversion to the cause both had been laughed at by their schoolmates. the younger child came home after this tragic experience, weeping bitterly and declaring that she did not wish to be a suffragette any more--an exhibition of apostasy for which her wise sister of eight took her roundly to task. "aren't you ashamed of yourself," she demanded, "to stop just because you have been laughed at once? look at aunt anna! she has been laughed at for hundreds of years!" i sometimes feel that it has indeed been hundreds of years since my work began; and then again it seems so brief a time that, by listening for a moment, i fancy i can hear the echo of my childish-voice preaching to the trees in the michigan woods. but long or short, the one sure thing is that, taking it all in all, the struggles, the discouragements, the failures, and the little victories, the fight has been, as susan b. anthony said in her last hours, "worth while." nothing bigger can come to a human being than to love a great cause more than life itself, and to have the privilege throughout life of working for that cause. as for life's other gifts, i have had some of them, too. i have made many friendships; i have looked upon the beauty of many lands; i have the assurance of the respect and affection of thousands of men and women i have never even met. though i have given all i had, i have received a thousand times more than i have given. neither the world nor my cause is indebted to me but from the depths of a full and very grateful heart i acknowledge my lasting indebtedness to them both. the end the grimké sisters sarah and angelina grimké _the first american women advocates of abolition and woman's rights_ by catherine h. birney "the glory of all glories is the glory of self-sacrifice." 1885 preface. it was with great diffidence, from inexperience in literary work of such length, that i engaged to write the biography which i now present to the public. but the diaries and letters placed in my hands lightened the work of composition, and it has been a labor of affection as well as of duty to pay what tribute i might to the memory of two of the noblest women of the country, whom i learned to love and venerate during a residence of nearly two years under the same roof, and who, to the end of their lives, honored me with their friendship. c.h.b. washington city, sept., 1885. contents. chapter i. childhood of sarah, 7. practical teachings, 9. teaching slaves, 11. sarah a godmother, 13. their mother, 15. chapter ii. thirst for knowledge, 17. religious impressions, 19. providence interposes, 21. their father's death-bed, 23. sarah and slavery, 25. salvation by works, 27. the friends, 29. sarah resists the call, 31. sarah leaves charleston, 33. chapter iii. sarah a quaker, 35. visit to charleston, 37. angelina, 39. angelina's slave, 41. angelina converted, 43. sarah's heart trial, 45. chapter iv. contrasts, 47. spiritual change, 49. novels and finery, 51. plain dress, 53. chapter v. angelina's progress, 55. abandons presbyterianism, 57. adopts quakerism, 59. a quaker quarrel, 61. angelina goes north, 63. trimming a cap, 65. chapter vi. christian frugality, 67. christian reproofs, 69. faithful testimony, 71. sitting in silence, 73. sympathy with slaves, 75. intercedes for a slave, 77. a sin to joke, 79. introspection, 81. chapter vii. intellectual power, 83. anti-slavery in 1829, 85. bane of slavery, 87. longs to leave home, 89. narrow life, 91. farewell to home, 93. chapter viii. not in favor, 95. doubts, 97. benevolent activities, 99. nullification, 101. thomas grimké, 103. quaker time-serving, 105. separation, 107. chapter ix. visits catherine beecher, 109. morbid feelings, 111. growing out of quakerism, 113. lane seminary debate, 115. death of thomas grimké, 117. the cause of peace, 119. chapter x. sarah douglass, 121. the fire kindled, 123. letter to garrison, 125. apology for letter, 127. publication of letter, 129. sarah disapproves, 131. chapter xi. practical efforts, 133. visit to providence, 135. the sisters differ, 137. elizur wright's invitation, 139. asking advice of sarah, 141. the last straw, 143. sarah resolves to leave philadelphia, 145. angelina's a.s. feelings, 147. her clear convictions, 149. chapter xii. the sisters together, 151. a rebellious quaker, 153. removal to new york, 155. the anti-slavery leaders, 157. t.d. weld, 159. epistle to the clergy, 161. first speeches to women, 163. lectures, 165. disregard of the color line, 167. henry b. stanton, 169. success on the platform, 171. they go to boston, 173. chapter xiii. woman's rights, 175. sentiment at boston, 177. speaking to men, 179. women's preaching, 181. opposition, 183. the pastoral letter, 185. mixed audiences, 187. hardships--eloquence, 189. sarah prefers the pen, 191. a public debate, 193. sarah's impulsiveness, 195. chapter xiv. catherine beecher, 197-99. woman and abolition, 201. whittier's letter, 203. weld's letter, 205. weld's third letter, 207. how reforms fail, 209. friendly criticism, 211. no human government-ism, 213. the sisters desist, 215. weld on dress, 217. henry c. wright, 219. friendship renewed, 221. chapter xv. crowded audiences, 223. sickness, 225. the massachusetts legislature, speeches in boston, 229. angelina's marriage, 231. the ceremony, 233. pennsylvania hall, 235. the mob, 237. last public speech, 239. burning the hall, 241. chapter xvi. disownment, 243. the home, 245. self-denial, 247. sarah douglass, 249. an ex-slave, 251. uses of retirement, 253. mutual love, 255. "slavery as it is," 257. going to church, 259. the baby, 261. life at belleville, 263-5. educators, 267. piety, 269. christianity, 271. chapter xvii. eagleswood, 273. sarah as teacher, 265. sarah at sixty-two, 277. love of children, 279. success of the school, 281. affliction, 283. war to end in freedom, 285. sisterly affection, 287. the colored nephews, 289. the discovery, 291. a visit to nephews, 293. nephews educated, 295. voting petitions, 297. work for charities, 299. contented old age, 301. chapter xviii. sarah's sickness, 303. death of sarah, 305. eulogies, 307. paralysis, 309. sublime patience, 311. death of angelina, 313. elizur wright, 315. wendell phillips, 317. the lesson of two lives, 319. the sisters grimké. chapter i. sarah and angelina grimké were born in charleston, south carolina; sarah, nov. 26, 1792; angelina, feb. 20, 1805. they were the daughters of the hon. john fauchereau grimké, a colonel in the revolutionary war, and judge of the supreme court of south carolina. his ancestors were german on the father's side, french on the mother's; the fauchereau family having left france in consequence of the revocation of the edict of nantes in 1685. from his german father and huguenot mother, judge grimké inherited not only intellectual qualities of a high order, but an abiding consciousness of his right to think for himself, a spirit of hostility to the roman catholic priesthood and church, and faith in the calvinistic theology. though he exhibited, during the course of his life, a freedom from certain social prejudices general among people of his class at charleston, he seems to have never wavered in his adhesion to the tenets of his forefathers. that they were ever questioned in his household is not probable. from a diary kept by him, it appears that his favorite subject of thought for many years was moral discipline, and he was fond of searching out and transcribing the opinions of various authors on this subject. his family was wealthy and influential, and he received all the advantages which such circumstances could give. as was the custom among people of means in those days, he was sent to england for his collegiate course, and, after being graduated at oxford, he studied law and practised for a while in london, having his rooms in the temple. with a fine person, a cultivated mind and a generous allowance, he became a favorite in the fashionable and aristocratic society of great britain; nevertheless, he did not hesitate to quit the pleasant life he was leading and return home as soon as his native country seemed to need him. he speedily raised a company of cavalry in charleston, and cast his lot with the patriots whom he found in arms against the mother-country. we have no record of his deeds, but we know that he distinguished himself at eutaw springs and at yorktown, where he was attached to lafayette's brigade. when the war was over, col. grimké began the practice of law in charleston, and rose in a few years to the front rank at the bar. he held various honorable offices before he was appointed judge of the supreme court of the state. early in life judge grimké married mary smith of irish and english-puritan stock. she was the great granddaughter of the second landgrave of south carolina, and descended on her mother's side from that famous rebel chieftain, sir roger moore, of kildare, who would have stormed dublin castle with his handful of men, and whose handsome person, gallant manners, and chivalric courage made him the idol of his party and the hero of song and story. fourteen children were born to this couple, all of whom were more or less remarkable for the traits which would naturally be expected from such ancestry, while in several of them the old huguenot-puritan infusion colored every mental and moral quality. this was especially notable in sarah moore grimké, the sixth child, who even in her childhood continually surprised her family by her independence, her sturdy love of truth, and her clear sense of justice. her conscientiousness was such that she never sought to conceal or even excuse anything wrong she did, but accepted submissively whatever punishment or reprimand was inflicted upon her. between sarah and her brother thomas, six years her senior, an early friendship was formed, which was ever a source of gratification to both, and which continued without a break until his death. to the influence of his high, strong nature she attributed to a great extent her early tendency to think and reason upon subjects much beyond her age. until she was twelve years old, a great deal of her time was passed in study with this brother, her bright, active mind eagerly reaching after the kind of knowledge which in those days was considered food too strong for the intellect of a girl. she begged hard to be permitted to study latin, and began to do so in private, but her parents, and even her brother, discouraged this, and she reluctantly gave it up. judge grimké's position, character, and wealth placed his family among the leaders of the very exclusive society of charleston. his children were accustomed to luxury and display, to the service of slaves, and to the indulgence of every selfish whim, although the father's practical common sense led him to protest against the habits to which such indulgences naturally led. he was necessarily much from home, but, when leisure permitted, his great pleasure was teaching his children and discussing various topics with them. to sarah he paid particular attention, her superior mental qualities exciting his admiration and pride. he is said to have frequently declared that if she had been of the other sex she would have made the greatest jurist in the land. in his own habits, judge grimké was prudent and singularly economical, and, in spite of discouraging surroundings, endeavored to instil lessons of simplicity into his children. an extract from one of sarah's letters will illustrate this. referring in 1863 to her early life, she thus writes to a friend:-"father was pre-eminently a man of common sense, and economy was one of his darling virtues. i suppose i inherited some of the latter quality, for from early life i have been renowned for gathering up the fragments that nothing be lost, so that it was quite a common saying in the family: 'oh, give it to sally; she'll find use for it,' when anything was to be thrown away. only once within my memory did i depart from this law of my nature. i went to our country residence to pass the summer with father. he had deposited a number of useful odds and ends in a drawer. now little miss, being installed as housekeeper to papa, and for the first time in her life being queen--at least so she fancied--of all she surveyed, went to work searching every cranny, and prying into every drawer, and woe betide anything which did not come up to my idea of neat housekeeping. when i chanced across the drawer of scraps i at once condemned them to the flames. such a place of disorder could not be tolerated in my dominions. i never thought of the contingency of papa's shirts, etc., wanting mending; my oversight, however, did not prevent the natural catastrophe of clothes wearing out, and one day papa brought me a garment to mend, 'oh,' said i, tossing it carelessly aside, 'that hole is too big to darn.' "'certainly, my dear,' he replied, 'but you can put a piece in. look in such a drawer, and you will find plenty to patch with.' "but behold the drawer was empty. happily, i had commuted the sentence of burning to that of distribution to the slaves, one of whom furnished me the piece, and mended the garment ten times better than i could have done. so i was let to go unwhipped of justice for that misdemeanor, and perhaps that was the lesson which burnt into my soul. my story doesn't sound southerny, does it? well, here is something more. during that summer, father had me taught to spin and weave negro cloth. don't suppose i ever did anything worth while; only it was one of his maxims: 'never lose an opportunity of learning what is useful. if you never need the knowledge, it will be no burden to have it; and if you should, you will be thankful to have it.' so i had to use my delicate fingers now and then to shell corn, a process which sometimes blistered them, and was sent into the field to pick cotton occasionally. perhaps i am indebted partially to this for my life-long detestation of slavery, as it brought me in close contact with these unpaid toilers." doubtless she had many a talk with these "unpaid toilers," and learned from them the inner workings of a system which her friends would fain have taught her to view as fair and merciful. children are born without prejudice, and the young children of southern planters never felt or made any difference between their white and colored playmates. the instances are many of their revolt and indignation when first informed that there must be a difference. so that there is nothing singular in the fact that sarah grimké, to use her own words, early felt such an abhorrence of the whole institution of slavery, that she was sure it was born in her. several of her brothers and sisters felt the same. but she differed from other children in the respect that her sensibilities were so acute, her heart so tender, that she made the trials of the slaves her own, and grieved that she could neither share nor mitigate them. so deeply did she feel for them that she was frequently found in some retired spot weeping, after one of the slaves had been punished. she remembered that once, when she was not more than four or five years old, she accidentally witnessed the terrible whipping of a servant woman. as soon as she could escape from the house, she rushed out sobbing, and half an hour afterwards her nurse found her on the wharf, begging a sea captain to take her away to some place where such things were not done. she told me once that often, when she knew one of the servants was to be punished, she would shut herself up and pray earnestly that the whipping might be averted; "and sometimes," she added, "my prayers were answered in very unexpected ways." writing to a young friend, a few years before her death, she says: "when i was about your age, we spent six months of the year in the back country, two hundred miles from charleston, where we would live for months without seeing a white face outside of the home circle. it was often lonely, but we had many out-door enjoyments, and were very happy. i, however, always had one terrible drawback. slavery was a millstone about my neck, and marred my comfort from the time i can remember myself. my chief pleasure was riding on horseback daily. 'hiram' was a gentle, spirited, beautiful creature. he was neither slave nor slave owner, and i loved and enjoyed him thoroughly." when she was quite young her father gave her a little african girl to wait on her. to this child, the only slave she ever owned, she became much attached, treating her as an equal, and sharing all her privileges with her. but the little girl died after a few years, and though her youthful mistress was urged to take another, she refused, saying she had no use for her, and preferred to wait on herself. it was not until she was more than twelve years old that, at her mother's urgent request, she consented to have a dressing-maid. judge grimké, his family and connections, were all high-church episcopalians, tenacious of every dogma, and severe upon any neglect of the religious forms of church or household worship. nothing but sickness excused any member of the family, servants included, from attending morning prayers, and every sunday the well-appointed carriage bore those who wished to attend church to the most fashionable one in the city. the children attended sabbath-school regularly, and in the afternoon the girls who were old enough taught classes in the colored school. here, sarah was the only one who ever caused any trouble. she could never be made to understand the wisdom which included the spelling-book, in the hands of slaves, among the dangerous weapons, and she constantly fretted because she could only give her pupils oral instruction. she longed to teach them to read, for many of them were pining for the knowledge which the "poor white trash" rejected; but the laws of the state not only prohibited the teaching of slaves, but provided fines and imprisonment for those who ventured to indulge their fancy in that way. so that, argue as she might, and as she did, the privilege of opening the storehouse of learning to those thirsty souls was denied her. "but," she writes, "my great desire in this matter would not be totally suppressed, and i took an almost malicious satisfaction in teaching my little waiting-maid at night, when she was supposed to be occupied in combing and brushing my long locks. the light was put out, the keyhole screened, and flat on our stomachs before the fire, with the spelling-book under our eyes, we defied the laws of south carolina." but this dreadful crime was finally discovered, and poor hetty barely escaped a whipping; and her bold young mistress had to listen to a severe lecture on the enormity of her conduct. when sarah was about twelve years old, two important events occurred to interrupt the even tenor of her life. her brother thomas was sent off to yale college, leaving her companionless and inconsolable, until, a few weeks later, the birth of a little sister brought comfort and joy to her heart. this sister was angelina emily, the last child of her parents, and the pet and darling of sarah from the moment the light dawned upon her blue eyes. sarah seems to have felt for this new baby not only more than the ordinary affection of a sister, but the yearning tenderness of a mother, and a mysterious affinity which foreshadowed the heart and soul sympathy which, notwithstanding the twelve years' difference in their ages, made them as one through life. she at once begged that she might stand godmother for her sister; but her parents, thinking this desire only a childish whim, refused. she was seriously in earnest, however, and day after day renewed her entreaties, answering her father's arguments that she was too young for such a responsibility by saying that she would be old enough when it became necessary to exercise any of the responsibility. seeing finally that her heart was so set upon it, her parents consented; and joyfully she stood at the baptismal font, and promised to train this baby sister in the way she should go. many years afterwards, in describing her feelings on this occasion, she said: "i had been taught to believe in the efficacy of prayer, and i well remember, after the ceremony was over, slipping out and shutting myself up in my own room, where, with tears streaming down my cheeks, i prayed that god would make me worthy of the task i had assumed, and help me to guide and direct my precious child. oh, how good i resolved to be, how careful in all my conduct, that my life might be blessed to her!" entering in such a spirit upon the duties she had taken upon herself, we cannot over estimate her influence in forming the character and training the mind of this "precious nina," as she so often called her. and, as we shall see, for very many years angelina followed closely where sarah led, treading almost in her footsteps, until the seed sown by the older sister, ripening, bore its fruit in a power and strength and individuality which gave her the leadership, and caused sarah to fall back and gaze with wonder upon development so much beyond her thoughts or hopes. from the first, sarah took almost entire charge of her little god-daughter; and, as "nina" grew out of her babyhood, sarah continued to exercise such general supervision over her that the child learned to look up to her as to a mother, and frequently when together, and in her correspondence for many years, addressed her as "mother." it does not appear that judge grimké entertained any views differing greatly from those of intelligent men in the society about him. he was a man of wide culture, varied experience of life, and a diligent student. therefore, as he made a companion of his bright and promising daughter, he doubtless did much to sharpen her intellect, as well as to deepen her conscientiousness and sense of religious obligation. her brother thomas, too, added another strong influence to her mental development. she was nearly fifteen when he returned from college, bringing with him many new ideas, most of them quite original, and which he at once set to work to study more closely, with a view to putting them into practical operation. sarah was his confidante and his amanuensis; and, looking up to him almost as to a demi-god, she readily fell in with his opinions, and made many of them her own. of her mother there is little mention in the early part of her life. mrs. grimké appears to have been a very devout woman, of rather narrow views, and undemonstrative in her affections. she was, however, intelligent, and had a taste for reading, especially theological works. her son thomas speaks of her as having read stratton's book on the priesthood, and inferring from its implications the sect to which the author belonged. the oldest of her children was only nineteen when angelina was born. the burdens laid upon her were many and great; and we cannot wonder that she was nervous, exhausted, and irritable. the house was large, and kept in the style common in that day among wealthy southern people. the servants were numerous, and had, no doubt, the usual idle, pilfering habits of slaves. all provisions were kept under lock and key, and given out with scrupulous exactitude, and incessant watchfulness as to details was a necessity. as children multiplied, mrs. grimké appears to have lost all power of controlling either them or her servants. she was impatient with the former, and resorted with the latter to the punishments commonly inflicted by slaveowners. these severities alienated her children still more from her, and they showed her little respect or affection. it never appears to have occurred to any of them to try to relieve her of her cares; and it is probable she was more sinned against than sinning,--a sadly burdened and much-tried woman. from numerous allusions to her in the diaries and letters, the evidence of an ill-regulated household is plain, as also the feelings of the children towards her. from angelina's diary we copy the following:-"on 2d day i had some conversation with sister mary on the deplorable state of our family, and to-day with eliza. they complain very much of the servants being so rude, and doing so much as they please. but i tried to convince them that the servants were just what the family was, that they were not at all more rude and selfish and disobliging than they themselves were. i gave one or two instances of the manner in which they treated mother and each other, and asked how they could expect the servants to behave in any other way when they had such examples continually before them, and queried in which such conduct was most culpable. eliza always admits what i say to be true, but, as i tell her, never profits by it.... sister mary is somewhat different; she will not condemn herself.... she will acknowledge the sad state of the family, but seems to think mother is altogether to blame. and dear mother seems to resist all i say: she will neither acknowledge the state of the family nor her own faults, and always is angry when i speak to her.... sometimes when i look back to the first years of my religious life, and remember how unremittingly i labored with mother, though in a very wrong spirit, being alienated from her and destitute of the spirit of love and forbearance, my heart is very sore." this unfortunate state of things prevailed until the children were grown, and with more or less amelioration after that time. sarah's natural tenderness, and the sense of justice which, as she grew to womanhood, was so conspicuous in angelina, drew their mother nearer to them than to her other children, though thomas always wrote of her affectionately and respectfully. she, however, with her rigid orthodox beliefs, could never understand her "alien daughters," as she called them; and she never ceased to wonder how such strange fledglings could have come from her nest. it was only when they had proved by years of self-sacrifice the earnestness of their peculiar views that she learned to respect them; and, though they never succeeded in converting her from her inherited opinions, she was towards the last years of her life brought into something like affectionate sympathy with them. chapter ii. it was quite the custom in the last century and the beginning of the present one for cultivated people to keep diaries, in which the incidents of each day were jotted down, accompanied by the expression of private opinions and feelings. women, especially, found this diary a pleasant sort of confessional, a confidante to whose pages they could entrust their most secret thoughts without fear of rebuke or betrayal. sarah grimké's diary, covering over five hundred pages of closely written manuscript, though not begun until 1821, gives many reminiscences of her youth, and describes with painful conscientiousness her religious experiences. she also repeatedly regrets the fact that her education, though what was considered at that time a good one, was entirely superficial, embracing only that kind of knowledge which is acquired for display. what useful information she received she owed to the conversations of her father and her brother thomas, her "beloved companion and friend." there is no doubt that this want of proper training was to her a cause of regret during her whole life. with her, learning was always a passion; and, in passing, i may say she never thought herself too old for study and the acquisition of knowledge. as she grew up, and saw the very different education her brothers were receiving, her ambition and independence were fired, and she longed to share their advantages. but in vain she entreated permission to do so. the only answer she received was: "you are a girl; what do you want of latin and greek and philosophy? you can never use them." and when it was discovered that she was secretly studying law, and was ambitious to stand side by side with her brother at the bar, smiles and sneers rebuked her "unwomanly" aspirations. and though she argued the point with much spirit, unable to see why the mere fact of being a girl should confine her to the necessity of being a "doll, a coquette, a fashionable fool," she failed to secure a single adherent to her strong-minded ideas. her nature thus denied its proper nutriment, and her most earnest desires crushed, she sought relief in another direction. painting, poetry, general reading occupied her leisure time, while she was receiving private tuition from the best masters in charleston. at sixteen she was introduced into society, or, as she phrases it, "initiated into the circles of dissipation and folly." in her account of the life she led in those circles she does not spare herself. "i believe," she writes, "for the short space i was exhibited on this theatre, few have exceeded me in extravagance of every kind, and in the sinful indulgence of pride and vanity, sentiments which, however, were strongly mingled with a sense of their insufficiency to produce even earthly happiness, with an eager desire for intellectual pursuits, and a thorough contempt for the trifles i was engaged in. often during this period have i returned home, sick of the frivolous beings i had been with, mortified at my own folly, and weary of the ball-room and its gilded toys. night after night, as i glittered now in this gay scene, now in that, my soul has been disturbed by the query, 'where are the talents committed to thy charge?' but the intrusive thought would be silenced by the approach of some companion, or a call to join the dance, or by the presentation of the stimulating cordial, and my remorse and my hopeless desires would be drowned for the time being. once, in utter disgust, i made a resolution to abstain from such amusements; but it was made in self-will, and did not stand long, though i was so earnest that i gave away much of my finery. i cannot look back to those years without a blush of shame, a feeling of anguish at the utter perversion of the ends of my being. but for my tutelary god, my idolized brother, my young, passionate nature, stimulated by that love of admiration which carries many a high and noble soul down the stream of folly to the whirlpool of an unhallowed marriage, i had rushed into this lifelong misery. happily for me, this butterfly life did not last long. my ardent nature had another channel opened for it, through which it rushed with its usual impetuosity. i was converted, and turned over to doing good." up to this time she was a communicant in the episcopal church, and a regular attendant on its various services. but, as she records, her heart was never touched, her soul never stirred. she heard the same things preached week after week,--the necessity of coming to christ and the danger of delay,--and she wondered at her insensibility. she joined in family worship, and was scrupulously exact in her private devotions; but all was done mechanically, from habit, and no quickening sense of her "awful condition" came to her until she went one night, on the invitation of a friend, to hear a presbyterian minister, the rev. henry kolloch, celebrated for his eloquence. he preached a thrilling sermon, and sarah was deeply moved. but the impression soon wore off, and she returned to her gay life with renewed ardor. a year after, the same minister revisited charleston; and again she went to hear him, and again felt the "arrows of conscience," and again disregarded the solemn warning. the journal continues:-"after this he came no more; and in the winter of 1813-14 i was led in an unusual degree into scenes of dissipation and frivolity. it seemed as if my cup of worldly pleasure was filled to the brim; and after enjoying all the city afforded, i went into the country in the spring with a fashionable acquaintance, designing to finish my wild career there." while on this visit, she accidentally met the rev. dr. kolloch, and became acquainted with him. he seems to have taken a warm interest in her spiritual welfare, and his conversations made a serious impression on her which her gay friends tried to remove. but her sensitive spirit was so affected by his admonitions, and warnings of the awful consequences of persisting in a course of conduct which must eventually lead to everlasting punishment, that she was made very miserable. she trembled as he portrayed her doom, and wept bitterly; but, though she assented to the truth of his declarations, she did not feel quite prepared to give up the pomps and vanities of her life, unsatisfactory as they were. a sore conflict began in her mind, and she could take no pleasure in anything. dr. kolloch's parting question to her, spoken in the most solemn tones, "can you, then, dare to hesitate?" rang continually in her ears; and the next few days and nights were passed in a turmoil of various feelings, until, exhausted, she gave up the struggle, and acknowledged herself sensible of the emptiness of worldly gratifications, and thought she was willing to resign all for christ. she returned home sorrowful and heavy-hearted. the glory of the world was stained, and she no longer dared to participate in its vain pleasures. she felt "loaded down with iniquity," and, almost sinking under a sense of her guilt and her danger, she secluded herself from society, and put away her ornaments, "determined to purchase heaven at any price." but she found no relief in these sacrifices; and, after enduring much trial at her ill success, she wrote to dr. kolloch, informing him of her state of mind. "over his answer," she writes, "i shed many tears; but, instead of prostrating myself in deep abasement before the lord, and craving his pardon, i was desirous of doing something which might claim his approbation and disperse the thick cloud which seemed to hide him from me. i therefore set earnestly to work to do good according to my capacity. i fed the hungry and clothed the naked, i visited the sick and afflicted, and vainly hoped these outside works would purify a heart defiled with the pride of life, still the seat of carnal propensities and evil passions; but here, too, i failed. i went mourning on my way under the curse of a broken law; and, though i often watered my couch with my tears, and pleaded with my maker, yet i knew nothing of the sanctifying influence of his holy spirit, and, not finding that happiness in religion i anticipated, i, by degrees, through the persuasions of companions and the inclination of my depraved heart, began to go a little more into society, and to resume my former style of dressing, though in comparative moderation." she then states how, some time after she had thus departed from her christian profession. dr. kolloch came once more, and his sad and earnest rebukes made her unutterably wretched. but she tried to stifle the voice of conscience by entering more and more into worldly amusements, until she had lost nearly all spiritual sense. her disposition became soured by incessantly yielding to temptation, and she adds:-"i know not where i might have been landed, had not the merciful interposition of providence stopped my progress." this "merciful interposition of providence" was nothing less than the declining health of her father; and it affords, indeed, a curious comment on the old orthodox teachings, that this young woman, devotedly attached to her father, and fully appreciating his value to his family, should have regarded his ill-health as sent by god for her especial benefit, to interrupt her worldly course, and compass her salvation. judge grimké's illness continued for a year or more; and so faithfully did sarah nurse him that when it was decided that he should go to philadelphia to consult dr. physic, she was chosen to accompany him. this first visit to the north was the most important event of sarah's life, for the influences and impressions there received gave some shape to her vague and wayward fancies, and showed her a gleam of the light beyond the tangled path which still stretched before her. she found lodgings for her father and herself in a quaker family whose name is not mentioned. about their life there, little is said; sarah being too much occupied with the care of her dear invalid to take much interest in her new surroundings. judge grimké's health continued to decline. his daughter's account of the last days of his life is very touching, and shows not only how deep was her religious feeling, but how tender and yet how strong she was all through this great trial. the father and daughter, strangers in a strange land, drawn more closely together by his suffering and her necessary care, became friends. indeed; their attachment increasing day by day, until, ere their final separation, they loved each other with that fervent affection which grows only with true sympathy and unbounded confidence. sarah thus wrote of it:-"i regard this as the greatest blessing, next to my conversion, i have ever received from god, and i think if all my future life is passed in affliction this mercy alone should make me willingly, yea, cheerfully and joyously, submit to the chastisements of the lord." during their stay in philadelphia, she had hoped for her father's recovery, but when, by the doctor's advice, they went to long branch, and she saw how weak and ill he was, this hope forsook her, and she describes her agony as something never to be effaced from her memory. doubtless this was intensified by her lone and friendless position. they were in a tavern, without one human being to soothe them or sympathize with them. "but," she writes, "let me here acknowledge the mercy of that being whose everlasting arms supported me in this hour of suffering. after the first burst of grief i became calm, and felt an assurance that he in whom i trusted would never leave nor forsake me, and that i would have strength given me, even to the performance of the last sad duties. but the end was not yet; the disease fluctuated, some days arousing a gleam of hope, only to be extinguished by the next day's weakness. alas! i was compelled to see that death was certainly, though slowly, approaching, and all feeling for my own suffering was sunk in anxiety to contribute to my father's comfort, and smooth his passage to the grave. and, blessed be god, i was not only able to minister to many of his temporal wants, but permitted to strengthen his hopes of a happy immortality. i prayed with him and read to him, and i cannot recollect hearing an impatient expression from him during his whole illness, or a wish that his sufferings might be lessened or abridged. he often tried to conceal his bodily pain, and to soothe me by every appearance of cheerful piety. thus he lingered until the 6th of august, when he grew visibly worse. many incoherent expressions escaped him, but even then how tenderly he spoke of me, i ever shall remember.... about eight o'clock i moved him to his own bed, and, sitting down, prepared to watch by him. he entreated me to lie down, and i told him when he slept i would. "'oh, god,' he exclaimed with fervent energy, 'how sweet to sleep and wake in heaven!' this last desire was realized. he clasped one of my hands, and as i bent over him and arranged his pillow he put his arm around me. i did not stir; apparently he slept. but the relaxed grasp, the dewy coldness, the damps of death which stood upon his forehead, all told me that he was hastening fast to jesus. alone, at the hour of midnight, i sat by this bed of death. my eyes were fixed on that face whose calmness seemed to say, 'i rest in peace.' a gentle pressure of the hand, and a scarcely audible respiration, alone indicated that life was not extinct; at length that pressure ceased, and the strained ear could no longer hear a breath. i continued gazing on the lifeless form, closed his eyes and kissed him. his spirit, freed from the shackles of mortality, had sprung to its source, the bosom of his god. i passed the rest of the night alone." and alone, the only mourner, this brave, heart-stricken girl followed the remains of her beloved father to the grave. when all was over she went back to philadelphia, where she remained two or three months, and then returned to charleston. during the season of family mourning which followed, having nothing especial to do, sarah became more than ever concerned about her spiritual welfare. she constantly deplored her lukewarmness, and regarded herself as standing on the edge of a precipice from which she had no power to withdraw. the subject of slavery began now also to agitate her mind. after her residence in philadelphia, where doubtless she had to listen to some sharp reflections on the southern institution, it seemed more than ever abhorrent to her, but it does not appear that she gave utterance to her feelings on more than one or two occasions. even her diary contains only a slight and occasional reference to them. she saw, she says, how useless it was to discuss the subject, as even angelina, the child of her own training, could see nothing wrong in the mere fact of slave-holding, if the slaves were kindly treated. her brother thomas, to whom she might have opened her overburdened heart, and received from his affection and good sense, comfort and strength, she saw little of; besides, he was a slave-owner, and among his numerous reform theories of education, politics, and religion, he does not seem to have thought of touching slavery. he was a leading member of the bar, very busy with his literary work, had a wife and family, and resided out of the city. alone, therefore, sarah brooded over her trials, and those of the slaves, "until they became like a canker, incessantly gnawing." upon the latter she could only look as one in bonds herself, powerless to prevent or ameliorate them. her sole consolation was teaching the objects of her compassion, within the lawful restrictions, whenever she could find the opportunity. but she began to look upon the world as a wilderness of desolation and suffering, and herself as the most miserable of sinners, fast hastening to destruction. in this frame of mind she was induced to listen to the doctrine of universal salvation, and eagerly adopted it, hoping thereby to find relief from her doubts and fears. her mother discovered this with horror, and, trembling for her daughter's safety, she aroused herself to argue so strongly against what she termed the false and awful doctrine, that, though sarah refused to acknowledge the force of all she said, it had its effect, and she gradually lost her hold on her new belief. but losing that, she lost all hope. "wormwood and gall" were her portion, and, while she fulfilled the outward duties of religion, dreariness and settled despondency took possession of her mind. she writes: "tears never moistened my eyes; to prayer i was a stranger. with job i dared to curse the day of my birth. one day i was tempted to say something of the kind to my mother. she was greatly shocked, and reproved me seriously. i craved a hiding-place in the grave, as a rest from the distress of my feelings, thinking that no estate could be worse than the present. sometimes, being unable to pray, unable to command one feeling of good, either natural or spiritual, i was tempted to commit some great crime, thinking i could repent and thus restore my lost sensibility. on this i often meditated, and assuredly should have fallen into this snare had not the mercy of god still followed me." i might go on for many pages painting this dreary picture of a misdirected life, but enough has been quoted at present to show sarah grimké's strong, earnest, impressionable nature, and the effects upon it of the teachings of the old theology, mingled with the narrow southern ideas of usefulness and woman's sphere. endowed with a superior intellect, with a most benevolent and unselfish disposition, with a cheerful, loving nature, she desired above all things to be an active, useful member of society. but every noble impulse was strangled at its birth by the iron bands of a religion that taught the crucifixion of every natural feeling as the most acceptable offering to a stern and relentless god. she was now twenty-eight years of age, and with the exception of the period devoted to her father she had as yet thought and worked only for herself. i do not mean that she neglected home duties, or her private charities and visits to the afflicted, but all these offices were performed from one especial motive and with the same end in view to avert from herself the wrath of her maker. this one thought filled all her mind. all else was as nothing. family and friends, home and humanity, were of importance only as they furthered this object. it is in this spirit that she mentioned her father's illness and death, and the heroic, self-sacrificing death, by shipwreck, of her brother benjamin, to which she could resign herself from a conviction that the stroke was sent as a chastisement to her, and was a merciful dispensation to draw his young wife nearer to god. we read not one word of solicitude for mother, or brothers, or sisters, not a single prayer for their conversion. she was too busy watching and weeping over her own short-comings to concern herself about their doom. the long diary is filled with the reiteration of her fears, her sorrows, and her prayers. many years afterwards she thus referred to this condition of her mind:-"i cannot without shuddering look back to that period. how dreadful did the state of my mind become! nothing interested me; i fulfilled my duties without any feeling of satisfaction, in gloomy silence. my lips moved in prayer, my feet carried me to the holy sanctuary, but my heart was estranged from piety. i felt as if my doom was irrevocably fixed, and i was destined to that fire which is never quenched. i have never experienced any feeling so terrific as the despair of salvation. my soul still remembers the wormwood and the gall, still remembers how awful the conviction that every door of hope was closed, and that i was given over unto death." naturally, such a strain at last impaired her health, and, her mother becoming alarmed, she was sent in the autumn of 1820 to north carolina, where several relatives owned plantations on the cape fear river. she was welcomed with great affection, especially by her aunt, the wife of her uncle james smith, and mother of barnwell rhett. (this name was assumed by him on the inheritance of property from a relative of that name.) in the village near which this aunt lived there was no place of worship except the methodist meeting-house. sarah attended this; and under the earnest and alarming preaching she heard there, together with association with some of the most spiritual-minded of the members, she was aroused from her apathetic state, and was enabled to join in their services with some interest. she even offered up prayer with them, and at one of their love feasts delivered a public testimony to the truths of the gospel. thus associated with them, she was induced to examine their principles and doctrines, but found them as faulty as all the rest she had from time to time investigated. she therefore soon decided not to become one of them. from her earliest serious impressions, she had been dissatisfied with episcopacy, feeling its forms lifeless; but now, after having carefully considered the various other sects, and finding error in all, she concluded to remain in the church whose doctrines at least satisfied her as well as those of any other, and were those of her mother and her family. of the society of friends she knew little, and that little was unfavorable. to a remark made one day by her mother, relative to her turning quaker, she replied, with some warmth:-"anything but a quaker or a catholic!" having made up her mind that the friends were wrong, she had steadily refused, during her stay in philadelphia, to attend their meetings or read any of their writings. nevertheless many things about them, scarcely noticed at the time,--their quiet dress, orderly manner of life and gentle tones of voice, together with their many acts of kindness to her and her father,--came back to her after she had left them, and especially impressed her as contrasting so strongly with the slack habits and irregular discipline which made her own home so unhappy. on the vessel which carried her from philadelphia to charleston, after her father's death, was a party of friends; and in the seven days which it then required to make the voyage, an intimacy sprang up between them and sarah which influenced her whole after-life. from one of them she had accepted a copy of woolman's works,--evidence that there must have been religious discussions between them. and that there was talk-probably some jesting--in the family about quakers is shown by the little incident sarah relates of her brother thomas presenting her, soon after her return from north carolina, with a volume of quaker writings he had picked up at some sale. he placed it in her hand, saying jocosely,-"thee had better turn quaker, sally; thy long face would suit well their sober dress." she was, as we have said, of a naturally cheerful disposition; but her false views of religion led her to believe that "by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better," and she shed more tears, and offered up more petitions for forgiveness, over occasional irresistible merriment than i have space to record. she accepted the book from her brother, read it, and, needing some explanation of portions of it, wrote to one of the friends in philadelphia whose acquaintance she had made on the vessel. a correspondence ensued, which resulted after some months in her entire conversion to quakerism. she had now reached, she thought, a resting-place for her weary, sore-travailed spirit; and, like a tired pilgrim, she dropped all her burdens beside this fresh stream, from whose waters she expected to drink such cooling draughts. the quiet of the little meeting-house in charleston, the absence of ornament and ceremony, the silent worship by the few members, the affectionate thee and thou, all soothed her restless soul for a while, and a sweet calm fell upon her. but she believed that god constantly spoke to her heart, directing her by the still, small voice; and the fidelity with which she obeyed this invisible guide was not only a real detriment to her spiritual progress, but the cause of much distress to her. when, as sometimes happened from various causes, she failed in obedience, her mental suffering was intense, and in abject humility she accepted as punishment any mortification or sorrow that came to her afterwards. as a sequence to this hallucination, she also had visions at various times, and saw and communed with spirits, and did not hesitate to acknowledge their influence and to respect their intimations. so marvellously real were her feelings on these points that her immediate friends, though greatly deploring their effect upon her, seldom ventured any remonstrance against them. now, under the influence of her new belief, the impression of a divine call to be made upon her deepened, and soon took shape in the persuasion that it was to be a call to the ministry. her soul recoiled at the very thought of work so solemn, and she prayed the lord to spare her; but the more she prayed, the stronger and clearer the intimations became, until she felt that no loop-hole of escape was left her from obedience to her master's will. from the publicity the work involved, she intuitively shrank. her natural sensitiveness and all the prejudices of her life rebelled against it, and she could not look forward to it without fear and trembling. every meeting now found her, she says, like a craven, dreading to hear the summons which would oblige her to rise and open her lips before the two or three gathered there. vainly did she try to "hide herself from the lord." the evidence came distinctly to her one morning that some words of admonition were required of her; but so appalling did the act appear to her that she trembled, hesitated, resisted, and was silent. sorrow and remorse at once filled her soul; and, feeling that she had sinned against the holy ghost, she thought that god never could forgive her, and that no sacrifice she could ever offer could atone for this first act of disobedience. through long and dreary years it was the spectre that never would down, but stood ready to point its accusing finger whenever she was tempted to seek the cause of her disappointments and sorrows. thus, in the very outset of her new departure, arose apprehensions which followed her continually, robbing her religious exercises of all peace, and bringing her such a depth of misery that, she says, it almost destroyed her soul. the frequent letters of her quaker friend, though calculated to soothe and encourage her, were all firm on the point of implicit obedience to the movements of the spirit; and she found herself in a straight and narrow path, from which she was not allowed to deviate. to this friend, israel morris, sarah seems to have confessed all her shortcomings, all her fears, until, encouraged by his sympathy, and led by her longing for a wider field of action, she began to contemplate a removal to the north. there were other causes which urged her to seek another home. the inharmonious life in her family, joined to the reproaches and ridicule constantly aimed at her, and which stung her to the quick, naturally inspired the desire to go where she would be rid of it all, and live in peace. in her religious exaltation, it was easy for her to persuade herself that she was moved to make this important change by the lord's command. she sincerely believed it was so, and speaks of it as an unmistakable call, not to be disregarded, to go forth from that land, and her work would be shown her. naturally, philadelphia was the spot to which she was directed. when informed of her desires, israel morris not only gave his approval, but invited her to a home in his family. a door of shelter and safety being thus thrown open to her, she no longer hesitated, but at once made known her intention to her relatives. there seems to have been little or no opposition offered to a step so serious; in fact, her brothers and sisters, though much attached to her,--for her loving nature was irresistible,--evidently felt it a relief when she was gone, her strict and pious life being a constant rebuke to their worldly views and practices. her sister anna, at her urgent request, accompanied her on the voyage. this sister, the widow of an episcopal clergyman, though a defender of slavery as an institution, recognized its evil influences on the society where it existed, and gladly accepted the opportunity offered to take her young daughter away from them. it was necessary, too, that she should do something to increase her slender income, and sarah advised opening a small school in philadelphia,--a thing which she could not have done in charleston without a sacrifice of her own social position and of the family pride. there is nothing said of the parting, even from angelina, though we know it must have been a hard trial for sarah to leave this young sister, just budding into womanhood, and surrounded by all the snares whose alluring influences she understood so well. that she could consent to leave her thus is perhaps the strongest proof of her faith in the imperative nature of the summons to which she felt she was yielding obedience. the exiles reached philadelphia without accident in the latter part of may, 1821. lodgings were found for mrs. frost and her child, and sarah went at once to the residence of her friend, israel morris. chapter iii. it is very much to be regretted that all of sarah grimké's letters to angelina, and to other members of her family at this time, were, at her own request, destroyed as received. they would not only have afforded most interesting reading, but would have thrown light on much which, without them, is necessarily obscure. nor were there more than twenty-five or thirty of angelina's letters preserved, and they were written between the years 1826 and 1828. we therefore have but little data by which to follow sarah's life during the five years succeeding her return to philadelphia, and before she again went, to charleston; or angelina's life at home, during the same period. sarah's diary, frequently interrupted, continues to record her religious sorrows, for these followed her even into the peaceful home at "greenhill farm," the name of israel morris's place, where she was received and treated like a near and dear relative; and it was but natural and proper that she should be so accepted by the members of mr. morris's family. he was literally her only friend at the north. through his influence she had been brought into the quaker religion, and encouraged to leave her mother and native land. she was entirely unpractised in the ways of the world, and was besides in very narrow circumstances, her only available income being the interest on $10,000, the sum left by judge grimké to each of his children. the estate had not yet been settled up. add to all this the virtue of hospitality, inculcated by the quaker doctrine, and it seems perfectly natural that sarah should accept the offer of her friend in the spirit in which it was made, and feel grateful to her heavenly father that such a refuge was provided for her. the notes in her journal for that summer are rather meagre. she attended meeting regularly, but made no formal application to be received into the society of friends. it would hardly have been considered so soon; she must first go through a season of probation. how hard this was is told in the lamentations and prayers which she confided to her diary. the "fearful act of disobedience" of which she was guilty in charleston lay as a heavy load on her spirit, troubling her thoughts by day and her dreams by night, until she says: "at times i am almost led to believe i shall never know good any more." notwithstanding these trying spiritual exercises, the summer seems to have passed in more peace than she had dared to hope for. israel morris was a truly good man, with a strong, genial nature, which must have had a soothing effect upon sarah's troubled spirit. but before many months her thoughts began to turn back to home. her mother's want of spirituality, from her standpoint, grieved her greatly. the accounts she received of the disorder in the family added to her anxieties, and she felt that her influence was needed to bring about harmony, and to guide her mother on the road to zion. she laid the case before the lord, and, receiving no intimation that she would be doing a wrong thing, she decided to return to charleston. before leaving philadelphia, however, she felt that it was her duty to assume the full quaker dress. she had worn plain colors from the time she began to attend meeting in her native city, but the clothes were not fashioned after the quaker style, and she still indulged herself in occasionally wearing a becoming black dress; though when she did so, she not only felt uncomfortable herself, but knew that she made many of her friends so. "persisting in so doing," she says, "i have since been made sensible, manifested a want of condescension entirely unbecoming a christian, and one day conviction was so strong on this subject, that, as i was dressing, i felt as if i could not proceed, but sat down with my dress half on, and these words passed through my mind: can it be of any consequence in the sight of god whether i wear a black dress or not? the evidence was clear that it was not, but that self-will was the cause of my continuing to do it. for this i suffered much, but was at length strengthened to cast away this idol." remembering the fashionable life she had once led, and her natural taste for the beautiful in all things, it must have been something of a sacrifice, even though sustained by her religious exaltation, to lay aside everything pretty and becoming, and, denying herself even so much as a flower from nature's own fields, to array herself in the scant and sober dress of drab, the untrimmed kerchief, and the poke bonnet. writing from greenhill in october, she says: "on last fifth day i changed my dress for the more plain one of the quakers, not because i think making my clothes in their peculiar manner makes me any better, but because i believe it was laid upon me, seeing that my natural will revolted from the idea of assuming this garb. i trust i have made this change in a right spirit, and with a single eye to my dear redeemer. it was accompanied by a feeling of much peace." late in the autumn she sailed for charleston, and was received by the home circle with affection, though her plain dress gave occasion for some slighting remarks. these, however, no longer affected her as they once had done, and she bore them in silence. surrounded by her family, all of whom she warmly loved, in spite of their want of sympathy with her, rooming with her "precious child," with full opportunity to counsel and direct her, and intent upon carrying out reform in the household, she was for a time almost contented. she took up her old routine, her charities, and her schools, and attended meeting regularly. but a very few weeks sufficed to make her realize her utter inability to harmonize the discordant elements in her home, or to make more than a transient impression upon her mother. day by day she became more discouraged; everything seemed to conspire to thwart her efforts for good, which were misconstrued and misunderstood. surrounded, too, and besieged by all the familiar influences of her old life, it became harder to sustain her peculiar views and habits, and spiritual luke-warmness gained rapidly upon her. with deep humility she acknowledged the mistake she had made in going back to charleston, which place was evidently not the vineyard in which she could labor to any profit. in july she was again in philadelphia, a member now of the family of catherine morris, sister to israel. here she remained until after her admission into friends' society, when, feeling it her duty to make herself independent of the friends who had been so kind to her, she cast about her for something to do, and was mortified and chagrined to find there was nothing suited to her capacity. "oh!" she exclaims, "had i received the education i desired, had i been bred to the profession of the law, i might have been a useful member of society, and instead of myself and my property being taken care of, i might have been a protector of the helpless, a pleader for the poor and unfortunate." the industrial avenues for women were few and narrow in those days; and for the want of some practical knowledge, the doors sarah grimké might have entered were closed to her, and she was finally forced to abandon her hopes of independence, and to again accept a home for the winter in israel morris's house, now in the city. it must not be supposed, however, that either here or at catherine's, where she afterwards made her steady home, she was a burden or a hindrance. she was too energetic and too conscientious to be a laggard anywhere. so kind and so thoughtful was she, so helpful in sickness, so sympathetic in joy and in sorrow, that she more than earned her frugal board wherever she went. could she only have been persuaded that it was right to yield to her naturally cheerful temper, she would have been a delightful companion at all times; but her sadness frequently affected her friends, and even drew forth an occasional reproof. the ministry, that dreadful requirement which she felt sure the lord would make of her, was ever before her, and in fear and trembling she awaited the moment when the command would be given, "arise and speak." this painful preparation went on year after year, but her advance towards her expected goal was very slow. she would occasionally nerve herself to speak a few words of admonition in a small meeting, make a short prayer, or quote a text of scripture, but her services were limited to these efforts. she often feared that she was restrained by her desire that her first attempt at exhorting should be a brilliant success, and place her at once where she would be a power in the meetings; and she prayed constantly for a clear manifestation, something she could not mistake, that she might not be tempted by the hope of relief from present suffering to move prematurely in the "awful work." thus she waited, trying to restrain and satisfy her impatient yearnings for some real, living work by teaching charity schools, visiting prisons, and going through the duties of monthly, quarterly, and yearly meetings. but she could not shut out from herself the doubts that would force themselves forward, that her time was not employed as it should be. we hear nothing of her family during these years, nothing to indicate any change in their condition or in their feelings. we know, however, that sarah kept up a frequent correspondence with her mother and with angelina, and that chiefly through her admonitions the latter was turned from her worldly life to more serious concerns. like sarah, angelina grew up a gay, fashionable girl. her personal beauty and qualities of mind and heart challenged the admiration of all who came in contact with her. more brilliant than sarah, she was also more self-reliant, and, though quite as sympathetic and sensitive, she was neither so demonstrative nor so tender in her feelings as her elder sister, and her manner being more dignified and positive, she inspired, even in those nearest to her, a certain degree of awe which forbade, perhaps, the fulness of confidence which sarah's greater gentleness always invited. her frankness and scrupulous conscientiousness were equal to sarah's, but she always preserved her individuality and her right to think for herself. once convinced, she could maintain her opinion against all arguments and persuasions, no matter from whom. as an illustration of this, it is related of her that when she was about thirteen years of age the bishop of the diocese called to talk to her about being confirmed. she had, of course, been baptized when an infant, and he told her she was now old enough to take upon herself the vows then made for her. she asked the meaning of confirmation, and was referred to the prayer-book. after reading the rite over, she said:-"i cannot be confirmed, for i cannot promise what is here required." the bishop urged that it was a form which all went through who had been baptized in the church, and expected to remain in it. looking him calmly in the face, she said, in a tone whose decision could not be questioned:-"if, with my feelings and views as they now are, i should go through that form, it would be acting a lie. i cannot do it." and no persuasions could induce her to consent. like sarah, she felt much for the slaves, and was ever kind to them, thoughtful, and considerate. she, too, suffered keenly when punishments were inflicted upon them; and no one could listen without tears to the account she gave of herself, as a little girl, stealing out of the house after dark with a bottle of oil with which to anoint the wounds of some poor creature who had been torn by the lash. earlier than sarah, she recognized the whole injustice of the system, and refused ever to have anything to do with it. she did once own a woman, but under the following circumstances:-"i had determined," she writes, "never to own a slave; but, finding that my mother could not manage kitty, i undertook to do so, if i could have her without any interference from anyone. this could not be unless she was mine, and purely from notions of duty i consented to own her. soon after, one of my mother's servants quarrelled with her, and beat her. i determined she should not be subject to such abuse, and i went out to find her a place in some christian family. my steps were ordered by the lord. i succeeded in my desire, and placed her with a religious friend, where she was kindly treated." afterwards, when the woman had become a good methodist, angelina transferred the ownership to her mother, not wishing to receive the woman's wages,--to take, as she said, money which that poor creature had earned. there is no evidence that, up to the time of her first visit to philadelphia, in 1828, she saw anything sinful in owning slaves; indeed, sarah distinctly says she did not. she took the bible as authority for the right to own them, and their cruel treatment by their masters was all that distressed her for many years. like most of her young companions, angelina had great respect for the ordinary observances of religion without much devotional sense of its sacred obligations. but sarah did not neglect her duty as godmother. her searching inquiries and solemn warnings had their effect, and soon awakened a slumbering conscience. but its upbraidings were not accepted unquestionably by angelina, as they had been by sarah. they only stung her into a desire for investigation. she must know the why; and her strong self-reliance helped her judgment, and buoyed her up amid waves of doubt and anxiety that would have submerged her more timid sister. in the first letter of hers that was preserved, written in january, 1826, we are introduced to her religious feelings, and find that they were formed by the pattern set by sarah, save that they lacked sarah's earnestness and sincere conviction. she acknowledges herself a poor, miserable sinner, but the tone is that of confidence that she will come out all right, and that it isn't really such a dreadful thing to be a sinner after all. in this letter, too, she mentions the death of her brother benjamin, and in the same spirit in which sarah wrote of it. "i was in beaufort," she says, "when the news of my dear ben's fate arrived. you may well suppose it was a great shock to my feelings, but i did not for one moment doubt all was right. this blow has been dealt by the hand of mercy. we have been much comforted in this dispensation. i have felt that it was good for me, and i think i have been thankful for it." and further on: "if this affliction will only make mary (benjamin's wife) a real christian, how small will be the price of her salvation!" poor ben! heroic, self-sacrificing soul, he was not a professing christian. in this same letter she expresses the desire to become a communicant of the episcopal church. but she did not wait for sarah's answer. before it came, she and one of her sisters had joined the church. this was in january. before a month had passed she began to be dissatisfied, and grew more and more so as time went on. why, it is not difficult to surmise. from having been accustomed to much society and genial intercourse, she found herself, from her own choice, shut out from it all, and imprisoned within the rigid formalism and narrow exclusiveness of a proud, aristocratic church society. the compensation of knowing herself a lamb of this flock was not sufficient. she starved, she says, on the cold water of episcopacy, and, to her mother's distress, began going to the presbyterian church, just as sarah had done. in april, she writes thus to her sister:-"o, my dear mother, i have joyful news to tell you. god has given me a new heart. he has renewed a right spirit within me. this is news which has occasioned even the angels in heaven to rejoice; surely, then, as a christian, as my sister and my mother, you will also greatly rejoice. for many years i hardened my heart, and would not listen to god's admonitions to flee from the wrath to come. now i feel as if i could give up all for christ, and that if i no longer live in conformity to the world, i can be saved." she then states that this change was brought about by the preaching of mr. mcdowell, the presbyterian minister, and that she can never be grateful enough, as his ministry had been blessed to the saving of her soul. a little further on she adds:-"the presbyterians, i think, enjoy so many privileges that, on this account, i would wish to be one. they have their monthly concert and prayer-meetings, bible-classes, weekly prayer-meetings, morning and evening, and many more which spring from different circumstances. i trust, my dear mother, you will approve of what i have done. i cannot but think if i had been taking an improper step, my conscience would have warned me of it, but, far otherwise, i have gone on my way rejoicing. "mr. hanckel sent me a note and a tract persuasive of my remaining in his church. the latter i think the most bigoted thing i ever read. he said he would call and see me on the subject. i trust and believe god will give me words whereby to refute his arguments. brother tom sanctioned my change, for his liberal mind embraces all classes of christians in the arms of charity and love, and he thinks everyone right to sit under that minister, and choose that form, which makes the deepest impression on the heart. i feel that i have begun a great work, and must be diligent. adieu, my dear mother. you must write soon to your daughter, and tell her all your mind on this subject." there is something very refreshing in all this, after poor sarah's pages of bitterness and self-reproach. at that time, at any rate, angelina enjoyed her religion. it was to her the fulfilment of promise. sarah experienced little of its satisfactions, and groaned and wept under its requirements, from a sense of her utter unworthiness to accept any of its blessings. and this difference between the sisters continued always. angelina knew that humility was the chief of the christian virtues, and often she believed she had attained to it; but there was too much self-assertion, too much of the pride of power, in her composition, to permit her to go down into the depths, and prostrate herself in the dust as sarah did. she could turn her full gaze to the sun, and bask in its genial beams, while sarah felt unworthy to be touched by a single ray, and looked up to its light with imploring but shaded eyes. in november, 1827, sarah again visited charleston. her heart yearned for angelina, whose religious state excited her tenderest solicitude, and called for her wisest counsel. for that enthusiastic young convert was again running off the beaten track, and picking flaws in her new doctrines. but there was another reason why sarah desired to absent herself from philadelphia for a while. i can touch but lightly on this experience of her life, for her sensitive soul quivered under any allusion to it; and though her diary contains many references to it, they are chiefly in the form of prayers for submission to her trial, and strength to bear it. but it was the key-note to the dirge which sounded ever after in her heart, mingling its mournful numbers with every joy, even after she had risen beyond her religious horrors. for months she fought against this new snare of satan, as she termed it, this plain design to draw her thoughts from god, and compass her destruction. the love of christ should surely be enough for her, and any craving for earthly affection was the evidence of an unsanctified heart. in a delicate reference to this, in after years, she says:-"it is a beautiful theory, but my experience belies it, that god can be all in all to man. there are moments, diamond points in life, when god fills the yearning soul, and supplies all our needs, through the richness of his mercy in christ jesus. but human hearts are created for human hearts to love and be loved by, and their claims are as true and as sacred as those of the spirit." it was very soon after her first doubts concerning her worthiness to accept the happiness offered to her that she determined to go to charleston and put her feelings to the test of absence and unbiased reflection. the entry in her diary of november 22d is as follows:-"landed this morning in charleston, and was welcomed by my dear mother with tears of pleasure and tenderness, as she folded me once more to her bosom. my dear sisters, too, greeted me with all the warmth of affection. it is a blessing to find them all seriously disposed, and my precious angelina one of the master's chosen vessels. what a mercy!" chapter iv. the strong contrast between sarah and angelina grimké was shown not only in their religious feelings, but in their manner of treating the ordinary concerns of life, and in carrying out their convictions of duty. in her humility, and in her strong reliance on the "inner light," sarah refused to trust her own judgment, even in the merest trifles, such as the lending of a book to a friend, postponing the writing of a letter, or sweeping a room to-day, when it might be better to defer it until to-morrow. she says of this: "perhaps to some who have been led by higher ways than i have been into a knowledge of the truth, it may appear foolish to think of seeking direction in little things, but my mind has for a long time been in a state in which i have often felt a fear how i came in or went out, and i have found it a precious thing to stop and consult the mind of truth, and be governed thereby." the following incident, one out of many, will illustrate the sincerity of her conviction on this point. "in this frame of mind i went to meeting, and it being a rainy day i took a large, handsome umbrella, which i had accepted from brother henry, accepted doubtfully, therefore wrongfully, and have never felt quite easy to use it, which, however, i have done a few times. after i was in meeting, i was much tried with a wandering mind, and every now and then the umbrella would come before me, so that i sat trying to wait on my god, and he showed me that i must not only give up this little thing, but return it to brother. glad to purchase peace, i yielded; then the reasoner said i could put it away and not use it, but this language was spoken: 'i have shown thee what was required of thee.' it seemed to me that a little light came through a narrow passage, when my will was subdued. now this is a marvellous thing to me, as marvellous as the dealings of the lord with me in what may appear great things." in a note she adds: "this little sacrifice was made. i sent the umbrella with an affectionate note to brother, and believe it gave him no offence to have it returned. and sweet has been the recompense--even peace." whenever she acted from her own impulses, she was very clever in finding out some disappointment or mistake, which she could claim as a punishment for her self-will. as sympathy was the strongest quality of her moral nature, she suffered intensely when, impelled by a sense of duty, she offered a rebuke of any kind. the tenderest pity stirred her heart for wrong-doers, and though she never spared the sinner, it was always manifest that she loved him while hating his sin. angelina, on the other hand, was wonderfully well satisfied with her own power of distinguishing right from wrong; this power being, she believed, the gift of the spirit to her. she sought her object, dreading no consequences, and if disaster followed she comforted herself with the feeling that she had acted according to her best light. she was a faithful disciple of every cause she espoused, and scrupulously exact in obeying even its implied provisions. in this there was no hesitancy. no matter who was offended, or what sacrifices to herself it involved, the law, the strict letter of the law, must be carried out. in the early years of her religious life, she frequently felt called upon to rebuke those about her. she did it unhesitatingly, and as a righteous and an inflexible judge. in order to make these differences between the sisters more plain, differences which harmonized singularly with their unity in other respects, i shall be obliged, at the risk of wearying the reader, to make some further extracts from their diaries, before entering upon that portion of their lives in which they became so closely identified. after sarah's return home, in 1827, we learn more of her mother and of the family generally, and see, though with them, how far apart she really was from them. the second entry in her diary at that date shows the beginning of this. "23d. have been favored with strength to absent myself from family prayers. a great trial this to angelina and myself, and something the rest cannot understand. but i have a testimony to bear against will worship, and oh, that i may be faithful to this and to all the testimonies which we as a society are called to declare. "26th. am this day thirty-five years old. a serious consideration that i have passed so many years to so little profit. "how little mother seems to know when i am sitting solemnly beside her, of the supplications which arise for her, under the view of her having ere long to give an account of the deeds done in the body." a month later she writes: "the subject of returning to philadelphia has been revived before me. it seems like a fresh trial, and as if, did my master permit, here would i stay, and in the bosom of my family be content to dwell; but if he orders it otherwise, great as will be the struggle, may i submit in humble faith." by the following extracts it will be seen that living under the daily and hourly influence of sarah, angelina was slowly but surely imbibing the fresh milk of quakerism, and was preparing for another great change on her spiritual journey. in march, 1828, she wrote as follows to her sister, mrs. frost, in philadelphia:-"i think i can say that it was owing in a great measure to my peculiar state of mind that i did not write to you for so long. during that time it seemed as though the lord was driving me from everything on which i had rested for happiness, in order to bring me to christ alone. my dear little church, in which i delighted once to dwell, seemed to have ichabod written upon its walls, and i felt as though it was a cross for me to go into it. at times i thought the saviour meant to bring me out of it, and i could weep at the bare thought of being separated from people i loved so dearly. like abraham, i had gone out from my kindred into a strange land, and i have often thought that by faith i was joined to that body of christians, for i certainly knew nothing at all about them at that time." in the latter part of the letter she mentions the visit to her of an episcopal minister, from near beaufort. he asked her if she could not do something to remove the lukewarmness from the episcopal church, and if a real evangelical minister was sent there would she not return to it. "but," she says, "i told him i could not conscientiously belong to any church which exalted itself above all others, and excluded ministers of other denominations from its pulpit. the principle of _liberty_ is what especially endears the presbyterian church to me. our pulpit is open to all christians, and, as i have often heard my dear pastor remark, our communion table is the _lord's table_, and all his children are cheerfully received at it." about the same time sarah says in her diary: "my dear angelina observed to-day, 'i do not know what is the matter with me; some time ago i could talk to the poor people, but now it seems as if my lips were absolutely sealed. i cannot get the words out.' i mark with intense interest her progress in the divine life, believing she is raised up to declare the wonderful works of god to the children of men." in the latter part of march, 1828, she makes the following entry: "on the eve of my departure from home, all before me lies in darkness save this one step, to go at this time in the _langdon cheeves_. this seems peremptory, and at times precious promises have been annexed to obedience,--'go, and i will be with thee.'" angelina had been very happy during the year spent in the presbyterian church, all its requirements suiting her temperament exactly. her energy and activity found full exercise in various works of charity, in visiting the prison, where she delighted to exhort the prisoners, in reading, and especially in expounding the scriptures to the sick and aged; in zealously forwarding missionary work, and in warm interest in all the social exercises of the society. she was petted by the pastor, and admired by the congregation. it was very pleasant to her to feel that she not only conformed to all her duties, but was regarded as a shining light, destined to do much to build up the church. she still retained most of her old friendships in the episcopal church, which had not given up all hope of luring her back to its fold. altogether, life had gone smoothly with her, and she was well satisfied. the change which she now contemplated was a revolution. it was to break up all the old habits and associations, disturb life-long friendships, and, stripping her of the attractions of society and church intercourse, leave her standing alone, a spectacle to the eyes of those who gazed, a wonder and a grief to her friends. but all this sarah had warned her of, and all this she felt able to endure. self-sacrifice, self-immolation, in fact, was what sarah taught; and, although angelina never learned the lesson fully, she made a conscientious effort to understand and practise it. she began very shortly after sarah's arrival at home. in january her diary records the following offering made to the moloch of quakerism:-"to-day i have torn up my novels. my mind has long been troubled about them. i did not dare either to sell them or lend them out, and yet i had not resolution to destroy them until this morning, when, in much mercy, strength was granted." sarah in her diary thus refers to this act: "this morning my dear angelina proposed destroying scott's novels, which she had purchased before she was serious. perhaps i strengthened her a little, and accordingly they were cut up. she also gave me some elegant articles to stuff a cushion, believing that, as we were commanded to lead holy and unblamable lives, so we must not sanction sin in others by giving them what we had put away ourselves." angelina also says, "a great deal of my finery, too, i have put beyond the reach of anyone." an explanation of this is given in a copy of a paper which was put into the cushion alluded to by sarah. the copy is in her handwriting. "believing that if ever the contents of this cushion, in the lapse of years, come to be inspected (when, mayhap, its present covering should be destroyed by time and service), they will excite some curiosity in those who will behold the strange assemblage of handsome lace veils, flounces, and trimmings, and caps, this may inform them that in the winter of 1827-8, sarah m. grimké, being on a visit to her friends in charleston, undertook the economical task of making a rag carpet, and with the shreds thereof concluded to stuff this cushion. having made known her intention, she solicited contributions from all the family, which they furnished liberally, and several of them having relinquished the vanities of the world to seek a better inheritance, they threw into the treasury much which they had once used to decorate the poor tabernacle of clay. now it happened that on the 10th day of the first month that, sitting at her work and industriously cutting her scraps, her well-beloved sister angelina proposed adding to the collection for the cushion two handsome lace veils, a lace flounce, and other laces, etc., which were accepted, and are accordingly in this medley. this has been done under feelings of duty, believing that, as we are called with a high and holy calling, and forbidden to adorn these bodies, but to wear the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, as we have ourselves laid aside these superfluities of naughtiness, so we should not in any measure contribute to the destroying of others, knowing that we shall be called to give an account of the deeds done in the body." this was at least consistent, and in this light cannot be condemned. from that time angelina kept up this kind of sacrifices, which were gladly made, and for which she seems to have found ample compensation in her satisfied sense of duty. one day she records: "i have just untrimmed my hat, and have put nothing but a band of ribbon around it, and taken the lace out of the inside. i do want, if i _am_ a christian, to look like one. i think that professors of religion ought so to dress that wherever they are seen all around may feel they are _condemning_ the world and all its trifling vanities." a little later, she writes: "my attention has lately been called to the duty of christians dressing _quite_ plain. when i was first brought to the feet of jesus, i learned this lesson in part, but i soon forgot much of it. now i find my views stricter and clearer than they ever were. the first thing i gave up was a cashmere mantle which cost twenty dollars. i had not felt easy with it for some months, and finally determined never to wear it again, though i had no money at the time to replace it with anything else. however, i gave it up in faith, and the lord provided for me. this part of scripture came very forcibly to my mind, and very sweetly, too, 'and dagon was fallen upon his face to the ground before the ark of the lord.' it was then clearly revealed to me that if the true ark christ jesus was really introduced into the temple of the heart, that every idol would fall before it." elsewhere she mentions that she had begun with this mantle by cutting off the border; but this compromise did not satisfy conscience. but the work thus begun did not ripen until some time after sarah's departure, though the preparation for it went daily and silently on. sarah in the meanwhile was once more quietly settled at catherine morris' house in philadelphia. but we must leave this much-tried pilgrim for a little while, and record the progress of her young disciple on the path which, through much tribulation, led her at last to her sister's side, and to that work which was even now preparing for them both. chapter v. angelina's diary, commenced in 1828, is most characteristic, and in the very beginning shows that inclination to the consideration and discussion of serious questions which in after years so distinguished her. it is rather remarkable to find a girl of twenty-three scribbling over several pages about the analogy existing between the natural and the spiritual world, or discussing with herself the question: "are seasons of darkness always occasioned by sin?" or giving a long list of reasons why she differs from commentators upon certain texts of scriptures. she enjoyed this kind of thinking and writing, and seems to have been unwearying in her search after authorities to sustain her views. the maxims, too, which she was fond of jotting down here and there, and which furnished the texts for long dissertations, show the serious drift of her thoughts, and their clearness and beauty. from this time it is interesting to follow her spiritual progress, so like and yet so unlike sarah's. she, also, early in her religious life, was impressed with the feeling that she would be called to some great work. in the winter of 1828, she writes:-"it does appear to me, and it has appeared so ever since i had a hope, that there was a work before me to which all my other duties and trials were only preparatory. i have no idea what it is, and i may be mistaken, but it does seem that if i am obedient to the 'still small voice' in my heart, that it will lead me and cause me to glorify my master in a more honorable work than any in which i have been yet engaged." knowing sarah's convictions at this time, it is easy to imagine the long, confidential talks she must have had with angelina, and the loving persuasion used to bring this dear sister into the same communion with herself, and it is no marvel that she succeeded. angelina's nature was an earnest one, and she ever sought the truth, and the best in every doctrine, and this remained with her after the rest was rejected. the presbyterian church satisfied her better than the episcopal, but if sarah or anyone else could show her a brighter light to guide her, a better path leading to the same goal, she would have thought it a heinous offence against god and her own true nature to reject it. that no desire for novelty impelled her in her then contemplated change, and that she foresaw all she would have to contend with, and the sacrifices she would have to make, is evident from several passages like the following:-"yesterday i was thrown into great exercise of mind. the lord more clearly than ever unfolded his design of appointing me another field of labor, and at the same time i felt released from the cross of conducting family worship. i feel that very soon all the burdens will drop from my hands, and all the cords by which i have been bound to many christian friends will be broken asunder. soon i shall be a stranger among those with whom i took sweet counsel, and shall have to tread the wine press alone and be forsaken of all." a day or two after she says:-"this morning i felt no condemnation when i went into family prayers, and did not lead as usual in the duties. i felt that my master had stripped me of the priest's garments, and put them on my mother. may he be pleased to anoint her for these sacred duties." her impressions may be accounted for by the influence of sarah's feelings regarding herself, and as there was then no other field of public usefulness open to women, especially among the quakers, than the ministry, her mind naturally settled upon that as her prospective work. but, unlike sarah, the anticipation inspired her with no dread, no doubt even of her ability to perform the duties, or of her entire acceptance in them. it is true she craved of the lord guidance and help, but she was confident she would receive all she needed, and in this state of mind she was better fitted, perhaps, to wait patiently for her summons than sarah was. she gives a minute and very interesting account of the successive steps by which she was led to feel that she could no longer worship in the presbyterian church, and we see the workings of sarah's influence through it all. but it was not until after sarah left for philadelphia that angelina took any decided measures to release herself from the old bonds. all winter it had grieved her to think of leaving a church which she had called the cradle of her soul, and where she had enjoyed so many privileges. she loved everything connected with it; the pastor to whom she had looked up as her spiritual guide; the members with whom she had been so intimately associated, and the sunday-school in which she was much beloved, and where she felt she was doing a good work. again and again she asked herself: "how can i give them up?" her friends all noticed the decline of her interest in the church work and services, and commented upon it. but she shrank for a long time from any open avowal of her change of views, preferring to let her conduct tell the story. and in this she was straightforward and open enough, not hesitating to act at once upon each new light as it was given to her. first came the putting away of everything like ornament about her dress. "even the bows on my shoes," she says, "must go," and then continues:-"my friends tell me that i render myself ridiculous, and expose the cause of jesus to reproach, on account of my plain dressing. they tell me it is wrong to make myself so conspicuous. but the more i ponder on the subject, the more i feel that i am called with a high and holy calling, and that i ought to be peculiar, and cannot be too zealous. i rejoice to look forward to the time when christians will follow the apostolical injunction to 'keep their garments unspotted from the world;' and is not every conformity to it a spot on the believer's character? i think it is, and i bless the lord that he has been pleased to bring my mind to a contemplation of this subject. i pray that he may strengthen me to keep the resolution to dress always in the following style: a hat over the face, without any bows of ribbon or lace; no frills or trimmings on any part of my dress, and materials _not_ the finest." this simplicity in dress, and the sinfulness of every self-indulgence, she also taught to her sunday-school scholars with more or less success, as one example out of several of a similar character will show. "yesterday," she writes, "i met my class, and think it was a profitable meeting to all. one of them has entertained a hope for about a year. she asked me if i thought it wrong to plant geraniums? i told her _i_ had no time for such things. she then said that she had once taken great pleasure in cultivating them, but lately she had felt so much condemnation that she had given it up entirely. another professed to have some little hope in the saviour, and remarked that i had changed her views with regard to dress very much, that she had taken off her rings and flounces, and hoped never to wear them again. her hat also distressed her. it was almost new, and she could not afford to get another. i told her if she would send it to me i would try to change it. two others came who felt a little, but are still asleep. a good work is evidently begun. may it be carried triumphantly on." towards spring she began to absent herself from the weekly prayer-meetings, to stop her active charities, and to withdraw herself more from the family and social circle. in april she writes in her diary:-"my mind is composed, and i cannot but feel astonished at the total change which has passed over me in the last six months. i once delighted in going to meeting four and five times every week, but now my master says, 'be still,' and i would rather be at home; for i find that every stream from which i used to drink the waters of salvation is dry, and that i have been led to the fountain itself. and is it possible, i would ask myself to-night, is it possible that i have this day paid my last visit to the presbyterian church? that i have taught my interesting class for the last time? is it right that i should separate myself from a people whom i have loved so tenderly, and who have been the helpers of my joy? is it right to give up instructing those dear children, whom i have so often carried in the arms of faith and love to the throne of grace? reason would sternly answer, _no_, but the spirit whispers, 'come out from among them!' i am sure if i refuse the call of my master to the society of friends, i shall be a dead member in the presbyterian church. i have read none of their books for fear of being convinced of their principles, but the lord has taught me himself, and i feel that he who is head over all things, has called me to follow him into the little silent meeting which is in this city." and into the little silent meeting she went,--little, indeed, as the only regular attendants were two old men; and silent, chiefly because between these two there was a bitter feud, and the communion of spirit was naturally preferred to vocal intercession. when angelina became aware of this state of feeling, and saw that the two old quakers always left the meeting-house without shaking hands, as it was the custom to do, she became much troubled, and for several weeks much of the comfort of attending meeting was destroyed. "the more i thought of it," she writes to sarah, "the clearer became the conviction that i must write to j.k. (the one with whom she was best acquainted). this i did, after asking counsel of the lord, for full well did i know that i should expose myself to the anger and rudeness of j.k., by touching on a point which i believed was already sore from the prickings of conscience. his reply was even harsher than i expected; but, though it did wound my feelings, it convinced me that he needed just what i wrote, and that the pure witness within him condemned him. my letter, i think, was written in conformity to the direction given by paul to timothy, 'rebuke not an _elder_, but entreat him as a father,' and in a spirit of love and tenderness. his answer spoke a spirit too proud to brook even the meekest remonstrance, and he tried to justify his conduct by saying that d.l. was a thief and a slave-holder, and had cheated him out of a large sum of money, etc. i answered him, expressing my belief that, let d.l.'s moral character be what it might, the christian ought to be gentle and courteous to all men; and that we were bound to love our enemies, which was not at all inconsistent with the obligation to bear a decided testimony against all that we believed contrary to the precepts of the bible. he sent me another letter, in which he declared d.l. was to him as a 'heathen and a publican,' and i was a 'busybody in other men's matters.' here i think the matter will end. i feel that i have done what was required of me, and i am willing he should think of me as he does, so long as i enjoy the testimony of a good conscience." we cannot wonder that angelina drew upon herself, as sarah had done, the arrows of ridicule; and that taunts and sneers followed her, as she walked alone in her simple dress to her humble place of worship. but we marvel that one situated as she was,--young, naturally gay and brilliant, the centre of a large circle of fashionable friends, the ewe lamb of an influential religious society,--should have unflinchingly maintained her position under persecutions and trials that would have made many an older disciple succumb. that they were martyrdom to her proud spirit there can be no doubt; but, sustained by the inner light, the conviction that she was right, she could put every temptation behind her, and resist even the prayers and tears of her mother. her withdrawal from the presbyterian church caused the most intense excitement in the community, and every effort was made to reclaim her. the rev. mr. mcdowell, her pastor, visited her, and remonstrated with her in the most feeling manner, assuring her of his profound pity, as she was evidently under a delusion of the arch-adversary. members of the congregation made repeated calls upon her, urging every argument they could think of to convince her she was deceived. some expressed a fear that her mind was a little unbalanced, and shook their heads over the possible result; others declared that she was committing a great impropriety to shut herself up every sunday with two old men. this, angelina informed them, was a mistake, as the windows and doors were wide open, and the gate also. others of her friends assured her with tears in their eyes that they would pray to the lord to bring her back to the path of duty she had forsaken. the superintendent of the sunday-school came also to plead with her, in the name of the children she was abandoning. some of the scholars themselves came and implored her not to leave them. "but," she writes, "none of these things turn me a hair's breadth, for i have the witness in myself that i have done as the master commanded. some tell me this is a judgment on me for sin committed; and some say it is a chastisement to mr. mcdowell for going away last summer." (during the prevalence of an epidemic the summer before, the presbyterian pastor had been much blamed for deserting his flock and fleeing to the sea-shore until all danger was past.) by all this it will be seen that angelina was regarded as too precious a jewel in the crown of the church to be relinquished without a struggle. but satisfied as was her conscience, angelina's natural feelings could not be immediately stifled. though not so sensitive or so affectionate as sarah, she was quite as proud, and valued as greatly the good opinion of her family and friends. she could not feel herself an outcast, an object of pity and derision, without being deeply affected by it. her health gave way under the pressure, and a change of scene and climate was recommended. sarah at once urged that she join her in philadelphia; and, this meeting the approbation of her mother, she sailed for the north in july (1828). in sarah's diary, about this time, we find the following entry:-"13th. my beloved angelina arrived yesterday. peace has, i believe, been the covering of our minds; and in thinking of her to-day, and trying to feel whether i should advise her not to adopt immediately the garb of a quaker, the language presented itself, 'touch not mine anointed, and do my prophets no harm.' so i dared not meddle with her." the summer was a peaceful and delightful one to angelina. she was the guest of catherine morris, and was treated like a daughter by all the kind quaker circle. the novelty of her surroundings, the fresh scenes and new ideas constantly presented before her, opened up a field of thought whose boundaries only she had until then touched, but which she soon began eagerly and conscientiously to explore. two extracts from letters written by her at that time will show how strict she was in her quaker principles, and also that the persuasion that she was to be given some great work to do was becoming even more firmly grounded. to sarah, who was absent from her for a short time, she writes:-"dear mother: my mind begins to be much exercised. i scarcely want to converse at all, and believe it best i should be much alone. sister anna is very kind in leaving me to myself. she appears to feel much for me, but i do not feel at liberty to ask her what occasions the tears which at times flow as she throws her arms around me. i sometimes think she sees more than i do about myself. i often tremble when i think of the future, and fear that i am not entirely resigned to my master's will. read the first chapter of jeremiah; it rests much on my mind, and distresses me; and though i would wish to put far off the evil day, yet i am urged continually to pray that the lord would cut short the work of preparation." her sister anna (mrs. frost) was one of those who thought angelina was under a terrible delusion, and mourned over her wasted energies. but it is certainly singular that the chapter to which she refers, taken in connection with the work with which she afterwards became identified, should have made the impression on her mind which it evidently did, as she repeatedly alludes to it. this letter is the last in which she addresses sarah as _mother_. their quaker friends all objected to the habit, and it was dropped. in another letter she describes a visit she made to a friend in the country, and says:-"i have already had reason to feel my great need of watchfulness here. yesterday the nurse gave me a cap to tuck and trim for the baby. my hands actually trembled as i worked on it, and yet i had not faithfulness enough to refuse to do it. this text was repeatedly presented to me, 'happy is he who condemneth not himself in that thing which he alloweth.' while working, my heart was lifted up to the father of mercies for strength to bear my testimony against such vanities; and when i put the cap into clara's hands, i begged her not to give me any more such work to do, as i felt it a duty to bear my testimony against dress, and believed it sinful in me to assist anyone in doing what i was convinced was sinful, and assured her of my willingness to do any plain work. she laughed at my scruples, but my agitated mind was calmed, and i was satisfied to be thought foolish for christ's sake. thomas (clara's husband) and i had along talk about quakers yesterday. i tried to convince him that they do not reject the bible, explained the reason of their not calling it the word of god, and got him to acknowledge that in several texts i repeated the word was the spirit. we conversed on the ordinances. he did not argue much for them, but was immovable in his opinions. he thinks if all quakers were like _me_, he could like them, but believes i have carried all the good of presbyterianism into the society, therefore they cannot be judged of by me." on the 11th of november sarah writes: "parted with my dearly beloved sister angelina this afternoon. we have been one another's consolation and strength in the lord, mingling sweetly in exercise, and bearing one another's burdens." the first entry in angelina's diary after her return to charleston is as follows: "once more in the bosom of my family. my prayer is that our coming together may be for the better, not for the worse." considering the agitation which had been going on at the north for several years concerning slavery, we must suppose that angelina and sarah grimké heard it frequently discussed, and had its features brought before them in a stronger light than that in which they had previously viewed them. in sarah's mind, absorbed as it was at that time by her own sorrows and by the deeply-rooted conviction of her prospective and dreaded call to the ministry, there appears to have been no room for any other subject, if we except the strife then going on in the quaker church, and which called forth all her sympathy for the orthodox portion, and her strong denunciation of the hicksites. but upon angelina every word she heard against the institution which she had always abhorred, but accepted as a necessary evil, made an indelible impression, which deepened when she was again face to face with its odious lineaments. this begins to show itself soon after her return home, as will be seen by the following extract:-"since my arrival i have enjoyed a continuation of that rest from exercise of mind which began last spring, until to-night. my soul is sorrowful, and my heart bleeds. i am ready to exclaim, when shall i be released from this land of slavery! but if my suffering for these poor creatures can at all ameliorate their condition, surely i ought to be quite willing, and i can now bless the lord that my labor is not all in vain, though much remains to be done yet." the secluded and inactive life she now led confirmed the opinion of her presbyterian friends that she was a backslider in the divine life. i must reserve for another chapter the recital of angelina's efforts to open the eyes of the members of her household to the unchristian life they were leading, and the sins they were multiplying on their heads by their treatments of those they held in bondage. chapter vi. many things about the home life which habit had prevented angelina from remarking before, now, since her visit among friends, struck her as sinful, and inconsistent with a christian profession. only a few days after her return, she thus writes in her diary:-"i am much tried at times at the manner in which i am obliged to live here in so much luxury and ease, and raised so far above the poor, and spending so much on my board. i want to live in plainness and simplicity and economy, for so should every christian do. i am at a loss how to act, for if i live with mother, which seems the proper place for me, i must live in this way in a great degree. it is true i can always take the plainest food, and this i do generally, believing that whether at home or abroad i ought to eat nothing i think too sumptuous for a _servant_ of jesus christ. for this reason, when i took tea at a minister's house a few evenings since, i did not touch the richest cakes, nor the fruit and nuts handed, after tea; and when paying a visit the other morning, i refused cake and wine, although i felt fatigued, and would have liked something plain to eat. but it is not only the food i eat at mother's, but the whole style of living is a direct departure from the simplicity that is in christ. the lord's poor tell me they do not like to come to such a fine house to see me; and if they come, instead of being able to read a lesson of frugality, and deadness to the world, they must go away lamenting over the inconsistency of a sister professor. one thing is very hard to bear--i feel obliged to pay five dollars a week for board, though i disapprove of this extravagance, and am actually accessory in maintaining this style of living, when i know it is wrong, and am thereby prevented from giving to the poor as liberally as i would like." she and sarah had for several years, when at home, paid board regularly to their mother, and this was probably one thing which irritated the other members of the family, several of whom were living in idleness on their mother, doing nothing and paying nothing. the brothers at least could not but feel the implied rebuke. as we have seen, she was not at all backward in expressing her disapprobation, when she found her silent testimony was disregarded or misunderstood; and her language was generally rather forcible. this, of course, was trying to those who did not see the necessity of living according to her standard, and very trying to angelina, whose convictions were clear, and whose interest in her relatives was as tender as it was sincere. scarcely a day passed that something did not occur to wound her feelings, shock her religious prejudices, or arouse her righteous indignation. slavery was always the cause of the latter, and for the others ample reason was to be found in what she styled the vain lusts of the world, and in the coldness and irritability of some members of the family. unrestrained self-indulgence, joined to high-strung and undisciplined tempers, made of what should have been a united, bright, and charming home circle, a place of constant discord, jealousy, and unhappiness. sarah had borne this state of things better than angelina could, her extreme gentleness and kindness disarming all unkind feelings in others. but even she was forced to flee from it at last. the record is a most painful one, and it gives another evidence of angelina's sense of her own power, and of her reliance on divine help, that she should for one moment have contemplated effecting any change. but the respite from those dissensions, and the rest thus given to her spirit by her visit north, softened the bitter feelings she had once entertained, and when she returned home it was with sentiments of affection for everyone, and especially for her mother, from whom she had been grievously estranged. she prayed that she might not do or say anything to alienate them further from her; but when she fully realized, as she had never yet done, the sad condition of things, she could not keep silent. she felt it her duty to speak, and she did so, kindly and affectionately, but unsparingly. she relates many incidents proving this, and showing also how badly her reproofs were received. the mistake she made, and which in after years she freely acknowledged, was in excess of zeal. but angelina was a born radical, and if a thing was wrong, it was wrong, and she could not see why it should not be righted at once. temporizing with a wrong, or compromising with it in any way, were things outside of her reasoning, and she never would admit that they were justifiable under any circumstances. it was, of course, difficult to apply this principle in the desired reform of her mother's inherited and life-long prejudices. hence the incessant chafing and irritation which daily made angelina feel more keenly her isolated position, and caused her to turn with increasing longing to the north, where her beloved sister and many dear friends were in sympathy with her. to illustrate what i have said, one or two examples will be sufficient. she was much troubled because her mother had the drawing-room repainted and handsomely papered. mrs. grimké doubtless selected a paper in harmony with the house and furniture, and had no suspicion that she was thereby committing a sin. but angelina thought it entirely too fine, and felt that she could never sit in the room. when the work was at last finished, and some friends were invited to tea, and afterwards repaired to the newly-decorated apartment, angelina did not accompany them, but remained below, reading alone, much disturbed during the evening by the talking and laughing up stairs. her mother did not notice her absence, or ascribed it to some other cause; but angelina explained it to her some time afterwards, when, she says, a way seemed to open for it. "i spoke to her of how great a trial it was to me to see her living in the luxury she did, and explained to her that it was not, as she seemed to think, because i did not wish to see brother john and sister sally that i was tried at their dining here every week, but it was the parade and profusion which was displayed when they came. i spoke also of the drawing-room, and remarked it was as much my feeling about _that_ which had prevented my coming into the room when m.a. and others drank tea here, as my objection to fashionable company. she said it was very hard that she could not give her children what food she chose, or have a room papered, without being found fault with; that, indeed, she was weary of being continually blamed about everything she did, and she wished she could be let alone, for she saw no sin in these things. 'i trust,' i said, 'that i do not speak to thee, mother, in the spirit thou art now speaking to me; nothing but my conviction that i am bound to bear my testimony to the truth could induce me to find fault with thee. in doing so, i am acting with eternity in view. i am acting in reference to that awful hour when i shall stand at thy death-bed, or thou by mine.' interrupting me, she said if _i_ was so constantly found fault with, i would not bear it either; for her part, she was quite discouraged. 'oh, mother,' said i, 'there is something in thee so alienated from the love of christ that thou canst not bear to be found fault with.' 'yes,' she said, 'you and sally always say _i_ speak in a wrong spirit, but both of you in a right one.' she then went on to say how much i was changed, about slavery, for instance, for when i was first serious i thought it was right, and never condemned it. i replied that i acted according to the light i had. 'well, then,' she continued, 'you are not to expect everyone to think like quakers.' i remarked that true believers had but one leader, who would, if they followed him, guide them into all truth, and teach them the same things. she again spoke of my turning quaker, and said it was because i was a quaker that i disapproved of a great many things that nobody but quakers could see any harm in. i was much roused at this, and said with a good deal of energy, 'dear mother, what but the _power_ of god could ever have made _me_ change my sentiments?' some very painful conversation followed about kitty. i did not hesitate to say that no one with _christian_ feelings could have treated her as she was treated before i took her; her condition was a disgrace to the name of christian. she reminded me that _i_ had advised the very method that had been adopted with her. this stung me to the quick. 'not after i professed christianity,' i eagerly replied, 'and that i should have done so before, only proved the wretched manner of my education.' but mother is perfectly blind as to the miserable manner in which she brought us up. during the latter part of the conversation i was greatly excited, for so acute have been my sufferings on account of slavery, and so strong my feelings of indignation in looking upon its oppressions and degradations, that i cannot command my feelings in speaking of what my own eyes have seen, and thus, i believe, i lost the satisfaction i should otherwise have felt for speaking the truth." though constantly disregarded, taunted, and thwarted, angelina faithfully persevered in her efforts at reform, at the same time as faithfully striving after more meekness and singleness of purpose herself. after a while, she obtained two concessions from which she hoped much: one, that the servants should come to her in the library every day for religious instruction; the other, that her mother would sit with her in silence every evening for half an hour before tea. the servants came as directed, and angelina made her instructions so interesting that soon some of the neighbors' servants asked to be admitted, and then her mother and one or two of her sisters joined the meetings; and though no very marked fruit of her labors appeared for some time, she persevered, with a firm faith that the seed she was sowing would not all be scattered to the winds. the proposal to her mother to sit in silence for a while with her every evening was in accordance with the quaker practices. she thought they would both find it profitable, and that it would be the means of forming a bond of union between them. the mother's assent to this was certainly an amiable concession to her daughter's views, enhanced by the regularity with which she kept the appointment, although the dark, silent room must have been at times a trifle wearisome. angelina always sat on a low seat beside her, with her head in her mother's lap, and very rarely was the silence broken. the practice was kept up until the mosquitoes obliged them to discontinue it. that it did not prove entirely satisfactory, we judge from several entries in the diary like the following:-"i still sit in silence with dear mother, but feel very sensibly that she takes no interest at all in it; still, i do not like to relinquish the habit, believing it may yet be blessed. eliza came this evening, as she has several times before. it was a season of great deadness, and yet i am glad to sit even thus, for where there is communion there will be some union." her position was certainly a difficult and a painful one; for, apart from other troubles, her eyes were now fully open to all the iniquities of the slave system, and she could neither stay in nor go out without having some of its miserable features forced upon her notice. in the view of her after-work, it is interesting to note the beginning of her strong feelings on the subject, as well as her faithful crusades against it in her own family. in april, 1829, she writes as follows in her diary:-"whilst returning from meeting this morning, i saw before me a colored woman who in much distress was vindicating herself to two white boys, one about eighteen, the other fifteen, who walked on each side of her. the dreadful apprehension that they were leading her to the workhouse crossed my mind, and i would have avoided her if i could. as i approached, the younger said to her, 'i will have you tied up.' my knees smote together, and my heart sank within me. as i passed them, she exclaimed, 'missis!' but i felt all i had to do was to suffer the pain of seeing her. my lips were sealed, and my soul earnestly craved a willingness to bear the exercise which was laid on me. how long, o lord, how long wilt thou suffer the foot of the oppressor to stand on the neck of the slave! none but those who know from experience what it is to live in a land of bondage can form any idea of what is endured by those whose eyes are open to the enormities of slavery, and whose hearts are tender enough to feel for these miserable creatures. for two or three months after my return here it seemed to me that all the cruelty and unkindness which i had from my infancy seen practised towards them came back to my mind as though it was only yesterday. and as to the house of correction, it seemed as though its doors were unbarred to me, and the wretched, lacerated inmates of its cold, dark cells were presented to my view. night and day they were before me, and yet my hands were bound as with chains of iron. i could do nothing but weep over the scenes of horror which passed in review before my mind. sometimes i felt as though i was willing to fly from carolina, be the consequences what they might. at others, it seemed as though the very exercises i was suffering under were preparing me for future usefulness to them; and this,--_hope_, i can scarcely call it, for my very soul trembled at the solemn thought of such a work being placed in my feeble and unworthy hands,--this idea was the means of reconciling me to suffer, and causing me to feel something of a willingness to pass through any trials, if i could only be the means of exposing the cruelty and injustice which was practised in the institution of oppression, and of bringing to light the hidden things of darkness, of revealing the secrets of iniquity and abolishing its present regulations,--above all, of exposing the awful sin of professors of religion sending their slaves to such a place of cruelty, and having them whipped so that when they come out they can scarcely walk, or having them put upon the treadmill until they are lamed for days afterwards. these are not things i have heard; no, my own eyes have looked upon them and wept over them. such was the opinion i formed of the workhouse that for many months whilst i was a teacher in the sunday-school, having a scholar in my class who was the daughter of the master of it, i had frequent occasion to go to it to mark her lessons, and no one can imagine my feelings in walking down that street. it seemed as though i was walking on the very confines of hell; and this winter, being obliged to pass it to pay a visit to a friend, i suffered so much that i could not get over it for days, and wondered how any real christian could live near such a place." it may appear to some who read this biography that angelina's expressions of feeling were over-strained. but it was not so. her nervous organization was exceedingly delicate, and became more so after she began to give her best thoughts to the cause of humanity. in her own realization, at least, of the suffering of others there was no exaggeration. not long after making the above record of her feelings on this subject, she narrates the following incident:-"i have been suffering for the last two days on account of henry's boy having run away, because he was threatened with a whipping. oh, who can paint the horrors of slavery! and yet, so hard is the natural heart that i am constantly told that the situation of slaves is very good, much better than that of their owners. how strange that anyone should believe such an absurdity, or try to make others believe it! no wonder poor john ran away at the threat of a flogging, when he has told me more than once that when h. last whipped him he was in pain for a week afterwards. i don't know how the boy must have felt, but i know that that night was one of agony to me; for it was not only dreadful to hear the blows, but the oaths and curses h. uttered went like daggers to my heart. and this was done, too, in the house of one who is regarded as a light in the church. o jesus, where is thy meek and merciful disposition to be found now? are the marks of discipleship changed, or who are thy true disciples? last night i lay awake weeping over the condition of john, and it seemed as though that was all i could do. but at last i was directed to go to h. and tenderly remonstrate with him. i sought strength, and was willing to do so, if the impression continued. to-day, was somewhat released from this exercise, though still suffering, and almost thought it would not be required. but at dusk it returned; and, having occasion to go into h.'s room for something, i broached the subject as guardedly and mildly as possible, first passing my arm around him, and leaning my head on his shoulder. he very openly acknowledged that he meant to give john such a whipping as would cure him of ever doing the same thing again, and that he deserved to be whipped until he could not stand. i said that would be treating him worse than he would treat his horse. he now became excited, and replied that he considered his horse no comparison better than john, and would _not_ treat _it_ so. by this time my heart was full, and i felt so much overcome as to be compelled to seat myself, or rather to fall into a chair before him, but i don't think he observed this. the conversation proceeded. i pleaded the cause of humanity. he grew very angry, and said i had no business to be meddling with him, that he never did so with me. i said if i had ever done anything to offend him i was very sorry for it, but i had tried to do everything to please him. he said i had come from the north expressly to be miserable myself and make everyone in the house so, and that i had much better go and live at the north. i told him that i was not ignorant that both c. and himself would be very glad if i did, and that as soon as i felt released from carolina i would go; but that i had believed it my duty to return this winter, though i knew i was coming back to suffer. he again accused me of meddling with his private affairs, which he said i had no right to do. i told him i could not but lift up my voice against his manner of treating john. he said rather than suffer the continual condemnation of his conduct by me, he would leave mother's house. i appealed to the witness in his own bosom as to the truth of what i urged. to my surprise he readily acknowledged that he felt something within him which fully met all i asserted, and that i had harrowed his feelings and made him wretched. much more passed. i alluded to his neglect of me, and testified that i had experienced no feeling but that of love towards him and all the family, and a desire to do all i could to oblige them; and i left the room in tears. i retired to bless my saviour for the strength he had granted, and to implore his continued support." "7th. surely my heart ought to be lifted to my blessed master in emotions of gratitude and praise. his boy came home last night a short time after our conversation, and instead of punishing him, as i am certain he intended to do, he merely told him to go about his business. i was amazed last night after all my sufferings were over, and i was made willing to leave all things in my father's hands, to see john in the house. this was a renewed proof to me how necessary it is for us to watch for the right _time_ in which to do things. if i had not spoken just when i did, i could not have done so before john's return. he has escaped entirely.... oh, how earnestly two nights ago did i pray for a release from this land of slavery, and how my heart still pants after it! and yet, i think, i trust it is in submission to my heavenly father's will. i feel comfortable to-night; my relief from suffering about john is so great that other trials seem too light to name." "8th. my heart sings aloud for joy. i feel the sweet testimony of a good conscience, the reward of obedience in speaking to h. dear boy, he has good, tender feelings naturally, but a false education has nearly destroyed them, and his own perverted judgment as to what is manly and what is necessary in the government of slaves has done the rest. lord, open thou his eyes." on the 13th of march she says: "to-day, for the first time, i ironed my clothes, and felt as though it was an acceptable sacrifice. this seemed part of the preparation for my removal to the north. i felt fearful lest this object was a stronger incentive to me than the desire to glorify my divine master." there was doubtless some truth in the charge brought against her by her brothers, that her face was a perpetual condemnation of them. referring to a call she received from some friends, she says:-"an emptiness and vapidness pervaded all they said about religion. i was silent most of the time, and fear what i did say sprang from a feeling of too great indignation. just before they went away, i joined in a joke; much condemnation was felt, for the language to me constantly is, 'i have called _thee_ with a _high_ and _holy_ calling,' and it seems as though solemnity ought always to pervade my mind too much to allow me ever to joke, but my natural vivacity is hard to bridle and subdue." the bond between sarah and angelina was growing stronger every day, their separation in matters of religion from the other members of the family serving more than anything else to draw them closely and lovingly together. every letter from sarah was hailed as a messenger of peace and joy, and to her angelina turned for counsel and sympathy. it is very pleasant to read such words as the following, and know that they expressed the inmost feelings of angelina's heart:-"thou art, dearest, my best beloved, and often does my heart expand with gratitude to the giver of all good for the gift of such a friend, who has been the helper of my joy and the lifter up of my hands when they were ready to hang down in hopeless despair. often do i look back to those days of conflict and suffering through which i passed last winter, when thou alone seemed to know of the deep baptisms wherewith i was baptized, and to be qualified to speak the words of encouragement and reproof which i believe were blessed to my poor soul. "i received another long letter from thee this afternoon. i cannot tell thee what a consolation thy letters are to her who feels like an exile, a stranger in the place of her nativity, 'as unknown, and yet well known,' and one of the very least where she was once among the greatest." in one of her letters, written soon after her return home, she thus speaks of her quaker dress:-"i thought i should find it so trying to dress like a quaker here; but it has been made so easy that if it is a cross i do not feel the weight of it.... it appears to me that at present i am to be little and unknown, and that the most that is required of me is that i bear a decided testimony against dress. i am literally as a wonder unto many, but though i am as a gazing-stock--perhaps a laughing-stock--in the midst of them, yet i scarcely feel it, so sensible am i of the presence and approbation of him for whose sake i count it a high privilege to endure scorn and derision. i begin to feel that it is a solemn thing even to dress like a quaker, as by so doing i profess a belief in the purest principles of the bible, and warrant the expectation in others that my life will exhibit to all around those principles drawn out in living characters." there is a pride of conscience in all this, strongly contrasting with sarah's want of self-confidence when travelling the same path. if angelina suffered for her religion, no one suspected it, and for this very reason she was enabled to exert a stronger influence upon those about her than sarah ever could have done. she herself saw the great points of difference between them, and frequently alluded to them. on one page of her diary she writes:-"i have been reading dear sister's diary the last two days, and find she has suffered great conflict of mind, particularly about her call to the ministry, and i am led to look at the contrast between our feelings on the subject. i clearly saw winter before last that my having been appointed to this work was the great reason why i was called out of the presbyterian society, but i don't think my will has ever rebelled against it. "so far from murmuring against the appointment, i have felt exceedingly impatient at not being permitted to enter upon my work at once; and this is probably an evidence that i am not prepared for it. but it is hard for me to _be_ and to _do_ nothing. my restless, ambitious temper, so different from dear sister's, craves high duties and high attainments, and i have at times thought that this ambition was a motive to me to do my duty and submit my will. the hope of attaining to great eminence in the divine life has often prompted me to give up in little things, to bend to existing circumstances, to be willing for the time to be trampled upon. these are my temptations. for a long time it seemed to me i did everything from a hope of applause. i could not even write in my diary without a feeling that i was doing it in the hope that it would one day meet the eye of the public. last winter i wrote more freely in it, and am still permitted to do so. very often, when thinking of my useless state at present, something of disappointment is felt that i am as nothing, and this language has been presented with force, 'seekest thou great things for thyself, seek them not.'" chapter vii. at this time of her life, ere a single sorrow had thrown its shadow across her heart, and all her tears were shed for other's woes, we see very distinctly angelina's peculiar characteristics. her conscientiousness and her pride are especially conspicuous. the former, with its attendant sacrifices at the shrine of religious principle, had the effect of silencing criticism after a while, and inspiring a respect which touched upon veneration. one of her sisters, in referring to this, says:-"though we considered her views entirely irrational, yet so absolute was her sense of duty, her superiority to public sentiment, and her moral courage, that she seemed to us almost like one inspired, and we all came to look upon her with a feeling of awe." of her pride--"that stumbling block," as she calls it, to christian meekness--she herself writes:-"my pride is my bane. in examining myself, i blush to confess this fault, so great do i find its proportions. i am all pride, and i fear i am even proud of my pride." but hers was not the pride that includes personal vanity or the desire for the applause of the multitude, for of these two elements few ever had less; neither was there any haughtiness in it, only the dignity which comes from the conscious possession of rare advantages, joined to the desire to use them to the glory of something better than self. still it was pride, and, in her eyes, sinful, and called for all her efforts to subdue its manifestations. it especially troubled her whenever she entered into any argument or discussion, both of which she was rather fond of inviting. she knew full well her intellectual power, and thoroughly enjoyed its exercise. i regret that space does not permit me to copy her discussion with the rev. mr. mcdowell on presbyterianism; her answers to the questions given her when arraigned before the sessions for having left the church; her conversation on orthodoxy with some hicksites who called on her, and her arguments on silent worship. they all show remarkable reasoning power, great lucidity of thought, and great faculty of expression for so young a woman. but, interesting as is the whole history of angelina's last year in charleston, i may not dwell longer upon it, but hasten towards that period when the reason for all this mental and spiritual preparation was made manifest in the work in which she became as a "light upon the hill top," and, which, as long as it lasted, filled the measure of her desires full to the brim. as it is important to show just what her views and feelings about slavery were at this time, and as they can be better narrated in her own words than in mine, i shall quote from her diary and a few letters all that relates to the subject. in may, 1829, we find this short sentence in her diary:-"may it not be laid down as an axiom, that that system must be radically wrong which can only be supported by transgressing the laws of god." "3d mo. 20th. could i think i was in the least advancing the glory of god by staying here, i think i would be satisfied, but i am doing nothing. though 'the fields are white for harvest, yet am i standing idle in the market place.' i am often tempted to ask, why am i kept in such a situation, a poor unworthy worm, feeding on luxuries my soul abhors, tended by slaves, who (i think) i would rather serve than be served by, and whose bondage i deeply deplore? oh! why am i kept in carolina? but the answer seems to be: 'i have set thee as a sign to the people.' lord, give me patience to stand still." "29th. at times slavery is a heavy burden to my heart. last night i was led to speak of this subject, of all others the sorest on which to touch a carolinian. the depravity of slaves was spoken of with contempt, and one said they were fitted to hold no other place than the one they do. i asked what had made them so depraved? was it not because of their degraded situations, and was it not white people who had placed them and kept them in this situation, and were _they_ not to blame for it? was it not a fact that the minds of slaves were totally uncultivated, and their souls no more cared for by their owners than if they had none? was it not true that, in order to restrain them from vice, coercion was employed instead of the moral restraint which, if proper instruction had been given them, would have guarded them against evil? 'i wish,' exclaimed one, 'that you would never speak on the subject.' 'and why?' i asked. 'because you speak in such a serious way,' she replied. 'truth cuts deep into the heart,' i said, and this is no doubt the reason why no one likes to hear me express my sentiments, but i did feel it my duty to bear a decided testimony against an institution which i believe altogether contrary to the spirit of the gospel; for it was a system which nourished the worst passions of the human heart, a system which sanctioned the daily trampling under foot of the feelings of our fellow creatures. 'but,' said one, 'it is exceedingly imprudent in you to speak as you do.' i replied i was not speaking before servants, i was speaking only to owners, whom i wished to know my sentiments; this wrong had long enough been covered up, and i was not afraid or ashamed to have any one know my sentiments--they were drawn from the bible. i also took occasion to speak very plainly to sister mary about the bad feeling she had towards negroes, and told her, though she wished to get rid of them, and would be glad to see them _shipped_, as she called it, that this wish did not spring from pure christian benevolence. my heart was very heavy after this conversation." "3d mo. 31st. yesterday was a day of suffering. my soul was exceedingly sorrowful, and out of the depths of it, i cried unto the lord that he would make a way for me to escape from this land of slavery. is there any suffering so great as that of seeing the rights and feelings of our fellow creatures trodden under foot, without being able to rescue them from bondage? how clear it is to my mind that slaves can be controlled only by one of two principles,--fear or love. as to moral restraint, they know nothing of it, for they are not taught to act from principle. i feel as though i had nothing to do in this thing, but by my manner to bear a decided testimony against such an abuse of power. the suffering of mind through which i have passed has necessarily rendered me silent and solemn. the language seems to be, 'it behooves thee to suffer these things,' and this morning i think i saw very plainly that this was a part of the preparation for the awful work of the ministry." "4th mo. 4th. does not this no less positive than comprehensive law under the gospel dispensation entirely exclude slavery: 'do unto others as you would he done by?' after arguing for some time, one evening, with an individual, i proposed the question: 'would'st thou be willing to be a slave thyself?' he eagerly answered 'no!' 'then,' said i, 'thou hast no right to enslave the negro, for the master expressly says: "do unto others as thou wouldst they should do unto thee."' again i put the query: 'suppose thou wast obliged to free thy slaves, or take their place, which wouldst thou do?' of course he said he would free them. 'but why,' i asked, 'if thou really believest what thou contendest for, namely, that their situation is as good as thine?' but these questions were too close, and he did not know what to say." "4th mo. 23d. friend k. drank tea here last night. it seems to me that whenever mother can get anyone to argue with her on the subject of slavery, she always introduces it; but last night she was mistaken, for, to my surprise, friend k. acknowledged that notwithstanding all that could be said for it, there was something in her heart which told her it was wrong, and she admitted all i said. since my last argument on this subject, it has appeared to me in another light. i remarked that a carolina mistress was literally a slave-driver, and that i thought it degrading to the female character. the mistress is as great a slave to her servants, in some respects, as they are to her. one thing which annoys me very much is the constant orders that are given. really, when i go into mother's room to read to her, i am continually interrupted by a variety of orders which might easily be avoided, were it not for the domineering spirit which is, it seems to me, inherent in a carolinian; and they are such fine ladies that if a shutter is to be hooked, or a chair moved, or their work handed to them, a servant must be summoned to do it for them. oh! i do very much desire to cultivate feelings of forbearance, but i feel at the same time that it is my duty to bear an open and decided testimony against such a violation of the divine command." "28th. it seems this morning as if the language was spoken with regard to dear mother: _thy_ work is done. my mind has been mostly released from exercises, and it seems as though i had nothing to do now but to bear and forbear with her. i can truly say i have not shunned to 'declare unto her the whole counsel of god, but she would none of my reproofs.' i stretched out my hands to her, speaking the truth in _love_, but she has not regarded. perhaps he has seen fit not to work by me lest i should be exalted above measure." "5th mo. 6th. today has been one of much trial of mind, and my soul has groaned under the burden of slavery. is it too harsh to say that a person must be destitute of christian feelings to be willing to be served by slaves, who are actuated by no sentiment but that of fear? are not these unfortunate creatures expected to act on principles directly opposite to our natural feelings and daily experience? they are required to do more for others than for themselves, and all without thanks or reward." "12th. it appears to me that there is a real want of natural affection among many families in carolina, and i have thought that one great cause of it is the independence which members of families feel here. instead of being taught to do for themselves and each other, they are brought up to be waited on by slaves, and become unamiable, proud, and selfish. i have many times felt exceedingly tried, when, in the flowings of love towards mother, i have offered to do little things for her, and she has refused to allow me, saying it was stephen's or william's duty, and she preferred one of them should do it. the other night, being refused in this way, i said:-"'mother, it seems to me thou would'st at any time rather have a servant do little things for thee, than me.' she replied it was their business. 'well,' said i, 'mother, i do not think it ever was designed that parents and children should be independent of each other. our heavenly father intended that we should be dependent on each other, not on servants.' from time to time ability is granted me to labor against slavery. i may be mistaken, but i do not think it is any longer without sin in mother, for i think she feels very sensibly that it is not right, though she never will acknowledge it." _night._ left the parlor on account of some unpleasant occurrence, and retired to weep in solitude over the evils of slavery. the language was forcibly revived: 'woe unto you, for you bind heavy burdens, grievous to be borne, on men's shoulders, and will not move them yourselves with one of your fingers.' i do not think i pass a single day without apprehension as to something painful about the servants." "15th. had a long conversation with selina last evening about servants, and expressed very freely my opinion of henry's feelings towards them, and his treatment of john. she admitted all i said, and seemed to feel for slaves, until i said i thought they had as much right to freedom as i had. of course she would not admit this, but i was glad an opportunity was offered for me to tell her that my life was one of such continual and painful exercise on account of the manner in which our servants were treated, that, were it not for mother, i would not stay a day longer in carolina, and were it not for the belief that henry would treat his servants worse if we were not here, that both eliza and i would leave the house. dear girl; she seemed to feel a good deal at these strictures on her husband, but bore with me very patiently." "18th. oh, lord! grant that my going forth out of this land may be in such a time and such a way, let what may happen after i leave my mother's house, i may never have to reproach myself for doing so. of late my mind has been much engrossed with the subject of slavery. i have felt not only the necessity of feeling that it is sinful, but of being able to prove from scripture that it is not warranted by god." "30th. slavery is a system of abject selfishness, and yet i believe i have seen some of the best of it. in its worst form, tyranny is added to it, and power cruelly treads under foot the rights of man, and trammels not only the body, but the mind of the poor negro. experience has convinced me that a person may own a slave, with a single eye to the glory of god. but as the eye is kept single, it will soon become full of light on this momentous subject; the arm of power will be broken; the voice of authority will tremble, and strength will be granted to obey the command: 'touch not the unclean thing.'" "_night._ sometimes i think that the children of israel could not have looked towards the land of canaan with keener longing than i do to the north. i do not expect to go there and be exempt from trial, far from it; and yet it looks like a promised land, a pleasant land, because it is a land of freedom; and it seems to me that i would rather bear much deeper spiritual exercises than, day after day, and month after month, to endure the conutless evils which incessantly flow from slavery. 'oh, to grace how great a debtor for my sentiments on this subject. surely i may measurably adopt the language of paul, when with holy triumph he exclaimed: 'by the grace of god i am what i am.'" a few weeks later, we read: "if i could believe that i contributed to dear mother's happiness, surely duty, yea, inclination, would lead me to continue here; but i do not. yesterday morning i read her some papers on slavery, which had just come by the l.c. (vessel). it was greatly against her will, but it seemed to me i must do it, and that this was the last effort which would be required of me. she was really angry, but i did not feel condemned." "_night._ have sought a season of retirement, in order to ponder all these things in my heart, for i feel greatly burdened, and think i must open this subject to dear mother to-morrow, perhaps. i earnestly desire to do the lord's will." "12th. this morning i read parts of dear sister's letters to mother, on the subject of my going to the north. she did not oppose, though she regretted it. my mind is in a calm, almost an indifferent, state about it, simply acquiescing in what i believe to be the divine will concerning me." had we all of sarah's letters written to angelina, we should doubtless see that she fully sympathized with her in her anti-slavery sentiments; but sarah's diary shows her thoughts to have been almost wholly absorbed by her disappointed hopes, and her trials in the ministry. as positive evidences of her continued interest in slavery, we have only the fact that, in 1829, angelina mentions, in her diary, receiving anti-slavery documents from her sister, and the statements of friends that she retained her interest in the subject which had, in her earlier years, caused her so much sorrow. it is astonishing how ignorant of passing events, even of importance, a person may remain who is shut up as sarah grimké was, in an organization hedged in by restrictions which would prevent her from gaining such knowledge. she mingled in no society outside of her church; her time was so fully occupied with her various charitable and religious duties, that she frequently laments the necessity of neglecting reading and writing, which, she says, "i love so well." when a few friends met together, their conversation was chiefly of religious or benevolent matters, and it is probable that sarah even read no newspaper but the _friends' journal_. that this narrow and busy life was led even after angelina joined her we judge from what angelina writes to her brother thomas, thanking him for sending them his literary correspondence to read. she says: "it is very kind in thee to send us thy private correspondence. we enjoy it so much that i am sure thou would'st feel compensated for the trouble if thou could'st see us. we mingle almost entirely with a society which appears to know but little of what is going on outside of its own immediate precincts. it is therefore a great treat when we have access to information more diffuse, or that which introduces our minds in some measure into the general interest which seems to be exciting the religious world." the fact, however, remains, that in 1829 sarah sent to angelina various anti-slavery publications, from which the latter drew strength and encouragement for her own arguments. angelina also mentions reading carefully woolman's works, which she found very helpful. but it is evident that neither she nor sarah looked forward at all to any identification of themselves with the active opponents of slavery. for them, at that time, there seemed to be nothing more to do than to express their opinions on the subject in private, and to get as far away from the sight of its evils as possible. as sarah had done this, so now angelina felt that the time had come when she too must go. she had done what she could, and had failed in making the impression she had hoped to make. why should she linger longer where her feelings were daily tortured, and where there was not one to sympathize with her or aid her, where she could neither give nor receive any good? still there was a great struggle in her mind about leaving her mother. she thus writes of it: "though i am favored to feel this is the right time for me to go, yet i cannot but be pained at the thought of leaving mother, for i am sure i shall leave her to suffer. it has appeared very plain to me that i never would have been taken from her again if she had been willing to listen to my remonstrances, and to yield to the requisitions of duty, as shown her by the light within. and i do not think dear sister or i will ever see her again until she is willing to give up slavery." "10th mo. 4th. last night e.t. took tea here. as soon as she began to extol the north and speak against slavery, mother left the room. she cannot bear these two subjects. my mind continues distressingly exercised and anxious that mother's eyes should be open to all the iniquities of the system she upholds. much hope has lately been experienced, and it seems as though the language to me was: 'thou hast done what was given thee to do; now go and leave the rest to _me_." two weeks later, she writes as follows: "_night._ this morning i had a very satisfactory conversation with dear mother, and feel considerably relieved from painful exercise. i found her views far more correct than i had supposed, and i do believe that, through suffering, the great work will yet be accomplished. she remarked that, though she had found it very hard to bear many things which sister and i had from time to time said to her, yet she believed that the lord had raised us up to teach her, and that her fervent prayer was that, if we were right and she was wrong, she might see it. i remarked that if she was _willing_, she would, i was sure, see still more than she now did; and i drew a contrast between what she once approved and now believed right. 'yes,' she said, 'i see very differently; for when i look back and remember what i used to do, and think nothing of it, i shrink back with horror. much more passed, and we parted in love." two weeks later angelina left charleston, never to return. the description of the parting with her mother is very affecting, but we have not room for it here. it shows, however, that mrs. grimké had the true heart of a mother, and loved her daughter most tenderly. she shed bitter tears as she folded her to her bosom for the last time, murmuring amid her sobs: "joseph is not, and simeon is not, and ye will take benjamin away also!" the mother and daughter never saw each other again. chapter viii. angelina arrived in philadelphia in the latter part of october, 1829, and made her home with sarah in the family of catherine morris. over the next four or five years i must pass very briefly, although they were marked by many interesting incidents and some deep sorrows, and much that the sisters wrote during that time i would like to notice, if space permitted. we see sarah still regarding herself as the vilest of sinners, against whom it seemed at times as if every door of mercy was closed, and still haunted by her horror of horrors, the ministry. her preparation continued, but brought her apparently no nearer the long-expected and dreaded end. she was still unrecognized by the church. first-day meetings were looked forward to without pleasure, while the quarterly and yearly meetings were seasons of actual suffering. of one of the latter she says,-"i think no criminal under sentence of death can look more fearfully to the day of execution than i do towards our yearly meeting." still she would nerve herself from time to time to arise when the spirit moved her, and say a few words, but deriving no satisfaction from the exercise, except that of obedience to the divine will. doubtless she would have grown out of all this timidity, and would have acquitted herself more acceptably in meeting, if she had met with consideration and kindness from the elders and influential members of the society. but, for reasons not clearly explained, her efforts do not seem to have been generally regarded with favor; and so sensibly did she feel this that she trembled in every limb when obliged even to offer a prayer in the presence of one of the dignitaries. it is probable that her ultra views on various needed reforms in the society, and declining--as she and angelina both did--to conform to all its peculiar usages, gave offence. for instance, the sisters never could bring themselves to use certain ungrammatical forms of speech, such as _thee_ for _thou_, and would wear bonnets of a shape and material better adapted to protect them from the cold than those prescribed by quaker style. it was also discovered that they indulged in vocal prayer in their private devotions, which was directly contrary to established usage. these things were regarded as quiet protests against customs which all members of the society were expected to respect. as to the _principles_ of quakerism, the sisters were more scrupulous in obeying, them than many of the elders themselves. sarah frequently mentions the coldness and indifference with which she was treated by those from whom she had a right to look for tender sympathy and friendly counsel, and feelingly records the kindness and encouragement offered to her by many of the less conspicuous brothers and sisters. it is no doubt that to this treatment by those in authority was due the gradual waning of her interest in quakerism, although she is far from acknowledging it. one obstacle in the way of her success as a preacher was her manner of speaking. though a clear, forcible thinker and writer, she lacked the gift of eloquence which so distinguished angelina, and being, besides, exceedingly self-conscious, it was difficult for her to express herself satisfactorily in words. her speech was sometimes slow and hesitating; at others, when feeling very deeply, or at all embarrassed, rapid and a little confused, as though she was in a hurry to get through. this irregularity laid her open to the charge which was frequently brought against her, that she prepared and committed her offerings to memory before coming to meeting, an almost unpardonable offence according to the views of those making the accusation. that her earnest denial of this should be treated lightly was an additional wrong which sarah never entirely succeeded in forgiving. in reference to this she says:-"the suffering passed through in meeting, on account of the ministry, feeling as if i were condemned already whenever i arise; the severe reproofs administered by an elder to whom i did a little look for kindness; the cutting charge of preparing what i had to say out of meeting, and going there to preach, instead of to worship, like poor mary cox, was almost too much for me. it cost me hours of anguish; but jesus allayed the storm and gave me peace; for in looking at my poor services i can truly say it is not so, although my mind is often brought under exercise on account of this work, and many are the sleepless hours i pass in prayer for preservation in it, feeling it indeed an awful thing to be a channel of communication between god and his people." referring to the charge again, some time later, she says:-"there are times when i greatly fear my best life will perish in this conflict. i have felt lately as if i were ready to give up all, and to question all i have known and done." as contrasting with the very different opinions she held a few years later, the following lines from her diary, about the beginning of 1830, are interesting:-"there are seasons when my heart is so filled with apostolic love that i feel as if i could freely part with all i hold most dear, to be instrumental to the salvation of souls, especially those of the members of my own religious society; and the language often prevails, 'i am not sent but to the lost sheep of the house of israel.' yet woman's preaching mocks at all my reasoning. i cannot see it to be right, and i am moving on in faith alone, feeling that 'woe is me, if i preach not the gospel.' to see is no part of my business, but i marvel not at the unbelief of others; every natural feeling is against it." about this time, angelina was admitted as a member of friends' society, and began her preparation for the ministry. but her active spirit needed stronger food to satisfy its cravings. it was not enough for her to accept the few duties assigned to her; she must make others for herself. her restless energy, which was only her ambition to be practically useful, refused to let her sit with folded hands waiting for the lord's work. she was too strong to be idle, too conscious of the value of the talents committed to her charge, to be willing to lay them away for safe keeping in a quaker napkin, spotless as it might be. she never loved the society of friends as sarah did. she chafed under its restrictions, questioned its authority, and rebelled against the constant admonition to "be still." on one page of her diary, dated a short time before her admission to friends' society, she says:-"i have passed through some trying feelings of late about becoming a member of friends' society. perhaps it is satan who has been doing all he could to prevent my joining, by showing me the inconsistencies of the people, and persuading me that _i_ am too good to be one of them. i have been led to doubt if it was right for me ever to have worn the dress of a quaker, for i despised the very form in my heart, and have felt it a disgrace to have adopted it, so empty have the people seemed to me, and sometimes it has seemed impossible that i should ever be willing to join them. my heart has been full of rebellion, and i have even dared to think it hard that i should have to bear the burdens of a people i did not, could not, love." angelina's devotion to sarah led her to resent the treatment of the latter by the elders, and came near producing a breach between catherine morris and the sisters. nevertheless, she did join the society, impelled thereto, we are forced to believe, more by love and consideration for sarah than by religious conviction. but she constantly complains of her "leanness and barrenness of spirit," of "doubts and distressing fears" as to the lord's remembrance of her for good, and grieves that she is such a useless member of the church, the "activity of nature," she says, "finding it very hard to stand and wait." her restlessness, no doubt, gave sarah some trouble, for there are several entries in her diary like the following:-"o lord, be pleased, i beseech thee, to preserve my precious sister from moving in her own will, or under the deceitful reasonings of satan. strengthen her, i beseech thee, to be _still_." but though angelina tried for a time to submit passively to the slow training marked out for her, she found no satisfaction in it. she looked to the ministry as her ultimate field of labor, but she must be doing something in the meanwhile, something outside of the missionary work which satisfied sarah's conscience. but what should that be? the same difficulties which had humiliated and frightened sarah into a life of quiet routine now faced angelina. but she looked at them bravely, measured herself with them, and resolved to conquer them. the field of education was the only one which seemed to promise the active usefulness she craved; and she at once set about fitting herself to be a teacher. she was now twenty-six years old, but no ambitious girl of fifteen ever entered upon school duties with more zest than she exhibited in preparing a course of study for herself. history, arithmetic, algebra, and geometry were begun, with her sister anna as a fellow-student, and much time was devoted to reading biography and travels. all this, however, was evening work. her days were almost wholly given up to charities and the appointed meetings assigned to her by the society, into all of which she infused so much energy that catherine and sarah both began to fear that she was in danger of losing some of her spirituality. she says herself that she was so much interested in some of her work that the days were not long enough for her. there is no allusion in the diary or letters of either of the sisters, in 1829 or 1830, to the many stirring events of the anti-slavery movement which occurred after the final abolition of slavery in new york, in 1827, and which foreshadowed the earnest struggle for political supremacy between the slave power and the free spirit of the nation. the daily records of their lives and thoughts exhibit them in the enjoyment of their quiet home with catherine morris, visiting prisons, hospitals, and alms-houses, and mourning over no sorrow or sins but their own. angelina was leading a life of benevolent effort, too busy to admit of the pleasures of society, and her quaker associations did not favor contact with the world's people, or promote knowledge of the active movements in the larger reforms of the day. as to sarah, she was still suffering keenly under the great sorrow of her life. at this time, angelina was a most attractive young woman. tall and graceful, with a shapely head covered with chestnut ringlets, a delicate complexion and features, and clear blue eyes, which could dance with merriment or flash with indignation, and withal a dignified, yet gentle and courteous bearing, it is not surprising that she should have had many admirers of the opposite sex, even in the limited society to which she was confined. nor can we wonder that, with a heart so susceptible to all the finer emotions, she should have preferred the companionship of one to that of all others. but though for more than two years this friendship--for it never became an engagement--absorbed all her thoughts, to the exclusion even of her studies, i must conclude from the plain evidence in the case that it was only a warm _friendship_, at least on her side, not the strong, enduring love, based upon entire sympathy, which afterwards blessed her life. it owed its origin to her admiration for intellectuality in men, and its continuance to her womanly pity; for the object of her preference suffered much from ill-health, which at last gave way altogether in the latter part of 1832, when he died. to the various emotions naturally aroused during this long experience, and to the depression of spirits which followed the final issue, we may perhaps partially ascribe angelina's indifference to the excited state of feeling throughout the country on the subject of that institution which "owned no law but human will." in november, 1831, sarah grimké once more, and for the last time, visited charleston. in december, the slave insurrection in jamaica--tenfold more destructive to life and property than the insurrection of nat turner, in virginia, of the preceding august--startled the world; but even this is scarcely referred to in the correspondence between the two sisters. but that angelina, at least, was interested in matters outside of her religion, we gather from a postscript to one of her letters. "tell me," she says, "something about politics." this refers to nullification, that ill-judged and premature attempt at secession made by the calhoun wing of the slave power, which was then the most exciting topic in south carolina. thomas grimké was one of the few eminent lawyers in the state who, from the first, denounced and resisted the treasonable doctrine,--he so termed it in an open letter of remonstrance addressed to calhoun, mcduffie, governor hayne, and barnwell rhett, his cousin and legal pupil, who was afterwards attorney-general of the state.[1] mr. grimké represented at that time the city of charleston in the state senate; and in a two days' argument he so triumphantly exposed the sophistries and false pretences of the nullifiers, that his constituents, enraged by it, gathered a mob, and with threats of personal violence attacked his house. but this descendant of the huguenots had been seasonably warned; and, sending his family to the country, he illuminated his front windows, threw open his doors, and seated himself quietly on the porch to await his visitors. the howling horde came on, but when the man they sought boldly advanced to meet them, and announced himself ready to be mobbed for the cause he had denounced, their courage faltered; they tried to hoot, balked, broke ranks, and straggled away. [1] mr. grimké told carolina that, if she persisted in her disloyalty, she would stand as a blasted tree in the midst of her sister states. a few words just here about this "beloved brother thomas," who was always held in reverence by every member of his family, will not be out of place. as before stated, he was a graduate of yale college, and rose to eminence at the bar and in the politics of his state. but he was a man of peculiar views on many subjects, and while his intellectual ability was everywhere acknowledged, his judgment was often impugned and his opinions severely criticised. he gained a wide reputation on account of his brilliant addresses, especially those of peace, temperance, and education. he was a prominent member of the american peace society, and did not believe that even defensive warfare was justifiable. he was a fine classical scholar, but held that both the classics and the higher mathematics should not be made obligatory studies in a collegiate education, as being comparatively useless to the great majority of american young men. a high church episcopalian, and very religious, he strongly urged the necessity of establishing a bible class for religious instruction in every school. he also attempted to make a reform in orthography by dropping out all superfluous letters, but abandoned this after publishing a small volume of essays, in which he used his amended words, which, as he gave no prefatory explanation, were misunderstood and ridiculed. in all these subjects he was much interested, and succeeded in interesting his sisters, delegating to them the supervision and correction of his addresses and essays published in philadelphia. strange, indeed, is it, that this very religious, liberal-minded, and conscientious man was a large slaveowner, and yet the oppressed and persecuted cherokees of georgia and alabama had no more earnest advocate than he! and to this "indian question" both sarah and angelina gave their cordial sympathy. the correspondence between them and thomas was a remarkable one. it embraced the following subjects: peace, temperance, the classics, the priesthood, the jewish dispensation, was the eagle the babylonian and persian standard? catholicism, and the universality of human sacrifice, with short discussions on minor controversial topics. into all of these angelina especially entered with great and evident relish, and her long letters, covering page after page of foolscap, would certainly have wearied the patience of any one less interested than thomas was in the subjects of which they treated. that which claimed sarah's particular interest was peace, and she held to her brother's views to the end of her life. she especially indorsed the sentiment expressed in his written reply to the question, what he would do if he were mayor of charleston and a pirate ship should attack the city? "i would," he answered, "call together the sunday-school children and lead them in procession to meet the pirates, who would be at once subdued by the sight." in answer to a letter written by sarah soon after her arrival in charleston, angelina says:-"i am not at all surprised at the account thou hast given of carolina, and yet am not alarmed, as i believe the time of retribution has not yet fully come, and i cannot but hope that those most dear to us will have fled from her borders before the day of judgment arrives." this refers to nullification, which was threatening to end in bloodshed; but there is in the sentence also an evident allusion to slavery. in her next letter she describes the interest she feels in the infant school, of which she had become a teacher, and does not know which is the most absorbing,--that, or the arch street prison. before closing, she says:-"no doubt thou art suffering a double portion now, for in a land of slavery there is very much daily--yea, almost hourly,--to try the better feelings, besides that suffering which thou art so constantly enduring." catherine morris must have acted the part of a good mother to both sarah and angelina, for they frequently refer to their peaceful home with her. in one of her letters angelina says,-"i never valued the advantages i enjoy so much as i do now; no, nor my home, either, dear sister. many a time of late has my heart been filled with gratitude in looking at the peaceful shelter provided for me in a strange land. it is just such a home as i would desire were i to have a choice, and i often ask why my restless heart is not quite happy in the land of ease which has been assigned me, for i do believe i shall, in after life, look back upon this winter as one of peculiar favor, a time granted for the improvement of my mind and my heart." again: "very often do i contrast the sweet, unbroken quiet of the home i now enjoy with the uncongenial one i was taken from." in one of her letters she asks: "dearest, does our precious mother seem to have any idea of leaving carolina? such seems to be the distressing excitement there from various causes, that i think it cannot be quite safe to remain there. what does brother thomas think will be the issue of the political contest? i find the fate of the poor indians is now inevitable." towards the close of the winter there are two paragraphs in her letters which show that she did at least read the daily papers. in one she asks: "didst thou know that great efforts are making in the house of delegates in virginia to abolish slavery?" the other one is as follows:-"read the enclosed, and give it to brother thomas from me. do you know how this subject has been agitated in the virginia legislature?" the question naturally arises: if a little, why not more? if she could refer to the subject of the virginia debates, why should she not in some of her letters give expression to her own views, or answer some expressions from sarah? the _quaker society_, is the only answer we can find; the society whose rules and customs at that time tended to repress individuality in its members, and independence of thought or action; which forbade its young men and maidens to look admiringly on any fair face or manly form not framed in a long-eared cap, or surmounted by the regulation broad-brim; which did not accord to a member the right even to publish a newspaper article, without having first submitted it to a committee of its solons. from the beginning, the quaker church bore its testimony against the abolition excitement. most friends were in favor of the colonization society; the rest were gradualists. their commercial interests were as closely interwoven with those of the south as were the interests of any other class of the northern people, and it took them years to admit, if not to discover, that there was any new light on the subject of human rights. "the mills of the gods grind slowly;" and perhaps it was all the better in the end, for the cause their advocated so grandly, that sarah and angelina grimké should have gone through this long period of silence and repression, during which their moral and intellectual forces gathered power for the conflict--the great work which both had so singularly and for so many years seen was before them, though its nature was for a long time hidden. angelina's experience in the infant school, interesting as it was to her, was discouraging so far as her success as a teacher went; and she soon gave it up and made inquiries concerning some school in which she could prepare herself to teach. catherine beecher's then famous seminary at hartford was recommended, and a correspondence was opened. several letters passed between catherine and her would-be pupil, which so aroused catherine's interest, that she went on to philadelphia chiefly to make a personal acquaintance with the very mature young woman who at the age of twenty-seven declared she knew nothing and wanted to go to school again. in one of her letters to sarah, early in the spring of 1832, angelina says,-"catherine beecher has actually paid her promised visit. she regretted not seeing thee, and seemed much pleased with me. the day after she arrived she went to meeting with me, and i think was more tired of it than any person i ever saw. it was a long, silent meeting, except a few words from j.l." when catherine beecher took her leave of angelina, she cordially invited her to visit hartford, and examine for herself the system of education there pursued. sarah returned to philadelphia in march, 1832, cutting short her visit at the earnest entreaty of angelina, who was then looking forward to her first yearly meeting, and desired her sister's encouraging presence with her. writing to sarah, she says: "i have much desired that we might at that time mingle in sympathy and love. truly we have known, might i not say, the agony of separation." soon after sarah's return, angelina went to live with mrs. frost, in order to give that sister the benefit of her board. this separation was a great trial to both sisters, and only consented to from a sense of duty. chapter ix. in july, 1832, angelina, accompanied by a friend, set out to make her promised visit to hartford. her journal, kept day by day, shows her to have been at this time in a most cheerful frame of mind, which fitted her to enjoy not only the beautiful scenery on her journey, but the society of the various people she met. at times she is almost like a young girl just out of school; and we can hardly wonder that she felt so, after the monotonous life she had led so long, and the uniform character of the people with whom she had associated. she visited new haven, with its great college, and then went to hartford, where a week was pleasantly spent in attendance on catherine beecher's classes, and in visiting lydia sigourney, and others, to whom she had brought letters. after examining angelina, catherine gave her the gratifying opinion that she could be prepared to teach in six months, and she at once began to try her hand at drawing maps., and to take part in many of the exercises of the school. she could, however, make no definite arrangement until her return to philadelphia; but she was full of enthusiasm, and utilized to the very utmost the advantages of conversation with catherine and harriet beecher. she was evidently quite charmed with harriet's bright intellect and pleasant manner, and refers particularly to a very satisfactory conversation held with her about quakers. the people of this society were so little known in new england at that period, that angelina and her friend, in their peculiar dress, were objects of great curiosity where-ever they went. catherine beecher accompanied them back to new tork, and saw them safely on their way to philadelphia. but when angelina mentioned to friends her desire to return to hartford and become a teacher, she was answered with the most decided disapprobation. several unsatisfactory reasons were given--"going among strangers"--"leaving her sisters,"--"abandoning her charities," &c., the real one probably being the fear to trust their impressionable young member to presbyterian influence. and so she must content herself to sink down in the old ruts, and plod on in work which was daily becoming more insufficient to her intellectual and spiritual needs. her chief pleasure was her correspondence with her brother thomas, with whom she discussed controversial bible questions, and various moral reforms, including prison discipline; but only once does she seem to have touched the question of slavery, which absorbed the public mind to such a degree that there was scarcely a household throughout the length and breadth of the land, that did not feel its influence in some way. in 1832 the most intense excitement prevailed throughout the south, especially in south carolina, where mr. calhoun had just thrown down the gauntlet to the federal government. in this angelina expresses some interest, though chiefly from a religious point of view, as she regards all the important events then taking place as "signs of the times," and congratulates herself and her brother that they live in "such an important and interesting era, when the laws of christianity are interwoven with the system, of education, and with even the discipline of prisons and houses of refuge." in one of her letters we find the following:-"i may be deceived, but the cloud which has arisen in the south will, i fear, spread over all our heavens, though it looks now so small. it will come down upon us in a storm which will beat our government to pieces; for, beautiful as it may appear, it is, nevertheless, not built upon the foundation of the apostles and the prophets, jesus christ himself being the chief corner-stone. we may boast of this temple of liberty, but oh, my brother, it is not of god." in this letter she speaks of being much interested in "ramsey's civil and ecclesiastical polity of the jews," and mentions that they were studying together, in the family, "townsend's old testament, chronologically arranged, with notes, a work in twenty-eight volumes." she adds:-"will not the study of the bible produce a thirst for the purest and most valuable literature, as, to understand it, we must study the history of nations, natural history, philosophy, and geography." in another letter she says:-"i am glad of thy opinions, but i cannot see that carolina will escape. slavery is too great a sin for justice always to sleep over, and this is, i believe, the true cause of the declining state of carolina; this the root of bitterness which is to trouble our republic. i am not moved by fear to these reflections, but by a calm and deliberate consideration of the state of the church, and while i believe convulsions and distress are coming upon this country, i am comforted in believing that _my_ kingdom is not of this world, nor thine either, i trust, beloved brother." to this letter sarah adds a postscript, and says: "my fears respecting you are often prevalent, but i endeavor not to be too anxious. the lord is omnipotent, and although i fear his sword is unsheathed against america, i believe he will remember his own elect, and shield them.... do the planters approve or aid the colonization society? there have been some severe pieces published in our papers about it." at this time--that is, during the summer of 1832--sarah lived a more than usually retired life, and her diary only records her increased depression of spirits, and her continued painful experiences in meeting. she would gladly have turned her back upon it all, and sought a home elsewhere at the north, or have returned to charleston, but she dared not move without divine approbation, and this never seemed sufficiently clear to satisfy her. "surely," she says, "though i cannot understand why it is so, there must be wisdom in the decree which forbids my seeking another home. most gladly would i have remained in charleston, but my father's will was not so." and again she says,-"but while the desire to escape present conflict has turned my mind there [to charleston] with longing towards my precious mother, all the answer i can hear from the sanctuary is, 'stay here;' and satan adds, 'to suffer.'" according to sarah's own views, she had thus far made little or no progress towards the great end and aim of her labors and sacrifices,--the securing of her eternal salvation; and the amount of misery she managed to manufacture for herself out of this thought, and her many fancied transgressions, is sad in the extreme. years afterwards, in a letter to a young friend, she says,-"i have suffered the very torments of the fabled hell, because my conscience was sore to the touch all over. i would fain have you spared such long, dark years of anguish." and to another friend, concerning this portion of her life, she writes,-"much of my suffering arose from a morbid conscience,--a conscience which magnified infirmities into crimes, and transformed our blessed father in heaven into a stern judge, who punishes to the uttermost every real or imaginary departure from what we apprehend to be his requirements. deceived by the false theological views in which i was educated, i was continually lashed by the scorpion whip of a perverted conscience." during the winter of 1832-33, the time of both sisters was much taken up in nursing a sick woman, whose friendless position stirred angelina's sense of duty, and she had her removed to mrs. frost's house. she and sarah took upon themselves all the offices of nurse, even the most menial. they read to her, and tried to cheer her during the day, sat up with her at night, and in every way devoted themselves to the poor consumptive, until death came to her relief. such a sacrifice to a sense of duty was all the more admirable, as the invalid was unusually exacting and unreasonable, and felt apparently little appreciation of the trouble she gave. angelina, being in the same house, was more with her than sarah, and she could scarcely have shown her greater attention if the tenderest ties had existed between her and her charge. this was only one among the many similar acts of self-abnegation which were dotted all along angelina's path through life; she never went out of her way to avoid them, but would travel any distance to take them up, if duty pointed her to them; and in accepting them she never seemed to think she was doing more than just what she ought to do, although they were generally of the kind which bring no honor or reward, except that sense of duty fulfilled which spreads over hearts like hers such sweet content. from many passages in the diaries, it is evident that, as the agitating questions of the time were forced upon the notice of sarah and angelina, their thoughts were diverted from the narrow channel to which they had so long been confined; and, in proportion as their interest in these matters increased, the cords which bound them to their religious society loosened. angelina, as we have before remarked, never stood in the same attitude as sarah towards the society. to the latter, it was as the oracle of her fate, whose decrees she dared not question, much less disobey. it represented to her mind the divine will and purposes, which were wisdom entirely, and could only fail through the pride or disobedience of sinners like herself. angelina, on the contrary, regarded it as made up of human beings with human intellects, full of weakness, and liable to err in the interpretation of the lord's will, and, while praying for guidance and strength, believed it wise to follow her own judgment to a great extent. she could not be restrained from reasoning for herself, and would often have acted more independently, but for her affection for sarah. the scales, however, were slowly falling from sarah's eyes, though it was long before she saw the new light as anything but a snare of satan, who she felt sure was bound to have her, in spite of all her struggles. against the growing coolness towards her society she did struggle and pray in deepest contrition. at one time she writes,-"satan is tempting me strongly with increased dissatisfaction with friends; but i know if i am to be of any use it is in my own society." and again: "i beseech thee, o god, to fill my heart with love for the society of friends. i shall be ruined if i listen to satan." but all this was of no avail. angelina was growing in knowledge, and was imparting to sarah what she learned. the evidence is meagre, but there is enough to show that the ruling topics claimed much of their attention during that summer, and that angelina, especially, drew upon herself more than one reproof from catherine morris for the interest she manifested in "matters entirely outside of the society." in the spring, she writes in a letter to thomas:-"the following proposition was made at a colonization meeting in this city: is it strictly true? 'no two nations, brought together under similar circumstances with those under which the africans have been brought into this country, have amalgamated.' are not the people in the west indies principally mulatto? and how is it in south america? did they not amalgamate there? did not the helots, a great many of whom were persians, etc., taken in battle, amalgamate with the grecians, and rise to equal privileges in the state? i ask for information. please tell me, also, whether slavery is not an infringement of the constitution of the united states. you southerners have no idea of the excitement existing at the north on the subjects of abolition and colonization." this shows only the dawning of interest in the mighty subject. the evidence is full and conclusive that at this time neither sarah nor angelina had formed any decided opinions concerning either of the societies mentioned above, or contemplated taking any active part whatever in the cause of freedom. in february, 1834, occurred the famous debate at lane seminary, near cincinnati, presided over by dr. lyman beecher, which, for earnestness, ability, and eloquence, has probably never been surpassed in this country. a colonization society, composed in great part of southern students, had been formed in 1832 in the seminary, but went to pieces during the debate, which lasted eighteen evenings, and produced a profound sensation throughout the presbyterian church, and even outside of it. president beecher took no part in it, standing too much in awe of the trustees of the institution to countenance it even by his presence, although he had promised to do so. the speakers were all students, young men remarkable for their sincerity and their energy, and several of them excelling as orators. among the latter were henry b. stanton and theodore d. weld, both possessing great powers of reasoning and natural gifts of eloquence. of theodore d. weld it was said, that when he lectured on temperance, so powerfully did he affect his audiences, that many a liquor dealer went home and emptied out the contents of his barrels. those who remember him in his best days can well believe this, while others who have had the privilege of hearing him only in his "parlor talks" can have no difficulty in understanding the impression he must have made on mixed audiences in those times when his great heart, filled from boyhood with sorrow for the oppressed, found such food for its sympathies.[2] [2] an incident of the childhood of this zealous champion of human rights, related in a letter i have, shows how early he took his stand by the side of the weak and defenceless. when he was about six years old, and going to school in connecticut, a little colored boy was admitted as a pupil. weld had never seen a black person before, and was grieved to find that the color of his skin caused him to be despised by the other boys, and put off on a seat by himself. the teacher heard him his lessons separately, and generally sent him back to his lonely seat with a cuff or a jeer. after witnessing this injustice for a day or two, little weld went to the teacher and asked to have his own seat changed. "why, where do you want to sit?" asked the teacher. "by jerry," replied weld. the master burst out laughing, and exclaimed: "why, are you a nigger too?" and, "theodore weld is a nigger!" resounded through the school. "i never shall forget," says mr. weld, "the tumult in my little bosom that day. i went, however, and sat with jerry, and played with jerry, and we were great friends; and in a week i had permission to say my lessons with jerry, and i have been an abolitionist ever since, and never had any prejudices to overcome." it is no disparagement to the many able and eloquent advocates of the anti-slavery cause, between 1833 and 1836, to say that public opinion placed weld at the head of them all. in him were combined reason and imagination, wide and accurate knowledge, manly courage, a tender and sympathetic nature, a remarkable faculty of expression, and a fervent enthusiasm which made him the best platform orator of his time. as a lecturer on education, temperance, and abolition, he drew crowded houses and made many converts. the late secretary stanton was one of these, and often mentioned mr. weld as the most eloquent speaker he had ever heard; and wendell phillips, in a recent letter, says of him: "in the first years of the anti-slavery cause, he was our foremost advocate." of henry b. stanton, a newspaper reporter once said in excuse for not reporting one of his great anti-slavery speeches, that he could not attempt to report a whirlwind or a thunderstorm. with such leaders, and with followers no less earnest if less brilliant, it is not surprising that the lane seminary debate arrested such general attention, and afterwards assumed so much importance in the anti-slavery struggle. the trustees, fearing its effect upon their southern patrons, ordered that both societies should be dissolved, and no more meetings held. the anti-slavery students replied to this order by withdrawing in a body from the institution. some went over to oberlin; others,--and among them the two i have named--entered the field as lecturers and workers in the cause they had so ardently espoused. in september, 1834, sarah and angelina were gratified by a visit from their brother thomas, who was on his way to cincinnati, to deliver an address on education before the college of professional teachers, and also to visit his brother frederic, residing in columbus, whom he had not seen for sixteen years. as angelina had not seen him since her departure from charleston in 1829, the few days of his society she now enjoyed were very precious, and made peculiarly so by after-events. the cholera was then for the second time epidemic in the west, but those who knew enough about it to be prudent felt no fear, and the sisters bade farewell to their brother, cheered by his promise to see them again on his way home. he delivered his address in cincinnati, started for columbus, arrived within twelve miles of it, when, at a wayside tavern, he was seized with cholera. his brother, then holding a term of the supreme court, was sent for. he at once adjourned court and hastened to thomas with a physician. he was already speechless, but was able to turn upon frederic a look of recognition, then pressed his hand, and died. angelina, writing of her brother's death, says: "the world has lost an eminent reformer in the cause of christian education, an eloquent advocate of peace, and one who was remarkably ready for every good work. i never saw a man who combined such brilliant talents, such diversity and profundity of knowledge, with such humility of heart and such simplicity and gentleness of manner. he was a great and good man, a pillar of the church and state, and his memory is blessed." in a letter written in 1837, referring to her brother's visit to philadelphia, sarah says: "we often conversed on the subject of slavery, and never did i hear from his lips an approval of it. he had never examined the subject; he regarded it as a duty to do it, and he intended devoting the powers of his mind to it the next year of his life, and asked us to get ready for him all the abolition works worth studying. but god took him away. my own views were dark and confused. had i had my present light, i might have helped him." angelina bore her testimony to the same effect. referring to thomas in a letter to a member of her family many years after his death, she says: "he was deeply interested in _every_ reform, and saw very clearly that the anti-slavery agitation which began in 1832 would shake our country to its foundation. he told me in philadelphia that he knew slavery would be the all-absorbing subject here, and that he intended to devote a whole year to its investigation; and, in order that he might do so impartially, he requested me to subscribe for every periodical and paper, and to buy and forward to him any books, that might be published by the anti-slavery and colonization societies. i asked whether he believed colonization could abolish slavery. he said: 'no, never!' but observed; 'i help that only on account of its reflex influence upon slavery here. if we can build up an intelligent, industrious community of colored people in africa, it will do a great deal towards destroying slavery in the united states.'" the loss of her brother almost crushed sarah, although she expresses only submission to the lord's will. it had the effect of closing her heart and mind once more to everything but religion, and again she gave herself fully and entirely to her evangelical preparation. she expresses herself as longing to preach the everlasting gospel, and prays that she may soon be called to be a minister, and be instrumental in turning her fellow sinners away from the wrath to come. later, in the early part of 1835, after having re-perused her brother's works, she solemnly dedicated herself to the cause of peace, persuading herself that thomas had left it as a legacy to her and angelina. she resolved to use all her best endeavors to promote its advancement, and daily prayed for a blessing on her exertions and for the success of the cause. this at least served to divert her thoughts from herself, and no doubt helped her to the belief which now came to her, that at last satan was conquered, and she was accepted of god. if she could only have been comforted also with the knowledge that her labors in the ministry were recognized, her satisfaction would have been complete, but more than ever was she tormented by the slights and sneers of the elders, and by her own conviction that she was a useless vessel. there is scarcely a page of her diary that does not tell of some humiliation, some disappointment connected with her services in meeting. chapter x. although the quakers were the first, as a religious society, to recognize the iniquity of slavery, and to wash their hands of it, so far as to free all the slaves they owned; few of them saw the further duty of discouraging it by ceasing all commercial intercourse with slave-holders. they nearly all continued to trade with the south, and to use the products of slave-labor. after the appearance in this country of elizabeth heyrick's pamphlet, in which she so strongly urged upon abolitionists the duty of abstinence from all slave products, the number was increased of those who declined any and every participation in the guilt of the slave-holder, and exerted themselves to convert others to the same views; but the majority of selfish and inconsiderate people is always large, and it refused to see the good results which could be reasonably expected from such a system of self-denial. as the older members, also, of friends' society were opposed to all exciting discussions, and to popular movements generally, while the younger ones could not smother a natural interest in the great reforms of the day; it followed that, although all were opposed to slavery in the abstract, there was no fixed principle of action among them. in their ranks were all sorts: gradualists and immediatists, advocates of unconditional emancipation, and colonizationists, thus making it impossible to discuss the main question without excitement. therefore all discussion was discouraged and even forbidden. the society never counted among its members many colored persons. there were, however, a few in philadelphia, all educated, and belonging to the best of their class. among them was a most excellent woman, sarah douglass, to whom sarah and angelina grimké became much attached, and with whom sarah kept up a correspondence for nearly thirty years. the first letter of this correspondence which we have, was written in march, 1885, and shows that sarah had known very little about her colored brethren in philadelphia, and it also shows her inclination towards colonization. she mentions having been cheered by an account of several literary and benevolent societies among the colored residents, expresses warm sympathy with them, and gives them some good, practical advice about helping themselves. she then says:-"i went about three weeks ago to an anti-slavery meeting, and heard with much interest an address from robert gordon. it was feeling, temperate, and judicious; but _one_ word struck my ear unpleasantly. he said, 'and yet it is _audaciously_ asked: what has the north to do with slavery?' the word 'audaciously,' while i am ready to admit its justice, seemed to me inconsistent with the spirit of the gospel; although we may abhor the system of slavery, i want us to remember that the guilt of the oppressor demands christian pity and christian prayer. "my sister went last evening to hear george thompson. she is deeply interested in this subject, and was much pleased with his discourse. do not the colored people believe that the colonization society may prove a blessing to africa, that it may be the means of liberating some slaves, and that, by sending a portion of them there, they may introduce civilization and christianity into this benighted region? that the colonization society can ever be the means of breaking the yoke in america appears to me utterly impossible, but when i look at poor heathen africa, i cannot but believe its efforts will be a blessing to her." in the next letter, written in april, she descants on the universal prejudice against color,--"a prejudice," she says, "which will in days to come excite as much astonishment as the facts now do that christians--some of them i verily believe, sincere lovers of god--put to death nineteen persons and one dog for the crime of witchcraft." and yet, singularly enough, she does not, at this time, notice the inconsistency of a separate seat for colored people in all the churches. in the quaker meeting this was especially humiliating, as it was placed either directly under the stairs, or off in a corner, was called the "negro seat," and was regularly guarded to prevent either colored people from passing beyond it, or white people from making a mistake and occupying it. two years later, sarah and angelina both denounced it; but before that, though they may have privately deplored it, they seem to have accepted it as a necessary conformity to the existing feeling against the blacks. the decision of friends' society concerning discussion sarah grimké seems to have accepted, for, as we have said, there is no expression of her views on emancipation in letters or diary. but angelina felt that her obligations to humanity were greater than her obligations to the society of friends; and as she listened to the eloquent speeches of george thompson and others, her life-long interest in the slave was stimulated, and it aroused in her a desire to work for him in some way, to do something that would practically help his cause. on one of several loose leaves of a diary which angelina kept at this time, we find the following under date, "5th mo. 12th, 1835: five months have elapsed since i wrote in this diary, since which time i have become deeply interested in the subject of abolition. i had long regarded this cause as utterly hopeless, but since i have examined anti-slavery principles, i find them so full of the power of truth, that i am confident not many years will roll by before the horrible traffic in human beings will be destroyed in this land of gospel privileges. my soul has measurably stood in the stead of the poor slave, and my earnest prayers have been poured out that the lord would be pleased to permit me to be instrumental of good to these degraded, oppressed, and suffering fellow-creatures. truly, i often feel ready to go to prison or to death in this cause of justice, mercy, and love; and i do fully believe if i am called to return to carolina, it will not be long before i shall suffer persecution of some kind or other." her fast-increasing enthusiasm alarmed her cautious sister, and drew from her frequent and serious remonstrances. but that she also travelled rapidly towards the final rending of the bonds which had hitherto held her, we find from a letter to sarah douglass, written in the spring of 1835. speaking of jay's book of colonization, which had just appeared, she says:-"the work is written for the most part in a spirit of christian candor and benevolence. there is here and there a touch of satire or sarcasm i would rather should have been spared. the subject is one of solemn importance to our country, and while i do desire that every righteous means may be employed to give to america a clear and convincing view of the fearful load of guilt that rests upon her for trading in the souls of men, yet i do want the friends of emancipation to take no unhallowed weapons to sever the manacles of the slave. i rejoice in the hope that all the prominent friends of abolition are peace men. my sister sends her love to thee. her mind is deeply engaged in the cause of immediate, unconditional emancipation. i believe she does often pray for it." in july, 1835, angelina went to visit a friend in shrewsbury, new jersey. in this quiet retreat she had ample time for reflection, and for the study of abolition. she could, she says, think of nothing else; and the question continually before her was, "what can i do? what can i do?" but the more she thought, the more perplexed she became. the certainty that any independent action, whatever, would not only offend her society, but grieve her sister, stood in the way of reaching any conclusion, and kept her in a state of unrest which plainly showed itself in her letters to sarah. doubtless she did consider sarah's advice, for she still looked up to her with filial regard, but before she could do more than consider it, an event occurred which made the turning point in her career, and emancipated her forever from the restrictions to which she had so unwillingly assented. the difficulty which abolitionists found in holding meetings in boston, to be addressed by george thompson, of england, brought out in july an appeal to the citizens of boston from mr. garrison. this reached angelina's hands, and so touched her feelings, so aroused all her anti-slavery enthusiasm, that she could no longer keep quiet. she must give expression to her sympathy with the great cause. she wrote to the author--a brave thing for her to do--but we doubt if she could have refrained even if she could have fully realized the storm of reproach which the act brought down upon her. on account of its length, i cannot copy this letter entire, but a few extracts will give an idea of its general tone and spirit. it is dated philadelphia, 8th month 30th, 1835, and begins thus:-"respected friend: it seems as if i was compelled at this time to address thee, notwithstanding all my reasonings against intruding on thy valuable time, and the uselessness of so insignificant a person as myself offering thee the sentiments of sympathy at this alarming crisis. "i can hardly express to thee the deep and solemn interest with which i have viewed the violent proceedings of the last few weeks. although i expected opposition, i was not prepared for it so soon--it took me by surprise--and i greatly feared abolitionists would be driven back in the first outset, and thrown into confusion.... under these feelings i was urged to read thy appeal to the citizens of boston. judge, then, what were my feelings on finding that my fears were utterly groundless, and that thou stoodest firm in the midst of the storm, determined to suffer and to die, rather than yield one inch ... the ground upon which you stand is holy ground; never, never surrender it." she then goes on to encourage him to persevere in his work, reminding him of the persecutions of reformers in past times, and that religious persecution always began with mobs. "if," she says, "persecution is the means which god has ordained for the accomplishment of this great end, emancipation; then, in dependence upon him for strength to bear it, i feel as if i could say, let it come! for it is my deep, solemn, deliberate conviction that this is a cause worth dying for. i say so, from what i have seen, heard, and known in a land of slavery, where rests the darkness of egypt, and where is found the sin of sodom. yes! let it come--let us suffer, rather than insurrections should arise." this letter mr. garrison published in the liberator, to the surprise of angelina, and the great displeasure and grief of her quaker friends. but she who had just counselled another to suffer and die rather than abate an inch of his principles was not likely to quail before the strongly expressed censure of her society, which was at once communicated to her. only over her sister's tender disapproval did she shed any tears. her letter of explanation to sarah shows the sweetness and the firmness of her character so conspicuously, that i offer no apology for copying a portion of it. it is dated shrewsbury, sept. 27th, 1335, and enters at once upon the subject:-"my beloved sister: i feel constrained in all the tenderness of a sister's love to address thee, though i hardly know what to say, seeing that i stand utterly condemned by the standard which thou hast set up to judge me by--the opinion of my friends. this thou seemest to feel an infallible criterion. if it is, i have not so learned christ, for he says, 'he that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me,' etc. i do most fully believe that had i done what i have done in a church capacity, i should justly incur their censure, because they disapprove of any intermeddling with the question, but what i did was done in a private capacity, on my own responsibility. now, my precious sister, i feel willing to be condemned by all but thyself, _without_ a hearing; but to thee i owe the sacred duty of vindication, though hardly one ray of hope dawns on my mind that i shall be acquitted even by _thee_. if i know mine own heart, i desire _not_ to be acquitted; if i have erred, or if this trial of my faith is needful for me by him who knoweth with what food to feed his poor dependent ones, thou hast been with me in heights and in depths, in joy and in sorrow, therefore to thee i speak. thou knowest what i have passed through on the subject of slavery; thou knowest i am an exile from the home of my birth because of slavery--therefore, to thee i speak. "previous to my writing that letter, i believe four weeks elapsed, during which time, though i passed through close and constant exercise, i did not read anything on the subject of abolition, except the pieces in the friends' paper and the _pennsylvanian_ relative to the insurrections and the bonfires in charleston. i was afraid to read. after this, i perused the appeal. i confess i could not read it without tears, so much did its spirit harmonize with my own feelings. this introduced my mind into deep sympathy with wm. lloyd garrison. i found in that piece the spirit of my master; my heart was drawn out in prayer for him, and i felt as if i would like to write to him, but forebore until this day four weeks ago, when it seemed to me i _must_ write to him. i put it by and sat down to read, but i could not read. i then thought that perhaps writing would relieve _my own mind_, without it being required of me to send what i wrote. i wrote the letter and laid it aside, desiring to be preserved from sending it if it was wrong to do so. on second day night, on my bended knees, i implored divine direction, and next morning, after again praying over it, i felt easy to send it, and, after committing it to the office, felt anxiety removed, and as though i had nothing more to do with it. thou knowest what has followed. i think on fifth day i was brought as low as i ever was. after that my heavenly father was pleased in great mercy to open the windows of heaven, and pour out upon my grief-bound, sin-sick soul, the showers of his grace, and in prayer at the footstool of mercy i found that relief which human hearts denied me. a little light seemed to arise. i remembered how often, in deep and solemn prayer, i had told my heavenly father i was willing to suffer anything if i could only aid the great cause of emancipation, and the query arose whether this suffering was not the peculiar kind required of me. since then i have been permitted to enjoy a portion of that peace which human hands cannot rob me of, though great sadness covers my mind; for i feel as though my character had sustained a deep injury in the opinion of those i love and value most--how justly, they will best know at a future day. silent submission is my portion, and in the everlasting strength of my master, i humbly trust i shall be enabled to bear whatever is put upon me. "i have now said all i have to say, and i leave this text with thee: 'judge not by appearance, but judge righteous judgment;' and again, 'judge nothing before the time.' farewell. in the love of the blessed gospel of god's son, i remain, thy afflicted sister. "a.e.g." the entry in sarah's diary respecting this incident is as follows. the date is two days before that of angelina's letter to her. "the suffering which my precious sister has brought upon herself by her connection with the anti-slavery cause, which has been a sorrow of heart to me, is another proof how dangerous it is to slight the clear convictions of truth. but, like myself, she listened to the voice of the tempter. oh! that she may learn obedience by the things that she suffers. of myself i can say, the lord brought me up out of the horrible pit, and my prayer for her is that she may be willing to bear the present chastisement patiently." in angelina's diary, she describes very touchingly some of her trials in this matter. writing in september, 1835, after recording in similar language to that used in her letter to sarah the state of feelings under which she wrote and sent the letter to garrison, she says:-"i had some idea it might be published, but did not feel at liberty to say it must not be, for i had no idea that, if it was, my name would be attached to it. as three weeks passed and i heard nothing of it, i concluded it had been broken open in the office and destroyed. to my great surprise, last fourth day, friend b. came to tell me a letter of mine had been published in the liberator. he was most exceeding tried at my having written it, and also at its publication. he wished me to re-examine the letter, and write to wm. lloyd garrison, expressing disapproval of its publication, and altering some portions of it. his visit was, i believe, prompted by the affection he bears me, but he appeared utterly incapable of understanding the depth of feeling under which that letter was written. the editor's remarks were deeply trying to him. friend b. seemed to think they were the ravings of a fanatic, and that the bare mention of my precious brother's name was a disgrace to his character, when coupled with mine in such a cause and such a paper, or rather in a cause advocated in such a way. i was so astonished and tried that i hardly knew what to say. i declined, however, to write to w.l.g., and said i felt willing to bear any suffering, if it was only made instrumental of good. i felt my great unworthiness of being used in such a work, but remembered that god hath chosen the weak things of this world to confound the wise. but i was truly miserable, believing my character was altogether gone among my dearest, most valued friends. i was indeed brought to the brink of despair, as the vilest of sinners. a little light dawned at last, as i remembered how often i had told the lord if he would only prepare me to be, and make me, instrumental in the great work of emancipation, i would be willing to bear any suffering, and the question arose, whether this was not the peculiar kind allotted to me. oh, the extreme pain of extravagant praise! to be held up as a saint in a public newspaper, before thousands of people, when i felt i was the chief of sinners. blushing, and confusion of face were mine, and i thought the walls of a prison would have been preferable to such an exposure. then, again, to have my name, not so much my name as the name of grimké, associated with that of the despised garrison, seemed like bringing disgrace upon my family, not myself alone. i felt as though the name had been tarnished in the eyes of thousands who had before loved and revered it. i cannot describe the anguish of my soul nevertheless, i could not blame the publication of the letter, nor would i have recalled it if i could. "my greatest trial is the continued opposition of my precious sister sarah. she thinks i have been given over to blindness of mind, and that i do not know light from darkness, right from wrong. her grief is that i cannot see it was wrong in me ever to have written the letter at all, and she seems to think i deserve all the suffering i have brought upon myself." we approach now the most interesting period in the lives of the two sisters. a new era was about to dawn upon them; their quiet, peaceful routine was to be disturbed; a path was opening for them, very different from the one which had hitherto been indicated, and for which their long and painful probation had eminently prepared them. angelina was the first to see it, the first to venture upon it, and for a time she travelled it alone, unsustained by her beloved sister, and feeling herself condemned by all her nearest friends. chapter xi. all through the winter of 1835-36, demonstrations of violence continued to be made against the friends of emancipation throughout the country. the reign of terror inaugurated in 1832 threatened to crush out the grandest principles of our constitution. freedom of press and speech became by-words, and personal liberty was in constant danger. a man or woman needed only to be pointed out as an abolitionist to be insulted and assaulted. no anti-slavery meetings could be held uninterrupted by the worst elements of rowdyism, instigated by men in high position. in vain the authorities were appealed to for protection; they declared their inability to afford it. the few newspapers that dared to express disapproval of such disregard of the doctrine of equal rights were punished by the withdrawal of subscriptions and advertisements, while the majority of the public press teemed with the vilest slanders against the noble men and women who, in spite of mobs and social ostracism, continued to sow anti-slavery truths so diligently that new converts were made every day, and the very means taken to impose upon public opinion enlightened it more and more.[3] [3] apropos of sowing anti-slavery truths, i remember seeing at the first anti-slavery fair i attended,--in 1853, i think,--a sampler made in 1836 by a little girl, a pupil in a school where evidently great pains were taken to propagate anti-slavery principles. on the sampler was neatly worked the words: "may the points of our needles prick the slave-holders' consciences." during this winter we find nothing especial to narrate concerning sarah and angelina. sarah's diary continues to record her trials in meeting, and her religious sufferings, notwithstanding her recently expressed belief that her eternal salvation was secured. angelina kept no diary at this time, and wrote few letters, but we see from an occasional allusion in these that her mind was busy, and that her warmest interest was enlisted in the cause of abolition. she read everything she could get on the subject, wrote some effective articles for the anti-slavery papers, and pondered night and day over the question of what more she could do. one practical thing she did was to write to the widow of her brother thomas, proposing to purchase from her the woman whom she (angelina) in her girlhood had refused to own, and who afterwards became the property of her brother. this woman was now the mother of several children, and angelina, jointly with mrs. frost, proposed to purchase them all, bring them to philadelphia, and emancipate them. but no notice was taken of the application, either by their sister-in-law or their sister eliza, to whom angelina repeatedly wrote on the subject. learning from their mother that she was about to make her will, angelina and sarah wrote to her, asking that her slaves be included in their portions. to this she assented, but managed to dispose of all but four before she died. these were left to her two anti-slavery daughters, who at once freed them, at the same time purchasing the husband of one of them and freeing him. as she continued to study anti-slavery doctrines, one thing became very plain to angelina--that the friends of emancipation, in order to clear their skirts of all participation in the slave-owner's sin, must cease to use the products of slave labor. to this view she tried to bring all with whom she discussed the main subject, and so important did it appear to her, that she thought of writing to some of the anti-slavery friends in new york about it, but her courage failed. after what she had gone through because of the publication of her letter to mr. garrison, she shrank from the risk of having another communication made public. but her mind was deeply exercised on this point, and when--in the spring--she and sarah went to attend yearly meeting in providence, r.i., an opportunity offered for her to express her views to a prominent member of the new york society, whom she met on the boat. she begged this lady to talk to gerrit smith, recently converted from colonization, and others, about it, and to offer them, in her name, one hundred dollars towards setting up a free cotton factory. this was the beginning of a society formed by those willing to pledge themselves to the use of free-labor products only. in 1826 benjamin lundy had procured the establishment, in baltimore, of a free-labor produce store; and subsequently he had formed several societies on the same principle. evan lewis had established one in philadelphia about 1826, and it was still in existence. the sisters had been so long and so closely tied to philadelphia and their duties there, that the relief of the visit to providence was very great. sarah mentions it in this characteristic way:-"the friend of sinners opened a door of escape for me out of that city of bonds and afflictions." in providence she records how much more freedom she felt in the exercise of her ministerial gift than she did at home. angelina sympathized with these sentiments, feeling, as she expresses it, that her release from philadelphia was signed when she left for providence. she found it delightful to be able to read what she pleased without being criticised, and to talk about slavery freely. while in providence she was refreshed by calls upon her of several abolitionists, among them a cotton manufacturer and his son, quakers, with whom she had a long talk, not knowing their business. she discussed the use of slave-labor, and descanted on the impossibility of any man being clean-handed enough to work in the anti-slavery cause so long as he was making his fortune by dealing in slave-labor products. these two gentlemen afterwards became her warm friends. an anti-slavery society meeting was held in providence while angelina was there, but she did not feel at liberty to attend it, though she mentions seeing garrison, henry b. stanton, osborne, "and others," but does not say that she made their acquaintance; probably not, as she was visiting orthodox quakers who all disapproved of these men, and angelina's modesty would never have allowed her to seek their notice. leaving providence, the sisters attended two quarterly meetings in adjacent towns, where, angelina states, the subject of slavery was brought up, "and," she says, "gospel liberty prevailed to such an extent, that even poor i was enabled to open my lips in a few words." she neglected to say that these few words introduced the subject to the meetings, and produced such deep feeling that many hitherto wavering ones went away strengthened and encouraged. they also attended yearly meeting at newport, where many friends were made; and where angelina's conversations on the subject which absorbed all her thoughts produced such an impression that she was strongly urged to remain in new england, and become an anti-slavery missionary in the society of friends. but she did not feel that she could stay, as, she says, it was shown her very clearly that shrewsbury was her right place for the summer, though why, she knew not. the reason was plainly revealed a little later. she returned to shrewsbury refreshed and strengthened, and feeling that her various experiences had helped her to see more clearly where her duty and her work lay. but she was saddened by the conviction that if she gave herself up, as she felt she must, to the anti-slavery cause, she would be cast loose from her peaceful home, and from very many dear friends, to whom she was bound by the strongest ties of gratitude and affection. she thus writes to a friend:-"didst thou ever feel as if thou hadst no home on earth, except in the bosom of jesus? i feel so now." for several weeks after her return to shrewsbury, angelina tried to withdraw her mind from the subject which her sister thought was taking too strong hold on it, and interfering with her spiritual needs and exercises. out of deference to these views, she resumed her studies, and tried to become interested in a "history of the united states on peace principles," which she had thought some time before of writing. then she began the composition of a little book on the "beauty and duty of forgiveness, as illustrated by the story of joseph," but gave that up to commence a sacred history. in this she did become much interested for a time, but her mind was too heavily burdened to permit her to remain tranquil long. still the question was ever before her: "is there nothing that i can do?" she tried to be cheerful, but felt at all times much more like shedding tears. and her suffering was greater that it was borne alone. the friend, mrs. parker, whom she was visiting, was a comparative stranger, whose views she had not yet ascertained, and whom she feared to trouble with her perplexities. of sarah, so closely associated with catherine morris, she could not make an entire confidant, and no other friend was near. catherine, and some others in philadelphia, anxious about her evident and growing indifference to her society duties, tried to persuade her to open a school with one who had long been a highly-prized friend, but angelina very decidedly refused to listen to the project. "as to s.w.'s proposal," she writes, "i cannot think of acceding to it, because i have seen so clearly that my pen, at least, must be employed in the great reformations of the day, and if i engaged in a school, my time would not be my own. no money that could be given could induce me to bind my body and mind and soul so completely in philadelphia. there is no lack of light as to the right decision about this." for this reply she received a letter of remonstrance from sarah, to which she thus answered:-"i think i am as afraid as thou canst be of my doing anything to hurt my usefulness in our society, if that is the field designed for me to labor in. but, is it? is often a query of deep interest and solemnity to my mind. i feel no openness among friends. my spirit is oppressed and heavy laden, and shut up in prison. what am i to do? the only relief i experience is in writing letters and pieces for the peace and anti-slavery causes, and this makes me think that my influence is to reach beyond our own limits. my mind is fully made up not to spend next winter in philadelphia, if i can help it. i feel strangely released, and am sure i know not what is to become of me. i am perfectly blind as to the future." but light was coming, and her sorrowful questionings were soon to be answered. it was not long before mrs. parker saw that her guest's cheerfulness was assumed, and only thinly veiled some great trouble. as they became more intimate, she questioned her affectionately, and soon drew from her the whole story of her sorrows and her perplexities, and her great need of a friend to feel for her and advise her. mrs. parker became this friend, and, though differing from her on some essential points, did much to help and strengthen her. for many days slavery was the only topic discussed between them, and then one morning angelina entered the breakfast-room with a beaming countenance, and said:-"it has all come to me; god has shown me what i can do; i can write an appeal to southern women, one which, thus inspired, will touch their hearts, and lead them to use their influence with their husbands and brothers. i will speak to them in such tones that they must hear me, and, through me, the voice of justice and humanity." this appeal was begun that very day, but before she had written many pages, she was interrupted in her task by a letter which threw her into a state of great agitation, and added to her perplexity. this letter was from elizur wright, then secretary of the american anti-slavery society, the office of which was in new york. he invited her, in the name of the executive committee of the society, to come to new york, and meet with christian women in sewing circles and private parlors, and talk to them, as she so well knew how to do, on slavery. the door of usefulness she had been looking for so long was opened at last, but it was so unexpected, so different from anything she had yet thought of, that she was cast into a sea of trouble. naturally retiring and unobtrusive, she shrank from so public an engagement, and this proposal frightened her so much that she could not sleep the first night after receiving it. she had never spoken to the smallest assembly of friends, and even in meeting, where all were free to speak as the spirit moved them, she had never uttered a word; and yet, how could she refuse? she delayed her answer until she could make it the subject of prayer and consult with sarah. desiring to leave her sister entirely free to express her opinion, she merely wrote to her that she had received the proposition. sarah was beginning to feel that angelina was growing beyond her, and, may be, above her. she did not offer a word of advice, but most tenderly expressed her entire willingness to give up her "precious child," to go anywhere, and do anything she felt was right. and in a letter to a friend, alluding to this, she says:-"my beloved sister does indeed need the prayers of all who love her. oh! may he who laid down his life for us guide her footsteps and keep her in the hollow of his holy hand. perhaps the lord may be pleased to cast our lot somewhere together. if so, i feel as if i could ask no more in this world." sarah's willingness to surrender her to whatever work she felt called to do was a great relief to angelina. in writing to thank her and to speak more fully of mr. wright's letter, she says:-"the bare idea that such a thing may be required of me is truly alarming, and that thy mind should be at all resigned to it increases the fear that possibly i may have to do it. it does not appear by the letter that it is expected i should extend my work outside of our society. one thing, however, i do see clearly, that i am not to do it now, for i have begun to write an 'appeal to the christian women of the south,' which i feel must be finished first." she then proceeds to give an account of the part of this appeal already written, and of what she intended the rest to be, and shows that she shared the feelings common among southerners, the anticipation of a servile insurrection sooner or later. she says:- "in conclusion i intend to take up the subject of abolitionism, and endeavor to undeceive the south as to the supposed objects of anti-slavery societies, and bear my full testimony to their pacific principles; and then to close with as feeling an appeal as possible to them as women, as christian women, setting before them the awful responsibility resting on them at this crisis; for if the women of the south do not rise in the strength of the lord to plead with their fathers, husbands, brothers, and sons, that country must witness the most dreadful scenes of murder and blood. "it will be a pamphlet of a dozen pages, i suppose. my wish is to submit it to the publishing committee of the a.a.s.s., of new york, for revision, to be published by them with my name attached, for i well know my _name_ is worth more than _myself_, and will add weight to it.[4] now, dearest, what dost thou think of it? a pretty bold step, i know, and one of which my friends will highly disapprove, but this is a day in which i feel i must act independently of consequences to myself, for of how little consequence will my trials be, if the cause of truth is helped forward ever so little. the south must be reached. an address to men will not reach women, but an address to women will reach the whole community, if it can be reached at all. "i mean to write to elizur wright by to-morrow's mail, informing him that i am writing such a pamphlet, and that i feel as if the proposition of the committee is one of too much importance, either to accept or refuse, without more reflection than i have yet been able to give to it. the trial would indeed be great, to have to leave this sweet, quiet retreat, but if duty calls, i must go.... many, many thanks for thy dear, long letters." [4] in a letter written some time after, she says: "i would have liked thee to join thy name to mine in my appeal, but thought it would probably bring out so much opposition and violence, that i preferred bearing it all myself." while angelina was thus busily employed, and buoyed up by the hope of benefiting those whose wrongs she had all her life felt so deeply, sarah was reaching towards her, and in trying to be indulgent to her and just to her society at the same time, she was awakening to her own false position and to some of the awful mistakes of her religious life. through the summer, such passages as the following appear in her diary: -"the approach of our yearly meeting was almost overwhelming. i felt as if i could be thankful even for sickness, for almost anything so i might have escaped attending it. but my dear saviour opened no door, and after a season of unusual conflict i was favored with resignation. "oh! the cruel treatment i have undergone from those in authority. i could not have believed it had i not been called to endure it. but the lord permits it. my part is not to judge how far they have been moving under divine direction, but to receive humbly and thankfully through them the lessons of meekness, lowliness, faith, patience, and love, and i trust i may be thankful for the opportunity thus afforded to love my enemies and to pray for them, and perhaps it is to prepare me to feel for others, that i have been thus tried and afflicted." that she was thus prepared was evidenced through all the varied experiences of her after-life, for certainly no more sympathetic soul ever dwelt in a mortal frame, and more generously diffused its warmth and tenderness upon all who came within its radius. after the next first day meeting, she writes:-"the suffering in my own meeting is so intense that i think nothing short of a settled conviction that obedience and eternal life are closely connected could enable me to open my lips there." two weeks later, an almost prophetic sentence is written. "truly discouragement does so prevail that it would be no surprise to me if friends requested me to be silent. hitherto, i have been spared this trial, but if it comes, o holy father, may my own will be so slain that i may bow in reverent adoring submission." notwithstanding all this distress, however, sarah might still have lingered on some time longer, stifling in the dry dust of the quaker church, and refusing to partake of the living water angelina proffered to her, but for an incident which occurred about this time, scarcely a fortnight after the last sentence quoted,--an incident which proved to be the last straw added to the heavy burden she had borne so submissively, if not patiently. it is best given in her own words, and i may add, it is the last entry in her most remarkable diary. "8th mo. 3d. went this morning to orange street meeting after a season of conflict and prayer. i believed the lord required this sacrifice, but i went with a heart bowed down, praying to jesus that i might not speak my own words, that he would be pleased to make a way for me, or, if what i had to deliver brought upon me opposition, to strengthen me to endure it. the meeting had been gathered some time when i arose, and after repeating our lord's thrice-repeated query to peter, 'lovest thou me?' i remarked that it was addressed to one who had been forgiven much, and who could appeal to the searcher of hearts that he did indeed love him. few of us had had the temptation to endure which overcame peter when he denied his lord and master. but although few of us might openly deny the lord who bought us, yet there is, i apprehend, in many of us an evil heart of unbelief, which alienates us from god and disqualifies from answering the query as peter did. i had proceeded so far when jonathan evans rose and said: 'i hope the friend will now be satisfied.' i immediately sat down and was favored to feel perfectly calm. the language, 'ye can have no power at all against me unless it be given you,' sustained me, and although i am branded in the public eye with the disapprobation of a poor fellow worm, and it was entirely a breach of discipline in him to publicly silence a minister who has been allowed to exercise her gifts in her own meeting without ever having been requested to be silent, yet i feel no anger towards him. surely the feelings that could prompt to so cruel an act cannot be the feelings of christian love. but it seems to be one more evidence that my dear saviour designs to bring me out of this place. how much has his injunction rested on my mind of latter time. 'when they persecute you in one city, flee ye into another.' i pray unto thee, o lord jesus, to direct the wanderer's footsteps and to plant me where thou seest i can best promote thy glory. expect to go to burlington to-morrow." to those unacquainted with the society of friends fifty years ago, and its discipline at that period, so different from what it is now, this incident may seem of little consequence; but it was, on the contrary, extremely serious. jonathan evans was the presiding elder of the yearly meetings, a most important personage, whose authority was undisputed. he was sometimes alluded to as "pope jonathan." he had disliked sarah from the time of her connection with the society, and had habitually treated her and her offerings with a silent indifference most significant, and which, of course, had its effect on many who pinned their prejudices as well as their faith to the coats of the elders. it was owing entirely to this secretly-exercised but well-understood opposition, that sarah had for nine long years used her ministerial gift only through intense suffering. she believed, against much rebellion in her own breast, that it had been given her to use in god's service, and that she had no right to withhold it; but she had been made so often to feel the condemnation under which she labored, that she was really not much surprised when the final blow came. but with all her religious humility her pride was great, and her sensitiveness to any discourtesy very keen. she may not have felt anger against elder evans. we can imagine, on the contrary, that her heart was filled with pity for him, but a pity largely mixed with contempt; and it is certain that the society was made, in her view, responsible for his conduct. every slight she had ever received in it came back to her exaggerated; all her dissatisfaction with its principles of action doubled; the grief she had always felt at its indifference to the doctrine of the atonement, and its neglect to preach "jesus christ and him crucified," of which she had often complained, was intensified, and her first impulse was to quit the society, as she determined to quit philadelphia, for ever. angelina was greatly shocked when she learned of the treatment her sister had received, but the words, "i will break your bonds and set you free," came immediately to her mind, and so comforted her that her grief and indignation were turned to joy. she had long felt that, kind as catherine morris had always been, her strict orthodox principles, which she severely enforced in her household, circumscribed sarah's liberty of thought and action, and operated powerfully in preventing her from rising out of her depressed and discouraged state. but though the question had often revolved itself in her mind, and even been discussed between her and her sister, neither had been able to see how sarah could ever leave catherine, bound to her as she was by such strong ties of gratitude, and feeling herself so necessary to catherine's comfort. but now the way was made clear, and certainly no true friend of sarah could expect her to remain longer in philadelphia. it is surprising that sarah had not discovered many years earlier that the attempt must be futile to engraft a scion of the charleston aristocracy upon the rugged stock of quaker orthodoxy. she went to burlington, to the house of a dear friend who knew of all her trials, and there she remained for several weeks. angelina had finished her "appeal," and, only two days before she heard of the evans incident, wrote to sarah to inform her of the fact. this letter is dated "aug. 1st, 1836." after a few affectionate inquiries, she says: "i have just finished my 'appeal to southern women.' it has furnished work for two weeks. how much i wish i could have thee here, if it were only for three or four hours, that we might read it over together before i send it to elizur wright. i read it to margaret, and she says it carries its own evidence with it; still, i should value thy judgment very much if i could have it, but a private opportunity offers to-morrow, and i think i had better send it. it must go just as i sent my letter to w.l.g., with fervent prayers that the lord would do just as he pleased with it. i believe he directed and helped me to write it, and now i feel as if i had nothing to do but to send it to the anti-slavery society, submitting it entirely to their judgment.... i cannot be too thankful for the change thou expressest in thy feelings with regard to the anti-slavery society, and feel no desire at all to blame thee for former opposition, believing, as i do, that it was permitted in order to drive me closer to my saviour, and into a deeper examination of the ground upon which i was standing. i am indeed thankful for it; how could i be otherwise, when it was so evident thou hadst my good at heart and really did for the best? and it did not hurt me at all. it did not alienate me from the blessed cause, for i think the same suffering that would drive us back from a bad cause makes us cling to and love a good one more ardently. o sister, i feel as if i could give up not only friends, but life itself, for the slave, if it is called for. i feel as if i could go anywhere to save him, even down to the south if i am called there. the conviction deepens and strengthens, as retirement affords fuller opportunity for calm reflection, that the cause of emancipation is a cause worth suffering for, yea, dying for, if need be. with regard to the proposed mission in new york, i can see nothing about it, and never did any poor creature feel more unfit to do anything than i do to undertake it. but what duty presses me into, i cannot press myself out of.... i sometimes feel frightened to think of how long i was standing idle in the market-place, and cannot help attributing it in a great measure to the doctrine of nothingness so constantly preached up in our society. it is the most paralyzing, zeal-quenching doctrine that ever was preached in the church, and i believe has produced its legitimate fruit of nothingness in reducing us to nothing, when we ought to have been a light in the christian church.... farewell, dearest, perhaps we shall soon meet." the appeal was sent to new york, and this was what mr. wright wrote to the author in acknowledging its receipt:-"i have just finished reading your appeal, and not with a dry eye. i do not feel the slightest doubt that the committee will publish it. oh that it could be rained down into every parlor in our land. i know it will carry the christian women of the south if it can be read, and my soul blesses that dear and glorious saviour who has helped you to write it." when it was read some days after to the gentlemen of the committee, they found in it such an intimate knowledge of the workings of the whole slave system, such righteous denunciation of it, and such a warm interest in the cause of emancipation, that they decided to publish it at once and scatter it through the country, especially through the south. it made a pamphlet of thirty-six pages. the quarterly anti-slavery magazine for october, 1836, thus mentions it:-"this eloquent pamphlet is from the pen of a sister of the late thomas s. grimké, of charleston, s.c. we need hardly say more of it than that it is written with that peculiar felicity and unction which characterized the works of her lamented brother. among anti-slavery writings there are two classes--one especially adapted to make new converts, the other to strengthen the old. we cannot exclude miss grimké's appeal from either class. it belongs pre-eminently to the former. the converts that will be made by it, we have no doubt, will be not only numerous, but thorough-going." mr. wright spoke of it as a patch of blue sky breaking through the storm-cloud of public indignation which had gathered so black over the handful of anti-slavery workers. this praise was not exaggerated. the pamphlet produced the most profound sensation wherever it was read, but, as angelina predicted, she was made to suffer for having written it. friends upbraided and denounced her, catherine morris even predicting that she would be disowned, and intimating pretty plainly that she would not dissent from such punishment; and angelina even began to doubt her own judgment, and to question if she ought not to have continued to live a useless life in philadelphia, rather than to have so displeased her best friends. but her convictions of duty were too strong to allow her to remain long in this depressed, semi-repentant state. in a letter to a friend she expresses herself as almost wondering at her own weakness; and of catherine morris she says: "her disapproval, more than anything else, shook my resolution. nevertheless, i told her, with many tears, that i felt it a religious duty to labor in this cause, and that i must do it even against the advice and wishes of my friends. i think if i ever had a clear, calm view of the path of duty in all my life, i have had it since i came here, in reference to slavery. but i assure thee that i expect nothing less than that my labors in this blessed cause will result in my being disowned by friends, but none of these things will move me. i must confess i value my right very little in a society which is frowning on all the moral reformations of the day, and almost enslaving its members by unchristian and unreasonable restrictions, with regard to uniting with others in these works of faith and labors of love. i do not believe it would cost me one pang to be disowned for doing my duty to the slave." but her condemnation reached beyond the quaker society--even to her native city, where her appeal produced a sensation she had little expected. mr. weld's account of its reception there is thus given:-"when it (the appeal) came out, a large number of copies were sent by mail to south carolina. most of them were publicly burned by postmasters. not long after this, the city authorities of charleston learned that miss grimké was intending to visit her mother and sisters, and pass the winter with them. thereupon the mayor called upon mrs. grimké and desired her to inform her daughter that the police had been instructed to prevent her landing while the steamer remained in port, and to see to it that she should not communicate, by letter or otherwise, with any persons in the city; and, further, that if she should elude their vigilance and go on shore, she would be arrested and imprisoned until the return of the vessel. her charleston friends at once conveyed to her the message of the mayor, and added that the people of charleston were so incensed against her, that if she should go there despite the mayor's threat of pains and penalties, she could not escape personal violence at the hands of the mob. she replied to the letter that her going would probably compromise her family; not only distress them, but put them in peril, which she had neither heart nor right to do; but for that fact, she would certainly exercise her constitutional right as an american citizen, and go to charleston to visit her relatives, and if for that, the authorities should inflict upon her pains and penalties, she would willingly bear them, assured that such an outrage would help to reveal to the free states the fact that slavery defies and tramples alike upon constitutions and laws, and thus outlaws itself." these brave words said no more than they meant, for angelina grimké's moral heroism would have borne her to the front of the fiercest battle ever fought for human rights; and she would have counted it little to lay down her life if that could help on the victory. she touched as yet only the surf of the breakers into which she was soon to be swept, but her clear eye would not have quailed, or her cheek have blanched, if even then all their cruelty could have been revealed to her. chapter xii. we have seen, a few pages back, that angelina expressed her thankfulness at sarah's change of views with respect to the anti-slavery cause. again we must regret the destruction of sarah's letters, which would have shown us by what chains of reasoning her mind at last reached entire sympathy with angelina's. we can only infer that her progress was rapid after the public rebuke which caused her to turn her back on philadelphia, and that her sister's brave and isolated position, appealing strongly to her affection, urged her to make a closer examination of the subject of abolitionism than she had yet done. the result we know; her entire conversion in a few weeks to angelina's views. and from that time she travelled close by her sister's side in this as well as in other questions of reform, drawing her inspiration from angelina's clearer intuitions and calmer judgment, and frankly and affectionately acknowledging her right of leadership. the last of august, 1836, the sisters were once more together, sarah having accepted mrs. parker's invitation to come to shrewsbury. the question of future arrangements was now discussed. angelina felt a strong inclination to go to new england, and undertake there the same work which the committee in new york wished her to perform, and she even wrote to mr. wright that she expected to do so. feeling also that friends had the first right to her time and labors, and that, if permitted, she would prefer to work within the society, she wrote to her old acquaintances, e. and l. capron, the cotton manufacturers of uxbridge, massachusetts, to consult them on the subject. she mentions this in a letter to her friend, jane smith, saying:-"my present feelings lead me to labor with friends on the manufacture and use of the products of slave-labor. they excuse themselves from doing anything, because they say they cannot mingle in the general excitement, and so on. now, here is a field of labor in which they need have nothing to do with other societies, and yet will be striking a heavy blow at slavery. these topics the anti-slavery society has never acted upon as a body, and therefore no agent of theirs could consistently labor on them. i stated to e. and l. capron just how i felt, and asked whether i could be of any use among them, whether they were prepared to have the morality of these things discussed on christian principles. i have no doubt my philadelphia friends will oppose my going there, but, jane, i have realized very sensibly of late that i belong not to them, but to christ jesus, and that i must follow the lamb whithersoever he leadeth.... i feel as if i was about to sacrifice every friend i thought i had, but i still believe with t.d. weld, that this is 'a cause worth dying for.'" this is the first mention we find of her future husband, whom she had not yet seen, but whose eloquent addresses she had read, and whose ill-treatment by western mobs had more than once called forth the expression of her indignation. the senior member of the firm to which she had written answered her letter in person, and, she says, utterly discouraged her. he said that if she should go into new england with the avowed intention of laboring among friends on the subject of slavery in _any_ way, her path would be completely closed, and she would find herself entirely helpless. he even went so far as to say that he believed there were friends who would destroy her character if she attempted anything of the kind. he proposed that she should go to his house for the winter, and employ her time in writing for the anti-slavery society, and doing anything else she could incidentally. but this plan did not suit her. she felt it right to offer her services to friends first, and was glad she had done so; but if they would not accept them she must take them elsewhere. besides, when she communicated her plan to catherine morris, catherine objected to it very decidedly, and said she _could not_ go without a certificate and a companion, and these she knew friends would not grant her. "under all these circumstances," angelina writes, "i felt a little like the apostle paul, who having first offered the jews the gospel, and finding they would not receive it, believed it right for him to turn to the gentiles. didst thou ever hear anything so absurd as what catherine says about the certificate and a companion? i cannot feel bound by such unreasonable restrictions if my heavenly father opens a door for me, and i do not mean to submit to them. she knows very well that arch street meeting would grant me neither, but as the servant of jesus christ i have no right to bow down thus to the authority of man, and i do not expect ever again to suffer myself to be trammelled as i have been. it is sinful in any human being to resign his or her conscience and free agency to any society or individual, if such usurpation can be resisted by moral power. the course our society is now determined upon, of crushing everything which opposes the peculiar views of friends, seems to me just like the powerful effort of the jews to close the lips of jesus. they are afraid that the society will be completely broken up if they allow any difference of opinion to pass unrebuked, and they are resolved to put down all who question in any way the doctrines of barclay, the soundness of fox, or the practices which are built on them. but the time is fast approaching when we shall see who is for christ, and who for fox and barclay, the paul and apollos of our society." her plan of going to new england frustrated, angelina hesitated no longer about accepting the invitation from new york. but first there was a long discussion of the subject with sarah, who found it hard to resign her sister to a work she as yet did not cordially approve. she begged her not to decide suddenly, and pointed out all sorts of difficulties--the great responsibility she would assume, her retiring disposition, and almost morbid shrinking from whatever might make her conspicuous; the trial of going among strangers, made greater by her quaker costume and speech, and lastly, of the almost universal prejudice against a woman's speaking to any audience; and she asked her if, under all these embarrassing circumstances, added to her inexperience of the world, she did not feel that she would ultimately be forced to give up what now seemed to her so practicable. to all this angelina only answered that the responsibility seemed thrust upon her, that the call was god's call, and she could not refuse to answer it. sarah then told her that if she should go upon this mission without the sanction of the "meeting for sufferings," it would be regarded as a violation of the established usages of the society, and it would feel obliged to disown her. angelina's answer to this ended the discussion. she declared that as her mind was made up to go, she could not ask leave of her society--that it would grieve her to have to leave it, and it would be unpleasant to be disowned, but she had no alternative. then sarah, whose loving heart had, during the long talk, been moving nearer and nearer to that of her clear child, surprised her by speaking in the beautiful, tender language of ruth: "if thou indeed feelest thus, and i cannot doubt it, then my mind too is made up. where thou goest, i will go; thy god shall be my god, thy people my people. what thou doest, i will, to my utmost, aid thee in doing. we have wept and prayed together, we will go and work together." and thus fully united, heart and soul and mind, they departed for new york, angelina first writing to inform the committee of her decision, and while thanking them for the salary offered, refusing to receive any. she also told them that her sister would accompany her and co-operate with her, and they would both bear their own expense. after this time, the sisters found themselves in frequent and intimate association with the men who, as officers of the american anti-slavery society, had the direction of the movement. the marked superiority of their new friends in education, experience, culture, piety, liberality of view, statesmanship, decision of character, and energy in action, to the philadelphia quakers and charleston slave-holders, must have been to them a surprise and a revelation. working with a common purpose, these men were of varied accomplishments and qualities. william jay and james g. birney were cultured men of the world, trained in legal practice and public life; arthur tappan, lewis tappan, john rankin, and duncan dunbar, were successful merchants; abraham l. cox, a physician in large practice; theodore d. weld, henry b. stanton, alvan stewart, and gerrit smith were popular orators; joshua leavitt, elizur wright, and william goodell were ready writers and able editors; beriah green and amos a. phelps were pulpit speakers and authors, and john g. whittier was a poet. some of them had national reputations. those who in december, 1835, protested against the false charges of publishing incendiary documents calculated to excite servile war, made against the society by president jackson, had signed names almost as well known as his, and had written better english than his message. several of them had been officers of the american anti-slavery society from its formation. their energy had been phenomenal: they had raised funds, sent lecturers into nearly every county in the free states, and circulated in a single year more than a million copies of newspapers, pamphlets, magazines, and books. their moderation, good judgment, and piety had been seen and known of all men. faithful in the exposure of unfaithfulness to freedom on the part of politicians and clergymen, they denounced neither the constitution nor the bible. their devotion to the cause of abolition was pure; for its sake they suppressed the vanity of personal notoriety and of oratorical display. among them, not one can be found who sought to make a name as a leader, speaker, or writer; not one who was jealous of the reputation of co-adjutors; not one who rewarded adherents with flattery and hurled invectives at dissentients; not one to whom personal flattery was acceptable or personal prominence desirable; not one whose writings betrayed egotism, self-inflation or bombast. such was their honest aversion to personal publicity, it is now almost impossible to trace the work each did. some of their noblest arguments for freedom were published anonymously. they made no vainglorious claims to the original authorship of ideas. but never in the history of reform was work better done than the old american anti-slavery society did from its formation in 1833 to its disruption in 1840. in less than seven years it regained for freedom most of the vantage-ground lost under the open assaults and secret plottings, beginning in 1829, of the jackson administration, and in the panic caused by the southampton insurrection; blew into flame the embers of the national anti-slavery sentiment; painted slavery as it was; vindicated the anti-slavery character of the constitution and the bible; defended the right of petition; laid bare the causes of the seminole war: exposed the texas conspiracy and the designs of the slave power for supremacy; and freed the legitimate abolition cause from "no human government," secession, and anti-constitution heresies. in short, it planted the seed which flowered and fruited in a political party, around which the nation was to gather for defence against the aggressions of the slave power. at the anti-slavery office in new york, angelina and sarah learned, much to their satisfaction, that the work that would probably be required of angelina could be done in a private capacity; that it was proposed to organize, the next month (november), a national female anti-slavery society, for which women agents would be needed, and they could make themselves exceedingly useful travelling about, distributing tracts, and talking to women in their own homes. there the matter rested for a time. writing to her friend jane smith in philadelphia after their return to shrewsbury, angelina says:-"i am certain of the disapproval of nearly all my friends. as to dear catherine, i am afraid she will hardly want to see me again. i wrote to her all about it, for i wanted her to know what my prospects were. i expect nothing less than the loss of her friendship and of my membership in the society. the latter will be a far less trial than the former.... i cannot describe to thee how my dear sister has comforted and strengthened me. i cannot regard the change in her feelings as any other than as a strong evidence that my heavenly father has called me into the anti-slavery field, and after having tried my faith by her opposition, is now pleased to strengthen and confirm it by her approbation." in a postscript to this letter, sarah says:-"god does not willingly grieve or afflict the children of men, and if my suffering or even my beloved sister's, which is harder to bear than my own, can help forward the cause of truth and righteousness, i may rejoice in that we are found worthy not only to believe on, but also to suffer for, the name of jesus." angelina adds that she shall be obliged to go to philadelphia for a week or so, to dispose of her personal effects, and asks jane to receive her as a boarder, as she did not think it would be right to impose herself upon either her sister, mrs. frost, or catherine, on account of their disapproval of anti-slavery measures. "i never felt before," she says, "as if i had _no_ home. it seems as if the lord had completely broken up my rest and driven me out to labor for the poor slave. it is _his_ work--i blame no one." a few weeks later, the sisters were again in new york, the guests of that staunch abolitionist, dr. cox, and his good wife, abby, as earnest a worker in the cause as her husband. an anti-slavery convention had been called for the first week in the month of november, and met soon after their arrival. it was at this convention that angelina first saw and listened to theodore d. weld. writing to her friend jane, she says:-"the meetings are increasingly interesting, and to-day (11th) we enjoyed a moral and intellectual feast in a most noble speech from t.d. weld, of more than two hours, on the question, 'what is slavery?' i never heard so grand and beautiful an exposition of the dignity and nobility of man in my life." she goes on to give a synopsis of the entire speech, and by her frequent enthusiastic comments reveals how much it and the speaker impressed her. she continues:-"after the meeting was over, w.l. garrison introduced weld to us. he greeted me with the appellation of 'my dear sister,' and i felt as though he was a brother indeed in the holy cause of suffering humanity; a man raised up by god and wonderfully qualified to plead the cause of the oppressed. perhaps now thou wilt want to know how this lion of the tribe of abolition _looks_. well, at first sight, there was nothing remarkable to me in his appearance, and i wondered whether he was really as great as i had heard. but as soon as his countenance became animated by speaking, i found it was one which portrayed the noblest qualities of the heart and head beaming with intelligence, benevolence, and frankness." on the last page of her letter she says: "it is truly comforting to me to find that sister is so much pleased with the convention, that she acknowledges the spirit of brotherly love and condescension manifest there, and that earnest desire after truth which characterizes the addresses. we have been introduced to a number of abolitionists, thurston, phelps, green, the burleighs, wright, pritchard, thome, etc., and amos dresser, as lovely a specimen of the meekness and lowliness of the great master as i ever saw. his countenance betrayeth that he has been with jesus, and it was truly affecting to hear him on sixth day give an account of the nashville outrage to a very large colored school.[5] "the f.a.s. society is to have its first public meeting this week, at which we hope to hear weld, but fear he will not have time, as he is not even able to go home to meals, and told me he had sat up until two o'clock every night since he came to new york. as to myself, i feel i have nothing to do but to attend the convention at present. i am very comfortable, feeling in my right place, and sister seems to feel so too, though neither of us sees much ahead." [5] amos dresser was one of the lane seminary students. after leaving that institution, in order to raise funds to continue his studies, he accepted an agency for the sale of the "cottage bible." while peacefully prosecuting his business in nashville, in 1834, it became known that he was an abolitionist. this was enough. he was arrested, his trunk broken open, and its contents searched and scattered. he was then taken before a vigilance committee, and without a single charge, except that of his anti-slavery principles, being brought against him, was condemned to receive twenty lashes, "well laid on," on the bare back, and then to be driven from the town. the sentence was carried out by the votes and in the presence of thousands of people, and was presided over by the mayor and the elders of the presbyterian church from whose hands mr. dresser had, the sunday before, received the holy communion. in her next letter she describes the deepening interest of the convention, and sarah's increasing unity with its members. "we sit," she says, "from 9 to 1, 3 to 5, and 7 to 9, and never feel weary at all. it is better, _far_ better than any yearly meeting i ever attended. it is still uncertain when we shall adjourn, and it is so good to be here that i don't know how to look forward to the end of such a feast.... t.d. weld is to begin his bible argument to-morrow. it will occupy, he says, four days." the convention adjourned the latter part of november, 1836, and we may judge how profitable its meetings had proved to sarah grimké, from the fact that she at once began the preparation of an "epistle to the clergy of the southern states," which, printed in pamphlet form, was issued some time in december, and was as strong an argument against the stand on the subject of slavery taken by the majority of the clergy as had yet appeared. reading it, one would little suspect how recent had been the author's opposition to just such protests as this, calculated to stir up bitter feelings and create discussion and excitement in the churches. it is written in a spirit of gentleness and persuasion, but also of firm admonition, and evidently under a deep sense of individual responsibility. it shows, too, that sarah had reached full accord with angelina in her views of immediate emancipation. by the time the convention was over, the sisters, and portions of their history, had become so well known to abolitionists, that the leaders felt they had secured invaluable champions in these two quaker women, one so logical, brilliant, and persuasive; the other so intelligent, earnest, and conscientious; and both distinguished by their ability to testify as eye-witnesses against the monstrous evils of slavery. it was proposed that they should begin to hold a series of parlor meetings, for women only, of course. but it was soon found that they had, in private conversations, made such an impression, that no parlors would be large enough to accommodate all who desired to hear them speak more at length. upon learning this, the rev. mr. dunbar, a baptist clergyman, offered them the use of his session room, and the female anti-slavery society embraced the opportunity to make this the beginning of regular quarterly meetings. on the sunday previous to the meeting, notice of it was given out in four churches, without however, naming the proposed speakers. but it became known in some way that the misses grimké were to address the meeting, and a shock went through the whole community. not a word would have been said if they had restricted themselves to a private parlor meeting, but that it should be transferred to such a public place as the parlor of a church made quite a different affair of it. friends were of course as loud as friends could properly be in their expressions of disapproval, while other denominations, not so restrained, gave mr. dunbar, the abolitionists, and the "two bold southern women" an unmistakable piece of their mind. even gerrit smith, always the grandest champion of woman, advised against the meeting, fearing it would be pronounced a fanny wright affair, and do more harm than good. sarah and angelina were appalled, the latter especially, feeling almost as if she was the bold creature she was represented to be. she declared her utter inability, in the face of such antagonism, to go on with the work she had undertaken, and the more she looked at it, the more unnatural and unwise it seemed to her; and when printed hand-bills were scattered about, calling attention in a slighting manner to their names, both felt as if it were humanly impossible for them to proceed any further. but the meeting had been called, and as there was no business to come before it, they did not know what to do. "in this emergency," angelina writes, "i called upon him who has ever hearkened unto my cry. my strength and confidence were renewed, my burden slipped off, and from that time i felt sure of god's help in the hour of need, and that he would be mouth and wisdom, tongue and utterance to us both." "yesterday," she continues, "t.d. weld came up, like a brother, to sympathize with us and encourage our hearts. he is a precious christian, and bade us not to fear, but to trust in god. in a previous conversation on our holding meetings, he had expressed his full unity with our doing so, and grieved over that factitious state of society which bound up the energies of woman, instead of allowing her to exercise them to the glory of god and the good of her fellow creatures. his visit was really a strength to us, and i felt no more fear. we went to the meeting at three o'clock, and found about three hundred women there. it was opened with prayer by henry ludlow; we were warmly welcomed by brother dunbar, and then these two left us. after a moment, i arose and spoke about forty minutes, feeling, i think, entirely unembarrassed. then dear sister did her part better than i did. we then read some extracts from papers and letters, and answered a few questions, when at five the meeting closed; after the question had been put whether our sisters wished another meeting to be held. a good many rose, and henry ludlow says he is sure he can get his session room for us." this account of the first assembly of women, not quakers, in a public place in america, addressed by american women, is deeply interesting, and touching from its very simplicity. we who are so accustomed to hear women speak to promiscuous audiences on any and every subject, and to hear them applauded too, can scarcely realize the prejudice which, half a century back, sought to close the lips of two refined christian ladies, desirous only of adding their testimony against the greatest evil of any age or country. but those who denounced and ridiculed them builded better than they knew, for then and there was laid the corner-stone of that temple of equal rights for women, which has been built upon by so many brave hearts and willing hands since, and has brought to the front such staunch supporters and brilliant advocates as now adorn every convention of the woman's rights associations. after mentioning some who came up and spoke to them after the meeting was over, angelina adds:-"we went home to tea with julia tappan, and brother weld was all anxiety to hear about the meeting. julia undertook to give some account, and among other things mentioned that a warm-hearted abolitionist had found his way into the back part of the meeting, and was escorted out by henry ludlow. weld's noble countenance instantly lighted up, and he exclaimed: 'how supremely ridiculous to think of a man's being shouldered out of a meeting, for fear he should hear a woman speak!'... "in the evening a colonizationist of this city came to introduce an abolitionist to lewis tappan. we women soon hedged in our expatriation brother, and held a long and interesting argument with him until near ten o'clock. he gave up so much that i could not see what he had to stand on when we left him." another meeting, similar to the first, was held the next week, when so much interest was manifested that it was decided to continue the meetings every week until further notice. by the middle of january they had become so crowded, and were attended by such an influential class of women, that mr. ludlow concluded to offer his church to them. he always opened the meetings with prayer, and then retired. the addresses made by the sisters were called "lectures," but they were rather familiar talks, occasionally a discussion, while many questions were asked and answered. angelina's confidence in herself increased rapidly, until she no longer felt the least embarrassment in speaking; though she alludes to the exhausting effect of the meetings on her physical system. of sarah, she says, writing to jane smith:-"it is really delightful to see dear sister so happy in this work.... some friends come to hear us, but i do not know what they think of the meetings--or of us. how little, how very little i supposed, when i used so often to say 'i wish i were a man,' that i could go forth and lecture, that i ever would do such a thing. the idea never crossed my mind that as a woman such work could possibly be assigned to me." to this letter there is a postscript from sarah, in which she says:-"i would not give up my abolition feelings for anything i know. they are intertwined with my christianity. they have given a new spring to my existence, and shed over my whole being sweet and hallowed enjoyments." angelina's next letter to her friend is dated, "2d mo. 4th, 1837," and continues the account of the meetings. she mentions that, at the last one, they had one male auditor, who refused to go out when told he must, so he was allowed to stay, and she says: "somehow, i did not feel, his presence embarrassing at all, and went on just as though he had not been there. some one said he took notes, and i think he was a southern spy, and shall not be at all surprised if he publishes us in some southern paper." truly it was a risky thing for a lord of creation to intrude himself into a woman's meeting in those days! angelina goes on to remark that more friends are attending their meetings, and that if they were not opened with prayer, still more would come. also, that friends had been very kind and attentive to them in every way, and never said a discouraging word to them. she then discourses a little on phrenology, at that time quite a new thing in this country, and relates an anecdote of "brother "weld," as follows:-"when he went to fowler in this city, he disguised himself as an omnibus driver. the phrenologist was so struck with the supposed fact that an omnibus driver should have such an extraordinary head, that he preserved an account of it, and did not know until some time after that it was weld's. he says that when he first had his head examined at utica, he was told he was deficient in the organ of color, his eyebrow showing it. he immediately remembered that his mother often told him: 'theodore, it is of no use to send you to match a skein of silk, for you never bring the right color.' when relating this, he observed a general titter in the room, and on inquiring the reason a candle was put near him, and, to his amazement, all agreed that the legs of his pantaloons were of different shades of green. instead of a ridge all around his eyebrow, he has a little hollow in one spot." a society for the encouragement of abstinence from the use of slave products had just been formed in philadelphia, and angelina desired her friend to put her name to the pledge, but not sarah's. in a postscript sarah explains this, saying:-"i do abstain from slave produce as much as i can, just because i feel most easy to do so, but i cannot say my judgment is convinced; therefore, i would rather not put my name to the pledge." her judgment was convinced, however, very shortly afterwards, by a discussion of the subject with weld and some others, and she then wrote to jane smith to set her name down, as she found her testimony in the great cause was greatly strengthened by keeping clean hands. there is much told of their meetings, and their other experiences in new york, which is very interesting, and for which i regret i have not room. angelina describes in particular one visit they made to a poor family, that of one of her sunday-school pupils, where they stayed to tea, being afterwards joined by mr. weld, who came to escort them home. she says of him:-"i have seen him shine in the convention and in refined circles, but never did i admire him so much. his perfect ease at this fireside of poverty showed that he was accustomed to be the friend and companion of the poor of this world." the family here mentioned was doubtless a colored one, as it was in the colored sunday school that both sisters taught. they had already proved, by their friendship for sarah douglass, the fortens, and other colored families of philadelphia, how slight was their prejudice against color, but the above incident proves the entire sincerity of their convictions and their desire to avail themselves of every opportunity to testify to it. still, there is no doubt that to the influence of theodore weld's conversations they owed much of their enlightenment on this as well as on some other points of radical abolitionism. it was after a talk with him that angelina describes the female anti-slavery society of new york as utterly inefficient, "doing literally nothing," and ascribes its inefficiency to the sinful prejudice existing there, which shut out colored women from any share in its management, and gave little encouragement to them even to become members. she adds: "i believe it is our duty to visit the poor, white and colored, just in this way, and to receive them at our houses. i think that the artificial distinctions in society, the separation between the higher and the lower orders, the aristocracy of wealth and education, are the very rock of pauperism, and that the only way to eradicate this plague from our land will be to associate with the poor, and the wicked too, just as our redeemer did. to visit them as our inferiors, the recipients of our bounty, is quite a different thing from going among them as our equals." in her next letter to jane smith, angelina gives an interesting account of h.b. stanton's great speech before the committee of the massachusetts legislature on the abolition of slavery in the district of columbia; a speech which still ranks as one of the ablest and most brilliant ever delivered in this country. there is no date to this letter, but it must have been written the last of february or first of march, 1837. she begins thus:-"i was wondering, my dear jane, what could be the reason i had not heard from thee, when brother weld came in with thine and mira's letters hanging from the paper on which they had been tied. 'i bring you,' he said, 'a good emblem of the fate of abolitionists,--so take warning;' and held them up to our view.... "brother garrison was here last sixth day and spent two hours with us. he gave us a most delightful account of recent things in boston, which i will try to tell thee of. "when the abolitionists found how their petitions were treated in congress, they sent in, from all parts of massachusetts, petitions to the legislature, requesting it to issue a protest against such contempt of the people's wishes and rights. the legislature was amazed at the number and respectability of these petitions, and appointed a committee to take them under consideration. abolitionists then asked for a hearing before that committee, not in the lobby, but in the hall of representatives. the request was granted, and though the day was exceedingly stormy, a good number were out. a young lawyer of boston first spoke an hour and a half; h.b. stanton followed, and completely astonished the audience, but could not get through by dark, and asked for another meeting. the next afternoon an overflowing audience greeted him; he spoke three hours, and did not yet finish. another meeting was appointed for the next evening, and he says he thinks hundreds went away because they could not get in. stanton spoke one hour and a quarter, and then broke down from the greatness of the effort, added to the unceasing labors of the winter. a profound silence reigned through the crowded hall. not one moved to depart. at last a member of the committee arose, and asked if there was any other abolitionist present who wished to speak. stanton said he believed not, as they now had the views of the anti-slavery society. the committee were not satisfied; and one of them said if there was any abolitionist who wished to follow mr. stanton, they would gladly hear all he had to say, but all declined. brother garrison said such was the desire to hear more on this subject, that he came directly to new york to get weld to go and speak before them, but his throat is still so much affected that it will be impossible for him to do so. isn't this cheering news? here are seven hundred men in the massachusetts legislature, who, if they can be moved to protest against the unconstitutional proceedings of congress, will shake this nation to its centre, and rock it in a revolutionary storm that must either sink it or save it." after closing their meetings in new york, the sisters held similar ones in newark, bloomfield, and other places in new jersey, in all of which sarah was as active and enthusiastic as angelina, and from this time we hear no more of the gloom and despondency which had saddened so many of the best years of her life. but, identified completely with her sister's work, she was busy, contented and satisfied of the lord's goodness and mercy. these meetings had all been quiet and undisturbed in every way, owing of course, to the fact that only women attended, but the newspapers had not spared them. ridicule, sarcasm, and pity were liberally bestowed upon the "deluded ladies" by the press generally, and the richmond whig published several editorials about "those fanatical women, the misses grimké." but writing against them was the extent of the opposition at that time, and this affected them very little. from new jersey they went up the north river with gerrit smith, holding interesting meetings at hudson and poughkeepsie. at the latter place they spoke to an assembly of colored people of both sexes, and this was the first time angelina ever addressed a mixed audience, and it was perhaps in accordance with the fitness of things that it should have been a colored one. she often spoke of this in after years, looking back to it with pleasure. here, also, they attended a meeting of the anti-slavery society of the protestant episcopal methodist church, and spoke against the sin of prejudice. in a letter to sarah douglass, sarah says:-"my feelings were so overcome at this meeting that i sat down and wept. i feel as if i had taken my stand by the side of the colored american, willing to share with him the odium of a darker skin, and i trust if i am permitted again to take my seat in arch street meeting house, it will be beside thee and thy dear mother." these hudson river meetings ended the labors of the sisters in new york for the time. they returned to the city to take a little needed rest, and to prepare for the female anti-slavery convention, which was to meet there early in may. the society which had sent them forth had reason to be well satisfied with its experiment. not only had they awakened enthusiasm and sincere interest in abolition, but had demonstrated the ability of women to publicly advocate a great cause, and the entire propriety of their doing so. one of the members, of the committee asserted that it would be as impossible to calculate the number of converts they had made, as to estimate the encouragement and strength their zeal and eloquence had given to abolitionists all over the country. men were slow to believe the reports of their wives and sisters respecting angelina's wonderful oratory, and this incredulity produced the itching ears which soon drew to the meetings where the grimké sisters were to speak more men than women, and gave them the applause and hearty support of some of the ablest minds of new england. the female anti-slavery convention opened with seventy-one delegates; the misses grimké, at their own request, representing south carolina. during this convention they met many congenial souls, among whom they particularize lydia m. child, mary t. parker, and anna weston, as sympathizing so entirely with their own views respecting prejudice and the province of woman. the latter question had long been sarah's pet problem, to the solution of which she had given much thought and study, ever since the time when she was denied participation in her brother's education because of her sex. it is scarcely too much to say that to her mind this question was second in importance to none, and though the word enfranchisement, as applied to woman, had not yet been uttered, the whole theory of it was in sarah's heart, and she eagerly awaited the proper time and place to develop it. angelina, while holding the same views, would probably have kept them in the background longer, but for sarah's arguments, supported by the objection so frequently urged against the encouragement of their meetings,--that slavery was a political subject with which women had nothing to do. this objection she answered in a masterly paper, an "appeal to the women of the nominally free states," which was printed in pamphlet form and sent out by the female anti-slavery convention, and attracted wide attention. the chief point she took was this: "the denial of our duty to act in this cause is a denial of our right to act; and if we have no right to act, then may we well be termed 'the white slaves of the north,' for, like our brethren in bonds, we must seal our lips in silence and despair." the whole argument, covering nearly seventy pages, is remarkable in its calm reasoning, sound logic, and fervid eloquence, and will well repay perusal, even at this day. about the same time a beautiful and most feeling "address to free colored americans" was written by sarah, and likewise circulated by the convention. these two pamphlets made the sisters so widely known, and so increased the desire in other places to hear them speak, that invitations poured in upon them from different parts of the north and west, as well as from the new england states. it was finally decided that they should go to boston first, to aid the brave, good women there, who, while willing to do all that women could do for the cause in a private capacity, had not yet been persuaded to open their lips for it in any kind of a public meeting. it was not contemplated, however, that the sisters should address any but assemblies of women. even boston was not yet prepared for a greater infringement of the social proprieties. chapter xiii. the woman's rights agitation, while entirely separate from abolitionism, owes its origin to the interest this subject excited in the hearts and minds of american women; and to sarah and angelina grimké must be accorded the credit of first making the woman question one of reform. their broad views, freely expressed in their new york meetings, opened up the subject of woman's duties under the existing state of public sentiment, and, in connection with the revelations made concerning the condition of her white and colored sisters at the south, and the frantic efforts used to prevent her from receiving these revelations, she soon began to see that she had some moral obligations outside of her home sphere and her private circle. at first her only idea of aid in the great cause was that of prayer, which men universally granted was her especial privilege, even encouraging her to pray for them; but it must be private prayer--prayer in her own closet--with no auditor but the god to whom she appealed. as soon as it became public, and took the form of petitions to legislatures and to congress, the reprobation began. the enemies of freedom, fully realizing woman's influence, opposed her interference at every point; and when a southern representative declared from his seat that women had no right to send up petitions to congress he was sustained by the sycophantic response which came from the north, that slavery was a political question, with which women had nothing to do. angelina grimké answered this so fully and so eloquently in her "appeal to northern women," that no doubt could have been left in the minds of those who read it, not only of woman's right, but of her duty to interfere in this matter. the appeal is made chiefly to woman's tenderest and holiest feelings, but enough is said of her rights to show whither angelina's own reflections were leading her, and it must have turned the thoughts of many other women in the same direction. a passage or two may be quoted as examples. "every citizen should feel an intense interest in the political concerns of the country, because the honor, happiness and well-being of every class are bound up in its politics, government, and laws. are we aliens because we are women? are we bereft of citizenship because we are the mothers, wives, and daughters of a mighty people? have women no country--no interests staked on the public weal--no partnership in a nation's guilt and shame? has woman no home nor household altars, nor endearing ties of kindred, nor sway with man, nor power at the mercy-seat, nor voice to cheer, nor hand to raise the drooping, or to bind the broken?... the lord has raised up men whom he has endowed with 'wisdom and understanding, and knowledge,' to lay deep and broad the foundations of the temple of liberty. this is a great moral work in which they are engaged. no war-trumpet summons to the field of battle; but wisdom crieth without, 'whosoever is of a willing heart, let him bring an offering.' shall woman refuse her response to the call? was she created to be a helpmeet for man--his sorrows to divide, his joys to share, and all his toils to lighten by her willing aid, and shall she refuse to aid him with her prayers, her labors, and her counsels too, at such a time, in such a cause as this?" there had been, from the beginning of the anti-slavery agitation, no lack of women sympathizers with it. some of the best and brightest of the land had poured forth their words of grief, of courage, and of hope through magazines and newspapers, in prose and in verse, and had proved their willingness to suffer for the slave, by enduring unshrinkingly ridicule and wrath, pecuniary loss and social ostracism. all over the country, in almost every town and village, women labored untiringly to raise funds for the printing of pamphlets, sending forth lecturers and for the pay of special agents. they were regular attendants also on the anti-slavery meetings and conventions, often outnumbering the men, and privately made some of the best suggestions that were offered. but so strong and general was the feeling against women speaking in any public place, that, up to the time when sarah and angelina grimké began their crusade, it was an almost unheard of thing for a woman to raise her voice in any but a church prayer-meeting. during the sittings of the anti-slavery convention in philadelphia, in 1833, which was attended by a number of women, chiefly friends, lucretia mott, though she had had experience in speaking in quaker meetings, timidly arose one day, and, in fear lest she might offend, ventured to propose an amendment to a certain resolution. with rare indulgence and good sense, beriah green, the president of the convention, encouraged her to proceed; and may, in his "recollections," says: "she made a more impressive and effective speech than any other that was made in the convention, excepting only the closing address of our president." two other ladies, esther moore and lydia white, emboldened by mrs. mott's example, afterwards said a few words on one or two occasions, but these were the only infringements, during all those early years of agitation, of st. paul's oft-quoted injunction. when sarah and angelina grimké accepted the invitation of the female anti-slavery society of boston, to come and labor there, they found friends on every hand--women of the highest culture and purest religion, eager to hear them, not only concerning what their eyes had witnessed in that land of worse than egyptian bondage, but ready to be enlightened upon their own duties and rights in the matter of moral reform, and as willing as resolute to perform them. without experience, as the sisters were, we can hardly be surprised that they should have been carried beyond their original moorings, and have made what many of their best friends felt was a serious mistake, in uniting the two causes, thus laying upon abolitionists a double burden, and a responsibility to which the great majority of them were as much opposed as were their bitterest enemies. but no movement in this direction was made for some time. indeed, it seems to have grown quite naturally out of, or been forced forward by, the alarm among men, and the means they took to frighten and warn women away from the dangerous topic. the massachusetts anti-slavery convention met early in june, 1837. in writing about it to jane smith, angelina first touches upon the dawning feeling on this woman question. she says:-"we had stanton and burleigh, colver and birney, garrison and goodell, etc. their eloquence was no less delightful to the ear than the soundness of their doctrine was comforting to the heart.... a peace resolution was brought up, but this occasioned some difficulty on account of non-resistance here meaning a repudiation of civil government, and of course we cannot expect many to be willing to do this.... at friend chapman's, where we spent a social evening, i had a long talk with the brethren on the rights of women, and found a very general sentiment prevailing that it is time our fetters were broken. l. child and maria chapman strongly supported this view; indeed, very many seem to think a new order of things is very desirable in this respect.... and now, my dear friend, in view of these things, i feel that it is not the cause of the slave only that we plead, but the cause of woman as a moral, responsible being, and i am ready to exclaim, 'who is sufficient for these things?' these holy causes must be injured if they are not helped by us. i see not to what point all these things are leading us. but one thing comforts me: i do feel as though the lord had sent us, and as if i was leaning on his arm." and in this reliance, in a meek and lowly spirit, impelled not by inclination, but by an overpowering sense of duty, these gentle women, fully realizing the singularity of their position, prepared to enter upon entirely new scenes of labor, encompassed by difficulties peculiarly trying to their delicate natures. a series of public meetings was arranged for them as soon as the convention adjourned, and the first was held in dorchester, in the town hall, to which they repaired upon finding the number of those who wished to hear them too great to be accommodated in a private house. their next was in boston on the following afternoon. angelina's heart here almost failed her as she glanced over the assemblage of women of all classes, and thought of the responsibility resting upon her. it was at this meeting that a reverend gentleman set the example, which was followed by two or three other men, of slyly sliding into a back seat to hear for himself what manner of thing this woman's speaking was. satisfied of its superior quality, and alarmed at its effects upon the audience, he shortly afterwards took great pains to prove that it was unscriptural for a woman to speak in public. as the meetings were held at first only in the daylight, there was little show of opposition for some time. the sisters went from one town to another, arousing enthusiasm everywhere, and vindicating, by their power and success, their right to speak. angelina's letters to jane smith contain memoranda of all the meetings she and sarah held during that summer and fall. it is surprising that they were able to endure such an amount of mental and physical labor, and maintain the constantly increasing eagerness to hear them. before the end of the first week, she records:--"nearly thirty men present, pretty easy to speak." a few days later the number of men had increased to fifty, with "great openness on their part to hear." after having held meetings every day, their audience numbering from one hundred and fifty to one thousand, angelina records on the 21st july, at lynn:-"in the evening of the same day addressed our first mixed audience. over one thousand present, great openness to hear, and ease in speaking." this, so briefly mentioned, was the beginning of the revolution in sentiment respecting woman's sphere, which, though it was met at the outset with much the same spirit which opposed abolitionism, soon spread and became a principle of reform as conscientiously and as ably advocated as any other, moral or political. neither sarah nor angelina had any idea of starting such a revolution, but when they found it fairly inaugurated, and that many women had long privately held the same views as they did and were ready to follow in their lead, they bravely accepted, and to the end of their lives as bravely sustained all the responsibilities their opinions involved. they were the pioneers in the great cause of political freedom for women, and opened the way in the true pioneer spirit. the clear sense of justice and the broad humanity which inspired their trenchant rebukes and fervid appeals not only enlightened and encouraged other women, but led to inquiry into various wrongs practised towards the sex which had up to that time been suffered in silence and in ignorance, or in despair of any possibility of relief. the peculiar tenderness of sarah grimké's nature, and her overflowing sympathy with any form of suffering, led her, earlier than angelina, to the consideration of the necessity of some organized system of protection of helpless women and children; and, from the investigation of the impositions and abuses to which they were subjected, was evolved, without much difficulty, the doctrine of woman's equality before the law, and her right to a voice on every subject of public interest, social or political. sarah's published letters during the summer of 1837 show her to have been as deeply interested in this reform as in abolitionism, and to her influence was certainly due the introduction of the "woman question" into the anti-slavery discussions. that this question was as yet a secondary one in angelina's mind is evident from what she writes to jane smith about this time. she says: "with regard to speaking on the rights of woman, it has really been wonderful to me that though, everywhere i go, i meet prejudice against our speaking, yet, in addressing an audience, i never think of referring to it. i was particularly struck with this two days ago. riding with dr. miller to a meeting at franklin, i found, from conversation with him, that i had a great amount of prejudice to meet at that town, and very much in his own mind. i gave him my views on women's preaching, and verily believe i converted him, for he said he had no idea so much could be adduced from the bible to sustain the ground i had taken, and remarked: 'this will be quite new to the people, and i believe they will gladly hear these things,' and pressed me so much to speak on the subject at the close of my lecture that i was obliged to promise i would if i could remember to do so. after speaking two hours, we returned to his house to tea, and he asked: 'why did you not tell the people why you believed you had a right to speak?' i had entirely forgotten all about it until his question revived the conversation we had on the road. now i believe the lord orders these things so, driving out of my mind what i ought not to speak on. if the time ever comes when this shall be a part of my public work, then i shall not be able to forget it." but to return to the meeting at lynn. we are told that the men present listened in amazement. they were spell-bound, and impatient of the slightest noise which might cause the loss of a word from the speakers. another meeting was called for, and held the next evening. this was crowded to excess, many going away unable to get even standing-room. "at least one hundred," angelina writes, "stood around the doors, and, on the outside of each window, men stood with their heads above the lowered sash. very easy speaking indeed." but now the opposers of abolitionism, and especially the clergy, began to be alarmed. it amounted to very little that (to borrow the language of one of the newspapers of the day) "two fanatical women, forgetful of the obligations of a respected name, and indifferent to the feelings of their most worthy kinsmen, the barnwells and the rhetts, should, by the novelty of their course, draw to their meetings idle and curious women." but it became a different matter when men, the intelligent, respectable and cultivated citizens of every town, began to crowd to hear them, even following them from one place to another, and giving them loud and honest applause. then they were adjudged immodest, and their conduct denounced as unwomanly and demoralizing. their devotion to principle, the purity of their lives, the justice of the cause they pleaded, the religious stand-point from which they spoke, all were overlooked, and the pitiless scorn of christian men and women of every sect was poured down upon them. nor should we wonder when we remember that, at that time, the puritan bounds of propriety still hedged in the education and the training of new england women, and limited the views of new england men. even many of the abolitionists had first to hear sarah and angelina grimké to be convinced that there was nothing unwomanly in a woman's raising her voice to plead for those helpless to plead for themselves. so good a man and so faithful an anti-slavery worker as samuel j. may confesses that his sense of propriety was a little disturbed at first. letters of reproval, admonition, and persuasion, some anonymous, some signed by good conscientious people, came to the sisters frequently. clergymen denounced them from their pulpits, especially warning their women members against them. municipal corporations refused the use of halls for their meetings, and threats of personal violence came from various quarters. friends especially felt outraged. the new england yearly meeting went so far as to advise the closing of meeting-house doors to all anti-slavery lecturers and the disownment the sisters had long expected now became imminent. we can well imagine how terrible all this must have been to their shrinking, sensitive, and proud spirits. but their courage never failed, nor was their mighty work for humanity stayed one instant by this storm of indignation and wrath. angelina, writing to her dear jane an account of some of the opposition to them, says: "and now, thou wilt want to know how we feel about all these things. well, dear, poor enough in ourselves, and defenceless; but rich and strong in the help which our master is pleased to give from time to time, making perfect his strength in our weakness. this is a truly humbling dispensation, but when i am speaking i am favored to forget little _i_ entirely, and to feel altogether hidden behind the great cause i am pleading. were it not for this, i do not know how i could face such audiences and such opposition. o jane, how good it is that we can cast all our burdens upon the lord." and sarah, writing to sarah douglass, says: "they think to frighten us from the field of duty; but they do not move us. god is our shield, and we do not fear what man can do unto us," a little further on she says: "it is really amusing to see how the clergy are arrayed against two women who are telling the story of the slave's wrongs." this was before the celebrated "pastoral letter" appeared. sarah's answer to that in her letters to the n.e. spectator shows how far the clergy had gone beyond amusing her. there were, of course, many church members of every denomination, and many ministers, in the abolition ranks. indeed, at some of the anti-slavery conventions, it was a most edifying sight to see clergymen of different churches sitting together and working together in harmony, putting behind them, for the time being, all creeds and dogmas, or, rather, sinking them all in the one creed taught by the blessed command to do unto others as they would be done by. some of the more conservative of the clergy objected, it is true, to the great freedom of thought and speech allowed generally in the conventions, but this was slight compared to the feeling excited by the encouragement given to women to take prominent and public part in the work, even to speaking from the platform and the pulpit. the general prejudice against this was naturally increased by the earnest eloquence with which angelina grimké pointed out the inconsistent attitude of ministers and church members towards slavery; by sarah's strongly expressed views concerning a paid clergy; and the indignant protests of both sisters against the sin of prejudice, then as general in the church as out of it. the feeling grew very strong against them. they were setting public sentiment at defiance, it was said; they were seeking to destroy veneration for the ministers of the gospel; they were casting contempt upon the consecrated forms of the church; and much more of the same kind. nowhere, however, did the feeling find decided public expression until the general association of congregational ministers of massachusetts saw proper to pass a resolution of censure against sarah and angelina grimké, and issued a pastoral letter, which, in the light and freedom of the present day, must be regarded as a most extraordinary document, to say the least of it. the opening sentences show the degree of authority felt and exercised by the clergy at that time. it maintained that, as ministers were ordained by god, it was their place and duty to judge what food was best to feed to the flock over which they had been made overseers by the holy ghost; and that, if they did not preach on certain topics, as the flock desired, the flock had no right to put strangers in their place to do it; that deference and subordination were necessary to the happiness of every society, and peculiarly so to the relation of a people to their pastor; and that the sacred rights of ministers had been violated by having their pulpits opened without their consent to lecturers on various subjects of reform. all this might pass without much criticism: but it was followed by a tirade against woman-preachers, aimed at the grimké sisters especially, which was as narrow as it was shallow. the dangers which threatened the female character and the permanent injury likely to result to society, if the example of these women should be followed, were vigorously portrayed. women were reminded that their power was in their dependence; that god had given them their weakness for their protection; and that when they assumed the tone and place of man, as public reformers, they made the care and protection of man seem unnecessary. "if the vine," this letter fancifully said, "whose strength and beauty is to lean upon the trellis-work, and half conceal its clusters, thinks to assume the independence and the overshadowing nature of the elm, it will not only cease to bear fruit, but will fall in shame and dishonor into the dust." sarah grimké had just begun a series of letters on the "province of woman" for the _n.e. spectator_, when this pastoral effusion came out. her third letter was devoted to it. she showed in the clearest manner the unsoundness of its assertions, and the unscriptural and unchristian spirit in which they were made. the delicate irony with which she also exposed the ignorance and the shallowness of its author must have caused him to blush for very shame. whittier's muse, too, found the pastoral letter a fitting theme for its vigorous, sympathetic utterances. the poem thus inspired is perhaps one of the very best among his many songs of freedom. it will be remembered as beginning thus:- "so this is all! the utmost reach of priestly power the mind to fetter, when laymen _think_, when women _preach_, a war of words, a 'pastoral letter!'" up to this time nothing had been said by either of the sisters in their lectures concerning their views about women. they had carefully confined themselves to the subject of slavery, and the attendant topics of immediate emancipation, abstinence from the use of slave products, the errors of the colonization society, and the sin of prejudice on account of color. but now that they found their own rights invaded, they began to feel it was time to look out for the rights of their whole sex. the rev. amos phelps, a staunch abolitionist, wrote a private letter to the sisters, remonstrating earnestly but kindly against their lecturing to men and women, and requesting permission to publish the fact of his having done so, with a declaration on their part that they preferred having female audiences only. angelina says to jane smith:-"i wish you could see sister's admirable reply to this. we told him we were entirely willing he should publish anything he felt it right to, but that we could not consent to his saying in our name that we preferred female audiences only, because in so saying we should surrender a fundamental principle, believing, as we did, that as moral beings it was our duty to appeal to all moral beings on this subject, without any distinction of sex. he thinks we are throwing a responsibility on the anti-slavery society which will greatly injure it. to this we replied that we would write to elizur wright, and give the executive committee an opportunity to throw off all such responsibility by publishing the facts that we had no commission from them, and were not either responsible to or dependent on them. i wrote this letter. h.b. stanton happened to be here at the time; after reading all the letters, he wrote to elizur wright, warning him by no means to publish anything which would in the least appear to disapprove of what we were doing. i do not know what the result will be. my only fear is that some of our anti-slavery brethren will commit themselves, in this excitement, against _women's rights and duties_ before they examine the subject, and will, in a few years, regret the steps they may now take. this will soon be an absorbing topic. it must be discussed whether women are moral and responsible beings, and whether there is such a thing as male and female virtues, male and female duties, etc. my opinion is that there is no difference, and that this false idea has run the ploughshare of ruin over the whole field of morality. my idea is that whatever is morally right for a man to do is morally right for a woman to do. i recognize no rights but human rights. i know nothing of men's rights and women's rights; for in christ jesus there is neither male nor female.... i am persuaded that woman is not to be as she has been, a mere second-hand agent in the regeneration of a fallen world, but the acknowledged equal and co-worker with man in this glorious work.... hubbard winslow of boston has just preached a sermon to set forth the proper sphere of our sex. i am truly glad that men are not ashamed to come out boldly and tell us just what is in their hearts." in another letter she mentions that a clergyman gave out a notice of one of their meetings, at the request, he said, of his deacons, but under protest; and he earnestly advised his members, particularly the women, not to go and hear them. at a meeting, also, at pepperell, where they had to speak in a barn, on account of the feeling against them, she mentions that an orthodox clergyman opened the meeting with prayer, but went out immediately after finishing, declaring that he would as soon rob a hen-roost as remain there and hear a woman speak in public. this, however, did not prevent the crowding of the barn "almost to suffocation," and deep attention on the part of those assembled. in the face of all this censure and ridicule, the two sisters continued in the discharge of a duty to which they increasingly felt they were called from on high. the difficulties, inconveniences, and discomforts to which they were constantly subjected, and of which the women reformers of the present day know so little, were borne cheerfully, and accepted as means of greater refinement and purification for the lord's work. they were often obliged to ride six or eight or ten miles through the sun or rain, in stages or wagons over rough roads to a meeting, speak two hours, and return the same distance to their temporary abiding-place. for many weeks they held five and six meetings a week, in a different place every time, were often poorly lodged and poorly fed, especially the latter, as they ate nothing which they did not know to be the product of free labor; taking cold frequently, and speaking when ill enough to be in bed, but sustained through all by faith in the justice of their cause, and by their simple reliance upon the love and guidance of an almighty father. the record of their journeyings, as copied by angelina from her day-book for the benefit of jane smith, is very interesting, as showing how, in spite of continued opposition to them, anti-slavery sentiment grew under their eloquent preaching. wendell phillips says: "i can never forget the impulse our cause received when those two sisters doubled our hold on new england in 1837 and 1838, and made a name, already illustrious in south carolina by great services, equally historical in massachusetts, in the two grandest movements of our day." angelina's eloquence must have been something marvellous. the sweet, persuasive voice, the fluent speech, and occasionally a flash of the old energy, were all we who knew her in later years were granted, to show us what had been; but it was enough to confirm the accounts given by those who had felt the power of her oratory in those early times. says wendell phillips: "i well remember evening after evening listening to eloquence such as never then had been heard from a woman. she swept the chords of the human heart with a power that has never been surpassed and rarely equalled." mr. lincoln, in whose pulpit she lectured in gardiner, says: "never before or since have i seen an audience so held and so moved by any public speaker, man or woman; and never before or since have i seen a christian pulpit so well filled, nor in the pews seen such absorbed hearers." robert f. walcutt testifies in the same manner. "angelina," he says, "possessed a rare gift of eloquence, a calm power of persuasion, a magnetic influence over those who listened to her, which carried conviction to hearts that nothing before had reached. i shall never forget the wonderful manifestation of this power during six successive evenings, in what was then called the odeon. it was the old boston theatre, which had been converted into a music hall; the four galleries rising above the auditorium all crowded with a silent audience carried away with the calm, simple eloquence which narrated what she and her sister had seen from their earliest days. and yet this odeon scene, the audience so quiet and intensely absorbed, occurred at the most enflamed period of the anti-slavery contest. the effective agent in this phenomenon was angelina's serene, commanding eloquence, a wonderful gift, which enchained attention, disarmed prejudice, and carried her hearers with her." another, who often heard her, speaks of the gentle, firm, and impressive voice which could ring out in clarion tones when speaking in the name of the lord to let the oppressed go free. many travelled long distances to hear her. mechanics left their shops, and laborers came in out of the field, and sat almost motionless throughout her meetings, showing impatience only when the lecture was over and they could hear no more. sarah's speaking, though fully as earnest, was not nearly so effective as angelina's. she was never very fluent, and cared little for the flowers of rhetoric. she could state a truth in clear and forcible terms, but the language was unvarnished, sometimes harsh, while the manner of speaking was often embarrassed. she understood and felt her deficiencies, and preferred to serve the cause through her pen rather than through her voice. writing to sarah douglass, in september, 1837, she says:-"that the work in which we are engaged is in a peculiar manner dear angelina's, i have no doubt. god called and qualified her for it by deep travail of spirit. i do not think my mind ever passed through the preparation hers did, and i regard my being with her more as an evidence of our dear saviour's care for us, than a design that i should perform a conspicuous part in this labor of love. hence, although at first i was permitted to assist her, as her strength increased and her ability to do the work assigned her was perfected, i was more and more withdrawn from the service. nor do i think anyone ought to regret it. my precious sister has a gift in lecturing, in reasoning and elucidating, so far superior to mine, that i know the cause is better pleaded if left entirely in her hands. my spirit has not bowed to this dispensation without prayer for resignation to being thus laid aside, but since i have been enabled to take the above view, i have been contented to be silent, believing that so is the will of god." sarah's religious anxieties seem all to have vanished before the absorbing interest of her new work. she had no longer time to think of herself, or to stand and question the lord on every going-out and coming-in. she relied upon him as much as ever, but she understood him better, and had more faith in his loving-kindness. in a letter to t. d. weld, she says:-"for many years i have been inquiring the way to zion, and now i know not but i shall have to surrender all or many long-cherished points of religion, and come back to the one simple direction: 'follow after holiness, without which no man shall see the lord.'" all her letters show how much happier she was under her new experiences. angelina thus writes of her:-"sister sarah enjoys more real comfort of mind than i ever saw her enjoy before, and it is delightful to be thus yoked with her in this work." but with sarah's wider, fuller sympathies came bitter regrets over the spiritual bondage which had kept her idle and useless so long. and yet, in spite of all, her heart still clung to the society of friends, and the struggle to give them up, to resign the long-cherished hope of being permitted to preach among them the unsearchable riches of christ, was very great. but conscientious and true to her convictions even here, as her own eyes had been mercifully opened to the faults of this system of religion, she must do what she could to help others. under a solemn sense of responsibility, she wrote and printed a pamphlet exposing the errors of the quaker church, and showing the withering influence it exerted over all moral and religious progress. for this, she doubted not, she would be at once disowned; but friends seem to have been very loth to part with the two rebellious subjects, who had certainly given them much trouble, but in whom they could not help feeling a certain pride of ownership. they showed their willingness to be patient yet a little while longer. all through the summer and early fall, the meetings were continued with slightly decreasing opposition, and continued abuse from press and pulpit and "good society." sarah still bore her share of the labors, frequently speaking an hour at a time, and taking charge chiefly of the legal side of the question of slavery, while the moral and religious sides were left for angelina. at amesbury, angelina writes:-"we met the mother, aunt, and sister of brother whittier. they received us at their sweet little cottage with sincere pleasure, i believe, they being as thoroughgoing as their dear j.g.w., whom they seem to know how to value. he was absent, serving the good cause in new york." at an evening meeting they held at amesbury, a letter was handed angelina, which stated that some gentlemen were present, who had just returned from the south, and had formed very different opinions from those of the lecturers, and would like to state them to the meeting. sarah read the letter aloud, and requested the gentlemen to proceed with their remarks. two arose, and soon showed how little they really knew, and how close an affinity they felt with slave-holders. a discussion ensued, which lasted an hour, when angelina went on with her lecture on the "dangers of slavery." when it was over, the two gentlemen of southern sympathies requested that another opportunity be granted for a free discussion of the subject. this was agreed to, and the 19th of the month, august, settled upon. this was another and a great step forward, and when known gave rise to renewed denunciations, the press being particularly severe against such an unheard-of thing, which, it was declared, would not be tolerated if the misses grimké were not members of the society of friends. the abolitionists, however, rallied to their support, h.b. stanton even proposing to arrange some meeting where he and they could speak together. but even angelina shrank from such an irretrievable committal on his part as this would be, and did not think the time had yet come for such an anomaly. on the 19th they returned to amesbury, and angelina writes that great excitement prevailed, and that many had come from neighboring towns to hear two _massachusetts men defend_ slavery against the accusations of two _southern women_. "may the blessed master," she adds, "stand at our right hand in this trying and uncommon predicament." two evenings were given to the discussion, the hall being packed both evenings, many, even ladies, standing the whole time. angelina gives no details about it, as, she says, she sends a paper with a full account to jane smith; but we may judge of the interest it excited from the fact that the people urged a continuance of the discussion for two more evenings, which, however, the sisters were obliged to decline. angelina adds:-"everyone is talking about it; but we have given great offence on account of our womanhood, which seems to be as objectionable as our abolitionism. the whole land seems aroused to discussion on the province of woman, and i am glad of it. we are willing to bear the brunt of the storm, if we can only be the means of making a breach in the wall of public opinion, which lies right in the way of woman's true dignity, honor, and usefulness. sister sarah does preach up woman's rights most nobly and fearlessly, and we find that many of our new england sisters are prepared to receive these strange doctrines, feeling, as they do, that our whole sex needs emancipation from the thraldom of public opinion. what dost thou think of some of _them walking_ two, four, six, and eight miles to attend our meetings?" this preaching of the much-vexed doctrine was, however, done chiefly in private, indeed altogether so by angelina. sarah's nature was so impulsive that she could not always refrain from putting in a stroke for her cherished views when it seemed to fit well into the argument of a lecture. what prominent abolitionists thought of the subject in its relation to the anti-slavery cause, and especially what t.d. weld and john g. whittier thought, must be told in another chapter. chapter xiv. among the most prominent opposers of immediate emancipation were dr. lyman beecher and the members of his remarkable family; and though they ultimately became converts to it, even so far as to allow a branch of the "underground railway" to run through their barn, their conversion was gradual, and only arrived at after various controversies and discussions, and much bitter feeling between them and the advocates of the unpopular cause. opposed to slavery in the abstract, that is, believing it to be a sin to hold a fellow creature in bondage for the "_mere purposes of gain_," they utterly condemned all agitation of the question. the church and the gospel were, with them, as with so many evangelical christians, the true means through which evils should be reached and reforms effected. all efforts outside were unwise and useless, not to say sinful. and further, as catherine beecher expressed it, they considered the matter of southern slavery as one with which the north was no more called to interfere than in the abolition of the press-gang system in england, or the tithe system in ireland. some chapters back, the short but pleasant friendship of catherine beecher and angelina grimké was mentioned. very soon after that little episode, the beechers removed to cincinnati, where the doctor was called to the presidency of the lane theological seminary. we can well understand that the withdrawal of nearly all its students after the great discussion was a sore trial to the beechers, and intensified their already adverse feelings towards abolitionists. the only result of this with which we have to do is the volume published by catherine beecher during the summer of 1837, entitled "miss beecher on the slave question," and addressed to angelina grimké. catherine was the true counterpart of her father, and the most intellectual of his children, but she lacked the gentle, feminine graces, and was so wanting in tenderness and sympathy that angelina charitably implies that her heart was sunk forever with her lover, professor fisher of yale, who perished in a storm at sea. with independence, striking individuality, and entire freedom from timidity of any sort, it would appear perfectly natural that catherine should espouse the woman's rights reform, even though opposing that of abolitionism. but she presented the singular anomaly of a strong-minded woman, already successful in taking care of herself, advocating woman's subordination to man, and prescribing for her efforts at self-help limits so narrow that only the few favored as she was could venture within them. her book was received with much favor by slave-holders and their apologists, though it was harshly criticised by a few of the more sensible of the former. these declared that they had more respect for abolitionists who openly denounced the system of slavery, than for those people who, in order to please the south, cloaked their real sentiments under a garb like that of miss beecher's book. it was also severely handled by abolitionists, and lucretia mott wrote a very able review of it, which angelina, however, pronounced entirely too mild. she writes to jane smith: "catherine's arguments are the most insidious things i ever read, and i feel it my duty to answer them; only, i know not how to find language strong enough to express my indignation at the view she takes of woman's character and duty." the answer was given in a number of sharp, terse, letters, sent to the _liberator_ from various places where the sisters stopped while lecturing. a few passages will convey some idea of the spirit and style of these letters, thirteen in number. in the latter part of the second letter she says:-"dost thou ask what i mean by emancipation? i will explain myself in a few words. "1st. it is to reject with indignation the wild and guilty phantasy that man can hold _property_ in man. "2d. to pay the laborer his hire, for he is worthy of it. "3d. no longer to deny him the right of marriage, but to let every man have his own wife, and let every woman have her own husband, as saith the apostle. "4th. to let parents have their own children, for they are the gift of the lord to them, and no one else has any right to them. "5th. no longer to withhold the advantages of education, and the privilege of reading the bible. "6th. to put the slave under the protection of equitable laws. "now why should not _all_ this be done immediately? which of these things is to be done next year, and which the year after? and so on. _our_ immediate emancipation means doing justice and loving mercy _to-day_, and this is what we call upon every slave-holder to do.... "i have seen too much of slavery to be a gradualist. i dare not, in view of such a system, tell the slave-holder that he is 'physically unable to emancipate his slaves.'[6] i say _he is able_ to let the oppressed go free, and that such heaven-daring atrocities ought to cease _now_, henceforth, and forever. oh, my very soul is grieved to find a northern woman 'thus sewing pillows under all arm-holes,' framing and fitting soft excuses for the slave-holder's conscience, whilst with the same pen she is _professing_ to regard slavery as a sin. 'an open enemy is better than such a secret friend.' "hoping that thou mayst soon be emancipated from such inconsistency, i remain until then, "thine _out_ of the bonds of christian abolitionism. "a.e. grimké." [6] the plea made by many of the apologists was that, as the laws of some of the states forbade emancipation, the masters were physically unable to free their slaves. the last letter, which angelina says she wrote in sadness and read to her sister in tears, ends thus:-"after endeavoring to show that woman has no moral right to exercise the right of petition for the dumb and stricken slave; no business to join, in any way, in the excitement which anti-slavery principles are producing in our country; no business to join abolition societies, etc., thou professest to tell our sisters what they are to do in order to bring the system of slavery to an end. and now, my dear friend, what does all thou hast said in many pages amount to? why, that women are to exert their influence in private life to allay the excitement which exists on this subject, and to quench the flame of sympathy in the hearts of their fathers, husbands, brothers, and sons. fatal delusion! will christian women heed such advice? "hast thou ever asked thyself what the slave would think of thy book if he could read it? dost thou know that, from the beginning to the end, not a word of compassion for _him_ has fallen from thy pen? recall, i pray, the memory of hours which thou spent in writing it. was the paper once moistened by the tear of pity? did thy heart once swell with sympathy for thy sister in _bonds_? did it once ascend to god in broken accents for the deliverance of the captive? didst thou even ask thyself what the free man of color would think of it? is it such an exhibition of slavery and prejudice as will call down _his_ blessing on thy head? hast thou thought of _these_ things? or carest thou not for the blessings and prayers of these our suffering brethren? consider, i entreat, the reception given to thy book by the apologists of slavery. what meaneth that loud acclaim with which they hail it? oh, listen and weep, and let thy repentings be kindled together, and speedily bring forth, i beseech thee, fruits meet for repentance, and henceforth show thyself faithful to christ and his bleeding representative, the slave. "i greatly fear that thy book might have been written just as well, hadst thou not had the heart of a woman. it bespeaks a superior intellect, but paralyzed and spellbound by the sorcery of a worldly-minded expediency. where, oh, where in its pages are the outpourings of a soul overwhelmed with a sense of the heinous crimes of our nation, and the necessity of immediate repentance? ... farewell! perhaps on a dying bed thou mayst vainly wish that '_miss beecher on the slave question_' might perish with the mouldering hand which penned its cold and heartless pages. but i forbear, and in deep sadness of heart, but in tender love though i thus speak, i bid thee again, farewell. forgive me if i have wronged thee, and pray for her who still feels like "thy sister in the bonds of a common sisterhood. "a.e. grimké." while angelina was writing these letters, sarah was publishing her letters on the "province of woman" in the _spectator_. this was a heavier dose than boston could stand at one time; harsh and bitter things were said about the sisters, notices of their meetings were torn down or effaced, and abolitionism came to be so mixed up in the public mind with woman's rights, that anti-slavery leaders generally began to feel anxious lest their cause should suffer by being identified with one to which the large majority of abolitionists was decidedly opposed. even among them, however, there was a difference of opinion, garrison, h.c. wright and others, non-resistants, encouraging the agitation of woman's rights. a few lines from one of angelina's letters will best define the position taken by herself and sarah. "sister and i," she writes, "feel quite ready for the discussion about women, but brothers whittier and weld entreat us to let it alone for the present, because it will involve topics of such vast importance,--a paid ministry, clerical domination, etc.,--and will, they fear, divert our attention and that of the community from the anti-slavery cause; and that the wrongs of the slave are so much greater than the wrongs of woman, they ought not to be confounded. in their letters, received last week, they regret exceedingly that the letters in the _spectator_ had been written. they think just as we do, but believe that, for the time being, a persevering, practical assertion of woman's right to speak to mixed audiences is the best one we can make, and that we had better keep out of controversies, as our hands are full. on the other hand, we fear that the leaven of the pharisees will be so assiduously worked into the minds of the people, that if they come to hear us, they will be constantly thinking it is a _shame_ for us to speak in the churches, and that we shall lose that influence which we should otherwise have. we know that _our_ views on this subject are quite new to the _mass_ of the people of this state, and i think it best to throw them open for their consideration, just letting them have both sides of the argument to look at, at the same time. indeed some wanted to have a meeting in boston for us to speak on this subject now, and we went into town on purpose to hold a conference about it at maria chapman's. she, mary parker, and sister were against it for the present, fearing lest it would bring down such a storm upon our heads, that we could not work in the country, and so henrietta sargent and i yielded, and i suppose this is the wisest plan, though, as brother stanton says, i am ready for the battle _now_. i am still glad of sister's letters, and believe they are doing great good. some noble-minded women cheer her on, and she feels encouraged to persevere, the brethren notwithstanding. i tell them that this is _a part_ of the great doctrine of human rights, and can no more be separated from emancipation than the light from the heat of the sun; the rights of the slave and of woman blend like the colors of the rainbow. however, i rarely introduce this topic into my addresses, except to urge my sisters up to duty. our _brethren_ are dreadfully afraid of this kind of amalgamation. i am very glad to hear that lucretia mott addressed the moral reform society, and am earnest in the hope that _we_ are only pioneers, going before a host of worthy women who will come up to the help of the lord against the mighty." the letters of whittier and weld, alluded to by angelina, are so good and so important that i feel no reluctance in giving them here almost entire. the first is whittier's, and is dated: "office of am. a.s. soc., 14th of 8th mo., 1837,"--and is as follows: "my dear sisters,--i have been waiting for an opportunity to answer the letter which has been so kindly sent me. i am anxious, too, to hold a long conversation with you on the subject of _war_, human government, and church and family government. the more i reflect on this subject, the more difficulty i find, and the more decidedly am i of opinion that we ought to hold all these matters far aloof from the cause of abolition. our good friend, h.c. wright, with the best intentions in the world, is doing great injury by a different course. he is making the anti-slavery party responsible in a great degree, for his, to say the least, startling opinions. i do not censure him for them, although i cannot subscribe to them in all their length and breadth. but let him keep them distinct from the cause of emancipation. this is his duty. those who subscribe money to the anti-slavery society do it in the belief that it will be spent in the propagation, not of quakerism or presbyterianism, but of the doctrines of immediate emancipation. to employ an agent who devotes half his time and talents to the propagation of 'no human or no family government' doctrines in connection--_intimate connection_--with the doctrines of abolition, is a fraud upon the patrons of the cause. just so with papers. brother garrison errs, i think, in this respect. he takes the 'no church, and no human government' ground, as, for instance, in his providence speech. now, in his prospectus, he engaged to give his subscribers an anti-slavery paper, and his subscribers made their contract with him on that ground. if he fills his paper with grahamism and no governmentism, he defrauds his subscribers. however, i know that brother garrison does not look at it in this light. "in regard to another subject, '_the rights of woman_,' you are now doing much and nobly to vindicate and assert the rights of woman. your lectures to crowded and promiscuous audiences on a subject manifestly, in many of its aspects, _political_, interwoven with the framework of the government, are practical and powerful assertions of the right and the duty of woman to labor side by side with her brother for the welfare and redemption of the world. why, then, let me ask, is it necessary for you to enter the lists as controversial writers on this question? does it not _look_, dear sisters, like abandoning in some degree the cause of the poor and miserable slave, sighing from the cotton plantations of the mississippi, and whose cries and groans are forever sounding in our ears, for the purpose of arguing and disputing about some trifling oppression, political or social, which we may ourselves suffer? is it not forgetting the great and dreadful wrongs of the slave in a selfish crusade against some paltry grievance of our own? forgive me if i have stated the case too strongly. i would not for the world interfere with you in matters of conscientious duty, but i wish you would weigh candidly the whole subject, and see if it does not _seem_ an abandonment of your first love. oh, let us try to forget everything but our duty to god and our fellow beings; to dethrone the selfish principle, and to strive to win over the hard heart of the oppressor by truth kindly spoken. the massachusetts congregational association can do you no harm if you do not allow its splenetic and idle manifesto to divert your attention from the great and holy purpose of your souls. "finally, dear sisters, rest assured that you have my deepest and warmest sympathy; that my heart rejoices to know that you are mighty instruments in the hands of him who hath come down to deliver. may the canopy of his love be over you, and his peace be with you! "your friend and brother, "jno. g. whittier." weld's first letter, written the day after whittier's, begins by defining his own position on the disturbing question. he says: "as to the rights and wrongs of woman, it is an old theme with me. it was the first subject i ever discussed. in a little debating society, when a boy, i took the ground that sex neither qualified nor disqualified for the discharge of any functions, mental, moral, or spiritual: that there is no reason why woman should not make laws, administer justice, sit in the chair of state, plead at the bar, or in the pulpit, if she has the qualifications, just as much as man. what i advocated in boyhood, i advocate now--that woman, in every particular, shares, equally with man, rights and responsibilities. now that i have made this statement of my creed on this point, to show you that we fully agree, except that i probably go much further than you do, i must say i do most deeply regret that you have begun a series of articles in the papers on the rights of woman. why, my dear sisters, the best possible advocacy which you can make is just what you are making day by day. thousands hear you every week who have all their lives held that women must not speak in public. such a practical refutation of the dogma which your speaking furnishes has already converted multitudes." he then goes on to urge two strong points:-1st. that as southerners, and having been brought up among slaveholders, they could do more to convince the north than twenty northern women, though they could speak as well, and that they would lose this peculiar advantage the moment they took up another subject. 2d. that almost any other women of their capacity and station could produce a greater effect on the public mind on that subject than they, because they were quakers, and woman's right to speak and minister was a quaker doctrine. therefore, for these and other reasons, he urged them to leave the lesser work to others who could do it better than they, and devote, consecrate their whole souls, bodies, and spirits to the greater work which they could do far better than anybody else. he continues: "let us all first wake up the nation to lift millions of slaves from the dust and turn them into men, and then, when we all have our hand in, it will be an easy matter to take millions of women from their knees and set them on their feet; or, in other words, transform them from _babies_ into _women_." a spirited, almost dogmatic, controversy was the result of these letters. in a letter to jane smith, angelina says: "i cannot understand why they (the abolitionists) so exceedingly regret sister's having begun those letters. brother weld was not satisfied with writing us _one_ letter about them, but we have received two more setting forth various reasons why we should not moot the subject of woman's rights _at all_, but our judgment is not convinced, and we hardly know what to do about it, for we have just as high an opinion of brother garrison's views, and _he_ says, '_go on_.' ... the great effort of abolitionists now seems to be to keep every topic but slavery out of view, and hence their opposition to henry o. wright and his preaching anti-government doctrines, and our even writing on woman's rights. oh, if i _only_ saw they were _right_ and _we_ were _wrong_, i would yield immediately." one of the two other letters from t.d. weld, referred to by angelina, is a very long one, covering over ten pages of the old-fashioned foolscap paper, and is in reply to letters received from the sisters, and which were afterwards returned to them and probably destroyed. i have concluded to make some extracts from this long letter from mr. weld, not only on account of the arguments used, but to show the frank, fearless spirit with which he met the reasoning of his two "sisters." when we consider that he was even then courting angelina, his hardihood is a little surprising. after observing that he had carefully read their letters, and made an abstract on half a sheet of paper of the "positions and conclusions found therein," he continues:-"this abstract i have been steadily looking at with great marvelling, "1st. that you should argue at length the doctrine of woman's rights, as though i was a _dissentient_; "2d. that you should so magnify the power of the new england clergy; "3d. that you should so misconceive the actual convictions of ministers and christians, and almost all, as to the public speaking of women; "4th. that you should take the ground that the clergy, and the whole church government, must come down _before_ slavery can be abolished (a proposition which to my mind is absurd). "5th. that you should so utterly overlook the very _threshold_ principle upon which alone any moral reformation can be effectually promoted. oh, dear! there are a dozen other things--marvellables--in your letters; but i must stop short, or i can say nothing on other points. "... now, before we commence action, let us clear the decks; for if they are clogged we shall have foul play. _overboard_ with everything that don't _belong on board_. now, first, _what is the precise point at issue between us?_ i answer first _negatively_, that we may understand each other on all points kindred to the main one. 1st. it is _not_ whether _woman's_ rights are inferior to _man's_ rights." he then proceeded to state the doctrine of woman's rights very forcibly. of _sex_, he says:-"its _only_ design is not to give nor to take away, nor in any respect to modify, or even touch, rights or responsibilities in any sense, except so far as the peculiar offices of each sex may afford less or more opportunity and ability for the exercise of rights, and the discharge of responsibilities, but merely to continue and enlarge the human department of god's government." for an entire page he continues in this manner of "_negatives_" to "_clear the decks_," until he has shown through seven negative specifications what do _not_ constitute the point at issue, and then goes on:-"well, waving further negatives, the question at issue between us _is_, whether _you_, s.m.g. and a.e.g., should engage in the public discussion of the rights of women as a distinct topic. here you affirm, and i deny. your reasons for doing it, as contained in your two letters, are the following:-"1st. the _new england spectator_ was _opened_; you were invited to write on the subject, and some of the boston abolitionists _urged_ you to do so, and you say, 'we viewed this unexpected opportunity of throwing our views before the public, as _providential_.' "_answer_. when the devil is hard pushed, and likely to be run down in the chase, it is an old trick of his to start some smaller game, and thus cause his pursuers to strike off from his own track on to that of one of his imps. it was certainly a very _providential_ opportunity for nehemiah to 'throw his views before the public,' when geshem, sanballat, and tobiah invited and urged him to stop building the wall and hold a public discussion as to the _right_ to build. and doubtless a great many jews said to him, 'unless we _establish_ the right in the first place, it will surely be taken from us utterly. this is a providential opportunity to preach truth in the very camp of the enemy.' but who got it up, god or the devil?... look over the history of the world, and in nine cases out of ten we shall find that satan, after being foiled in his arts to stop a great moral enterprise, has finally succeeded by diverting the reformers from the _main_ point to a _collateral_, and that too just at the _moment_ when such diversion brought ruin. now, even if this opportunity made it the duty of _somebody_ to take up the subject (which is not proved by the fact of the opportunity), why should _you_ give _your_ views, and with _your name_? others as able might be found, and as familiar with the subject. but you say, others 'are driven off the field, and cannot answer the objections.' i answer, your _names_ do not answer the objections.... how very easy to have helped a third person to the argument. by publicly making an onset in your own names, in a widely-circulated periodical, upon a doctrine cherished as the apple of their eye (i don't say really _believed_) by nine tenths of the church and the world; what was it but a formal challenge to the whole community for a regular set-to?" he proceeds to speak of such a "set to" and debate as "producing alienation wide-spread in our own ranks, and introducing confusion and every evil work." he urges the necessity of vindicating a right "by exercising it," instead of simply arguing for it. of ministers he says: "true, there is a pretty large class of ministers who are fierce about it, and will fight, but a still larger class that will come over _if_ they first witness the successful practice rather than meet it in the shape of a doctrine to be swallowed. now, if instead of blowing a blast through the newspapers, sounding the onset, and summoning the ministers and churches to surrender, you had without any introductory flourish just gone right among them and lectured, _when_ and _where_ and _as_ you could find opportunity, and paid no attention to criticism, but pushed right on, without making any ado about 'attacks,' and 'invasions,' and 'opposition,' and have let the barkers bark their bark out,--within one year you might have practically brought over five hundred thousand persons, of the very moral _élite_ of new england. you may rely upon it.... no moral enterprise, when prosecuted with ability and any sort of energy, _ever_ failed under heaven so long as its conductors pushed the _main_ principle, and did not strike off until they reached the summit level. on the other hand, every reform that ever foundered in mid-sea, was capsized by one of these gusty side-winds. nothing more utterly amazes me than the fact that the _conduct_ of a great, a _pre-eminently_ great moral enterprise, should exhibit so little of a wise, far-sighted, comprehensive _plan_. surely it is about plain enough to be called _self-evident_, that the only common-sense method of conducting a great moral enterprise is to _start_ with a _fundamental, plain principle, so_ fundamental as not to involve side-relations, and _so_ plain, that it cannot be denied." the main obvious principle he urges is to be pushed until the community surrenders to it. he adds:-"then, when you have drawn them up to the top of the general principle, you can slide them down upon all the derivative principles _all at once_. but if you attempt to start off on a derivative principle, from any other point than the summit level of the main principle, you must beat up stream--yes, up a cataract. it reverses the order of nature, and the laws of mind.... "you put the cart before the horse; you drag the tree by the top, in attempting to push your woman's rights until human rights have gone ahead and broken _the path_. * * * * * "you are both liable, it seems to me, from your structure of mind, to form your opinions upon _too slight_ data, and too narrow a range of induction, and to lay your plans and adopt your measures, rather _dazzled_ by the glare of false _analogies_ than _led on_ by the relations of cause and effect. both of you, but especially angelina, unless i greatly mistake, are constitutionally tempted to push for _present_ effect, and upon the suddenness and impulsiveness of the onset rely mainly for victory. besides from _her_ strong _resistiveness_ and constitutional obstinacy, she is liable every moment to turn short from the main point and spend her whole force upon some little one-side annoyance that might temporarily nettle her. in doing this she might win a _single battle_, but _lose a whole campaign_. add to this, great pride of character, so closely curtained as to be almost searchless to herself, with a passion for adventure and novel achievements, and she has in all an amount of temptation to poor human nature that can be overmastered only by strong conflicts and strong faith. under this, a sense of justice so keen that violation of justice would be likely to lash up such a tide of indignation as would drive her from all anchorage. i say this to her _not_ in raillery. i _believe_ it, and therefore utter it. it is either fiction or fact. if _fiction_ it can do no hurt; if _fact_, it may not be in vain in the lord, and then my heart's desire and prayer will be fulfilled. may the lord have you in his keeping, my own dear sisters. "most affectionately, your brother ever, "t.d. weld." "one point i designed to make _more_ prominent. it is this: what is done for the _slave_ and _human rights_ in this country _must be done note, now, now_. delay is madness, ruin, whereas woman's rights are not a life and death business, _now or never_. why can't you have eyes to see this? the wayfaring man, though a _fool_, need not err _here_, it is so plain. what will you run a tilt at next?" and he names several things,--the tariff, the banks, english tithe system, burning widows, etc., and adds:-"if you adopt the views of h.c. wright, as you are reported to have done, in his official bulletin of a 'domestic scene' (where you are made to figure conspicuously among the conquests of the victor as rare spoils gracing the triumphal car), why then we are in one point of doctrine just as wide asunder as extremes can be." this letter was answered by sarah, and with the most admirable patience and moderation. she begins by saying:-"angelina is so wrathy that i think it will be unsafe to trust the pen in her hands to reply to thy two last _good_ long letters. as i feel nothing but gratitude for the kindness which i am sure dictated them, i shall endeavor to answer them, and, as far as possible, allay thy uneasiness as to the course we are pursuing." she then proceeds to calmly discuss his objections, and to defend their views on the woman question, which, she says, she regards as second in importance to none, but that she does not feel bound to take up every _caviller_ who presents himself, and therefore will not notice some others who had criticised her letters in the _spectator_. about h.c. wright, she says: "i must say a few words concerning brother wright, towards whom i do not feel certain that the law of love predominated when thou wrote that part of thy letter relative to him.... we feel prepared to avow the principles set forth in the 'domestic scene.' i wonder thou canst not perceive the simplicity and beauty and consistency of the doctrine that all government, whether civil or ecclesiastical, conflicts with the government of jehovah, and that by the christian no other can be acknowledged, without leaning more or less on an arm of flesh. would to god that all abolitionists put their trust where i believe h.c. wright has placed his, in god alone.... i have given my opinions (in the _spectator_). those who read them may receive or reject or find fault. i have nothing to do with that. i shall let thee enjoy thy opinion, but i must wait and see the issue before i conclude it was one of satan's providences.... i know the opposition to our views arises in part from the fact that women are habitually regarded as inferior beings, but chiefly i believe from a desire to keep them in unholy subjection to man, and one way of doing this is to deprive us of the means of becoming their equals by forbidding us the privileges of education which would fit us for the performance of duty. i am greatly mistaken if most men have not a desire that women should be silly.... i have not said half i wanted, but this must suffice for the present, as angelina has concluded to try her hand at scolding. farewell, dear brother. may the lord reward thee tenfold for thy kindness, and keep thee in the hollow of his holy hand. "thy sister in jesus, "s.m.g." angelina's part of the letter is not written in the sweet, quaker spirit which prevails through sarah's, but shows a very interesting consciousness of her power over the man she addressed. "sister," she writes, "seems very much afraid that my pen will be transformed into a venomous serpent when i employ it to address thee, my dear brother, and no wonder, for i like to pay my debts, and, as i received ten dollars' worth of scolding,[7] i should be guilty of injustice did i not return the favor. well! such a lecture i never before had from anyone. what is the matter with thee? one would really suppose that we had actually abandoned the anti-slavery cause, and were roving the country, preaching _nothing_ but woman's rights, when, in fact, i can truly say that whenever i lecture, i forget _everything but the slave_. he is all in all for the time being. and what is the reason _i_ am to be scolded because _sister_ writes letters in the _spectator_? please let every woman bear _her own burdens_. indeed, i should like to know what i have done yet? and dost thou really think in my answer to c.e. beecher's absurd views of woman that i had better suppress my own? if so, i will do it, as thou makest such a monster out of the molehill, but my judgment is _not_ convinced that in this incidental way it is wrong to throw light on the subject." [7] angelina and sarah had sent mr. weld ten dollars for some supposed debts. he returned it, and said if any trifling sums fell due, he would take them out in scolding, and pay himself thus. she speaks very gratefully of "brother lincoln, of gardner," who rejoiced to have them speak in his pulpit, and says:-"my _keen sense of justice_ compels me to admire such nobility. he hoped sister would give her views on this branch of the subject in the _spectator_. he thought they were needed, and _we_ are well convinced they are, t.d.w. notwithstanding. so much for my bump of obstinacy which even thy sledge-hammer cannot beat down." the subsequent correspondence, which i regret i have not room to insert, shows that the remonstrances of whittier and weld were effective in restraining, for the time being, the impatience of the sisters to urge in their public meetings what, however, they faithfully preached in private--their conviction that the wrongs of woman were the root of _all_ oppression. sarah meekly writes to "brother weld." "after a struggle with my feelings, so severe that i was almost tempted to turn back from the anti-slavery cause, i have given up to what seemed the inevitable, and have thought little of it since. perhaps i have done wrong, and if so, i trust i shall see it and repent it. i do not intend to make any promises, because i may have reason to regret them, but i do not know that i shall scribble any more on the objectionable topic of woman." this interesting controversy did not end until several more letters had passed back and forth, and various other topics had been brought in; but it was carried through with the same spirit of candor and love on all sides which marked the beginning. there was one subject introduced, a sort of side-question which i must notice, as it reveals in a very pleasant manner the religious principle and manly moral courage of theodore d. weld. at the close of one of her letters, sarah says:-"now just as it has come into my head, please tell me whether thy clothing costs one hundred dollars per annum? i ask because it was insisted upon that mr. weld must spend that amount on his wardrobe, and i as strenuously insisted he did not. it was thought impossible a gentleman could spend less, but i think anti-slavery agents know better." to this, he answered thus, at the end of one of _his_ letters. "oh! i forgot the wardrobe! i suppose you are going to take me to task about my shag-overcoat, linsey-woolsey coat, and cowhide shoes; for you quakers are as notional about _quality_ as you are precise about _cut_. well, now to the question. while i was travelling and lecturing, i think that _one_ year my clothing must have cost me nearly one hundred dollars. it was the first year of my lecturing in the west, when one entire suit and part of another were destroyed or nearly so by mobs. since i resigned my commission as agent, which is now nearly a year, my clothing has not cost me one third that amount. i don't think it _even_ cost me fifty dollars a year, except the year i spoke of, when it was ruined by mobs, and the year 1832, when, in travelling, i lost it all with my other baggage in the alum river. there, i believe i have answered your question as well as i can. however, i have always had to encounter the criticism and chidings of my acquaintances about my coarse dress. they will have it that i have always curtailed my influence and usefulness by such a john the baptist attire as i have always been habited in. but i have remarked that those persons who have beset me on that score have shown in some way that they had their hearts set more or less on showing off their persons to advantage by their dress. now i think of it, i believe you are in great danger of making a little god out of your caps and your drab color, and '_thee_' and '_thou_.' besides, the tendency is quite questionable. the moment certain shades of color, or a certain combination of letters, or modulation of sounds, or arrangement of seams and angles, are made the _sine qua non_ of religion and principle, that moment religion and principle are hurled from their vantage-ground and become _slaves_ instead of _rulers_. i cannot get it out of my mind that these must be a fetter on the spirit that clings to such stereotyped forms and ceremonies that rustle and clatter the more because life and spirit and power do not inhabit them. think about it, dear sisters." in sarah's next letter to him she says:-"now first about the wardrobe. thou art greatly mistaken in supposing that i meant to quiz thee; no, not i, indeed. i wish from my heart more of us who take the profession of jesus on our lips were willing to wear shag cloaks and linsey-woolsey garments. now i may inform thee that, notwithstanding my prim caps, etc., i am as economical as thou art. i do many things in the way of dress to please my friends, but perhaps their watchfulness is needful." dear aunt sarah! these last words will make many smile who remember how scrupulously careful she was about spending more on her dress than was absolutely necessary to cleanliness and health. every dollar beyond this she felt was taken from the poor or from some benevolent enterprise. the watchfulness of her friends was indeed needful! it appears from the above correspondence that both sarah and angelina had become tinctured with the doctrines of "non-resistance," which, within a few years, had gained some credit with a few "perfectionists" and active reformers in and about boston. they had been presented by lydia maria child, a genial writer, under the guise of the scriptural doctrine of love. this sentiment was held to be adequate to the regulation of social and political life: by it, ruffians were to be made to stand in awe of virtue; thieves, burglars, and murderers were to be made ashamed of themselves, and turned into honest and amiable citizens; children were to be governed without punishment; and the world was to be made a paradise. rev. henry c. wright, a man of some ability, but tossed by every wind of doctrine, embraced the new gospel. he applied its principles to public matters. from the essential sinfulness of all forms of force, if used towards human beings, he inferred that penal laws, prisons, sheriffs, and criminal courts should be dispensed with; that governments, which, of necessity, execute their decrees by force, should be abolished; that christians should not take part in politics, either by voting or holding office; that they should not employ force, even to resist encroachment or in the defence of their wives and children; and that although slavery, being a form of force, was wrong, no one should vote against it. the slave-holder was to be converted by love. the free states should show their grief and disapprobation by seceding from the slave states, and by nullifying within their limits any unjust laws passed by the nation. all governments, civil, ecclesiastical, and family, were to disappear, so that the divine law, interpreted by each one for himself, might have free course. to this fanciful, transcendental, and anarchical theory, mr. wright made sundry converts, more or less thorough, including parker pillsbury, wm. l. garrison, and stephen s. foster. that he took a good deal of pains to capture the subjects of our biography is evident. he attended their lectures, cultivated their acquaintance, extended to them his sympathy, and made them his guests. there are certain affinities of the non-resistance doctrines with quakerism, which made them attractive to these two women who had little worldly knowledge, and who had been trained for years in the peace doctrines of the philadelphia friends. it was fortunate for the anti-slavery cause that sarah and angelina were warned in time by their new york friends of the fatally dangerous character of the heresies they were inclined to accept. they went no further in that direction. in all their subsequent letters, journals, and papers there is not a word to show that either of them ever entertained no-government notions, or identified herself with persons who did. during the remaining months of their stay in massachusetts, they devoted themselves to their true mission of anti-slavery work, accepting the co-operation and friendship of all friends of the slave, but avoiding compromising relations with those known as "no human government" non-resistants. this course was continued in after years, and drew upon them the disapprobation and strictures of the non-voting, non-fighting faction. in a letter from sarah to augustus wattles, dated may 11, 1854, about the time of the kansas war, she says:-"we were fully aware of the severe criticisms passed upon us by many of those who showed their unfitness to be in the judgment seat, by the unmerciful censure they have pronounced against us when we were doing what to us seemed positive duty. they wanted us to live out wm. lloyd garrison, not the convictions of our own souls, entirely unaware that they were exhibiting, in the high places of moral reform, the genuine spirit of slave-holding by wishing to curtail the sacred privilege of conscience. but we have not allowed their unreasonableness to sever us from them; they have many noble traits, have acted grandly for humanity, and it was perhaps a part of their business to abuse us. i do not think i love garrison any the less for what he has said. his spirit of intolerance towards those who did not draw in his traces, and his adulation of those who surrendered themselves to his guidance, have always been exceedingly repulsive to me, weaknesses which marred the beauty and symmetry of his character, and prevented its symmetrical development, but nevertheless i know the stern principle which is the basis of his action. he is garrison and nobody else, and all i ask is that he would let others be themselves." the feeling thus expressed was probably never changed until after the sisters had taken up their residence in the neighborhood of boston, when visits were interchanged with mr. garrison, and friendly relations established, which ended only with death. it is certain, however, that sarah and angelina sympathized with the stalwart freemen who used sharp's rifles in the defence of free kansas, who voted the liberty, free soil, and republican ticket, who elected abraham lincoln president, and who shouldered muskets against the rebels. chapter xv. the anti-slavery cause, and intimate association with so many of its enthusiastic advocates, had indeed done much for sarah grimké. her mind was rapidly becoming purified from the dross that had clogged it so long; religious doubts and difficulties were fading away one by one, and the wide, warm sympathies of her nature now freed, expanded gladly to a new world of light and love and labor. as she expressed it, she was like one coming into a clear brisk atmosphere, after having been long shut up in a close room. her drowsy faculties were all stirred and invigorated, and though her disappointments had left wounds whose pain must always remind her of them, she had no longer time to sit down and bemoan them. there was so much to do in the broad, fresh fields which stretched around her, and she had been idle so long! is it any wonder that she tried to grasp too much at first? the affection between her and angelina was growing daily more tender--perhaps a little more maternal on her part. drawn closer together by the now complete separation from every member of their own family, and by the disapproval and coldness of their philadelphia friends, they were an inexpressible solace and help to each other. identified in all their trials, as now in their labors, they worked together in a sweet unity of spirit, which lessened every difficulty and lightened every burden. they continued to lecture almost uninterruptedly for five months, and though the prejudice against them as women appeared but slightly diminished, people were becoming familiarized to the idea of women speaking in public, and the way was gradually being cleared for the advance-guard of that noble army which has brought about so many changes favorable to the weak and downtrodden of its own sex. invitations to speak came to the sisters from all parts of the state, and not even by dividing their labors among the smaller towns could they begin to respond to all who wished to hear them. sometimes the crowds around the place of meeting were so great that a second hall or church would have to be provided, and sarah speak in one, while angelina spoke in the other. at one place, where over a thousand people crowded into a church, one of the joists gave way; it was propped up, but soon others began to crack, and, although the people were warned to leave that part of the building, only a few obeyed, and it was found impossible to persuade them to go, or to consent to have the speaking stopped. at another place ladders were put up at all the windows, and men crowded upon them, and tenaciously held their uncomfortable positions through the whole meeting. in one or two places they were refused a meeting-house, on account of strong sectarian feeling against them as quakers. at worcester they had to adjourn from a large congregational church to a small methodist one, because the clergyman of the former suddenly returned from an absence, and declared that if they spoke in his church he would never enter it again. at bolton, notices of their meetings were torn down, but the town hall was packed notwithstanding, many going away, unable to get in. the church here had also been refused them. angelina, in the course of her lecture, seized an opportunity to refer to their treatment, saying that if the people of her native city could see her lecturing in that hall because every church had been closed against the cause of god's down-trodden creatures, they would clap their hands for joy, and say, "see what slavery is doing for us in the town of bolton!" she describes very graphically going two miles to a meeting on a dark and rainy night, when sarah was obliged to remain at home on account of a cold, and abby kelly drove her in a chaise, and how nearly they came to being upset, and how they met men in flocks along the road, all going to the meeting. she says:-"it seemed as if i could not realize they were going to hear me," and adds:-"this was the first large meeting i ever attended without dear sister, and i wonder i did not feel desolate, for i knew not a creature there. nevertheless, the lord strengthened me, and i spoke with ease for an hour and a quarter." but the incessant strain upon her nervous system, together with the fatigue and exposure of almost constant travelling, began to tell seriously on her health. in october she frequently speaks of being "so tired," of being "so glad to rest a day," etc., until, all these warnings being unheeded, nature peremptorily called a halt. in the beginning of november, after a week of unusual fatigue, having lectured six times in as many different places, they reached hingham quite worn out. sarah, though still suffering with a cold, begged to lecture in her sister's place, but angelina had been announced, and she knew the people would be disappointed if she failed to appear. when they entered the crowded hall, a lady seeing how unwell angelina looked, seized both her hands and exclaimed:-"oh, if you will only hold out to-night, i will nurse you for a week!" she did hold out for an hour and a half, and then sank back exhausted, and was obliged to leave the lecture unfinished. this was the beginning of an illness which lasted, with its subsequent convalescence, through the remainder of the year. their good friends, samuel and eliza philbrick, brought the sisters to their beautiful home in brookline, and surrounded them with every care and comfort kind hearts could suggest. sarah then found how very weary she was also, and how opportune was this enforced rest. "thus," wrote angelina some weeks afterwards to jane smith, "thus ended our summer campaign. oh, how delightful it was to stretch my weary limbs on a bed of ease, and roll off from my mind all the heavy responsibilities which had so long pressed upon it, and, above all, to feel in my soul the language, 'well done.' it was luxury indeed, well worth the toil of months." sarah, too, speaks of looking back upon the labors of the summer with feelings of unmixed satisfaction. that the leaven prepared in sarah grimké's letters on the "province of woman" was beginning to work was evidenced by a public discussion on woman's rights which took place at the boston lyceum on the evening of dec. 4, 1837. the amount of interest this first public debate on the subject excited was shown by the fact that an audience of fifteen hundred of the most intelligent and respectable people of boston crowded the hall and listened attentively to the end. sarah and angelina, the latter now almost entirely recovered, were present, accompanied by mr. philbrick. "a very noble view throughout," says angelina, and adds: "the discussion has raised my hopes of the woman question. it was conducted with respect, delicacy, and dignity, and many minds no doubt were roused to reflection, though i must not forget to say it was decided against us by acclamation, our enemies themselves being judges. it was like a meeting of slave-holders deciding that the slaves are happier in their present condition than they would be freed." soon after this, angelina writes that some boston women, including maria chapman and lydia m. child, were about to start a woman's rights paper, and she adds: "we greatly hope dear maria chapman will soon commence lecturing, and that the spark we have been permitted to kindle on the woman question will never die out." the annual meeting of the massachusetts anti-slavery society was held the latter part of january, 1838, and was notable in several respects. on the second day, the "great texas meeting," as it was called, was held in faneuil hall, and the fact that this cradle of liberty was loaned to the abolitionists was bitterly commented upon by their opponents, while abolitionists themselves regarded it as strong evidence of the progress their cause had made. angelina writes jane smith a graphic account of the speakers and speeches at this meeting, but especially mentions henry b. stanton, who made the most powerful speech of the whole session, and was so severe on congress, that a representative who was present arose to object to the "hot thunderbolts and burning lava" that had been let loose on the heads of "the powers that be, of those whom we were commanded to honor and obey." these remarks were so ridiculous as to excite laughter, and the manner in which stanton demolished the speaker by his own arguments called forth such repeated rounds of applause that the great orator was obliged to _insist_ upon silence. at this meeting, said to have been the largest ever held in boston, several hundred women were present, a most encouraging sign to sarah grimké of the progress of _her_ ideas. after some parleying, the hall of the house of representatives was granted the society for their remaining meetings, and here quincy, colver, phelps, and wendell phillips spoke and made a deep impression, so deep that a committee was appointed to take into consideration the petitions on the subject of slavery. stanton, half in jest, asked angelina if she would not like to speak before that committee, as the names of some thousands of women were before it as signers of petitions. she had never thought of such a thing, but, after reflecting upon it a day, sent stanton word that if the friends of the cause thought well of it, she _would_ speak as he had proposed. he was surprised and troubled, for, though he was all right in the abstract on the woman question, he feared the consequences of such a manifest assertion of equality. "it seems," angelina writes, "even the stout-hearted tremble when the woman question is to be acted out in full. jackson, fuller, phelps, and quincy were consulted. the first is sound to the core, and went right up to the state house to inquire of the chairman of the committee whether i could be heard. wonderful to tell, he said yes, without the least hesitation, and actually helped to remove the scruples of some of the timid-hearted abolitionists. perhaps it is best i should bear the responsibility _wholly_ myself. i feel willing to do it, and think i shall say nothing more about it, but just let birney and stanton make the speeches they expect to before the committee this week, and when they have done, make an independent application to the chairman as a woman, as a southerner, as a moral being.... i feel that this is the most important step i have ever been called to take: important to woman, to the slave, to my country, and to the world." this plan was carried out, thanks to james c. alvord, the chairman of the committee; and the halls of the massachusetts legislature were opened for the first time to a woman. wendell phillips says of that meeting:--"it gave miss grimké the opportunity to speak to the best culture and character of massachusetts; and the profound impression then made on a class not often found in our meetings was never wholly lost. it was not only the testimony of one most competent to speak, but it was the profound religious experience of one who had broken out of the charmed circle, and whose intense earnestness melted all opposition. the converts she made needed no after-training. it was when you saw she was opening some secret record of her own experience that the painful silence and breathless interest told the deep effect and lasting impression her words were making." we have not angelina's account of this meeting, but referring to it in a letter to sarah douglass, she says: "my heart never quailed before, but it almost died within me at that tremendous hour." but one hearing did not satisfy her, and the committee needed no urging to grant her another. at the second meeting, the hall was literally packed, and hundreds went away unable to obtain seats. when she arose to speak, there was some hissing from the doorways, but the most profound silence reigned through the crowd within. angelina first stood in front of the speaker's desk, then she was requested to occupy the secretary's desk on one side, and soon after, that she might be seen as well as heard, she was invited to stand in the speaker's place. and from that conspicuous position she spoke over two hours without the least interruption. she says to sarah douglass:-"what the effect of these meetings is to be, i know not, nor do i feel that _i_ have anything to do with it. this i know, that the chairman was in tears almost the whole time i was speaking," and she adds: "we abolition women are turning the world upside down, for during the whole meeting there was sister seated up in the speaker's chair of state." these meetings were followed by the six evening lectures at the odeon, to which reference has already been made. sarah delivered the first lecture, taking for her subject the history of the country in reference to slavery. she spoke for two hours, fearlessly, as she always did, and though she says garrison told her he trembled with apprehension, the audience of fifteen hundred people listened respectfully and attentively, frequently applauding the utterance of some strongly expressed truth, and showing no excitement even under the rebukes she administered to edward everett, then governor of massachusetts, for his speech in congress in 1826, and to ex-governor lincoln for his in 1831. both these worthies had declared their willingness to go down south to suppress servile insurrection. this was the last time sarah spoke in public. her throat, which had long troubled her, was now seriously affected, and entire rest was prescribed. she did not murmur, for she had increasingly felt that angelina's speaking was more effective than hers, and now she believed the lord was showing her that this part of the work must be left to her more gifted sister, and she gladly yielded to her the task of delivering the five succeeding lectures. in relation to these lectures, the son of samuel philbrick has kindly sent me the following extract from a diary kept by his father. under date of april 23, 1838, he says:-"in february angelina addressed the committee of our legislature on the subject of slavery and the slave trade in the district of columbia and florida, and the inter-state slave trade, during three sittings of two hours each, in the representatives' hall in boston, before a crowded audience, stowed as close as they could stand in every aisle and corner. her addresses were listened to with profound attention and respect, without interruption to the last. more than five hundred people could not get seats, but stood quietly during two full hours, in profound silence. "during the last few weeks she has delivered five lectures, and sarah one at the odeon, before an assembly of men and women from all parts of the city. every part of the building was crowded, every aisle filled. estimated number, two thousand to three thousand at each meeting. there was great attention and silence, and the addresses were intensely interesting." these over, the sisters bade farewell to their most excellent brookline friends, in whose family they had so peacefully rested for six months, and returned to philadelphia, sarah accepting a temporary home with jane smith, while angelina went to stay with mrs. frost, at whose house two weeks later, that is on the 14th of may, she was united in marriage to theodore d. weld. no marriage could have been more true, more fitting in every respect. the solemn relation was never entered upon in more holiness of purpose or in higher resolve to hold themselves strictly to the best they were capable of. it was a rededication of lives long consecrated to god and humanity; of souls knowing no selfish ambition, seeking before all things the glory of their creator in the elevation of his creatures everywhere. the entire unity of spirit in which they afterwards lived and labored, the tender affection which, through a companionship of more than forty years, knew no diminution, made a family life so perfect and beautiful that it brightened and inspired all who were favored to witness it. no one could be with them under the most ordinary circumstances without feeling the force and influence of their characters. invitations were sent to about eighty persons, mostly abolitionists, of all colors, some jet black. nearly all came; representing pennsylvania, new york, new jersey, connecticut, rhode island, and massachusetts. among them were h.b. stanton, c.c. burleigh, william lloyd garrison, amos dresser, h.c. wright, maria and mary chapman, abby kelly, samuel philbrick, jane smith, and sarah douglass of course, and mr. weld's older brother, the president of the asylum for deaf mutes. sarah grimké's account of the wedding, written to a friend in england, is most interesting; and one cannot but wonder if another like it ever took place. the letter was written while the then and ever after inseparable trio was at manlius, new york, visiting mr. weld's family. after a slight mention of other matters, she says:-"i must now give thee some account of my dear sister's marriage, which probably thou hast already heard of. her precious husband is emphatically a man of god, a member of the presbyterian church. of course angelina will be disowned for forming this connection, and i shall be for attending the marriage. we feel no regret at this circumstance, believing that the discipline which cuts us off from membership for an act so strictly in conformity with the will of god, and so sanctioned by his word as is the marriage of the righteous, must be anti-christian, and i am thankful for an opportunity to testify against it. the marriage was solemnized at the house of our sister, anna r. frost, in philadelphia, on the 14th instant. by the law of pennsylvania, a marriage is legal if witnessed by twelve persons. neither clergyman nor magistrate is required to be present. angelina could not conscientiously consent to be married by a clergyman, and theodore d. weld cheerfully consented to have the marriage solemnized in such manner as comported with her views. we all felt that the presence of a magistrate, a stranger, would be unpleasant to us at such a time, and we therefore concluded to invite such of our friends as we desired, and have the marriage solemnized as a religious act, in a religious and social meeting. neither theodore nor angelina felt as if they could bind themselves to any preconceived form of words, and accordingly uttered such as the lord gave them at the moment. theodore addressed angelina in a solemn and tender manner. he alluded to the unrighteous power vested in a husband by the laws of the united states over the person and property of his wife, and he abjured all authority, all government, save the influence which love would give to them over each other as moral and immortal beings. i would give much could i recall his words, but i cannot. angelina's address to him was brief but comprehensive, containing a promise to honor him, to prefer him above herself, to love him with a pure heart fervently. immediately after this we knelt, and dear theodore poured out his soul in solemn supplication for the blessing of god on their union, that it might be productive of enlarged usefulness, and increased sympathy for the slave. angelina followed in a melting appeal to our heavenly father, for a blessing on them, and that their union might glorify him, and then asked his guidance and over-shadowing love through the rest of their pilgrimage. a colored presbyterian minister then prayed, and was followed by a white one, and then i felt as if i could not restrain the language of praise and thanksgiving to him who had condescended to be in the midst of this marriage feast, and to pour forth abundantly the oil and wine of consolation and rejoicing. the lord jesus was the first guest invited to be present, and he condescended to bless us with his presence, and to sanction and sanctify the union which was thus consummated. the certificate was then read by william lloyd garrison, and was signed by the company. the evening was spent in pleasant social intercourse. several colored persons were present, among them two liberated slaves, who formerly belonged to our father, had come by inheritance to sister anna, and had been freed by her. they were our invited guests, and we thus had an opportunity to bear our testimony against the horrible prejudice which prevails against colored persons, and the equally awful prejudice against the poor." this unconventional but truly religious marriage ceremony was in perfect harmony with the loyal, noble natures of theodore weld and angelina grimké, exemplifying the simplicity of their lives and the strength of their principles. no grand preparations preceded the event; no wedding bells were rung on the occasion; no rare gifts were displayed: but the blessing of the lowly and the despised, and the heart-felt wishes of co-workers and co-sufferers were the offerings which lent to the occasion its purest joy and brightest light. but though so quietly and peacefully solemnized, this marriage was to have its celebration,--one little anticipated, but according well with the experiences which had preceded it, and serving to make it all the more impressive and its promises more sacred. refused the use of churches and lecture-rooms, and denied the privilege of hiring halls for their meetings, the abolitionists of philadelphia, with other friends of free discussion, formed an association, and built, at an expense of forty thousand dollars, a beautiful hall, to be used for free speech on any and every subject not of an immoral character. daniel neall was the president of this association, and william dorsey the secretary. the hall, one of the finest buildings in the city, was situated at the southwest corner of delaware, sixth, and harris streets, between cherry and sassafras streets. it was opened for the first time on angelina grimké's wedding-day, and was filled with one of the largest audiences ever assembled in philadelphia. as soon as the president of the association had taken his seat, the secretary arose and explained the uses and purposes the hall was expected to serve. he said:-"a number of individuals of all sects, and those of no sect, of all parties, and those of no party, being desirous that the citizens of philadelphia should possess a room wherein the principles of _liberty_ and _equality of civil rights_ could be freely discussed, and the evils of slavery fearlessly portrayed, have erected this building, which we are now about to dedicate to liberty and the rights of man.... a majority of the stockholders are mechanics or working-men, and (as is the case in almost every other good work) a number are women." the secretary then proceeded to read letters from john quincy adams, thaddeus stevens, gerrit smith, theodore weld, and others, who had been invited to deliver addresses, but who, from various causes, were obliged to decline. that from weld was characteristic of the earnestness of the man. after stating that for a year and a half he had been prevented from speaking in public on account of an affection of the throat, and must therefore decline the invitation of the committee, he adds:-"i exult in the erection of your 'temple of freedom,' and the more, as it is the first and only one, in a republic of fifteen millions, consecrated to free discussion and equal rights." "for years they have been banished from our halls of legislation and of justice, from our churches and our pulpits. it is befitting that the city of benezet and of franklin should be the first to open an asylum where the hunted exiles may find a home. god grant that your pennsylvania hall may be _free, indeed!_" "the empty name is everywhere,--_free_ government, _free_ men, _free_ speech, _free_ people, _free_ schools, and _free_ churches. hollow counterfeits all! _free!_ it is the climax of irony, and its million echoes are hisses and jeers, even from the earth's ends. _free! blot it out_. words are the signs of _things_. the substance has gone! let fools and madmen clutch at shadows. the husk must rustle the more when the kernel and the ear are gone. rome's loudest shout for liberty was when she murdered it, and drowned its death shrieks in her hoarse huzzas. she never raised her hands so high to swear allegiance to freedom as when she gave the death-stab, and madly leaped upon its corpse; and her most delirious dance was among the clods her hands had cast upon its coffin. _free!_ the word and sound are omnipresent masks and mockers. an impious lie, unless they stand for free _lynch law_ and free _murder_, for they _are_ free. "but i'll hold. the times demand brief speech, but mighty deeds. on, my brethren! uprear your temple. "your brother in the sacred strife for all, "theodore d. weld." david paul brown, of philadelphia, was invited to deliver the dedicatory address, which, with other exercises, occupied the mornings and evening of three days, and included addresses by garrison, thomas p. hunt, arnold buffum, alanson st. clair, and others, on slavery, temperance, the indians, right of free discussion, and kindred topics. on the second day, an appropriate and soul-stirring poem by john g. whittier was read by c.c. burleigh. the first lines will give an idea of the spirit of the whole poem, one of the finest efforts whittier ever made:- "not with the splendors of the days of old, the spoil of nations and barbaric gold, no weapons wrested from the fields of blood, where dark and stern the unyielding roman stood, and the proud eagles of his cohorts saw a world war-wasted, crouching to his law; nor blazoned car, nor banners floating gay, like those which swept along the appian way, when, to the welcome of imperial rome, the victor warrior came in triumph home, and trumpet peal, and shoutings wild and high, stirred the blue quiet of th' italian sky, but calm and grateful, prayerful, and sincere, as christian freemen only, gathering here, we dedicate our fair and lofty hall, pillar and arch, entablature and wall, as virtue's shrine, as liberty's abode, sacred to freedom, and to freedom's god." the anti-slavery convention of american women was then holding a session in the city, and among the members present were some of the brightest and noblest women of the day, women with courage as calm and high to dare, as with hearts tender to feel for human woe. the convention occupied the lecture-room of pennsylvania hall, under the main saloon. a strong desire having been expressed by many citizens to hear some of these able pleaders for the slave, notice was given that there would be a meeting in the main saloon on the evening of the 16th, at which angelina, e.g. weld, maria chapman, and others would speak. up to the time of this announcement, no apprehension of any disturbance had been felt by the managers of the hall. so far all the meetings had been conducted without interruption; nor could anyone have supposed it possible that in a city renowned for its order and law, and possessing a large and efficient police force, a public outrage upon an assemblage of respectable citizens, many of them women, could be perpetrated. but it was soon to be shown how deeply the spirit of slavery had infused itself into the minds of the people of the free states, leading them to disregard the rights of individuals and to wantonly violate the sacred principles guaranteed by the constitution of the country. during the day some threats of violence were thrown out, and _written_ placards were posted about the city inviting interference with the proposed meeting, _forcibly if necessary_. but this was regarded only as the expression of malice on the part of a few, or perhaps of an individual, and occasioned no alarm. still, the precaution was taken to request the mayor to hold his police force in readiness to protect the meeting in case of need. the day passed quietly. long before the time announced for the meeting, the hall, capable of containing three thousand people, was thronged, and, by the time the speakers arrived, every seat was filled, every inch of standing room was occupied, and thousands went away from the doors unable to obtain admittance. the audience was for the most part a highly respectable and intelligent one, and, notwithstanding the great crowd, was exceedingly quiet. william lloyd garrison opened the meeting with a short but characteristic speech, during which he was frequently interrupted by hisses and groans; and when he ended, some efforts were made to break up the meeting. in the midst of the confusion, maria w. chapman arose, calm, dignified, and, with a wave of her hand, as though to still the noise, began to speak, but, before she had gone far, yells from the outside proclaimed the arrival there of a disorderly rabble, and at once the confusion inside became so great, that, although the brave woman continued her speech, she was not heard except by those immediately around her. sarah grimké thus wrote of mrs. chapman's appearance on that occasion: "she is the most beautiful woman i ever saw; the perfection of sweetness and intelligence being blended in her speaking countenance. she arose amid the yells and shouts of the infuriated mob, the crash of windows and the hurling of stones. she looked to me like an angelic being descended amid that tempest of passion in all the dignity of conscious superiority." then angelina weld, the bride of three days, came forward, and so great was the effect of her pure, beautiful presence and quiet, graceful manner, that in a few moments the confusion within the hall had subsided. with deep solemnity, and in words of burning eloquence, she gave her testimony against the awful wickedness of an institution which had no secrets from her. she was frequently interrupted by the mob, but their yells and shouts only furnished her with metaphors which she used with unshrinking power. more stones were thrown at the windows, more glass crashed, but she only paused to ask:-"what is a mob? what would the breaking of every window be? any evidence that we are wrong, or that slavery is a good and wholesome institution? what if that mob should now burst in upon us, break up our meeting, and commit violence upon our persons--would this be anything compared with what the slaves endure? no, no: and we do not remember them 'as bound with them,' if we shrink in the time of peril, or feel unwilling to sacrifice ourselves, if need be, for their sake. i thank the lord that there is yet life enough left to feel the truth, even though it rages at it--that conscience is not so completely seared as to be unmoved by the truth of the living god." here a shower of stones was thrown through the windows, and there was some disturbance in the audience, but quiet was again restored, and angelina proceeded, and spoke for over an hour, making no further reference to the noise without, and only showing that she noticed it by raising her own voice so that it could be heard throughout the hall. not once was a tremor or a change of color perceptible, and though the missiles continued to fly through the broken sashes, and the hootings and yellings increased outside, so powerfully did her words and tones hold that vast audience, that, imminent as seemed their peril, scarcely a man or woman moved to depart. she sat down amid applause that drowned all the noise outside. abby kelly, then quite a young woman, next arose and said a few words, her first public utterances. she was followed by gentle lucretia mott in a short but most earnest speech, and then this memorable meeting, the first of the kind where men and women acted together as moral beings, closed. there was a dense crowd in the streets around the hall as the immense audience streamed out, but though screams and all sorts of appalling noises were made, no violence was offered, and all reached their homes in safety. but the mob remained, many of its wretched members staying all night, assaulting every belated colored man who came along. the next morning the dregs of the populace, and some respectable _looking_ men again assembled around the doomed hall, but the usual meetings were held, and even the convention of women assembled in the lecture room to finish up their business. the evening was to have been occupied by a public meeting of the wesleyan anti-slavery society of philadelphia, but as the day waned to its close, the indications of approaching disturbance became more and more alarming. the crowd around the building increased, and the secret agents of slavery were busy inflaming the passions of the rabble against the abolitionists, and inciting it to outrage. seeing this, and realizing the danger which threatened, the managers of the hall gave the building over to the protection of the mayor of the city, _at his request_. of course the proposed meeting was postponed. all the mayor did was to appear in front of the hall, and, in a friendly tone, express to the mob the hope that it would not do anything disorderly, saying that he relied upon the men he saw before him, as his _policemen_, and he wished them "good evening!" the mob gave "three cheers for the mayor," and, as soon as he was out of sight, extinguished the gas lights in front of the building. the rest is soon told. doors and windows were broken through, and with wild yells the reckless horde dashed in, plundered the repository, scattering the books in every direction, and, mounting the stairways and entering the beautiful hall, piled combustibles on the speaker's forum, and applied the torch to them, shrieking like demons,--as they were, for the time. a moment more, and the flames roared and crackled through the building, and though it was estimated that fifteen thousand persons were present, and though the fire companies were early on the scene, not one effort was made to save the structure so recently erected, at such great cost, and consecrated to such christian uses. in a few hours the smouldering walls alone were left. angelina weld never again appeared in public. an accident soon after her marriage caused an injury of such a nature that her nervous system was permanently impaired, and she was ever after obliged to avoid all excitement or over-exertion. the period of her public labors was short, but how fruitful, how full of blessings to the cause of the slave and to the many who espoused it through her powerful appeals! great was her grief; for, knowing now her capabilities, she had looked forward to renewed and still more successful work; but she accepted with sweet submission the cross laid upon her. not a murmur arose to her lips. she was content to leave all to the lord. he could find some new work for her to do. she would trust him, and patiently wait. the loss of the services of one so richly endowed, so devoted, and so successful, was deeply felt by the friends of emancipation, and especially as at this important epoch efficient speakers were sorely needed, and two of the most efficient, weld and burleigh, were already, from overwork, taken from the platform. but though denied the privilege of again raising her voice in behalf of the oppressed, angelina continued to plead for them through her pen. she could never forget the cause that could never forget her, and to her writings was transferred much of the force and eloquence of her speaking. immediately after the destruction of pennsylvania hall, mr. and mrs. weld, accompanied by sarah grimké, paid a visit to mr. weld's parents in manlius, from which place, sarah, writing to jane smith, says:-"o jane, it looks like almost too great a blessing for us three to be together in some quiet, humble habitation, living to the glory of god, and promoting the happiness of those around us; to be spiritually united, and to be pursuing with increasing zeal the great work of the abolition of slavery." the "quiet, humble habitation" was found at fort lee, on the hudson, and there the happy trio settled down for their first housekeeping. chapter xvi. they were scarcely settled amid their new surroundings before the sisters received a formal notice of their disownment by the society of friends because of angelina's marriage. the notification, signed by two prominent women elders of the society, expressed regret that sarah and angelina had not more highly prized their right of membership, and added an earnest desire that they might come to a sense of their real state, and manifest a disposition to condemn their deviations from the path of duty. angelina replied without delay that they wished the discipline of the society to have free course with regard to them. "it is our joy," she wrote, "that we have committed no offence for which christ jesus will disown us as members of the household of faith. if you regret that we have valued our right of membership so little, we equally regret that our society should have adopted a discipline which has no foundation in the bible or in reason; and we earnestly hope the time may come when the simple gospel rule with regard to marriage, 'be not unequally yoked together with unbelievers,' will be as conscientiously enforced as that sectarian one which prohibits the union of the lord's own people if their shibboleth be not exactly the same. "we are very respectfully, in that love which knows no distinction in color, clime, or creed, your friends, "a.e.g. weld. "sarah m. grimké." it will be noticed that in this reply angelina avoids the quaker phraseology, and neither she nor sarah ever after used it, except occasionally in correspondence with a quaker friend. thus ended their connection with the society of friends. from that time they never attached themselves to any religious organization, but rested contentedly in the simple religion of christ, illustrating by every act of their daily lives how near they were to the heart of all true religion. as i am approaching the limits prescribed for this volume, i can, in the space remaining to me, only note with any detail the chief incidents of the years which followed angelina's marriage. i would like to describe at length the beautiful family life the trio created, and which disproved so clearly the current assertion that interest in public matters disqualifies woman for home duties or make these distasteful to her. in the case of sarah and angelina those duties were entered upon with joy and gratitude, and with the same conscientious zeal that had characterized their public labors. the simplicity and frugality, too, which marked all their domestic arrangements, and which neither thought it necessary to apologize for at any time, recall to one's mind the sweet pictures of arcadian life over which goodness, purity, and innocence presided, creating an atmosphere of perfect inward and outward peace. sarah's letters detail their every-day occupations, their division of labor, their culinary experiments, often failures,--for of practical domestic economy they had little knowledge, though they enjoyed the new experience like happy children. she tells of rambles and picnics along the hudson, climbing rocks to get a fine view, halting under the trees to read together for a while, taking their simple dinner in some shady nook, and returning weary but happy to their "dear little no. 3," as she designates their house. "oh, jane," she writes, "words cannot tell the goodness of the lord to us since we have sat down under the shadow of our own roof, and gathered around our humble board. peace has flowed sweetly through our souls. the lord has been in the midst, and blessed us with his presence, and the daily aspiration of our souls is: lord, show us thy will concerning us." and in another letter she says, "we are delighted with our arrangement to do without a girl. angelina boils potatoes to admiration, and says she finds cooking much easier than she expected." during the summer they were gratified by a visit from their good friend jane, who, it appears, gave them some useful and much-needed lessons in the art of cookery. but about this time sarah became converted to the graham system of diet, which mr. "weld had adopted three, and mrs. weld two years before. sarah thus writes of it:-"we have heard graham lectures, and read alcott's 'young housekeeper,' and are truly thankful that the lord has converted us to this mode of living, and that we are all of one heart and one mind. we believe it is the most conducive to health, and, besides, it is such an emancipation of woman from the toils of the kitchen, and saves so much precious time for purposes of more importance than eating and drinking. we have a great variety of dishes, and, to our taste, very savory. we can make good bread, and this with milk is an excellent meal. this week i am cook, and am writing this while my beans are boiling and pears stewing for dinner. we use no tea or coffee, and take our food cool." she then tells of the arrival one day of two friends from the city, just as they had sat down to their simple meal of rice and molasses. "but," she says, "we were very glad to see them, and with bread and milk, and pie without shortening, and hominy, we contrived to give them enough, and as they were pretty hungry they partook of it with tolerable appetite." answering some inquiries from jane smith, angelina writes:-"as to how i have made out with cooking, it so happens that labor (planting a garden) gives theodore such an appetite that everything is sweet to him, so that my rice and asparagus, potatoes, mush, and indian bread all taste well, though some might think them not fit to eat." they had but one cooking day, when enough was generally prepared to last a week, so that very little time and mind was given to creature comforts; in fact, no more than was necessary to the preservation of health. their motto literally was "to eat to live," and this they felt to be a part of that non-conformity to the world of which the apostle speaks, and after which sarah, at least, felt she must still strive. their furniture corresponded with the simplicity of their table. angelina writes shortly after her marriage:-"we ordered our furniture to be made of cherry, and quite enjoy the cheapness of our outfit as well as our manner of life; for the less we spend, the less the anti-slavery society will have to pay my theodore for his labors as editor of all the extra publications of the society." thus some high or unselfish motive inspired all their conduct and influenced every arrangement. nothing superfluous or merely ornamental found a place with these true and zealous followers of him whose precepts guided their lives. everything in doors and out served a special purpose of utility, or suggested some duty or great moral aim. angelina was exceedingly fond of flowers, but refrained from cultivating them, because of the time required, which she thought could be better employed. she felt she had no right to use one moment for her own selfish gratification which could be given to some more necessary work. therefore, though both sisters were peculiarly gifted with a love of the beautiful, as their frequent descriptions of natural scenery show, they contented themselves, from principle, with the enjoyment of "glorious sunsets," and with the flowers of the field and wayside. later they learned a different appreciation of all the innocent pleasures of life; but at the time i am describing, they had just emerged from quaker asceticism, and in the flush of their new religion, and looking upon their past years as almost wasted, they were eager only to make amends for them. in one of her letters to her english friend, angelina acknowledges the present from her of a large picture of a _kneeling slave_, and adds:-"we purpose pasting it on binder's boards, binding it with colored paper, and fixing it over our mantelpiece. it is just such a speaking monument of suffering as we want in our parlor, and suits my fireboard most admirably. i first covered this with plain paper, and then arranged as well as i could about forty anti-slavery pictures upon it. i never saw one like it, but we hope other abolitionists will make them when they see what an ornamental and impressive article of furniture can thus be manufactured. we want those who come into our house to see at a glance that we are on the side of the oppressed and the poor." sarah douglass spent a day with them in september, and as i can have no more fitting place to show how conscientious were these rare spirits in their practical testimony against the color prejudice, i will quote a few passages from a letter written to sarah douglass after her departure from the circle where she had been treated as a most honored guest. sarah grimké begins as follows:-"thy letter, my beloved sarah, was truly acceptable as an evidence of thy love for us, and because it told us one of our lord's dear children had been comforted in being with us. it would have been truly grateful to have had thee a longer time with us, and we hope thy next visit may be less brief. by the way, dear, as i love frankness, i am going to tell thee what i have thought in reading thy note. it seemed to me thy proposal 'to spend a day' with us was made under a little feeling something like this: 'well, after all, i am not quite certain i shall be an acceptable visitor.' i can only say that it is no surprise to me that thou shouldst be beset with such a temptation, but set a strong guard against this entrance to thy heart, lest the adversary poison all the springs of comfort. i want thee to rise above the suspicions which are so naturally aroused. they are among the subtle devices of satan, by which he alienates us from jesus, and makes us go mourning on our way with the language in our hearts: 'is there not a cause?'" angelina adds:-"my dear sarah,--i can fully unite with my precious sister in all she has said relative to thy late visit to us. theodore and i both felt surprised and disappointed that thou proposedst spending but one day with us when we had expected a visit of a week. it was indeed a comfort to receive such a letter from thee, dear, and yet there was much of pain mingled in the feeling. thou thankest us for our 'christian conduct.' in what did it consist? in receiving and treating thee as an equal, a sister beloved in the lord? oh, how humbling to receive such thanks! what a crowd of reflections throng the mind as we inquire, _why_ does her full heart thus overflow with gratitude? yes, how irresistibly are we led to contemplate the woes which iron-hearted prejudice inflicts on the oppressed of our land, the hidden sorrows they endure--the full cup of bitterness which is wrung out to them by the hands of professed followers of him who is no respecter of persons. and oh, how these reflections ought to lead us to labor and to pray that the time may soon come when thou canst no longer write _such_ a letter! the lord in his mercy has made our little household _one_ in sentiment on this subject, and we know we have been blessed in the exercise of those christian feelings which he hath taught us to cherish, not only towards the outraged people of color, but towards that large class of individuals who serve in families, and are, at the same time, almost completely separated from human society and sympathy so far as their employers are concerned. "let me tell thee, dear sarah, how much good it did me to find that thy visit had made thee love my precious husband as a brother, and afforded thee an opportunity to _feel_ what manner of spirit is his. now i greatly want thy dear mother to know him too, and cannot but believe she will come and visit us next summer." the gratitude of sarah douglass for the reception given her at fort lee was not surprising, considering how different such kindness was from the treatment she and her excellent mother had always received from the society of friends, of which they were members. scarcely anything more damaging to the christian spirit of the society can be found than the testimony of this mother and daughter, which sarah grimké obtained and wrote out, but, i believe, never published. before his marriage, mr. weld lodged, on principle, in a colored family in new york, even submitting to the inconvenience of having no heat in his room in winter, and bearing with singular charity and patience what sarah calls the sanctimonious pride and pharisaical aristocracy of his hosts. he, also, and the sisters when they were in the city, attended a colored church, which, however, became to sarah, at least, a place of such "spiritual famine" that she gave up going. in the winter of 1839-40, when it became necessary to have more help in the household, a colored woman, betsy dawson by name, was sent for. she had been a slave in colonel grimké's family, and, falling to the share of mrs. frost when the estate was settled up, was by her emancipated. she was received into the family at fort lee as a friend, and so treated in every respect. sarah expresses the pleasure it was to have one as a helper who knew and loved them all, and adds: "besides i cannot tell thee how thankful we are that our heavenly father has put it in our power to have one who was once a slave in our family to sit at our table and be with us as a sister cherished, to place her on an entire equality with, us in social intercourse, and do all we can to show her we feel for her as we, under like circumstances, would desire her to feel for us. i don't know what m.c. [a friend from new york] thought of our having her at table and in our parlor just like one of ourselves." some time later, angelina writes of another of the family slaves, stephen, to whom they gave a home, putting him to do the cooking, lest, being unaccustomed to a northern climate, he should suffer by exposure to outdoor work. he proved an eyesore in every way, but they retained him as long as it was possible to do so, and bore with him patiently, as no one else would have him. mrs. weld frequently allowed him to hire out for four or five hours a day to husk corn, etc., and was glad to give him this opportunity to earn something extra while she did his work at home. in short, wherever and whenever they could testify to their convictions of duty on this point, it was done unhesitatingly and zealously, without fear or favor of any man. we might consider the incidents i have related, and a dozen similar ones i could give, as evidence only of a desire to perform a religious duty, to manifest obedience to the command to do as they would be done by, while beneath still lay the bias of early training sustained by the almost universal feeling concerning the inferiority of the negro race. with people of such pure religious dedication, and such exalted views, it was perhaps not difficult to treat their ex-slaves as human beings, and the fact that they did so may not excite much wonder. but there came a time, then far in their future, when the sincerity of their convictions upon this matter of prejudice was most triumphantly vindicated. such a vindication even they, with all their knowledge of the hidden evils of slavery, never dreamed could ever be required of _them_, but the manner in which they met the tremendous test was the crowning glory of their lives. in all the biographies i have read, such a manifestation of the spirit of jesus christ does not appear. this will be narrated in its proper place. happy as the sisters were in their home, it must not be supposed that they had settled down to a life of ease and contented privacy, abandoning altogether the great work of their lives. far from it. the time economized from household duties was devoted chiefly to private labor for the cause, from the public advocacy of which they felt they had only stepped aside for a time. neither had any idea that this public work was over. angelina writes to her friend in england soon after her marriage:-"i cannot tell thee how i love this private life--how i have thanked my heavenly father for this respite from public labor, or how earnestly i have prayed that whilst i am thus dwelling at ease i may not forget the captives of my land, or be unwilling to go forth again on the high places of the field, to combat the giant sin of slavery with the smooth stones of the river of truth, if called to do so by him who put me forth and went before me in days that are past. my dear theodore entertains the noblest views of the rights and responsibilities of woman, and will never lay a straw in the way of my lecturing. he has many times strengthened my hands in the work, and often tenderly admonished me to keep my eye upon my great leader, and my heart in a state of readiness to go forth whenever i am called out. i humbly trust i may, but as earnestly desire to be preserved from going before i hear a voice saying unto me, 'this is the way, walk in it, and i will be thy shield and thy buckler.' this was the promise which was given me before, and how faithfully it was fulfilled, my soul knoweth right well." sarah too, writes to sarah douglass-"i have thought much of my present situation, laid aside from active service, but i see no pointing of the divine finger to go forth, and i believe the present dispensation of rest has been granted to us not only as a reward for past faithfulness, but as a means of personal advancement in holiness, a time of deep searching of heart, when the soul may contemplate itself, and seek nearer and fuller and higher communion with its god." and again she says:-"it is true my nature shrinks from public work, but whenever the mandate goes forth to declare on the housetops that which i have heard in the ear, i shall not dare to hold back. i conclude that whenever my father needs my services, he will prepare me to obey the call by exercise of mind." in the meanwhile sarah finished and published a most important contribution to the arguments on the woman's rights subject. this was a small volume of letters on the "equality of the sexes," commenced during her lecturing tour, and addressed to mary s. parker, president of the boston female anti-slavery society. written in a gentle, reverent spirit, but clothed in sarah's usual forcible language, they not only greatly aided the cause which lay so near her heart, but relieved and strengthened many tender consciences by their strong arguments. an extract or two from a letter written to sarah by angelina and theodore early in the autumn of 1838 will show the tender relations existing between these three, and which continued undisturbed by all the changes and trials of succeeding years. in september, sarah went to philadelphia to attend the annual anti-slavery convention. angelina writes to her a few days after her departure:-"we have just come up from our evening meal, my beloved sister, and are sitting in our little study for a while before taking our moonlight ramble on the river bank. after thou left us, i cleared up the dishes, and then swept the house; got down to the kitchen just in time for dinner, which, though eaten alone, was, i must confess, very much relished, for exercise gives a good appetite, thou knowest. i then set my beans to boil whilst i dusted, and was upstairs waiting, ready dressed, for the sound of the 'echo's' piston. soon i heard it, and blew my whistle, which was _not_ responded to, and i began to fear my theodore was not on board. but i blew again, and the glad response came merrily over the water, and i thought i saw him. in a little while he came, and gave me all your parting messages. on second day the weather was almost cold, and we were glad to take a run at noon up the palisades and sun ourselves on the rock at the first opening. returning, we gathered some field beans, and some apples for stewing, as our fruit was nearly out. in the evening it was so cool that we thought a fire would be more comfortable, so we sat in the kitchen, paring apples, shelling beans, and talking over the bible argument;[8] and, as we had a fire, i thought we had better stew the apples at once. this was done to save time the next day, but i burnt them sadly. however, thou knowest they were just as nice to our theodore, who _never_ complains of anything. third day evening we took a walk up the palisades. the moon shone most beautifully, throwing her mantle of light all abroad over the blue arch of heaven, the gently flowing river, and the woods and vales around us. i could not help thinking, if earth was so lovely and bright, what must be the glories of that upper temple which needeth not the light of the sun or of the moon. o sister, shall we ever wash our robes so white in the blood of the lamb as to be clean enough to enter that pure and holy temple of the most high? we returned to our dear little home, and went to bed by the lamp of heaven; for we needed no other, so brightly did she shine through our windows. we remembered thee, dear sister, in our little seasons of prayer at the opening and closing of each day. we pray the lord to bring thee back to us in the fulness of the blessing of the gospel of peace, and to make our house a _home_ to thy weary, tossed, afflicted spirit. we feel it a great blessing to have thee under our roof. thy room looks very desolate; for, though the sun shines brightly in it, i find, after all, _thou_ art the light of it." [8] this was the argument which angelina heard mr. weld make before the a.s. convention in new york two years before, and which was afterwards published by the a.a.s. society. he was now revising it for a new edition. it made many converts to emancipation. among them was the rev. dr. brisbane of south carolina, a slave-owner, who, after reading it, sat down to answer and refute it; but, before proceeding half way, he became convinced that he was wrong, and weld right. acting upon this conviction, he freed his slaves, went to cincinnati, joined the abolition ranks, and became one of their most eloquent advocates. theodore adds a postscript, addresses sarah as "my dearly loved sister," and says, "as dear angy remarks, your room does look so chill and desolate, and your place at table, and your chair in our little morning and evening circle, that we talk about it a dozen times a day. but we rejoice that the master put it into your heart to go and give your testimony for our poor, suffering brothers and sisters, wailing under bonds, and we pray without ceasing that he who sent will teach, strengthen, and help you greatly to do for him and the bleeding slave." debarred from lecturing by the condition of his throat, mr. weld was a most untiring worker in the anti-slavery office in new york, from which he received a small salary. his time out of office hours was employed in writing for the different anti-slavery papers, and in various editorial duties. soon after his marriage he began the preparation of a book, which, when issued, produced perhaps a greater sensation throughout the country than anything that had yet been written or spoken. this was, "american slavery as it is: testimony of a thousand witnesses," a book of two hundred and ten pages, and consisting of a collection of facts relating to the actual condition and treatment of slaves; facts drawn from slaveholders themselves, and from southern publications. the design was to make the south condemn herself, and never was success more complete. of all the lists of crimes, all the records of abominations, of moral depravity, of marvellous inhumanity, of utter insensibility to the commonest instincts of nature, the civilized world has never read anything equal to it. placed by the side of fox's "book of martyrs," it outrivals it in all its revolting characters, and calls up the burning blush of shame for our country and its boasted christian civilization. notwithstanding all that had been written on the subject, the public was still comparatively ignorant of the sufferings of the slaves, and the barbarities inflicted upon them. mr. weld thought the state of the abolition cause demanded a work which would not only prove by argument that slavery and cruelty were inseparable, but which would contain a mass of incontrovertible facts, that would exhibit the horrid brutality of the system. nearly all the papers, most of them of recent date, from which the extracts were taken, were deposited at the office of the american anti-slavery society in new york, and all who thought the atrocities described in weld's book were incredible, were invited to call and examine for themselves. this book was the most effective answer ever given to the appeal made against free discussion, based on the southampton massacre. it was, in fact, an offset of the horrors of that bloody affair, giving, as it did, a picture of the deeper horrors of slavery. it was the first adequate disclosure of this "bloodiest picture in the book of time," which had yet been made, and all who read it felt that, fearful as was the virginia tragedy, the system which provoked it included many things far worse, and demanded investigation and discussion. issued in pamphlet form, the "testimony of a thousand witnesses," was extensively circulated over the country, and most advantageously used by anti-slavery lecturers and advocates; and it is not too much to say that by awakening the humanity and pride of the people to end this national disgrace, it made much easier the formation of the anti-slavery political party. in the preparation of this work, mr. weld received invaluable assistance from his wife and sister. not only was the testimony of their personal observation and experience given over their own names, but many files of southern papers were industriously examined for such facts as were needed, and which mr. weld arranged. early in january, 1839, sarah writes:-"i do not think we ever labored more assiduously for the slave than we have done this fall and winter, and, although our work is of the kind that may be privately performed, yet we find the same holy peace in doing it which we found in the public advocacy of the cause." referring a little later to this work, she says: "we have been almost too busy to look out on the beautiful winter landscape, and have been wrought up by our daily researches almost to a frenzy of justice, intolerance, and enthusiasm to crush the viper that is eating out the vitals of the nation. oh, what a blessed privilege to be engaged in labor for the oppressed! we often think, if the slaves are never emancipated, we are richly rewarded by the hallowed influence of abolition principles on our own hearts." in a recent letter to me, mr. weld makes some interesting statements respecting this work. i will give them in his own words:-"the fact is, those dear souls spent six months, averaging more than six hours a day, in searching through thousands upon thousands of southern newspapers, marking and cutting out facts of slave-holding disclosures for the book. i engaged of the superintendent of the new york commercial reading-room all his papers published in our southern states and territories. these, after remaining upon the files one month, were taken off and sold. thus was gathered the raw material for the manufacture of 'slavery as it is.' after the work was finished, we were curious to know how many newspapers had been examined. so we went up to our attic and took an inventory of bundles, as they were packed heap upon heap. when our count had reached _twenty thousand_ newspapers, we said: 'there, let that suffice.' though the book had in it many thousand facts thus authenticated by the slave-holders themselves, yet it contained but a tiny fraction of the nameless atrocities gathered from the papers examined." besides this absorbing occupation, the sisters busied themselves that winter getting up a petition to congress for the abolition of slavery in the district of columbia, and walked many miles, day after day, to obtain signatures, meeting with patience, humility, and sweetness the frequent rebuffs of the rude and the ignorant, feeling only pity for them, and gratitude to god who had touched and softened their own hearts and enlightened their minds. they received repeated invitations from the different anti-slavery organizations to again enter the lecture field, and great disappointment was felt by all who had once listened to them that they should have retired from public work. sarah speaks of attending "meeting," as, from habit, she called it, and doubtless they all went regularly, as mr. weld was a communicant of the presbyterian church, and mrs. weld and sarah were still sound on all the fundamental points of christian doctrine. during some portion of every sunday, mrs. weld was in the habit of visiting among the very poor, white and colored, and preaching to them the gospel of peace and good will. in her peculiarly tender and persuasive way, she opened to those unhappy and benighted souls the promises and hopes which supported her, and lavished upon them the treasures of an eloquence that thousands had and would still have crowded to listen to. there were none to applaud in those sorrowful abodes, but her words of courage and consolation lifted many a despondent heart from the depths, while her own faith in the love and mercy of her heavenly father brought confidence and comfort to many a benumbed and wavering soul. in december, 1839, the happiness of the little household was increased by the birth of a son, who received the name of charles stuart, in loving remembrance of the eminent english philanthropist, with whom mr. weld had been as a brother, and whom he regarded as living as near the angels as mortal man could live. the advent of this child was not only an inexpressible blessing to the affectionate hearts of the father and mother, but to sarah it seemed truly a mark of divine love to her, compensating her for the home ties and affections once so nearly within her grasp, and still often mourned for. she describes her feelings as she pressed the infant in her arms and folded him to her breast as a rhapsody of wild delight. "oh, the ecstacy and the gratitude!" she exclaimed: "how i opened the little blanket and peeped in to gaze, with swimming eyes, at my treasure, and looked upon that face forever so dear!" for months before the birth of her child, mrs. weld had read carefully different authors on the treatment of children, and felt herself prepared at every point with the best theories derived from combes' "physiological and moral management of infancy," and kindred works. it is rather amusing to read how systematically this baby was trained, and how little he appreciated all the wise theories; how he protested against going to sleep by rule; how he wouldn't be bathed in cold water; how he was fed, a tablespoonful at a time, five times during the twenty-four hours,--at 8, 12, 4, 8, and 3 in the morning; how his fretting at last induced his aunt sarah to take the responsibility of giving him a little license with his bottle, when, horrified at his gluttony, she was, at the same time, convinced that the child had been slowly starving ever since his birth. allowed more indulgence in food, he soon stopped fretting, and became a healthy, lively baby. angelina, writing to a friend, speaks of the blessed influence the child was exerting over them all. "the idea," she says, "of a baby exercising moral influence never came into my mind until i felt its power on my own heart. i used to think all a parent's reward for early care and anxiety was reaped in after-life, save the enjoyment of an infant as a pretty plaything. but the lord has taught me differently, and woe be unto me if i do not profit by the instructions of this little teacher sent from god." it was about this time that the injury referred to in the last chapter was received, which frustrated all angelina's hopes and plans for continued public service for the slave, and condemned her, with all her rare intellectual gifts, to a quiet life. the sweet submission with which she bore this trial proved how great was the peace which possessed her soul, and kept her ready for whatever it seemed good for the father to send her. henceforth, shut out from the praises and plaudits of men, in her own home, among her neighbors and among the poor and afflicted, quietly and unobtrusively she fulfilled every law of love and duty. and though during the remainder of her life she was subject to frequent weakness and intense pain, all was borne with such fortitude and patience that only her husband and sister knew that she suffered. in the latter part of february, 1840, mr. weld, having purchased a farm of fifty acres at belleville, new jersey, removed his family there. angelina, announcing the change to jane smith, says:-"yes, we have left the sweet little village of fort lee, a spot never to be forgotten by me as the place where my theodore and i first lived together, and the birthplace of my darling babe, the scene of my happiest days. there, too, my precious sister ministered with untiring faithfulness to my wants when sick, and there, too, i welcomed _thee_ for the first time under my roof." to their new home they brought the simplicity of living to which they had adhered in their old one, a simplicity which, with their more commodious house, enabled them to exercise the broad hospitality which they had been obliged to deny themselves in a measure at fort lee. all the good deeds done under this sacred name of hospitality during their fourteen years' residence at belleville can never be known. few ever so diligently sought, or so cheerfully accepted, opportunities for the exercise of every good word and work. scarcely a day passed that they did not feel called upon to make some sacrifice of comfort or convenience for the comfort or convenience of others; and more than once the sacrifice involved the risk of health and life. but in true humility and with an unwavering trust in god, they looked away from themselves and beyond ordinary considerations. one of their first acts, after their removal, was to take back to their service the incompetent stephen whom they had been forced to discharge from fort lee, and who had lived a precarious life afterwards. they gave him work on the farm, paid him the usual wages, and patiently endeavored to correct his faults. a young nephew in delicate health was also added to their household; and, a few months later, angelina having heard that an old friend and her daughter in charleston were in pecuniary distress and feeble health, wrote and offered them a home with her for a year. "they have no means of support, and are anxious to leave carolina," wrote angelina to jane smith; "we will keep them until their health is recruited, their minds rested, and some situation found for them where they can earn their own living. we know not," she adds, "whom else the lord may send us, and only pray him to help us to fulfil his will towards all whose lot may be cast among us." the visitors to the belleville farm--chiefly old and new anti-slavery friends--were numerous, and were always received with a cordiality which left no room to doubt its sincerity. at one time they received into their family a poor young man from jamaica, personally a stranger, but of whose labors as a self-appointed missionary among the recently emancipated slaves of the west indies they had heard. he had labored for three years, supporting himself as he could, until he was utterly broken down in health, when he came back to die. his friendless situation appealed to the warmest sympathy of the welds, and he was brought to their hospitable home. the pleasantest room in the house was given to him, and every attention bestowed upon him, until death came to his relief. the people of their neighborhood soon learned to know where they could confidently turn for help in any kind of distress. it would be difficult to tell the number of times that one or the other of the great-hearted trio responded to the summons from a sick or dying bed, and gave without stint of their sympathy, their time, and their labor. once, following only her own conviction of duty, angelina left her home to go and nurse a wretched colored man and his wife, ill with small-pox and abandoned by everyone. she stayed with them night and day until they were so far recovered as to be able to help themselves. what a picture is this! that humble cabin with its miserable occupants--and they negroes--ill with a loathsome disease, suffering, praying for help, but deserted by neighbors and friends. suddenly a fair, delicate face bends over them; a sweet, low voice bids them be comforted, and gentle hands lift the cooling draught to their parched lips, bathe their fevered brows, make comfortable their poor bed, and then, angel as she appears to them, stations herself beside them, to minister to them like the true sister of mercy she was. in this action, we may well suppose, angelina was not encouraged by her husband or sister, but it was a sacred principle with them never to oppose anything which she conscientiously saw it was her duty to do. when this appeared to her so plain that she felt she could not hold back from it, they committed her to the lord, and left their doubts and anxieties with him. she never shrank from the meanest offices to the sick and suffering, though their performance might be followed, as was often the case, by faintness and nausea. she would return home exhausted, but cheerful, and grateful that she had been able to help "one of god's suffering children." in other ways the members of this united household were diligent in good works. if a neighbor required a few hundred dollars to save the foreclosure of a mortgage, the combined resources of the family were taxed to aid him; if a poor student needed a helping hand in his preparation for college, or for teaching, it was gladly extended to him--perhaps his board and lodging given him for six months or a year--with much valuable instruction thrown in. the instances of charity of this kind were many, and were performed with such a cheerful spirit that sarah only incidentally alludes to the increase of their cares and work at such times. in fact, their roof was ever a shelter for the homeless, a home for the friendless; and it is pleasant to record that the return of ingratitude, so often made for benevolence of this kind, was never their portion. they always seem to have had the sweet satisfaction of knowing, sooner or later, that their kindness was not thrown away or under-estimated. besides the work of the farm, mr. weld interested himself in all the local affairs of his neighborhood. his energy, common sense, and enthusiasm pushed forward many a lagging improvement, while the influence of his moral and intellectual views was felt in every household. he taught the young men temperance, and the dignity of honest labor; to the young women he preached self-reliance, contempt for the frivolities of fashion, and the duty of making themselves independent. he became superintendent of the public schools of the township, and gave to them his warmest and most active services. sarah, although always ready to second angelina in every charity, found her chief employment at home. she relieved her sister almost entirely of the care of the children, for in the course of years two more little ones were given to them, and she lessened the expenses by attending to household work, which would otherwise have called for another servant. after a short time, mr. weld's father, mother, sister, and brother, all invalids, came to live near them, claiming much of their sympathy and their care. their niece also, the daughter of mrs. frost, now married, and the mother of children, took up her residence in the neighborhood, and aunt sai, as the children called her, and as almost every one else came, in time, to call her, found even fuller occupation for heart and hands. her love for children was intense, and she had the rare faculty of being able to bring her intelligence down to theirs. angelina's children were literally as her own, on whom she ever bestowed the tenderest care, and with whose welfare her holiest affections were intertwined. she often speaks of loving them with "all but a mother's love," of having them "enshrined in her heart of hearts," of "receiving through them the only cordial that could have raised a heart bowed by sorrow and crushing memories." in one of her letters she says: "i live for theodore and angelina and the children, those blessed comforters to my poor, sad heart," and, during an absence from home, she writes to angelina:-"i have enjoyed being with my friends: still there is a longing, a yearning after my children. i miss the sight of those dear faces, the sound of those voices that comes like music to my ears." in a letter to sarah douglass, written towards the close of their residence in belleville, she says:--"in our precious children my desolate heart found a sweet response to its love. they have saved me from i know not what of horrible despair, or rushing into some new and untried and unsanctified effort to let off the fire that consumed me. crushed, mutilated, torn, they comforted and cheered me, and furnished me with objects of interest which drew me from myself. i feel that they were the gift of a pitying father, and that to love and cherish them is my highest manifestation of love to the giver." as the children grew, the parents began to feel the difficulty of educating them properly without other companions, and it was at last decided to take a few children into the family to be instructed with their own. this was the beginning of another important chapter in their lives. as educators mr. and mrs. weld very soon developed such rare ability, that although they had thought of limiting the number of pupils to two or three, so many were pressed upon them, with such good reasons for their acceptance, that the two or three became a dozen, and were with difficulty kept at that figure. in this new life their trials were many, their labor great, and the pecuniary compensation exceedingly moderate; but it is inspiring to read from sarah the accounts of theodore's courage--"always ready to take the heaviest end of every burden," and of angelina's cheerfulness; and from angelina the frequent testimony to sarah's patience and fidelity. it took this dear aunt sai many years to learn to like teaching, especially as she never had any talent for governing, save by love, and this method was not always appreciated. with their new and exacting work, the farm, of course, had to be given up, and was finally sold. in 1852 the raritan bay association, consisting of thirty or forty educated and cultured families of congenial tastes, was formed at eagleswood, near perth amboy, new jersey; and a year later mr. and mrs. weld were invited to join the association, and take charge of its educational department. they accepted in the hope of finding in the change greater social advantages for themselves and their children, with less responsibility and less labor; for of these last the husband, wife, and sister, in their belleville school, had had more than they were physically able to endure longer. their desire and plan was to establish, with the children of the residents at eagleswood, a school also for others, and to charge such a moderate compensation only as would enable the middle classes to profit by it. in this project, as with every other, no selfish ambition found a place. they removed to eagleswood in the autumn of 1854. and now, as i am nearing the end of my narrative, this seems to be the place to say a few words relative to the religious views into which the two sisters finally settled. we have followed them through their various conflicts from early youth to mature age, and have seen in their several changes of belief that there was no fickleness, no real inconsistency. they sought the truth, and at different times thought they had found it. but it was the truth as taught in christ jesus, the simple doctrine of the cross they wanted, the preaching and practice of love for god, and for the meanest, the weakest, the lowest of his children. the spiritual conflicts through which they passed, prepared them to see the nothingness of all outward forms, and they came at last to reject the so-called orthodox creed, and to look only to god for help and comfort. during the entire period of sarah's connection with religious organizations, and even from her very first religious impressions, she found it difficult to accept the doctrine of the atonement; and yet she professed and tried to think she believed it, but only because the bible, which she accepted as a revelation from god, taught it. that her reason rebelled against it is shown in her frequent prayers to be delivered from this great temptation of the arch enemy, and her deep repentance whenever she lapsed into a state of doubt. the fear that she might come to reject this fundamental dogma was--at least up to the time when she was driven from the quaker church--one of her most terrible trials, causing her at intervals more agony than all else put together. but the worshipful element was so strong in sarah that she could not, even after her reason had satisfied her conscience on this point, give up this christ at whose feet she had learned her most precious lessons of faith and meekness and gentleness and long-suffering, and whom she had accepted and adored as her intermediary before an awful jehovah. in her whole life there appears to me nothing more beautiful than this full, tender, abiding love of jesus, and i believe it to have been the inspiration always of all that was loveliest and grandest in her character. in one of her letters, written while at belleville, she says:-"i cannot grasp the idea of an infinite being; but, without perplexing myself with questions which i cannot solve, everything around me proclaims the presence and the government of an intelligent, law-abiding law-giver, and i believe implicitly in his power and his love. but i must have the friend of sinners to rest in." and again: "in one sense, as creator and benefactor, i feel this infinite being to be my father, but i want a jesus whom i can approach as a fellow creature, yet who is so nearly allied to god that i can look up to him with reverence, and love him and lie in his bosom." and later, in a letter to gerrit smith, she says:-"god is love, and whoso dwelleth in love dwelleth in god and god in him. o friends, but for this faith, this anchor to the soul both sure and steadfast, i know not what would have become of us in the sweep which there has been of what we called the doctrines of christianity from our minds. they have passed away like the shadows of night, but the glorious truth remains that the lord of love and mercy reigns, and great peace have they who do his will." their increasingly liberal views, and their growing indifference to most of the established forms in religion, drew upon them the severe censure of their charleston relatives, and finally, when, about 1847, it came to be known that they no longer considered the sabbath in a sacred light, their sister eliza wrote to them that all personal intercourse must end between them and her, and that her doors would be forever closed against them. angelina's answer, covering four full pages of foolscap, was most affectionate; but, while she expressed her sorrow at the feeling excited against them, she could not regret that they had been brought from error to truth. she argued the point fully, patiently giving all the best authorities concerning the substitution of the christian for the jewish sabbath, and against their sister's assertion that the former was a divine institution. "when i began to understand," she says, "what the gift of the holy spirit really was, then all outwardisms fell off. i did not throw them off through force of argument or example of others, but all reverence for them died in my heart. i could not help it; it was unexpected to me, and i wondered to find even the sabbath gone. and now, to give to god alone the ceaseless worship of my life is all my creed, all my desire. oh, for this pure, exalted state, how my soul pants after it! in my nursery and kitchen and parlor, when ministering to the common little wants of my family, and encountering the fretfulness and waywardness of my children, oh, for the pure worship of the soul which can enable me to meet and bear all the _little_ trials of life in quietness and love and patience. this is the religion of christ, and i feel that no other can satisfy me or meet the wants of human nature. i cannot sanction any other, and i dare not teach any other to my precious children." thus it came to pass with them and with theodore also, that to love jesus more, and to follow more and more after him, became the sum of their religion. with increasing years and wider experiences, their views broadened into the most comprehensive liberality, but the high worship of an infinite god, and the sweet reverence for his purest disciple never left them. chapter xvii. in a letter to dr. harriot hunt, sarah grimké thus describes eagleswood:-"it was a most enchanting spot. situated on the raritan bay and river, just twenty-five miles from new york, and sixty miles from philadelphia, in sight of the beautiful lower bay and of the dark neversink hills, all its surroundings appeal to my sense of the beautiful. in rambles through the woods or along the shore, new charms are constantly presented. the ever-varying face of the bay alone is a source of ceaseless enjoyment, and with the sound of its waves, sometimes dashing impetuously, sometimes murmuring softly, the eye, the ear, and the soul are filled with wonder and delight." in this beautiful spot a commodious stone building was erected, suitable for association purposes. one end was divided into flats for a limited number of families; the other into school-rooms, dormitories, and parlors for social uses, while the centre contained the refectory for pupils and teachers, of whom there was an efficient corps, and dining-rooms for the other residents and their visitors. several families of intelligence and culture resided in the immediate neighborhood, adding much to the social life of the place. all who were so fortunate as to be members of the eagleswood family during mr. weld's administration must often look back with the keenest pleasure to the days passed there. it seems to me there can never be such a centre to such a circle as the welds drew around them. here gathered, at different times, many of the best, the brightest, the broadest minds of the day. here came james g. birney, wm. h. channing, henry w. bellows, o.b. frothingham, dr. chapin, wm. h. furness, wm. cullen bryant, the collyers, horace greeley, gerrit smith, moncure d. conway, james freeman clarke, joshua r. giddings, youmans, and a host of others whose names were known throughout the land. here, too, came artists and poets for a few days' inspiration, and weary men of business for a little rest and intellectual refreshment, and leaders of reform movements, attracted by the liberal atmosphere of the place. nearly all of these, invited by mr. weld, gave to the pupils and their families and friends, assembled in the parlors, something of themselves,--some personal experience, perhaps, or a lecture or short essay, or an insight into their own especial work and how it was done. the amount of pleasant and profitable instruction thus imparted was incalculable; while the after discussions and conversation were as enjoyable as might be expected from the friction of such minds. seldom, if ever, in the famous _salons_ of europe were better things said or higher topics treated than in the eagleswood parlors. all the rights and wrongs of humanity received here earnest consideration; while questions of general interest, politics, religion, the arts and sciences, even the last new novel or poem, had each its turn. thoreau, also, spent many days at eagleswood, and spoke often to the pupils; and a. bronson alcott gave them a series of his familiar lectures. here, on sundays, theodore d. weld delivered lay sermons, so full of divine light and love, of precious lessons of contempt for all littleness, of patience with the weaknesses of our fellow-men, that few could listen without being inspired with higher and holier purposes in life. here james g. birney died, in 1857, and was buried in the beautiful little cemetery on the crest of the hill. here were brought and interred the bodies of stevens and hazlitt, two of john brown's mistaken but faithful apostles. here stirring lessons of patriotism were learned in 1860-61, and from this place went forth, at the first call, some of the truest defenders of the liberties of the nation. at eagleswood, mr. weld and his faithful wife and sister passed some of their most laborious as well as some of their most pleasant and satisfactory years. they did not find the association all or even the half of what they had expected. "we had indulged the delightful hope," writes sarah, "that theodore would have no cares outside of the schoolroom, and angelina would have leisure to pursue her studies and aid in the cause of woman. her heart is in it, and her talents qualify her for enlarged usefulness. she was no more designed to serve tables than theodore to dig potatoes. but verily, to use a homely phrase, we have jumped out of the frying-pan into the fire in point of leisure, for there are innumerable sponges here to suck up every spare moment; but dear nina is a miracle of hope, faith, and endurance." in the new school angelina taught history, for which she was admirably qualified, while sarah taught french, and was also book-keeper, both of which offices were distasteful to her because of her conscious incompetency. she did herself great injustice, as the results of her work showed, but it required a great mental struggle to reconcile herself to it in the beginning. "i am driven to it," she says, "by a stern sense of duty. i feel its responsibilities and my own insufficiency so deeply, that i never hear the school bell with pleasure, and seldom enter the schoolroom without a sinking of the heart, a dread as of some approaching catastrophe. oh, if i had only been developed into usefulness in early life, how much happier i should have been and would be now. from want of training, i am all slip-shod, and all i do, whether learning or teaching, is done slip-shod fashion. however, i must try and use the fag-end of me that is left, to the most advantage." in order to do this, although sixty-one years old, she set earnestly to work to brush up her intellectual powers and qualify herself as far as possible for her position. she took french lessons daily, that she might improve her accent and learn the modern methods of teaching, and for months after she entered the eagleswood school her reading was confined to such books as could enlighten her most on her especial work. she was rewarded by finding her interest in it constantly increasing, and she would doubtless have learned to love it, if, as she expressed it, her heart, soul, and mind had not been so nearly absorbed by the woman movement. age and reflection had not only modified her views somewhat on this subject, but had given her a more just appreciation of the real obstacles in the way of the enfranchisement of her sex. speaking of horace mann, she says:-"he will not help the cause of woman greatly, but his efforts to educate her will do a greater work than he anticipates. prepare woman for duty and usefulness, and she will laugh at any boundaries man may set for her. she will as naturally fall into her right position as the feather floats in the air, or the pebble sinks in the water." and at another time she writes: "i feel more and more that woman's work is inside, that the great battle must first be fought within, and the conquest obtained over her love of admiration, her vanity, her want of moral courage, her littleness, ere she is prepared to use her rights without abusing them. women must come into the arena with men, not to increase the number of potsherds, but to elevate the standard of right." her ideal of womanhood was very high, and comprehended an education so different from the usual one, that she seldom ventured to unfold it. but she longed to do something towards it, and there is no doubt that but for home duties, which she felt were paramount, she would have undertaken a true missionary work of regeneration among women, especially of the lower classes. many sleepless nights were passed pondering upon the subject. at one time she thought of editing a paper, then of studying law, that she might sometimes be able to advise and protect the weak and defenceless of her sex. she went so far in this as to consult an eminent lawyer in philadelphia, but was discouraged by him. then she considered the medical profession as opening to her a door of influence and usefulness among poor women. sarah douglass, who was a successful medical lecturer among the colored women of philadelphia and new york, encouraged her friend in this idea, and urged her to take a course of lectures. "i would dearly like to do as you say," sarah grimké answered, "but it must not be in philadelphia. i cannot draw a long breath there, intellectual or moral. freedom to live as my conscience dictates, to give free utterance to my thoughts, to have contact with those who are pressing after progress and whose watchword is onward, is needful to me. in philadelphia there is an atmosphere of repression that would destroy me. ground to powder as i was, in the mill of bigotry and superstition, i shudder at the thought of encountering again the same suffering i went through there. indeed, i wonder i was not altogether stultified and dried up beyond the power of revivification, when the spring came to my darkened soul after that long, long winter.... there must be something in this wide, progressive world for me to do, but i must wait patiently to see what the future has in store for me." all this, from a woman in her sixty-second year, shows how fresh was still her interest in humanity, and how little her desires for usefulness and improvement were dampened by age. but angelina's continued delicate health kept her from carrying out any of her plans. she could see no way of escape consistent with duty and her devotion to the children, and she cheerfully submitted to the inevitable. but she could never bring herself to be satisfied with the association life. she had had no ideal about it, no golden dreams, but joined it because she could not be separated from those she loved, and, with singular reasoning, she put one thousand dollars into it, because, if there was to be a failure and loss, she wished to share it with her sister and brother. but she had no affinity for living together in a great hotel, and it fretted her much, also, to see mr. and mrs. weld taking constantly increasing burdens upon themselves as the school increased. her longings, for their sake, for a little quiet home, are very pathetic. but she never allowed her anxieties to affect her intercourse in the household; on the contrary, no one was more full of life and good humor than she. her favorite maxim was: "bravely to meet our trials is true heroism; to bear them cheerfully, an exhibition of strength and fortitude infinitely beyond trying to get rid of them." but it is doubtful, after all, if everything else had been favorable to it, that sarah could have brought herself to leave angelina and the children. she says herself:-"a separation from the darling children who have brightened a few years of my lonely and sorrowful life overwhelms me when i think of it as the probable result of any change. they seem to be the links that bind me to life, the stars that shed light on my path, the beings in whom past, present, and future enjoyments are centred, without whom existence would have no charms." all through her letters we see that, though generally cheerful, and often even merry, there were bitter moments in this devoted woman's life, moments when all the affection with which she was surrounded failed to fill the measure of her content. the old wounds would still sometimes bleed and the heart ache for home joys all her own. writing to jane smith in 1852, she says: "i chide myself that i am not happier than i am, surrounded by so many blessings, but there are times when i feel as though the sun of earthly bliss had set for me. i know not what would have become of me but for angelina's children. they have strewed my solitary path with flowers, and gemmed my sky with stars. my heart has brooded o'er sorrows untold, until life has seemed an awful blank, humanity a cheat, and myself an outcast. then have come the soft accents of my children's voices, and they have spoken to me so lovingly, that i have turned from my bitter thoughts and have said: 'forgive thy poor, weak servant, lord.'" all through sarah's life, children had a great attraction for her. even amid her cares and doubts at eagleswood she writes: "surrounded by all these dear young people, and drinking in from their exuberance, and scarcely living my own life, i cannot but be cheerful." and describing an evening in the school parlor, when she joined in the virginia reel, she says: "the children make one feel young if we will only be children with them. i owe them so much that i shall try to be cheerful to the end of my days." and in this school, where boys and girls of all ages and all temperaments mingled, "aunt sai" was the great comforter and counsellor. her inexhaustible tenderness and mother-love blessed all who came near her and soothed all who had a heartache. the weak and erring found in her a frank but pitying rebuker; the earnest and good, a kind friend and wise helper, and a child never feared to go to her either to ask a favor or to confess a fault. at eagleswood the welds kept up as far as practicable their frugal habits, though, soon after their establishment, they all modified their graham diet so far as to take meat once a day. sarah's economy, especially in trifles, was remarkable, almost as much so as the untiring, almost painful industry of herself and mrs. weld. a penny was never knowingly wasted, a minute never willingly lost. among other thrifty devices, she generally wrote to her friends on the backs of circulars, on blank pages of notes she received, on almost any clean scrap, in fact. angelina often remonstrated with her, but to no avail. "it gives me a few more pennies for my love purse, and my friends won't mind," she would say. this "love purse" was well named. into it were cast all her small economies: a car-fare when she walked instead of riding; a few pennies saved by taking a simpler lunch than she had planned, when in new york on business; the ten cents difference in the quality of a cap, ribbon, or a handkerchief,--all these savings were dropped into the love purse, to be drawn out again to buy a new book for some friend too poor to get it herself; to subscribe to a paper for another; to purchase some little gift for a sick child, or a young girl trying to keep up a neat appearance. it was a pair of cuffs to one, mittens or slippers of her own knitting to another, a collar or a ribbon to a third. all through the letters written during the last twenty years of her life, the references to such little gifts are innumerable, and show that her generosity was only equalled by her thoughtfulness, and only limited by her means. nothing was spent unnecessarily, in the strictest sense of the word, on herself; not a dollar of her narrow income laid by. all went for kindly or charitable objects, and was gladly given without a single selfish twinge. it is scarcely necessary to say that few schools have ever been established upon such a basis of conscientiousness and love, and with such adaptability in its conductors as that at eagleswood; few have ever held before the pupils so high a moral standard, or urged them on to such noble purposes in life. children entered there spoiled by indulgence, selfish, uncontrolled, sometimes vicious. their teachers studied them carefully; confidence was gained, weaknesses sounded, elevation measured. very slowly often, and with infinite patience and perseverance, but successfully in nearly every case, these children were redeemed. the idle became industrious, the selfish considerate, the disobedient and wayward repentant and gentle. sometimes the fruits of all this labor and forbearance did not show themselves immediately, and in a few instances the seed sown did not ripen until the boy or girl had left school and mingled with the world. then the contrast between the common, every-day aims they encountered, and the teachings of their eagleswood mentors, was forced upon them. forgotten lessons of truth and honesty and purity were remembered, and the wavering resolve was stayed and strengthened; worldly expediency gave way before the magnanimous purpose, cringing subserviency before independent manliness. the letters of affection, gratitude, and appreciation of what had been done to make true men and women of them, which were received by the welds, in many cases, years after they had parted from the writers, were treasured as their most precious souvenirs, and quite reconciled them to the trials through which such results were reached. a short time before leaving belleville, mrs. weld and sarah adopted the bloomer costume on account of its convenience, and the greater freedom it permitted in taking long rambles, but neither of them ever admired it or urged its adoption on others. mrs. weld, it is true, wrote a long and eloquent letter to the dress reform convention which met in syracuse in the summer of 1857, but it was not to advocate the bloomer, but to show the need of some dress more suitable than the fashionable one, for work and exercise. she also urged that as woman was no longer in her minority, no longer "man's pretty idol before whom he bowed in chivalric gallantry," or "his petted slave whom he coaxed and gulled with sugar-plum privileges, whilst robbing her of intrinsic rights," but was emerging into her majority and claiming her rights as a human being, and waking up to a higher destiny: as she was beginning to answer the call to a life of useful exertion and honorable independence, it was time that she dressed herself in accordance with the change. "i regard the bloomer costume," she says, "as only an approach to that true womanly attire which will in due time be inaugurated. we must experiment before we find a dress altogether suitable.... man has long enough borne the burden of supporting the women of the civilized world. when woman's temple of liberty is finished--when freedom for the world is achieved--when she has educated herself into useful and lucrative occupations, then may she fitly expend upon her person _her own earnings_, not man's. such women will have an indefeasible right to dress elegantly if they wish, but they will discard cumbersomeness and a useless and absurd circumference and length." sarah says, in a letter to a friend, that the bloomer dress violated her taste, and was so opposed to her sense of modesty that she could hardly endure it. during the residence at eagleswood, both sisters discarded it altogether. the john brown tragedy was of course deeply felt by sarah and angelina, and the bitter and desperate feelings which inspired it fully sympathized with. angelina was made quite ill by it, while sarah felt her soul bowed with reverence for the deluded but grand old man. "o sarah!" she writes to sarah douglass, "what a glorious spectacle is now before us. the jerome of prague of our country, the john huss of the united states, now stands ready, as they were, to seal his testimony with his life's blood. last night i went in spirit to the martyr. it was my privilege to enter into sympathy with him; to go down, according to my measure, into the depths where he has travailed, and feel his past exercises, his present sublime position." as mentioned a few pages back, two of john brown's men, who died with him at harper's ferry, were brought to eagleswood and there quietly interred. the pro-slavery people of perth amboy threatened to dig up the bodies, but the men and boys of eagleswood showed such a brave front, and guarded the graves so faithfully, that the threat could not be accomplished. the breaking out of the war found the welds in deep family sorrow, watching anxiously by the sick bed of a dear son, with scarcely a hope of his recovery. of sarah's absolute devotion, of her ceaseless care by day, and her tireless watching by night, during the many long and weary months through which that precious life flickered, it is needless to speak. she took the delicate mother's place beside that bed of suffering, and, strong in her faith and hope, gave strength and hope to the heart-stricken parents, sustaining them when they were ready to sink beneath the avalanche of their woe. and when at last, though life was spared, it was evident that the invalid must remain an invalid for a long time, perhaps forever, sarah's sublime courage stood steadfast. there was no sign of faltering. with a resignation almost cheerful, she took up her fresh burden, and, intent only on cheering her dear patient and comforting the sorrow of her sister and brother, she forgot her seventy-one years and every grief of the past. "i try," she writes, "to accept this, the most grinding and bitter dispensation of my checkered life, as what it must be, educational and disciplinary, working towards a better preparation for a higher life." chiefly on account of this son and the quiet which was necessary for him, mr. and mrs. weld gave up their position at eagleswood, to the deep regret of all who knew them and had children to educate. they settled themselves temporarily in a pleasant house in perth amboy. here, between nursing their sick, and working for the soldiers, they watched the progress of events which they had long foreseen were inevitable. sarah speaks of the war as a retribution. "hitherto," she says, "we have never been a republic, but one of the blackest tyrannies that ever disgraced the earth." she calls attention to the fact that the south, by starting out with a definite and declared purpose, added much to its strength. "in great revolutions," she says, "confusion in popular ideas is fatal. the south avoided this. she set up one idea as paramount; she seized a great principle and uttered it. she shouted the talismanic words, 'oppression and liberty,' and said, 'let us achieve our purpose or die!' the masses, blinded by falsehood, caught the spirit of the leaders, and verily believe they are struggling for freedom. we have never enunciated any great truth as the cause of our uprising. we have no great idea to rally around, and know not what we are fighting for." later she expresses herself very strongly concerning the selfishness of the politicians, north and south. "it is true there are some," she writes, "who are waging this war to make our declaration of independence a fact; there is a glorious band who are fighting for human rights, but the government, with lincoln at its head, has not a heart-throb for the slave. i want the south to do her own work of emancipation. she would do it only from dire necessity, but the north will do it from no higher motive, and the south will feel less exasperation if she does it herself." in another letter in 1862, she writes:-"the negro has generously come forward, in spite of his multiplied wrongs, and offered to help to defend the country against those who are trying to fasten the chains on the white as well as the black. we have impiously denied him the right of citizenship, and have virtually said, 'stand back; i am holier than thou.' i pray that victory may not crown our arms until the negro stands in his acknowledged manhood side by side in this conflict with the white man, until we have the nobility to say that this war is a war of abolition, and that no concession on the part of the south shall save slavery from destruction. whatever lincoln and his cabinet are carrying on the war to accomplish, god's design is to deliver from bondage his innocent people." about this time mrs. weld published one of the most powerful things she ever wrote, "a declaration of war on slavery." she and sarah also drew up a petition to the government for the entire abolition of slavery, and took it around themselves for signatures. very few refused to sign it; and they were proposing to canvass, by means of agents, the entire north, when the emancipation proclamation was issued. with their charleston relatives, mrs. weld and sarah had always kept up a rather irregular, but, on one side, at least, an affectionate correspondence. their mother died in 1839, retaining, to the never-ceasing grief of her northern daughters, her slave-holding principles to the last. the few remaining members of the family were settled in and around charleston, and were, with one exception, in comfortable circumstances at the beginning of the war. this exception was their brother john, who was infirm, and had outlived his resources and the ability to make a living. for years before the war, sarah and angelina sent him from their slender incomes a small annuity, sufficient to keep him from want, and it was continued, at much inconvenience during the war, until his death, which occurred in the latter part of 1863. their sisters, mary and eliza, wrote very proud and defiant letters during the first two years of hostilities, and declared they were secure and happy in their dear old city. but gradually their tone changed, and they did not refuse to receive, through blockade-runners, a variety of necessary articles from their abolition sisters. as their slaves deserted them, and one piece of property after another lost its value or was destroyed, they saw poverty staring them in the face; but their pride sustained them, and it was not until they had lived for nearly a year on little else but hominy and water that they allowed their sisters to know of their condition. but in informing them of it, they still declared their willingness to die "for slavery and the confederacy." "blind to the truth," writes sarah, "they religiously believe that slavery is a divine institution, and say they hope never to be guilty of disbelieving the bible, and thus rendering themselves amenable to the wrath of god. i am glad," she adds, "to have this lesson of honest blindness. it shows me that thousands like themselves are worshipping a false god of their own creation." of course relief was sent to these unhappy women as soon as possible; and when hostilities ceased, more than two hundred dollars' worth of necessaries of every kind was despatched to them, with an urgent invitation to come and accept a home at the north. some time before this, however, the welds had moved to hyde park, near boston, and were delightfully located, owning their house, and surrounded by kind and congenial neighbors. but much as they all needed entire rest, and well as they had earned it, they could not afford to be idle. sarah became housekeeper and general manager, while mr. and mrs. weld accepted positions, in dr. dio lewis's famous school at lexington. they were obliged to leave home every monday and return on friday. the charleston sisters refused for some time to accept the invitation given them; but so delicately and affectionately was it urged, that, goaded by necessity, they finally consented. they made their preparations to leave charleston; but in the midst of them, the older sister, mary, who had been very feeble for some time, was taken suddenly ill, and died. eliza, then, a most sad and desolate woman, as we may well suppose, made the voyage to new york alone. there sarah met her, and accompanied her to hyde park, where she was received with every consideration affection could devise. she seems to have soon made up her mind to make the best of her altered circumstances, and thus show her gratitude to those who had so readily overlooked her past abuse of them. sarah writes of her in 1866:-"my sister eliza is well and so cheerful. she is a sunbeam in the family, but the failure of the confederacy and the triumph of the 'yankees' is hard to bear,--the wrong having crushed the right." this sister was tenderly cared for until arrangements were made for her return to charleston with mrs. frost. there she died in 1867. this was only one of the many minor cases of retribution brought about by the nemesis of the civil war. sarah mentions another. the sale of lands for government taxes at beaufort, s.c., was made from the verandah of the edmond rhett house, where, more than ten years before, the rebellion was concocted by the very men whose estates then (1866) were passing under the hammer. and the chairman of the tax committee was dr. wm. h. brisbane, who, twenty-five years before, was driven from the state because he would liberate his slaves. quietly settled in what she felt was a permanent home, and with, no cares outside of her family, sarah found time not only to read, but to indulge her taste for scribbling, as she called it. she sent, from time to time, articles to the new york _tribune_, the _independent_, the _woman's journal_, and other papers, all marked by remarkable freshness as well as vigor. she also translated from the french several stories illustrative of various social reforms, and in 1867, being then seventy-five years old, she made a somewhat abridged translation of lamartine's poetical biography of joan of arc. this was sarah's most finished literary work, and aroused in her great enthusiasm. "sometimes," she writes, "it seems to infuse into my soul a mite of that divinity which filled hers. joan of arc stands pre-eminent in my mind above all other mortals save the christ." when the book was finished, sarah was most anxious to get it published, "in order," she writes, "to revive the memory in this country of the extraordinary woman who was an embodiment of faith, courage, fortitude, and love rarely equalled and never excelled." but she had many more pressing demands on her income at that time, and had nearly given up the project, when a gentleman from lynn called to see her, to whom she read a few pages of the narrative. he was so much pleased with it that he undertook to have it published. it was brought out in a few weeks by adams & co., of boston, in a prettily bound volume of one hundred and six pages, and had, i believe, a large sale. several long and many short notices of it appeared in papers all over the country, all highly complimentary to the venerable translator. these notices surprised sarah as much as they delighted her, and she expressed herself as deeply thankful that she had translated the work. a letter from sarah grimké to jane smith, written in 1850, contains the following paragraph: "we have just heard of the death of our brother henry, a planter and a kind master. his slaves will feel his loss deeply. they haunt me day and night. sleeplessness is my portion, thinking what will become of them. oh, the horrors of slavery!" when she penned those lines, sarah little imagined how great a mockery was the title, "kind master," she gave her brother. she little suspected that three of those slaves whose uncertain destiny haunted her pillow were that brother's own children, and that he died leaving the shackles on them--slaves to his heir, their white brother, though he _did_ stipulate that they and their mother should never be sold. well might sarah exclaim: "oh, the horrors of slavery!" but in deepest humiliation and anguish of spirit would the words have been uttered had she known the truth. montague grimké inherited his brothers with the rest of the human chattels. he knew they were his brothers, and he never thought of freeing them. they were his to use and to abuse,--to treat them kindly if it suited his mood; to whip them if he fancied; to sell them if he should happen to need money,--and they could not raise voice or hand to prevent it. there was no law to which they could appeal, no refuge they could seek from the very worst with which their brother might threaten them. was ever any creature--brute or human--in the wide world so defenceless as the plantation slave! the forlorn case of these grimké boys was that of thousands of others born as they were, and inheriting the intelligence and spirit of independence of their white parent. i have little space to give to their pitiful story. many have doubtless heard it. the younger brother, john, was, at least as a child, more fortunate. when charleston was at last occupied by the union army, the two oldest, francis and archibald, attracted the attention of some members of the sanitary commission by their intelligence and good behavior, and were by them sent to massachusetts, where some temporary work was found for them. two vacancies happening to occur in lincoln university, oxford, pennsylvania, they were recommended to fill them. thither they went in 1866, and, eager and determined to profit by their advantages, they studied so well during the winter months, and worked so diligently to help themselves in the summer, that, in spite of the drawbacks of their past life, they rose to honorable positions in the university, and won the regard of all connected with it. some time in february, 1868, mrs. weld read in the _anti-slavery standard_ a notice of a meeting of a literary society at lincoln university, at which an address was delivered by one of the students, named francis grimké. she was surprised, and as she had never before heard of the university, she made some inquiries about it, and was much interested in what she learned of its object and character. she knew that the name of grimké was confined to the charleston family, and naturally came to the conclusion, at first, that this student who had attracted her attention was an ex-slave of one of her brothers, and had, as was frequently done, adopted his master's name. but the circumstance worried her. she could not drive it from her mind. she knew so well that blackest page of slavery on which was written the wrongs of its women, that, dreadful as was the suspicion, it slowly grew upon her that the blood of the grimkés, the proud descendants of the huguenots, flowed in the veins of this poor colored student. the agitation into which further reflection on the subject threw her came very near making her ill and finally decided her to learn the truth if possible. she addressed a note to mr. francis grimké. the answer she received confirmed her worst fears. he and his brothers were her nephews. her nerves already unstrung by the dread of this cruel blow, angelina fainted when it came, and was completely prostrated for several days. her husband and sister refrained from disturbing her by a question or a suggestion. physically stronger than she, they felt the superiority of her spiritual strength, and uncertain, on this most momentous occasion, of their own convictions of duty, they looked to her for the initiative. the silent conflict in the soul of this tender, conscientious woman during those days of prostration was known only to her god. the question of prejudice had no place in it,--that had long and long ago been cast to the winds. it was the fair name of a loved brother that was at stake, and which must be sustained or blighted by her action. "ask me not," she once wrote to a young person, "if it is expedient to do what you propose: ask yourself if it is _right_." this question now came to her in a shape it had never assumed before, and it was hard to answer. but it was no surprise to her family when she came forth from that chamber of suffering and announced her decision. she would acknowledge those nephews. she would not deepen the brand of shame that had been set upon their brows: hers, rather, the privilege to efface it. her brother had wronged these, his children; his sisters must right them. no doubt of the duty lingered in her mind. those youths were her own flesh and blood, and, though the whole world should scoff, she would not deny them. her decision was accepted by her husband and sister without a murmur of dissent. if either had any doubts of its wisdom, they were never uttered; and, as was always the case with them, having once decided in their own minds a question of duty, they acted upon it in no half-way spirit, and with no stinted measures. in the long letter which angelina wrote to francis and archibald grimké, and which theodore weld and sarah grimké fully indorsed, there appeared no trace of doubt or indecision. the general tone was just such in which she might have addressed newly-found legitimate nephews. after telling them that if she had not suspected their relationship to herself, she should probably not have written them, she questions them on various points, showing her desire to be useful to them, and adds, "i want to talk to you face to face, and am thinking seriously of going on to your commencement in june." a few lines further on she says:-"i will not dwell on the past: let all that go. it cannot be altered. our work is in the present, and duty calls upon us now so to use the past as to convert its curse into a blessing. i am glad you have taken the name of grimké. it was once one of the noblest names of carolina. you, my young friends, now bear this _once_ honored name. i charge you most solemnly, by your upright conduct and your life-long devotion to the eternal principles of justice and humanity and religion, to lift this name out of the dust where it now lies, and set it once more among the princes of our land." other letters passed between them until the youths had told all their history, so painful in its details that angelina, after glancing at it, put it aside, and for months had not the courage to read it. when june came, though far from well, she summoned up strength and resolution to do as she had proposed in the spring. accompanied by her oldest son, she attended the lincoln university commencement, and made the personal acquaintance of francis and archibald grimké. she found them good-looking, intelligent, and gentlemanly young men; and she took them by the hand, and, to president and professors, acknowledged their claim upon her. she also invited them to visit her at her home, assuring them of a kind reception from every member of her family. she remained a week at lincoln university, going over with these young men all the details of their treatment by their brother montague, and of the treatment of the slaves in all the grimké families. these details brought back freshly to her mind the horrors which had haunted her life in charleston, and she lived them all over again, even in her dreams. she had been miserably weak and worn for some time before going to lincoln; and the mental distress she now went through affected her nervous system to such an extent that there is no doubt her life was shortened by it. the hearty concurrence of every member of the family in the course resolved on towards the nephews shows how united they were in moral sentiment as well as in affection. there was not the slightest hesitancy exhibited. the point touching her brother's shame thrust in the background by the conviction of a higher duty, mrs. weld allowed it to trouble her no more, but, with her husband and sister, expressed a feeling of exultation in acknowledging the relationship of the youths, as a testimony and protest against the wickedness of that hate which had always trampled down the people of color because they were as god made them. on angelina's return journey, sarah, ever anxious about her, met her at newark and accompanied her home. a few weeks later, writing to sarah douglass an account of the grimké boys, she says:-"they are very promising young men. we all feel deeply interested in them, and i hope to be able to get together money enough to pay the college expenses of the younger. i would rejoice to meet these entirely myself, but, not having the means, i intend to try and collect it somehow. angelina has not yet recovered from the effects of her journey and the excitement of seeing and talking to those boys, the president, etc. when i met her she was so exhausted and excited that i felt very anxious, and when i found her brain and sight were so disordered that she could not see distinctly, even striking her head several times severely, and that she could not read, i was indeed alarmed. but, notwithstanding all she had suffered, she has not for a moment regretted that she went. she feels that a sacred duty has been performed, and rejoices that she had strength for it." a few weeks later, she writes: "nina is about and always busy, often working when she seems ready to drop, sustained by her nervous energy and irresistible will. she has kept up wonderfully under our last painful trial, and has borne it so beautifully that i am afraid she is getting too good to live." i have no right to say that angelina weld suffered martyrdom in every fibre of her proud, sensitive nature during all the first months at least of this trial; but i cannot but believe it. she never spoke of her own feelings to any one but her husband; but sarah writes to sarah douglass in august, 1869:-"my cheerful spirit has been sorely tested for some months. nina has been sick all summer, is a mere skeleton and looks ten or fifteen years older than she did before that fatal visit to lincoln university. i do not think that she will ever be the same woman she was before and sometimes i feel sure her toilsome journey on this earth must be near its close. the tears will come whenever i think of it." but not so! the sisters were to work hand in hand a few years longer; the younger, in her patient suffering, leaning with filial love on the stronger arm of the older, both now gray-haired and beginning to feel the infirmities of age, but still devoted to each other and united in sympathy with every good and progressive movement. the duty, as they conceived it, to their colored nephews was as generously as conscientiously performed. they received them into the family, treated them in every respect as relatives, and exerted themselves to aid them in finishing their education. francis studied for the ministry, and is now pastor of the 15th street presbyterian church of washington city. archibald, through sarah's exertions and self-denial, took the law course at harvard, graduated, and has since practised law successfully in boston. both are respected by the communities in which they reside. john, the younger brother, remained in the south with his mother. mrs. weld and sarah still took a warm, and, as far as it was possible, an active interest in the woman suffrage movement; and when, in february, 1870, after an eloquent lecture from lucy stone, a number of the most intelligent and respectable women of hyde park determined to try the experiment of voting at the approaching town election, mrs. weld and sarah grimké united cordially with them. a few days before the election, a large caucus was held, made up of about equal numbers of men and women, among them many of the best and leading people of the place. a ticket for the different offices was made up, voted for, and elected. at this caucus theodore weld made one of his old-time stirring speeches, encouraging the women to assert themselves, and persist in demanding their political rights. the 7th of march, the day of the election, a terrific snowstorm prevailed, but did not prevent the women from assembling in the hotel near the place of voting, where each one was presented, on the part of their gentlemen friends, with a beautiful bouquet of flowers. at the proper time, a number of these gentlemen came over to the hotel and escorted the ladies to the polls, where a convenient place for them to vote had been arranged. there was a great crowd inside the hall, eager to see the joke of women voting, and many were ready to jeer and hiss. but when, through the door, the women filed, led by sarah grimké and angelina weld, the laugh was checked, the intended jeer unuttered, and deafening applause was given instead. the crowd fell back respectfully, nearly every man removing his hat and remaining uncovered while the women passed freely down the hall, deposited their votes, and departed. of course these votes were not counted. there was no expectation that they would be (though the ticket was elected), but the women had given a practical proof of their earnestness, and though one man said, in consequence of this movement, he would sell his house two thousand dollars cheaper than he would have done before, and another declared he would give his away if the thing was done again, and still another wished he might _die_ if the women were going to vote, the women themselves were satisfied with their first step, and more than ever determined to march courageously on until the citadel of man's prejudices was conquered. the following summer, sarah grimké, believing that much good might be accomplished by the circulation of john stuart mill's "subjection of women," made herself an agent for the sale of the book, and traversed hill and dale, walking miles daily to accomplish her purpose. she thus succeeded in placing more than one hundred and fifty copies in the hands of the women of hyde park and the vicinity, in spite of the ignorance, narrowness, heartlessness, and slavery which, she says, she had ample opportunity to deplore. the profits of her sales were given to the _woman's journal_. under date of may 25, 1871, she writes:-"i have been travelling all through our town and vicinity on foot, to get signers to a petition to congress for woman suffrage. it is not a pleasant work, often subjecting me to rudeness and coldness; but we are so frequently taunted with: 'women don't want the ballot,' that we are trying to get one hundred thousand names of women who do want it, to reply to this taunt." but the work which enlisted this indefatigable woman's warmest sympathies, and which was the last active charity in which she engaged, was that of begging cast-off clothing for the destitute freedmen of charleston and florida. accounts reaching her of their wretched condition through successive failures of crops, she set to work with her old-time energy to do what she could for their relief. she literally went from house to house, and from store to store, presenting her plea so touchingly that few could refuse her. many barrels of clothing were in this way gathered, and she often returned home staggering beneath the weight of bundles she had carried perhaps for a mile. she also wrote to friends at a distance, on whose generosity she felt she could depend, and collected from them a considerable sum of money, which, went far to keep the suffering from starvation until new crops could be gathered. writing to sarah douglass, she says:-"i have been so happy this winter, going about to beg old clothing for the unfortunate freedmen in florida. i have sent off several barrels of clothes already. alas! there is no christ to multiply the garments, and what are those i send among so many? i think of these destitute ones night and day, and feel so glad to help them even a little." this happiness in helping others was the secret of sarah grimké's unvarying contentment, and there was always some one needing the help she was so ready to give, some one whose trials made her feel, she says, ashamed to think of her own. but the infirmities of old age were creeping upon her, and though her mental faculties remained as bright as ever, she began to complain of her eyes and her hearing. in august, 1872, she writes to a friend:-"my strength is failing. i cannot do a tithe of the walking i used to do, and am really almost good for nothing. but i don't know but i may learn to enjoy doing nothing; and if it is needful, i shall be thankful, as that has always appeared to me a great trial." notwithstanding this representation, however, she was seldom idle a moment. she was an untiring knitter, and made quite a traffic of the tidies, cushion-covers, and other fancy articles she knitted and netted. these were purchased by her friends, and the proceeds given to the poor. soon after she had penned the above quoted paragraph, too, she copied for the rev. henry giles, the once successful unitarian preacher, a lecture of sixty-five pages, from which he hoped to make some money. his eyesight had failed, and his means were too narrow to permit of his paying a copyist. she also managed to keep up more or less, as her strength permitted, her usual visits to the poor and afflicted; and during the hot summer of 1872 she and angelina went daily to read to an old, bed-ridden lady, who was dying of cancer, and living almost alone. during the following winter sarah's strength continued to fail, and she had several fainting spells, of which, however, she was kept in ignorance. but as life's pulse beat less vigorously, her heart seemed to grow warmer, and her interest in all that concerned her friends rather to increase than to lessen. she still wrote occasional short letters, and enjoyed nothing so much as those she received, especially from young correspondents. in january, 1873, she writes to an old friend:-"yes, dear.... i esteem it a very choice blessing that, as the outer man decays, the heart seems enlarged in charity, and more and more drawn towards those i love. oh, this love! it is as subtle as the fragrance of the flower, an indefinable essence pervading the soul. my eyesight and my hearing are both in a weakly condition; but i trust, as the material senses fail, the interior perception of the divine may be opened to a clearer knowledge of god, and that i may read the glorious book of nature with a more heavenly light, and apprehend with clearer insight the majesty and divinity and capabilities of my own being." a few months later, she writes: "my days of active usefulness are over; but there is a passive work to be done, far harder than actual work,--namely, to exercise patience and study humble resignation to the will of god, whatever that may be. thanks be to him, i have not yet felt like complaining; nay, verily, the song of my heart is, who so blest as i? in years gone by, i used to rejoice as every year sped its course and brought me nearer to the grave. but now, though the grave has no terrors for me, and death looks like a pleasant transition to another and a better condition, i am content to wait the father's own time for my removal. i rejoice that my ideal is still in advance of my actual, though i can only look for realization in another life. i know of a truth that my immortal spirit must progress; not into a state of perfect happiness,--that would have no attractions for me; there must be deficiencies in my heaven, to leave room for progression. a realm of unqualified rest were a stagnant pool of being, and the circle of absolute perfection a waveless calm, the abstract cipher of indolence. but i believe i shall be gifted with higher faculties, greater powers, and therefore be capable of higher aspirations, better achievements, and a nobler appreciation of god and his works." the sweet tranquillity expressed in this letter, and which was the greatest blessing that could have been given to sarah grimké's last years, grew day by day, and shed its benign influence on all about her. she had long ceased to look back, and had long been satisfied that though she had had an ample share of sorrows and perplexities, her life had passed, after all, with more of good than evil in it, more of enjoyment than sorrow. her experience had been rich and varied; and, while she could see, in the past, sins committed, errors of judgment, idiosyncracies to which she had too readily yielded, she felt that all had been blest to her in enlarging her knowledge of herself, in widening her sphere of usefulness, and uniting her more closely to him who had always been her guide, and whose promises sustained and blessed her, and crowned her latter days with joy supreme. chapter xviii. sarah grimké had always enjoyed such good health, and was so unaccustomed to even small ailments, that when a slight attack came in the beginning of august, 1873, in the shape of a fainting-fit in the night, she did not understand what it meant. for two or three years she had had an occasional attack of the same kind, but was never before conscious of it, and as she had frequently expressed a desire to be alone when she died, to have no human presence between her and her god, she thought, as the faintness came over her, that this desire was about to be gratified. but not so: she returned to consciousness, somewhat to her disappointment, and seemed to quite recover her health in a few days. the weather, however, was extremely warm, and she felt its prostrating effects. on the 27th of august another fainting-spell came over her, also in the night, and she felt so unwell on coming out of it that she was obliged to call assistance. for several weeks she was very ill, and scarcely a hope of her recovery was entertained; but again she rallied and tried to mingle with the family as usual, though feeling very weak. writing to sarah douglass of this illness, she says:-"the first two weeks are nearly a blank. i only remember a sense of intense suffering, and that the second day i thought i was dying, and felt calm with that sweet peace which our heavenly father gives to those who lay their heads on his bosom and breathe out their souls to him. death is so beautiful a transition to another and a higher sphere of usefulness and happiness, that it no longer looks to me like passing through a dark valley, but rather like merging into sunlight and joy. when consciousness returned to me, i was floating in an ocean of divine love. oh, dear sarah, the unspeakable peace that i enjoyed! of course i was to come down from the mount, but not into the valley of despondency. my mind has been calm, my faith steadfast, my continual prayer that i may fulfil the design of my father in thus restoring me to life and finish the work he must have for me to do, either active or passive. i am lost in wonder, love, and praise at the vast outlay of affection and means used for my restoration. stuart was like a tender daughter, and all have been so loving, so patient." she continued very feeble, but insisted upon joining the family at meals, though she frequently had to be carried back to her room. still her lively interest in every one about her showed no diminution, and she still wrote, as strength permitted, short letters to old friends. a few passages may be quoted from these letters to show how clear her intellect remained, and with what a holy calm her soul was clothed. to one nearly her own age, she says:-"you and i and all who are on the passage to redemption know that gethsemane has done more for us than the mount of transfiguration. i am sure i have advanced more in the right way through my sins than through my righteousness, and for nothing am i more fervently grateful than for the lessons of humility i have learned in this way." to another who was mourning the death of a dear child, she writes: "my whole heart goes out in unspeakable yearnings for you; not, dearest, that you may be delivered from your present trials; not only that you may be blessed with returning health, but that you may find something better, holier, stronger than philosophy to sustain you. philosophy may enable us to _endure_; this is its highest mission; it cannot give the peace of god which passeth all understanding. this is what i covet for you. and how can you doubt of immortality when you look on your beloved's face? can you believe that the soul which looked out of those eyes can be quenched in endless night? no; never! as soon doubt existence itself. it is this--these central truths, the existence and the love of god, and the immortality of the soul, which rob death of its terrors and shed upon it the blessed light of a hope which triumphs over death itself. oh that you could make christ your friend! he is so near and dear to me that more than ever does he seem to be my link to the father and to the life everlasting." as she complained only of weakness, sarah's friends hoped that, when the cool weather came on, she would regain her strength and be as well as usual. but though she continued to move about the house, trying to make herself useful, there was very little perceptible change in her condition as the autumn passed and winter came on. thus she continued until the 12th of december, when she took a violent cold. she was in the habit of airing her bed every night just before retiring, turning back the cover, and opening wide her window. on that day it had rained, and the air was very damp, but she had her bed and window opened as usual, insisting that florence nightingale asserted that damp air never hurt anyone. that night she coughed a great deal, but in answer to angelina's expressions of anxiety, said she felt no worse than usual. but though she still went down to her meals, it was evident that she was weaker than she had been. on sunday, the 14th, company coming to tea, she preferred to remain in her room. she never went down again. her breathing was much oppressed on monday and her cough worse, but it was not until tuesday evening, after having passed a distressing day, that she would consent to have a physician called. everything was done for her that could be thought of, and, as she grew worse, two other physicians were sent for. but all in vain: it was evident that the summons to "come up higher" had reached her yearning soul, and that a bright new year was dawning for her in that unseen world which she was so well prepared to enter. she lingered, suffering at times great agony from suffocation, until the afternoon of the 23d, when she was seized with the most severe paroxysm she had yet had. her family gathered about her bed, relieved her as far as it was possible, and saw her sink exhausted into an unconscious state, from which, two hours later, she crossed the threshold of eternity. her "precious nina" bent over her, caught the last breath, and exclaimed: "well done, good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy lord!" the gates of heaven swung wide to admit that great soul, and the form of clay that was left lying there seemed touched with the glory that streamed forth. all traces of suffering vanished, and the placid face wore- "the look of one who bore away glad tidings from the hills of day." every sorrow brings a peace with it, and angelina's sorrow was swallowed up in joy that the beloved sister had escaped from pain and infirmity, and entered into fuller and closer communion with her heavenly father. she and sarah had promised each other that no stranger hands should perform the last offices to their mortal remains. how lovingly this promise was now kept by angelina, we must all understand. the weather was very cold, and in order to give her friends at a distance opportunity to attend the funeral it did not take place until the 27th. one of the last requests of this woman, whose life had been an embodiment of the most tender chanty and the truest humility, was that she might be laid in a plain pine coffin, and the difference in price between it and the usual costly one be given as her last gift to the poor. she knew--divine soul!--that her cold form would sleep just as quietly, be guarded by the angels just as faithfully, and as certainly go to its resurrection glory from a pine box as from the richest rosewood casket. and it was like the sweet simplicity of her whole life,--nothing for show, all for god and his poor. her request was complied with, but loving hands covered every inch of that plain stained coffin with fragrant flowers, making it rich and beautiful with those sincere tributes of affection and gratitude to one whose memory was a benediction. the funeral services were conducted by the rev. francis williams, pastor of the unitarian church of hyde park, and eloquent remarks were made by him and by wm. lloyd garrison. mr. williams could only testify to sarah's life as he had known it since she came to live in the village. "to the last," he said, "while her mind could plan, her pen could move, and her heart could prompt, she was busy in the service of humanity,--with her might and beyond her strength, in constant nameless deeds of kindness to those in need in our own neighborhood, and far to the south, deeds which were wise and beautiful,--help to the poor, sympathy with the suffering, consolation to the dying. she has fought the good fight of right and love; she has finished her course of duty; she has kept the faith of friendship and sacrifice. "we will more truly live because she has lived among us. may her hope and peace be ours." mr. garrison gave a brief summary of her life, and ended by saying: "in view of such a life as hers, consecrated to suffering humanity in its manifold needs, embracing all goodness, animated by the broadest catholicity of spirit, and adorned with every excellent attribute, any attempt at panegyric here seems as needless as it must be inadequate. here there is nothing to depress or deplore, nothing premature or startling, nothing to be supplemented or finished. it is the consummation of a long life, well rounded with charitable deeds, active sympathies, toils, loving ministrations, grand testimonies, and nobly self-sacrificing endeavors. she lived only to do good, neither seeking nor desiring to be known, ever unselfish, unobtrusive, compassionate, and loving, dwelling in god and god in her." the last look was then taken, the last kiss given, and the coffin, lifted by those who loved and honored the form it enclosed, was borne to its resting-place in mount hope cemetery. "dear friend," wrote angelina to me, before yet the last rites had been performed, "you know what i have lost, not _a sister only_, but a mother, friend, counsellor,--everything i could lose in a woman." the longer our loved ones are spared to us, the closer becomes the tie by which we are bound to them, and the deeper the pain of separation. it was thus with angelina. she could rejoice at her sister's blessed translation, but she keenly felt the bereavement notwithstanding. their lives had been so bound together; they had walked so many years side by side; they had so shared each other's burdens, cares, and sorrows, that she who was left scarcely knew how to live the daily life without that dear twin-soul. and so tender, so true and sacred was the communion which had grown between them, that they could not be separated long. angelina continued, as her feeble health permitted, to do alone the work sarah had shared with her. the sick, the poor, the sorrowing, were looked after and cared for as usual; but as she was already weighed down by declining years, the burdens she tried to bear were too heavy. sarah used to say: "angelina's creed is, for herself, work till you drop; for others, spare yourself." now, with no anxiously watchful sister to restrain her, she overtaxed every power, and brought on the result which had been long feared,--the paralysis which finally ended her life. those who have read mr. weld's beautiful memorial of his wife, with the touching account of her last days, will find no fault, i am sure, if i reproduce a portion of it here, while to those who have not been so fortunate, it will show her sweet christian spirit, mighty in its gentleness, as no words of mine could do. in vain may we look back through the centuries for a higher example of divine love and patience and heroic fortitude; and, as a friend observed, her expressions of gratitude for the long and perfect use of her faculties at the very moment when she felt the fatal touch which was to deprive her of them, was the sublimity of sweet and grateful trust. the early shattering of angelina's nervous system rendered her always exceedingly sensitive to outward impressions. she could not look upon any form of suffering without, in a measure, feeling it herself; nor could she read or listen to an account of great physical agony without a sensation of faintness which frequently obliged her, at such times, to leave the room and seek relief in the open air. the first stroke of paralysis occurred the summer after sarah's death, and was brought on in a singular manner. mr. weld's account of the incident and its consequences is thus given:-"for weeks she had visited almost daily a distant neighbor, far gone in consumption, whose wife was her dear friend. one day, over-heated and tired out by work and a long walk in the sun, she passed their house in returning home, too much overdone to call, as she thought to do, and had gone a quarter of a mile toward home, when it occurred to her, mr. w. may be dying now! she turned back, and, as she feared, found him dying. as she sat by his bedside, holding his hand, a sensation never felt before seized her so strongly that she at once attempted to withdraw her hand, but saw that she could not without disturbing the dying man's last moments. she sat thus, in exceeding discomfort, half an hour, with that strange feeling creeping up her arm and down her side. "at last his grasp relaxed, and she left, only able to totter, and upon getting home, she hardly knew how, declined supper, and went at once to bed, saying only, 'tired, tired.' in the morning, when her husband rose, she said, 'i've something to tell you.' her tone alarmed him. 'don't be alarmed,' she said. to his anxious question, 'pray, what is it?' she said again, 'now you mustn't be troubled, i'm not; it's all for the best. something ails my right side, i can't move hand or foot. it must be paralysis. well, how thankful i should be that i have had the perfect use of all my faculties, limbs, and senses for sixty-eight years! and now, if they are to be taken from me, i shall have it always to be grateful for that i have had them so long. why, i do think i am grateful for _this_, too. come, let us be grateful together.' her half-palsied husband could respond only in weakest words to the appeal of his unpalsied wife. while exulting in the sublime triumph of her spirit over the stroke that felled her, well might he feel abashed, as he did, to find that, in such a strait, he was so poor a help to her who, in all his straits, had been such a help to him. after a pause she added: 'oh, possibly it is only the effect of my being so tired out last night. why, it seems to me i was never half so tired. i wonder if a hard rubbing of your strong hands mightn't throw it off.' long and strongly he plied with friction the parts affected, but no muscle responded. all seemed dead to volition and motion. though thus crippled in a moment, she insisted upon rising, that she might be ready for breakfast at the usual hour. as the process of dressing went on, she playfully enlivened it thus: 'well, here i am a baby again; have to be dressed and fed, perhaps lugged round in arms or trundled in a wheel-chair, taught to walk on one foot, and sew and darn stockings with my left hand. plenty of new lessons to learn that will keep me busy. see what a chance i have to learn patience! the dear father knew just what i needed,' etc. "soon after breakfast she gave herself a lesson in writing with her left hand, stopping often, as she slowly scrawled on, to laugh at her 'quail tracks.' after three months of tireless persistence, she partially recovered the use of her paralyzed muscles, so that she could write, sew, knit, wipe dishes, and sweep, and do 'very shabbily,' as she insisted, almost everything that she had done before. "during the six years that remained of her life here, she had what seemed to be two other slight shocks of paralysis,--one about three years after the first, and the other only three weeks before her death. this last was manifest in the sudden sinking of her bodily powers, preeminently those of speech. during all those years she looked upon herself as 'a soldier hourly awaiting orders,' often saying with her good-night kiss, 'may be this will be the last _here_,' or, 'perhaps i shall send back my next from the other shore;' or, 'the dear father may call me from you before morning;' or, 'perhaps when i wake, it may be in a morning that has no night; then i can help you more than i can now.' "many letters received asked for her latest views and feelings about death and the life beyond,--as one expressed it, when she was entering the dark valley.' the 'valley' she saw, but no darkness, neither night nor shadow; all was light and peace. on the future life she had pondered much, but ever with a trust absolute and an abounding cheer. fear, doubt, anxiety, suspense, she knew nothing of; none of them had power to mar her peace or jostle her conviction. while she could speak, she expressed the utmost gratitude that the dear father was loosening the cords of life so gently that she had no pain. "when her speech failed, after a sinking in which she seemed dying, she strove to let us know that _she knew it_ by trying to speak the word 'death.' divining her thought, i said, 'is it death?' then in a kind of convulsive outburst came, 'death, death!' thinking that she was right, that it was indeed to her death _begun_, of what _could_ die, thus _dating_ her life immortal, i said, 'no, oh no! not death, but life immortal.' she instantly caught my meaning, and cried out, 'life eternal! e--ter--nal life.' she soon sank into a gentle sleep for hours. when she awoke, what seemed that fatal sinking had passed. "one night, while watching with her, after she had been a long time quietly sleeping, she seemed to be in pain, and began to toss excitedly. it was soon plain that what seemed bodily pain was mental anguish. she began to talk earnestly in mingled tones of pathos and strong remonstrance. she was back again among the scenes of childhood, talking upon slavery. at first, only words could be caught here and there, but enough to show that she was living over again the old horrors, and remonstrating with slave-holders upon the wrongs of slavery. then came passages of scripture, their most telling words given with strong emphasis, the others indistinctly; some in tones of solemn rebuke, others in those of heart-broken pathos, but most distinctly audible in detached fragments. there was one exception,--a few words uttered brokenly, with a half-explosive force, from james 5: 4: 'the--hire--of--the--laborers,--kept--back--by--fraud, --crieth:--and--the--cries--are--in--the--ears--of--the--lord.'... "as we stood around her, straining to catch again some fragmentary word, she would turn her eyes upon our faces, one by one, as though lovingly piercing our inmost; but though all speech failed, the intense longing of that look outspoke all words.... "then there was again a vain struggle to speak, but no words came! only abortive sounds painfully shattered! how precious those unborn words! oh, that we knew them!" thus quietly, peacefully, almost joyfully, the life forces of the worn and weary toiler weakened day by day, until, on the 26th of october, 1879, the great husbandman called her from her labors at last. she lived the life and died the death of a saint. who shall dare to say when and where the echoes of her soul died away? not in vain such lives as hers and her beloved sister's. they take their place with those of the heroes of the world, great among the greatest. one last thing i must mention, as strongly illustrative of angelina's modesty, and that shrinking from any praise of man which was such a marked trait in her character. she never voluntarily alluded to any act of hers which would be likely to draw upon her commendatory notice, even from the members of her own family, and in her charities she followed out as far as possible the bible injunction: "when thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth." her husband relates the following:-"in november, 1839, in making provision for the _then_ to her not improbable contingency of sudden death, angelina prepared a communication to her husband, filled with details concerning themselves alone. this was enclosed in a sealed envelope, with directions that it should be opened only after her death. when, a few days after her decease, he broke the seal, he found, among many details, this item: 'i also leave to thee the _liability_ of being called upon eventually to support in part four emancipated slaves in charleston, s.c., whose freedom i have been instrumental in obtaining.'" it is plain from the wording of the letter that she had never stated the fact to him. she lived forty years after writing it and putting it under seal; and yet, during all those years, she never gave him the least intimation of her having freed those four slaves and contributed to their support, as she had done. even sarah could not have known anything of it. her brother henry, to whom the bill of sale was made out, as they could not be legally emancipated, was probably the only person who was aware of her generous act. he became technically their owner, responsible for them to the state, but left them free to live and work for themselves as they pleased. angelina's funeral took place on the 29th of october, and to it came many old friends and veteran co-workers in the anti-slavery cause. the services were in keeping with the record of the life they commemorated. they were opened by that beautiful chant, "thy will be done," followed by a touching prayer from the rev. mr. morrison, who then briefly sketched the life of her who lay so still and beautiful before them. he was followed by elizur wright, who, overcome by the memories with which she was identified, memories of struggles, trials, perils, and triumphs, that he stood for a moment unable to speak. then, only partially conquering his emotion, he told of what she did and what she was in those times which tried the souls of the stoutest. "there is," said he, "the courage of the mariner who buffets the angry waves. there is the courage of the warrior who marches up to the cannon's mouth, coolly pressing forward amid engines of destruction on every side. but hers was a courage greater than theirs. she not only faced death at the hands of stealthy assassins and howling mobs, in her loyalty to truth, duty, and humanity, but she encountered unflinchingly the awful frowns of the mighty consecrated leaders of society, the scoffs and sneers of the multitude, the outstretched finger of scorn, and the whispered mockery of pity, standing up for the lowest of the low. nurtured in the very bosom of slavery, by her own observation and thought, of one thing she became certain,--that it was a false, cruel, accursed relation between human beings. and to this conviction, from the very budding of her womanhood, she was true; not the fear of poverty, obloquy, or death could induce her to smother it. neither wealth, nor fame, nor tyrant fashion, nor all that the high position of her birth had to offer, could bribe her to abate one syllable of her testimony against the seductive system.... let us hope that south carolina will yet count this noble, brave, excellent woman above all her past heroes. she it was, more than all the rest of us put together, who called out what was good and humane in the christian church to take the part of the slave, and deliver the proud state of her birth from the monster that had preyed on its vitals for a century. i have no fitting words for a life like hers. with a mind high and deep and broad enough to grasp the relations of justice and mercy, and a heart warm enough to sympathize with and cherish all that live, what a home she made! words cannot paint it. i saw it in that old stone house, surrounded with its beautiful garden, at belleville, on the banks of the passaic. i saw it in that busy, bright, and cheery palace of true education at eagleswood, new jersey. i have seen it here, in this mecca of the wise. well done! oh, well done!" mr. wright was followed by robert f. walcutt, lucy stone, and wendell phillips. "the women of to-day," said lucy stone, "owe more than they will ever know to the high courage, the rare insight, and fidelity to principle of this woman, by whose suffering easy paths have been made for them. her example was a bugle-call to all other women. who can tell how many have been quickened in a great life purpose by the heroism and self-forgetting devotion of her whose voice we shall never hear again, but who, 'being dead, yet speaketh.'" the remarks of wendell phillips were peculiarly affecting, and were spoken with a tenderness which, for once at least, disproved the assertion that his eloquence was wanting in pathos. "friends," he said, "this life carries us back to the first chapter of that great movement with which her name is associated,--to 1835, '36, '37, '38, when our cities roared with riot, when william lloyd garrison was dragged through the streets, when dresser was mobbed in nashville, and macintosh burned in st. louis. at that time, the hatred toward abolitionists was so bitter and merciless that the friends of lovejoy left his grave long time unmarked; and at last ventured to put, with his name, on his tombstone, only this piteous entreaty: _jam parce sepulto_, 'spare him now in his grave.' "as friend wright has said, we were but a handful, and our words beat against the stony public as powerless as if against the north wind. we got no sympathy from most northern men: their consciences were seared as with a hot iron. at this time a young woman came from the proudest state in the slave-holding section. she came to lay on the altar of this despised cause, this seemingly hopeless crusade, both family and friends, the best social position, a high place in the church, genius, and many gifts. no man at this day can know the gratitude we felt for this help from such an unexpected source. after this[9] came james g. birney from the south, and many able and influential men and women joined us. at last john brown laid his life, the crowning sacrifice, on the altar of the cause. but no man who remembers 1837 and its lowering clouds will deny that there was hardly any contribution to the anti-slavery movement greater or more impressive than the crusade of these grimké sisters through the new england states. "when i think of angelina, there comes to me the picture of the spotless dove in the tempest, as she battles with the storm, seeking for some place to rest her foot. she reminds me of innocence personified in spenser's poem. in her girlhood, alone, heart-led, she comforts the slave in his quarters, mentally struggling with the problems his position wakes her to. alone, not confused, but seeking something to lean on, she grasps the church, which proves a broken reed. no whit disheartened, she turns from one sect to another, trying each by the infallible touchstone of that clear, child-like conscience. the two old, lonely quakers rest her foot awhile. but the eager soul must work, not rest in testimony. coming north at last, she makes her own religion one of sacrifice and toil. breaking away from, rising above, all forms, the dove floats at last in the blue sky where no clouds reach.... this is no place for tears. graciously, in loving kindness and tenderly, god broke the shackles and freed her soul. it was not the dust which surrounded her that we loved. it was not the form which encompassed her that we revere; but it was the soul. we linger a very little while, her old comrades. the hour comes, it is even now at the door, that god will open our eyes to see her as she is: the white-souled child of twelve years old ministering to want and sorrow; the ripe life, full of great influences; the serene old age, example and inspiration whose light will not soon go out. farewell for a very little while. god keep us fit to join thee in that broader service on which thou hast entered." [9] a mistake. james g. birney was one of the most widely known and influential leaders in the abolition cause at the time angelina came into it. at the close of mr. phillips' remarks a hymn was read and sung, followed by a fervent prayer from mr. morrison, when the services closed with the reading and singing of "nearer, my god to thee." then, after the last look had been taken, the coffin-lid was softly closed over the placidly sleeping presence beneath, and the precious form was borne to mount hope, and tenderly lowered to its final resting-place. there the sisters, inseparable in life, lie side by side next the "evergreen path," in that "dreamless realm of silence." a friend, describing the funeral, says:-"the funeral services throughout wore no air of gloom. that sombre crape shrouded no one with its dismal tokens. the light of a glorious autumn day streamed in through uncurtained windows. it was not a house of mourning,--no sad word said, no look of sorrow worn. the tears that freely fell were not of grief, but tears of yearning love, of sympathy, of solemn joy and gratitude to god for such a life in its rounded completeness, such an example and testimony, such fidelity to conscience, such recoil from all self-seeking, such unswerving devotion to duty, come what might of peril or loss, even unto death." florence nightingale, writing of a woman whose life, like the lives of sarah and angelina grimké, had been devoted to the service of the poor, the weak, the oppressed, says at the close:-"this is not an _in memoriam_, it is a war-cry such as she would have bid me write,--a cry for others to fill her place, to fill up the ranks, and fight the good fight against sin and vice and misery and wretchedness as she did,--the call to arms such as she was ever ready to obey." http://www.ebookforge.net posthumous works of mary wollstonecraft godwin. vol. i. posthumous works of the author of a vindication of the rights of woman. in four volumes. * * * * * vol. i. * * * * * _london:_ printed for j. johnson, no. 72, st. paul's church-yard; and g. g. and j. robinson, paternoster-row. 1798. the wrongs of woman: or, maria. a fragment. in two volumes. * * * * * vol. i. preface. the public are here presented with the last literary attempt of an author, whose fame has been uncommonly extensive, and whose talents have probably been most admired, by the persons by whom talents are estimated with the greatest accuracy and discrimination. there are few, to whom her writings could in any case have given pleasure, that would have wished that this fragment should have been suppressed, because it is a fragment. there is a sentiment, very dear to minds of taste and imagination, that finds a melancholy delight in contemplating these unfinished productions of genius, these sketches of what, if they had been filled up in a manner adequate to the writer's conception, would perhaps have given a new impulse to the manners of a world. the purpose and structure of the following work, had long formed a favourite subject of meditation with its author, and she judged them capable of producing an important effect. the composition had been in progress for a period of twelve months. she was anxious to do justice to her conception, and recommenced and revised the manuscript several different times. so much of it as is here given to the public, she was far from considering as finished, and, in a letter to a friend directly written on this subject, she says, "i am perfectly aware that some of the incidents ought to be transposed, and heightened by more harmonious shading; and i wished in some degree to avail myself of criticism, before i began to adjust my events into a story, the outline of which i had sketched in my mind[x-a]." the only friends to whom the author communicated her manuscript, were mr. dyson, the translator of the sorcerer, and the present editor; and it was impossible for the most inexperienced author to display a stronger desire of profiting by the censures and sentiments that might be suggested[x-b]. in revising these sheets for the press, it was necessary for the editor, in some places, to connect the more finished parts with the pages of an older copy, and a line or two in addition sometimes appeared requisite for that purpose. wherever such a liberty has been taken, the additional phrases will be found inclosed in brackets; it being the editor's most earnest desire, to intrude nothing of himself into the work, but to give to the public the words, as well as ideas, of the real author. what follows in the ensuing pages, is not a preface regularly drawn out by the author, but merely hints for a preface, which, though never filled up in the manner the writer intended, appeared to be worth preserving. w. godwin. author's preface. the wrongs of woman, like the wrongs of the oppressed part of mankind, may be deemed necessary by their oppressors: but surely there are a few, who will dare to advance before the improvement of the age, and grant that my sketches are not the abortion of a distempered fancy, or the strong delineations of a wounded heart. in writing this novel, i have rather endeavoured to pourtray passions than manners. in many instances i could have made the incidents more dramatic, would i have sacrificed my main object, the desire of exhibiting the misery and oppression, peculiar to women, that arise out of the partial laws and customs of society. in the invention of the story, this view restrained my fancy; and the history ought rather to be considered, as of woman, than of an individual. the sentiments i have embodied. in many works of this species, the hero is allowed to be mortal, and to become wise and virtuous as well as happy, by a train of events and circumstances. the heroines, on the contrary, are to be born immaculate; and to act like goddesses of wisdom, just come forth highly finished minervas from the head of jove. * * * * * [the following is an extract of a letter from the author to a friend, to whom she communicated her manuscript.] * * * * * for my part, i cannot suppose any situation more distressing, than for a woman of sensibility, with an improving mind, to be bound to such a man as i have described for life; obliged to renounce all the humanizing affections, and to avoid cultivating her taste, lest her perception of grace and refinement of sentiment, should sharpen to agony the pangs of disappointment. love, in which the imagination mingles its bewitching colouring, must be fostered by delicacy. i should despise, or rather call her an ordinary woman, who could endure such a husband as i have sketched. these appear to me (matrimonial despotism of heart and conduct) to be the peculiar wrongs of woman, because they degrade the mind. what are termed great misfortunes, may more forcibly impress the mind of common readers; they have more of what may justly be termed _stage-effect_; but it is the delineation of finer sensations, which, in my opinion, constitutes the merit of our best novels. this is what i have in view; and to show the wrongs of different classes of women, equally oppressive, though, from the difference of education, necessarily various. footnotes: [x-a] a more copious extract of this letter is subjoined to the author's preface. [x-b] the part communicated consisted of the first fourteen chapters. errata. page 3, line 2, _dele_ half. p. 81 and 118, _for_ brackets [--], _read_ inverted commas " thus " contents. vol. i. and ii. the wrongs of woman, or maria; a fragment: to which is added, the first book of a series of lessons for children. vol. iii. and iv. letters and miscellaneous pieces. _wrongs_ of woman. chap. i. abodes of horror have frequently been described, and castles, filled with spectres and chimeras, conjured up by the magic spell of genius to harrow the soul, and absorb the wondering mind. but, formed of such stuff as dreams are made of, what were they to the mansion of despair, in one corner of which maria sat, endeavouring to recal her scattered thoughts! surprise, astonishment, that bordered on distraction, seemed to have suspended her faculties, till, waking by degrees to a keen sense of anguish, a whirlwind of rage and indignation roused her torpid pulse. one recollection with frightful velocity following another, threatened to fire her brain, and make her a fit companion for the terrific inhabitants, whose groans and shrieks were no unsubstantial sounds of whistling winds, or startled birds, modulated by a romantic fancy, which amuse while they affright; but such tones of misery as carry a dreadful certainty directly to the heart. what effect must they then have produced on one, true to the touch of sympathy, and tortured by maternal apprehension! her infant's image was continually floating on maria's sight, and the first smile of intelligence remembered, as none but a mother, an unhappy mother, can conceive. she heard her half speaking cooing, and felt the little twinkling fingers on her burning bosom--a bosom bursting with the nutriment for which this cherished child might now be pining in vain. from a stranger she could indeed receive the maternal aliment, maria was grieved at the thought--but who would watch her with a mother's tenderness, a mother's self-denial? the retreating shadows of former sorrows rushed back in a gloomy train, and seemed to be pictured on the walls of her prison, magnified by the state of mind in which they were viewed--still she mourned for her child, lamented she was a daughter, and anticipated the aggravated ills of life that her sex rendered almost inevitable, even while dreading she was no more. to think that she was blotted out of existence was agony, when the imagination had been long employed to expand her faculties; yet to suppose her turned adrift on an unknown sea, was scarcely less afflicting. after being two days the prey of impetuous, varying emotions, maria began to reflect more calmly on her present situation, for she had actually been rendered incapable of sober reflection, by the discovery of the act of atrocity of which she was the victim. she could not have imagined, that, in all the fermentation of civilized depravity, a similar plot could have entered a human mind. she had been stunned by an unexpected blow; yet life, however joyless, was not to be indolently resigned, or misery endured without exertion, and proudly termed patience. she had hitherto meditated only to point the dart of anguish, and suppressed the heart heavings of indignant nature merely by the force of contempt. now she endeavoured to brace her mind to fortitude, and to ask herself what was to be her employment in her dreary cell? was it not to effect her escape, to fly to the succour of her child, and to baffle the selfish schemes of her tyrant--her husband? these thoughts roused her sleeping spirit, and the self-possession returned, that seemed to have abandoned her in the infernal solitude into which she had been precipitated. the first emotions of overwhelming impatience began to subside, and resentment gave place to tenderness, and more tranquil meditation; though anger once more stopt the calm current of reflection, when she attempted to move her manacled arms. but this was an outrage that could only excite momentary feelings of scorn, which evaporated in a faint smile; for maria was far from thinking a personal insult the most difficult to endure with magnanimous indifference. she approached the small grated window of her chamber, and for a considerable time only regarded the blue expanse; though it commanded a view of a desolate garden, and of part of a huge pile of buildings, that, after having been suffered, for half a century, to fall to decay, had undergone some clumsy repairs, merely to render it habitable. the ivy had been torn off the turrets, and the stones not wanted to patch up the breaches of time, and exclude the warring elements, left in heaps in the disordered court. maria contemplated this scene she knew not how long; or rather gazed on the walls, and pondered on her situation. to the master of this most horrid of prisons, she had, soon after her entrance, raved of injustice, in accents that would have justified his treatment, had not a malignant smile, when she appealed to his judgment, with a dreadful conviction stifled her remonstrating complaints. by force, or openly, what could be done? but surely some expedient might occur to an active mind, without any other employment, and possessed of sufficient resolution to put the risk of life into the balance with the chance of freedom. a woman entered in the midst of these reflections, with a firm, deliberate step, strongly marked features, and large black eyes, which she fixed steadily on maria's, as if she designed to intimidate her, saying at the same time--"you had better sit down and eat your dinner, than look at the clouds." "i have no appetite," replied maria, who had previously determined to speak mildly, "why then should i eat?" "but, in spite of that, you must and shall eat something. i have had many ladies under my care, who have resolved to starve themselves; but, soon or late, they gave up their intent, as they recovered their senses." "do you really think me mad?" asked maria, meeting the searching glance of her eye. "not just now. but what does that prove?--only that you must be the more carefully watched, for appearing at times so reasonable. you have not touched a morsel since you entered the house."--maria sighed intelligibly.--"could any thing but madness produce such a disgust for food?" "yes, grief; you would not ask the question if you knew what it was." the attendant shook her head; and a ghastly smile of desperate fortitude served as a forcible reply, and made maria pause, before she added--"yet i will take some refreshment: i mean not to die.--no; i will preserve my senses; and convince even you, sooner than you are aware of, that my intellects have never been disturbed, though the exertion of them may have been suspended by some infernal drug." doubt gathered still thicker on the brow of her guard, as she attempted to convict her of mistake. "have patience!" exclaimed maria, with a solemnity that inspired awe. "my god! how have i been schooled into the practice!" a suffocation of voice betrayed the agonizing emotions she was labouring to keep down; and conquering a qualm of disgust, she calmly endeavoured to eat enough to prove her docility, perpetually turning to the suspicious female, whose observation she courted, while she was making the bed and adjusting the room. "come to me often," said maria, with a tone of persuasion, in consequence of a vague plan that she had hastily adopted, when, after surveying this woman's form and features, she felt convinced that she had an understanding above the common standard; "and believe me mad, till you are obliged to acknowledge the contrary." the woman was no fool, that is, she was superior to her class; nor had misery quite petrified the life's-blood of humanity, to which reflections on our own misfortunes only give a more orderly course. the manner, rather than the expostulations, of maria made a slight suspicion dart into her mind with corresponding sympathy, which various other avocations, and the habit of banishing compunction, prevented her, for the present, from examining more minutely. but when she was told that no person, excepting the physician appointed by her family, was to be permitted to see the lady at the end of the gallery, she opened her keen eyes still wider, and uttered a--"hem!" before she enquired--"why?" she was briefly told, in reply, that the malady was hereditary, and the fits not occurring but at very long and irregular intervals, she must be carefully watched; for the length of these lucid periods only rendered her more mischievous, when any vexation or caprice brought on the paroxysm of phrensy. had her master trusted her, it is probable that neither pity nor curiosity would have made her swerve from the straight line of her interest; for she had suffered too much in her intercourse with mankind, not to determine to look for support, rather to humouring their passions, than courting their approbation by the integrity of her conduct. a deadly blight had met her at the very threshold of existence; and the wretchedness of her mother seemed a heavy weight fastened on her innocent neck, to drag her down to perdition. she could not heroically determine to succour an unfortunate; but, offended at the bare supposition that she could be deceived with the same ease as a common servant, she no longer curbed her curiosity; and, though she never seriously fathomed her own intentions, she would sit, every moment she could steal from observation, listening to the tale, which maria was eager to relate with all the persuasive eloquence of grief. it is so cheering to see a human face, even if little of the divinity of virtue beam in it, that maria anxiously expected the return of the attendant, as of a gleam of light to break the gloom of idleness. indulged sorrow; she perceived, must blunt or sharpen the faculties to the two opposite extremes; producing stupidity, the moping melancholy of indolence; or the restless activity of a disturbed imagination. she sunk into one state, after being fatigued by the other: till the want of occupation became even more painful than the actual pressure or apprehension of sorrow; and the confinement that froze her into a nook of existence, with an unvaried prospect before her, the most insupportable of evils. the lamp of life seemed to be spending itself to chase the vapours of a dungeon which no art could dissipate.--and to what purpose did she rally all her energy?--was not the world a vast prison, and women born slaves? though she failed immediately to rouse a lively sense of injustice in the mind of her guard, because it had been sophisticated into misanthropy, she touched her heart. jemima (she had only a claim to a christian name, which had not procured her any christian privileges) could patiently hear of maria's confinement on false pretences; she had felt the crushing hand of power, hardened by the exercise of injustice, and ceased to wonder at the perversions of the understanding, which systematize oppression; but, when told that her child, only four months old, had been torn from her, even while she was discharging the tenderest maternal office, the woman awoke in a bosom long estranged from feminine emotions, and jemima determined to alleviate all in her power, without hazarding the loss of her place, the sufferings of a wretched mother, apparently injured, and certainly unhappy. a sense of right seems to result from the simplest act of reason, and to preside over the faculties of the mind, like the master-sense of feeling, to rectify the rest; but (for the comparison may be carried still farther) how often is the exquisite sensibility of both weakened or destroyed by the vulgar occupations, and ignoble pleasures of life? the preserving her situation was, indeed, an important object to jemima, who had been hunted from hole to hole, as if she had been a beast of prey, or infected with a moral plague. the wages she received, the greater part of which she hoarded, as her only chance for independence, were much more considerable than she could reckon on obtaining any where else, were it possible that she, an outcast from society, could be permitted to earn a subsistence in a reputable family. hearing maria perpetually complain of listlessness, and the not being able to beguile grief by resuming her customary pursuits, she was easily prevailed on, by compassion, and that involuntary respect for abilities, which those who possess them can never eradicate, to bring her some books and implements for writing. maria's conversation had amused and interested her, and the natural consequence was a desire, scarcely observed by herself, of obtaining the esteem of a person she admired. the remembrance of better days was rendered more lively; and the sentiments then acquired appearing less romantic than they had for a long period, a spark of hope roused her mind to new activity. how grateful was her attention to maria! oppressed by a dead weight of existence, or preyed on by the gnawing worm of discontent, with what eagerness did she endeavour to shorten the long days, which left no traces behind! she seemed to be sailing on the vast ocean of life, without seeing any land-mark to indicate the progress of time; to find employment was then to find variety, the animating principle of nature. chap. ii. earnestly as maria endeavoured to soothe, by reading, the anguish of her wounded mind, her thoughts would often wander from the subject she was led to discuss, and tears of maternal tenderness obscured the reasoning page. she descanted on "the ills which flesh is heir to," with bitterness, when the recollection of her babe was revived by a tale of fictitious woe, that bore any resemblance to her own; and her imagination was continually employed, to conjure up and embody the various phantoms of misery, which folly and vice had let loose on the world. the loss of her babe was the tender string; against other cruel remembrances she laboured to steel her bosom; and even a ray of hope, in the midst of her gloomy reveries, would sometimes gleam on the dark horizon of futurity, while persuading herself that she ought to cease to hope, since happiness was no where to be found.--but of her child, debilitated by the grief with which its mother had been assailed before it saw the light, she could not think without an impatient struggle. "i, alone, by my active tenderness, could have saved," she would exclaim, "from an early blight, this sweet blossom; and, cherishing it, i should have had something still to love." in proportion as other expectations were torn from her, this tender one had been fondly clung to, and knit into her heart. the books she had obtained, were soon devoured, by one who had no other resource to escape from sorrow, and the feverish dreams of ideal wretchedness or felicity, which equally weaken the intoxicated sensibility. writing was then the only alternative, and she wrote some rhapsodies descriptive of the state of her mind; but the events of her past life pressing on her, she resolved circumstantially to relate them, with the sentiments that experience, and more matured reason, would naturally suggest. they might perhaps instruct her daughter, and shield her from the misery, the tyranny, her mother knew not how to avoid. this thought gave life to her diction, her soul flowed into it, and she soon found the task of recollecting almost obliterated impressions very interesting. she lived again in the revived emotions of youth, and forgot her present in the retrospect of sorrows that had assumed an unalterable character. though this employment lightened the weight of time, yet, never losing sight of her main object, maria did not allow any opportunity to slip of winning on the affections of jemima; for she discovered in her a strength of mind, that excited her esteem, clouded as it was by the misanthropy of despair. an insulated being, from the misfortune of her birth, she despised and preyed on the society by which she had been oppressed, and loved not her fellow-creatures, because she had never been beloved. no mother had ever fondled her, no father or brother had protected her from outrage; and the man who had plunged her into infamy, and deserted her when she stood in greatest need of support, deigned not to smooth with kindness the road to ruin. thus degraded, was she let loose on the world; and virtue, never nurtured by affection, assumed the stern aspect of selfish independence. this general view of her life, maria gathered from her exclamations and dry remarks. jemima indeed displayed a strange mixture of interest and suspicion; for she would listen to her with earnestness, and then suddenly interrupt the conversation, as if afraid of resigning, by giving way to her sympathy, her dear-bought knowledge of the world. maria alluded to the possibility of an escape, and mentioned a compensation, or reward; but the style in which she was repulsed made her cautious, and determine not to renew the subject, till she knew more of the character she had to work on. jemima's countenance, and dark hints, seemed to say, "you are an extraordinary woman; but let me consider, this may only be one of your lucid intervals." nay, the very energy of maria's character, made her suspect that the extraordinary animation she perceived might be the effect of madness. "should her husband then substantiate his charge, and get possession of her estate, from whence would come the promised annuity, or more desired protection? besides, might not a woman, anxious to escape, conceal some of the circumstances which made against her? was truth to be expected from one who had been entrapped, kidnapped, in the most fraudulent manner?" in this train jemima continued to argue, the moment after compassion and respect seemed to make her swerve; and she still resolved not to be wrought on to do more than soften the rigour of confinement, till she could advance on surer ground. maria was not permitted to walk in the garden; but sometimes, from her window, she turned her eyes from the gloomy walls, in which she pined life away, on the poor wretches who strayed along the walks, and contemplated the most terrific of ruins--that of a human soul. what is the view of the fallen column, the mouldering arch, of the most exquisite workmanship, when compared with this living memento of the fragility, the instability, of reason, and the wild luxuriancy of noxious passions? enthusiasm turned adrift, like some rich stream overflowing its banks, rushes forward with destructive velocity, inspiring a sublime concentration of thought. thus thought maria--these are the ravages over which humanity must ever mournfully ponder, with a degree of anguish not excited by crumbling marble, or cankering brass, unfaithful to the trust of monumental fame. it is not over the decaying productions of the mind, embodied with the happiest art, we grieve most bitterly. the view of what has been done by man, produces a melancholy, yet aggrandizing, sense of what remains to be achieved by human intellect; but a mental convulsion, which, like the devastation of an earthquake, throws all the elements of thought and imagination into confusion, makes contemplation giddy, and we fearfully ask on what ground we ourselves stand. melancholy and imbecility marked the features of the wretches allowed to breathe at large; for the frantic, those who in a strong imagination had lost a sense of woe, were closely confined. the playful tricks and mischievous devices of their disturbed fancy, that suddenly broke out, could not be guarded against, when they were permitted to enjoy any portion of freedom; for, so active was their imagination, that every new object which accidentally struck their senses, awoke to phrenzy their restless passions; as maria learned from the burden of their incessant ravings. sometimes, with a strict injunction of silence, jemima would allow maria, at the close of evening, to stray along the narrow avenues that separated the dungeon-like apartments, leaning on her arm. what a change of scene! maria wished to pass the threshold of her prison, yet, when by chance she met the eye of rage glaring on her, yet unfaithful to its office, she shrunk back with more horror and affright, than if she had stumbled over a mangled corpse. her busy fancy pictured the misery of a fond heart, watching over a friend thus estranged, absent, though present--over a poor wretch lost to reason and the social joys of existence; and losing all consciousness of misery in its excess. what a task, to watch the light of reason quivering in the eye, or with agonizing expectation to catch the beam of recollection; tantalized by hope, only to feel despair more keenly, at finding a much loved face or voice, suddenly remembered, or pathetically implored, only to be immediately forgotten, or viewed with indifference or abhorrence! the heart-rending sigh of melancholy sunk into her soul; and when she retired to rest, the petrified figures she had encountered, the only human forms she was doomed to observe, haunting her dreams with tales of mysterious wrongs, made her wish to sleep to dream no more. day after day rolled away, and tedious as the present moment appeared, they passed in such an unvaried tenor, maria was surprised to find that she had already been six weeks buried alive, and yet had such faint hopes of effecting her enlargement. she was, earnestly as she had sought for employment, now angry with herself for having been amused by writing her narrative; and grieved to think that she had for an instant thought of any thing, but contriving to escape. jemima had evidently pleasure in her society: still, though she often left her with a glow of kindness, she returned with the same chilling air; and, when her heart appeared for a moment to open, some suggestion of reason forcibly closed it, before she could give utterance to the confidence maria's conversation inspired. discouraged by these changes, maria relapsed into despondency, when she was cheered by the alacrity with which jemima brought her a fresh parcel of books; assuring her, that she had taken some pains to obtain them from one of the keepers, who attended a gentleman confined in the opposite corner of the gallery. maria took up the books with emotion. "they come," said she, "perhaps, from a wretch condemned, like me, to reason on the nature of madness, by having wrecked minds continually under his eye; and almost to wish himself--as i do--mad, to escape from the contemplation of it." her heart throbbed with sympathetic alarm; and she turned over the leaves with awe, as if they had become sacred from passing through the hands of an unfortunate being, oppressed by a similar fate. dryden's fables, milton's paradise lost, with several modern productions, composed the collection. it was a mine of treasure. some marginal notes, in dryden's fables, caught her attention: they were written with force and taste; and, in one of the modern pamphlets, there was a fragment left, containing various observations on the present state of society and government, with a comparative view of the politics of europe and america. these remarks were written with a degree of generous warmth, when alluding to the enslaved state of the labouring majority, perfectly in unison with maria's mode of thinking. she read them over and over again; and fancy, treacherous fancy, began to sketch a character, congenial with her own, from these shadowy outlines.--"was he mad?" she re-perused the marginal notes, and they seemed the production of an animated, but not of a disturbed imagination. confined to this speculation, every time she re-read them, some fresh refinement of sentiment, or acuteness of thought impressed her, which she was astonished at herself for not having before observed. what a creative power has an affectionate heart! there are beings who cannot live without loving, as poets love; and who feel the electric spark of genius, wherever it awakens sentiment or grace. maria had often thought, when disciplining her wayward heart, "that to charm, was to be virtuous." "they who make me wish to appear the most amiable and good in their eyes, must possess in a degree," she would exclaim, "the graces and virtues they call into action." she took up a book on the powers of the human mind; but, her attention strayed from cold arguments on the nature of what she felt, while she was feeling, and she snapt the chain of the theory to read dryden's guiscard and sigismunda. maria, in the course of the ensuing day, returned some of the books, with the hope of getting others--and more marginal notes. thus shut out from human intercourse, and compelled to view nothing but the prison of vexed spirits, to meet a wretch in the same situation, was more surely to find a friend, than to imagine a countryman one, in a strange land, where the human voice conveys no information to the eager ear. "did you ever see the unfortunate being to whom these books belong?" asked maria, when jemima brought her supper. "yes. he sometimes walks out, between five and six, before the family is stirring, in the morning, with two keepers; but even then his hands are confined." "what! is he so unruly?" enquired maria, with an accent of disappointment. "no, not that i perceive," replied jemima; "but he has an untamed look, a vehemence of eye, that excites apprehension. were his hands free, he looks as if he could soon manage both his guards: yet he appears tranquil." "if he be so strong, he must be young," observed maria. "three or four and thirty, i suppose; but there is no judging of a person in his situation." "are you sure that he is mad?" interrupted maria with eagerness. jemima quitted the room, without replying. "no, no, he certainly is not!" exclaimed maria, answering herself; "the man who could write those observations was not disordered in his intellects." she sat musing, gazing at the moon, and watching its motion as it seemed to glide under the clouds. then, preparing for bed, she thought, "of what use could i be to him, or he to me, if it be true that he is unjustly confined?--could he aid me to escape, who is himself more closely watched?--still i should like to see him." she went to bed, dreamed of her child, yet woke exactly at half after five o'clock, and starting up, only wrapped a gown around her, and ran to the window. the morning was chill, it was the latter end of september; yet she did not retire to warm herself and think in bed, till the sound of the servants, moving about the house, convinced her that the unknown would not walk in the garden that morning. she was ashamed at feeling disappointed; and began to reflect, as an excuse to herself, on the little objects which attract attention when there is nothing to divert the mind; and how difficult it was for women to avoid growing romantic, who have no active duties or pursuits. at breakfast, jemima enquired whether she understood french? for, unless she did, the stranger's stock of books was exhausted. maria replied in the affirmative; but forbore to ask any more questions respecting the person to whom they belonged. and jemima gave her a new subject for contemplation, by describing the person of a lovely maniac, just brought into an adjoining chamber. she was singing the pathetic ballad of old rob with the most heart-melting falls and pauses. jemima had half-opened the door, when she distinguished her voice, and maria stood close to it, scarcely daring to respire, lest a modulation should escape her, so exquisitely sweet, so passionately wild. she began with sympathy to pourtray to herself another victim, when the lovely warbler flew, as it were, from the spray, and a torrent of unconnected exclamations and questions burst from her, interrupted by fits of laughter, so horrid, that maria shut the door, and, turning her eyes up to heaven, exclaimed--"gracious god!" several minutes elapsed before maria could enquire respecting the rumour of the house (for this poor wretch was obviously not confined without a cause); and then jemima could only tell her, that it was said, "she had been married, against her inclination, to a rich old man, extremely jealous (no wonder, for she was a charming creature); and that, in consequence of his treatment, or something which hung on her mind, she had, during her first lying-in, lost her senses." what a subject of meditation--even to the very confines of madness. "woman, fragile flower! why were you suffered to adorn a world exposed to the inroad of such stormy elements?" thought maria, while the poor maniac's strain was still breathing on her ear, and sinking into her very soul. towards the evening, jemima brought her rousseau's _heloã¯se_; and she sat reading with eyes and heart, till the return of her guard to extinguish the light. one instance of her kindness was, the permitting maria to have one, till her own hour of retiring to rest. she had read this work long since; but now it seemed to open a new world to her--the only one worth inhabiting. sleep was not to be wooed; yet, far from being fatigued by the restless rotation of thought, she rose and opened her window, just as the thin watery clouds of twilight made the long silent shadows visible. the air swept across her face with a voluptuous freshness that thrilled to her heart, awakening indefinable emotions; and the sound of a waving branch, or the twittering of a startled bird, alone broke the stillness of reposing nature. absorbed by the sublime sensibility which renders the consciousness of existence felicity, maria was happy, till an autumnal scent, wafted by the breeze of morn from the fallen leaves of the adjacent wood, made her recollect that the season had changed since her confinement; yet life afforded no variety to solace an afflicted heart. she returned dispirited to her couch, and thought of her child till the broad glare of day again invited her to the window. she looked not for the unknown, still how great was her vexation at perceiving the back of a man, certainly he, with his two attendants, as he turned into a side-path which led to the house! a confused recollection of having seen somebody who resembled him, immediately occurred, to puzzle and torment her with endless conjectures. five minutes sooner, and she should have seen his face, and been out of suspense--was ever any thing so unlucky! his steady, bold step, and the whole air of his person, bursting as it were from a cloud, pleased her, and gave an outline to the imagination to sketch the individual form she wished to recognize. feeling the disappointment more severely than she was willing to believe, she flew to rousseau, as her only refuge from the idea of him, who might prove a friend, could she but find a way to interest him in her fate; still the personification of saint preux, or of an ideal lover far superior, was after this imperfect model, of which merely a glance had been caught, even to the minuti㦠of the coat and hat of the stranger. but if she lent st. preux, or the demi-god of her fancy, his form, she richly repaid him by the donation of all st. preux's sentiments and feelings, culled to gratify her own, to which he seemed to have an undoubted right, when she read on the margin of an impassioned letter, written in the well-known hand--"rousseau alone, the true prometheus of sentiment, possessed the fire of genius necessary to pourtray the passion, the truth of which goes so directly to the heart." maria was again true to the hour, yet had finished rousseau, and begun to transcribe some selected passages; unable to quit either the author or the window, before she had a glimpse of the countenance she daily longed to see; and, when seen, it conveyed no distinct idea to her mind where she had seen it before. he must have been a transient acquaintance; but to discover an acquaintance was fortunate, could she contrive to attract his attention, and excite his sympathy. every glance afforded colouring for the picture she was delineating on her heart; and once, when the window was half open, the sound of his voice reached her. conviction flashed on her; she had certainly, in a moment of distress, heard the same accents. they were manly, and characteristic of a noble mind; nay, even sweet--or sweet they seemed to her attentive ear. she started back, trembling, alarmed at the emotion a strange coincidence of circumstances inspired, and wondering why she thought so much of a stranger, obliged as she had been by his timely interference; [for she recollected, by degrees, all the circumstances of their former meeting.] she found however that she could think of nothing else; or, if she thought of her daughter, it was to wish that she had a father whom her mother could respect and love. chap. iii. when perusing the first parcel of books, maria had, with her pencil, written in one of them a few exclamations, expressive of compassion and sympathy, which she scarcely remembered, till turning over the leaves of one of the volumes, lately brought to her, a slip of paper dropped out, which jemima hastily snatched up. "let me see it," demanded maria impatiently, "you surely are not afraid of trusting me with the effusions of a madman?" "i must consider," replied jemima; and withdrew, with the paper in her hand. in a life of such seclusion, the passions gain undue force; maria therefore felt a great degree of resentment and vexation, which she had not time to subdue, before jemima, returning, delivered the paper. "whoever you are, who partake of my fate, accept my sincere commiseration--i would have said protection; but the privilege of man is denied me. "my own situation forces a dreadful suspicion on my mind--i may not always languish in vain for freedom--say are you--i cannot ask the question; yet i will remember you when my remembrance can be of any use. i will enquire, _why_ you are so mysteriously detained--and i _will_ have an answer. "henry darnford." by the most pressing intreaties, maria prevailed on jemima to permit her to write a reply to this note. another and another succeeded, in which explanations were not allowed relative to their present situation; but maria, with sufficient explicitness, alluded to a former obligation; and they insensibly entered on an interchange of sentiments on the most important subjects. to write these letters was the business of the day, and to receive them the moment of sunshine. by some means, darnford having discovered maria's window, when she next appeared at it, he made her, behind his keepers, a profound bow of respect and recognition. two or three weeks glided away in this kind of intercourse, during which period jemima, to whom maria had given the necessary information respecting her family, had evidently gained some intelligence, which increased her desire of pleasing her charge, though she could not yet determine to liberate her. maria took advantage of this favourable charge, without too minutely enquiring into the cause; and such was her eagerness to hold human converse, and to see her former protector, still a stranger to her, that she incessantly requested her guard to gratify her more than curiosity. writing to darnford, she was led from the sad objects before her, and frequently rendered insensible to the horrid noises around her, which previously had continually employed her feverish fancy. thinking it selfish to dwell on her own sufferings, when in the midst of wretches, who had not only lost all that endears life, but their very selves, her imagination was occupied with melancholy earnestness to trace the mazes of misery, through which so many wretches must have passed to this gloomy receptacle of disjointed souls, to the grand source of human corruption. often at midnight was she waked by the dismal shrieks of demoniac rage, or of excruciating despair, uttered in such wild tones of indescribable anguish as proved the total absence of reason, and roused phantoms of horror in her mind, far more terrific than all that dreaming superstition ever drew. besides, there was frequently something so inconceivably picturesque in the varying gestures of unrestrained passion, so irresistibly comic in their sallies, or so heart-piercingly pathetic in the little airs they would sing, frequently bursting out after an awful silence, as to fascinate the attention, and amuse the fancy, while torturing the soul. it was the uproar of the passions which she was compelled to observe; and to mark the lucid beam of reason, like a light trembling in a socket, or like the flash which divides the threatening clouds of angry heaven only to display the horrors which darkness shrouded. jemima would labour to beguile the tedious evenings, by describing the persons and manners of the unfortunate beings, whose figures or voices awoke sympathetic sorrow in maria's bosom; and the stories she told were the more interesting, for perpetually leaving room to conjecture something extraordinary. still maria, accustomed to generalize her observations, was led to conclude from all she heard, that it was a vulgar error to suppose that people of abilities were the most apt to lose the command of reason. on the contrary, from most of the instances she could investigate, she thought it resulted, that the passions only appeared strong and disproportioned, because the judgment was weak and unexercised; and that they gained strength by the decay of reason, as the shadows lengthen during the sun's decline. maria impatiently wished to see her fellow-sufferer; but darnford was still more earnest to obtain an interview. accustomed to submit to every impulse of passion, and never taught, like women, to restrain the most natural, and acquire, instead of the bewitching frankness of nature, a factitious propriety of behaviour, every desire became a torrent that bore down all opposition. his travelling trunk, which contained the books lent to maria, had been sent to him, and with a part of its contents he bribed his principal keeper; who, after receiving the most solemn promise that he would return to his apartment without attempting to explore any part of the house, conducted him, in the dusk of the evening, to maria's room. jemima had apprized her charge of the visit, and she expected with trembling impatience, inspired by a vague hope that he might again prove her deliverer, to see a man who had before rescued her from oppression. he entered with an animation of countenance, formed to captivate an enthusiast; and, hastily turned his eyes from her to the apartment, which he surveyed with apparent emotions of compassionate indignation. sympathy illuminated his eye, and, taking her hand, he respectfully bowed on it, exclaiming--"this is extraordinary!--again to meet you, and in such circumstances!" still, impressive as was the coincidence of events which brought them once more together, their full hearts did not overflow.--[54-a] * * * * * [and though, after this first visit, they were permitted frequently to repeat their interviews, they were for some time employed in] a reserved conversation, to which all the world might have listened; excepting, when discussing some literary subject, flashes of sentiment, inforced by each relaxing feature, seemed to remind them that their minds were already acquainted. [by degrees, darnford entered into the particulars of his story.] in a few words, he informed her that he had been a thoughtless, extravagant young man; yet, as he described his faults, they appeared to be the generous luxuriancy of a noble mind. nothing like meanness tarnished the lustre of his youth, nor had the worm of selfishness lurked in the unfolding bud, even while he had been the dupe of others. yet he tardily acquired the experience necessary to guard him against future imposition. "i shall weary you," continued he, "by my egotism; and did not powerful emotions draw me to you,"--his eyes glistened as he spoke, and a trembling seemed to run through his manly frame,--"i would not waste these precious moments in talking of myself. "my father and mother were people of fashion; married by their parents. he was fond of the turf, she of the card-table. i, and two or three other children since dead, were kept at home till we became intolerable. my father and mother had a visible dislike to each other, continually displayed; the servants were of the depraved kind usually found in the houses of people of fortune. my brothers and parents all dying, i was left to the care of guardians, and sent to eton. i never knew the sweets of domestic affection, but i felt the want of indulgence and frivolous respect at school. i will not disgust you with a recital of the vices of my youth, which can scarcely be comprehended by female delicacy. i was taught to love by a creature i am ashamed to mention; and the other women with whom i afterwards became intimate, were of a class of which you can have no knowledge. i formed my acquaintance with them at the theatres; and, when vivacity danced in their eyes, i was not easily disgusted by the vulgarity which flowed from their lips. having spent, a few years after i was of age, [the whole of] a considerable patrimony, excepting a few hundreds, i had no recourse but to purchase a commission in a new-raised regiment, destined to subjugate america. the regret i felt to renounce a life of pleasure, was counter-balanced by the curiosity i had to see america, or rather to travel; [nor had any of those circumstances occurred to my youth, which might have been calculated] to bind my country to my heart. i shall not trouble you with the details of a military life. my blood was still kept in motion; till, towards the close of the contest, i was wounded and taken prisoner. "confined to my bed, or chair, by a lingering cure, my only refuge from the preying activity of my mind, was books, which i read with great avidity, profiting by the conversation of my host, a man of sound understanding. my political sentiments now underwent a total change; and, dazzled by the hospitality of the americans, i determined to take up my abode with freedom. i, therefore, with my usual impetuosity, sold my commission, and travelled into the interior parts of the country, to lay out my money to advantage. added to this, i did not much like the puritanical manners of the large towns. inequality of condition was there most disgustingly galling. the only pleasure wealth afforded, was to make an ostentatious display of it; for the cultivation of the fine arts, or literature, had not introduced into the first circles that polish of manners which renders the rich so essentially superior to the poor in europe. added to this, an influx of vices had been let in by the revolution, and the most rigid principles of religion shaken to the centre, before the understanding could be gradually emancipated from the prejudices which led their ancestors undauntedly to seek an inhospitable clime and unbroken soil. the resolution, that led them, in pursuit of independence, to embark on rivers like seas, to search for unknown shores, and to sleep under the hovering mists of endless forests, whose baleful damps agued their limbs, was now turned into commercial speculations, till the national character exhibited a phenomenon in the history of the human mind--a head enthusiastically enterprising, with cold selfishness of heart. and woman, lovely woman!--they charm every where--still there is a degree of prudery, and a want of taste and ease in the manners of the american women, that renders them, in spite of their roses and lilies, far inferior to our european charmers. in the country, they have often a bewitching simplicity of character; but, in the cities, they have all the airs and ignorance of the ladies who give the tone to the circles of the large trading towns in england. they are fond of their ornaments, merely because they are good, and not because they embellish their persons; and are more gratified to inspire the women with jealousy of these exterior advantages, than the men with love. all the frivolity which often (excuse me, madam) renders the society of modest women so stupid in england, here seemed to throw still more leaden fetters on their charms. not being an adept in gallantry, i found that i could only keep myself awake in their company by making downright love to them. "but, not to intrude on your patience, i retired to the track of land which i had purchased in the country, and my time passed pleasantly enough while i cut down the trees, built my house, and planted my different crops. but winter and idleness came, and i longed for more elegant society, to hear what was passing in the world, and to do something better than vegetate with the animals that made a very considerable part of my household. consequently, i determined to travel. motion was a substitute for variety of objects; and, passing over immense tracks of country, i exhausted my exuberant spirits, without obtaining much experience. i every where saw industry the fore-runner and not the consequence, of luxury; but this country, every thing being on an ample scale, did not afford those picturesque views, which a certain degree of cultivation is necessary gradually to produce. the eye wandered without an object to fix upon over immeasureable plains, and lakes that seemed replenished by the ocean, whilst eternal forests of small clustering trees, obstructed the circulation of air, and embarrassed the path, without gratifying the eye of taste. no cottage smiling in the waste, no travellers hailed us, to give life to silent nature; or, if perchance we saw the print of a footstep in our path, it was a dreadful warning to turn aside; and the head ached as if assailed by the scalping knife. the indians who hovered on the skirts of the european settlements had only learned of their neighbours to plunder, and they stole their guns from them to do it with more safety. "from the woods and back settlements, i returned to the towns, and learned to eat and drink most valiantly; but without entering into commerce (and i detested commerce) i found i could not live there; and, growing heartily weary of the land of liberty and vulgar aristocracy, seated on her bags of dollars, i resolved once more to visit europe. i wrote to a distant relation in england, with whom i had been educated, mentioning the vessel in which i intended to sail. arriving in london, my senses were intoxicated. i ran from street to street, from theatre to theatre, and the women of the town (again i must beg pardon for my habitual frankness) appeared to me like angels. "a week was spent in this thoughtless manner, when, returning very late to the hotel in which i had lodged ever since my arrival, i was knocked down in a private street, and hurried, in a state of insensibility, into a coach, which brought me hither, and i only recovered my senses to be treated like one who had lost them. my keepers are deaf to my remonstrances and enquiries, yet assure me that my confinement shall not last long. still i cannot guess, though i weary myself with conjectures, why i am confined, or in what part of england this house is situated. i imagine sometimes that i hear the sea roar, and wished myself again on the atlantic, till i had a glimpse of you[65-a]." a few moments were only allowed to maria to comment on this narrative, when darnford left her to her own thoughts, to the "never ending, still beginning," task of weighing his words, recollecting his tones of voice, and feeling them reverberate on her heart. footnotes: [54-a] the copy which had received the author's last corrections, breaks off in this place, and the pages which follow, to the end of chap. iv, are printed from a copy in a less finished state. [65-a] the introduction of darnford as the deliverer of maria in a former instance, appears to have been an after-thought of the author. this has occasioned the omission of any allusion to that circumstance in the preceding narration. editor. chap. iv. pity, and the forlorn seriousness of adversity, have both been considered as dispositions favourable to love, while satirical writers have attributed the propensity to the relaxing effect of idleness, what chance then had maria of escaping, when pity, sorrow, and solitude all conspired to soften her mind, and nourish romantic wishes, and, from a natural progress, romantic expectations? maria was six-and-twenty. but, such was the native soundness of her constitution, that time had only given to her countenance the character of her mind. revolving thought, and exercised affections had banished some of the playful graces of innocence, producing insensibly that irregularity of features which the struggles of the understanding to trace or govern the strong emotions of the heart, are wont to imprint on the yielding mass. grief and care had mellowed, without obscuring, the bright tints of youth, and the thoughtfulness which resided on her brow did not take from the feminine softness of her features; nay, such was the sensibility which often mantled over it, that she frequently appeared, like a large proportion of her sex, only born to feel; and the activity of her well-proportioned, and even almost voluptuous figure, inspired the idea of strength of mind, rather than of body. there was a simplicity sometimes indeed in her manner, which bordered on infantine ingenuousness, that led people of common discernment to underrate her talents, and smile at the flights of her imagination. but those who could not comprehend the delicacy of her sentiments, were attached by her unfailing sympathy, so that she was very generally beloved by characters of very different descriptions; still, she was too much under the influence of an ardent imagination to adhere to common rules. there are mistakes of conduct which at five-and-twenty prove the strength of the mind, that, ten or fifteen years after, would demonstrate its weakness, its incapacity to acquire a sane judgment. the youths who are satisfied with the ordinary pleasures of life, and do not sigh after ideal phantoms of love and friendship, will never arrive at great maturity of understanding; but if these reveries are cherished, as is too frequently the case with women, when experience ought to have taught them in what human happiness consists, they become as useless as they are wretched. besides, their pains and pleasures are so dependent on outward circumstances, on the objects of their affections, that they seldom act from the impulse of a nerved mind, able to choose its own pursuit. having had to struggle incessantly with the vices of mankind, maria's imagination found repose in pourtraying the possible virtues the world might contain. pygmalion formed an ivory maid, and longed for an informing soul. she, on the contrary, combined all the qualities of a hero's mind, and fate presented a statue in which she might enshrine them. we mean not to trace the progress of this passion, or recount how often darnford and maria were obliged to part in the midst of an interesting conversation. jemima ever watched on the tip-toe of fear, and frequently separated them on a false alarm, when they would have given worlds to remain a little longer together. a magic lamp now seemed to be suspended in maria's prison, and fairy landscapes flitted round the gloomy walls, late so blank. rushing from the depth of despair, on the seraph wing of hope, she found herself happy.--she was beloved, and every emotion was rapturous. to darnford she had not shown a decided affection; the fear of outrunning his, a sure proof of love, made her often assume a coldness and indifference foreign from her character; and, even when giving way to the playful emotions of a heart just loosened from the frozen bond of grief, there was a delicacy in her manner of expressing her sensibility, which made him doubt whether it was the effect of love. one evening, when jemima left them, to listen to the sound of a distant footstep, which seemed cautiously to approach, he seized maria's hand--it was not withdrawn. they conversed with earnestness of their situation; and, during the conversation, he once or twice gently drew her towards him. he felt the fragrance of her breath, and longed, yet feared, to touch the lips from which it issued; spirits of purity seemed to guard them, while all the enchanting graces of love sported on her cheeks, and languished in her eyes. jemima entering, he reflected on his diffidence with poignant regret, and, she once more taking alarm, he ventured, as maria stood near his chair, to approach her lips with a declaration of love. she drew back with solemnity, he hung down his head abashed; but lifting his eyes timidly, they met her's; she had determined, during that instant, and suffered their rays to mingle. he took, with more ardour, reassured, a half-consenting, half-reluctant kiss, reluctant only from modesty; and there was a sacredness in her dignified manner of reclining her glowing face on his shoulder, that powerfully impressed him. desire was lost in more ineffable emotions, and to protect her from insult and sorrow--to make her happy, seemed not only the first wish of his heart, but the most noble duty of his life. such angelic confidence demanded the fidelity of honour; but could he, feeling her in every pulsation, could he ever change, could he be a villain? the emotion with which she, for a moment, allowed herself to be pressed to his bosom, the tear of rapturous sympathy, mingled with a soft melancholy sentiment of recollected disappointment, said--more of truth and faithfulness, than the tongue could have given utterance to in hours! they were silent--yet discoursed, how eloquently? till, after a moment's reflection, maria drew her chair by the side of his, and, with a composed sweetness of voice, and supernatural benignity of countenance, said, "i must open my whole heart to you; you must be told who i am, why i am here, and why, telling you i am a wife, i blush not to"--the blush spoke the rest. jemima was again at her elbow, and the restraint of her presence did not prevent an animated conversation, in which love, sly urchin, was ever at bo-peep. so much of heaven did they enjoy, that paradise bloomed around them; or they, by a powerful spell, had been transported into armida's garden. love, the grand enchanter, "lapt them in elysium," and every sense was harmonized to joy and social extacy. so animated, indeed, were their accents of tenderness, in discussing what, in other circumstances, would have been common-place subjects, that jemima felt, with surprise, a tear of pleasure trickling down her rugged cheeks. she wiped it away, half ashamed; and when maria kindly enquired the cause, with all the eager solicitude of a happy being wishing to impart to all nature its overflowing felicity, jemima owned that it was the first tear that social enjoyment had ever drawn from her. she seemed indeed to breathe more freely; the cloud of suspicion cleared away from her brow; she felt herself, for once in her life, treated like a fellow-creature. imagination! who can paint thy power; or reflect the evanescent tints of hope fostered by thee? a despondent gloom had long obscured maria's horizon--now the sun broke forth, the rainbow appeared, and every prospect was fair. horror still reigned in the darkened cells, suspicion lurked in the passages, and whispered along the walls. the yells of men possessed, sometimes made them pause, and wonder that they felt so happy, in a tomb of living death. they even chid themselves for such apparent insensibility; still the world contained not three happier beings. and jemima, after again patrolling the passage, was so softened by the air of confidence which breathed around her, that she voluntarily began an account of herself. chap. v. "my father," said jemima, "seduced my mother, a pretty girl, with whom he lived fellow-servant; and she no sooner perceived the natural, the dreaded consequence, than the terrible conviction flashed on her--that she was ruined. honesty, and a regard for her reputation, had been the only principles inculcated by her mother; and they had been so forcibly impressed, that she feared shame, more than the poverty to which it would lead. her incessant importunities to prevail upon my father to screen her from reproach by marrying her, as he had promised in the fervour of seduction, estranged him from her so completely, that her very person became distasteful to him; and he began to hate, as well as despise me, before i was born. "my mother, grieved to the soul by his neglect, and unkind treatment, actually resolved to famish herself; and injured her health by the attempt; though she had not sufficient resolution to adhere to her project, or renounce it entirely. death came not at her call; yet sorrow, and the methods she adopted to conceal her condition, still doing the work of a house-maid, had such an effect on her constitution, that she died in the wretched garret, where her virtuous mistress had forced her to take refuge in the very pangs of labour, though my father, after a slight reproof, was allowed to remain in his place--allowed by the mother of six children, who, scarcely permitting a footstep to be heard, during her month's indulgence, felt no sympathy for the poor wretch, denied every comfort required by her situation. "the day my mother died, the ninth after my birth, i was consigned to the care of the cheapest nurse my father could find; who suckled her own child at the same time, and lodged as many more as she could get, in two cellar-like apartments. "poverty, and the habit of seeing children die off her hands, had so hardened her heart, that the office of a mother did not awaken the tenderness of a woman; nor were the feminine caresses which seem a part of the rearing of a child, ever bestowed on me. the chicken has a wing to shelter under; but i had no bosom to nestle in, no kindred warmth to foster me. left in dirt, to cry with cold and hunger till i was weary, and sleep without ever being prepared by exercise, or lulled by kindness to rest; could i be expected to become any thing but a weak and rickety babe? still, in spite of neglect, i continued to exist, to learn to curse existence," her countenance grew ferocious as she spoke, "and the treatment that rendered me miserable, seemed to sharpen my wits. confined then in a damp hovel, to rock the cradle of the succeeding tribe, i looked like a little old woman, or a hag shrivelling into nothing. the furrows of reflection and care contracted the youthful cheek, and gave a sort of supernatural wildness to the ever watchful eye. during this period, my father had married another fellow-servant, who loved him less, and knew better how to manage his passion, than my mother. she likewise proving with child, they agreed to keep a shop: my step-mother, if, being an illegitimate offspring, i may venture thus to characterize her, having obtained a sum of a rich relation, for that purpose. "soon after her lying-in, she prevailed on my father to take me home, to save the expence of maintaining me, and of hiring a girl to assist her in the care of the child. i was young, it was true, but appeared a knowing little thing, and might be made handy. accordingly i was brought to her house; but not to a home--for a home i never knew. of this child, a daughter, she was extravagantly fond; and it was a part of my employment, to assist to spoil her, by humouring all her whims, and bearing all her caprices. feeling her own consequence, before she could speak, she had learned the art of tormenting me, and if i ever dared to resist, i received blows, laid on with no compunctious hand, or was sent to bed dinnerless, as well as supperless. i said that it was a part of my daily labour to attend this child, with the servility of a slave; still it was but a part. i was sent out in all seasons, and from place to place, to carry burdens far above my strength, without being allowed to draw near the fire, or ever being cheered by encouragement or kindness. no wonder then, treated like a creature of another species, that i began to envy, and at length to hate, the darling of the house. yet, i perfectly remember, that it was the caresses, and kind expressions of my step-mother, which first excited my jealous discontent. once, i cannot forget it, when she was calling in vain her wayward child to kiss her, i ran to her, saying, 'i will kiss you, ma'am!' and how did my heart, which was in my mouth, sink, what was my debasement of soul, when pushed away with--'i do not want you, pert thing!' another day, when a new gown had excited the highest good humour, and she uttered the appropriate _dear_, addressed unexpectedly to me, i thought i could never do enough to please her; i was all alacrity, and rose proportionably in my own estimation. "as her daughter grew up, she was pampered with cakes and fruit, while i was, literally speaking, fed with the refuse of the table, with her leavings. a liquorish tooth is, i believe, common to children, and i used to steal any thing sweet, that i could catch up with a chance of concealment. when detected, she was not content to chastize me herself at the moment, but, on my father's return in the evening (he was a shopman), the principal discourse was to recount my faults, and attribute them to the wicked disposition which i had brought into the world with me, inherited from my mother. he did not fail to leave the marks of his resentment on my body, and then solaced himself by playing with my sister.--i could have murdered her at those moments. to save myself from these unmerciful corrections, i resorted to falshood, and the untruths which i sturdily maintained, were brought in judgment against me, to support my tyrant's inhuman charge of my natural propensity to vice. seeing me treated with contempt, and always being fed and dressed better, my sister conceived a contemptuous opinion of me, that proved an obstacle to all affection; and my father, hearing continually of my faults, began to consider me as a curse entailed on him for his sins: he was therefore easily prevailed on to bind me apprentice to one of my step-mother's friends, who kept a slop-shop in wapping. i was represented (as it was said) in my true colours; but she, 'warranted,' snapping her fingers, 'that she should break my spirit or heart.' "my mother replied, with a whine, 'that if any body could make me better, it was such a clever woman as herself; though, for her own part, she had tried in vain; but good-nature was her fault.' "i shudder with horror, when i recollect the treatment i had now to endure. not only under the lash of my task-mistress, but the drudge of the maid, apprentices and children, i never had a taste of human kindness to soften the rigour of perpetual labour. i had been introduced as an object of abhorrence into the family; as a creature of whom my step-mother, though she had been kind enough to let me live in the house with her own child, could make nothing. i was described as a wretch, whose nose must be kept to the grinding stone--and it was held there with an iron grasp. it seemed indeed the privilege of their superior nature to kick me about, like the dog or cat. if i were attentive, i was called fawning, if refractory, an obstinate mule, and like a mule i received their censure on my loaded back. often has my mistress, for some instance of forgetfulness, thrown me from one side of the kitchen to the other, knocked my head against the wall, spit in my face, with various refinements on barbarity that i forbear to enumerate, though they were all acted over again by the servant, with additional insults, to which the appellation of _bastard_, was commonly added, with taunts or sneers. but i will not attempt to give you an adequate idea of my situation, lest you, who probably have never been drenched with the dregs of human misery, should think i exaggerate. "i stole now, from absolute necessity,--bread; yet whatever else was taken, which i had it not in my power to take, was ascribed to me. i was the filching cat, the ravenous dog, the dumb brute, who must bear all; for if i endeavoured to exculpate myself, i was silenced, without any enquiries being made, with 'hold your tongue, you never tell truth.' even the very air i breathed was tainted with scorn; for i was sent to the neighbouring shops with glutton, liar, or thief, written on my forehead. this was, at first, the most bitter punishment; but sullen pride, or a kind of stupid desperation, made me, at length, almost regardless of the contempt, which had wrung from me so many solitary tears at the only moments when i was allowed to rest. "thus was i the mark of cruelty till my sixteenth year; and then i have only to point out a change of misery; for a period i never knew. allow me first to make one observation. now i look back, i cannot help attributing the greater part of my misery, to the misfortune of having been thrown into the world without the grand support of life--a mother's affection. i had no one to love me; or to make me respected, to enable me to acquire respect. i was an egg dropped on the sand; a pauper by nature, shunted from family to family, who belonged to nobody--and nobody cared for me. i was despised from my birth, and denied the chance of obtaining a footing for myself in society. yes; i had not even the chance of being considered as a fellow-creature--yet all the people with whom i lived, brutalized as they were by the low cunning of trade, and the despicable shifts of poverty, were not without bowels, though they never yearned for me. i was, in fact, born a slave, and chained by infamy to slavery during the whole of existence, without having any companions to alleviate it by sympathy, or teach me how to rise above it by their example. but, to resume the thread of my tale-"at sixteen, i suddenly grew tall, and something like comeliness appeared on a sunday, when i had time to wash my face, and put on clean clothes. my master had once or twice caught hold of me in the passage; but i instinctively avoided his disgusting caresses. one day however, when the family were at a methodist meeting, he contrived to be alone in the house with me, and by blows--yes; blows and menaces, compelled me to submit to his ferocious desire; and, to avoid my mistress's fury, i was obliged in future to comply, and skulk to my loft at his command, in spite of increasing loathing. "the anguish which was now pent up in my bosom, seemed to open a new world to me: i began to extend my thoughts beyond myself, and grieve for human misery, till i discovered, with horror--ah! what horror!--that i was with child. i know not why i felt a mixed sensation of despair and tenderness, excepting that, ever called a bastard, a bastard appeared to me an object of the greatest compassion in creation. "i communicated this dreadful circumstance to my master, who was almost equally alarmed at the intelligence; for he feared his wife, and public censure at the meeting. after some weeks of deliberation had elapsed, i in continual fear that my altered shape would be noticed, my master gave me a medicine in a phial, which he desired me to take, telling me, without any circumlocution, for what purpose it was designed. i burst into tears, i thought it was killing myself--yet was such a self as i worth preserving? he cursed me for a fool, and left me to my own reflections. i could not resolve to take this infernal potion; but i wrapped it up in an old gown, and hid it in a corner of my box. "nobody yet suspected me, because they had been accustomed to view me as a creature of another species. but the threatening storm at last broke over my devoted head--never shall i forget it! one sunday evening when i was left, as usual, to take care of the house, my master came home intoxicated, and i became the prey of his brutal appetite. his extreme intoxication made him forget his customary caution, and my mistress entered and found us in a situation that could not have been more hateful to her than me. her husband was 'pot-valiant,' he feared her not at the moment, nor had he then much reason, for she instantly turned the whole force of her anger another way. she tore off my cap, scratched, kicked, and buffetted me, till she had exhausted her strength, declaring, as she rested her arm, 'that i had wheedled her husband from her.--but, could any thing better be expected from a wretch, whom she had taken into her house out of pure charity?' what a torrent of abuse rushed out? till, almost breathless, she concluded with saying, 'that i was born a strumpet; it ran in my blood, and nothing good could come to those who harboured me.' "my situation was, of course, discovered, and she declared that i should not stay another night under the same roof with an honest family. i was therefore pushed out of doors, and my trumpery thrown after me, when it had been contemptuously examined in the passage, lest i should have stolen any thing. "behold me then in the street, utterly destitute! whither could i creep for shelter? to my father's roof i had no claim, when not pursued by shame--now i shrunk back as from death, from my mother's cruel reproaches, my father's execrations. i could not endure to hear him curse the day i was born, though life had been a curse to me. of death i thought, but with a confused emotion of terror, as i stood leaning my head on a post, and starting at every footstep, lest it should be my mistress coming to tear my heart out. one of the boys of the shop passing by, heard my tale, and immediately repaired to his master, to give him a description of my situation; and he touched the right key--the scandal it would give rise to, if i were left to repeat my tale to every enquirer. this plea came home to his reason, who had been sobered by his wife's rage, the fury of which fell on him when i was out of her reach, and he sent the boy to me with half-a-guinea, desiring him to conduct me to a house, where beggars, and other wretches, the refuse of society, nightly lodged. "this night was spent in a state of stupefaction, or desperation. i detested mankind, and abhorred myself. "in the morning i ventured out, to throw myself in my master's way, at his usual hour of going abroad. i approached him, he 'damned me for a b----, declared i had disturbed the peace of the family, and that he had sworn to his wife, never to take any more notice of me.' he left me; but, instantly returning, he told me that he should speak to his friend, a parish-officer, to get a nurse for the brat i laid to him; and advised me, if i wished to keep out of the house of correction, not to make free with his name. "i hurried back to my hole, and, rage giving place to despair, sought for the potion that was to procure abortion, and swallowed it, with a wish that it might destroy me, at the same time that it stopped the sensations of new-born life, which i felt with indescribable emotion. my head turned round, my heart grew sick, and in the horrors of approaching dissolution, mental anguish was swallowed up. the effect of the medicine was violent, and i was confined to my bed several days; but, youth and a strong constitution prevailing, i once more crawled out, to ask myself the cruel question, 'whither i should go?' i had but two shillings left in my pocket, the rest had been expended, by a poor woman who slept in the same room, to pay for my lodging, and purchase the necessaries of which she partook. "with this wretch i went into the neighbouring streets to beg, and my disconsolate appearance drew a few pence from the idle, enabling me still to command a bed; till, recovering from my illness, and taught to put on my rags to the best advantage, i was accosted from different motives, and yielded to the desire of the brutes i met, with the same detestation that i had felt for my still more brutal master. i have since read in novels of the blandishments of seduction, but i had not even the pleasure of being enticed into vice. "i shall not," interrupted jemima, "lead your imagination into all the scenes of wretchedness and depravity, which i was condemned to view; or mark the different stages of my debasing misery. fate dragged me through the very kennels of society; i was still a slave, a bastard, a common property. become familiar with vice, for i wish to conceal nothing from you, i picked the pockets of the drunkards who abused me; and proved by my conduct, that i deserved the epithets, with which they loaded me at moments when distrust ought to cease. "detesting my nightly occupation, though valuing, if i may so use the word, my independence, which only consisted in choosing the street in which i should wander, or the roof, when i had money, in which i should hide my head, i was some time before i could prevail on myself to accept of a place in a house of ill fame, to which a girl, with whom i had accidentally conversed in the street, had recommended me. i had been hunted almost into a a fever, by the watchmen of the quarter of the town i frequented; one, whom i had unwittingly offended, giving the word to the whole pack. you can scarcely conceive the tyranny exercised by these wretches: considering themselves as the instruments of the very laws they violate, the pretext which steels their conscience, hardens their heart. not content with receiving from us, outlaws of society (let other women talk of favours) a brutal gratification gratuitously as a privilege of office, they extort a tithe of prostitution, and harrass with threats the poor creatures whose occupation affords not the means to silence the growl of avarice. to escape from this persecution, i once more entered into servitude. "a life of comparative regularity restored my health; and--do not start--my manners were improved, in a situation where vice sought to render itself alluring, and taste was cultivated to fashion the person, if not to refine the mind. besides, the common civility of speech, contrasted with the gross vulgarity to which i had been accustomed, was something like the polish of civilization. i was not shut out from all intercourse of humanity. still i was galled by the yoke of service, and my mistress often flying into violent fits of passion, made me dread a sudden dismission, which i understood was always the case. i was therefore prevailed on, though i felt a horror of men, to accept the offer of a gentleman, rather in the decline of years, to keep his house, pleasantly situated in a little village near hampstead. "he was a man of great talents, and of brilliant wit; but, a worn-out votary of voluptuousness, his desires became fastidious in proportion as they grew weak, and the native tenderness of his heart was undermined by a vitiated imagination. a thoughtless career of libertinism and social enjoyment, had injured his health to such a degree, that, whatever pleasure his conversation afforded me (and my esteem was ensured by proofs of the generous humanity of his disposition), the being his mistress was purchasing it at a very dear rate. with such a keen perception of the delicacies of sentiment, with an imagination invigorated by the exercise of genius, how could he sink into the grossness of sensuality! "but, to pass over a subject which i recollect with pain, i must remark to you, as an answer to your often-repeated question, 'why my sentiments and language were superior to my station?' that i now began to read, to beguile the tediousness of solitude, and to gratify an inquisitive, active mind. i had often, in my childhood, followed a ballad-singer, to hear the sequel of a dismal story, though sure of being severely punished for delaying to return with whatever i was sent to purchase. i could just spell and put a sentence together, and i listened to the various arguments, though often mingled with obscenity, which occurred at the table where i was allowed to preside: for a literary friend or two frequently came home with my master, to dine and pass the night. having lost the privileged respect of my sex, my presence, instead of restraining, perhaps gave the reins to their tongues; still i had the advantage of hearing discussions, from which, in the common course of life, women are excluded. "you may easily imagine, that it was only by degrees that i could comprehend some of the subjects they investigated, or acquire from their reasoning what might be termed a moral sense. but my fondness of reading increasing, and my master occasionally shutting himself up in this retreat, for weeks together, to write, i had many opportunities of improvement. at first, considering money i was right!" (exclaimed jemima, altering her tone of voice) "as the only means, after my loss of reputation, of obtaining respect, or even the toleration of humanity, i had not the least scruple to secrete a part of the sums intrusted to me, and to screen myself from detection by a system of falshood. but, acquiring new principles, i began to have the ambition of returning to the respectable part of society, and was weak enough to suppose it possible. the attention of my unassuming instructor, who, without being ignorant of his own powers, possessed great simplicity of manners, strengthened the illusion. having sometimes caught up hints for thought, from my untutored remarks, he often led me to discuss the subjects he was treating, and would read to me his productions, previous to their publication, wishing to profit by the criticism of unsophisticated feeling. the aim of his writings was to touch the simple springs of the heart; for he despised the would-be oracles, the self-elected philosophers, who fright away fancy, while sifting each grain of thought to prove that slowness of comprehension is wisdom. "i should have distinguished this as a moment of sunshine, a happy period in my life, had not the repugnance the disgusting libertinism of my protector inspired, daily become more painful.--and, indeed, i soon did recollect it as such with agony, when his sudden death (for he had recourse to the most exhilarating cordials to keep up the convivial tone of his spirits) again threw me into the desert of human society. had he had any time for reflection, i am certain he would have left the little property in his power to me: but, attacked by the fatal apoplexy in town, his heir, a man of rigid morals, brought his wife with him to take possession of the house and effects, before i was even informed of his death,--'to prevent,' as she took care indirectly to tell me, 'such a creature as she supposed me to be, from purloining any of them, had i been apprized of the event in time.' "the grief i felt at the sudden shock the information gave me, which at first had nothing selfish in it, was treated with contempt, and i was ordered to pack up my clothes; and a few trinkets and books, given me by the generous deceased, were contested, while they piously hoped, with a reprobating shake of the head, 'that god would have mercy on his sinful soul!' with some difficulty, i obtained my arrears of wages; but asking--such is the spirit-grinding consequence of poverty and infamy--for a character for honesty and economy, which god knows i merited, i was told by this--why must i call her woman?--'that it would go against her conscience to recommend a kept mistress.' tears started in my eyes, burning tears; for there are situations in which a wretch is humbled by the contempt they are conscious they do not deserve. "i returned to the metropolis; but the solitude of a poor lodging was inconceivably dreary, after the society i had enjoyed. to be cut off from human converse, now i had been taught to relish it, was to wander a ghost among the living. besides, i foresaw, to aggravate the severity of my fate, that my little pittance would soon melt away. i endeavoured to obtain needlework; but, not having been taught early, and my hands being rendered clumsy by hard work, i did not sufficiently excel to be employed by the ready-made linen shops, when so many women, better qualified, were suing for it. the want of a character prevented my getting a place; for, irksome as servitude would have been to me, i should have made another trial, had it been feasible. not that i disliked employment, but the inequality of condition to which i must have submitted. i had acquired a taste for literature, during the five years i had lived with a literary man, occasionally conversing with men of the first abilities of the age; and now to descend to the lowest vulgarity, was a degree of wretchedness not to be imagined unfelt. i had not, it is true, tasted the charms of affection, but i had been familiar with the graces of humanity. "one of the gentlemen, whom i had frequently dined in company with, while i was treated like a companion, met me in the street, and enquired after my health. i seized the occasion, and began to describe my situation; but he was in haste to join, at dinner, a select party of choice spirits; therefore, without waiting to hear me, he impatiently put a guinea into my hand, saying, 'it was a pity such a sensible woman should be in distress--he wished me well from his soul.' "to another i wrote, stating my case, and requesting advice. he was an advocate for unequivocal sincerity; and had often, in my presence, descanted on the evils which arise in society from the despotism of rank and riches. "in reply, i received a long essay on the energy of the human mind, with continual allusions to his own force of character. he added, 'that the woman who could write such a letter as i had sent him, could never be in want of resources, were she to look into herself, and exert her powers; misery was the consequence of indolence, and, as to my being shut out from society, it was the lot of man to submit to certain privations.' "how often have i heard," said jemima, interrupting her narrative, "in conversation, and read in books, that every person willing to work may find employment? it is the vague assertion, i believe, of insensible indolence, when it relates to men; but, with respect to women, i am sure of its fallacy, unless they will submit to the most menial bodily labour; and even to be employed at hard labour is out of the reach of many, whose reputation misfortune or folly has tainted. "how writers, professing to be friends to freedom, and the improvement of morals, can assert that poverty is no evil, i cannot imagine." "no more can i," interrupted maria, "yet they even expatiate on the peculiar happiness of indigence, though in what it can consist, excepting in brutal rest, when a man can barely earn a subsistence, i cannot imagine. the mind is necessarily imprisoned in its own little tenement; and, fully occupied by keeping it in repair, has not time to rove abroad for improvement. the book of knowledge is closely clasped, against those who must fulfil their daily task of severe manual labour or die; and curiosity, rarely excited by thought or information, seldom moves on the stagnate lake of ignorance." "as far as i have been able to observe," replied jemima, "prejudices, caught up by chance, are obstinately maintained by the poor, to the exclusion of improvement; they have not time to reason or reflect to any extent, or minds sufficiently exercised to adopt the principles of action, which form perhaps the only basis of contentment in every station[114-a]." * * * * * "and independence," said darnford, "they are necessarily strangers to, even the independence of despising their persecutors. if the poor are happy, or can be happy, _things are very well as they are_. and i cannot conceive on what principle those writers contend for a change of system, who support this opinion. the authors on the other side of the question are much more consistent, who grant the fact; yet, insisting that it is the lot of the majority to be oppressed in this life, kindly turn them over to another, to rectify the false weights and measures of this, as the only way to justify the dispensations of providence. i have not," continued darnford, "an opinion more firmly fixed by observation in my mind, than that, though riches may fail to produce proportionate happiness, poverty most commonly excludes it, by shutting up all the avenues to improvement." "and as for the affections," added maria, with a sigh, "how gross, and even tormenting do they become, unless regulated by an improving mind! the culture of the heart ever, i believe, keeps pace with that of the mind. but pray go on," addressing jemima, "though your narrative gives rise to the most painful reflections on the present state of society." "not to trouble you," continued she, "with a detailed description of all the painful feelings of unavailing exertion, i have only to tell you, that at last i got recommended to wash in a few families, who did me the favour to admit me into their houses, without the most strict enquiry, to wash from one in the morning till eight at night, for eighteen or twenty-pence a day. on the happiness to be enjoyed over a washing-tub i need not comment; yet you will allow me to observe, that this was a wretchedness of situation peculiar to my sex. a man with half my industry, and, i may say, abilities, could have procured a decent livelihood, and discharged some of the duties which knit mankind together; whilst i, who had acquired a taste for the rational, nay, in honest pride let me assert it, the virtuous enjoyments of life, was cast aside as the filth of society. condemned to labour, like a machine, only to earn bread, and scarcely that, i became melancholy and desperate. "i have now to mention a circumstance which fills me with remorse, and fear it will entirely deprive me of your esteem. a tradesman became attached to me, and visited me frequently,--and i at last obtained such a power over him, that he offered to take me home to his house.--consider, dear madam, i was famishing: wonder not that i became a wolf!--the only reason for not taking me home immediately, was the having a girl in the house, with child by him--and this girl--i advised him--yes, i did! would i could forget it!--to turn out of doors: and one night he determined to follow my advice, poor wretch! she fell upon her knees, reminded him that he had promised to marry her, that her parents were honest!--what did it avail?--she was turned out. "she approached her father's door, in the skirts of london,--listened at the shutters,--but could not knock. a watchman had observed her go and return several times--poor wretch!--"the remorse jemima spoke of, seemed to be stinging her to the soul, as she proceeded." "she left it, and, approaching a tub where horses were watered, she sat down in it, and, with desperate resolution, remained in that attitude--till resolution was no longer necessary! "i happened that morning to be going out to wash, anticipating the moment when i should escape from such hard labour. i passed by, just as some men, going to work, drew out the stiff, cold corpse--let me not recal the horrid moment!--i recognized her pale visage; i listened to the tale told by the spectators, and my heart did not burst. i thought of my own state, and wondered how i could be such a monster!--i worked hard; and, returning home, i was attacked by a fever. i suffered both in body and mind. i determined not to live with the wretch. but he did not try me; he left the neighbourhood. i once more returned to the wash-tub. "still this state, miserable as it was, admitted of aggravation. lifting one day a heavy load, a tub fell against my shin, and gave me great pain. i did not pay much attention to the hurt, till it became a serious wound; being obliged to work as usual, or starve. but, finding myself at length unable to stand for any time, i thought of getting into an hospital. hospitals, it should seem (for they are comfortless abodes for the sick) were expressly endowed for the reception of the friendless; yet i, who had on that plea a right to assistance, wanted the recommendation of the rich and respectable, and was several weeks languishing for admittance; fees were demanded on entering; and, what was still more unreasonable, security for burying me, that expence not coming into the letter of the charity. a guinea was the stipulated sum--i could as soon have raised a million; and i was afraid to apply to the parish for an order, lest they should have passed me, i knew not whither. the poor woman at whose house i lodged, compassionating my state, got me into the hospital; and the family where i received the hurt, sent me five shillings, three and six-pence of which i gave at my admittance--i know not for what. "my leg grew quickly better; but i was dismissed before my cure was completed, because i could not afford to have my linen washed to appear decently, as the virago of a nurse said, when the gentlemen (the surgeons) came. i cannot give you an adequate idea of the wretchedness of an hospital; every thing is left to the care of people intent on gain. the attendants seem to have lost all feeling of compassion in the bustling discharge of their offices; death is so familiar to them, that they are not anxious to ward it off. every thing appeared to be conducted for the accommodation of the medical men and their pupils, who came to make experiments on the poor, for the benefit of the rich. one of the physicians, i must not forget to mention, gave me half-a-crown, and ordered me some wine, when i was at the lowest ebb. i thought of making my case known to the lady-like matron; but her forbidding countenance prevented me. she condescended to look on the patients, and make general enquiries, two or three times a week; but the nurses knew the hour when the visit of ceremony would commence, and every thing was as it should be. "after my dismission, i was more at a loss than ever for a subsistence, and, not to weary you with a repetition of the same unavailing attempts, unable to stand at the washing-tub, i began to consider the rich and poor as natural enemies, and became a thief from principle. i could not now cease to reason, but i hated mankind. i despised myself, yet i justified my conduct. i was taken, tried, and condemned to six months' imprisonment in a house of correction. my soul recoils with horror from the remembrance of the insults i had to endure, till, branded with shame, i was turned loose in the street, pennyless. i wandered from street to street, till, exhausted by hunger and fatigue, i sunk down senseless at a door, where i had vainly demanded a morsel of bread. i was sent by the inhabitant to the work-house, to which he had surlily bid me go, saying, he 'paid enough in conscience to the poor,' when, with parched tongue, i implored his charity. if those well-meaning people who exclaim against beggars, were acquainted with the treatment the poor receive in many of these wretched asylums, they would not stifle so easily involuntary sympathy, by saying that they have all parishes to go to, or wonder that the poor dread to enter the gloomy walls. what are the common run of work-houses, but prisons, in which many respectable old people, worn out by immoderate labour, sink into the grave in sorrow, to which they are carried like dogs!" alarmed by some indistinct noise, jemima rose hastily to listen, and maria, turning to darnford, said, "i have indeed been shocked beyond expression when i have met a pauper's funeral. a coffin carried on the shoulders of three or four ill-looking wretches, whom the imagination might easily convert into a band of assassins, hastening to conceal the corpse, and quarrelling about the prey on their way. i know it is of little consequence how we are consigned to the earth; but i am led by this brutal insensibility, to what even the animal creation appears forcibly to feel, to advert to the wretched, deserted manner in which they died." "true," rejoined darnford, "and, till the rich will give more than a part of their wealth, till they will give time and attention to the wants of the distressed, never let them boast of charity. let them open their hearts, and not their purses, and employ their minds in the service, if they are really actuated by humanity; or charitable institutions will always be the prey of the lowest order of knaves." jemima returning, seemed in haste to finish her tale. "the overseer farmed the poor of different parishes, and out of the bowels of poverty was wrung the money with which he purchased this dwelling, as a private receptacle for madness. he had been a keeper at a house of the same description, and conceived that he could make money much more readily in his old occupation. he is a shrewd--shall i say it?--villain. he observed something resolute in my manner, and offered to take me with him, and instruct me how to treat the disturbed minds he meant to intrust to my care. the offer of forty pounds a year, and to quit a workhouse, was not to be despised, though the condition of shutting my eyes and hardening my heart was annexed to it. "i agreed to accompany him; and four years have i been attendant on many wretches, and"--she lowered her voice,--"the witness of many enormities. in solitude my mind seemed to recover its force, and many of the sentiments which i imbibed in the only tolerable period of my life, returned with their full force. still what should induce me to be the champion for suffering humanity?--who ever risked any thing for me?--who ever acknowledged me to be a fellow-creature?"-maria took her hand, and jemima, more overcome by kindness than she had ever been by cruelty, hastened out of the room to conceal her emotions. darnford soon after heard his summons, and, taking leave of him, maria promised to gratify his curiosity, with respect to herself, the first opportunity. footnotes: [114-a] the copy which appears to have received the author's last corrections, ends at this place. chap. vi. active as love was in the heart of maria, the story she had just heard made her thoughts take a wider range. the opening buds of hope closed, as if they had put forth too early, and the the happiest day of her life was overcast by the most melancholy reflections. thinking of jemima's peculiar fate and her own, she was led to consider the oppressed state of women, and to lament that she had given birth to a daughter. sleep fled from her eyelids, while she dwelt on the wretchedness of unprotected infancy, till sympathy with jemima changed to agony, when it seemed probable that her own babe might even now be in the very state she so forcibly described. maria thought, and thought again. jemima's humanity had rather been benumbed than killed, by the keen frost she had to brave at her entrance into life; an appeal then to her feelings, on this tender point, surely would not be fruitless; and maria began to anticipate the delight it would afford her to gain intelligence of her child. this project was now the only subject of reflection; and she watched impatiently for the dawn of day, with that determinate purpose which generally insures success. at the usual hour, jemima brought her breakfast, and a tender note from darnford. she ran her eye hastily over it, and her heart calmly hoarded up the rapture a fresh assurance of affection, affection such as she wished to inspire, gave her, without diverting her mind a moment from its design. while jemima waited to take away the breakfast, maria alluded to the reflections, that had haunted her during the night to the exclusion of sleep. she spoke with energy of jemima's unmerited sufferings, and of the fate of a number of deserted females, placed within the sweep of a whirlwind, from which it was next to impossible to escape. perceiving the effect her conversation produced on the countenance of her guard, she grasped the arm of jemima with that irresistible warmth which defies repulse, exclaiming--"with your heart, and such dreadful experience, can you lend your aid to deprive my babe of a mother's tenderness, a mother's care? in the name of god, assist me to snatch her from destruction! let me but give her an education--let me but prepare her body and mind to encounter the ills which await her sex, and i will teach her to consider you as her second mother, and herself as the prop of your age. yes, jemima, look at me--observe me closely, and read my very soul; you merit a better fate;" she held out her hand with a firm gesture of assurance; "and i will procure it for you, as a testimony of my esteem, as well as of my gratitude." jemima had not power to resist this persuasive torrent; and, owning that the house in which she was confined, was situated on the banks of the thames, only a few miles from london, and not on the sea-coast, as darnford had supposed, she promised to invent some excuse for her absence, and go herself to trace the situation, and enquire concerning the health, of this abandoned daughter. her manner implied an intention to do something more, but she seemed unwilling to impart her design; and maria, glad to have obtained the main point, thought it best to leave her to the workings of her own mind; convinced that she had the power of interesting her still more in favour of herself and child, by a simple recital of facts. in the evening, jemima informed the impatient mother, that on the morrow she should hasten to town before the family hour of rising, and received all the information necessary, as a clue to her search. the "good night!" maria uttered was peculiarly solemn and affectionate. glad expectation sparkled in her eye; and, for the first time since her detention, she pronounced the name of her child with pleasureable fondness; and, with all the garrulity of a nurse, described her first smile when she recognized her mother. recollecting herself, a still kinder "adieu!" with a "god bless you!"--that seemed to include a maternal benediction, dismissed jemima. the dreary solitude of the ensuing day, lengthened by impatiently dwelling on the same idea, was intolerably wearisome. she listened for the sound of a particular clock, which some directions of the wind allowed her to hear distinctly. she marked the shadow gaining on the wall; and, twilight thickening into darkness, her breath seemed oppressed while she anxiously counted nine.--the last sound was a stroke of despair on her heart; for she expected every moment, without seeing jemima, to have her light extinguished by the savage female who supplied her place. she was even obliged to prepare for bed, restless as she was, not to disoblige her new attendant. she had been cautioned not to speak too freely to her; but the caution was needless, her countenance would still more emphatically have made her shrink back. such was the ferocity of manner, conspicuous in every word and gesture of this hag, that maria was afraid to enquire, why jemima, who had faithfully promised to see her before her door was shut for the night, came not?--and, when the key turned in the lock, to consign her to a night of suspence, she felt a degree of anguish which the circumstances scarcely justified. continually on the watch, the shutting of a door, or the sound of a footstep, made her start and tremble with apprehension, something like what she felt, when, at her entrance, dragged along the gallery, she began to doubt whether she were not surrounded by demons? fatigued by an endless rotation of thought and wild alarms, she looked like a spectre, when jemima entered in the morning; especially as her eyes darted out of her head, to read in jemima's countenance, almost as pallid, the intelligence she dared not trust her tongue to demand. jemima put down the tea-things, and appeared very busy in arranging the table. maria took up a cup with trembling hand, then forcibly recovering her fortitude, and restraining the convulsive movement which agitated the muscles of her mouth, she said, "spare yourself the pain of preparing me for your information, i adjure you!--my child is dead!" jemima solemnly answered, "yes;" with a look expressive of compassion and angry emotions. "leave me," added maria, making a fresh effort to govern her feelings, and hiding her face in her handkerchief, to conceal her anguish--"it is enough--i know that my babe is no more--i will hear the particulars when i am"--_calmer_, she could not utter; and jemima, without importuning her by idle attempts to console her, left the room. plunged in the deepest melancholy, she would not admit darnford's visits; and such is the force of early associations even on strong minds, that, for a while, she indulged the superstitious notion that she was justly punished by the death of her child, for having for an instant ceased to regret her loss. two or three letters from darnford, full of soothing, manly tenderness, only added poignancy to these accusing emotions; yet the passionate style in which he expressed, what he termed the first and fondest wish of his heart, "that his affection might make her some amends for the cruelty and injustice she had endured," inspired a sentiment of gratitude to heaven; and her eyes filled with delicious tears, when, at the conclusion of his letter, wishing to supply the place of her unworthy relations, whose want of principle he execrated, he assured her, calling her his dearest girl, "that it should henceforth be the business of his life to make her happy." he begged, in a note sent the following morning, to be permitted to see her, when his presence would be no intrusion on her grief; and so earnestly intreated to be allowed, according to promise, to beguile the tedious moments of absence, by dwelling on the events of her past life, that she sent him the memoirs which had been written for her daughter, promising jemima the perusal as soon as he returned them. chap. vii. "addressing these memoirs to you, my child, uncertain whether i shall ever have an opportunity of instructing you, many observations will probably flow from my heart, which only a mother--a mother schooled in misery, could make. "the tenderness of a father who knew the world, might be great; but could it equal that of a mother--of a mother, labouring under a portion of the misery, which the constitution of society seems to have entailed on all her kind? it is, my child, my dearest daughter, only such a mother, who will dare to break through all restraint to provide for your happiness--who will voluntarily brave censure herself, to ward off sorrow from your bosom. from my narrative, my dear girl, you may gather the instruction, the counsel, which is meant rather to exercise than influence your mind.--death may snatch me from you, before you can weigh my advice, or enter into my reasoning: i would then, with fond anxiety, lead you very early in life to form your grand principle of action, to save you from the vain regret of having, through irresolution, let the spring-tide of existence pass away, unimproved, unenjoyed.--gain experience--ah! gain it--while experience is worth having, and acquire sufficient fortitude to pursue your own happiness; it includes your utility, by a direct path. what is wisdom too often, but the owl of the goddess, who sits moping in a desolated heart; around me she shrieks, but i would invite all the gay warblers of spring to nestle in your blooming bosom.--had i not wasted years in deliberating, after i ceased to doubt, how i ought to have acted--i might now be useful and happy.--for my sake, warned by my example, always appear what you are, and you will not pass through existence without enjoying its genuine blessings, love and respect. "born in one of the most romantic parts of england, an enthusiastic fondness for the varying charms of nature is the first sentiment i recollect; or rather it was the first consciousness of pleasure that employed and formed my imagination. "my father had been a captain of a man of war; but, disgusted with the service, on account of the preferment of men whose chief merit was their family connections or borough interest, he retired into the country; and, not knowing what to do with himself--married. in his family, to regain his lost consequence, he determined to keep up the same passive obedience, as in the vessels in which he had commanded. his orders were not to be disputed; and the whole house was expected to fly, at the word of command, as if to man the shrouds, or mount aloft in an elemental strife, big with life or death. he was to be instantaneously obeyed, especially by my mother, whom he very benevolently married for love; but took care to remind her of the obligation, when she dared, in the slightest instance, to question his absolute authority. my eldest brother, it is true, as he grew up, was treated with more respect by my father; and became in due form the deputy-tyrant of the house. the representative of my father, a being privileged by nature--a boy, and the darling of my mother, he did not fail to act like an heir apparent. such indeed was my mother's extravagant partiality, that, in comparison with her affection for him, she might be said not to love the rest of her children. yet none of the children seemed to have so little affection for her. extreme indulgence had rendered him so selfish, that he only thought of himself; and from tormenting insects and animals, he became the despot of his brothers, and still more of his sisters. "it is perhaps difficult to give you an idea of the petty cares which obscured the morning of my life; continual restraint in the most trivial matters; unconditional submission to orders, which, as a mere child, i soon discovered to be unreasonable, because inconsistent and contradictory. thus are we destined to experience a mixture of bitterness, with the recollection of our most innocent enjoyments. "the circumstances which, during my childhood, occurred to fashion my mind, were various; yet, as it would probably afford me more pleasure to revive the fading remembrance of new-born delight, than you, my child, could feel in the perusal, i will not entice you to stray with me into the verdant meadow, to search for the flowers that youthful hopes scatter in every path; though, as i write, i almost scent the fresh green of spring--of that spring which never returns! "i had two sisters, and one brother, younger than myself; my brother robert was two years older, and might truly be termed the idol of his parents, and the torment of the rest of the family. such indeed is the force of prejudice, that what was called spirit and wit in him, was cruelly repressed as forwardness in me. "my mother had an indolence of character, which prevented her from paying much attention to our education. but the healthy breeze of a neighbouring heath, on which we bounded at pleasure, volatilized the humours that improper food might have generated. and to enjoy open air and freedom, was paradise, after the unnatural restraint of our fire-side, where we were often obliged to sit three or four hours together, without daring to utter a word, when my father was out of humour, from want of employment, or of a variety of boisterous amusement. i had however one advantage, an instructor, the brother of my father, who, intended for the church, had of course received a liberal education. but, becoming attached to a young lady of great beauty and large fortune, and acquiring in the world some opinions not consonant with the profession for which he was designed, he accepted, with the most sanguine expectations of success, the offer of a nobleman to accompany him to india, as his confidential secretary. "a correspondence was regularly kept up with the object of his affection; and the intricacies of business, peculiarly wearisome to a man of a romantic turn of mind, contributed, with a forced absence, to increase his attachment. every other passion was lost in this master-one, and only served to swell the torrent. her relations, such were his waking dreams, who had despised him, would court in their turn his alliance, and all the blandishments of taste would grace the triumph of love.--while he basked in the warm sunshine of love, friendship also promised to shed its dewy freshness; for a friend, whom he loved next to his mistress, was the confident, who forwarded the letters from one to the other, to elude the observation of prying relations. a friend false in similar circumstances, is, my dearest girl, an old tale; yet, let not this example, or the frigid caution of cold-blooded moralists, make you endeavour to stifle hopes, which are the buds that naturally unfold themselves during the spring of life! whilst your own heart is sincere, always expect to meet one glowing with the same sentiments; for to fly from pleasure, is not to avoid pain! "my uncle realized, by good luck, rather than management, a handsome fortune; and returning on the wings of love, lost in the most enchanting reveries, to england, to share it with his mistress and his friend, he found them--united. "there were some circumstances, not necessary for me to recite, which aggravated the guilt of the friend beyond measure, and the deception, that had been carried on to the last moment, was so base, it produced the most violent effect on my uncle's health and spirits. his native country, the world! lately a garden of blooming sweets, blasted by treachery, seemed changed into a parched desert, the abode of hissing serpents. disappointment rankled in his heart; and, brooding over his wrongs, he was attacked by a raging fever, followed by a derangement of mind, which only gave place to habitual melancholy, as he recovered more strength of body. "declaring an intention never to marry, his relations were ever clustering about him, paying the grossest adulation to a man, who, disgusted with mankind, received them with scorn, or bitter sarcasms. something in my countenance pleased him, when i began to prattle. since his return, he appeared dead to affection; but i soon, by showing him innocent fondness, became a favourite; and endeavouring to enlarge and strengthen my mind, i grew dear to him in proportion as i imbibed his sentiments. he had a forcible manner of speaking, rendered more so by a certain impressive wildness of look and gesture, calculated to engage the attention of a young and ardent mind. it is not then surprising that i quickly adopted his opinions in preference, and reverenced him as one of a superior order of beings. he inculcated, with great warmth, self-respect, and a lofty consciousness of acting right, independent of the censure or applause of the world; nay, he almost taught me to brave, and even despise its censure, when convinced of the rectitude of my own intentions. "endeavouring to prove to me that nothing which deserved the name of love or friendship, existed in the world, he drew such animated pictures of his own feelings, rendered permanent by disappointment, as imprinted the sentiments strongly on my heart, and animated my imagination. these remarks are necessary to elucidate some peculiarities in my character, which by the world are indefinitely termed romantic. "my uncle's increasing affection led him to visit me often. still, unable to rest in any place, he did not remain long in the country to soften domestic tyranny; but he brought me books, for which i had a passion, and they conspired with his conversation, to make me form an ideal picture of life. i shall pass over the tyranny of my father, much as i suffered from it; but it is necessary to notice, that it undermined my mother's health; and that her temper, continually irritated by domestic bickering, became intolerably peevish. "my eldest brother was articled to a neighbouring attorney, the shrewdest, and, i may add, the most unprincipled man in that part of the country. as my brother generally came home every saturday, to astonish my mother by exhibiting his attainments, he gradually assumed a right of directing the whole family, not excepting my father. he seemed to take a peculiar pleasure in tormenting and humbling me; and if i ever ventured to complain of this treatment to either my father or mother, i was rudely rebuffed for presuming to judge of the conduct of my eldest brother. "about this period a merchant's family came to settle in our neighbourhood. a mansion-house in the village, lately purchased, had been preparing the whole spring, and the sight of the costly furniture, sent from london, had excited my mother's envy, and roused my father's pride. my sensations were very different, and all of a pleasurable kind. i longed to see new characters, to break the tedious monotony of my life; and to find a friend, such as fancy had pourtrayed. i cannot then describe the emotion i felt, the sunday they made their appearance at church. my eyes were rivetted on the pillar round which i expected first to catch a glimpse of them, and darted forth to meet a servant who hastily preceded a group of ladies, whose white robes and waving plumes, seemed to stream along the gloomy aisle, diffusing the light, by which i contemplated their figures. "we visited them in form; and i quickly selected the eldest daughter for my friend. the second son, george, paid me particular attention, and finding his attainments and manners superior to those of the young men of the village, i began to imagine him superior to the rest of mankind. had my home been more comfortable, or my previous acquaintance more numerous, i should not probably have been so eager to open my heart to new affections. "mr. venables, the merchant, had acquired a large fortune by unremitting attention to business; but his health declining rapidly, he was obliged to retire, before his son, george, had acquired sufficient experience, to enable him to conduct their affairs on the same prudential plan, his father had invariably pursued. indeed, he had laboured to throw off his authority, having despised his narrow plans and cautious speculation. the eldest son could not be prevailed on to enter the firm; and, to oblige his wife, and have peace in the house, mr. venables had purchased a commission for him in the guards. "i am now alluding to circumstances which came to my knowledge long after; but it is necessary, my dearest child, that you should know the character of your father, to prevent your despising your mother; the only parent inclined to discharge a parent's duty. in london, george had acquired habits of libertinism, which he carefully concealed from his father and his commercial connections. the mask he wore, was so complete a covering of his real visage, that the praise his father lavished on his conduct, and, poor mistaken man! on his principles, contrasted with his brother's, rendered the notice he took of me peculiarly flattering. without any fixed design, as i am now convinced, he continued to single me out at the dance, press my hand at parting, and utter expressions of unmeaning passion, to which i gave a meaning naturally suggested by the romantic turn of my thoughts. his stay in the country was short; his manners did not entirely please me; but, when he left us, the colouring of my picture became more vivid--whither did not my imagination lead me? in short, i fancied myself in love--in love with the disinterestedness, fortitude, generosity, dignity, and humanity, with which i had invested the hero i dubbed. a circumstance which soon after occurred, rendered all these virtues palpable. [the incident is perhaps worth relating on other accounts, and therefore i shall describe it distinctly.] "i had a great affection for my nurse, old mary, for whom i used often to work, to spare her eyes. mary had a younger sister, married to a sailor, while she was suckling me; for my mother only suckled my eldest brother, which might be the cause of her extraordinary partiality. peggy, mary's sister, lived with her, till her husband, becoming a mate in a west-india trader, got a little before-hand in the world. he wrote to his wife from the first port in the channel, after his most successful voyage, to request her to come to london to meet him; he even wished her to determine on living there for the future, to save him the trouble of coming to her the moment he came on shore; and to turn a penny by keeping a green-stall. it was too much to set out on a journey the moment he had finished a voyage, and fifty miles by land, was worse than a thousand leagues by sea. "she packed up her alls, and came to london--but did not meet honest daniel. a common misfortune prevented her, and the poor are bound to suffer for the good of their country--he was pressed in the river--and never came on shore. "peggy was miserable in london, not knowing, as she said, 'the face of any living soul.' besides, her imagination had been employed, anticipating a month or six weeks' happiness with her husband. daniel was to have gone with her to sadler's wells, and westminster abbey, and to many sights, which he knew she never heard of in the country. peggy too was thrifty, and how could she manage to put his plan in execution alone? he had acquaintance; but she did not know the very name of their places of abode. his letters were made up of--how do you does, and god bless yous,--information was reserved for the hour of meeting. "she too had her portion of information, near at heart. molly and jacky were grown such little darlings, she was almost angry that daddy did not see their tricks. she had not half the pleasure she should have had from their prattle, could she have recounted to him each night the pretty speeches of the day. some stories, however, were stored up--and jacky could say papa with such a sweet voice, it must delight his heart. yet when she came, and found no daniel to greet her, when jacky called papa, she wept, bidding 'god bless his innocent soul, that did not know what sorrow was.'--but more sorrow was in store for peggy, innocent as she was.--daniel was killed in the first engagement, and then the _papa_ was agony, sounding to the heart. "she had lived sparingly on his wages, while there was any hope of his return; but, that gone, she returned with a breaking heart to the country, to a little market town, nearly three miles from our village. she did not like to go to service, to be snubbed about, after being her own mistress. to put her children out to nurse was impossible: how far would her wages go? and to send them to her husband's parish, a distant one, was to lose her husband twice over. "i had heard all from mary, and made my uncle furnish a little cottage for her, to enable her to sell--so sacred was poor daniel's advice, now he was dead and gone--a little fruit, toys and cakes. the minding of the shop did not require her whole time, nor even the keeping her children clean, and she loved to see them clean; so she took in washing, and altogether made a shift to earn bread for her children, still weeping for daniel, when jacky's arch looks made her think of his father.--it was pleasant to work for her children.--'yes; from morning till night, could she have had a kiss from their father, god rest his soul! yes; had it pleased providence to have let him come back without a leg or an arm, it would have been the same thing to her--for she did not love him because he maintained them--no; she had hands of her own.' "the country people were honest, and peggy left her linen out to dry very late. a recruiting party, as she supposed, passing through, made free with a large wash; for it was all swept away, including her own and her children's little stock. "this was a dreadful blow; two dozen of shirts, stocks and handkerchiefs. she gave the money which she had laid by for half a year's rent, and promised to pay two shillings a week till all was cleared; so she did not lose her employment. this two shillings a week, and the buying a few necessaries for the children, drove her so hard, that she had not a penny to pay her rent with, when a twelvemonth's became due. "she was now with mary, and had just told her tale, which mary instantly repeated--it was intended for my ear. many houses in this town, producing a borough-interest, were included in the estate purchased by mr. venables, and the attorney with whom my brother lived, was appointed his agent, to collect and raise the rents. "he demanded peggy's, and, in spite of her intreaties, her poor goods had been seized and sold. so that she had not, and what was worse her children, 'for she had known sorrow enough,' a bed to lie on. she knew that i was good-natured--right charitable, yet not liking to ask for more than needs must, she scorned to petition while people could any how be made to wait. but now, should she be turned out of doors, she must expect nothing less than to lose all her customers, and then she must beg or starve--and what would become of her children?--'had daniel not been pressed--but god knows best--all this could not have happened.' "i had two mattrasses on my bed; what did i want with two, when such a worthy creature must lie on the ground? my mother would be angry, but i could conceal it till my uncle came down; and then i would tell him all the whole truth, and if he absolved me, heaven would. "i begged the house-maid to come up stairs with me (servants always feel for the distresses of poverty, and so would the rich if they knew what it was). she assisted me to tie up the mattrass; i discovering, at the same time, that one blanket would serve me till winter, could i persuade my sister, who slept with me, to keep my secret. she entering in the midst of the package, i gave her some new feathers, to silence her. we got the mattrass down the back stairs, unperceived, and i helped to carry it, taking with me all the money i had, and what i could borrow from my sister. "when i got to the cottage, peggy declared that she would not take what i had brought secretly; but, when, with all the eager eloquence inspired by a decided purpose, i grasped her hand with weeping eyes, assuring her that my uncle would screen me from blame, when he was once more in the country, describing, at the same time, what she would suffer in parting with her children, after keeping them so long from being thrown on the parish, she reluctantly consented. "my project of usefulness ended not here; i determined to speak to the attorney; he frequently paid me compliments. his character did not intimidate me; but, imagining that peggy must be mistaken, and that no man could turn a deaf ear to such a tale of complicated distress, i determined to walk to the town with mary the next morning, and request him to wait for the rent, and keep my secret, till my uncle's return. "my repose was sweet; and, waking with the first dawn of day, i bounded to mary's cottage. what charms do not a light heart spread over nature! every bird that twittered in a bush, every flower that enlivened the hedge, seemed placed there to awaken me to rapture--yes; to rapture. the present moment was full fraught with happiness; and on futurity i bestowed not a thought, excepting to anticipate my success with the attorney. "this man of the world, with rosy face and simpering features, received me politely, nay kindly; listened with complacency to my remonstrances, though he scarcely heeded mary's tears. i did not then suspect, that my eloquence was in my complexion, the blush of seventeen, or that, in a world where humanity to women is the characteristic of advancing civilization, the beauty of a young girl was so much more interesting than the distress of an old one. pressing my hand, he promised to let peggy remain in the house as long as i wished.--i more than returned the pressure--i was so grateful and so happy. emboldened by my innocent warmth, he then kissed me--and i did not draw back--i took it for a kiss of charity. "gay as a lark, i went to dine at mr. venables'. i had previously obtained five shillings from my father, towards re-clothing the poor children of my care, and prevailed on my mother to take one of the girls into the house, whom i determined to teach to work and read. "after dinner, when the younger part of the circle retired to the music room, i recounted with energy my tale; that is, i mentioned peggy's distress, without hinting at the steps i had taken to relieve her. miss venables gave me half-a-crown; the heir five shillings; but george sat unmoved. i was cruelly distressed by the disappointment--i scarcely could remain on my chair; and, could i have got out of the room unperceived, i should have flown home, as if to run away from myself. after several vain attempts to rise, i leaned my head against the marble chimney-piece, and gazing on the evergreens that filled the fire-place, moralized on the vanity of human expectations; regardless of the company. i was roused by a gentle tap on my shoulder from behind charlotte's chair. i turned my head, and george slid a guinea into my hand, putting his finger to his mouth, to enjoin me silence. "what a revolution took place, not only in my train of thoughts, but feelings! i trembled with emotion--now, indeed, i was in love. such delicacy too, to enhance his benevolence! i felt in my pocket every five minutes, only to feel the guinea; and its magic touch invested my hero with more than mortal beauty. my fancy had found a basis to erect its model of perfection on; and quickly went to work, with all the happy credulity of youth, to consider that heart as devoted to virtue, which had only obeyed a virtuous impulse. the bitter experience was yet to come, that has taught me how very distinct are the principles of virtue, from the casual feelings from which they germinate. chap. viii. "i have perhaps dwelt too long on a circumstance, which is only of importance as it marks the progress of a deception that has been so fatal to my peace; and introduces to your notice a poor girl, whom, intending to serve, i led to ruin. still it is probable that i was not entirely the victim of mistake; and that your father, gradually fashioned by the world, did not quickly become what i hesitate to call him--out of respect to my daughter. "but, to hasten to the more busy scenes of my life. mr. venables and my mother died the same summer; and, wholly engrossed by my attention to her, i thought of little else. the neglect of her darling, my brother robert, had a violent effect on her weakened mind; for, though boys may be reckoned the pillars of the house without doors, girls are often the only comfort within. they but too frequently waste their health and spirits attending a dying parent, who leaves them in comparative poverty. after closing, with filial piety, a father's eyes, they are chased from the paternal roof, to make room for the first-born, the son, who is to carry the empty family-name down to posterity; though, occupied with his own pleasures, he scarcely thought of discharging, in the decline of his parent's life, the debt contracted in his childhood. my mother's conduct led me to make these reflections. great as was the fatigue i endured, and the affection my unceasing solicitude evinced, of which my mother seemed perfectly sensible, still, when my brother, whom i could hardly persuade to remain a quarter of an hour in her chamber, was with her alone, a short time before her death, she gave him a little hoard, which she had been some years accumulating. "during my mother's illness, i was obliged to manage my father's temper, who, from the lingering nature of her malady, began to imagine that it was merely fancy. at this period, an artful kind of upper servant attracted my father's attention, and the neighbours made many remarks on the finery, not honestly got, exhibited at evening service. but i was too much occupied with my mother to observe any change in her dress or behaviour, or to listen to the whisper of scandal. "i shall not dwell on the death-bed scene, lively as is the remembrance, or on the emotion produced by the last grasp of my mother's cold hand; when blessing me, she added, 'a little patience, and all will be over!' ah! my child, how often have those words rung mournfully in my ears--and i have exclaimed--'a little more patience, and i too shall be at rest!' "my father was violently affected by her death, recollected instances of his unkindness, and wept like a child. "my mother had solemnly recommended my sisters to my care, and bid me be a mother to them. they, indeed, became more dear to me as they became more forlorn; for, during my mother's illness, i discovered the ruined state of my father's circumstances, and that he had only been able to keep up appearances, by the sums which he borrowed of my uncle. "my father's grief, and consequent tenderness to his children, quickly abated, the house grew still more gloomy or riotous; and my refuge from care was again at mr. venables'; the young 'squire having taken his father's place, and allowing, for the present, his sister to preside at his table. george, though dissatisfied with his portion of the fortune, which had till lately been all in trade, visited the family as usual. he was now full of speculations in trade, and his brow became clouded by care. he seemed to relax in his attention to me, when the presence of my uncle gave a new turn to his behaviour. i was too unsuspecting, too disinterested, to trace these changes to their source. my home every day became more and more disagreeable to me; my liberty was unnecessarily abridged, and my books, on the pretext that they made me idle, taken from me. my father's mistress was with child, and he, doating on her, allowed or overlooked her vulgar manner of tyrannizing over us. i was indignant, especially when i saw her endeavouring to attract, shall i say seduce? my younger brother. by allowing women but one way of rising in the world, the fostering the libertinism of men, society makes monsters of them, and then their ignoble vices are brought forward as a proof of inferiority of intellect. the wearisomeness of my situation can scarcely be described. though my life had not passed in the most even tenour with my mother, it was paradise to that i was destined to endure with my father's mistress, jealous of her illegitimate authority. my father's former occasional tenderness, in spite of his violence of temper, had been soothing to me; but now he only met me with reproofs or portentous frowns. the house-keeper, as she was now termed, was the vulgar despot of the family; and assuming the new character of a fine lady, she could never forgive the contempt which was sometimes visible in my countenance, when she uttered with pomposity her bad english, or affected to be well bred. to my uncle i ventured to open my heart; and he, with his wonted benevolence, began to consider in what manner he could extricate me out of my present irksome situation. in spite of his own disappointment, or, most probably, actuated by the feelings that had been petrified, not cooled, in all their sanguine fervour, like a boiling torrent of lava suddenly dashing into the sea, he thought a marriage of mutual inclination (would envious stars permit it) the only chance for happiness in this disastrous world. george venables had the reputation of being attentive to business, and my father's example gave great weight to this circumstance; for habits of order in business would, he conceived, extend to the regulation of the affections in domestic life. george seldom spoke in my uncle's company, except to utter a short, judicious question, or to make a pertinent remark, with all due deference to his superior judgment; so that my uncle seldom left his company without observing, that the young man had more in him than people supposed. in this opinion he was not singular; yet, believe me, and i am not swayed by resentment, these speeches so justly poized, this silent deference, when the animal spirits of other young people were throwing off youthful ebullitions, were not the effect of thought or humility, but sheer barrenness of mind, and want of imagination. a colt of mettle will curvet and shew his paces. yes; my dear girl, these prudent young men want all the fire necessary to ferment their faculties, and are characterized as wise, only because they are not foolish. it is true, that george was by no means so great a favourite of mine as during the first year of our acquaintance; still, as he often coincided in opinion with me, and echoed my sentiments; and having myself no other attachment, i heard with pleasure my uncle's proposal; but thought more of obtaining my freedom, than of my lover. but, when george, seemingly anxious for my happiness, pressed me to quit my present painful situation, my heart swelled with gratitude--i knew not that my uncle had promised him five thousand pounds. had this truly generous man mentioned his intention to me, i should have insisted on a thousand pounds being settled on each of my sisters; george would have contested; i should have seen his selfish soul; and--gracious god! have been spared the misery of discovering, when too late, that i was united to a heartless, unprincipled wretch. all my schemes of usefulness would not then have been blasted. the tenderness of my heart would not have heated my imagination with visions of the ineffable delight of happy love; nor would the sweet duty of a mother have been so cruelly interrupted. but i must not suffer the fortitude i have so hardly acquired, to be undermined by unavailing regret. let me hasten forward to describe the turbid stream in which i had to wade--but let me exultingly declare that it is passed--my soul holds fellowship with him no more. he cut the gordian knot, which my principles, mistaken ones, respected; he dissolved the tie, the fetters rather, that ate into my very vitals--and i should rejoice, conscious that my mind is freed, though confined in hell itself; the only place that even fancy can imagine more dreadful than my present abode. these varying emotions will not allow me to proceed. i heave sigh after sigh; yet my heart is still oppressed. for what am i reserved? why was i not born a man, or why was i born at all? end of vol. i. posthumous works of mary wollstonecraft godwin. vol. ii. posthumous works of the author of a vindication of the rights of woman. in four volumes. * * * * * vol. ii. * * * * * _london:_ printed for j. johnson, no. 72, st. paul's church-yard; and g. g. and j. robinson, paternoster-row. 1798. the wrongs of woman: or, maria. a fragment. in two volumes. vol. ii. _wrongs_ of woman. chap. ix. "i resume my pen to fly from thought. i was married; and we hastened to london. i had purposed taking one of my sisters with me; for a strong motive for marrying, was the desire of having a home at which i could receive them, now their own grew so uncomfortable, as not to deserve the cheering appellation. an objection was made to her accompanying me, that appeared plausible; and i reluctantly acquiesced. i was however willingly allowed to take with me molly, poor peggy's daughter. london and preferment, are ideas commonly associated in the country; and, as blooming as may, she bade adieu to peggy with weeping eyes. i did not even feel hurt at the refusal in relation to my sister, till hearing what my uncle had done for me, i had the simplicity to request, speaking with warmth of their situation, that he would give them a thousand pounds a-piece, which seemed to me but justice. he asked me, giving me a kiss, 'if i had lost my senses?' i started back, as if i had found a wasp in a rose-bush. i expostulated. he sneered; and the demon of discord entered our paradise, to poison with his pestiferous breath every opening joy. "i had sometimes observed defects in my husband's understanding; but, led astray by a prevailing opinion, that goodness of disposition is of the first importance in the relative situations of life, in proportion as i perceived the narrowness of his understanding, fancy enlarged the boundary of his heart. fatal error! how quickly is the so much vaunted milkiness of nature turned into gall, by an intercourse with the world, if more generous juices do not sustain the vital source of virtue! "one trait in my character was extreme credulity; but, when my eyes were once opened, i saw but too clearly all i had before overlooked. my husband was sunk in my esteem; still there are youthful emotions, which, for a while, fill up the chasm of love and friendship. besides, it required some time to enable me to see his whole character in a just light, or rather to allow it to become fixed. while circumstances were ripening my faculties, and cultivating my taste, commerce and gross relaxations were shutting his against any possibility of improvement, till, by stifling every spark of virtue in himself, he began to imagine that it no where existed. "do not let me lead you astray, my child, i do not mean to assert, that any human being is entirely incapable of feeling the generous emotions, which are the foundation of every true principle of virtue; but they are frequently, i fear, so feeble, that, like the inflammable quality which more or less lurks in all bodies, they often lie for ever dormant; the circumstances never occurring, necessary to call them into action. "i discovered however by chance, that, in consequence of some losses in trade, the natural effect of his gambling desire to start suddenly into riches, the five thousand pounds given me by my uncle, had been paid very opportunely. this discovery, strange as you may think the assertion, gave me pleasure; my husband's embarrassments endeared him to me. i was glad to find an excuse for his conduct to my sisters, and my mind became calmer. "my uncle introduced me to some literary society; and the theatres were a never-failing source of amusement to me. my delighted eye followed mrs. siddons, when, with dignified delicacy, she played calista; and i involuntarily repeated after her, in the same tone, and with a long-drawn sigh, 'hearts like our's were pair'd--not match'd.' "these were, at first, spontaneous emotions, though, becoming acquainted with men of wit and polished manners, i could not sometimes help regretting my early marriage; and that, in my haste to escape from a temporary dependence, and expand my newly fledged wings, in an unknown sky, i had been caught in a trap, and caged for life. still the novelty of london, and the attentive fondness of my husband, for he had some personal regard for me, made several months glide away. yet, not forgetting the situation of my sisters, who were still very young, i prevailed on my uncle to settle a thousand pounds on each; and to place them in a school near town, where i could frequently visit, as well as have them at home with me. "i now tried to improve my husband's taste, but we had few subjects in common; indeed he soon appeared to have little relish for my society, unless he was hinting to me the use he could make of my uncle's wealth. when we had company, i was disgusted by an ostentatious display of riches, and i have often quitted the room, to avoid listening to exaggerated tales of money obtained by lucky hits. "with all my attention and affectionate interest, i perceived that i could not become the friend or confident of my husband. every thing i learned relative to his affairs i gathered up by accident; and i vainly endeavoured to establish, at our fire-side, that social converse, which often renders people of different characters dear to each other. returning from the theatre, or any amusing party, i frequently began to relate what i had seen and highly relished; but with sullen taciturnity he soon silenced me. i seemed therefore gradually to lose, in his society, the soul, the energies of which had just been in action. to such a degree, in fact, did his cold, reserved manner affect me, that, after spending some days with him alone, i have imagined myself the most stupid creature in the world, till the abilities of some casual visitor convinced me that i had some dormant animation, and sentiments above the dust in which i had been groveling. the very countenance of my husband changed; his complexion became sallow, and all the charms of youth were vanishing with its vivacity. "i give you one view of the subject; but these experiments and alterations took up the space of five years; during which period, i had most reluctantly extorted several sums from my uncle, to save my husband, to use his own words, from destruction. at first it was to prevent bills being noted, to the injury of his credit; then to bail him; and afterwards to prevent an execution from entering the house. i began at last to conclude, that he would have made more exertions of his own to extricate himself, had he not relied on mine, cruel as was the task he imposed on me; and i firmly determined that i would make use of no more pretexts. "from the moment i pronounced this determination, indifference on his part was changed into rudeness, or something worse. "he now seldom dined at home, and continually returned at a late hour, drunk, to bed. i retired to another apartment; i was glad, i own, to escape from his; for personal intimacy without affection, seemed, to me the most degrading, as well as the most painful state in which a woman of any taste, not to speak of the peculiar delicacy of fostered sensibility, could be placed. but my husband's fondness for women was of the grossest kind, and imagination was so wholly out of the question, as to render his indulgences of this sort entirely promiscuous, and of the most brutal nature. my health suffered, before my heart was entirely estranged by the loathsome information; could i then have returned to his sullied arms, but as a victim to the prejudices of mankind, who have made women the property of their husbands? i discovered even, by his conversation, when intoxicated, that his favourites were wantons of the lowest class, who could by their vulgar, indecent mirth, which he called nature, rouse his sluggish spirits. meretricious ornaments and manners were necessary to attract his attention. he seldom looked twice at a modest woman, and sat silent in their company; and the charms of youth and beauty had not the slightest effect on his senses, unless the possessors were initiated in vice. his intimacy with profligate women, and his habits of thinking, gave him a contempt for female endowments; and he would repeat, when wine had loosed his tongue, most of the common-place sarcasms levelled at them, by men who do not allow them to have minds, because mind would be an impediment to gross enjoyment. men who are inferior to their fellow men, are always most anxious to establish their superiority over women. but where are these reflections leading me? "women who have lost their husband's affection, are justly reproved for neglecting their persons, and not taking the same pains to keep, as to gain a heart; but who thinks of giving the same advice to men, though women are continually stigmatized for being attached to fops; and from the nature of their education, are more susceptible of disgust? yet why a woman should be expected to endure a sloven, with more patience than a man, and magnanimously to govern herself, i cannot conceive; unless it be supposed arrogant in her to look for respect as well as a maintenance. it is not easy to be pleased, because, after promising to love, in different circumstances, we are told that it is our duty. i cannot, i am sure (though, when attending the sick, i never felt disgust) forget my own sensations, when rising with health and spirit, and after scenting the sweet morning, i have met my husband at the breakfast table. the active attention i had been giving to domestic regulations, which were generally settled before he rose, or a walk, gave a glow to my countenance, that contrasted with his squallid appearance. the squeamishness of stomach alone, produced by the last night's intemperance, which he took no pains to conceal, destroyed my appetite. i think i now see him lolling in an arm-chair, in a dirty powdering gown, soiled linen, ungartered stockings, and tangled hair, yawning and stretching himself. the newspaper was immediately called for, if not brought in on the tea-board, from which he would scarcely lift his eyes while i poured out the tea, excepting to ask for some brandy to put into it, or to declare that he could not eat. in answer to any question, in his best humour, it was a drawling 'what do you say, child?' but if i demanded money for the house expences, which i put off till the last moment, his customary reply, often prefaced with an oath, was, 'do you think me, madam, made of money?'--the butcher, the baker, must wait; and, what was worse, i was often obliged to witness his surly dismission of tradesmen, who were in want of their money, and whom i sometimes paid with the presents my uncle gave me for my own use. "at this juncture my father's mistress, by terrifying his conscience, prevailed on him to marry her; he was already become a methodist; and my brother, who now practised for himself, had discovered a flaw in the settlement made on my mother's children, which set it aside, and he allowed my father, whose distress made him submit to any thing, a tithe of his own, or rather our fortune. "my sisters had left school, but were unable to endure home, which my father's wife rendered as disagreeable as possible, to get rid of girls whom she regarded as spies on her conduct. they were accomplished, yet you can (may you never be reduced to the same destitute state!) scarcely conceive the trouble i had to place them in the situation of governesses, the only one in which even a well-educated woman, with more than ordinary talents, can struggle for a subsistence; and even this is a dependence next to menial. is it then surprising, that so many forlorn women, with human passions and feelings, take refuge in infamy? alone in large mansions, i say alone, because they had no companions with whom they could converse on equal terms, or from whom they could expect the endearments of affection, they grew melancholy, and the sound of joy made them sad; and the youngest, having a more delicate frame, fell into a decline. it was with great difficulty that i, who now almost supported the house by loans from my uncle, could prevail on the _master_ of it, to allow her a room to die in. i watched her sick bed for some months, and then closed her eyes, gentle spirit! for ever. she was pretty, with very engaging manners; yet had never an opportunity to marry, excepting to a very old man. she had abilities sufficient to have shone in any profession, had there been any professions for women, though she shrunk at the name of milliner or mantua-maker as degrading to a gentlewoman. i would not term this feeling false pride to any one but you, my child, whom i fondly hope to see (yes; i will indulge the hope for a moment!) possessed of that energy of character which gives dignity to any station; and with that clear, firm spirit that will enable you to choose a situation for yourself, or submit to be classed in the lowest, if it be the only one in which you can be the mistress of your own actions. "soon after the death of my sister, an incident occurred, to prove to me that the heart of a libertine is dead to natural affection; and to convince me, that the being who has appeared all tenderness, to gratify a selfish passion, is as regardless of the innocent fruit of it, as of the object, when the fit is over. i had casually observed an old, mean-looking woman, who called on my husband every two or three months to receive some money. one day entering the passage of his little counting-house, as she was going out, i heard her say, 'the child is very weak; she cannot live long, she will soon die out of your way, so you need not grudge her a little physic.' "'so much the better,' he replied, 'and pray mind your own business, good woman.' "i was struck by his unfeeling, inhuman tone of voice, and drew back, determined when the woman came again, to try to speak to her, not out of curiosity, i had heard enough, but with the hope of being useful to a poor, outcast girl. "a month or two elapsed before i saw this woman again; and then she had a child in her hand that tottered along, scarcely able to sustain her own weight. they were going away, to return at the hour mr. venables was expected; he was now from home. i desired the woman to walk into the parlour. she hesitated, yet obeyed. i assured her that i should not mention to my husband (the word seemed to weigh on my respiration), that i had seen her, or his child. the woman stared at me with astonishment; and i turned my eyes on the squalid object [that accompanied her.] she could hardly support herself, her complexion was sallow, and her eyes inflamed, with an indescribable look of cunning, mixed with the wrinkles produced by the peevishness of pain. "'poor child!' i exclaimed. 'ah! you may well say poor child,' replied the woman. 'i brought her here to see whether he would have the heart to look at her, and not get some advice. i do not know what they deserve who nursed her. why, her legs bent under her like a bow when she came to me, and she has never been well since; but, if they were no better paid than i am, it is not to be wondered at, sure enough.' "on further enquiry i was informed, that this miserable spectacle was the daughter of a servant, a country girl, who caught mr. venables' eye, and whom he seduced. on his marriage he sent her away, her situation being too visible. after her delivery, she was thrown on the town; and died in an hospital within the year. the babe was sent to a parish-nurse, and afterwards to this woman, who did not seem much better; but what was to be expected from such a close bargain? she was only paid three shillings a week for board and washing. "the woman begged me to give her some old clothes for the child, assuring me, that she was almost afraid to ask master for money to buy even a pair of shoes. "i grew sick at heart. and, fearing mr. venables might enter, and oblige me to express my abhorrence, i hastily enquired where she lived, promised to pay her two shillings a week more, and to call on her in a day or two; putting a trifle into her hand as a proof of my good intention. "if the state of this child affected me, what were my feelings at a discovery i made respecting peggy----?[22-a] footnotes: [22-a] the manuscript is imperfect here. an episode seems to have been intended, which was never committed to paper. editor. chap. x. "my father's situation was now so distressing, that i prevailed on my uncle to accompany me to visit him; and to lend me his assistance, to prevent the whole property of the family from becoming the prey of my brother's rapacity; for, to extricate himself out of present difficulties, my father was totally regardless of futurity. i took down with me some presents for my step-mother; it did not require an effort for me to treat her with civility, or to forget the past. "this was the first time i had visited my native village, since my marriage. but with what different emotions did i return from the busy world, with a heavy weight of experience benumbing my imagination, to scenes, that whispered recollections of joy and hope most eloquently to my heart! the first scent of the wild flowers from the heath, thrilled through my veins, awakening every sense to pleasure. the icy hand of despair seemed to be removed from my bosom; and--forgetting my husband--the nurtured visions of a romantic mind, bursting on me with all their original wildness and gay exuberance, were again hailed as sweet realities. i forgot, with equal facility, that i ever felt sorrow, or knew care in the country; while a transient rainbow stole athwart the cloudy sky of despondency. the picturesque form of several favourite trees, and the porches of rude cottages, with their smiling hedges, were recognized with the gladsome playfulness of childish vivacity. i could have kissed the chickens that pecked on the common; and longed to pat the cows, and frolic with the dogs that sported on it. i gazed with delight on the windmill, and thought it lucky that it should be in motion, at the moment i passed by; and entering the dear green lane, which led directly to the village, the sound of the well-known rookery gave that sentimental tinge to the varying sensations of my active soul, which only served to heighten the lustre of the luxuriant scenery. but, spying, as i advanced, the spire, peeping over the withered tops of the aged elms that composed the rookery, my thoughts flew immediately to the church-yard, and tears of affection, such was the effect of my imagination, bedewed my mother's grave! sorrow gave place to devotional feelings. i wandered through the church in fancy, as i used sometimes to do on a saturday evening. i recollected with what fervour i addressed the god of my youth: and once more with rapturous love looked above my sorrows to the father of nature. i pause--feeling forcibly all the emotions i am describing; and (reminded, as i register my sorrows, of the sublime calm i have felt, when in some tremendous solitude, my soul rested on itself, and seemed to fill the universe) i insensibly breathe soft, hushing every wayward emotion, as if fearing to sully with a sigh, a contentment so extatic. "having settled my father's affairs, and, by my exertions in his favour, made my brother my sworn foe, i returned to london. my husband's conduct was now changed; i had during my absence, received several affectionate, penitential letters from him; and he seemed on my arrival, to wish by his behaviour to prove his sincerity. i could not then conceive why he acted thus; and, when the suspicion darted into my head, that it might arise from observing my increasing influence with my uncle, i almost despised myself for imagining that such a degree of debasing selfishness could exist. "he became, unaccountable as was the change, tender and attentive; and, attacking my weak side, made a confession of his follies, and lamented the embarrassments in which i, who merited a far different fate, might be involved. he besought me to aid him with my counsel, praised my understanding, and appealed to the tenderness of my heart. "this conduct only inspired me with compassion. i wished to be his friend; but love had spread his rosy pinions, and fled far, far away; and had not (like some exquisite perfumes, the fine spirit of which is continually mingling with the air) left a fragrance behind, to mark where he had shook his wings. my husband's renewed caresses then became hateful to me; his brutality was tolerable, compared to his distasteful fondness. still, compassion, and the fear of insulting his supposed feelings, by a want of sympathy, made me dissemble, and do violence to my delicacy. what a task! "those who support a system of what i term false refinement, and will not allow great part of love in the female, as well as male breast, to spring in some respects involuntarily, may not admit that charms are as necessary to feed the passion, as virtues to convert the mellowing spirit into friendship. to such observers i have nothing to say, any more than to the moralists, who insist that women ought to, and can love their husbands, because it is their duty. to you, my child, i may add, with a heart tremblingly alive to your future conduct, some observations, dictated by my present feelings, on calmly reviewing this period of my life. when novelists or moralists praise as a virtue, a woman's coldness of constitution, and want of passion; and make her yield to the ardour of her lover out of sheer compassion, or to promote a frigid plan of future comfort, i am disgusted. they may be good women, in the ordinary acceptation of the phrase, and do no harm; but they appear to me not to have those 'finely fashioned nerves,' which render the senses exquisite. they may possess tenderness; but they want that fire of the imagination, which produces _active_ sensibility, and _positive_ virtue. how does the woman deserve to be characterized, who marries one man, with a heart and imagination devoted to another? is she not an object of pity or contempt, when thus sacrilegiously violating the purity of her own feelings? nay, it is as indelicate, when she is indifferent, unless she be constitutionally insensible; then indeed it is a mere affair of barter; and i have nothing to do with the secrets of trade. yes; eagerly as i wish you to possess true rectitude of mind, and purity of affection, i must insist that a heartless conduct is the contrary of virtuous. truth is the only basis of virtue; and we cannot, without depraving our minds, endeavour to please a lover or husband, but in proportion as he pleases us. men, more effectually to enslave us, may inculcate this partial morality, and lose sight of virtue in subdividing it into the duties of particular stations; but let us not blush for nature without a cause! "after these remarks, i am ashamed to own, that i was pregnant. the greatest sacrifice of my principles in my whole life, was the allowing my husband again to be familiar with my person, though to this cruel act of self-denial, when i wished the earth to open and swallow me, you owe your birth; and i the unutterable pleasure of being a mother. there was something of delicacy in my husband's bridal attentions; but now his tainted breath, pimpled face, and blood-shot eyes, were not more repugnant to my senses, than his gross manners, and loveless familiarity to my taste. "a man would only be expected to maintain; yes, barely grant a subsistence, to a woman rendered odious by habitual intoxication; but who would expect him, or think it possible to love her? and unless 'youth, and genial years were flown,' it would be thought equally unreasonable to insist, [under penalty of] forfeiting almost every thing reckoned valuable in life, that he should not love another: whilst woman, weak in reason, impotent in will, is required to moralize, sentimentalize herself to stone, and pine her life away, labouring to reform her embruted mate. he may even spend in dissipation, and intemperance, the very intemperance which renders him so hateful, her property, and by stinting her expences, not permit her to beguile in society, a wearisome, joyless life; for over their mutual fortune she has no power, it must all pass through his hand. and if she be a mother, and in the present state of women, it is a great misfortune to be prevented from discharging the duties, and cultivating the affections of one, what has she not to endure?--but i have suffered the tenderness of one to lead me into reflections that i did not think of making, to interrupt my narrative--yet the full heart will overflow. "mr. venables' embarrassments did not now endear him to me; still, anxious to befriend him, i endeavoured to prevail on him to retrench his expences; but he had always some plausible excuse to give, to justify his not following my advice. humanity, compassion, and the interest produced by a habit of living together, made me try to relieve, and sympathize with him; but, when i recollected that i was bound to live with such a being for ever--my heart died within me; my desire of improvement became languid, and baleful, corroding melancholy took possession of my soul. marriage had bastilled me for life. i discovered in myself a capacity for the enjoyment of the various pleasures existence affords; yet, fettered by the partial laws of society, this fair globe was to me an universal blank. "when i exhorted my husband to economy, i referred to himself. i was obliged to practise the most rigid, or contract debts, which i had too much reason to fear would never be paid. i despised this paltry privilege of a wife, which can only be of use to the vicious or inconsiderate, and determined not to increase the torrent that was bearing him down. i was then ignorant of the extent of his fraudulent speculations, whom i was bound to honour and obey. "a woman neglected by her husband, or whose manners form a striking contrast with his, will always have men on the watch to soothe and flatter her. besides, the forlorn state of a neglected woman, not destitute of personal charms, is particularly interesting, and rouses that species of pity, which is so near akin, it easily slides into love. a man of feeling thinks not of seducing, he is himself seduced by all the noblest emotions of his soul. he figures to himself all the sacrifices a woman of sensibility must make, and every situation in which his imagination places her, touches his heart, and fires his passions. longing to take to his bosom the shorn lamb, and bid the drooping buds of hope revive, benevolence changes into passion: and should he then discover that he is beloved, honour binds him fast, though foreseeing that he may afterwards be obliged to pay severe damages to the man, who never appeared to value his wife's society, till he found that there was a chance of his being indemnified for the loss of it. "such are the partial laws enacted by men; for, only to lay a stress on the dependent state of a woman in the grand question of the comforts arising from the possession of property, she is [even in this article] much more injured by the loss of the husband's affection, than he by that of his wife; yet where is she, condemned to the solitude of a deserted home, to look for a compensation from the woman, who seduces him from her? she cannot drive an unfaithful husband from his house, nor separate, or tear, his children from him, however culpable he may be; and he, still the master of his own fate, enjoys the smiles of a world, that would brand her with infamy, did she, seeking consolation, venture to retaliate. "these remarks are not dictated by experience; but merely by the compassion i feel for many amiable women, the _out-laws_ of the world. for myself, never encouraging any of the advances that were made to me, my lovers dropped off like the untimely shoots of spring. i did not even coquet with them; because i found, on examining myself, i could not coquet with a man without loving him a little; and i perceived that i should not be able to stop at the line of what are termed _innocent freedoms_, did i suffer any. my reserve was then the consequence of delicacy. freedom of conduct has emancipated many women's minds; but my conduct has most rigidly been governed by my principles, till the improvement of my understanding has enabled me to discern the fallacy of prejudices at war with nature and reason. "shortly after the change i have mentioned in my husband's conduct, my uncle was compelled by his declining health, to seek the succour of a milder climate, and embark for lisbon. he left his will in the hands of a friend, an eminent solicitor; he had previously questioned me relative to my situation and state of mind, and declared very freely, that he could place no reliance on the stability of my husband's professions. he had been deceived in the unfolding of his character; he now thought it fixed in a train of actions that would inevitably lead to ruin and disgrace. "the evening before his departure, which we spent alone together, he folded me to his heart, uttering the endearing appellation of 'child.'--my more than father! why was i not permitted to perform the last duties of one, and smooth the pillow of death? he seemed by his manner to be convinced that he should never see me more; yet requested me, most earnestly, to come to him, should i be obliged to leave my husband. he had before expressed his sorrow at hearing of my pregnancy, having determined to prevail on me to accompany him, till i informed him of that circumstance. he expressed himself unfeignedly sorry that any new tie should bind me to a man whom he thought so incapable of estimating my value; such was the kind language of affection. "i must repeat his own words; they made an indelible impression on my mind: "'the marriage state is certainly that in which women, generally speaking, can be most useful; but i am far from thinking that a woman, once married, ought to consider the engagement as indissoluble (especially if there be no children to reward her for sacrificing her feelings) in case her husband merits neither her love, nor esteem. esteem will often supply the place of love; and prevent a woman from being wretched, though it may not make her happy. the magnitude of a sacrifice ought always to bear some proportion to the utility in view; and for a woman to live with a man, for whom she can cherish neither affection nor esteem, or even be of any use to him, excepting in the light of a house-keeper, is an abjectness of condition, the enduring of which no concurrence of circumstances can ever make a duty in the sight of god or just men. if indeed she submits to it merely to be maintained in idleness, she has no right to complain bitterly of her fate; or to act, as a person of independent character might, as if she had a title to disregard general rules. "'but the misfortune is, that many women only submit in appearance, and forfeit their own respect to secure their reputation in the world. the situation of a woman separated from her husband, is undoubtedly very different from that of a man who has left his wife. he, with lordly dignity, has shaken of a clog; and the allowing her food and raiment, is thought sufficient to secure his reputation from taint. and, should she have been inconsiderate, he will be celebrated for his generosity and forbearance. such is the respect paid to the master-key of property! a woman, on the contrary, resigning what is termed her natural protector (though he never was so, but in name) is despised and shunned, for asserting the independence of mind distinctive of a rational being, and spurning at slavery.' "during the remainder of the evening, my uncle's tenderness led him frequently to revert to the subject, and utter, with increasing warmth, sentiments to the same purport. at length it was necessary to say 'farewell!'--and we parted--gracious god! to meet no more. chap. xi. "a gentleman of large fortune and of polished manners, had lately visited very frequently at our house, and treated me, if possible, with more respect than mr. venables paid him; my pregnancy was not yet visible, his society was a great relief to me, as i had for some time past, to avoid expence, confined myself very much at home. i ever disdained unnecessary, perhaps even prudent concealments; and my husband, with great ease, discovered the amount of my uncle's parting present. a copy of a writ was the stale pretext to extort it from me; and i had soon reason to believe that it was fabricated for the purpose. i acknowledge my folly in thus suffering myself to be continually imposed on. i had adhered to my resolution not to apply to my uncle, on the part of my husband, any more; yet, when i had received a sum sufficient to supply my own wants, and to enable me to pursue a plan i had in view, to settle my younger brother in a respectable employment, i allowed myself to be duped by mr. venables' shallow pretences, and hypocritical professions. "thus did he pillage me and my family, thus frustrate all my plans of usefulness. yet this was the man i was bound to respect and esteem: as if respect and esteem depended on an arbitrary will of our own! but a wife being as much a man's property as his horse, or his ass, she has nothing she can call her own. he may use any means to get at what the law considers as his, the moment his wife is in possession of it, even to the forcing of a lock, as mr. venables did, to search for notes in my writing-desk--and all this is done with a show of equity, because, forsooth, he is responsible for her maintenance. "the tender mother cannot _lawfully_ snatch from the gripe of the gambling spendthrift, or beastly drunkard, unmindful of his offspring, the fortune which falls to her by chance; or (so flagrant is the injustice) what she earns by her own exertions. no; he can rob her with impunity, even to waste publicly on a courtezan; and the laws of her country--if women have a country--afford her no protection or redress from the oppressor, unless she have the plea of bodily fear; yet how many ways are there of goading the soul almost to madness, equally unmanly, though not so mean? when such laws were framed, should not impartial lawgivers have first decreed, in the style of a great assembly, who recognized the existence of an _ãªtre suprãªme_, to fix the national belief, that the husband should always be wiser and more virtuous than his wife, in order to entitle him, with a show of justice, to keep this idiot, or perpetual minor, for ever in bondage. but i must have done--on this subject, my indignation continually runs away with me. "the company of the gentleman i have already mentioned, who had a general acquaintance with literature and subjects of taste, was grateful to me; my countenance brightened up as he approached, and i unaffectedly expressed the pleasure i felt. the amusement his conversation afforded me, made it easy to comply with my husband's request, to endeavour to render our house agreeable to him. "his attentions became more pointed; but, as i was not of the number of women, whose virtue, as it is termed, immediately takes alarm, i endeavoured, rather by raillery than serious expostulation, to give a different turn to his conversation. he assumed a new mode of attack, and i was, for a while, the dupe of his pretended friendship. "i had, merely in the style of _badinage_, boasted of my conquest, and repeated his lover-like compliments to my husband. but he begged me, for god's sake, not to affront his friend, or i should destroy all his projects, and be his ruin. had i had more affection for my husband, i should have expressed my contempt of this time-serving politeness: now i imagined that i only felt pity; yet it would have puzzled a casuist to point out in what the exact difference consisted. "this friend began now, in confidence, to discover to me the real state of my husband's affairs. 'necessity,' said mr. s----; why should i reveal his name? for he affected to palliate the conduct he could not excuse, 'had led him to take such steps, by accommodation bills, buying goods on credit, to sell them for ready money, and similar transactions, that his character in the commercial world was gone. he was considered,' he added, lowering his voice, 'on 'change as a swindler.' "i felt at that moment the first maternal pang. aware of the evils my sex have to struggle with, i still wished, for my own consolation, to be the mother of a daughter; and i could not bear to think, that the _sins_ of her father's entailed disgrace, should be added to the ills to which woman is heir. "so completely was i deceived by these shows of friendship (nay, i believe, according to his interpretation, mr. s--really was my friend) that i began to consult him respecting the best mode of retrieving my husband's character: it is the good name of a woman only that sets to rise no more. i knew not that he had been drawn into a whirlpool, out of which he had not the energy to attempt to escape. he seemed indeed destitute of the power of employing his faculties in any regular pursuit. his principles of action were so loose, and his mind so uncultivated, that every thing like order appeared to him in the shape of restraint; and, like men in the savage state, he required the strong stimulus of hope or fear, produced by wild speculations, in which the interests of others went for nothing, to keep his spirits awake. he one time possessed patriotism, but he knew not what it was to feel honest indignation; and pretended to be an advocate for liberty, when, with as little affection for the human race as for individuals, he thought of nothing but his own gratification. he was just such a citizen, as a father. the sums he adroitly obtained by a violation of the laws of his country, as well as those of humanity, he would allow a mistress to squander; though she was, with the same _sang froid_, consigned, as were his children, to poverty, when another proved more attractive. "on various pretences, his friend continued to visit me; and, observing my want of money, he tried to induce me to accept of pecuniary aid; but this offer i absolutely rejected, though it was made with such delicacy, i could not be displeased. "one day he came, as i thought accidentally, to dinner. my husband was very much engaged in business, and quitted the room soon after the cloth was removed. we conversed as usual, till confidential advice led again to love. i was extremely mortified. i had a sincere regard for him, and hoped that he had an equal friendship for me. i therefore began mildly to expostulate with him. this gentleness he mistook for coy encouragement; and he would not be diverted from the subject. perceiving his mistake, i seriously asked him how, using such language to me, he could profess to be my husband's friend? a significant sneer excited my curiosity, and he, supposing this to be my only scruple, took a letter deliberately out of his pocket, saying, 'your husband's honour is not inflexible. how could you, with your discernment, think it so? why, he left the room this very day on purpose to give me an opportunity to explain myself; _he_ thought me too timid--too tardy.' "i snatched the letter with indescribable emotion. the purport of it was to invite him to dinner, and to ridicule his chivalrous respect for me. he assured him, 'that every woman had her price, and, with gross indecency, hinted, that he should be glad to have the duty of a husband taken off his hands. these he termed _liberal sentiments_. he advised him not to shock my romantic notions, but to attack my credulous generosity, and weak pity; and concluded with requesting him to lend him five hundred pounds for a month or six weeks.' i read this letter twice over; and the firm purpose it inspired, calmed the rising tumult of my soul. i rose deliberately, requested mr. s---to wait a moment, and instantly going into the counting-house, desired mr. venables to return with me to the dining-parlour. "he laid down his pen, and entered with me, without observing any change in my countenance. i shut the door, and, giving him the letter, simply asked, 'whether he wrote it, or was it a forgery?' "nothing could equal his confusion. his friend's eye met his, and he muttered something about a joke--but i interrupted him--'it is sufficient--we part for ever.' "i continued, with solemnity, 'i have borne with your tyranny and infidelities. i disdain to utter what i have borne with. i thought you unprincipled, but not so decidedly vicious. i formed a tie, in the sight of heaven--i have held it sacred; even when men, more conformable to my taste, have made me feel--i despise all subterfuge!--that i was not dead to love. neglected by you, i have resolutely stifled the enticing emotions, and respected the plighted faith you outraged. and you dare now to insult me, by selling me to prostitution!--yes--equally lost to delicacy and principle--you dared sacrilegiously to barter the honour of the mother of your child.' "then, turning to mr. s----, i added, 'i call on you, sir, to witness,' and i lifted my hands and eyes to heaven, 'that, as solemnly as i took his name, i now abjure it,' i pulled off my ring, and put it on the table; 'and that i mean immediately to quit his house, never to enter it more. i will provide for myself and child. i leave him as free as i am determined to be myself--he shall be answerable for no debts of mine.' "astonishment closed their lips, till mr. venables, gently pushing his friend, with a forced smile, out of the room, nature for a moment prevailed, and, appearing like himself, he turned round, burning with rage, to me: but there was no terror in the frown, excepting when contrasted with the malignant smile which preceded it. he bade me 'leave the house at my peril; told me he despised my threats; i had no resource; i could not swear the peace against him!--i was not afraid of my life!--he had never struck me!' "he threw the letter in the fire, which i had incautiously left in his hands; and, quitting the room, locked the door on me. "when left alone, i was a moment or two before i could recollect myself. one scene had succeeded another with such rapidity, i almost doubted whether i was reflecting on a real event. 'was it possible? was i, indeed, free?'--yes; free i termed myself, when i decidedly perceived the conduct i ought to adopt. how had i panted for liberty--liberty, that i would have purchased at any price, but that of my own esteem! i rose, and shook myself; opened the window, and methought the air never smelled so sweet. the face of heaven grew fairer as i viewed it, and the clouds seemed to flit away obedient to my wishes, to give my soul room to expand. i was all soul, and (wild as it may appear) felt as if i could have dissolved in the soft balmy gale that kissed my cheek, or have glided below the horizon on the glowing, descending beams. a seraphic satisfaction animated, without agitating my spirits; and my imagination collected, in visions sublimely terrible, or soothingly beautiful, an immense variety of the endless images, which nature affords, and fancy combines, of the grand and fair. the lustre of these bright picturesque sketches faded with the setting sun; but i was still alive to the calm delight they had diffused through my heart. "there may be advocates for matrimonial obedience, who, making a distinction between the duty of a wife and of a human being, may blame my conduct.--to them i write not--my feelings are not for them to analyze; and may you, my child, never be able to ascertain, by heart-rending experience, what your mother felt before the present emancipation of her mind! "i began to write a letter to my father, after closing one to my uncle; not to ask advice, but to signify my determination; when i was interrupted by the entrance of mr. venables. his manner was changed. his views on my uncle's fortune made him averse to my quitting his house, or he would, i am convinced, have been glad to have shaken off even the slight restraint my presence imposed on him; the restraint of showing me some respect. so far from having an affection for me, he really hated me, because he was convinced that i must despise him. "he told me, that, 'as i now had had time to cool and reflect, he did not doubt but that my prudence, and nice sense of propriety, would lead me to overlook what was passed.' "'reflection,' i replied, 'had only confirmed my purpose, and no power on earth could divert me from it.' "endeavouring to assume a soothing voice and look, when he would willingly have tortured me, to force me to feel his power, his countenance had an infernal expression, when he desired me, 'not to expose myself to the servants, by obliging him to confine me in my apartment; if then i would give my promise not to quit the house precipitately, i should be free--and--.' i declared, interrupting him, 'that i would promise nothing. i had no measures to keep with him--i was resolved, and would not condescend to subterfuge.' "he muttered, 'that i should soon repent of these preposterous airs;' and, ordering tea to be carried into my little study, which had a communication with my bed-chamber, he once more locked the door upon me, and left me to my own meditations. i had passively followed him up stairs, not wishing to fatigue myself with unavailing exertion. "nothing calms the mind like a fixed purpose. i felt as if i had heaved a thousand weight from my heart; the atmosphere seemed lightened; and, if i execrated the institutions of society, which thus enable men to tyrannize over women, it was almost a disinterested sentiment. i disregarded present inconveniences, when my mind had done struggling with itself,--when reason and inclination had shaken hands and were at peace. i had no longer the cruel task before me, in endless perspective, aye, during the tedious for ever of life, of labouring to overcome my repugnance--of labouring to extinguish the hopes, the maybes of a lively imagination. death i had hailed as my only chance for deliverance; but, while existence had still so many charms, and life promised happiness, i shrunk from the icy arms of an unknown tyrant, though far more inviting than those of the man, to whom i supposed myself bound without any other alternative; and was content to linger a little longer, waiting for i knew not what, rather than leave 'the warm precincts of the cheerful day,' and all the unenjoyed affection of my nature. "my present situation gave a new turn to my reflection; and i wondered (now the film seemed to be withdrawn, that obscured the piercing sight of reason) how i could, previously to the deciding outrage, have considered myself as everlastingly united to vice and folly? 'had an evil genius cast a spell at my birth; or a demon stalked out of chaos, to perplex my understanding, and enchain my will, with delusive prejudices?' "i pursued this train of thinking; it led me out of myself, to expatiate on the misery peculiar to my sex. 'are not,' i thought, 'the despots for ever stigmatized, who, in the wantonness of power, commanded even the most atrocious criminals to be chained to dead bodies? though surely those laws are much more inhuman, which forge adamantine fetters to bind minds together, that never can mingle in social communion! what indeed can equal the wretchedness of that state, in which there is no alternative, but to extinguish the affections, or encounter infamy?' chap. xii. "towards midnight mr. venables entered my chamber; and, with calm audacity preparing to go to bed, he bade me make haste, 'for that was the best place for husbands and wives to end their differences. he had been drinking plentifully to aid his courage. "i did not at first deign to reply. but perceiving that he affected to take my silence for consent, i told him that, 'if he would not go to another bed, or allow me, i should sit up in my study all night.' he attempted to pull me into the chamber, half joking. but i resisted; and, as he had determined not to give me any reason for saying that he used violence, after a few more efforts, he retired, cursing my obstinacy, to bed. "i sat musing some time longer; then, throwing my cloak around me, prepared for sleep on a sopha. and, so fortunate seemed my deliverance, so sacred the pleasure of being thus wrapped up in myself, that i slept profoundly, and woke with a mind composed to encounter the struggles of the day. mr. venables did not wake till some hours after; and then he came to me half-dressed, yawning and stretching, with haggard eyes, as if he scarcely recollected what had passed the preceding evening. he fixed his eyes on me for a moment, then, calling me a fool, asked 'how long i intended to continue this pretty farce? for his part, he was devilish sick of it; but this was the plague of marrying women who pretended to know something.' "i made no other reply to this harangue, than to say, 'that he ought to be glad to get rid of a woman so unfit to be his companion--and that any change in my conduct would be mean dissimulation; for maturer reflection only gave the sacred seal of reason to my first resolution.' "he looked as if he could have stamped with impatience, at being obliged to stifle his rage; but, conquering his anger (for weak people, whose passions seem the most ungovernable, restrain them with the greatest ease, when they have a sufficient motive), he exclaimed, 'very pretty, upon my soul! very pretty, theatrical flourishes! pray, fair roxana, stoop from your altitudes, and remember that you are acting a part in real life.' "he uttered this speech with a self-satisfied air, and went down stairs to dress. "in about an hour he came to me again; and in the same tone said, 'that he came as my gentleman-usher to hand me down to breakfast. "'of the black rod?' asked i. "this question, and the tone in which i asked it, a little disconcerted him. to say the truth, i now felt no resentment; my firm resolution to free myself from my ignoble thraldom, had absorbed the various emotions which, during six years, had racked my soul. the duty pointed out by my principles seemed clear; and not one tender feeling intruded to make me swerve: the dislike which my husband had inspired was strong; but it only led me to wish to avoid, to wish to let him drop out of my memory; there was no misery, no torture that i would not deliberately have chosen, rather than renew my lease of servitude. "during the breakfast, he attempted to reason with me on the folly of romantic sentiments; for this was the indiscriminate epithet he gave to every mode of conduct or thinking superior to his own. he asserted, 'that all the world were governed by their own interest; those who pretended to be actuated by different motives, were only deeper knaves, or fools crazed by books, who took for gospel all the rodomantade nonsense written by men who knew nothing of the world. for his part, he thanked god, he was no hypocrite; and, if he stretched a point sometimes, it was always with an intention of paying every man his own.' "he then artfully insinuated, 'that he daily expected a vessel to arrive, a successful speculation, that would make him easy for the present, and that he had several other schemes actually depending, that could not fail. he had no doubt of becoming rich in a few years, though he had been thrown back by some unlucky adventures at the setting out.' "i mildly replied, 'that i wished he might not involve himself still deeper.' "he had no notion that i was governed by a decision of judgment, not to be compared with a mere spurt of resentment. he knew not what it was to feel indignation against vice, and often boasted of his placable temper, and readiness to forgive injuries. true; for he only considered the being deceived, as an effort of skill he had not guarded against; and then, with a cant of candour, would observe, 'that he did not know how he might himself have been tempted to act in the same circumstances.' and, as his heart never opened to friendship, it never was wounded by disappointment. every new acquaintance he protested, it is true, was 'the cleverest fellow in the world;' and he really thought so; till the novelty of his conversation or manners ceased to have any effect on his sluggish spirits. his respect for rank or fortune was more permanent, though he chanced to have no design of availing himself of the influence of either to promote his own views. "after a prefatory conversation,--my blood (i thought it had been cooler) flushed over my whole countenance as he spoke--he alluded to my situation. he desired me to reflect--'and act like a prudent woman, as the best proof of my superior understanding; for he must own i had sense, did i know how to use it. i was not,' he laid a stress on his words, 'without my passions; and a husband was a convenient cloke.--he was liberal in his way of thinking; and why might not we, like many other married people, who were above vulgar prejudices, tacitly consent to let each other follow their own inclination?--he meant nothing more, in the letter i made the ground of complaint; and the pleasure which i seemed to take in mr. s.'s company, led him to conclude, that he was not disagreeable to me.' "a clerk brought in the letters of the day, and i, as i often did, while he was discussing subjects of business, went to the _piano forte_, and began to play a favourite air to restore myself, as it were, to nature, and drive the sophisticated sentiments i had just been obliged to listen to, out of my soul. "they had excited sensations similar to those i have felt, in viewing the squalid inhabitants of some of the lanes and back streets of the metropolis, mortified at being compelled to consider them as my fellow-creatures, as if an ape had claimed kindred with me. or, as when surrounded by a mephitical fog, i have wished to have a volley of cannon fired, to clear the incumbered atmosphere, and give me room to breathe and move. "my spirits were all in arms, and i played a kind of extemporary prelude. the cadence was probably wild and impassioned, while, lost in thought, i made the sounds a kind of echo to my train of thinking. "pausing for a moment, i met mr. venables' eyes. he was observing me with an air of conceited satisfaction, as much as to say--'my last insinuation has done the business--she begins to know her own interest.' then gathering up his letters, he said, 'that he hoped he should hear no more romantic stuff, well enough in a miss just come from boarding school;' and went, as was his custom, to the counting-house. i still continued playing; and, turning to a sprightly lesson, i executed it with uncommon vivacity. i heard footsteps approach the door, and was soon convinced that mr. venables was listening; the consciousness only gave more animation to my fingers. he went down into the kitchen, and the cook, probably by his desire, came to me, to know what i would please to order for dinner. mr. venables came into the parlour again, with apparent carelessness. i perceived that the cunning man was over-reaching himself; and i gave my directions as usual, and left the room. "while i was making some alteration in my dress, mr. venables peeped in, and, begging my pardon for interrupting me, disappeared. i took up some work (i could not read), and two or three messages were sent to me, probably for no other purpose, but to enable mr. venables to ascertain what i was about. "i listened whenever i heard the street-door open; at last i imagined i could distinguish mr. venables' step, going out. i laid aside my work; my heart palpitated; still i was afraid hastily to enquire; and i waited a long half hour, before i ventured to ask the boy whether his master was in the counting-house? "being answered in the negative, i bade him call me a coach, and collecting a few necessaries hastily together, with a little parcel of letters and papers which i had collected the preceding evening, i hurried into it, desiring the coachman to drive to a distant part of the town. "i almost feared that the coach would break down before i got out of the street; and, when i turned the corner, i seemed to breathe a freer air. i was ready to imagine that i was rising above the thick atmosphere of earth; or i felt, as wearied souls might be supposed to feel on entering another state of existence. "i stopped at one or two stands of coaches to elude pursuit, and then drove round the skirts of the town to seek for an obscure lodging, where i wished to remain concealed, till i could avail myself of my uncle's protection. i had resolved to assume my own name immediately, and openly to avow my determination, without any formal vindication, the moment i had found a home, in which i could rest free from the daily alarm of expecting to see mr. venables enter. "i looked at several lodgings; but finding that i could not, without a reference to some acquaintance, who might inform my tyrant, get admittance into a decent apartment--men have not all this trouble--i thought of a woman whom i had assisted to furnish a little haberdasher's shop, and who i knew had a first floor to let. "i went to her, and though i could not persuade her, that the quarrel between me and mr. venables would never be made up, still she agreed to conceal me for the present; yet assuring me at the same time, shaking her head, that, when a woman was once married, she must bear every thing. her pale face, on which appeared a thousand haggard lines and delving wrinkles, produced by what is emphatically termed fretting, inforced her remark; and i had afterwards an opportunity of observing the treatment she had to endure, which grizzled her into patience. she toiled from morning till night; yet her husband would rob the till, and take away the money reserved for paying bills; and, returning home drunk, he would beat her if she chanced to offend him, though she had a child at the breast. "these scenes awoke me at night; and, in the morning, i heard her, as usual, talk to her dear johnny--he, forsooth, was her master; no slave in the west indies had one more despotic; but fortunately she was of the true russian breed of wives. "my mind, during the few past days, seemed, as it were, disengaged from my body; but, now the struggle was over, i felt very forcibly the effect which perturbation of spirits produces on a woman in my situation. "the apprehension of a miscarriage, obliged me to confine myself to my apartment near a fortnight; but i wrote to my uncle's friend for money, promising 'to call on him, and explain my situation, when i was well enough to go out; mean time i earnestly intreated him, not to mention my place of abode to any one, lest my husband--such the law considered him--should disturb the mind he could not conquer. i mentioned my intention of setting out for lisbon, to claim my uncle's protection, the moment my health would permit.' "the tranquillity however, which i was recovering, was soon interrupted. my landlady came up to me one day, with eyes swollen with weeping, unable to utter what she was commanded to say. she declared, 'that she was never so miserable in her life; that she must appear an ungrateful monster; and that she would readily go down on her knees to me, to intreat me to forgive her, as she had done to her husband to spare her the cruel task.' sobs prevented her from proceeding, or answering my impatient enquiries, to know what she meant. "when she became a little more composed, she took a newspaper out of her pocket, declaring, 'that her heart smote her, but what could she do?--she must obey her husband.' i snatched the paper from her. an advertisement quickly met my eye, purporting, that 'maria venables had, without any assignable cause, absconded from her husband; and any person harbouring her, was menaced with the utmost severity of the law.' "perfectly acquainted with mr. venables' meanness of soul, this step did not excite my surprise, and scarcely my contempt. resentment in my breast, never survived love. i bade the poor woman, in a kind tone, wipe her eyes, and request her husband to come up, and speak to me himself. "my manner awed him. he respected a lady, though not a woman; and began to mutter out an apology. "'mr. venables was a rich gentleman; he wished to oblige me, but he had suffered enough by the law already, to tremble at the thought; besides, for certain, we should come together again, and then even i should not thank him for being accessary to keeping us asunder.--a husband and wife were, god knows, just as one,--and all would come round at last.' he uttered a drawling 'hem!' and then with an arch look, added--'master might have had his little frolics--but--lord bless your heart!--men would be men while the world stands.' "to argue with this privileged first-born of reason, i perceived, would be vain. i therefore only requested him to let me remain another day at his house, while i sought for a lodging; and not to inform mr. venables that i had ever been sheltered there. "he consented, because he had not the courage to refuse a person for whom he had an habitual respect; but i heard the pent-up choler burst forth in curses, when he met his wife, who was waiting impatiently at the foot of the stairs, to know what effect my expostulations would have on him. "without wasting any time in the fruitless indulgence of vexation, i once more set out in search of an abode in which i could hide myself for a few weeks. "agreeing to pay an exorbitant price, i hired an apartment, without any reference being required relative to my character: indeed, a glance at my shape seemed to say, that my motive for concealment was sufficiently obvious. thus was i obliged to shroud my head in infamy. "to avoid all danger of detection--i use the appropriate word, my child, for i was hunted out like a felon--i determined to take possession of my new lodgings that very evening. "i did not inform my landlady where i was going. i knew that she had a sincere affection for me, and would willingly have run any risk to show her gratitude; yet i was fully convinced, that a few kind words from johnny would have found the woman in her, and her dear benefactress, as she termed me in an agony of tears, would have been sacrificed, to recompense her tyrant for condescending to treat her like an equal. he could be kind-hearted, as she expressed it, when he pleased. and this thawed sternness, contrasted with his habitual brutality, was the more acceptable, and could not be purchased at too dear a rate. "the sight of the advertisement made me desirous of taking refuge with my uncle, let what would be the consequence; and i repaired in a hackney coach (afraid of meeting some person who might chance to know me, had i walked) to the chambers of my uncle's friend. "he received me with great politeness (my uncle had already prepossessed him in my favour), and listened, with interest, to my explanation of the motives which had induced me to fly from home, and skulk in obscurity, with all the timidity of fear that ought only to be the companion of guilt. he lamented, with rather more gallantry than, in my situation, i thought delicate, that such a woman should be thrown away on a man insensible to the charms of beauty or grace. he seemed at a loss what to advise me to do, to evade my husband's search, without hastening to my uncle, whom, he hesitating said, i might not find alive. he uttered this intelligence with visible regret; requested me, at least, to wait for the arrival of the next packet; offered me what money i wanted, and promised to visit me. "he kept his word; still no letter arrived to put an end to my painful state of suspense. i procured some books and music, to beguile the tedious solitary days. 'come, ever smiling liberty, 'and with thee bring thy jocund train:' i sung--and sung till, saddened by the strain of joy, i bitterly lamented the fate that deprived me of all social pleasure. comparative liberty indeed i had possessed myself of; but the jocund train lagged far behind! chap. xiii. "by watching my only visitor, my uncle's friend, or by some other means, mr. venables discovered my residence, and came to enquire for me. the maid-servant assured him there was no such person in the house. a bustle ensued--i caught the alarm--listened--distinguished his voice, and immediately locked the door. they suddenly grew still; and i waited near a quarter of an hour, before i heard him open the parlour door, and mount the stairs with the mistress of the house, who obsequiously declared that she knew nothing of me. "finding my door locked, she requested me to 'open it, and prepare to go home with my husband, poor gentleman! to whom i had already occasioned sufficient vexation.' i made no reply. mr. venables then, in an assumed tone of softness, intreated me, 'to consider what he suffered, and my own reputation, and get the better of childish resentment.' he ran on in the same strain, pretending to address me, but evidently adapting his discourse to the capacity of the landlady; who, at every pause, uttered an exclamation of pity; or 'yes, to be sure--very true, sir.' "sick of the farce, and perceiving that i could not avoid the hated interview, i opened the door, and he entered. advancing with easy assurance to take my hand, i shrunk from his touch, with an involuntary start, as i should have done from a noisome reptile, with more disgust than terror. his conductress was retiring, to give us, as she said, an opportunity to accommodate matters. but i bade her come in, or i would go out; and curiosity impelled her to obey me. "mr. venables began to expostulate; and this woman, proud of his confidence, to second him. but i calmly silenced her, in the midst of a vulgar harangue, and turning to him, asked, 'why he vainly tormented me? declaring that no power on earth should force me back to his house.' "after a long altercation, the particulars of which, it would be to no purpose to repeat, he left the room. some time was spent in loud conversation in the parlour below, and i discovered that he had brought his friend, an attorney, with him. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * the tumult on the landing place, brought out a gentleman, who had recently taken apartments in the house; he enquired why i was thus assailed[91-a]? the voluble attorney instantly repeated the trite tale. the stranger turned to me, observing, with the most soothing politeness and manly interest, that 'my countenance told a very different story.' he added, 'that i should not be insulted, or forced out of the house, by any body.' "'not by her husband?' asked the attorney. "'no, sir, not by her husband.' mr. venables advanced towards him--but there was a decision in his attitude, that so well seconded that of his voice, * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * they left the house: at the same time protesting, that any one that should dare to protect me, should be prosecuted with the utmost rigour. "they were scarcely out of the house, when my landlady came up to me again, and begged my pardon, in a very different tone. for, though mr. venables had bid her, at her peril, harbour me, he had not attended, i found, to her broad hints, to discharge the lodging. i instantly promised to pay her, and make her a present to compensate for my abrupt departure, if she would procure me another lodging, at a sufficient distance; and she, in return, repeating mr. venables' plausible tale, i raised her indignation, and excited her sympathy, by telling her briefly the truth. "she expressed her commiseration with such honest warmth, that i felt soothed; for i have none of that fastidious sensitiveness, which a vulgar accent or gesture can alarm to the disregard of real kindness. i was ever glad to perceive in others the humane feelings i delighted to exercise; and the recollection of some ridiculous characteristic circumstances, which have occurred in a moment of emotion, has convulsed me with laughter, though at the instant i should have thought it sacrilegious to have smiled. your improvement, my dearest girl, being ever present to me while i write, i note these feelings, because women, more accustomed to observe manners than actions, are too much alive to ridicule. so much so, that their boasted sensibility is often stifled by false delicacy. true sensibility, the sensibility which is the auxiliary of virtue, and the soul of genius, is in society so occupied with the feelings of others, as scarcely to regard its own sensations. with what reverence have i looked up at my uncle, the dear parent of my mind! when i have seen the sense of his own sufferings, of mind and body, absorbed in a desire to comfort those, whose misfortunes were comparatively trivial. he would have been ashamed of being as indulgent to himself, as he was to others. 'genuine fortitude,' he would assert, 'consisted in governing our own emotions, and making allowance for the weaknesses in our friends, that we would not tolerate in ourselves.' but where is my fond regret leading me! "'women must be submissive,' said my landlady. 'indeed what could most women do? who had they to maintain them, but their husbands? every woman, and especially a lady, could not go through rough and smooth, as she had done, to earn a little bread.' "she was in a talking mood, and proceeded to inform me how she had been used in the world. 'she knew what it was to have a bad husband, or she did not know who should.' i perceived that she would be very much mortified, were i not to attend to her tale, and i did not attempt to interrupt her, though i wished her, as soon as possible, to go out in search of a new abode for me, where i could once more hide my head. "she began by telling me, 'that she had saved a little money in service; and was over-persuaded (we must all be in love once in our lives) to marry a likely man, a footman in the family, not worth a groat. my plan,' she continued, 'was to take a house, and let out lodgings; and all went on well, till my husband got acquainted with an impudent slut, who chose to live on other people's means--and then all went to rack and ruin. he ran in debt to buy her fine clothes, such clothes as i never thought of wearing myself, and--would you believe it?--he signed an execution on my very goods, bought with the money i worked so hard to get; and they came and took my bed from under me, before i heard a word of the matter. aye, madam, these are misfortunes that you gentlefolks know nothing of,--but sorrow is sorrow, let it come which way it will. "'i sought for a service again--very hard, after having a house of my own!--but he used to follow me, and kick up such a riot when he was drunk, that i could not keep a place; nay, he even stole my clothes, and pawned them; and when i went to the pawnbroker's, and offered to take my oath that they were not bought with a farthing of his money, they said, 'it was all as one, my husband had a right to whatever i had.' "'at last he listed for a soldier, and i took a house, making an agreement to pay for the furniture by degrees; and i almost starved myself, till i once more got before-hand in the world. "'after an absence of six years (god forgive me! i thought he was dead) my husband returned; found me out, and came with such a penitent face, i forgave him, and clothed him from head to foot. but he had not been a week in the house, before some of his creditors arrested him; and, he selling my goods, i found myself once more reduced to beggary; for i was not as well able to work, go to bed late, and rise early, as when i quitted service; and then i thought it hard enough. he was soon tired of me, when there was nothing more to be had, and left me again. "'i will not tell you how i was buffeted about, till, hearing for certain that he had died in an hospital abroad, i once more returned to my old occupation; but have not yet been able to get my head above water: so, madam, you must not be angry if i am afraid to run any risk, when i know so well, that women have always the worst of it, when law is to decide.' "after uttering a few more complaints, i prevailed on my landlady to go out in quest of a lodging; and, to be more secure, i condescended to the mean shift of changing my name. "but why should i dwell on similar incidents!--i was hunted, like an infected beast, from three different apartments, and should not have been allowed to rest in any, had not mr. venables, informed of my uncle's dangerous state of health, been inspired with the fear of hurrying me out of the world as i advanced in my pregnancy, by thus tormenting and obliging me to take sudden journeys to avoid him; and then his speculations on my uncle's fortune must prove abortive. "one day, when he had pursued me to an inn, i fainted, hurrying from him; and, falling down, the sight of my blood alarmed him, and obtained a respite for me. it is strange that he should have retained any hope, after observing my unwavering determination; but, from the mildness of my behaviour, when i found all my endeavours to change his disposition unavailing, he formed an erroneous opinion of my character, imagining that, were we once more together, i should part with the money he could not legally force from me, with the same facility as formerly. my forbearance and occasional sympathy he had mistaken for weakness of character; and, because he perceived that i disliked resistance, he thought my indulgence and compassion mere selfishness, and never discovered that the fear of being unjust, or of unnecessarily wounding the feelings of another, was much more painful to me, than any thing i could have to endure myself. perhaps it was pride which made me imagine, that i could bear what i dreaded to inflict; and that it was often easier to suffer, than to see the sufferings of others. "i forgot to mention that, during this persecution, i received a letter from my uncle, informing me, 'that he only found relief from continual change of air; and that he intended to return when the spring was a little more advanced (it was now the middle of february), and then we would plan a journey to italy, leaving the fogs and cares of england far behind.' he approved of my conduct, promised to adopt my child, and seemed to have no doubt of obliging mr. venables to hear reason. he wrote to his friend, by the same post, desiring him to call on mr. venables in his name; and, in consequence of the remonstrances he dictated, i was permitted to lie-in tranquilly. "the two or three weeks previous, i had been allowed to rest in peace; but, so accustomed was i to pursuit and alarm, that i seldom closed my eyes without being haunted by mr. venables' image, who seemed to assume terrific or hateful forms to torment me, wherever i turned.--sometimes a wild cat, a roaring bull, or hideous assassin, whom i vainly attempted to fly; at others he was a demon, hurrying me to the brink of a precipice, plunging me into dark waves, or horrid gulfs; and i woke, in violent fits of trembling anxiety, to assure myself that it was all a dream, and to endeavour to lure my waking thoughts to wander to the delightful italian vales, i hoped soon to visit; or to picture some august ruins, where i reclined in fancy on a mouldering column, and escaped, in the contemplation of the heart-enlarging virtues of antiquity, from the turmoil of cares that had depressed all the daring purposes of my soul. but i was not long allowed to calm my mind by the exercise of my imagination; for the third day after your birth, my child, i was surprised by a visit from my elder brother; who came in the most abrupt manner, to inform me of the death of my uncle. he had left the greater part of his fortune to my child, appointing me its guardian; in short, every step was taken to enable me to be mistress of his fortune, without putting any part of it in mr. venables' power. my brother came to vent his rage on me, for having, as he expressed himself, 'deprived him, my uncle's eldest nephew, of his inheritance;' though my uncle's property, the fruit of his own exertion, being all in the funds, or on landed securities, there was not a shadow of justice in the charge. "as i sincerely loved my uncle, this intelligence brought on a fever, which i struggled to conquer with all the energy of my mind; for, in my desolate state, i had it very much at heart to suckle you, my poor babe. you seemed my only tie to life, a cherub, to whom i wished to be a father, as well as a mother; and the double duty appeared to me to produce a proportionate increase of affection. but the pleasure i felt, while sustaining you, snatched from the wreck of hope, was cruelly damped by melancholy reflections on my widowed state--widowed by the death of my uncle. of mr. venables i thought not, even when i thought of the felicity of loving your father, and how a mother's pleasure might be exalted, and her care softened by a husband's tenderness.--'ought to be!' i exclaimed; and i endeavoured to drive away the tenderness that suffocated me; but my spirits were weak, and the unbidden tears would flow. 'why was i,' i would ask thee, but thou didst not heed me,--'cut off from the participation of the sweetest pleasure of life?' i imagined with what extacy, after the pains of child-bed, i should have presented my little stranger, whom i had so long wished to view, to a respectable father, and with what maternal fondness i should have pressed them both to my heart!--now i kissed her with less delight, though with the most endearing compassion, poor helpless one! when i perceived a slight resemblance of him, to whom she owed her existence; or, if any gesture reminded me of him, even in his best days, my heart heaved, and i pressed the innocent to my bosom, as if to purify it--yes, i blushed to think that its purity had been sullied, by allowing such a man to be its father. "after my recovery, i began to think of taking a house in the country, or of making an excursion on the continent, to avoid mr. venables; and to open my heart to new pleasures and affection. the spring was melting into summer, and you, my little companion, began to smile--that smile made hope bud out afresh, assuring me the world was not a desert. your gestures were ever present to my fancy; and i dwelt on the joy i should feel when you would begin to walk and lisp. watching your wakening mind, and shielding from every rude blast my tender blossom, i recovered my spirits--i dreamed not of the frost--'the killing frost,' to which you were destined to be exposed.--but i lose all patience--and execrate the injustice of the world--folly! ignorance!--i should rather call it; but, shut up from a free circulation of thought, and always pondering on the same griefs, i writhe under the torturing apprehensions, which ought to excite only honest indignation, or active compassion; and would, could i view them as the natural consequence of things. but, born a woman--and born to suffer, in endeavouring to repress my own emotions, i feel more acutely the various ills my sex are fated to bear--i feel that the evils they are subject to endure, degrade them so far below their oppressors, as almost to justify their tyranny; leading at the same time superficial reasoners to term that weakness the cause, which is only the consequence of short-sighted despotism. footnotes: [91-a] the introduction of darnford as the deliverer of maria, in an early stage of the history, is already stated (chap. iii.) to have been an after-thought of the author. this has probably caused the imperfectness of the manuscript in the above passage; though, at the same time, it must be acknowledged to be somewhat uncertain, whether darnford is the stranger intended in this place. it appears from chap. xvii. that an interference of a more decisive nature was designed to be attributed to him. editor. chap. xiv. "as my mind grew calmer, the visions of italy again returned with their former glow of colouring; and i resolved on quitting the kingdom for a time, in search of the cheerfulness, that naturally results from a change of scene, unless we carry the barbed arrow with us, and only see what we feel. "during the period necessary to prepare for a long absence, i sent a supply to pay my father's debts, and settled my brothers in eligible situations; but my attention was not wholly engrossed by my family, though i do not think it necessary to enumerate the common exertions of humanity. the manner in which my uncle's property was settled, prevented me from making the addition to the fortune of my surviving sister, that i could have wished; but i had prevailed on him to bequeath her two thousand pounds, and she determined to marry a lover, to whom she had been some time attached. had it not been for this engagement, i should have invited her to accompany me in my tour; and i might have escaped the pit, so artfully dug in my path, when i was the least aware of danger. "i had thought of remaining in england, till i weaned my child; but this state of freedom was too peaceful to last, and i had soon reason to wish to hasten my departure. a friend of mr. venables, the same attorney who had accompanied him in several excursions to hunt me from my hiding places, waited on me to propose a reconciliation. on my refusal, he indirectly advised me to make over to my husband--for husband he would term him--the greater part of the property i had at command, menacing me with continual persecution unless i complied, and that, as a last resort, he would claim the child. i did not, though intimidated by the last insinuation, scruple to declare, that i would not allow him to squander the money left to me for far different purposes, but offered him five hundred pounds, if he would sign a bond not to torment me any more. my maternal anxiety made me thus appear to waver from my first determination, and probably suggested to him, or his diabolical agent, the infernal plot, which has succeeded but too well. "the bond was executed; still i was impatient to leave england. mischief hung in the air when we breathed the same; i wanted seas to divide us, and waters to roll between, till he had forgotten that i had the means of helping him through a new scheme. disturbed by the late occurrences, i instantly prepared for my departure. my only delay was waiting for a maid-servant, who spoke french fluently, and had been warmly recommended to me. a valet i was advised to hire, when i fixed on my place of residence for any time. "my god, with what a light heart did i set out for dover!--it was not my country, but my cares, that i was leaving behind. my heart seemed to bound with the wheels, or rather appeared the centre on which they twirled. i clasped you to my bosom, exclaiming 'and you will be safe--quite safe--when--we are once on board the packet.--would we were there!' i smiled at my idle fears, as the natural effect of continual alarm; and i scarcely owned to myself that i dreaded mr. venables's cunning, or was conscious of the horrid delight he would feel, at forming stratagem after stratagem to circumvent me. i was already in the snare--i never reached the packet--i never saw thee more.--i grow breathless. i have scarcely patience to write down the details. the maid--the plausible woman i had hired--put, doubtless, some stupifying potion in what i ate or drank, the morning i left town. all i know is, that she must have quitted the chaise, shameless wretch! and taken (from my breast) my babe with her. how could a creature in a female form see me caress thee, and steal thee from my arms! i must stop, stop to repress a mother's anguish; left, in bitterness of soul, i imprecate the wrath of heaven on this tiger, who tore my only comfort from me. "how long i slept i know not; certainly many hours, for i woke at the close of day, in a strange confusion of thought. i was probably roused to recollection by some one thundering at a huge, unwieldy gate. attempting to ask where i was, my voice died away, and i tried to raise it in vain, as i have done in a dream. i looked for my babe with affright; feared that it had fallen out of my lap, while i had so strangely forgotten her; and, such was the vague intoxication, i can give it no other name, in which i was plunged, i could not recollect when or where i last saw you; but i sighed, as if my heart wanted room to clear my head. "the gates opened heavily, and the sullen sound of many locks and bolts drawn back, grated on my very soul, before i was appalled by the creeking of the dismal hinges, as they closed after me. the gloomy pile was before me, half in ruins; some of the aged trees of the avenue were cut down, and left to rot where they fell; and as we approached some mouldering steps, a monstrous dog darted forwards to the length of his chain, and barked and growled infernally. "the door was opened slowly, and a murderous visage peeped out, with a lantern. 'hush!' he uttered, in a threatning tone, and the affrighted animal stole back to his kennel. the door of the chaise flew back, the stranger put down the lantern, and clasped his dreadful arms around me. it was certainly the effect of the soporific draught, for, instead of exerting my strength, i sunk without motion, though not without sense, on his shoulder, my limbs refusing to obey my will. i was carried up the steps into a close-shut hall. a candle flaring in the socket, scarcely dispersed the darkness, though it displayed to me the ferocious countenance of the wretch who held me. "he mounted a wide staircase. large figures painted on the walls seemed to start on me, and glaring eyes to meet me at every turn. entering a long gallery, a dismal shriek made me spring out of my conductor's arms, with i know not what mysterious emotion of terror; but i fell on the floor, unable to sustain myself. "a strange-looking female started out of one of the recesses, and observed me with more curiosity than interest; till, sternly bid retire, she flitted back like a shadow. other faces, strongly marked, or distorted, peeped through the half-opened doors, and i heard some incoherent sounds. i had no distinct idea where i could be--i looked on all sides, and almost doubted whether i was alive or dead. "thrown on a bed, i immediately sunk into insensibility again; and next day, gradually recovering the use of reason, i began, starting affrighted from the conviction, to discover where i was confined--i insisted on seeing the master of the mansion--i saw him--and perceived that i was buried alive.-"such, my child, are the events of thy mother's life to this dreadful moment--should she ever escape from the fangs of her enemies, she will add the secrets of her prison-house--and--" some lines were here crossed out, and the memoirs broke off abruptly with the names of jemima and darnford. appendix. [advertisement. the performance, with a fragment of which the reader has now been presented, was designed to consist of three parts. the preceding sheets were considered as constituting one of those parts. those persons who in the perusal of the chapters, already written and in some degree finished by the author, have felt their hearts awakened, and their curiosity excited as to the sequel of the story, will, of course, gladly accept even of the broken paragraphs and half-finished sentences, which have been found committed to paper, as materials for the remainder. the fastidious and cold-hearted critic may perhaps feel himself repelled by the incoherent form in which they are presented. but an inquisitive temper willingly accepts the most imperfect and mutilated information, where better is not to be had: and readers, who in any degree resemble the author in her quick apprehension of sentiment, and of the pleasures and pains of imagination, will, i believe, find gratification, in contemplating sketches, which were designed in a short time to have received the finishing touches of her genius; but which must now for ever remain a mark to record the triumphs of mortality, over schemes of usefulness, and projects of public interest.] chap. xv. darnford returned the memoirs to maria, with a most affectionate letter, in which he reasoned on "the absurdity of the laws respecting matrimony, which, till divorces could be more easily obtained, was," he declared, "the most insufferable bondage. ties of this nature could not bind minds governed by superior principles; and such beings were privileged to act above the dictates of laws they had no voice in framing, if they had sufficient strength of mind to endure the natural consequence. in her case, to talk of duty, was a farce, excepting what was due to herself. delicacy, as well as reason, forbade her ever to think of returning to her husband: was she then to restrain her charming sensibility through mere prejudice? these arguments were not absolutely impartial, for he disdained to conceal, that, when he appealed to her reason, he felt that he had some interest in her heart.--the conviction was not more transporting, than sacred--a thousand times a day, he asked himself how he had merited such happiness?--and as often he determined to purify the heart she deigned to inhabit--he intreated to be again admitted to her presence." he was; and the tear which glistened in his eye, when he respectfully pressed her to his bosom, rendered him peculiarly dear to the unfortunate mother. grief had stilled the transports of love, only to render their mutual tenderness more touching. in former interviews, darnford had contrived, by a hundred little pretexts, to sit near her, to take her hand, or to meet her eyes--now it was all soothing affection, and esteem seemed to have rivalled love. he adverted to her narrative, and spoke with warmth of the oppression she had endured.--his eyes, glowing with a lambent flame, told her how much he wished to restore her to liberty and love; but he kissed her hand, as if it had been that of a saint; and spoke of the loss of her child, as if it had been his own.--what could have been more flattering to maria?--every instance of self-denial was registered in her heart, and she loved him, for loving her too well to give way to the transports of passion. they met again and again; and darnford declared, while passion suffused his cheeks, that he never before knew what it was to love.-one morning jemima informed maria, that her master intended to wait on her, and speak to her without witnesses. he came, and brought a letter with him, pretending that he was ignorant of its contents, though he insisted on having it returned to him. it was from the attorney already mentioned, who informed her of the death of her child, and hinted, "that she could not now have a legitimate heir, and that, would she make over the half of her fortune during life, she should be conveyed to dover, and permitted to pursue her plan of travelling." maria answered with warmth, "that she had no terms to make with the murderer of her babe, nor would she purchase liberty at the price of her own respect." she began to expostulate with her jailor; but he sternly bade her "be silent--he had not gone so far, not to go further." darnford came in the evening. jemima was obliged to be absent, and she, as usual, locked the door on them, to prevent interruption or discovery.--the lovers were, at first, embarrassed; but fell insensibly into confidential discourse. darnford represented, "that they might soon be parted," and wished her "to put it out of the power of fate to separate them." as her husband she now received him, and he solemnly pledged himself as her protector--and eternal friend.-there was one peculiarity in maria's mind: she was more anxious not to deceive, than to guard against deception; and had rather trust without sufficient reason, than be for ever the prey of doubt. besides, what are we, when the mind has, from reflection, a certain kind of elevation, which exalts the contemplation above the little concerns of prudence! we see what we wish, and make a world of our own--and, though reality may sometimes open a door to misery, yet the moments of happiness procured by the imagination, may, without a paradox, be reckoned among the solid comforts of life. maria now, imagining that she had found a being of celestial mould--was happy,--nor was she deceived.--he was then plastic in her impassioned hand--and reflected all the sentiments which animated and warmed her. --------------------------chap. xvi. one morning confusion seemed to reign in the house, and jemima came in terror, to inform maria, "that her master had left it, with a determination, she was assured (and too many circumstances corroborated the opinion, to leave a doubt of its truth) of never returning. i am prepared then," said jemima, "to accompany you in your flight." maria started up, her eyes darting towards the door, as if afraid that some one should fasten it on her for ever. jemima continued, "i have perhaps no right now to expect the performance of your promise; but on you it depends to reconcile me with the human race." "but darnford!"--exclaimed maria, mournfully--sitting down again, and crossing her arms--"i have no child to go to, and liberty has lost its sweets." "i am much mistaken, if darnford is not the cause of my master's flight--his keepers assure me, that they have promised to confine him two days longer, and then he will be free--you cannot see him; but they will give a letter to him the moment he is free.--in that inform him where he may find you in london; fix on some hotel. give me your clothes; i will send them out of the house with mine, and we will slip out at the garden-gate. write your letter while i make these arrangements, but lose no time!" in an agitation of spirit, not to be calmed, maria began to write to darnford. she called him by the sacred name of "husband," and bade him "hasten to her, to share her fortune, or she would return to him."--an hotel in the adelphi was the place of rendezvous. the letter was sealed and given in charge; and with light footsteps, yet terrified at the sound of them, she descended, scarcely breathing, and with an indistinct fear that she should never get out at the garden gate. jemima went first. a being, with a visage that would have suited one possessed by a devil, crossed the path, and seized maria by the arm. maria had no fear but of being detained--"who are you? what are you?" for the form was scarcely human. "if you are made of flesh and blood," his ghastly eyes glared on her, "do not stop me!" "woman," interrupted a sepulchral voice, "what have i to do with thee?"--still he grasped her hand, muttering a curse. "no, no; you have nothing to do with me," she exclaimed, "this is a moment of life and death!"-with supernatural force she broke from him, and, throwing her arms round jemima, cried, "save me!" the being, from whose grasp she had loosed herself, took up a stone as they opened the door, and with a kind of hellish sport threw it after them. they were out of his reach. when maria arrived in town, she drove to the hotel already fixed on. but she could not sit still--her child was ever before her; and all that had passed during her confinement, appeared to be a dream. she went to the house in the suburbs, where, as she now discovered, her babe had been sent. the moment she entered, her heart grew sick; but she wondered not that it had proved its grave. she made the necessary enquiries, and the church-yard was pointed out, in which it rested under a turf. a little frock which the nurse's child wore (maria had made it herself) caught her eye. the nurse was glad to sell it for half-a-guinea, and maria hastened away with the relic, and, re-entering the hackney-coach which waited for her, gazed on it, till she reached her hotel. she then waited on the attorney who had made her uncle's will, and explained to him her situation. he readily advanced her some of the money which still remained in his hands, and promised to take the whole of the case into consideration. maria only wished to be permitted to remain in quiet--she found that several bills, apparently with her signature, had been presented to her agent, nor was she for a moment at a loss to guess by whom they had been forged; yet, equally averse to threaten or intreat, she requested her friend [the solicitor] to call on mr. venables. he was not to be found at home; but at length his agent, the attorney, offered a conditional promise to maria, to leave her in peace, as long as she behaved with propriety, if she would give up the notes. maria inconsiderately consented--darnford was arrived, and she wished to be only alive to love; she wished to forget the anguish she felt whenever she thought of her child. they took a ready furnished lodging together, for she was above disguise; jemima insisting on being considered as her house-keeper, and to receive the customary stipend. on no other terms would she remain with her friend. darnford was indefatigable in tracing the mysterious circumstances of his confinement. the cause was simply, that a relation, a very distant one, to whom he was heir, had died intestate, leaving a considerable fortune. on the news of darnford's arrival [in england, a person, intrusted with the management of the property, and who had the writings in his possession, determining, by one bold stroke, to strip darnford of the succession,] had planned his confinement; and [as soon as he had taken the measures he judged most conducive to his object, this ruffian, together with his instrument,] the keeper of the private mad-house, left the kingdom. darnford, who still pursued his enquiries, at last discovered that they had fixed their place of refuge at paris. maria and he determined therefore, with the faithful jemima, to visit that metropolis, and accordingly were preparing for the journey, when they were informed that mr. venables had commenced an action against darnford for seduction and adultery. the indignation maria felt cannot be explained; she repented of the forbearance she had exercised in giving up the notes. darnford could not put off his journey, without risking the loss of his property: maria therefore furnished him with money for his expedition; and determined to remain in london till the termination of this affair. she visited some ladies with whom she had formerly been intimate, but was refused admittance; and at the opera, or ranelagh, they could not recollect her. among these ladies there were some, not her most intimate acquaintance, who were generally supposed to avail themselves of the cloke of marriage, to conceal a mode of conduct, that would for ever have damned their fame, had they been innocent, seduced girls. these particularly stood aloof.--had she remained with her husband, practising insincerity, and neglecting her child to manage an intrigue, she would still have been visited and respected. if, instead of openly living with her lover, she could have condescended to call into play a thousand arts, which, degrading her own mind, might have allowed the people who were not deceived, to pretend to be so, she would have been caressed and treated like an honourable woman. "and brutus[138-a] is an honourable man!" said mark-antony with equal sincerity. with darnford she did not taste uninterrupted felicity; there was a volatility in his manner which often distressed her; but love gladdened the scene; besides, he was the most tender, sympathizing creature in the world. a fondness for the sex often gives an appearance of humanity to the behaviour of men, who have small pretensions to the reality; and they seem to love others, when they are only pursuing their own gratification. darnford appeared ever willing to avail himself of her taste and acquirements, while she endeavoured to profit by his decision of character, and to eradicate some of the romantic notions, which had taken root in her mind, while in adversity she had brooded over visions of unattainable bliss. the real affections of life, when they are allowed to burst forth, are buds pregnant with joy and all the sweet emotions of the soul; yet they branch out with wild ease, unlike the artificial forms of felicity, sketched by an imagination painful alive. the substantial happiness, which enlarges and civilizes the mind, may be compared to the pleasure experienced in roving through nature at large, inhaling the sweet gale natural to the clime; while the reveries of a feverish imagination continually sport themselves in gardens full of aromatic shrubs, which cloy while they delight, and weaken the sense of pleasure they gratify. the heaven of fancy, below or beyond the stars, in this life, or in those ever-smiling regions surrounded by the unmarked ocean of futurity, have an insipid uniformity which palls. poets have imagined scenes of bliss; but, fencing out sorrow, all the extatic emotions of the soul, and even its grandeur, seem to be equally excluded. we dose over the unruffled lake, and long to scale the rocks which fence the happy valley of contentment, though serpents hiss in the pathless desert, and danger lurks in the unexplored wiles. maria found herself more indulgent as she was happier, and discovered virtues, in characters she had before disregarded, while chasing the phantoms of elegance and excellence, which sported in the meteors that exhale in the marshes of misfortune. the heart is often shut by romance against social pleasure; and, fostering a sickly sensibility, grows callous to the soft touches of humanity. to part with darnford was indeed cruel.--it was to feel most painfully alone; but she rejoiced to think, that she should spare him the care and perplexity of the suit, and meet him again, all his own. marriage, as at present constituted, she considered as leading to immorality--yet, as the odium of society impedes usefulness, she wished to avow her affection to darnford, by becoming his wife according to established rules; not to be confounded with women who act from very different motives, though her conduct would be just the same without the ceremony as with it, and her expectations from him not less firm. the being summoned to defend herself from a charge which she was determined to plead guilty to, was still galling, as it roused bitter reflections on the situation of women in society. footnotes: [138-a] the name in the manuscript is by mistake written cã¦sar. editor. chap. xvii. such was her state of mind when the dogs of law were let loose on her. maria took the task of conducting darnford's defence upon herself. she instructed his counsel to plead guilty to the charge of adultery; but to deny that of seduction. the counsel for the plaintiff opened the cause, by observing, "that his client had ever been an indulgent husband, and had borne with several defects of temper, while he had nothing criminal to lay to the charge of his wife. but that she left his house without assigning any cause. he could not assert that she was then acquainted with the defendant; yet, when he was once endeavouring to bring her back to her home, this man put the peace-officers to flight, and took her he knew not whither. after the birth of her child, her conduct was so strange, and a melancholy malady having afflicted one of the family, which delicacy forbade the dwelling on, it was necessary to confine her. by some means the defendant enabled her to make her escape, and they had lived together, in despite of all sense of order and decorum. the adultery was allowed, it was not necessary to bring any witnesses to prove it; but the seduction, though highly probable from the circumstances which he had the honour to state, could not be so clearly proved.--it was of the most atrocious kind, as decency was set at defiance, and respect for reputation, which shows internal compunction, utterly disregarded." a strong sense of injustice had silenced every emotion, which a mixture of true and false delicacy might otherwise have excited in maria's bosom. she only felt in earnest to insist on the privilege of her nature. the sarcasms of society, and the condemnation of a mistaken world, were nothing to her, compared with acting contrary to those feelings which were the foundation of her principles. [she therefore eagerly put herself forward, instead of desiring to be absent, on this memorable occasion.] convinced that the subterfuges of the law were disgraceful, she wrote a paper, which she expressly desired might be read in court: "married when scarcely able to distinguish the nature of the engagement, i yet submitted to the rigid laws which enslave women, and obeyed the man whom i could no longer love. whether the duties of the state are reciprocal, i mean not to discuss; but i can prove repeated infidelities which i overlooked or pardoned. witnesses are not wanting to establish these facts. i at present maintain the child of a maid servant, sworn to him, and born after our marriage. i am ready to allow, that education and circumstances lead men to think and act with less delicacy, than the preservation of order in society demands from women; but surely i may without assumption declare, that, though i could excuse the birth, i could not the desertion of this unfortunate babe:--and, while i despised the man, it was not easy to venerate the husband. with proper restrictions however, i revere the institution which fraternizes the world. i exclaim against the laws which throw the whole weight of the yoke on the weaker shoulders, and force women, when they claim protectorship as mothers, to sign a contract, which renders them dependent on the caprice of the tyrant, whom choice or necessity has appointed to reign over them. various are the cases, in which a woman ought to separate herself from her husband; and mine, i may be allowed emphatically to insist, comes under the description of the most aggravated. "i will not enlarge on those provocations which only the individual can estimate; but will bring forward such charges only, the truth of which is an insult upon humanity. in order to promote certain destructive speculations, mr. venables prevailed on me to borrow certain sums of a wealthy relation; and, when i refused further compliance, he thought of bartering my person; and not only allowed opportunities to, but urged, a friend from whom he borrowed money, to seduce me. on the discovery of this act of atrocity, i determined to leave him, and in the most decided manner, for ever. i consider all obligation as made void by his conduct; and hold, that schisms which proceed from want of principles, can never be healed. "he received a fortune with me to the amount of five thousand pounds. on the death of my uncle, convinced that i could provide for my child, i destroyed the settlement of that fortune. i required none of my property to be returned to me, nor shall enumerate the sums extorted from me during six years that we lived together. "after leaving, what the law considers as my home, i was hunted like a criminal from place to place, though i contracted no debts, and demanded no maintenance--yet, as the laws sanction such proceeding, and make women the property of their husbands, i forbear to animadvert. after the birth of my daughter, and the death of my uncle, who left a very considerable property to myself and child, i was exposed to new persecution; and, because i had, before arriving at what is termed years of discretion, pledged my faith, i was treated by the world, as bound for ever to a man whose vices were notorious. yet what are the vices generally known, to the various miseries that a woman may be subject to, which, though deeply felt, eating into the soul, elude description, and may be glossed over! a false morality is even established, which makes all the virtue of women consist in chastity, submission, and the forgiveness of injuries. "i pardon my oppressor--bitterly as i lament the loss of my child, torn from me in the most violent manner. but nature revolts, and my soul sickens at the bare supposition, that it could ever be a duty to pretend affection, when a separation is necessary to prevent my feeling hourly aversion. "to force me to give my fortune, i was imprisoned--yes; in a private mad-house.--there, in the heart of misery, i met the man charged with seducing me. we became attached--i deemed, and ever shall deem, myself free. the death of my babe dissolved the only tie which subsisted between me and my, what is termed, lawful husband. "to this person, thus encountered, i voluntarily gave myself, never considering myself as any more bound to transgress the laws of moral purity, because the will of my husband might be pleaded in my excuse, than to transgress those laws to which [the policy of artificial society has] annexed [positive] punishments.----while no command of a husband can prevent a woman from suffering for certain crimes, she must be allowed to consult her conscience, and regulate her conduct, in some degree, by her own sense of right. the respect i owe to myself, demanded my strict adherence to my determination of never viewing mr. venables in the light of a husband, nor could it forbid me from encouraging another. if i am unfortunately united to an unprincipled man, am i for ever to be shut out from fulfilling the duties of a wife and mother?--i wish my country to approve of my conduct; but, if laws exist, made by the strong to oppress the weak, i appeal to my own sense of justice, and declare that i will not live with the individual, who has violated every moral obligation which binds man to man. "i protest equally against any charge being brought to criminate the man, whom i consider as my husband. i was six-and-twenty when i left mr. venables' roof; if ever i am to be supposed to arrive at an age to direct my own actions, i must by that time have arrived at it.--i acted with deliberation.--mr. darnford found me a forlorn and oppressed woman, and promised the protection women in the present state of society want.--but the man who now claims me--was he deprived of my society by this conduct? the question is an insult to common sense, considering where mr. darnford met me.--mr. venables' door was indeed open to me--nay, threats and intreaties were used to induce me to return; but why? was affection or honour the motive?--i cannot, it is true, dive into the recesses of the human heart--yet i presume to assert, [borne out as i am by a variety of circumstances,] that he was merely influenced by the most rapacious avarice. "i claim then a divorce, and the liberty of enjoying, free from molestation, the fortune left to me by a relation, who was well aware of the character of the man with whom i had to contend.--i appeal to the justice and humanity of the jury--a body of men, whose private judgment must be allowed to modify laws, that must be unjust, because definite rules can never apply to indefinite circumstances--and i deprecate punishment upon the man of my choice, freeing him, as i solemnly do, from the charge of seduction.] "i did not put myself into a situation to justify a charge of adultery, till i had, from conviction, shaken off the fetters which bound me to mr. venables.--while i lived with him, i defy the voice of calumny to sully what is termed the fair fame of woman.--neglected by my husband, i never encouraged a lover; and preserved with scrupulous care, what is termed my honour, at the expence of my peace, till he, who should have been its guardian, laid traps to ensnare me. from that moment i believed myself, in the sight of heaven, free--and no power on earth shall force me to renounce my resolution." the judge, in summing up the evidence, alluded to "the fallacy of letting women plead their feelings, as an excuse for the violation of the marriage-vow. for his part, he had always determined to oppose all innovation, and the new-fangled notions which incroached on the good old rules of conduct. we did not want french principles in public or private life--and, if women were allowed to plead their feelings, as an excuse or palliation of infidelity, it was opening a flood-gate for immorality. what virtuous woman thought of her feelings?--it was her duty to love and obey the man chosen by her parents and relations, who were qualified by their experience to judge better for her, than she could for herself. as to the charges brought against the husband, they were vague, supported by no witnesses, excepting that of imprisonment in a private mad-house. the proofs of an insanity in the family, might render that however a prudent measure; and indeed the conduct of the lady did not appear that of a person of sane mind. still such a mode of proceeding could not be justified, and might perhaps entitle the lady [in another court] to a sentence of separation from bed and board, during the joint lives of the parties; but he hoped that no englishman would legalize adultery, by enabling the adulteress to enrich her seducer. too many restrictions could not be thrown in the way of divorces, if we wished to maintain the sanctity of marriage; and, though they might bear a little hard on a few, very few individuals, it was evidently for the good of the whole." conclusion, by the editor. very few hints exist respecting the plan of the remainder of the work. i find only two detached sentences, and some scattered heads for the continuation of the story. i transcribe the whole. i. "darnford's letters were affectionate; but circumstances occasioned delays, and the miscarriage of some letters rendered the reception of wished-for answers doubtful: his return was necessary to calm maria's mind." ii. "as darnford had informed her that his business was settled, his delaying to return seemed extraordinary; but love to excess, excludes fear or suspicion." * * * * * the scattered heads for the continuation of the story, are as follow[159-a]. i. "trial for adultery--maria defends herself--a separation from bed and board is the consequence--her fortune is thrown into chancery--darnford obtains a part of his property--maria goes into the country." ii. "a prosecution for adultery commenced--trial--darnford sets out for france--letters--once more pregnant--he returns--mysterious behaviour--visit--expectation--discovery--interview--consequence." iii. "sued by her husband--damages awarded to him--separation from bed and board--darnford goes abroad--maria into the country--provides for her father--is shunned--returns to london--expects to see her lover--the rack of expectation--finds herself again with child--delighted--a discovery--a visit--a miscarriage--conclusion." iv. "divorced by her husband--her lover unfaithful--pregnancy--miscarriage--suicide." * * * * * [the following passage appears in some respects to deviate from the preceding hints. it is superscribed] "the end. "she swallowed the laudanum; her soul was calm--the tempest had subsided--and nothing remained but an eager longing to forget herself--to fly from the anguish she endured to escape from thought--from this hell of disappointment. "still her eyes closed not--one remembrance with frightful velocity followed another--all the incidents of her life were in arms, embodied to assail her, and prevent her sinking into the sleep of death.--her murdered child again appeared to her, mourning for the babe of which she was the tomb.--'and could it have a nobler?--surely it is better to die with me, than to enter on life without a mother's care!--i cannot live!--but could i have deserted my child the moment it was born?--thrown it on the troubled wave of life, without a hand to support it?'--she looked up: 'what have i not suffered!--may i find a father where i am going!'--her head turned; a stupor ensued; a faintness--'have a little patience,' said maria, holding her swimming head (she thought of her mother), 'this cannot last long; and what is a little bodily pain to the pangs i have endured?' "a new vision swam before her. jemima seemed to enter--leading a little creature, that, with tottering footsteps, approached the bed. the voice of jemima sounding as at a distance, called her--she tried to listen, to speak, to look! "'behold your child!' exclaimed jemima. maria started off the bed, and fainted.--violent vomiting followed. "when she was restored to life, jemima addressed her with great solemnity: '-----led me to suspect, that your husband and brother had deceived you, and secreted the child. i would not torment you with doubtful hopes, and i left you (at a fatal moment) to search for the child!--i snatched her from misery--and (now she is alive again) would you leave her alone in the world, to endure what i have endured?' "maria gazed wildly at her, her whole frame was convulsed with emotion; when the child, whom jemima had been tutoring all the journey, uttered the word 'mamma!' she caught her to her bosom, and burst into a passion of tears--then, resting the child gently on the bed, as if afraid of killing it,--she put her hand to her eyes, to conceal as it were the agonizing struggle of her soul. she remained silent for five minutes, crossing her arms over her bosom, and reclining her head,--then exclaimed: 'the conflict is over!--i will live for my child!'" * * * * * a few readers perhaps, in looking over these hints, will wonder how it could have been practicable, without tediousness, or remitting in any degree the interest of the story, to have filled, from these slight sketches, a number of pages, more considerable than those which have been already presented. but, in reality, these hints, simple as they are, are pregnant with passion and distress. it is the refuge of barren authors only, to crowd their fictions with so great a number of events, as to suffer no one of them to sink into the reader's mind. it is the province of true genius to develop events, to discover their capabilities, to ascertain the different passions and sentiments with which they are fraught, and to diversify them with incidents, that give reality to the picture, and take a hold upon the mind of a reader of taste, from which they can never be loosened. it was particularly the design of the author, in the present instance, to make her story subordinate to a great moral purpose, that "of exhibiting the misery and oppression, peculiar to women, that arise out of the partial laws and customs of society.--this view restrained her fancy[166-a]." it was necessary for her, to place in a striking point of view, evils that are too frequently overlooked, and to drag into light those details of oppression, of which the grosser and more insensible part of mankind make little account. the end. footnotes: [159-a] to understand these minutes, it is necessary the reader should consider each of them as setting out from the same point in the story, _viz._ the point to which it is brought down in the preceding chapter. [166-a] see author's preface. lessons. advertisement, by the editor. the following pages will, i believe, be judged by every reader of taste to have been worth preserving, among the other testimonies the author left behind her, of her genius and the soundness of her understanding. to such readers i leave the task of comparing these lessons, with other works of the same nature previously published. it is obvious that the author has struck out a path of her own, and by no means intrenched upon the plans of her predecessors. it may however excite surprise in some persons to find these papers annexed to the conclusion of a novel. all i have to offer on this subject, consists in the following considerations: first, something is to be allowed for the difficulty of arranging the miscellaneous papers upon very different subjects, which will frequently constitute an author's posthumous works. * * * * * secondly, the small portion they occupy in the present volume, will perhaps be accepted as an apology, by such good-natured readers (if any such there are), to whom the perusal of them shall be a matter of perfect indifference. * * * * * thirdly, the circumstance which determined me in annexing them to the present work, was the slight association (in default of a strong one) between the affectionate and pathetic manner in which maria venables addresses her infant, in the wrongs of woman; and the agonising and painful sentiment with which the author originally bequeathed these papers, as a legacy for the benefit of her child. lessons. _the first book of a series which i intended to have written for my unfortunate girl[175-a]._ lesson i. cat. dog. cow. horse. sheep. pig. bird. fly. man. boy. girl. child. head. hair. face. nose. mouth. chin. neck. arms. hand. leg. foot. back. breast. house. wall. field. street. stone. grass. bed. chair. door. pot. spoon. knife. fork. plate. cup. box. boy. bell. tree. leaf. stick. whip. cart. coach. frock. hat. coat. shoes. shift. cap. bread. milk. tea. meat. drink. cake. lesson ii. come. walk. run. go. jump. dance. ride. sit. stand. play. hold. shake. speak. sing. cry. laugh. call. fall. day. night. sun. moon. light. dark. sleep. wake. wash. dress. kiss. comb. fire. hot. burn. wind. rain. cold. hurt. tear. break. spill. book. see. look. sweet. good. clean. gone. lost. hide. keep. give. take. one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. white. black. red. blue. green. brown. lesson iii. stroke the cat. play with the dog. eat the bread. drink the milk. hold the cup. lay down the knife. look at the fly. see the horse. shut the door. bring the chair. ring the bell. get your book. hide your face. wipe your nose. wash your hands. dirty hands. why do you cry? a clean mouth. shake hands. i love you. kiss me now. good girl. the bird sings. the fire burns. the cat jumps. the dog runs. the bird flies. the cow lies down. the man laughs. the child cries. lesson iv. let me comb your head. ask betty to wash your face. go and see for some bread. drink milk, if you are dry. play on the floor with the ball. do not touch the ink; you will black your hands. what do you want to say to me? speak slow, not so fast. did you fall? you will not cry, not you; the baby cries. will you walk in the fields? lesson v. come to me, my little girl. are you tired of playing? yes. sit down and rest yourself, while i talk to you. have you seen the baby? poor little thing. o here it comes. look at him. how helpless he is. four years ago you were as feeble as this very little boy. see, he cannot hold up his head. he is forced to lie on his back, if his mamma do not turn him to the right or left side, he will soon begin to cry. he cries to tell her, that he is tired with lying on his back. lesson vi. perhaps he is hungry. what shall we give him to eat? poor fellow, he cannot eat. look in his mouth, he has no teeth. how did you do when you were a baby like him? you cannot tell. do you want to know? look then at the dog, with her pretty puppy. you could not help yourself as well as the puppy. you could only open your mouth, when you were lying, like william, on my knee. so i put you to my breast, and you sucked, as the puppy sucks now, for there was milk enough for you. lesson vii. when you were hungry, you began to cry, because you could not speak. you were seven months without teeth, always sucking. but after you got one, you began to gnaw a crust of bread. it was not long before another came pop. at ten months you had four pretty white teeth, and you used to bite me. poor mamma! still i did not cry, because i am not a child, but you hurt me very much. so i said to papa, it is time the little girl should eat. she is not naughty, yet she hurts me. i have given her a crust of bread, and i must look for some other milk. the cow has got plenty, and her jumping calf eats grass very well. he has got more teeth than my little girl. yes, says papa, and he tapped you on the cheek, you are old enough to learn to eat? come to me, and i will teach you, my little dear, for you must not hurt poor mamma, who has given you her milk, when you could not take any thing else. lesson viii. you were then on the carpet, for you could not walk well. so when you were in a hurry, you used to run quick, quick, quick, on your hands and feet, like the dog. away you ran to papa, and putting both your arms round his leg, for your hands were not big enough, you looked up at him, and laughed. what did this laugh say, when you could not speak? cannot you guess by what you now say to papa?--ah! it was, play with me, papa!--play with me! papa began to smile, and you knew that the smile was always--yes. so you got a ball, and papa threw it along the floor--roll--roll--roll; and you ran after it again--and again. how pleased you were. look at william, he smiles; but you could laugh loud--ha! ha! ha!--papa laughed louder than the little girl, and rolled the ball still faster. then he put the ball on a chair, and you were forced to take hold of the back, and stand up to reach it. at last you reached too far, and down you fell: not indeed on your face, because you put out your hands. you were not much hurt; but the palms of your hands smarted with the pain, and you began to cry, like a little child. it is only very little children who cry when they are hurt; and it is to tell their mamma, that something is the matter with them. now you can come to me, and say, mamma, i have hurt myself. pray rub my hand: it smarts. put something on it, to make it well. a piece of rag, to stop the blood. you are not afraid of a little blood--not you. you scratched your arm with a pin: it bled a little; but it did you no harm. see, the skin is grown over it again. lesson ix. take care not to put pins in your mouth, because they will stick in your throat, and give you pain. oh! you cannot think what pain a pin would give you in your throat, should it remain there: but, if you by chance swallow it, i should be obliged to give you, every morning, something bitter to drink. you never tasted any thing so bitter! and you would grow very sick. i never put pins in my mouth; but i am older than you, and know how to take care of myself. my mamma took care of me, when i was a little girl, like you. she bade me never put any thing in my mouth, without asking her what it was. when you were a baby, with no more sense than william, you put every thing in your mouth to gnaw, to help your teeth to cut through the skin. look at the puppy, how he bites that piece of wood. william presses his gums against my finger. poor boy! he is so young, he does not know what he is doing. when you bite any thing, it is because you are hungry. lesson x. see how much taller you are than william. in four years you have learned to eat, to walk, to talk. why do you smile? you can do much more, you think: you can wash your hands and face. very well. i should never kiss a dirty face. and you can comb your head with the pretty comb you always put by in your own drawer. to be sure, you do all this to be ready to take a walk with me. you would be obliged to stay at home, if you could not comb your own hair. betty is busy getting the dinner ready, and only brushes william's hair, because he cannot do it for himself. betty is making an apple-pye. you love an apple-pye; but i do not bid you make one. your hands are not strong enough to mix the butter and flour together; and you must not try to pare the apples, because you cannot manage a great knife. never touch the large knives: they are very sharp, and you might cut your finger to the bone. you are a little girl, and ought to have a little knife. when you are as tall as i am, you shall have a knife as large as mine; and when you are as strong as i am, and have learned to manage it, you will not hurt yourself. you can trundle a hoop, you say; and jump over a stick. o, i forgot!--and march like the men in the red coats, when papa plays a pretty tune on the fiddle. lesson xi. what, you think that you shall soon be able to dress yourself entirely? i am glad of it: i have something else to do. you may go, and look for your frock in the drawer; but i will tie it, till you are stronger. betty will tie it, when i am busy. i button my gown myself: i do not want a maid to assist me, when i am dressing. but you have not yet got sense enough to do it properly, and must beg somebody to help you, till you are older. children grow older and wiser at the same time. william is not able to take a piece of meat, because he has not got the sense which would make him think that, without teeth, meat would do him harm. he cannot tell what is good for him. the sense of children grows with them. you know much more than william, now you walk alone, and talk; but you do not know as much as the boys and girls you see playing yonder, who are half as tall again as you; and they do not know half as much as their fathers and mothers, who are men and women grown. papa and i were children, like you; and men and women took care of us. i carry william, because he is too weak to walk. i lift you over a stile, and over the gutter, when you cannot jump over it. you know already, that potatoes will not do you any harm: but i must pluck the fruit for you, till you are wise enough to know the ripe apples and pears. the hard ones would make you sick, and then you must take physic. you do not love physic: i do not love it any more than you. but i have more sense than you; therefore i take care not to eat unripe fruit, or any thing else that would make my stomach ache, or bring out ugly red spots on my face. when i was a child, my mamma chose the fruit for me, to prevent my making myself sick. i was just like you; i used to ask for what i saw, without knowing whether it was good or bad. now i have lived a long time, i know what is good; i do not want any body to tell me. lesson xii. look at those two dogs. the old one brings the ball to me in a moment; the young one does not know how. he must be taught. i can cut your shift in a proper shape. you would not know how to begin. you would spoil it; but you will learn. john digs in the garden, and knows when to put the seed in the ground. you cannot tell whether it should be in the winter or summer. try to find it out. when do the trees put out their leaves? in the spring, you say, after the cold weather. fruit would not grow ripe without very warm weather. now i am sure you can guess why the summer is the season for fruit. papa knows that peas and beans are good for us to eat with our meat. you are glad when you see them; but if he did not think for you, and have the seed put in the ground, we should have no peas or beans. lesson xiii. poor child, she cannot do much for herself. when i let her do any thing for me, it is to please her: for i could do it better myself. oh! the poor puppy has tumbled off the stool. run and stroak him. put a little milk in a saucer to comfort him. you have more sense than he. you can pour the milk into the saucer without spilling it. he would cry for a day with hunger, without being able to get it. you are wiser than the dog, you must help him. the dog will love you for it, and run after you. i feed you and take care of you: you love me and follow me for it. when the book fell down on your foot, it gave you great pain. the poor dog felt the same pain just now. take care not to hurt him when you play with him. and every morning leave a little milk in your bason for him. do not forget to put the bason in a corner, lest somebody should fall over it. when the snow covers the ground, save the crumbs of bread for the birds. in the summer they find feed enough, and do not want you to think about them. i make broth for the poor man who is sick. a sick man is like a child, he cannot help himself. lesson x. when i caught cold some time ago, i had such a pain in my head, i could scarcely hold it up. papa opened the door very softly, because he loves me. you love me, yet you made a noise. you had not the sense to know that it made my head worse, till papa told you. papa had a pain in the stomach, and he would not eat the fine cherries or grapes on the table. when i brought him a cup of camomile tea, he drank it without saying a word, or making an ugly face. he knows that i love him, and that i would not give him any thing to drink that has a bad taste, if it were not to do him good. you asked me for some apples when your stomach ached; but i was not angry with you. if you had been as wise as papa, you would have said, i will not eat the apples to-day, i must take some camomile tea. you say that you do not know how to think. yes; you do a little. the other day papa was tired; he had been walking about all the morning. after dinner he fell asleep on the sopha. i did not bid you be quiet; but you thought of what papa said to you, when my head ached. this made you think that you ought not to make a noise, when papa was resting himself. so you came to me, and said to me, very softly, pray reach me my ball, and i will go and play in the garden, till papa wakes. you were going out; but thinking again, you came back to me on your tip-toes. whisper----whisper. pray mama, call me, when papa wakes; for i shall be afraid to open the door to see, lest i should disturb him. away you went.--creep--creep--and shut the door as softly as i could have done myself. that was thinking. when a child does wrong at first, she does not know any better. but, after she has been told that she must not disturb mama, when poor mama is unwell, she thinks herself, that she must not wake papa when he is tired. another day we will see if you can think about any thing else. the end. footnotes: [175-a] this title which is indorsed on the back of the manuscript, i conclude to have been written in a period of desperation, in the month of october, 1795. editor. posthumous works of the author of a vindication of the rights of woman. in four volumes. * * * * * vol. iii. * * * * * _london:_ printed for j. johnson, no. 72, st. paul's church-yard; and g. g. and j. robinson, paternoster-row. 1798. letters and miscellaneous pieces. in two volumes. vol. i. preface. the following letters may possibly be found to contain the finest examples of the language of sentiment and passion ever presented to the world. they bear a striking resemblance to the celebrated romance of werter, though the incidents to which they relate are of a very different cast. probably the readers to whom werter is incapable of affording pleasure, will receive no delight from the present publication. the editor apprehends that, in the judgment of those best qualified to decide upon the comparison, these letters will be admitted to have the superiority over the fiction of goethe. they are the offspring of a glowing imagination, and a heart penetrated with the passion it essays to describe. to the series of letters constituting the principal article in these two volumes, are added various pieces, none of which, it is hoped, will be found discreditable to the talents of the author. the slight fragment of letters on the management of infants, may be thought a trifle; but it seems to have some value, as presenting to us with vividness the intention of the writer on this important subject. the publication of a few select letters to mr. johnson, appeared to be at once a just monument to the sincerity of his friendship, and a valuable and interesting specimen of the mind of the writer. the letter on the present character of the french nation, the extract of the cave of fancy, a tale, and the hints for the second part of the rights of woman, may, i believe, safely be left to speak for themselves. the essay on poetry and our relish for the beauties of nature, appeared in the monthly magazine for april last, and is the only piece in this collection which has previously found its way to the press. letters. letter i. two o'clock. my dear love, after making my arrangements for our snug dinner to-day, i have been taken by storm, and obliged to promise to dine, at an early hour, with the miss ----s, the _only_ day they intend to pass here. i shall however leave the key in the door, and hope to find you at my fire-side when i return, about eight o'clock. will you not wait for poor joan?--whom you will find better, and till then think very affectionately of her. yours, truly, * * * * i am sitting down to dinner; so do not send an answer. * * * * * letter ii. past twelve o'clock, monday night. [august.] i obey an emotion of my heart, which made me think of wishing thee, my love, good-night! before i go to rest, with more tenderness than i can to-morrow, when writing a hasty line or two under colonel ----'s eye. you can scarcely imagine with what pleasure i anticipate the day, when we are to begin almost to live together; and you would smile to hear how many plans of employment i have in my head, now that i am confident my heart has found peace in your bosom.--cherish me with that dignified tenderness, which i have only found in you; and your own dear girl will try to keep under a quickness of feeling, that has sometimes given you pain--yes, i will be _good_, that i may deserve to be happy; and whilst you love me, i cannot again fall into the miserable state, which rendered life a burthen almost too heavy to be borne. but, good-night!--god bless you! sterne says, that is equal to a kiss--yet i would rather give you the kiss into the bargain, glowing with gratitude to heaven, and affection to you. i like the word affection, because it signifies something habitual; and we are soon to meet, to try whether we have mind enough to keep our hearts warm. * * * * i will be at the barrier a little after ten o'clock to-morrow[4-a].--yours- * * * * * letter iii. wednesday morning. you have often called me, dear girl, but you would now say good, did you know how very attentive i have been to the ---ever since i came to paris. i am not however going to trouble you with the account, because i like to see your eyes praise me; and, milton insinuates, that, during such recitals, there are interruptions, not ungrateful to the heart, when the honey that drops from the lips is not merely words. yet, i shall not (let me tell you before these people enter, to force me to huddle away my letter) be content with only a kiss of duty--you _must_ be glad to see me--because you are glad--or i will make love to the _shade_ of mirabeau, to whom my heart continually turned, whilst i was talking with madame ----, forcibly telling me, that it will ever have sufficient warmth to love, whether i will or not, sentiment, though i so highly respect principle.---not that i think mirabeau utterly devoid of principles--far from it--and, if i had not begun to form a new theory respecting men, i should, in the vanity of my heart, have _imagined_ that _i_ could have made something of his----it was composed of such materials--hush! here they come--and love flies away in the twinkling of an eye, leaving a little brush of his wing on my pale cheeks. i hope to see dr. ---this morning; i am going to mr. ----'s to meet him. ----, and some others, are invited to dine with us to-day; and to-morrow i am to spend the day with ----. i shall probably not be able to return to ---to-morrow; but it is no matter, because i must take a carriage, i have so many books, that i immediately want, to take with me.--on friday then i shall expect you to dine with me--and, if you come a little before dinner, it is so long since i have seen you, you will not be scolded by yours affectionately * * * * * * * * * letter iv[7-a]. friday morning [september.] a man, whom a letter from mr. ----previously announced, called here yesterday for the payment of a draft; and, as he seemed disappointed at not finding you at home, i sent him to mr. ----. i have since seen him, and he tells me that he has settled the business. so much for business!--may i venture to talk a little longer about less weighty affairs?--how are you?--i have been following you all along the road this comfortless weather; for, when i am absent from those i love, my imagination is as lively, as if my senses had never been gratified by their presence--i was going to say caresses--and why should i not? i have found out that i have more mind than you, in one respect; because i can, without any violent effort of reason, find food for love in the same object, much longer than you can.--the way to my senses is through my heart; but, forgive me! i think there is sometimes a shorter cut to yours. with ninety-nine men out of a hundred, a very sufficient dash of folly is necessary to render a woman _piquante_, a soft word for desirable; and, beyond these casual ebullitions of sympathy, few look for enjoyment by fostering a passion in their hearts. one reason, in short, why i wish my whole sex to become wiser, is, that the foolish ones may not, by their pretty folly, rob those whose sensibility keeps down their vanity, of the few roses that afford them some solace in the thorny road of life. i do not know how i fell into these reflections, excepting one thought produced it--that these continual separations were necessary to warm your affection.--of late, we are always separating.--crack!--crack!--and away you go.--this joke wears the sallow cast of thought; for, though i began to write cheerfully, some melancholy tears have found their way into my eyes, that linger there, whilst a glow of tenderness at my heart whispers that you are one of the best creatures in the world.--pardon then the vagaries of a mind, that has been almost "crazed by care," as well as "crossed in hapless love," and bear with me a _little_ longer!--when we are settled in the country together, more duties will open before me, and my heart, which now, trembling into peace, is agitated by every emotion that awakens the remembrance of old griefs, will learn to rest on yours, with that dignity your character, not to talk of my own, demands. take care of yourself--and write soon to your own girl (you may add dear, if you please) who sincerely loves you, and will try to convince you of it, by becoming happier. * * * * * * * * * letter v. sunday night. i have just received your letter, and feel as if i could not go to bed tranquilly without saying a few words in reply--merely to tell you, that my mind is serene, and my heart affectionate. ever since you last saw me inclined to faint, i have felt some gentle twitches, which make me begin to think, that i am nourishing a creature who will soon be sensible of my care.--this thought has not only produced an overflowing of tenderness to you, but made me very attentive to calm my mind and take exercise, lest i should destroy an object, in whom we are to have a mutual interest, you know. yesterday--do not smile!--finding that i had hurt myself by lifting precipitately a large log of wood, i sat down in an agony, till i felt those said twitches again. are you very busy? - - - - - - -- - - - - - -- - - - - - -- - - - - - -- - - - - - -so you may reckon on its being finished soon, though not before you come home, unless you are detained longer than i now allow myself to believe you will.-be that as it may, write to me, my best love, and bid me be patient--kindly--and the expressions of kindness will again beguile the time, as sweetly as they have done to-night.--tell me also over and over again, that your happiness (and you deserve to be happy!) is closely connected with mine, and i will try to dissipate, as they rise, the fumes of former discontent, that have too often clouded the sunshine, which you have endeavoured to diffuse through my mind. god bless you! take care of yourself, and remember with tenderness your affectionate * * * * i am going to rest very happy, and you have made me so.--this is the kindest good-night i can utter. * * * * * letter vi. friday morning. i am glad to find that other people can be unreasonable, as well as myself--for be it known to thee, that i answered thy _first_ letter, the very night it reached me (sunday), though thou couldst not receive it before wednesday, because it was not sent off till the next day.--there is a full, true, and particular account.-yet i am not angry with thee, my love, for i think that it is a proof of stupidity, and likewise of a milk-and-water affection, which comes to the same thing, when the temper is governed by a square and compass.--there is nothing picturesque in this straight-lined equality, and the passions always give grace to the actions. recollection now makes my heart bound to thee; but, it is not to thy money-getting face, though i cannot be seriously displeased with the exertion which increases my esteem, or rather is what i should have expected from thy character.--no; i have thy honest countenance before me--pop--relaxed by tenderness; a little--little wounded by my whims; and thy eyes glistening with sympathy.--thy lips then feel softer than soft--and i rest my cheek on thine, forgetting all the world.--i have not left the hue of love out of the picture--the rosy glow; and fancy has spread it over my own cheeks, i believe, for i feel them burning, whilst a delicious tear trembles in my eye, that would be all your own, if a grateful emotion directed to the father of nature, who has made me thus alive to happiness, did not give more warmth to the sentiment it divides--i must pause a moment. need i tell you that i am tranquil after writing thus?--i do not know why, but i have more confidence in your affection, when absent, than present; nay, i think that you must love me, for, in the sincerity of my heart let me say it, i believe i deserve your tenderness, because i am true, and have a degree of sensibility that you can see and relish. yours sincerely * * * * * * * * * letter vii. sunday morning [december 29.] you seem to have taken up your abode at h----. pray sir! when do you think of coming home? or, to write very considerately, when will business permit you? i shall expect (as the country people say in england) that you will make a _power_ of money to indemnify me for your absence. - - - - - - -- - - - - - -- - - - - - -- - - - - - -- - - - - - -- - - - - - -- - - - - - -well! but, my love, to the old story--am i to see you this week, or this month?--i do not know what you are about--for, as you did not tell me, i would not ask mr. ----, who is generally pretty communicative. i long to see mrs. ------; not to hear from you, so do not give yourself airs, but to get a letter from mr. ----. and i am half angry with you for not informing me whether she had brought one with her or not.--on this score i will cork up some of the kind things that were ready to drop from my pen, which has never been dipt in gall when addressing you; or, will only suffer an exclamation--"the creature!" or a kind look, to escape me, when i pass the slippers--which i could not remove from my _salle_ door, though they are not the handsomest of their kind. be not too anxious to get money!--for nothing worth having is to be purchased. god bless you. yours affectionately * * * * * * * * * letter viii. monday night [december 30.] my best love, your letter to-night was particularly grateful to my heart, depressed by the letters i received by ----, for he brought me several, and the parcel of books directed to mr. -----was for me. mr. ------'s letter was long and very affectionate; but the account he gives me of his own affairs, though he obviously makes the best of them, has vexed me. a melancholy letter from my sister -----has also harrassed my mind--that from my brother would have given me sincere pleasure; but for - - - - - - -- - - - - - -- - - - - - -- - - - - - -- - - - - - -- - - - - - -- - - - - - -- - - - - - -- - - - - - -there is a spirit of independence in his letter, that will please you; and you shall see it, when we are once more over the fire together.--i think that you would hail him as a brother, with one of your tender looks, when your heart not only gives a lustre to your eye, but a dance of playfulness, that he would meet with a glow half made up of bashfulness, and a desire to please the----where shall i find a word to express the relationship which subsists between us?--shall i ask the little twitcher?--but i have dropt half the sentence that was to tell you how much he would be inclined to love the man loved by his sister. i have been fancying myself sitting between you, ever since i began to write, and my heart has leaped at the thought!--you see how i chat to you. i did not receive your letter till i came home; and i did not expect it, for the post came in much later than usual. it was a cordial to me--and i wanted one. mr. ---tells me that he has written again and again.--love him a little!--it would be a kind of separation, if you did not love those i love. there was so much considerate tenderness in your epistle to-night, that, if it has not made you dearer to me, it has made me forcibly feel how very dear you are to me, by charming away half my cares. yours affectionately * * * * * * * * * letter ix. tuesday morning [december 31.] though i have just sent a letter off, yet, as captain ---offers to take one, i am not willing to let him go without a kind greeting, because trifles of this sort, without having any effect on my mind, damp my spirits:--and you, with all your struggles to be manly, have some of this same sensibility.--do not bid it begone, for i love to see it striving to master your features; besides, these kind of sympathies are the life of affection: and why, in cultivating our understandings, should we try to dry up these springs of pleasure, which gush out to give a freshness to days browned by care! the books sent to me are such as we may read together; so i shall not look into them till you return; when you shall read, whilst i mend my stockings. yours truly * * * * * * * * * letter x. wednesday night [january 1.] as i have been, you tell me, three days without writing, i ought not to complain of two: yet, as i expected to receive a letter this afternoon, i am hurt; and why should i, by concealing it, affect the heroism i do not feel? i hate commerce. how differently must ------'s head and heart be organized from mine! you will tell me, that exertions are necessary: i am weary of them! the face of things, public and private, vexes me. the "peace" and clemency which seemed to be dawning a few days ago, disappear again. "i am fallen," as milton said, "on evil days;" for i really believe that europe will be in a state of convulsion, during half a century at least. life is but a labour of patience: it is always rolling a great stone up a hill; for, before a person can find a resting-place, imagining it is lodged, down it comes again, and all the work is to be done over anew! should i attempt to write any more, i could not change the strain. my head aches, and my heart is heavy. the world appears an "unweeded garden," where "things rank and vile" flourish best. if you do not return soon--or, which is no such mighty matter, talk of it--i will throw your slippers out at window, and be off--nobody knows where. * * * * finding that i was observed, i told the good women, the two mrs. ----s, simply that i was with child: and let them stare! and ------, and ------, nay, all the world, may know it for aught i care!--yet i wish to avoid ------'s coarse jokes. considering the care and anxiety a woman must have about a child before it comes into the world, it seems to me, by a _natural right_, to belong to her. when men get immersed in the world, they seem to lose all sensations, excepting those necessary to continue or produce life!--are these the privileges of reason? amongst the feathered race, whilst the hen keeps the young warm, her mate stays by to cheer her; but it is sufficient for man to condescend to get a child, in order to claim it.--a man is a tyrant! you may now tell me, that, if it were not for me, you would be laughing away with some honest fellows in l--n. the casual exercise of social sympathy would not be sufficient for me--i should not think such an heartless life worth preserving.--it is necessary to be in good-humour with you, to be pleased with the world. * * * * * thursday morning. i was very low-spirited last night, ready to quarrel with your cheerful temper, which makes absence easy to you.--and, why should i mince the the matter? i was offended at your not even mentioning it.--i do not want to be loved like a goddess; but i wish to be necessary to you. god bless you[27-a]! * * * * * letter xi. monday night. i have just received your kind and rational letter, and would fain hide my face, glowing with shame for my folly.--i would hide it in your bosom, if you would again open it to me, and nestle closely till you bade my fluttering heart be still, by saying that you forgave me. with eyes overflowing with tears, and in the humblest attitude, i intreat you.--do not turn from me, for indeed i love you fondly, and have been very wretched, since the night i was so cruelly hurt by thinking that you had no confidence in me---it is time for me to grow more reasonable, a few more of these caprices of sensibility would destroy me. i have, in fact, been very much indisposed for a few days past, and the notion that i was tormenting, or perhaps killing, a poor little animal, about whom i am grown anxious and tender, now i feel it alive, made me worse. my bowels have been dreadfully disordered, and every thing i ate or drank disagreed with my stomach; still i feel intimations of its existence, though they have been fainter. do you think that the creature goes regularly to sleep? i am ready to ask as many questions as voltaire's man of forty crowns. ah! do not continue to be angry with me! you perceive that i am already smiling through my tears--you have lightened my heart, and my frozen spirits are melting into playfulness. write the moment you receive this. i shall count the minutes. but drop not an angry word--i cannot now bear it. yet, if you think i deserve a scolding (it does not admit of a question, i grant), wait till you come back--and then, if you are angry one day, i shall be sure of seeing you the next. -----did not write to you, i suppose, because he talked of going to h----. hearing that i was ill, he called very kindly on me, not dreaming that it was some words that he incautiously let fall, which rendered me so. god bless you, my love; do not shut your heart against a return of tenderness; and, as i now in fancy cling to you, be more than ever my support.--feel but as affectionate when you read this letter, as i did writing it, and you will make happy, your * * * * * * * * * letter xii. wednesday morning. i will never, if i am not entirely cured of quarrelling, begin to encourage "quick-coming fancies," when we are separated. yesterday, my love, i could not open your letter for some time; and, though it was not half as severe as i merited, it threw me into such a fit of trembling, as seriously alarmed me. i did not, as you may suppose, care for a little pain on my own account; but all the fears which i have had for a few days past, returned with fresh force. this morning i am better; will you not be glad to hear it? you perceive that sorrow has almost made a child of me, and that i want to be soothed to peace. one thing you mistake in my character, and imagine that to be coldness which is just the contrary. for, when i am hurt by the person most dear to me, i must let out a whole torrent of emotions, in which tenderness would be uppermost, or stifle them altogether; and it appears to me almost a duty to stifle them, when i imagine _that i am treated with coldness_. i am afraid that i have vexed you, my own ----. i know the quickness of your feelings--and let me, in the sincerity of my heart, assure you, there is nothing i would not suffer to make you happy. my own happiness wholly depends on you--and, knowing you, when my reason is not clouded, i look forward to a rational prospect of as much felicity as the earth affords--with a little dash of rapture into the bargain, if you will look at me, when we meet again, as you have sometimes greeted, your humbled, yet most affectionate * * * * * * * * * letter xiii. thursday night. i have been wishing the time away, my kind love, unable to rest till i knew that my penitential letter had reached your hand--and this afternoon, when your tender epistle of tuesday gave such exquisite pleasure to your poor sick girl, her heart smote her to think that you were still to receive another cold one.--burn it also, my ----; yet do not forget that even those letters were full of love; and i shall ever recollect, that you did not wait to be mollified by my penitence, before you took me again to your heart. i have been unwell, and would not, now i am recovering, take a journey, because i have been seriously alarmed and angry with myself, dreading continually the fatal consequence of my folly.--but, should you think it right to remain at h--, i shall find some opportunity, in the course of a fortnight, or less perhaps, to come to you, and before then i shall be strong again.--yet do not be uneasy! i am really better, and never took such care of myself, as i have done since you restored my peace of mind. the girl is come to warm my bed--so i will tenderly say, good night! and write a line or two in the morning. morning. i wish you were here to walk with me this fine morning! yet your absence shall not prevent me. i have stayed at home too much; though, when i was so dreadfully out of spirits, i was careless of every thing. i will now sally forth (you will go with me in my heart) and try whether this fine bracing air will not give the vigour to the poor babe, it had, before i so inconsiderately gave way to the grief that deranged my bowels, and gave a turn to my whole system. yours truly * * * * * * * * * * * * * * letter xiv. saturday morning. the two or three letters, which i have written to you lately, my love, will serve as an answer to your explanatory one. i cannot but respect your motives and conduct. i always respected them; and was only hurt, by what seemed to me a want of confidence, and consequently affection.--i thought also, that if you were obliged to stay three months at h--, i might as well have been with you.--well! well, what signifies what i brooded over--let us now be friends! i shall probably receive a letter from you to-day, sealing my pardon--and i will be careful not to torment you with my querulous humours, at least, till i see you again. act as circumstances direct, and i will not enquire when they will permit you to return, convinced that you will hasten to your * * * *, when you have attained (or lost sight of) the object of your journey. what a picture have you sketched of our fire-side! yes, my love, my fancy was instantly at work, and i found my head on your shoulder, whilst my eyes were fixed on the little creatures that were clinging about your knees. i did not absolutely determine that there should be six--if you have not set your heart on this round number. i am going to dine with mrs. ----. i have not been to visit her since the first day she came to paris. i wish indeed to be out in the air as much as i can; for the exercise i have taken these two or three days past, has been of such service to me, that i hope shortly to tell you, that i am quite well. i have scarcely slept before last night, and then not much.--the two mrs. ------s have been very anxious and tender. yours truly * * * * i need not desire you to give the colonel a good bottle of wine. * * * * * letter xv. sunday morning. i wrote to you yesterday, my ----; but, finding that the colonel is still detained (for his passport was forgotten at the office yesterday) i am not willing to let so many days elapse without your hearing from me, after having talked of illness and apprehensions. i cannot boast of being quite recovered, yet i am (i must use my yorkshire phrase; for, when my heart is warm, pop come the expressions of childhood into my head) so _lightsome_, that i think it will not _go badly with me_.--and nothing shall be wanting on my part, i assure you; for i am urged on, not only by an enlivened affection for you, but by a new-born tenderness that plays cheerly round my dilating heart. i was therefore, in defiance of cold and dirt, out in the air the greater part of yesterday; and, if i get over this evening without a return of the fever that has tormented me, i shall talk no more of illness. i have promised the little creature, that its mother, who ought to cherish it, will not again plague it, and begged it to pardon me; and, since i could not hug either it or you to my breast, i have to my heart.--i am afraid to read over this prattle--but it is only for your eye. i have been seriously vexed, to find that, whilst you were harrassed by impediments in your undertakings, i was giving you additional uneasiness.--if you can make any of your plans answer--it is well, i do not think a _little_ money inconvenient; but, should they fail, we will struggle cheerfully together--drawn closer by the pinching blasts of poverty. adieu, my love! write often to your poor girl, and write long letters; for i not only like them for being longer, but because more heart steals into them; and i am happy to catch your heart whenever i can. yours sincerely * * * * * * * * * letter xvi. tuesday morning. i seize this opportunity to inform you, that i am to set out on thursday with mr. ------, and hope to tell you soon (on your lips) how glad i shall be to see you. i have just got my passport, so i do not foresee any impediment to my reaching h----, to bid you good-night next friday in my new apartment--where i am to meet you and love, in spite of care, to smile me to sleep--for i have not caught much rest since we parted. you have, by your tenderness and worth, twisted yourself more artfully round my heart, than i supposed possible.--let me indulge the thought, that i have thrown out some tendrils to cling to the elm by which i wish to be supported.--this is talking a new language for me!--but, knowing that i am not a parasite-plant, i am willing to receive the proofs of affection, that every pulse replies to, when i think of being once more in the same house with you.--god bless you! yours truly * * * * * * * * * letter xvii. wednesday morning. i only send this as an _avant-coureur_, without jack-boots, to tell you, that i am again on the wing, and hope to be with you a few hours after you receive it. i shall find you well, and composed, i am sure; or, more properly speaking, cheerful.--what is the reason that my spirits are not as manageable as yours? yet, now i think of it, i will not allow that your temper is even, though i have promised myself, in order to obtain my own forgiveness, that i will not ruffle it for a long, long time--i am afraid to say never. farewell for a moment!--do not forget that i am driving towards you in person! my mind, unfettered, has flown to you long since, or rather has never left you. i am well, and have no apprehension that i shall find the journey too fatiguing, when i follow the lead of my heart.--with my face turned to h--my spirits will not sink--and my mind has always hitherto enabled my body to do whatever i wished. yours affectionately * * * * * * * * * letter xviii. h--, thursday morning, march 12. we are such creatures of habit, my love, that, though i cannot say i was sorry, childishly so, for your going, when i knew that you were to stay such a short time, and i had a plan of employment; yet i could not sleep.--i turned to your side of the bed, and tried to make the most of the comfort of the pillow, which you used to tell me i was churlish about; but all would not do.--i took nevertheless my walk before breakfast, though the weather was not very inviting--and here i am, wishing you a finer day, and seeing you peep over my shoulder, as i write, with one of your kindest looks--when your eyes glisten, and a suffusion creeps over your relaxing features. but i do not mean to dally with you this morning--so god bless you! take care of yourself--and sometimes fold to your heart your affectionate * * * * * * * * * letter xix. do not call me stupid, for leaving on the table the little bit of paper i was to inclose.--this comes of being in love at the fag-end of a letter of business.--you know, you say, they will not chime together.--i had got you by the fire-side, with the _gigot_ smoking on the board, to lard your poor bare ribs--and behold, i closed my letter without taking the paper up, that was directly under my eyes!--what had i got in them to render me so blind?--i give you leave to answer the question, if you will not scold; for i am yours most affectionately * * * * * * * * * letter xx. sunday, august 17. - - - - - - -- - - - - - -- - - - - - -i have promised -----to go with him to his country-house, where he is now permitted to dine--i, and the little darling, to be sure[47-a]--whom i cannot help kissing with more fondness, since you left us. i think i shall enjoy the fine prospect, and that it will rather enliven, than satiate my imagination. i have called on mrs. ------. she has the manners of a gentlewoman, with a dash of the easy french coquetry, which renders her _piquante_.--but _monsieur_ her husband, whom nature never dreamed of casting in either the mould of a gentleman or lover, makes but an aukward figure in the foreground of the picture. the h----s are very ugly, without doubt--and the house smelt of commerce from top to toe--so that his abortive attempt to display taste, only proved it to be one of the things not to be bought with gold. i was in a room a moment alone, and my attention was attracted by the _pendule_--a nymph was offering up her vows before a smoking altar, to a fat-bottomed cupid (saving your presence), who was kicking his heels in the air.--ah! kick on, thought i; for the demon of traffic will ever fright away the loves and graces, that streak with the rosy beams of infant fancy the _sombre_ day of life--whilst the imagination, not allowing us to see things as they are, enables us to catch a hasty draught of the running stream of delight, the thirst for which seems to be given only to tantalize us. but i am philosophizing; nay, perhaps you will call me severe, and bid me let the square-headed money-getters alone.--peace to them! though none of the social sprites (and there are not a few of different descriptions, who sport about the various inlets to my heart) gave me a twitch to restrain my pen. i have been writing on, expecting poor -----to come; for, when i began, i merely thought of business; and, as this is the idea that most naturally associates with your image, i wonder i stumbled on any other. yet, as common life, in my opinion, is scarcely worth having, even with a _gigot_ every day, and a pudding added thereunto, i will allow you to cultivate my judgment, if you will permit me to keep alive the sentiments in your heart, which may be termed romantic, because, the offspring of the senses and the imagination, they resemble the mother more than the father[50-a], when they produce the suffusion i admire.--in spite of icy age, i hope still to see it, if you have not determined only to eat and drink, and be stupidly useful to the stupid-yours * * * * * * * * * letter xxi. h--, august 19, tuesday. i received both your letters to-day--i had reckoned on hearing from you yesterday, therefore was disappointed, though i imputed your silence to the right cause. i intended answering your kind letter immediately, that you might have felt the pleasure it gave me; but -----came in, and some other things interrupted me; so that the fine vapour has evaporated--yet, leaving a sweet scent behind, i have only to tell you, what is sufficiently obvious, that the earnest desire i have shown to keep my place, or gain more ground in your heart, is a sure proof how necessary your affection is to my happiness.--still i do not think it false delicacy, or foolish pride, to wish that your attention to my happiness should arise _as much_ from love, which is always rather a selfish passion, as reason--that is, i want you to promote my felicity, by seeking your own.--for, whatever pleasure it may give me to discover your generosity of soul, i would not be dependent for your affection on the very quality i most admire. no; there are qualities in your heart, which demand my affection; but, unless the attachment appears to me clearly mutual, i shall labour only to esteem your character, instead of cherishing a tenderness for your person. i write in a hurry, because the little one, who has been sleeping a long time, begins to call for me. poor thing! when i am sad, i lament that all my affections grow on me, till they become too strong for my peace, though they all afford me snatches of exquisite enjoyment--this for our little girl was at first very reasonable--more the effect of reason, a sense of duty, than feeling--now, she has got into my heart and imagination, and when i walk out without her, her little figure is ever dancing before me. you too have somehow clung round my heart--i found i could not eat my dinner in the great room--and, when i took up the large knife to carve for myself, tears rushed into my eyes.--do not however suppose that i am melancholy--for, when you are from me, i not only wonder how i can find fault with you--but how i can doubt your affection. i will not mix any comments on the inclosed (it roused my indignation) with the effusion of tenderness, with which i assure you, that you are the friend of my bosom, and the prop of my heart. * * * * * * * * * letter xxii. h--, august 20. i want to know what steps you have taken respecting ----. knavery always rouses my indignation--i should be gratified to hear that the law had chastised -----severely; but i do not wish you to see him, because the business does not now admit of peaceful discussion, and i do not exactly know how you would express your contempt. pray ask some questions about tallien--i am still pleased with the dignity of his conduct.--the other day, in the cause of humanity, he made use of a degree of address, which i admire--and mean to point out to you, as one of the few instances of address which do credit to the abilities of the man, without taking away from that confidence in his openness of heart, which is the true basis of both public and private friendship. do not suppose that i mean to allude to a little reserve of temper in you, of which i have sometimes complained! you have been used to a cunning woman, and you almost look for cunning--nay, in _managing_ my happiness, you now and then wounded my sensibility, concealing yourself, till honest sympathy, giving you to me without disguise, lets me look into a heart, which my half-broken one wishes to creep into, to be revived and cherished.----you have frankness of heart, but not often exactly that overflowing (_ã©panchement de coeur_), which becoming almost childish, appears a weakness only to the weak. but i have left poor tallien. i wanted you to enquire likewise whether, as a member declared in the convention, robespierre really maintained a _number_ of mistresses.--should it prove so, i suspect that they rather flattered his vanity than his senses. here is a chatting, desultory epistle! but do not suppose that i mean to close it without mentioning the little damsel--who has been almost springing out of my arm--she certainly looks very like you--but i do not love her the less for that, whether i am angry or pleased with you.-yours affectionately * * * * * * * * * letter xxiii[58-a]. september 22. i have just written two letters, that are going by other conveyances, and which i reckon on your receiving long before this. i therefore merely write, because i know i should be disappointed at seeing any one who had left you, if you did not send a letter, were it ever so short, to tell me why you did not write a longer--and you will want to be told, over and over again, that our little hercules is quite recovered. besides looking at me, there are three other things, which delight her--to ride in a coach, to look at a scarlet waistcoat, and hear loud music--yesterday, at the _fãªte_, she enjoyed the two latter; but, to honour j. j. rousseau, i intend to give her a sash, the first she has ever had round her--and why not?--for i have always been half in love with him. well, this you will say is trifling--shall i talk about alum or soap? there is nothing picturesque in your present pursuits; my imagination then rather chuses to ramble back to the barrier with you, or to see you coming to meet me, and my basket of grapes.--with what pleasure do i recollect your looks and words, when i have been sitting on the window, regarding the waving corn! believe me, sage sir, you have not sufficient respect for the imagination--i could prove to you in a trice that it is the mother of sentiment, the great distinction of our nature, the only purifier of the passions--animals have a portion of reason, and equal, if not more exquisite, senses; but no trace of imagination, or her offspring taste, appears in any of their actions. the impulse of the senses, passions, if you will, and the conclusions of reason, draw men together; but the imagination is the true fire, stolen from heaven, to animate this cold creature of clay, producing all those fine sympathies that lead to rapture, rendering men social by expanding their hearts, instead of leaving them leisure to calculate how many comforts society affords. if you call these observations romantic, a phrase in this place which would be tantamount to nonsensical, i shall be apt to retort, that you are embruted by trade, and the vulgar enjoyments of life--bring me then back your barrier-face, or you shall have nothing to say to my barrier-girl; and i shall fly from you, to cherish the remembrances that will ever be dear to me; for i am yours truly * * * * * * * * * letter xxiv. evening, sept. 23. i have been playing and laughing with the little girl so long, that i cannot take up my pen to address you without emotion. pressing her to my bosom, she looked so like you (_entre nous_, your best looks, for i do not admire your commercial face) every nerve seemed to vibrate to the touch, and i began to think that there was something in the assertion of man and wife being one--for you seemed to pervade my whole frame, quickening the beat of my heart, and lending me the sympathetic tears you excited. have i any thing more to say to you? no; not for the present--the rest is all flown away; and, indulging tenderness for you, i cannot now complain of some people here, who have ruffled my temper for two or three days past. * * * * * morning. yesterday b---sent to me for my packet of letters. he called on me before; and i like him better than i did--that is, i have the same opinion of his understanding, but i think with you, he has more tenderness and real delicacy of feeling with respect to women, than are commonly to be met with. his manner too of speaking of his little girl, about the age of mine, interested me. i gave him a letter for my sister, and requested him to see her. i have been interrupted. mr. ----i suppose will write about business. public affairs i do not descant on, except to tell you that they write now with great freedom and truth, and this liberty of the press will overthrow the jacobins, i plainly perceive. i hope you take care of your health. i have got a habit of restlessness at night, which arises, i believe, from activity of mind; for, when i am alone, that is, not near one to whom i can open my heart, i sink into reveries and trains of thinking, which agitate and fatigue me. this is my third letter; when am i to hear from you? i need not tell you, i suppose, that i am now writing with somebody in the room with me, and ---is waiting to carry this to mr. ----'s. i will then kiss the girl for you, and bid you adieu. i desired you, in one of my other letters, to bring back to me your barrier-face--or that you should not be loved by my barrier-girl. i know that you will love her more and more, for she is a little affectionate, intelligent creature, with as much vivacity, i should think, as you could wish for. i was going to tell you of two or three things which displease me here; but they are not of sufficient consequence to interrupt pleasing sensations. i have received a letter from mr. ----. i want you to bring ----with you. madame s---is by me, reading a german translation of your letters--she desires me to give her love to you, on account of what you say of the negroes. yours most affectionately, * * * * * * * * * letter xxv. paris, sept. 28. i have written to you three or four letters; but different causes have prevented my sending them by the persons who promised to take or forward them. the inclosed is one i wrote to go by b----; yet, finding that he will not arrive, before i hope, and believe, you will have set out on your return, i inclose it to you, and shall give it in charge to ----, as mr. ---is detained, to whom i also gave a letter. i cannot help being anxious to hear from you; but i shall not harrass you with accounts of inquietudes, or of cares that arise from peculiar circumstances.--i have had so many little plagues here, that i have almost lamented that i left h----. ----, who is at best a most helpless creature, is now, on account of her pregnancy, more trouble than use to me, so that i still continue to be almost a slave to the child.--she indeed rewards me, for she is a sweet little creature; for, setting aside a mother's fondness (which, by the bye, is growing on me, her little intelligent smiles sinking into my heart), she has an astonishing degree of sensibility and observation. the other day by b----'s child, a fine one, she looked like a little sprite.--she is all life and motion, and her eyes are not the eyes of a fool--i will swear. i slept at st. germain's, in the very room (if you have not forgot) in which you pressed me very tenderly to your heart.--i did not forget to fold my darling to mine, with sensations that are almost too sacred to be alluded to. adieu, my love! take care of yourself, if you wish to be the protector of your child, and the comfort of her mother. i have received, for you, letters from --------. i want to hear how that affair finishes, though i do not know whether i have most contempt for his folly or knavery. your own * * * * * * * * * letter xxvi. october 1. it is a heartless task to write letters, without knowing whether they will ever reach you.--i have given two to ----, who has been a-going, a-going, every day, for a week past; and three others, which were written in a low-spirited strain, a little querulous or so, i have not been able to forward by the opportunities that were mentioned to me. _tant mieux!_ you will say, and i will not say nay; for i should be sorry that the contents of a letter, when you are so far away, should damp the pleasure that the sight of it would afford--judging of your feelings by my own. i just now stumbled on one of the kind letters, which you wrote during your last absence. you are then a dear affectionate creature, and i will not plague you. the letter which you chance to receive, when the absence is so long, ought to bring only tears of tenderness, without any bitter alloy, into your eyes. after your return i hope indeed, that you will not be so immersed in business, as during the last three or four months past--for even money, taking into the account all the future comforts it is to procure, may be gained at too dear a rate, if painful impressions are left on the mind.--these impressions were much more lively, soon after you went away, than at present--for a thousand tender recollections efface the melancholy traces they left on my mind--and every emotion is on the same side as my reason, which always was on yours.--separated, it would be almost impious to dwell on real or imaginary imperfections of character.--i feel that i love you; and, if i cannot be happy with you, i will seek it no where else. my little darling grows every day more dear to me--and she often has a kiss, when we are alone together, which i give her for you, with all my heart. i have been interrupted--and must send off my letter. the liberty of the press will produce a great effect here--the _cry of blood will not be vain_!--some more monsters will perish--and the jacobins are conquered.--yet i almost fear the last slap of the tail of the beast. i have had several trifling teazing inconveniencies here, which i shall not now trouble you with a detail of.--i am sending ---back; her pregnancy rendered her useless. the girl i have got has more vivacity, which is better for the child. i long to hear from you.--bring a copy of ---and ---with you. ---is still here: he is a lost man.--he really loves his wife, and is anxious about his children; but his indiscriminate hospitality and social feelings have given him an inveterate habit of drinking, that destroys his health, as well as renders his person disgusting.--if his wife had more sense, or delicacy, she might restrain him: as it is, nothing will save him. yours most truly and affectionately * * * * * * * * * letter xxvii. october 26. my dear love, i began to wish so earnestly to hear from you, that the sight of your letters occasioned such pleasurable emotions, i was obliged to throw them aside till the little girl and i were alone together; and this said little girl, our darling, is become a most intelligent little creature, and as gay as a lark, and that in the morning too, which i do not find quite so convenient. i once told you, that the sensations before she was born, and when she is sucking, were pleasant; but they do not deserve to be compared to the emotions i feel, when she stops to smile upon me, or laughs outright on meeting me unexpectedly in the street, or after a short absence. she has now the advantage of having two good nurses, and i am at present able to discharge my duty to her, without being the slave of it. i have therefore employed and amused myself since i got rid of ----, and am making a progress in the language amongst other things. i have also made some new acquaintance. i have almost _charmed_ a judge of the tribunal, r----, who, though i should not have thought it possible, has humanity, if not _beaucoup d'esprit_. but let me tell you, if you do not make haste back, i shall be half in love with the author of the _marseillaise_, who is a handsome man, a little too broad-faced or so, and plays sweetly on the violin. what do you say to this threat?--why, _entre nous_, i like to give way to a sprightly vein, when writing to you, that is, when i am pleased with you. "the devil," you know, is proverbially said to be "in a good humour, when he is pleased." will you not then be a good boy, and come back quickly to play with your girls? but i shall not allow you to love the new-comer best. - - - - - -- - - - - -- - - - - -- - - - - -my heart longs for your return, my love, and only looks for, and seeks happiness with you; yet do not imagine that i childishly wish you to come back, before you have arranged things in such a manner, that it will not be necessary for you to leave us soon again; or to make exertions which injure your constitution. yours most truly and tenderly * * * * p.s. "you would oblige me by delivering the inclosed to mr. ----, and pray call for an answer.--it is for a person uncomfortably situated. * * * * * letter xxviii. dec. 26. i have been, my love, for some days tormented by fears, that i would not allow to assume a form--i had been expecting you daily--and i heard that many vessels had been driven on shore during the late gale.--well, i now see your letter--and find that you are safe; i will not regret then that your exertions have hitherto been so unavailing. - - - - - -- - - - - -- - - - - -be that as it may, return to me when you have arranged the other matters, which ---has been crowding on you. i want to be sure that you are safe--and not separated from me by a sea that must be passed. for, feeling that i am happier than i ever was, do you wonder at my sometimes dreading that fate has not done persecuting me? come to me, my dearest friend, husband, father of my child!--all these fond ties glow at my heart at this moment, and dim my eyes.--with you an independence is desirable; and it is always within our reach, if affluence escapes us--without you the world again appears empty to me. but i am recurring to some of the melancholy thoughts that have flitted across my mind for some days past, and haunted my dreams. my little darling is indeed a sweet child; and i am sorry that you are not here, to see her little mind unfold itself. you talk of "dalliance;" but certainly no lover was ever more attached to his mistress, than she is to me. her eyes follow me every where, and by affection i have the most despotic power over her. she is all vivacity or softness--yes; i love her more than i thought i should. when i have been hurt at your stay, i have embraced her as my only comfort--when pleased with you, for looking and laughing like you; nay, i cannot, i find, long be angry with you, whilst i am kissing her for resembling you. but there would be no end to these details. fold us both to your heart; for i am truly and affectionately yours * * * * * * * * * letter xxix. december 28. - - - - - - -- - - - - - -- - - - - - -i do, my love, indeed sincerely sympathize with you in all your disappointments.--yet, knowing that you are well, and think of me with affection, i only lament other disappointments, because i am sorry that you should thus exert yourself in vain, and that you are kept from me. ------, i know, urges you to stay, and is continually branching out into new projects, because he has the idle desire to amass a large fortune, rather an immense one, merely to have the credit of having made it. but we who are governed by other motives, ought not to be led on by him. when we meet, we will discuss this subject--you will listen to reason, and it has probably occurred to you, that it will be better, in future, to pursue some sober plan, which may demand more time, and still enable you to arrive at the same end. it appears to me absurd to waste life in preparing to live. would it not now be possible to arrange your business in such a manner as to avoid the inquietudes, of which i have had my share since your departure? is it not possible to enter into business, as an employment necessary to keep the faculties awake, and (to sink a little in the expressions) the pot boiling, without suffering what must ever be considered as a secondary object, to engross the mind, and drive sentiment and affection out of the heart? i am in a hurry to give this letter to the person who has promised to forward it with ------'s. i wish then to counteract, in some measure, what he has doubtless recommended most warmly. stay, my friend, whilst it is _absolutely_ necessary.--i will give you no tenderer name, though it glows at my heart, unless you come the moment the settling the _present_ objects permit.--_i do not consent_ to your taking any other journey--or the little woman and i will be off, the lord knows where. but, as i had rather owe every thing to your affection, and, i may add, to your reason, (for this immoderate desire of wealth, which makes -----so eager to have you remain, is contrary to your principles of action), i will not importune you.--i will only tell you, that i long to see you--and, being at peace with you, i shall be hurt, rather than made angry, by delays.--having suffered so much in life, do not be surprised if i sometimes, when left to myself, grow gloomy, and suppose that it was all a dream, and that my happiness is not to last. i say happiness, because remembrance retrenches all the dark shades of the picture. my little one begins to show her teeth, and use her legs--she wants you to bear your part in the nursing business, for i am fatigued with dancing her, and yet she is not satisfied--she wants you to thank her mother for taking such care of her, as you only can. yours truly * * * * * * * * * letter xxx. december 29. though i suppose you have later intelligence, yet, as -----has just informed me that he has an opportunity of sending immediately to you, i take advantage of it to inclose you - - - - - - -how i hate this crooked business! this intercourse with the world, which obliges one to see the worst side of human nature! why cannot you be content with the object you had first in view, when you entered into this wearisome labyrinth?--i know very well that you have imperceptibly been drawn on; yet why does one project, successful or abortive, only give place to two others? is it not sufficient to avoid poverty?--i am contented to do my part; and, even here, sufficient to escape from wretchedness is not difficult to obtain. and, let me tell you, i have my project also--and, if you do not soon return, the little girl and i will take care of ourselves; we will not accept any of your cold kindness--your distant civilities--no; not we. this is but half jesting, for i am really tormented by the desire which -----manifests to have you remain where you are.--yet why do i talk to you?--if he can persuade you--let him!--for, if you are not happier with me, and your own wishes do not make you throw aside these eternal projects, i am above using any arguments, though reason as well as affection seems to offer them--if our affection be mutual, they will occur to you--and you will act accordingly. since my arrival here, i have found the german lady, of whom you have heard me speak. her first child died in the month; but she has another, about the age of my ------, a fine little creature. they are still but contriving to live----earning their daily bread--yet, though they are but just above poverty, i envy them.--she is a tender, affectionate mother--fatigued even by her attention.--however she has an affectionate husband in her turn, to render her care light, and to share her pleasure. i will own to you that, feeling extreme tenderness for my little girl, i grow sad very often when i am playing with her, that you are not here, to observe with me how her mind unfolds, and her little heart becomes attached!--these appear to me to be true pleasures--and still you suffer them to escape you, in search of what we may never enjoy.--it is your own maxim to "live in the present moment."--_if you do_--stay, for god's sake; but tell me the truth--if not, tell me when i may expect to see you, and let me not be always vainly looking for you, till i grow sick at heart. adieu! i am a little hurt.--i must take my darling to my bosom to comfort me. * * * * * * * * * letter xxxi. december 30. should you receive three or four of the letters at once which i have written lately, do not think of sir john brute, for i do not mean to wife you. i only take advantage of every occasion, that one out of three of my epistles may reach your hands, and inform you that i am not of ------'s opinion, who talks till he makes me angry, of the necessity of your staying two or three months longer. i do not like this life of continual inquietude--and, _entre nous_, i am determined to try to earn some money here myself, in order to convince you that, if you chuse to run about the world to get a fortune, it is for yourself--for the little girl and i will live without your assistance, unless you are with us. i may be termed proud--be it so--but i will never abandon certain principles of action. the common run of men have such an ignoble way of thinking, that, if they debauch their hearts, and prostitute their persons, following perhaps a gust of inebriation, they suppose the wife, slave rather, whom they maintain, has no right to complain, and ought to receive the sultan, whenever he deigns to return, with open arms, though his have been polluted by half an hundred promiscuous amours during his absence. i consider fidelity and constancy as two distinct things; yet the former is necessary, to give life to the other--and such a degree of respect do i think due to myself, that, if only probity, which is a good thing in its place, brings you back, never return!--for, if a wandering of the heart, or even a caprice of the imagination detains you--there is an end of all my hopes of happiness--i could not forgive it, if i would. i have gotten into a melancholy mood, you perceive. you know my opinion of men in general; you know that i think them systematic tyrants, and that it is the rarest thing in the world, to meet with a man with sufficient delicacy of feeling to govern desire. when i am thus sad, i lament that my little darling, fondly as i doat on her, is a girl.--i am sorry to have a tie to a world that for me is ever sown with thorns. you will call this an ill-humoured letter, when, in fact, it is the strongest proof of affection i can give, to dread to lose you. -----has taken such pains to convince me that you must and ought to stay, that it has inconceivably depressed my spirits--you have always known my opinion--i have ever declared, that two people, who mean to live together, ought not to be long separated.--if certain things are more necessary to you than me--search for them--say but one word, and you shall never hear of me more.--if not--for god's sake, let us struggle with poverty--with any evil, but these continual inquietudes of business, which i have been told were to last but a few months, though every day the end appears more distant! this is the first letter in this strain that i have determined to forward to you; the rest lie by, because i was unwilling to give you pain, and i should not now write, if i did not think that there would be no conclusion to the schemes, which demand, as i am told, your presence. * * * *[91-a] * * * * * letter xxxii. january 9. i just now received one of your hasty _notes_; for business so entirely occupies you, that you have not time, or sufficient command of thought, to write letters. beware! you seem to be got into a whirl of projects and schemes, which are drawing you into a gulph, that, if it do not absorb your happiness, will infallibly destroy mine. fatigued during my youth by the most arduous struggles, not only to obtain independence, but to render myself useful, not merely pleasure, for which i had the most lively taste, i mean the simple pleasures that flow from passion and affection, escaped me, but the most melancholy views of life were impressed by a disappointed heart on my mind. since i knew you, i have been endeavouring to go back to my former nature, and have allowed some time to glide away, winged with the delight which only spontaneous enjoyment can give.--why have you so soon dissolved the charm? i am really unable to bear the continual inquietude which your and ------'s never-ending plans produce. this you may term want of firmness--but you are mistaken--i have still sufficient firmness to pursue my principle of action. the present misery, i cannot find a softer word to do justice to my feelings, appears to me unnecessary--and therefore i have not firmness to support it as you may think i ought. i should have been content, and still wish, to retire with you to a farm--my god! any thing, but these continual anxieties--any thing but commerce, which debases the mind, and roots out affection from the heart. i do not mean to complain of subordinate inconveniences----yet i will simply observe, that, led to expect you every week, i did not make the arrangements required by the present circumstances, to procure the necessaries of life. in order to have them, a servant, for that purpose only, is indispensible--the want of wood, has made me catch the most violent cold i ever had; and my head is so disturbed by continual coughing, that i am unable to write without stopping frequently to recollect myself.--this however is one of the common evils which must be borne with----bodily pain does not touch the heart, though it fatigues the spirits. still as you talk of your return, even in february, doubtingly, i have determined, the moment the weather changes, to wean my child.--it is too soon for her to begin to divide sorrow!--and as one has well said, "despair is a freeman," we will go and seek our fortune together. this is not a caprice of the moment--for your absence has given new weight to some conclusions, that i was very reluctantly forming before you left me.--i do not chuse to be a secondary object.--if your feelings were in unison with mine, you would not sacrifice so much to visionary prospects of future advantage. * * * * * * * * * letter xxxiii. jan. 15. i was just going to begin my letter with the fag end of a song, which would only have told you, what i may as well say simply, that it is pleasant to forgive those we love. i have received your two letters, dated the 26th and 28th of december, and my anger died away. you can scarcely conceive the effect some of your letters have produced on me. after longing to hear from you during a tedious interval of suspense, i have seen a superscription written by you.--promising myself pleasure, and feeling emotion, i have laid it by me, till the person who brought it, left the room--when, behold! on opening it, i have found only half a dozen hasty lines, that have damped all the rising affection of my soul. well, now for business-- - - - - - -- - - - - - -- - - - - - -my animal is well; i have not yet taught her to eat, but nature is doing the business. i gave her a crust to assist the cutting of her teeth; and now she has two, she makes good use of them to gnaw a crust, biscuit, &c. you would laugh to see her; she is just like a little squirrel; she will guard a crust for two hours; and, after fixing her eye on an object for some time, dart on it with an aim as sure as a bird of prey--nothing can equal her life and spirits. i suffer from a cold; but it does not affect her. adieu! do not forget to love us--and come soon to tell us that you do. * * * * * * * * * letter xxxiv. jan. 30. from the purport of your last letters, i would suppose that this will scarcely reach you; and i have already written so many letters, that you have either not received, or neglected to acknowledge, i do not find it pleasant, or rather i have no inclination, to go over the same ground again. if you have received them, and are still detained by new projects, it is useless for me to say any more on the subject. i have done with it for ever--yet i ought to remind you that your pecuniary interest suffers by your absence. - - - - - - -- - - - - - -- - - - - - -for my part, my head is turned giddy, by only hearing of plans to make money, and my contemptuous feelings have sometimes burst out. i therefore was glad that a violent cold gave me a pretext to stay at home, lest i should have uttered unseasonable truths. my child is well, and the spring will perhaps restore me to myself.--i have endured many inconveniences this winter, which should i be ashamed to mention, if they had been unavoidable. "the secondary pleasures of life," you say, "are very necessary to my comfort:" it may be so; but i have ever considered them as secondary. if therefore you accuse me of wanting the resolution necessary to bear the _common_[100-a] evils of life; i should answer, that i have not fashioned my mind to sustain them, because i would avoid them, cost what it would---adieu! * * * * * * * * * letter xxxv. february 9. the melancholy presentiment has for some time hung on my spirits, that we were parted for ever; and the letters i received this day, by mr. ----, convince me that it was not without foundation. you allude to some other letters, which i suppose have miscarried; for most of those i have got, were only a few hasty lines, calculated to wound the tenderness the sight of the superscriptions excited. i mean not however to complain; yet so many feelings are struggling for utterance, and agitating a heart almost bursting with anguish, that i find it very difficult to write with any degree of coherence. you left me indisposed, though you have taken no notice of it; and the most fatiguing journey i ever had, contributed to continue it. however, i recovered my health; but a neglected cold, and continual inquietude during the last two months, have reduced me to a state of weakness i never before experienced. those who did not know that the canker-worm was at work at the core, cautioned me about suckling my child too long.--god preserve this poor child, and render her happier than her mother! but i am wandering from my subject: indeed my head turns giddy, when i think that all the confidence i have had in the affection of others is come to this. i did not expect this blow from you. i have done my duty to you and my child; and if i am not to have any return of affection to reward me, i have the sad consolation of knowing that i deserved a better fate. my soul is weary--i am sick at heart; and, but for this little darling, i would cease to care about a life, which is now stripped of every charm. you see how stupid i am, uttering declamation, when i meant simply to tell you, that i consider your requesting me to come to you, as merely dictated by honour.--indeed, i scarcely understand you.--you request me to come, and then tell me, that you have not given up all thoughts of returning to this place. when i determined to live with you, i was only governed by affection.--i would share poverty with you, but i turn with affright from the sea of trouble on which you are entering.--i have certain principles of action: i know what i look for to found my happiness on.--it is not money.--with you i wished for sufficient to procure the comforts of life--as it is, less will do.--i can still exert myself to obtain the necessaries of life for my child, and she does not want more at present.--i have two or three plans in my head to earn our subsistence; for do not suppose that, neglected by you, i will lie under obligations of a pecuniary kind to you!--no; i would sooner submit to menial service.--i wanted the support of your affection--that gone, all is over!--i did not think, when i complained of ----'s contemptible avidity to accumulate money, that he would have dragged you into his schemes. i cannot write.--i inclose a fragment of a letter, written soon after your departure, and another which tenderness made me keep back when it was written.--you will see then the sentiments of a calmer, though not a more determined, moment.--do not insult me by saying, that "our being together is paramount to every other consideration!" were it, you would not be running after a bubble, at the expence of my peace of mind. perhaps this is the last letter you will ever receive from me. * * * * * * * * * letter xxxvi. feb. 10. you talk of "permanent views and future comfort"--not for me, for i am dead to hope. the inquietudes of the last winter have finished the business, and my heart is not only broken, but my constitution destroyed. i conceive myself in a galloping consumption, and the continual anxiety i feel at the thought of leaving my child, feeds the fever that nightly devours me. it is on her account that i again write to you, to conjure you, by all that you hold sacred, to leave her here with the german lady you may have heard me mention! she has a child of the same age, and they may be brought up together, as i wish her to be brought up. i shall write more fully on the subject. to facilitate this, i shall give up my present lodgings, and go into the same house. i can live much cheaper there, which is now become an object. i have had 3000 livres from ----, and i shall take one more, to pay my servant's wages, &c. and then i shall endeavour to procure what i want by my own exertions. i shall entirely give up the acquaintance of the americans. ---and i have not been on good terms a long time. yesterday he very unmanlily exulted over me, on account of your determination to stay. i had provoked it, it is true, by some asperities against commerce, which have dropped from me, when we have argued about the propriety of your remaining where you are; and it is no matter, i have drunk too deep of the bitter cup to care about trifles. when you first entered into these plans, you bounded your views to the gaining of a thousand pounds. it was sufficient to have procured a farm in america, which would have been an independence. you find now that you did not know yourself, and that a certain situation in life is more necessary to you than you imagined--more necessary than an uncorrupted heart--for a year or two, you may procure yourself what you call pleasure; eating, drinking, and women; but, in the solitude of declining life, i shall be remembered with regret--i was going to say with remorse, but checked my pen. as i have never concealed the nature of my connection with you, your reputation will not suffer. i shall never have a confident: i am content with the approbation of my own mind; and, if there be a searcher of hearts, mine will not be despised. reading what you have written relative to the desertion of women, i have often wondered how theory and practice could be so different, till i recollected, that the sentiments of passion, and the resolves of reason, are very distinct. as to my sisters, as you are so continually hurried with business, you need not write to them--i shall, when my mind is calmer. god bless you! adieu! * * * * this has been such a period of barbarity and misery, i ought not to complain of having my share. i wish one moment that i had never heard of the cruelties that have been practised here, and the next envy the mothers who have been killed with their children. surely i had suffered enough in life, not to be cursed with a fondness, that burns up the vital stream i am imparting. you will think me mad: i would i were so, that i could forget my misery--so that my head or heart would be still.--- * * * * * letter xxxvii. feb. 19. when i first received your letter, putting off your return to an indefinite time, i felt so hurt, that i know not what i wrote. i am now calmer, though it was not the kind of wound over which time has the quickest effect; on the contrary, the more i think, the sadder i grow. society fatigues me inexpressibly--so much so, that finding fault with every one, i have only reason enough, to discover that the fault is in myself. my child alone interests me, and, but for her, i should not take any pains to recover my health. as it is, i shall wean her, and try if by that step (to which i feel a repugnance, for it is my only solace) i can get rid of my cough. physicians talk much of the danger attending any complaint on the lungs, after a woman has suckled for some months. they lay a stress also on the necessity of keeping the mind tranquil--and, my god! how has mine been harrassed! but whilst the caprices of other women are gratified, "the wind of heaven not suffered to visit them too rudely," i have not found a guardian angel, in heaven or on earth, to ward off sorrow or care from my bosom. what sacrifices have you not made for a woman you did not respect!--but i will not go over this ground--i want to tell you that i do not understand you. you say that you have not given up all thoughts of returning here--and i know that it will be necessary--nay, is. i cannot explain myself; but if you have not lost your memory, you will easily divine my meaning. what! is our life then only to be made up of separations? and am i only to return to a country, that has not merely lost all charms for me, but for which i feel a repugnance that almost amounts to horror, only to be left there a prey to it! why is it so necessary that i should return?--brought up here, my girl would be freer. indeed, expecting you to join us, i had formed some plans of usefulness that have now vanished with my hopes of happiness. in the bitterness of my heart, i could complain with reason, that i am left here dependent on a man, whose avidity to acquire a fortune has rendered him callous to every sentiment connected with social or affectionate emotions.--with a brutal insensibility, he cannot help displaying the pleasure your determination to stay gives him, in spite of the effect it is visible it has had on me. till i can earn money, i shall endeavour to borrow some, for i want to avoid asking him continually for the sum necessary to maintain me.--do not mistake me, i have never been refused.--yet i have gone half a dozen times to the house to ask for it, and come away without speaking----you must guess why--besides, i wish to avoid hearing of the eternal projects to which you have sacrificed my peace--not remembering--but i will be silent for ever.--- * * * * * letter xxxviii. april 7. here i am at h----, on the wing towards you, and i write now, only to tell you, that you may expect me in the course of three or four days; for i shall not attempt to give vent to the different emotions which agitate my heart--you may term a feeling, which appears to me to be a degree of delicacy that naturally arises from sensibility, pride--still i cannot indulge the very affectionate tenderness which glows in my bosom, without trembling, till i see, by your eyes, that it is mutual. i sit, lost in thought, looking at the sea--and tears rush into my eyes, when i find that i am cherishing any fond expectations.--i have indeed been so unhappy this winter, i find it as difficult to acquire fresh hopes, as to regain tranquillity.--enough of this--lie still, foolish heart!--but for the little girl, i could almost wish that it should cease to beat, to be no more alive to the anguish of disappointment. sweet little creature! i deprived myself of my only pleasure, when i weaned her, about ten days ago.--i am however glad i conquered my repugnance.--it was necessary it should be done soon, and i did not wish to embitter the renewal of your acquaintance with her, by putting it off till we met.--it was a painful exertion to me, and i thought it best to throw this inquietude with the rest, into the sack that i would fain throw over my shoulder.--i wished to endure it alone, in short--yet, after sending her to sleep in the next room for three or four nights, you cannot think with what joy i took her back again to sleep in my bosom! i suppose i shall find you, when i arrive, for i do not see any necessity for your coming to me.--pray inform mr. ------, that i have his little friend with me.--my wishing to oblige him, made me put myself to some inconvenience----and delay my departure; which was irksome to me, who have not quite as much philosophy, i would not for the world say indifference, as you. god bless you! yours truly, * * * * * * * * * letter xxxix. brighthelmstone, saturday, april 11. here we are, my love, and mean to set out early in the morning; and, if i can find you, i hope to dine with you to-morrow.--i shall drive to ------'s hotel, where -----tells me you have been--and, if you have left it, i hope you will take care to be there to receive us. i have brought with me mr. ----'s little friend, and a girl whom i like to take care of our little darling--not on the way, for that fell to my share.--but why do i write about trifles?--or any thing?--are we not to meet soon?--what does your heart say! yours truly * * * * i have weaned my ------, and she is now eating away at the white bread. * * * * * letter xl. london, friday, may 22. i have just received your affectionate letter, and am distressed to think that i have added to your embarrassments at this troublesome juncture, when the exertion of all the faculties of your mind appears to be necessary, to extricate you out of your pecuniary difficulties. i suppose it was something relative to the circumstance you have mentioned, which made -----request to see me to-day, to _converse about a matter of great importance_. be that as it may, his letter (such is the state of my spirits) inconceivably alarmed me, and rendered the last night as distressing, as the two former had been. i have laboured to calm my mind since you left me--still i find that tranquillity is not to be obtained by exertion; it is a feeling so different from the resignation of despair!--i am however no longer angry with you--nor will i ever utter another complaint--there are arguments which convince the reason, whilst they carry death to the heart.--we have had too many cruel explanations, that not only cloud every future prospect; but embitter the remembrances which alone give life to affection.--let the subject never be revived! it seems to me that i have not only lost the hope, but the power of being happy.--every emotion is now sharpened by anguish.--my soul has been shook, and my tone of feelings destroyed.--i have gone out--and sought for dissipation, if not amusement, merely to fatigue still more, i find, my irritable nerves---my friend--my dear friend--examine yourself well--i am out of the question; for, alas! i am nothing--and discover what you wish to do--what will render you most comfortable--or, to be more explicit--whether you desire to live with me, or part for ever? when you can once ascertain it, tell me frankly, i conjure you!--for, believe me, i have very involuntarily interrupted your peace. i shall expect you to dinner on monday, and will endeavour to assume a cheerful face to greet you--at any rate i will avoid conversations, which only tend to harrass your feelings, because i am most affectionately yours, * * * * * * * * * letter xli. wednesday. i inclose you the letter, which you desired me to forward, and i am tempted very laconically to wish you a good morning--not because i am angry, or have nothing to say; but to keep down a wounded spirit.--i shall make every effort to calm my mind--yet a strong conviction seems to whirl round in the very centre of my brain, which, like the fiat of fate, emphatically assures me, that grief has a firm hold of my heart. god bless you! yours sincerely * * * * * * * * * letter xlii. --, wednesday, two o'clock. we arrived here about an hour ago. i am extremely fatigued with the child, who would not rest quiet with any body but me, during the night--and now we are here in a comfortless, damp room, in a sort of a tomb-like house. this however i shall quickly remedy, for, when i have finished this letter, (which i must do immediately, because the post goes out early), i shall sally forth, and enquire about a vessel and an inn. i will not distress you by talking of the depression of my spirits, or the struggle i had to keep alive my dying heart.--it is even now too full to allow me to write with composure.--*****,--dear *****, --am i always to be tossed about thus?--shall i never find an asylum to rest _contented_ in? how can you love to fly about continually--dropping down, as it were, in a new world--cold and strange!--every other day? why do you not attach those tender emotions round the idea of home, which even now dim my eyes?--this alone is affection--every thing else is only humanity, electrified by sympathy. i will write to you again to-morrow, when i know how long i am to be detained--and hope to get a letter quickly from you, to cheer yours sincerely and affectionately * * * * -----is playing near me in high spirits. she was so pleased with the noise of the mail-horn, she has been continually imitating it.----adieu! * * * * * letter xliii. thursday. a lady has just sent to offer to take me to ------. i have then only a moment to exclaim against the vague manner in which people give information - - - - -- - - - - -- - - - - -- - - - - -but why talk of inconveniences, which are in fact trifling, when compared with the sinking of the heart i have felt! i did not intend to touch this painful string--god bless you! yours truly, * * * * * * * * * letter xliv. friday, june 12. i have just received yours dated the 9th, which i suppose was a mistake, for it could scarcely have loitered so long on the road. the general observations which apply to the state of your own mind, appear to me just, as far as they go; and i shall always consider it as one of the most serious misfortunes of my life, that i did not meet you, before satiety had rendered your senses so fastidious, as almost to close up every tender avenue of sentiment and affection that leads to your sympathetic heart. you have a heart, my friend, yet, hurried away by the impetuosity of inferior feelings, you have sought in vulgar excesses, for that gratification which only the heart can bestow. the common run of men, i know, with strong health and gross appetites, must have variety to banish _ennui_, because the imagination never lends its magic wand, to convert appetite into love, cemented by according reason.--ah! my friend, you know not the ineffable delight, the exquisite pleasure, which arises from a unison of affection and desire, when the whole soul and senses are abandoned to a lively imagination, that renders every emotion delicate and rapturous. yes; these are emotions, over which satiety has no power, and the recollection of which, even disappointment cannot disenchant; but they do not exist without self-denial. these emotions, more or less strong, appear to me to be the distinctive characteristic of genius, the foundation of taste, and of that exquisite relish for the beauties of nature, of which the common herd of eaters and drinkers and _child-begeters_, certainly have no idea. you will smile at an observation that has just occurred to me:--i consider those minds as the most strong and original, whose imagination acts as the stimulus to their senses. well! you will ask, what is the result of all this reasoning? why i cannot help thinking that it is possible for you, having great strength of mind, to return to nature, and regain a sanity of constitution, and purity of feeling--which would open your heart to me.--i would fain rest there! yet, convinced more than ever of the sincerity and tenderness of my attachment to you, the involuntary hopes, which a determination to live has revived, are not sufficiently strong to dissipate the cloud, that despair has spread over futurity. i have looked at the sea, and at my child, hardly daring to own to myself the secret wish, that it might become our tomb; and that the heart, still so alive to anguish, might there be quieted by death. at this moment ten thousand complicated sentiments press for utterance, weigh on my heart, and obscure my sight. are we ever to meet again? and will you endeavour to render that meeting happier than the last? will you endeavour to restrain your caprices, in order to give vigour to affection, and to give play to the checked sentiments that nature intended should expand your heart? i cannot indeed, without agony, think of your bosom's being continually contaminated; and bitter are the tears which exhaust my eyes, when i recollect why my child and i are forced to stray from the asylum, in which, after so many storms, i had hoped to rest, smiling at angry fate.--these are not common sorrows; nor can you perhaps conceive, how much active fortitude it requires to labour perpetually to blunt the shafts of disappointment. examine now yourself, and ascertain whether you can live in something-like a settled stile. let our confidence in future be unbounded; consider whether you find it necessary to sacrifice me to what you term "the zest of life;" and, when you have once a clear view of your own motives, of your own incentive to action, do not deceive me! the train of thoughts which the writing of this epistle awoke, makes me so wretched, that i must take a walk, to rouse and calm my mind. but first, let me tell you, that, if you really wish to promote my happiness, you will endeavour to give me as much as you can of yourself. you have great mental energy; and your judgment seems to me so just, that it is only the dupe of your inclination in discussing one subject. the post does not go out to-day. to-morrow i may write more tranquilly. i cannot yet say when the vessel will sail in which i have determined to depart. * * * * * saturday morning. your second letter reached me about an hour ago. you were certainly wrong, in supposing that i did not mention you with respect; though, without my being conscious of it, some sparks of resentment may have animated the gloom of despair--yes; with less affection, i should have been more respectful. however the regard which i have for you, is so unequivocal to myself, i imagine that it must be sufficiently obvious to every body else. besides, the only letter i intended for the public eye was to ----, and that i destroyed from delicacy before you saw them, because it was only written (of course warmly in your praise) to prevent any odium being thrown on you[133-a]. i am harrassed by your embarrassments, and shall certainly use all my efforts, to make the business terminate to your satisfaction in which i am engaged. my friend--my dearest friend--i feel my fate united to yours by the most sacred principles of my soul, and the yearns of--yes, i will say it--a true, unsophisticated heart. yours most truly * * * * if the wind be fair, the captain talks of sailing on monday; but i am afraid i shall be detained some days longer. at any rate, continue to write, (i want this support) till you are sure i am where i cannot expect a letter; and, if any should arrive after my departure, a gentleman (not mr. ----'s friend, i promise you) from whom i have received great civilities, will send them after me. do write by every occasion! i am anxious to hear how your affairs go on; and, still more, to be convinced that you are not separating yourself from us. for my little darling is calling papa, and adding her parrot word--come, come! and will you not come, and let us exert ourselves?--i shall recover all my energy, when i am convinced that my exertions will draw us more closely together. one more adieu! * * * * * letter xlv. sunday, june 14. i rather expected to hear from you to-day--i wish you would not fail to write to me for a little time, because i am not quite well--whether i have any good sleep or not, i wake in the morning in violent fits of trembling--and, in spite of all my efforts, the child--every thing--fatigues me, in which i seek for solace or amusement. mr. ---forced on me a letter to a physician of this place; it was fortunate, for i should otherwise have had some difficulty to obtain the necessary information. his wife is a pretty woman (i can admire, you know, a pretty woman, when i am alone) and he an intelligent and rather interesting man.--they have behaved to me with great hospitality; and poor -----was never so happy in her life, as amongst their young brood. they took me in their carriage to ------, and i ran over my favourite walks, with a vivacity that would have astonished you.--the town did not please me quite so well as formerly--it appeared so diminutive; and, when i found that many of the inhabitants had lived in the same houses ever since i left it, i could not help wondering how they could thus have vegetated, whilst i was running over a world of sorrow, snatching at pleasure, and throwing off prejudices. the place where i at present am, is much improved; but it is astonishing what strides aristocracy and fanaticism have made, since i resided in this country. the wind does not appear inclined to change, so i am still forced to linger--when do you think that you shall be able to set out for france? i do not entirely like the aspect of your affairs, and still less your connections on either side of the water. often do i sigh, when i think of your entanglements in business, and your extreme restlessness of mind.--even now i am almost afraid to ask you, whether the pleasure of being free, does not over-balance the pain you felt at parting with me? sometimes i indulge the hope that you will feel me necessary to you--or why should we meet again?--but, the moment after, despair damps my rising spirits, aggravated by the emotions of tenderness, which ought to soften the cares of life.----god bless you! yours sincerely and affectionately * * * * * * * * * letter xlvi. june 15. i want to know how you have settled with respect to ------. in short, be very particular in your account of all your affairs--let our confidence, my dear, be unbounded.--the last time we were separated, was a separation indeed on your part--now you have acted more ingenuously, let the most affectionate interchange of sentiments fill up the aching void of disappointment. i almost dread that your plans will prove abortive--yet should the most unlucky turn send you home to us, convinced that a true friend is a treasure, i should not much mind having to struggle with the world again. accuse me not of pride--yet sometimes, when nature has opened my heart to its author, i have wondered that you did not set a higher value on my heart. receive a kiss from ------, i was going to add, if you will not take one from me, and believe me yours sincerely * * * * the wind still continues in the same quarter. * * * * * letter xlvii. tuesday morning. the captain has just sent to inform me, that i must be on board in the course of a few hours.--i wished to have stayed till to-morrow. it would have been a comfort to me to have received another letter from you--should one arrive, it will be sent after me. my spirits are agitated, i scarcely know why----the quitting england seems to be a fresh parting.--surely you will not forget me.--a thousand weak forebodings assault my soul, and the state of my health renders me sensible to every thing. it is surprising that in london, in a continual conflict of mind, i was still growing better--whilst here, bowed down by the despotic hand of fate, forced into resignation by despair, i seem to be fading away--perishing beneath a cruel blight, that withers up all my faculties. the child is perfectly well. my hand seems unwilling to add adieu! i know not why this inexpressible sadness has taken possession of me.--it is not a presentiment of ill. yet, having been so perpetually the sport of disappointment,--having a heart that has been as it were a mark for misery, i dread to meet wretchedness in some new shape.--well, let it come--i care not!--what have i to dread, who have so little to hope for! god bless you--i am most affectionately and sincerely yours * * * * * * * * * letter xlviii. wednesday morning. i was hurried on board yesterday about three o'clock, the wind having changed. but before evening it veered round to the old point; and here we are, in the midst of mists and water, only taking advantage of the tide to advance a few miles. you will scarcely suppose that i left the town with reluctance--yet it was even so--for i wished to receive another letter from you, and i felt pain at parting, for ever perhaps, from the amiable family, who had treated me with so much hospitality and kindness. they will probably send me your letter, if it arrives this morning; for here we are likely to remain, i am afraid to think how long. the vessel is very commodious, and the captain a civil, open-hearted kind of man. there being no other passengers, i have the cabin to myself, which is pleasant; and i have brought a few books with me to beguile weariness; but i seem inclined, rather to employ the dead moments of suspence in writing some effusions, than in reading. what are you about? how are your affairs going on? it may be a long time before you answer these questions. my dear friend, my heart sinks within me!--why am i forced thus to struggle continually with my affections and feelings?--ah! why are those affections and feelings the source of so much misery, when they seem to have been given to vivify my heart, and extend my usefulness! but i must not dwell on this subject.--will you not endeavour to cherish all the affection you can for me? what am i saying?--rather forget me, if you can--if other gratifications are dearer to you.--how is every remembrance of mine embittered by disappointment? what a world is this!--they only seem happy, who never look beyond sensual or artificial enjoyments.--adieu! -----begins to play with the cabin-boy, and is as gay as a lark.--i will labour to be tranquil; and am in every mood, yours sincerely * * * * * * * * * letter xlix. thursday. here i am still--and i have just received your letter of monday by the pilot, who promised to bring it to me, if we were detained, as he expected, by the wind.--it is indeed wearisome to be thus tossed about without going forward.--i have a violent head-ache--yet i am obliged to take care of the child, who is a little tormented by her teeth, because -----is unable to do any thing, she is rendered so sick by the motion of the ship, as we ride at anchor. these are however trifling inconveniences, compared with anguish of mind--compared with the sinking of a broken heart.--to tell you the truth, i never suffered in my life so much from depression of spirits--from despair.--i do not sleep--or, if i close my eyes, it is to have the most terrifying dreams, in which i often meet you with different casts of countenance. i will not, my dear ------, torment you by dwelling on my sufferings--and will use all my efforts to calm my mind, instead of deadening it--at present it is most painfully active. i find i am not equal to these continual struggles--yet your letter this morning has afforded me some comfort--and i will try to revive hope. one thing let me tell you--when we meet again--surely we are to meet!--it must be to part no more. i mean not to have seas between us--it is more than i can support. the pilot is hurrying me--god bless you. in spite of the commodiousness of the vessel, every thing here would disgust my senses, had i nothing else to think of--"when the mind's free, the body's delicate;"--mine has been too much hurt to regard trifles. yours most truly * * * * * * * * * letter l. saturday. this is the fifth dreary day i have been imprisoned by the wind, with every outward object to disgust the senses, and unable to banish the remembrances that sadden my heart. how am i altered by disappointment!--when going to ----, ten years ago, the elasticity of my mind was sufficient to ward off weariness--and the imagination still could dip her brush in the rainbow of fancy, and sketch futurity in smiling colours. now i am going towards the north in search of sunbeams!--will any ever warm this desolated heart? all nature seems to frown--or rather mourn with me.--every thing is cold--cold as my expectations! before i left the shore, tormented, as i now am, by these north east _chillers_, i could not help exclaiming--give me, gracious heaven! at least, genial weather, if i am never to meet the genial affection that still warms this agitated bosom--compelling life to linger there. i am now going on shore with the captain, though the weather be rough, to seek for milk, &c. at a little village, and to take a walk--after which i hope to sleep--for, confined here, surrounded by disagreeable smells, i have lost the little appetite i had; and i lie awake, till thinking almost drives me to the brink of madness--only to the brink, for i never forget, even in the feverish slumbers i sometimes fall into, the misery i am labouring to blunt the the sense of, by every exertion in my power. poor -----still continues sick, and -----grows weary when the weather will not allow her to remain on deck. i hope this will be the last letter i shall write from england to you--are you not tired of this lingering adieu? yours truly * * * * * * * * * letter li. sunday morning. the captain last night, after i had written my letter to you intended to be left at a little village, offered to go to ---to pass to-day. we had a troublesome sail--and now i must hurry on board again, for the wind has changed. i half expected to find a letter from you here. had you written one haphazard, it would have been kind and considerate--you might have known, had you thought, that the wind would not permit me to depart. these are attentions, more grateful to the heart than offers of service--but why do i foolishly continue to look for them? adieu! adieu! my friend--your friendship is very cold--you see i am hurt.--god bless you! i may perhaps be, some time or other, independent in every sense of the word--ah! there is but one sense of it of consequence. i will break or bend this weak heart--yet even now it is full. yours sincerely * * * * the child is well; i did not leave her on board. * * * * * letter lii. june 27, saturday. i arrived in -----this afternoon, after vainly attempting to land at ----. i have now but a moment, before the post goes out, to inform you we have got here; though not without considerable difficulty, for we were set ashore in a boat above twenty miles below. what i suffered in the vessel i will not now descant upon--nor mention the pleasure i received from the sight of the rocky coast.--this morning however, walking to join the carriage that was to transport us to this place, i fell, without any previous warning, senseless on the rocks--and how i escaped with life i can scarcely guess. i was in a stupour for a quarter of an hour; the suffusion of blood at last restored me to my senses--the contusion is great, and my brain confused. the child is well. twenty miles ride in the rain, after my accident, has sufficiently deranged me--and here i could not get a fire to warm me, or any thing warm to eat; the inns are mere stables--i must nevertheless go to bed. for god's sake, let me hear from you immediately, my friend! i am not well and yet you see i cannot die. yours sincerely * * * * * * * * * letter liii. june 29. i wrote to you by the last post, to inform you of my arrival; and i believe i alluded to the extreme fatigue i endured on ship-board, owing to ------'s illness, and the roughness of the weather--i likewise mentioned to you my fall, the effects of which i still feel, though i do not think it will have any serious consequences. -----will go with me, if i find it necessary to go to ------. the inns here are so bad, i was forced to accept of an apartment in his house. i am overwhelmed with civilities on all sides, and fatigued with the endeavours to amuse me, from which i cannot escape. my friend--my friend, i am not well--a deadly weight of sorrow lies heavily on my heart. i am again tossed on the troubled billows of life; and obliged to cope with difficulties, without being buoyed up by the hopes that alone render them bearable. "how flat, dull, and unprofitable," appears to me all the bustle into which i see people here so eagerly enter! i long every night to go to bed, to hide my melancholy face in my pillow; but there is a canker-worm in my bosom that never sleeps. * * * * * * * * * letter liv. july 1. i labour in vain to calm my mind--my soul has been overwhelmed by sorrow and disappointment. every thing fatigues me--this is a life that cannot last long. it is you who must determine with respect to futurity--and, when you have, i will act accordingly--i mean, we must either resolve to live together, or part for ever, i cannot bear these continual struggles--but i wish you to examine carefully your own heart and mind; and, if you perceive the least chance of being happier without me than with me, or if your inclination leans capriciously to that side, do not dissemble; but tell me frankly that you will never see me more. i will then adopt the plan i mentioned to you--for we must either live together, or i will be entirely independent. my heart is so oppressed, i cannot write with precision--you know however that what i so imperfectly express, are not the crude sentiments of the moment--you can only contribute to my comfort (it is the consolation i am in need of) by being with me--and, if the tenderest friendship is of any value, why will you not look to me for a degree of satisfaction that heartless affections cannot bestow? tell me then, will you determine to meet me at basle?--i shall, i should imagine, be at -----before the close of august; and, after you settle your affairs at paris, could we not meet there? god bless you! yours truly * * * * poor -----has suffered during the journey with her teeth. * * * * * letter lv. july 3. there was a gloominess diffused through your last letter, the impression of which still rests on my mind--though, recollecting how quickly you throw off the forcible feelings of the moment, i flatter myself it has long since given place to your usual cheerfulness. believe me (and my eyes fill with tears of tenderness as i assure you) there is nothing i would not endure in the way of privation, rather than disturb your tranquillity.--if i am fated to be unhappy, i will labour to hide my sorrows in my own bosom; and you shall always find me a faithful, affectionate friend. i grow more and more attached to my little girl--and i cherish this affection without fear, because it must be a long time before it can become bitterness of soul.--she is an interesting creature.--on ship-board, how often as i gazed at the sea, have i longed to bury my troubled bosom in the less troubled deep; asserting with brutus, "that the virtue i had followed too far, was merely an empty name!" and nothing but the sight of her--her playful smiles, which seemed to cling and twine round my heart--could have stopped me. what peculiar misery has fallen to my share! to act up to my principles, i have laid the strictest restraint on my very thoughts--yes; not to sully the delicacy of my feelings, i have reined in my imagination; and started with affright from every sensation, (i allude to ----) that stealing with balmy sweetness into my soul, led me to scent from afar the fragrance of reviving nature. my friend, i have dearly paid for one conviction.--love, in some minds, is an affair of sentiment, arising from the same delicacy of perception (or taste) as renders them alive to the beauties of nature, poetry, &c, alive to the charms of those evanescent graces that are, as it were, impalpable--they must be felt, they cannot be described. love is a want of my heart. i have examined myself lately with more care than formerly, and find, that to deaden is not to calm the mind--aiming at tranquillity, i have almost destroyed all the energy of my soul--almost rooted out what renders it estimable--yes, i have damped that enthusiasm of character, which converts the grossest materials into a fuel, that imperceptibly feeds hopes, which aspire above common enjoyment. despair, since the birth of my child, has rendered me stupid--soul and body seemed to be fading away before the withering touch of disappointment. i am now endeavouring to recover myself--and such is the elasticity of my constitution, and the purity of the atmosphere here, that health unsought for, begins to reanimate my countenance. i have the sincerest esteem and affection for you--but the desire of regaining peace, (do you understand me?) has made me forget the respect due to my own emotions--sacred emotions, that are the sure harbingers of the delights i was formed to enjoy--and shall enjoy, for nothing can extinguish the heavenly spark. still, when we meet again, i will not torment you, i promise you. i blush when i recollect my former conduct--and will not in future confound myself with the beings whom i feel to be my inferiors.--i will listen to delicacy, or pride. * * * * * letter lvi. july 4. i hope to hear from you by to-morrow's mail. my dearest friend! i cannot tear my affections from you--and, though every remembrance stings me to the soul, i think of you, till i make allowance for the very defects of character, that have given such a cruel stab to my peace. still however i am more alive, than you have seen me for a long, long time. i have a degree of vivacity, even in my grief, which is preferable to the benumbing stupour that, for the last year, has frozen up all my faculties.--perhaps this change is more owing to returning health, than to the vigour of my reason--for, in spite of sadness (and surely i have had my share), the purity of this air, and the being continually out in it, for i sleep in the country every night, has made an alteration in my appearance that really surprises me.--the rosy fingers of health already streak my cheeks--and i have seen a _physical_ life in my eyes, after i have been climbing the rocks, that resembled the fond, credulous hopes of youth. with what a cruel sigh have i recollected that i had forgotten to hope!--reason, or rather experience, does not thus cruelly damp poor ------'s pleasures; she plays all day in the garden with ------'s children, and makes friends for herself. do not tell me, that you are happier without us--will you not come to us in switzerland? ah, why do not you love us with more sentiment?--why are you a creature of such sympathy, that the warmth of your feelings, or rather quickness of your senses, hardens your heart? it is my misfortune, that my imagination is perpetually shading your defects, and lending you charms, whilst the grossness of your senses makes you (call me not vain) overlook graces in me, that only dignity of mind, and the sensibility of an expanded heart can give.--god bless you! adieu. * * * * * letter lvii. july 7. i could not help feeling extremely mortified last post, at not receiving a letter from you. my being at ------was but a chance, and you might have hazarded it; and would a year ago. i shall not however complain--there are misfortunes so great, as to silence the usual expressions of sorrow--believe me, there is such a thing as a broken heart! there are characters whose very energy preys upon them; and who, ever inclined to cherish by reflection some passion, cannot rest satisfied with the common comforts of life. i have endeavoured to fly from myself, and launched into all the dissipation possible here, only to feel keener anguish, when alone with my child. still, could any thing please me--had not disappointment cut me off from life, this romantic country, these fine evenings, would interest me.--my god! can any thing? and am i ever to feel alive only to painful sensations?--but it cannot--it shall not last long. the post is again arrived; i have sent to seek for letters, only to be wounded to the soul by a negative.--my brain seems on fire, i must go into the air. * * * * * * * * * letter lviii. july 14. i am now on my journey to ------. i felt more at leaving my child, than i thought i should--and, whilst at night i imagined every instant that i heard the half-formed sounds of her voice,--i asked myself how i could think of parting with her for ever, of leaving her thus helpless? poor lamb! it may run very well in a tale, that "god will temper the winds to the shorn lamb!" but how can i expect that she will be shielded, when my naked bosom has had to brave continually the pitiless storm? yes; i could add, with poor lear--what is the war of elements to the pangs of disappointed affection, and the horror arising from a discovery of a breach of confidence, that snaps every social tie! all is not right somewhere!--when you first knew me, i was not thus lost. i could still confide--for i opened my heart to you--of this only comfort you have deprived me, whilst my happiness, you tell me, was your first object. strange want of judgment! i will not complain; but, from the soundness of your understanding, i am convinced, if you give yourself leave to reflect, you will also feel, that your conduct to me, so far from being generous, has not been just.--i mean not to allude to factitious principles of morality; but to the simple basis of all rectitude.--however i did not intend to argue--your not writing is cruel--and my reason is perhaps disturbed by constant wretchedness. poor -----would fain have accompanied me, out of tenderness; for my fainting, or rather convulsion, when i landed, and my sudden changes of countenance since, have alarmed her so much, that she is perpetually afraid of some accident--but it would have injured the child this warm season, as she is cutting her teeth. i hear not of your having written to me at ----. very well! act as you please--there is nothing i fear or care for! when i see whether i can, or cannot obtain the money i am come here about, i will not trouble you with letters to which you do not reply. * * * * * letter lix. july 18. i am here in ----, separated from my child--and here i must remain a month at least, or i might as well never have come. - - -- - - - - -- - - - - -- - - - - -- - - - - -i have begun -------which will, i hope, discharge all my obligations of a pecuniary kind.--i am lowered in my own eyes, on account of my not having done it sooner. i shall make no further comments on your silence. god bless you! * * * * * * * * * letter lx. july 30. i have just received two of your letters, dated the 26th and 30th of june; and you must have received several from me, informing you of my detention, and how much i was hurt by your silence. - - - - - - -- - - - - - -- - - - - - -write to me then, my friend, and write explicitly. i have suffered, god knows, since i left you. ah! you have never felt this kind of sickness of heart!--my mind however is at present painfully active, and the sympathy i feel almost rises to agony. but this is not a subject of complaint, it has afforded me pleasure,--and reflected pleasure is all i have to hope for--if a spark of hope be yet alive in my forlorn bosom. i will try to write with a degree of composure. i wish for us to live together, because i want you to acquire an habitual tenderness for my poor girl. i cannot bear to think of leaving her alone in the world, or that she should only be protected by your sense of duty. next to preserving her, my most earnest wish is not to disturb your peace. i have nothing to expect, and little to fear, in life--there are wounds that can never be healed--but they may be allowed to fester in silence without wincing. when we meet again, you shall be convinced that i have more resolution than you give me credit for. i will not torment you. if i am destined always to be disappointed and unhappy, i will conceal the anguish i cannot dissipate; and the tightened cord of life or reason will at last snap, and set me free. yes; i shall be happy--this heart is worthy of the bliss its feelings anticipate--and i cannot even persuade myself, wretched as they have made me, that my principles and sentiments are not founded in nature and truth. but to have done with these subjects. - - - - - - -- - - - - - -- - - - - - -i have been seriously employed in this way since i came to ----; yet i never was so much in the air.--i walk, i ride on horseback--row, bathe, and even sleep in the fields; my health is consequently improved. the child, ------informs me, is well. i long to be with her. write to me immediately--were i only to think of myself, i could wish you to return to me, poor, with the simplicity of character, part of which you seem lately to have lost, that first attached to you. yours most affectionately * * * * * * * * * i have been subscribing other letters--so i mechanically did the same to yours. * * * * * letter lxi. august 5. employment and exercise have been of great service to me; and i have entirely recovered the strength and activity i lost during the time of my nursing. i have seldom been in better health; and my mind, though trembling to the touch of anguish, is calmer--yet still the same.--i have, it is true, enjoyed some tranquillity, and more happiness here, than for a long--long time past.--(i say happiness, for i can give no other appellation to the exquisite delight this wild country and fine summer have afforded me.)--still, on examining my heart, i find that it is so constituted, i cannot live without some particular affection--i am afraid not without a passion--and i feel the want of it more in society, than in solitude-- - - - - -- - - - - -- - - - - -writing to you, whenever an affectionate epithet occurs--my eyes fill with tears, and my trembling hand stops--you may then depend on my resolution, when with you. if i am doomed to be unhappy, i will confine my anguish in my own bosom--tenderness, rather than passion, has made me sometimes overlook delicacy--the same tenderness will in future restrain me. god bless you! * * * * * letter lxii. august 7. air, exercise, and bathing, have restored me to health, braced my muscles, and covered my ribs, even whilst i have recovered my former activity.--i cannot tell you that my mind is calm, though i have snatched some moments of exquisite delight, wandering through the woods, and resting on the rocks. this state of suspense, my friend, is intolerable; we must determine on something--and soon;--we must meet shortly, or part for ever. i am sensible that i acted foolishly--but i was wretched--when we were together--expecting too much, i let the pleasure i might have caught, slip from me. i cannot live with you--i ought not--if you form another attachment. but i promise you, mine shall not be intruded on you. little reason have i to expect a shadow of happiness, after the cruel disappointments that have rent my heart; but that of my child seems to depend on our being together. still i do not wish you to sacrifice a chance of enjoyment for an uncertain good. i feel a conviction, that i can provide for her, and it shall be my object--if we are indeed to part to meet no more. her affection must not be divided. she must be a comfort to me--if i am to have no other--and only know me as her support.--i feel that i cannot endure the anguish of corresponding with you--if we are only to correspond.--no; if you seek for happiness elsewhere, my letters shall not interrupt your repose. i will be dead to you. i cannot express to you what pain it gives me to write about an eternal separation.--you must determine--examine yourself--but, for god's sake! spare me the anxiety of uncertainty!--i may sink under the trial; but i will not complain. adieu! if i had any thing more to say to you, it is all flown, and absorbed by the most tormenting apprehensions, yet i scarcely know what new form of misery i have to dread. i ought to beg your pardon for having sometimes written peevishly; but you will impute it to affection, if you understand any thing of the heart of yours truly * * * * * * * * * letter lxiii. august 9. five of your letters have been sent after me from ----. one, dated the 14th of july, was written in a style which i may have merited, but did not expect from you. however this is not a time to reply to it, except to assure you that you shall not be tormented with any more complaints. i am disgusted with myself for having so long importuned you with my affection.---my child is very well. we shall soon meet, to part no more, i hope--i mean, i and my girl.--i shall wait with some degree of anxiety till i am informed how your affairs terminate. yours sincerely * * * * * * * * * letter lxiv. august 26. i arrived here last night, and with the most exquisite delight, once more pressed my babe to my heart. we shall part no more. you perhaps cannot conceive the pleasure it gave me, to see her run about, and play alone. her increasing intelligence attaches me more and more to her. i have promised her that i will fulfil my duty to her; and nothing in future shall make me forget it. i will also exert myself to obtain an independence for her; but i will not be too anxious on this head. i have already told you, that i have recovered my health. vigour, and even vivacity of mind, have returned with a renovated constitution. as for peace, we will not talk of it. i was not made, perhaps, to enjoy the calm contentment so termed.-- - - - - -- - - - - -- - - - - -you tell me that my letters torture you; i will not describe the effect yours have on me. i received three this morning, the last dated the 7th of this month. i mean not to give vent to the emotions they produced.--certainly you are right; our minds are not congenial. i have lived in an ideal world, and fostered sentiments that you do not comprehend--or you would not treat me thus. i am not, i will not be, merely an object of compassion--a clog, however light, to teize you. forget that i exist: i will never remind you. something emphatical whispers me to put an end to these struggles. be free--i will not torment, when i cannot please. i can take care of my child; you need not continually tell me that our fortune is inseparable, _that you will try to cherish tenderness_ for me. do no violence to yourself! when we are separated, our interest, since you give so much weight to pecuniary considerations, will be entirely divided. i want not protection without affection; and support i need not, whilst my faculties are undisturbed. i had a dislike to living in england; but painful feelings must give way to superior considerations. i may not be able to acquire the sum necessary to maintain my child and self elsewhere. it is too late to go to switzerland. i shall not remain at ----, living expensively. but be not alarmed! i shall not force myself on you any more. adieu! i am agitated--my whole frame is convulsed--my lips tremble, as if shook by cold, though fire seems to be circulating in my veins. god bless you. * * * * * * * * * letter lxv. september 6. i received just now your letter of the 20th. i had written you a letter last night, into which imperceptibly slipt some of my bitterness of soul. i will copy the part relative to business. i am not sufficiently vain to imagine that i can, for more than a moment, cloud your enjoyment of life--to prevent even that, you had better never hear from me--and repose on the idea that i am happy. gracious god! it is impossible for me to stifle something like resentment, when i receive fresh proofs of your indifference. what i have suffered this last year, is not to be forgotten! i have not that happy substitute for wisdom, insensibility--and the lively sympathies which bind me to my fellow-creatures, are all of a painful kind.--they are the agonies of a broken heart--pleasure and i have shaken hands. i see here nothing but heaps of ruins, and only converse with people immersed in trade and sensuality. i am weary of travelling--yet seem to have no home--no resting place to look to.--i am strangely cast off.--how often, passing through the rocks, i have thought, "but for this child, i would lay my head on one of them, and never open my eyes again!" with a heart feelingly alive to all the affections of my nature--i have never met with one, softer than the stone that i would fain take for my last pillow. i once thought i had, but it was all a delusion. i meet with families continually, who are bound together by affection or principle--and, when i am conscious that i have fulfilled the duties of my station, almost to a forgetfulness of myself, i am ready to demand, in a murmuring tone, of heaven, "why am i thus abandoned?" you say now - - -- - - - - -- - - - - -i do not understand you. it is necessary for you to write more explicitly--and determine on some mode of conduct.--i cannot endure this suspense--decide--do you fear to strike another blow? we live together, or eternally part!--i shall not write to you again, till i receive an answer to this. i must compose my tortured soul, before i write on indifferent subjects. - -- - - - - -- - - - - -i do not know whether i write intelligibly, for my head is disturbed.--but this you ought to pardon--for it is with difficulty frequently that i make out what you mean to say--you write, i suppose, at mr. ----'s after dinner, when your head is not the clearest--and as for your heart, if you have one, i see nothing like the dictates of affection, unless a glimpse when you mention, the child.--adieu! * * * * * letter lxvi. september 25. i have just finished a letter, to be given in charge to captain ------. in that i complained of your silence, and expressed my surprise that three mails should have arrived without bringing a line for me. since i closed it, i hear of another, and still no letter.--i am labouring to write calmly--this silence is a refinement on cruelty. had captain -----remained a few days longer, i would have returned with him to england. what have i to do here? i have repeatedly written to you fully. do you do the same--and quickly. do not leave me in suspense. i have not deserved this of you. i cannot write, my mind is so distressed. adieu! * * * * end vol. iii. footnotes: [4-a] the child is in a subsequent letter called the "barrier girl," probably from a supposition that she owed her existence to this interview. editor. [7-a] this and the thirteen following letters appear to have been written during a separation of several months; the date, paris. [27-a] some further letters, written during the remainder of the week, in a similar strain to the preceding, appear to have been destroyed by the person to whom they were addressed. [47-a] the child spoken of in some preceding letters, had now been born a considerable time. [50-a] she means, "the latter more than the former." editor. [58-a] this is the first of a series of letters written during a separation of many months, to which no cordial meeting ever succeeded. they were sent from paris, and bear the address of london. [91-a] the person to whom the letters are addressed, was about this time at ramsgate, on his return, as he professed, to paris, when he was recalled, as it should seem, to london, by the further pressure of business now accumulated upon him. [100-a] this probably alludes to some expression of the person to whom the letters are addressed, in which he treated as common evils, things upon which the letter writer was disposed to bestow a different appellation. editor. [133-a] this passage refers to letters written under a purpose of suicide, and not intended to be opened till after the catastrophe. posthumous works of the author of a vindication of the rights of woman. in four volumes. * * * * * vol. iv. * * * * * _london:_ printed for j. johnson, no. 72, st. paul's church-yard; and g. g. and j. robinson, paternoster-row. 1798. letters and miscellaneous pieces. in two volumes. * * * * * vol. ii. contents. page letters 1 letter on the present character of the french nation 39 fragment of letters on the management of infants 55 letters to mr. johnson 61 extract of the cave of fancy, a tale 99 on poetry and our relish for the beauties of nature 159 hints 179 errata. page 10, line 8, _for_ i write you, _read_ i write to you. ---20, -9, _read_ bring them to ----. ---146, -2 from the bottom, after over, insert a comma. letters. * * * * * letter lxvii. september 27. when you receive this, i shall either have landed, or be hovering on the british coast--your letter of the 18th decided me. by what criterion of principle or affection, you term my questions extraordinary and unnecessary, i cannot determine.--you desire me to decide--i had decided. you must have had long ago two letters of mine, from ------, to the same purport, to consider.--in these, god knows! there was but too much affection, and the agonies of a distracted mind were but too faithfully pourtrayed!--what more then had i to say?--the negative was to come from you.--you had perpetually recurred to your promise of meeting me in the autumn--was it extraordinary that i should demand a yes, or no?--your letter is written with extreme harshness, coldness i am accustomed to, in it i find not a trace of the tenderness of humanity, much less of friendship.--i only see a desire to heave a load off your shoulders. i am above disputing about words.--it matters not in what terms you decide. the tremendous power who formed this heart, must have foreseen that, in a world in which self-interest, in various shapes, is the principal mobile, i had little chance of escaping misery.--to the fiat of fate i submit.--i am content to be wretched; but i will not be contemptible.--of me you have no cause to complain, but for having had too much regard for you--for having expected a degree of permanent happiness, when you only sought for a momentary gratification. i am strangely deficient in sagacity.--uniting myself to you, your tenderness seemed to make me amends for all my former misfortunes.--on this tenderness and affection with what confidence did i rest!--but i leaned on a spear, that has pierced me to the heart.--you have thrown off a faithful friend, to pursue the caprices of the moment.--we certainly are differently organized; for even now, when conviction has been stamped on my soul by sorrow, i can scarcely believe it possible. it depends at present on you, whether you will see me or not.--i shall take no step, till i see or hear from you. preparing myself for the worst--i have determined, if your next letter be like the last, to write to mr. ------to procure me an obscure lodging, and not to inform any body of my arrival.--there i will endeavour in a few months to obtain the sum necessary to take me to france--from you i will not receive any more.--i am not yet sufficiently humbled to depend on your beneficence. some people, whom my unhappiness has interested, though they know not the extent of it, will assist me to attain the object i have in view, the independence of my child. should a peace take place, ready money will go a great way in france--and i will borrow a sum, which my industry _shall_ enable me to pay at my leisure, to purchase a small estate for my girl.--the assistance i shall find necessary to complete her education, i can get at an easy rate at paris--i can introduce her to such society as she will like--and thus, securing for her all the chance for happiness, which depends on me, i shall die in peace, persuaded that the felicity which has hitherto cheated my expectation, will not always elude my grasp. no poor tempest-tossed mariner ever more earnestly longed to arrive at his port. * * * * i shall not come up in the vessel all the way, because i have no place to go to. captain -----will inform you where i am. it is needless to add, that i am not in a state of mind to bear suspense--and that i wish to see you, though it be for the last time. * * * * * letter lxviii. sunday, october 4. i wrote to you by the packet, to inform you, that your letter of the 18th of last month, had determined me to set out with captain ------; but, as we sailed very quick, i take it for granted, that you have not yet received it. you say, i must decide for myself.--i had decided, that it was most for the interest of my little girl, and for my own comfort, little as i expect, for us to live together; and i even thought that you would be glad, some years hence, when the tumult of business was over, to repose in the society of an affectionate friend, and mark the progress of our interesting child, whilst endeavouring to be of use in the circle you at last resolved to rest in; for you cannot run about for ever. from the tenour of your last letter however, i am led to imagine, that you have formed some new attachment.--if it be so, let me earnestly request you to see me once more, and immediately. this is the only proof i require of the friendship you profess for me. i will then decide, since you boggle about a mere form. i am labouring to write with calmness--but the extreme anguish i feel, at landing without having any friend to receive me, and even to be conscious that the friend whom i most wish to see, will feel a disagreeable sensation at being informed of my arrival, does not come under the description of common misery. every emotion yields to an overwhelming flood of sorrow--and the playfulness of my child distresses me.--on her account, i wished to remain a few days here, comfortless as is my situation.--besides, i did not wish to surprise you. you have told me, that you would make any sacrifice to promote my happiness--and, even in your last unkind letter, you talk of the ties which bind you to me and my child.--tell me, that you wish it, and i will cut this gordian knot. i now most earnestly intreat you to write to me, without fail, by the return of the post. direct your letter to be left at the post-office, and tell me whether you will come to me here, or where you will meet me. i can receive your letter on wednesday morning. do not keep me in suspense.--i expect nothing from you, or any human being: my die is cast!--i have fortitude enough to determine to do my duty; yet i cannot raise my depressed spirits, or calm my trembling heart.--that being who moulded it thus, knows that i am unable to tear up by the roots the propensity to affection which has been the torment of my life--but life will have an end! should you come here (a few months ago i could not have doubted it) you will find me at ------. if you prefer meeting me on the road, tell me where. yours affectionately * * * * * * * * * letter lxix. i write you now on my knees; imploring you to send my child and the maid with ----, to paris, to be consigned to the care of madame ----, rue ----, section de ----. should they be removed, ---can give their direction. let the maid have all my clothes, without distinction. pray pay the cook her wages, and do not mention the confession which i forced from her--a little sooner or later is of no consequence. nothing but my extreme stupidity could have rendered me blind so long. yet, whilst you assured me that you had no attachment, i thought we might still have lived together. i shall make no comments on your conduct; or any appeal to the world. let my wrongs sleep with me! soon, very soon shall i be at peace. when you receive this, my burning head will be cold. i would encounter a thousand deaths, rather than a night like the last. your treatment has thrown my mind into a state of chaos; yet i am serene. i go to find comfort, and my only fear is, that my poor body will be insulted by an endeavour to recal my hated existence. but i shall plunge into the thames where there is the least chance of my being snatched from the death i seek. god bless you! may you never know by experience what you have made me endure. should your sensibility ever awake, remorse will find its way to your heart; and, in the midst of business and sensual pleasure, i shall appear before you, the victim of your deviation from rectitude. * * * * * * * * * letter lxx. sunday morning. i have only to lament, that, when the bitterness of death was past, i was inhumanly brought back to life and misery. but a fixed determination is not to be baffled by disappointment; nor will i allow that to be a frantic attempt, which was one of the calmest acts of reason. in this respect, i am only accountable to myself. did i care for what is termed reputation, it is by other circumstances that i should be dishonoured. you say, "that you know not how to extricate ourselves out of the wretchedness into which we have been plunged." you are extricated long since.--but i forbear to comment.----if i am condemned to live longer, it is a living death. it appears to me, that you lay much more stress on delicacy, than on principle; for i am unable to discover what sentiment of delicacy would have been violated, by your visiting a wretched friend--if indeed you have any friendship for me.--but since your new attachment is the only thing sacred in your eyes, i am silent--be happy! my complaints shall never more damp your enjoyment--perhaps i am mistaken in supposing that even my death could, for more than a moment.--this is what you call magnanimity--it is happy for yourself, that you possess this quality in the highest degree. your continually asserting, that you will do all in your power to contribute to my comfort (when you only allude to pecuniary assistance), appears to me a flagrant breach of delicacy.--i want not such vulgar comfort, nor will i accept it. i never wanted but your heart--that gone, you have nothing more to give. had i only poverty to fear, i should not shrink from life.--forgive me then, if i say, that i shall consider any direct or indirect attempt to supply my necessities, as an insult which i have not merited--and as rather done out of tenderness for your own reputation, than for me. do not mistake me; i do not think that you value money (therefore i will not accept what you do not care for) though i do much less, because certain privations are not painful to me. when i am dead, respect for yourself will make you take care of the child. i write with difficulty--probably i shall never write to you again.--adieu! god bless you! * * * * * * * * * letter lxxi. monday morning. i am compelled at last to say that you treat me ungenerously. i agree with you, that- - -- - - - - -- - - - - -- - - - - -- - - - - -but let the obliquity now fall on me.--i fear neither poverty nor infamy. i am unequal to the task of writing--and explanations are not necessary.-- - - - - - -- - - - - - -my child may have to blush for her mother's want of prudence--and may lament that the rectitude of my heart made me above vulgar precautions; but she shall not despise me for meanness.--you are now perfectly free.--god bless you. * * * * * * * * * letter lxxiii. saturday night. i have been hurt by indirect enquiries, which appear to me not to be dictated by any tenderness to me.--you ask "if i am well or tranquil?"--they who think me so, must want a heart to estimate my feelings by.--i chuse then to be the organ of my own sentiments. i must tell you, that i am very much mortified by your continually offering me pecuniary assistance--and, considering your going to the new house, as an open avowal that you abandon me, let me tell you that i will sooner perish than receive any thing from you--and i say this at the moment when i am disappointed in my first attempt to obtain a temporary supply. but this even pleases me; an accumulation of disappointments and misfortunes seems to suit the habit of my mind.-have but a little patience, and i will remove myself where it will not be necessary for you to talk--of course, not to think of me. but let me see, written by yourself--for i will not receive it through any other medium--that the affair is finished.--it is an insult to me to suppose, that i can be reconciled, or recover my spirits; but, if you hear nothing of me, it will be the same thing to you. * * * * even your seeing me, has been to oblige other people, and not to sooth my distracted mind. * * * * * letter lxxiv. thursday afternoon. mr. -----having forgot to desire you to send the things of mine which were left at the house, i have to request you to let -----bring them onto ------. i shall go this evening to the lodging; so you need not be restrained from coming here to transact your business.--and, whatever i may think, and feel--you need not fear that i shall publicly complain--no! if i have any criterion to judge of right and wrong, i have been most ungenerously treated: but, wishing now only to hide myself, i shall be silent as the grave in which i long to forget myself. i shall protect and provide for my child.--i only mean by this to say, that you having nothing to fear from my desperation. farewel. * * * * * * * * * letter lxxv. london, november 27. the letter, without an address, which you put up with the letters you returned, did not meet my eyes till just now.--i had thrown the letters aside--i did not wish to look over a register of sorrow. my not having seen it, will account for my having written to you with anger--under the impression your departure, without even a line left for me, made on me, even after your late conduct, which could not lead me to expect much attention to my sufferings. in fact, "the decided conduct, which appeared to me so unfeeling," has almost overturned my reason; my mind is injured--i scarcely know where i am, or what i do.--the grief i cannot conquer (for some cruel recollections never quit me, banishing almost every other) i labour to conceal in total solitude.--my life therefore is but an exercise of fortitude, continually on the stretch--and hope never gleams in this tomb, where i am buried alive. but i meant to reason with you, and not to complain.--you tell me, "that i shall judge more coolly of your mode of acting, some time hence." but is it not possible that _passion_ clouds your reason, as much as it does mine?--and ought you not to doubt, whether those principles are so "exalted," as you term them, which only lead to your own gratification? in other words, whether it be just to have no principle of action, but that of following your inclination, trampling on the affection you have fostered, and the expectations you have excited? my affection for you is rooted in my heart.--i know you are not what you now seem--nor will you always act, or feel, as you now do, though i may never be comforted by the change.--even at paris, my image will haunt you.--you will see my pale face--and sometimes the tears of anguish will drop on your heart, which you have forced from mine. i cannot write. i thought i could quickly have refuted all your _ingenious_ arguments; but my head is confused.--right or wrong, i am miserable! it seems to me, that my conduct has always been governed by the strictest principles of justice and truth.--yet, how wretched have my social feelings, and delicacy of sentiment rendered me!--i have loved with my whole soul, only to discover that i had no chance of a return--and that existence is a burthen without it. i do not perfectly understand you.--if, by the offer of your friendship, you still only mean pecuniary support--i must again reject it.--trifling are the ills of poverty in the scale of my misfortunes.--god bless you! * * * * i have been treated ungenerously--if i understand what is generosity.----you seem to me only to have been anxious to shake me off--regardless whether you dashed me to atoms by the fall.--in truth i have been rudely handled. _do you judge coolly_, and i trust you will not continue to call those capricious feelings "the most refined," which would undermine not only the most sacred principles, but the affections which unite mankind.----you would render mothers unnatural--and there would be no such thing as a father!--if your theory of morals is the most "exalted," it is certainly the most easy.--it does not require much magnanimity, to determine to please ourselves for the moment, let others suffer what they will! excuse me for again tormenting you, my heart thirsts for justice from you--and whilst i recollect that you approved miss ------'s conduct--i am convinced you will not always justify your own. beware of the deceptions of passion! it will not always banish from your mind, that you have acted ignobly--and condescended to subterfuge to gloss over the conduct you could not excuse.--do truth and principle require such sacrifices? * * * * * letter lxxvi. london, december 8. having just been informed that -----is to return immediately to paris, i would not miss a sure opportunity of writing, because i am not certain that my last, by dover has reached you. resentment, and even anger, are momentary emotions with me--and i wished to tell you so, that if you ever think of me, it may not be in the light of an enemy. that i have not been used _well_ i must ever feel; perhaps, not always with the keen anguish i do at present--for i began even now to write calmly, and i cannot restrain my tears. i am stunned!--your late conduct still appears to me a frightful dream.--ah! ask yourself if you have not condescended to employ a little address, i could almost say cunning, unworthy of you?--principles are sacred things--and we never play with truth, with impunity. the expectation (i have too fondly nourished it) of regaining your affection, every day grows fainter and fainter.--indeed, it seems to me, when i am more sad than usual, that i shall never see you more.--yet you will not always forget me.--you will feel something like remorse, for having lived only for yourself--and sacrificed my peace to inferior gratifications. in a comfortless old age, you will remember that you had one disinterested friend, whose heart you wounded to the quick. the hour of recollection will come--and you will not be satisfied to act the part of a boy, till you fall into that of a dotard. i know that your mind, your heart, and your principles of action, are all superior to your present conduct. you do, you must, respect me--and you will be sorry to forfeit my esteem. you know best whether i am still preserving the remembrance of an imaginary being.--i once thought that i knew you thoroughly--but now i am obliged to leave some doubts that involuntarily press on me, to be cleared up by time. you may render me unhappy; but cannot make me contemptible in my own eyes.--i shall still be able to support my child, though i am disappointed in some other plans of usefulness, which i once believed would have afforded you equal pleasure. whilst i was with you, i restrained my natural generosity, because i thought your property in jeopardy.--when i went to --------, i requested you, _if you could conveniently_, not to forget my father, sisters, and some other people, whom i was interested about.--money was lavished away, yet not only my requests were neglected, but some trifling debts were not discharged, that now come on me.--was this friendship--or generosity? will you not grant you have forgotten yourself? still i have an affection for you.--god bless you. * * * * * * * * * letter lxxvii. as the parting from you for ever is the most serious event of my life, i will once expostulate with you, and call not the language of truth and feeling ingenuity! i know the soundness of your understanding--and know that it is impossible for you always to confound the caprices of every wayward inclination with the manly dictates of principle. you tell me "that i torment you."--why do i?----because you cannot estrange your heart entirely from me--and you feel that justice is on my side. you urge, "that your conduct was unequivocal."--it was not.--when your coolness has hurt me, with what tenderness have you endeavoured to remove the impression!--and even before i returned to england, you took great pains to convince me, that all my uneasiness was occasioned by the effect of a worn-out constitution--and you concluded your letter with these words, "business alone has kept me from you.--come to any port, and i will fly down to my two dear girls with a heart all their own." with these assurances, is it extraordinary that i should believe what i wished? i might--and did think that you had a struggle with old propensities; but i still thought that i and virtue should at last prevail. i still thought that you had a magnanimity of character, which would enable you to conquer yourself. --------, believe me, it is not romance, you have acknowledged to me feelings of this kind.--you could restore me to life and hope, and the satisfaction you would feel, would amply repay you. in tearing myself from you, it is my own heart i pierce--and the time will come, when you will lament that you have thrown away a heart, that, even in the moment of passion, you cannot despise.--i would owe every thing to your generosity--but, for god's sake, keep me no longer in suspense!--let me see you once more!- * * * * * letter lxxviii. you must do as you please with respect to the child.--i could wish that it might be done soon, that my name may be no more mentioned to you. it is now finished.--convinced that you have neither regard nor friendship, i disdain to utter a reproach, though i have had reason to think, that the "forbearance" talked of, has not been very delicate.--it is however of no consequence.--i am glad you are satisfied with your own conduct. i now solemnly assure you, that this is an eternal farewel.--yet i flinch not from the duties which tie me to life. that there is "sophistry" on one side or other, is certain; but now it matters not on which. on my part it has not been a question of words. yet your understanding or mine must be strangely warped--for what you term "delicacy," appears to me to be exactly the contrary. i have no criterion for morality, and have thought in vain, if the sensations which lead you to follow an ancle or step, be the sacred foundation of principle and affection. mine has been of a very different nature, or it would not have stood the brunt of your sarcasms. the sentiment in me is still sacred. if there be any part of me that will survive the sense of my misfortunes, it is the purity of my affections. the impetuosity of your senses, may have led you to term mere animal desire, the source of principle; and it may give zest to some years to come.--whether you will always think so, i shall never know. it is strange that, in spite of all you do, something like conviction forces me to believe, that you are not what you appear to be. i part with you in peace. * * * * * letter on the present character of the french nation. letter _introductory to a series of letters on the present character of the french nation._ paris, february 15, 1793. my dear friend, it is necessary perhaps for an observer of mankind, to guard as carefully the remembrance of the first impression made by a nation, as by a countenance; because we imperceptibly lose sight of the national character, when we become more intimate with individuals. it is not then useless or presumptuous to note, that, when i first entered paris, the striking contrast of riches and poverty, elegance and slovenliness, urbanity and deceit, every where caught my eye, and saddened my soul; and these impressions are still the foundation of my remarks on the manners, which flatter the senses, more than they interest the heart, and yet excite more interest than esteem. the whole mode of life here tends indeed to render the people frivolous, and, to borrow their favourite epithet, amiable. ever on the wing, they are always sipping the sparkling joy on the brim of the cup, leaving satiety in the bottom for those who venture to drink deep. on all sides they trip along, buoyed up by animal spirits, and seemingly so void of care, that often, when i am walking on the _boulevards_, it occurs to me, that they alone understand the full import of the term leisure; and they trifle their time away with such an air of contentment, i know not how to wish them wiser at the expence of their gaiety. they play before me like motes in a sunbeam, enjoying the passing ray; whilst an english head, searching for more solid happiness, loses, in the analysis of pleasure, the volatile sweets of the moment. their chief enjoyment, it is true, rises from vanity: but it is not the vanity that engenders vexation of spirit; on the contrary, it lightens the heavy burthen of life, which reason too often weighs, merely to shift from one shoulder to the other. investigating the modification of the passion, as i would analyze the elements that give a form to dead matter, i shall attempt to trace to their source the causes which have combined to render this nation the most polished, in a physical sense, and probably the most superficial in the world; and i mean to follow the windings of the various streams that disembogue into a terrific gulf, in which all the dignity of our nature is absorbed. for every thing has conspired to make the french the most sensual people in the world; and what can render the heart so hard, or so effectually stifle every moral emotion, as the refinements of sensuality? the frequent repetition of the word french, appears invidious; let me then make a previous observation, which i beg you not to lose sight of, when i speak rather harshly of a land flowing with milk and honey. remember that it is not the morals of a particular people that i would decry; for are we not all of the same stock? but i wish calmly to consider the stage of civilization in which i find the french, and, giving a sketch of their character, and unfolding the circumstances which have produced its identity, i shall endeavour to throw some light on the history of man, and on the present important subjects of discussion. i would i could first inform you that, out of the chaos of vices and follies, prejudices and virtues, rudely jumbled together, i saw the fair form of liberty slowly rising, and virtue expanding her wings to shelter all her children! i should then hear the account of the barbarities that have rent the bosom of france patiently, and bless the firm hand that lopt off the rotten limbs. but, if the aristocracy of birth is levelled with the ground, only to make room for that of riches, i am afraid that the morals of the people will not be much improved by the change, or the government rendered less venal. still it is not just to dwell on the misery produced by the present struggle, without adverting to the standing evils of the old system. i am grieved--sorely grieved--when i think of the blood that has stained the cause of freedom at paris; but i also hear the same live stream cry aloud from the highways, through which the retreating armies passed with famine and death in their rear, and i hide my face with awe before the inscrutable ways of providence, sweeping in such various directions the besom of destruction over the sons of men. before i came to france, i cherished, you know, an opinion, that strong virtues might exist with the polished manners produced by the progress of civilization; and i even anticipated the epoch, when, in the course of improvement, men would labour to become virtuous, without being goaded on by misery. but now, the perspective of the golden age, fading before the attentive eye of observation, almost eludes my sight; and, losing thus in part my theory of a more perfect state, start not, my friend, if i bring forward an opinion, which at the first glance seems to be levelled against the existence of god! i am not become an atheist, i assure you, by residing at paris: yet i begin to fear that vice, or, if you will, evil, is the grand mobile of action, and that, when the passions are justly poized, we become harmless, and in the same proportion useless. the wants of reason are very few; and, were we to consider dispassionately the real value of most things, we should probably rest satisfied with the simple gratification of our physical necessities, and be content with negative goodness: for it is frequently, only that wanton, the imagination, with her artful coquetry, who lures us forward, and makes us run over a rough road, pushing aside every obstacle merely to catch a disappointment. the desire also of being useful to others, is continually damped by experience; and, if the exertions of humanity were not in some measure their own reward, who would endure misery, or struggle with care, to make some people ungrateful, and others idle? you will call these melancholy effusions, and guess that, fatigued by the vivacity, which has all the bustling folly of childhood, without the innocence which renders ignorance charming, i am too severe in my strictures. it may be so; and i am aware that the good effects of the revolution will be last felt at paris; where surely the soul of epicurus has long been at work to root out the simple emotions of the heart, which, being natural, are always moral. rendered cold and artificial by the selfish enjoyments of the senses, which the government fostered, is it surprising that simplicity of manners, and singleness of heart, rarely appear, to recreate me with the wild odour of nature, so passing sweet? seeing how deep the fibres of mischief have shot, i sometimes ask, with a doubting accent, whether a nation can go back to the purity of manners which has hitherto been maintained unsullied only by the keen air of poverty, when, emasculated by pleasure, the luxuries of prosperity are become the wants of nature? i cannot yet give up the hope, that a fairer day is dawning on europe, though i must hesitatingly observe, that little is to be expected from the narrow principle of commerce which seems every where to be shoving aside _the point of honour_ of the _noblesse_. i can look beyond the evils of the moment, and do not expect muddied water to become clear before it has had time to stand; yet, even for the moment, it is the most terrific of all sights, to see men vicious without warmth--to see the order that should be the superscription of virtue, cultivated to give security to crimes which only thoughtlessness could palliate. disorder is, in fact, the very essence of vice, though with the wild wishes of a corrupt fancy humane emotions often kindly mix to soften their atrocity. thus humanity, generosity, and even self-denial, sometimes render a character grand, and even useful, when hurried away by lawless passions; but what can equal the turpitude of a cold calculator who lives for himself alone, and considering his fellow-creatures merely as machines of pleasure, never forgets that honesty is the best policy? keeping ever within the pale of the law, he crushes his thousands with impunity; but it is with that degree of management, which makes him, to borrow a significant vulgarism, a villain _in grain_. the very excess of his depravation preserves him, whilst the more respectable beast of prey, who prowls about like the lion, and roars to announce his approach, falls into a snare. you may think it too soon to form an opinion of the future government, yet it is impossible to avoid hazarding some conjectures, when every thing whispers me, that names, not principles, are changed, and when i see that the turn of the tide has left the dregs of the old system to corrupt the new. for the same pride of office, the same desire of power are still visible; with this aggravation, that, fearing to return to obscurity after having but just acquired a relish for distinction, each hero, or philosopher, for all are dubbed with these new titles, endeavours to make hay while the sun shines; and every petty municipal officer, become the idol, or rather the tyrant of the day, stalks like a cock on a dunghil. i shall now conclude this desultory letter; which however will enable you to foresee that i shall treat more of morals than manners. yours ----- * * * * * fragment of letters on the management of infants. contents. introductory letter. letter ii. management of the mother during pregnancy: bathing. letter iii. lying-in. letter iv. the first month: diet: clothing. letter v. the three following months. letter vi. the remainder of the first year. letter vii. the second year, &c: conclusion. letters on the management of infants. * * * * * letter i. i ought to apologize for not having written to you on the subject you mentioned; but, to tell you the truth, it grew upon me: and, instead of an answer, i have begun a series of letters on the management of children in their infancy. replying then to your question, i have the public in my thoughts, and shall endeavour to show what modes appear to me necessary, to render the infancy of children more healthy and happy. i have long thought, that the cause which renders children as hard to rear as the most fragile plant, is our deviation from simplicity. i know that some able physicians have recommended the method i have pursued, and i mean to point out the good effects i have observed in practice. i am aware that many matrons will exclaim against me, and dwell on the number of children they have brought up, as their mothers did before them, without troubling themselves with new-fangled notions; yet, though, in my uncle toby's words, they should attempt to silence me, by "wishing i had seen their large" families, i must suppose, while a third part of the human species, according to the most accurate calculation, die during their infancy, just at the threshold of life, that there is some error in the modes adopted by mothers and nurses, which counteracts their own endeavours. i may be mistaken in some particulars; for general rules, founded on the soundest reason, demand individual modification; but, if i can persuade any of the rising generation to exercise their reason on this head, i am content. my advice will probably be found most useful to mothers in the middle class; and it is from them that the lower imperceptibly gains improvement. custom, produced by reason in one, may safely be the effect of imitation in the other.- - -- - - - - -letters to mr. johnson, _bookseller_, in st. paul's church-yard. letters to mr. johnson. * * * * * letter i. dublin, april 14, [1787.] dear sir, i am still an invalid--and begin to believe that i ought never to expect to enjoy health. my mind preys on my body--and, when i endeavour to be useful, i grow too much interested for my own peace. confined almost entirely to the society of children, i am anxiously solicitous for their future welfare, and mortified beyond measure, when counteracted in my endeavours to improve them.--i feel all a mother's fears for the swarm of little ones which surround me, and observe disorders, without having power to apply the proper remedies. how can i be reconciled to life, when it is always a painful warfare, and when i am deprived of all the pleasures i relish?--i allude to rational conversations, and domestic affections. here, alone, a poor solitary individual in a strange land, tied to one spot, and subject to the caprice of another, can i be contented? i am desirous to convince you that i have _some_ cause for sorrow--and am not without reason detached from life. i shall hope to hear that you are well, and am yours sincerely mary wollstonecraft. * * * * * letter ii. henley, thursday, sept 13. my dear sir, since i saw you, i have, literally speaking, _enjoyed_ solitude. my sister could not accompany me in my rambles; i therefore wandered alone, by the side of the thames, and in the neighbouring beautiful fields and pleasure grounds: the prospects were of such a placid kind, i _caught_ tranquillity while i surveyed them--my mind was _still_, though active. were i to give you an account how i have spent my time, you would smile.--i found an old french bible here, and amused myself with comparing it with our english translation; then i would listen to the falling leaves, or observe the various tints the autumn gave to them--at other times, the singing of a robin, or the noise of a water-mill, engaged my attention--partial attention--, for i was, at the same time perhaps discussing some knotty point, or straying from this _tiny_ world to new systems. after these excursions, i returned to the family meals, told the children stories (they think me _vastly_ agreeable), and my sister was amused.--well, will you allow me to call this way of passing my days pleasant? i was just going to mend my pen; but i believe it will enable me to say all i have to add to this epistle. have you yet heard of an habitation for me? i often think of my new plan of life; and, lest my sister should try to prevail on me to alter it, i have avoided mentioning it to her. i am determined!--your sex generally laugh at female determinations; but let me tell you, i never yet resolved to do, any thing of consequence, that i did not adhere resolutely to it, till i had accomplished my purpose, improbable as it might have appeared to a more timid mind. in the course of near nine-and-twenty years, i have gathered some experience, and felt many _severe_ disappointments--and what is the amount? i long for a little peace and _independence_! every obligation we receive from our fellow-creatures is a new shackle, takes from our native freedom, and debases the mind, makes us mere earthworms--i am not fond of grovelling! i am, sir, yours, &c. mary wollstonecraft. * * * * * letter iii. market harborough, sept. 20. my dear sir, you left me with three opulent tradesmen; their conversation was not calculated to beguile the way, when the sable curtain concealed the beauties of nature. i listened to the tricks of trade--and shrunk away, without wishing to grow rich; even the novelty of the subjects did not render them pleasing; fond as i am of tracing the passions in all their different forms--i was not surprised by any glimpse of the sublime, or beautiful--though one of them imagined i would be a useful partner in a good _firm_. i was very much fatigued, and have scarcely recovered myself. i do not expect to enjoy the same tranquil pleasures henley afforded: i meet with new objects to employ my mind; but many painful emotions are complicated with the reflections they give rise to. i do not intend to enter on the _old_ topic, yet hope to hear from you--and am yours, &c. mary wollstonecraft. * * * * * letter iv. friday night. my dear sir, though your remarks are generally judicious--i cannot _now_ concur with you, i mean with respect to the preface[67-a], and have not altered it. i hate the usual smooth way of exhibiting proud humility. a general rule _only_ extends to the majority--and, believe me, the few judicious parents who may peruse my book, will not feel themselves hurt--and the weak are too vain to mind what is said in a book intended for children. i return you the italian ms.--but do not hastily imagine that i am indolent. i would not spare any labour to do my duty--and, after the most laborious day, that single thought would solace me more than any pleasures the senses could enjoy. i find i could not translate the ms. well. if it was not a ms, i should not be so easily intimidated; but the hand, and errors in orthography, or abbreviations, are a stumbling-block at the first setting out.--i cannot bear to do any thing i cannot do well--and i should lose time in the vain attempt. i had, the other day, the satisfaction of again receiving a letter from my poor, dear margaret[69-a].--with all a mother's fondness i could transcribe a part of it--she says, every day her affection to me, and dependence on heaven increase, &c.--i miss her innocent caresses--and sometimes indulge a pleasing hope, that she may be allowed to cheer my childless age--if i am to live to be old.--at any rate, i may hear of the virtues i may not contemplate--and my reason may permit me to love a female.--i now allude to ------. i have received another letter from her, and her childish complaints vex me--indeed they do--as usual, good-night. mary. if parents attended to their children, i would not have written the stories; for, what are books--compared to conversations which affection inforces!- * * * * * letter v. my dear sir, remember you are to settle _my account_, as i want to know how much i am in your debt--but do not suppose that i feel any uneasiness on that score. the generality of people in trade would not be much obliged to me for a like civility, _but you were a man_ before you were a bookseller--so i am your sincere friend, mary. * * * * * letter vi. friday morning. i am sick with vexation--and wish i could knock my foolish head against the wall, that bodily pain might make me feel less anguish from self-reproach! to say the truth, i was never more displeased with myself, and i will tell you the cause.--you may recollect that i did not mention to you the circumstance of -----having a fortune left to him; nor did a hint of it drop from me when i conversed with my sister; because i knew he had a sufficient motive for concealing it. last sunday, when his character was aspersed, as i thought, unjustly, in the heat of vindication i informed ****** that he was now independent; but, at the same time, desired him not to repeat my information to b----; yet, last tuesday, he told him all--and the boy at b----'s gave mrs. -----an account of it. as mr. -----knew he had only made a confident of me (i blush to think of it!) he guessed the channel of intelligence, and this morning came (not to reproach me, i wish he had!) but to point out the injury i have done him.--let what will be the consequence, i will reimburse him, if i deny myself the necessaries of life--and even then my folly will sting me.--perhaps you can scarcely conceive the misery i at this moment endure--that i, whose power of doing good is so limited, should do harm, galls my very soul. ****** may laugh at these qualms--but, supposing mr. -----to be unworthy, i am not the less to blame. surely it is hell to despise one's self!--i did not want this additional vexation--at this time i have many that hang heavily on my spirits. i shall not call on you this month--nor stir out.--my stomach has been so suddenly and violently affected, i am unable to lean over the desk. mary wollstonecraft. * * * * * letter vii. as i am become a reviewer, i think it right, in the way of business, to consider the subject. you have alarmed the editor of the critical, as the advertisement prefixed to the appendix plainly shows. the critical appears to me to be a timid, mean production, and its success is a reflection on the taste and judgment of the public; but, as a body, who ever gave it credit for much? the voice of the people is only the voice of truth, when some man of abilities has had time to get fast hold of the great nose of the monster. of course, local fame is generally a clamour, and dies away. the appendix to the monthly afforded me more amusement, though every article almost wants energy and a _cant_ of virtue and liberality is strewed over it; always tame, and eager to pay court to established fame. the account of necker is one unvaried tone of admiration. surely men were born only to provide for the sustenance of the body by enfeebling the mind! mary. * * * * * letter viii. you made me very low-spirited last night, by your manner of talking.--you are my only friend--the only person i am _intimate_ with.--i never had a father, or a brother--you have been both to me, ever since i knew you--yet i have sometimes been very petulant.--i have been thinking of those instances of ill-humour and quickness, and they appeared like crimes. yours sincerely mary. * * * * * letter ix. saturday night. i am a mere animal, and instinctive emotions too often silence the suggestions of reason. your note--i can scarcely tell why, hurt me--and produced a kind of winterly smile, which diffuses a beam of despondent tranquillity over the features. i have been very ill--heaven knows it was more than fancy--after some sleepless, wearisome nights, towards the morning i have grown delirious.--last thursday, in particular, i imagined -----was thrown into great distress by his folly; and i, unable to assist him, was in an agony. my nerves were in such a painful state of irritation--i suffered more than i can express--society was necessary--and might have diverted me till i gained more strength; but i blushed when i recollected how often i had teazed you with childish complaints, and the reveries of a disordered imagination. i even _imagined_ that i intruded on you, because you never called on me--though you perceived that i was not well.--i have nourished a sickly kind of delicacy, which gives me many unnecessary pangs.--i acknowledge that life is but a jest--and often a frightful dream--yet catch myself every day searching for something serious--and feel real misery from the disappointment. i am a strange compound of weakness and resolution! however, if i must suffer, i will endeavour to suffer in silence. there is certainly a great defect in my mind--my wayward heart creates its own misery--why i am made thus i cannot tell; and, till i can form some idea of the whole of my existence, i must be content to weep and dance like a child--long for a toy, and be tired of it as soon as i get it. we must each of us wear a fool's cap; but mine, alas! has lost its bells, and is grown so heavy, i find it intolerably troublesome.----good-night! i have been pursuing a number of strange thoughts since i began to write, and have actually both wept and laughed immoderately--surely i am a fool-mary w. * * * * * letter x. monday morning. i really want a german grammar, as i intend to attempt to learn that language--and i will tell you the reason why.--while i live, i am persuaded, i must exert my understanding to procure an independence, and render myself useful. to make the task easier, i ought to store my mind with knowledge--the seed time is passing away. i see the necessity of labouring now--and of that necessity i do not complain; on the contrary, i am thankful that i have more than common incentives to pursue knowledge, and draw my pleasures from the employments that are within my reach. you perceive this is not a gloomy day--i feel at this moment particularly grateful to you--without your humane and _delicate_ assistance, how many obstacles should i not have had to encounter--too often should i have been out of patience with my fellow-creatures, whom i wish to love!--allow me to love you, my dear sir, and call friend a being i respect.--adieu! mary w. * * * * * letter xi. i thought you _very_ unkind, nay, very unfeeling, last night. my cares and vexations--i will say what i allow myself to think--do me honour, as they arise from my disinterestedness and _unbending_ principles; nor can that mode of conduct be a reflection on my understanding, which enables me to bear misery, rather than selfishly live for myself alone. i am not the only character deserving of respect, that has had to struggle with various sorrows--while inferior minds have enjoyed local fame and present comfort.--dr. johnson's cares almost drove him mad--but, i suppose, you would quietly have told him, he was a fool for not being calm, and that wise men striving against the stream, can yet be in good humour. i have done with insensible human wisdom,--"indifference cold in wisdom's guise,"--and turn to the source of perfection--who perhaps never disregarded an almost broken heart, especially when a respect, a practical respect, for virtue, sharpened the wounds of adversity. i am ill--i stayed in bed this morning till eleven o'clock, only thinking of getting money to extricate myself out of some of my difficulties--the struggle is now over. i will condescend to try to obtain some in a disagreeable way. mr. -----called on me just now--pray did you know his motive for calling[82-a]?--i think him impertinently officious.--he had left the house before it occurred to me in the strong light it does now, or i should have told him so--my poverty makes me proud--i will not be insulted by a superficial puppy.--his intimacy with miss -----gave him a privilege, which he should not have assumed with me--a proposal might be made to his cousin, a milliner's girl, which should not have been mentioned to me. pray tell him that i am offended--and do not wish to see him again!--when i meet him at your house, i shall leave the room, since i cannot pull him by the nose. i can force my spirit to leave my body--but it shall never bend to support that body--god of heaven, save thy child from this living death!--i scarcely know what i write. my hand trembles--i am very sick--sick at heart.---mary. * * * * * letter xii. tuesday evening. sir, when you left me this morning, and i reflected a moment--your _officious_ message, which at first appeared to me a joke--looked so very like an insult--i cannot forget it--to prevent then the necessity of forcing a smile--when i chance to meet you--i take the earliest opportunity of informing you of my real sentiments. mary wollstonecraft. * * * * * letter xiii. wednesday, 3 o'clock. sir, it is inexpressibly disagreeable to me to be obliged to enter again on a subject, that has already raised a tumult of _indignant_ emotions in my bosom, which i was labouring to suppress when i received your letter. i shall now _condescend_ to answer your epistle; but let me first tell you, that, in my _unprotected_ situation, i make a point of never forgiving a _deliberate insult_--and in that light i consider your late officious conduct. it is not according to my nature to mince matters--i will then tell you in plain terms, what i think. i have ever considered you in the light of a _civil_ acquaintance--on the word friend i lay a peculiar emphasis--and, as a mere acquaintance, you were rude and _cruel_, to step forward to insult a woman, whose conduct and misfortunes demand respect. if my friend, mr. johnson, had made the proposal--i should have been severely hurt--have thought him unkind and unfeeling, but not _impertinent_.--the privilege of intimacy you had no claim to--and should have referred the man to myself--if you had not sufficient discernment to quash it at once. i am, sir, poor and destitute.--yet i have a spirit that will never bend, or take indirect methods, to obtain the consequence i despise; nay, if to support life it was necessary to act contrary to my principles, the struggle would soon be over. i can bear any thing but my own contempt. in a few words, what i call an insult, is the bare supposition that i could for a moment think of _prostituting_ my person for a maintenance; for in that point of view does such a marriage appear to me, who consider right and wrong in the abstract, and never by words and local opinions shield myself from the reproaches of my own heart and understanding. it is needless to say more--only you must excuse me when i add, that i wish never to see, but as a perfect stranger, a person who could so grossly mistake my character. an apology is not necessary--if you were inclined to make one--nor any further expostulations.--i again repeat, i cannot overlook an affront; few indeed have sufficient delicacy to respect poverty, even where it gives lustre to a character--and i tell you sir, i am poor--yet can live without your benevolent exertions. mary wollstonecraft. * * * * * letter xiv. i send you _all_ the books i had to review except dr. j--'s sermons, which i have begun. if you wish me to look over any more trash this month--you must send it directly. i have been so low-spirited since i saw you--i was quite glad, last night, to feel myself affected by some passages in dr. j--'s sermon on the death of his wife--i seemed (suddenly) to _find_ my _soul_ again--it has been for some time i cannot tell where. send me the speaker--and _mary_, i want one--and i shall soon want some paper--you may as well send it at the same time--for i am trying to brace my nerves that i may be industrious.--i am afraid reason is not a good bracer--for i have been reasoning a long time with my untoward spirits--and yet my hand trembles.--i could finish a period very _prettily_ now, by saying that it ought to be steady when i add that i am yours sincerely, mary. if you do not like the manner in which i reviewed dr. j--'s s---on his wife, be it known unto you--i _will_ not do it any other way--i felt some pleasure in paying a just tribute of respect to the memory of a man--who, spite of his faults, i have an affection for--i say _have_, for i believe he is somewhere--_where_ my soul has been gadding perhaps;--but _you_ do not live on conjectures. * * * * * letter xv. my dear sir, i send you a chapter which i am pleased with, now i see it in one point of view--and, as i have made free with the author, i hope you will not have often to say--what does this mean? you forgot you were to make out my account--i am, of course, over head and ears in debt; but i have not that kind of pride, which makes some dislike to be obliged to those they respect.--on the contrary, when i involuntarily lament that i have not a father or brother, i thankfully recollect that i have received unexpected kindness from you and a few others.--so reason allows, what nature impels me to--for i cannot live without loving my fellow-creatures--nor can i love them, without discovering some virtue. mary. * * * * * letter xvi. paris, december 26, 1792. i should immediately on the receipt of your letter, my dear friend, have thanked you for your punctuality, for it highly gratified me, had i not wished to wait till i could tell you that this day was not stained with blood. indeed the prudent precautions taken by the national convention to prevent a tumult, made me suppose that the dogs of faction would not dare to bark, much less to bite, however true to their scent; and i was not mistaken; for the citizens, who were all called out, are returning home with composed countenances, shouldering their arms. about nine o'clock this morning, the king passed by my window, moving silently along (excepting now and then a few strokes on the drum, which rendered the stillness more awful) through empty streets, surrounded by the national guards, who, clustering round the carriage, seemed to deserve their name. the inhabitants flocked to their windows, but the casements were all shut, not a voice was heard, nor did i see any thing like an insulting gesture.--for the first time since i entered france, i bowed to the majesty of the people, and respected the propriety of behaviour so perfectly in unison with my own feelings. i can scarcely tell you why, but an association of ideas made the tears flow insensibly from my eyes, when i saw louis sitting, with more dignity than i expected from his character, in a hackney coach, going to meet death, where so many of his race have triumphed. my fancy instantly brought louis xiv before me, entering the capital with all his pomp, after one of the victories most flattering to his pride, only to see the sunshine of prosperity overshadowed by the sublime gloom of misery. i have been alone ever since; and, though my mind is calm, i cannot dismiss the lively images that have filled my imagination all the day.--nay, do not smile, but pity me; for, once or twice, lifting my eyes from the paper, i have seen eyes glare through a glass-door opposite my chair and bloody hands shook at me. not the distant sound of a footstep can i hear.--my apartments are remote from those of the servants, the only persons who sleep with me in an immense hotel, one folding door opening after another.--i wish i had even kept the cat with me!--i want to see something alive; death in so many frightful shapes has taken hold of my fancy.--i am going to bed--and, for the first time in my life, i cannot put out the candle. m. w. footnotes: [67-a] to original stories. [69-a] countess mount cashel. [82-a] this alludes to a foolish proposal of marriage for mercenary considerations, which the gentleman here mentioned thought proper to recommend to her. the two letters which immediately follow, are addressed to the gentleman himself. extract of the cave of fancy. a tale. * * * * * [_begun to be written in the year 1787, but never completed_] cave of fancy. chap. i. ye who expect constancy where every thing is changing, and peace in the midst of tumult, attend to the voice of experience, and mark in time the footsteps of disappointment, or life will be lost in desultory wishes, and death arrive before the dawn of wisdom. in a sequestered valley, surrounded by rocky mountains that intercepted many of the passing clouds, though sunbeams variegated their ample sides, lived a sage, to whom nature had unlocked her most hidden secrets. his hollow eyes, sunk in their orbits, retired from the view of vulgar objects, and turned inwards, overleaped the boundary prescribed to human knowledge. intense thinking during fourscore and ten years, had whitened the scattered locks on his head, which, like the summit of the distant mountain, appeared to be bound by an eternal frost. on the sandy waste behind the mountains, the track of ferocious beasts might be traced, and sometimes the mangled limbs which they left, attracted a hovering flight of birds of prey. an extensive wood the sage had forced to rear its head in a soil by no means congenial, and the firm trunks of the trees seemed to frown with defiance on time; though the spoils of innumerable summers covered the roots, which resembled fangs; so closely did they cling to the unfriendly sand, where serpents hissed, and snakes, rolling out their vast folds, inhaled the noxious vapours. the ravens and owls who inhabited the solitude, gave also a thicker gloom to the everlasting twilight, and the croaking of the former a monotony, in unison with the gloom; whilst lions and tygers, shunning even this faint semblance of day, sought the dark caverns, and at night, when they shook off sleep, their roaring would make the whole valley resound, confounded with the screechings of the bird of night. one mountain rose sublime, towering above all, on the craggy sides of which a few sea-weeds grew, washed by the ocean, that with tumultuous roar rushed to assault, and even undermine, the huge barrier that stopped its progress; and ever and anon a ponderous mass, loosened from the cliff, to which it scarcely seemed to adhere, always threatening to fall, fell into the flood, rebounding as it fell, and the sound was re-echoed from rock to rock. look where you would, all was without form, as if nature, suddenly stopping her hand, had left chaos a retreat. close to the most remote side of it was the sage's abode. it was a rude hut, formed of stumps of trees and matted twigs, to secure him from the inclemency of the weather; only through small apertures crossed with rushes, the wind entered in wild murmurs, modulated by these obstructions. a clear spring broke out of the middle of the adjacent rock, which, dropping slowly into a cavity it had hollowed, soon overflowed, and then ran, struggling to free itself from the cumbrous fragments, till, become a deep, silent stream, it escaped through reeds, and roots of trees, whose blasted tops overhung and darkened the current. one side of the hut was supported by the rock, and at midnight, when the sage struck the inclosed part, it yawned wide, and admitted him into a cavern in the very bowels of the earth, where never human foot before had trod; and the various spirits, which inhabit the different regions of nature, were here obedient to his potent word. the cavern had been formed by the great inundation of waters, when the approach of a comet forced them from their source; then, when the fountains of the great deep were broken up, a stream rushed out of the centre of the earth, where the spirits, who have lived on it, are confined to purify themselves from the dross contracted in their first stage of existence; and it flowed in black waves, for ever bubbling along the cave, the extent of which had never been explored. from the sides and top, water distilled, and, petrifying as it fell, took fantastic shapes, that soon divided it into apartments, if so they might be called. in the foam, a wearied spirit would sometimes rise, to catch the most distant glimpse of light, or taste the vagrant breeze, which the yawning of the rock admitted, when sagestus, for that was the name of the hoary sage, entered. some, who were refined and almost cleared from vicious spots, he would allow to leave, for a limited time, their dark prison-house; and, flying on the winds across the bleak northern ocean, or rising in an exhalation till they reached a sun-beam, they thus re-visited the haunts of men. these were the guardian angels, who in soft whispers restrain the vicious, and animate the wavering wretch who stands suspended between virtue and vice. sagestus had spent a night in the cavern, as he often did, and he left the silent vestibule of the grave, just as the sun, emerging from the ocean, dispersed the clouds, which were not half so dense as those he had left. all that was human in him rejoiced at the sight of reviving life, and he viewed with pleasure the mounting sap rising to expand the herbs, which grew spontaneously in this wild--when, turning his eyes towards the sea, he found that death had been at work during his absence, and terrific marks of a furious storm still spread horror around. though the day was serene, and threw bright rays on eyes for ever shut, it dawned not for the wretches who hung pendent on the craggy rocks, or were stretched lifeless on the sand. some, struggling, had dug themselves a grave; others had resigned their breath before the impetuous surge whirled them on shore. a few, in whom the vital spark was not so soon dislodged, had clung to loose fragments; it was the grasp of death; embracing the stone, they stiffened; and the head, no longer erect, rested on the mass which the arms encircled. it felt not the agonizing gripe, nor heard the sigh that broke the heart in twain. resting his chin on an oaken club, the sage looked on every side, to see if he could discern any who yet breathed. he drew nearer, and thought he saw, at the first glance, the unclosed eyes glare; but soon perceived that they were a mere glassy substance, mute as the tongue; the jaws were fallen, and, in some of the tangled locks, hands were clinched; nay, even the nails had entered sharpened by despair. the blood flew rapidly to his heart; it was flesh; he felt he was still a man, and the big tear paced down his iron cheeks, whose muscles had not for a long time been relaxed by such humane emotions. a moment he breathed quick, then heaved a sigh, and his wonted calm returned with an unaccustomed glow of tenderness; for the ways of heaven were not hid from him; he lifted up his eyes to the common father of nature, and all was as still in his bosom, as the smooth deep, after having closed over the huge vessel from which the wretches had fled. turning round a part of the rock that jutted out, meditating on the ways of providence, a weak infantine voice reached his ears; it was lisping out the name of mother. he looked, and beheld a blooming child leaning over, and kissing with eager fondness, lips that were insensible to the warm pressure. starting at the sight of the sage, she fixed her eyes on him, "wake her, ah! wake her," she cried, "or the sea will catch us." again he felt compassion, for he saw that the mother slept the sleep of death. he stretched out his hand, and, smoothing his brow, invited her to approach; but she still intreated him to wake her mother, whom she continued to call, with an impatient tremulous voice. to detach her from the body by persuasion would not have been very easy. sagestus had a quicker method to effect his purpose; he took out a box which contained a soporific powder, and as soon as the fumes reached her brain, the powers of life were suspended. he carried her directly to his hut, and left her sleeping profoundly on his rushy couch. chap. ii. again sagestus approached the dead, to view them with a more scrutinizing eye. he was perfectly acquainted with the construction of the human body, knew the traces that virtue or vice leaves on the whole frame; they were now indelibly fixed by death; nay more, he knew by the shape of the solid structure, how far the spirit could range, and saw the barrier beyond which it could not pass: the mazes of fancy he explored, measured the stretch of thought, and, weighing all in an even balance, could tell whom nature had stamped an hero, a poet, or philosopher. by their appearance, at a transient glance, he knew that the vessel must have contained many passengers, and that some of them were above the vulgar, with respect to fortune and education; he then walked leisurely among the dead, and narrowly observed their pallid features. his eye first rested on a form in which proportion reigned, and, stroking back the hair, a spacious forehead met his view; warm fancy had revelled there, and her airy dance had left vestiges, scarcely visible to a mortal eye. some perpendicular lines pointed out that melancholy had predominated in his constitution; yet the straggling hairs of his eye-brows showed that anger had often shook his frame; indeed, the four temperatures, like the four elements, had resided in this little world, and produced harmony. the whole visage was bony, and an energetic frown had knit the flexible skin of his brow; the kingdom within had been extensive; and the wild creations of fancy had there "a local habitation and a name." so exquisite was his sensibility, so quick his comprehension, that he perceived various combinations in an instant; he caught truth as she darted towards him, saw all her fair proportion at a glance, and the flash of his eye spoke the quick senses which conveyed intelligence to his mind; the sensorium indeed was capacious, and the sage imagined he saw the lucid beam, sparkling with love or ambition, in characters of fire, which a graceful curve of the upper eyelid shaded. the lips were a little deranged by contempt; and a mixture of vanity and self-complacency formed a few irregular lines round them. the chin had suffered from sensuality, yet there were still great marks of vigour in it, as if advanced with stern dignity. the hand accustomed to command, and even tyrannize, was unnerved; but its appearance convinced sagestus, that he had oftener wielded a thought than a weapon; and that he had silenced, by irresistible conviction, the superficial disputant, and the being, who doubted because he had not strength to believe, who, wavering between different borrowed opinions, first caught at one straw, then at another, unable to settle into any consistency of character. after gazing a few moments, sagestus turned away exclaiming, how are the stately oaks torn up by a tempest, and the bow unstrung, that could force the arrow beyond the ken of the eye! what a different face next met his view! the forehead was short, yet well set together; the nose small, but a little turned up at the end; and a draw-down at the sides of his mouth, proved that he had been a humourist, who minded the main chance, and could joke with his acquaintance, while he eagerly devoured a dainty which he was not to pay for. his lips shut like a box whose hinges had often been mended; and the muscles, which display the soft emotion of the heart on the cheeks, were grown quite rigid, so that, the vessels that should have moistened them not having much communication with the grand source of passions, the fine volatile fluid had evaporated, and they became mere dry fibres, which might be pulled by any misfortune that threatened himself, but were not sufficiently elastic to be moved by the miseries of others. his joints were inserted compactly, and with celerity they had performed all the animal functions, without any of the grace which results from the imagination mixing with the senses. a huge form was stretched near him, that exhibited marks of overgrown infancy; every part was relaxed; all appeared imperfect. yet, some undulating lines on the puffed-out cheeks, displayed signs of timid, servile good nature; and the skin of the forehead had been so often drawn up by wonder, that the few hairs of the eyebrows were fixed in a sharp arch, whilst an ample chin rested in lobes of flesh on his protuberant breast. by his side was a body that had scarcely ever much life in it--sympathy seemed to have drawn them together--every feature and limb was round and fleshy, and, if a kind of brutal cunning had not marked the face, it might have been mistaken for an automaton, so unmixed was the phlegmatic fluid. the vital spark was buried deep in a soft mass of matter, resembling the pith in young elder, which, when found, is so equivocal, that it only appears a moister part of the same body. another part of the beach was covered with sailors, whose bodies exhibited marks of strength and brutal courage.--their characters were all different, though of the same class; sagestus did not stay to discriminate them, satisfied with a rough sketch. he saw indolence roused by a love of humour, or rather bodily fun; sensuality and prodigality with a vein of generosity running through it; a contempt of danger with gross superstition; supine senses, only to be kept alive by noisy, tumultuous pleasures, or that kind of novelty which borders on absurdity: this formed the common outline, and the rest were rather dabs than shades. sagestus paused, and remembered it had been said by an earthly wit, that "many a flower is born to blush unseen, and waste its sweetness on the desart air." how little, he exclaimed, did that poet know of the ways of heaven! and yet, in this respect, they are direct; the hands before me, were designed to pull a rope, knock down a sheep, or perform the servile offices of life; no "mute, inglorious poet" rests amongst them, and he who is superior to his fellow, does not rise above mediocrity. the genius that sprouts from a dunghil soon shakes off the heterogenous mass; those only grovel, who have not power to fly. he turned his step towards the mother of the orphan: another female was at some distance; and a man who, by his garb, might have been the husband, or brother, of the former, was not far off. him the sage surveyed with an attentive eye, and bowed with respect to the inanimate clay, that lately had been the dwelling of a most benevolent spirit. the head was square, though the features were not very prominent; but there was a great harmony in every part, and the turn of the nostrils and lips evinced, that the soul must have had taste, to which they had served as organs. penetration and judgment were seated on the brows that overhung the eye. fixed as it was, sagestus quickly discerned the expression it must have had; dark and pensive, rather from slowness of comprehension than melancholy, it seemed to absorb the light of knowledge, to drink it in ray by ray; nay, a new one was not allowed to enter his head till the last was arranged: an opinion was thus cautiously received, and maturely weighed, before it was added to the general stock. as nature led him to mount from a part to the whole, he was most conversant with the beautiful, and rarely comprehended the sublime; yet, said sagestus, with a softened tone, he was all heart, full of forbearance, and desirous to please every fellow-creature; but from a nobler motive than a love of admiration; the fumes of vanity never mounted to cloud his brain, or tarnish his beneficence. the fluid in which those placid eyes swam, is now congealed; how often has tenderness given them the finest water! some torn parts of the child's dress hung round his arm, which led the sage to conclude, that he had saved the child; every line in his face confirmed the conjecture; benevolence indeed strung the nerves that naturally were not very firm; it was the great knot that tied together the scattered qualities, and gave the distinct stamp to the character. the female whom he next approached, and supposed to be an attendant on the other, was below the middle size, and her legs were so disproportionably short, that, when she moved, she must have waddled along; her elbows were drawn in to touch her long taper, waist, and the air of her whole body was an affectation of gentility. death could not alter the rigid hang of her limbs, or efface the simper that had stretched her mouth; the lips were thin, as if nature intended she should mince her words; her nose was small, and sharp at the end; and the forehead, unmarked by eyebrows, was wrinkled by the discontent that had sunk her cheeks, on which sagestus still discerned faint traces of tenderness; and fierce good-nature, he perceived had sometimes animated the little spark of an eye that anger had oftener lighted. the same thought occurred to him that the sight of the sailors had suggested, men and women are all in their proper places--this female was intended to fold up linen and nurse the sick. anxious to observe the mother of his charge, he turned to the lily that had been so rudely snapped, and, carefully observing it, traced every fine line to its source. there was a delicacy in her form, so truly feminine, that an involuntary desire to cherish such a being, made the sage again feel the almost forgotten sensations of his nature. on observing her more closely, he discovered that her natural delicacy had been increased by an improper education, to a degree that took away all vigour from her faculties. and its baneful influence had had such an effect on her mind, that few traces of the exertions of it appeared on her face, though the fine finish of her features, and particularly the form of the forehead, convinced the sage that her understanding might have risen considerably above mediocrity, had the wheels ever been put in motion; but, clogged by prejudices, they never turned quite round, and, whenever she considered a subject, she stopped before she came to a conclusion. assuming a mask of propriety, she had banished nature; yet its tendency was only to be diverted, not stifled. some lines, which took from the symmetry of the mouth, not very obvious to a superficial observer, struck sagestus, and they appeared to him characters of indolent obstinacy. not having courage to form an opinion of her own, she adhered, with blind partiality, to those she adopted, which she received in the lump, and, as they always remained unopened, of course she only saw the even gloss on the outside. vestiges of anger were visible on her brow, and the sage concluded, that she had often been offended with, and indeed would scarcely make any allowance for, those who did not coincide with her in opinion, as things always appear self-evident that have never been examined; yet her very weakness gave a charming timidity to her countenance; goodness and tenderness pervaded every lineament, and melted in her dark blue eyes. the compassion that wanted activity, was sincere, though it only embellished her face, or produced casual acts of charity when a moderate alms could relieve present distress. unacquainted with life, fictitious, unnatural distress drew the tears that were not shed for real misery. in its own shape, human wretchedness excites a little disgust in the mind that has indulged sickly refinement. perhaps the sage gave way to a little conjecture in drawing the last conclusion; but his conjectures generally arose from distinct ideas, and a dawn of light allowed him to see a great way farther than common mortals. he was now convinced that the orphan was not very unfortunate in having lost such a mother. the parent that inspires fond affection without respect, is seldom an useful one; and they only are respectable, who consider right and wrong abstracted from local forms and accidental modifications. determined to adopt the child, he named it after himself, sagesta, and retired to the hut where the innocent slept, to think of the best method of educating this child, whom the angry deep had spared. [the last branch of the education of sagesta, consisted of a variety of characters and stories presented to her in the cave of fancy, of which the following is a specimen.] chap. a form now approached that particularly struck and interested sagesta. the sage, observing what passed in her mind, bade her ever trust to the first impression. in life, he continued, try to remember the effect the first appearance of a stranger has on your mind; and, in proportion to your sensibility, you may decide on the character. intelligence glances from eyes that have the same pursuits, and a benevolent heart soon traces the marks of benevolence on the countenance of an unknown fellow-creature; and not only the countenance, but the gestures, the voice, loudly speak truth to the unprejudiced mind. whenever a stranger advances towards you with a tripping step, receives you with broad smiles, and a profusion of compliments, and yet you find yourself embarrassed and unable to return the salutation with equal cordiality, be assured that such a person is affected, and endeavours to maintain a very good character in the eyes of the world, without really practising the social virtues which dress the face in looks of unfeigned complacency. kindred minds are drawn to each other by expressions which elude description; and, like the calm breeze that plays on a smooth lake, they are rather felt than seen. beware of a man who always appears in good humour; a selfish design too frequently lurks in the smiles the heart never curved; or there is an affectation of candour that destroys all strength of character, by blending truth and falshood into an unmeaning mass. the mouth, in fact, seems to be the feature where you may trace every kind of dissimulation, from the simper of vanity, to the fixed smile of the designing villain. perhaps, the modulations of the voice will still more quickly give a key to the character than even the turns of the mouth, or the words that issue from it; often do the tones of unpractised dissemblers give the lie to their assertions. many people never speak in an unnatural voice, but when they are insincere: the phrases not corresponding with the dictates of the heart, have nothing to keep them in tune. in the course of an argument however, you may easily discover whether vanity or conviction stimulates the disputant, though his inflated countenance may be turned from you, and you may not see the gestures which mark self-sufficiency. he stopped, and the spirit began. i have wandered through the cave; and, as soon as i have taught you a useful lesson, i shall take my flight where my tears will cease to flow, and where mine eyes will no more be shocked with the sight of guilt and sorrow. before many moons have changed, thou wilt enter, o mortal! into that world i have lately left. listen to my warning voice, and trust not too much to the goodness which i perceive resides in thy breast. let it be reined in by principles, lest thy very virtue sharpen the sting of remorse, which as naturally follows disorder in the moral world, as pain attends on intemperance in the physical. but my history will afford you more instruction than mere advice. sagestus concurred in opinion with her, observing that the senses of children should be the first object of improvement; then their passions worked on; and judgment the fruit, must be the acquirement of the being itself, when out of leading-strings. the spirit bowed assent, and, without any further prelude, entered on her history. my mother was a most respectable character, but she was yoked to a man whose follies and vices made her ever feel the weight of her chains. the first sensation i recollect, was pity; for i have seen her weep over me and the rest of her babes, lamenting that the extravagance of a father would throw us destitute on the world. but, though my father was extravagant, and seldom thought of any thing but his own pleasures, our education was not neglected. in solitude, this employment was my mother's only solace; and my father's pride made him procure us masters; nay, sometimes he was so gratified by our improvement, that he would embrace us with tenderness, and intreat my mother to forgive him, with marks of real contrition. but the affection his penitence gave rise to, only served to expose her to continual disappointments, and keep hope alive merely to torment her. after a violent debauch he would let his beard grow, and the sadness that reigned in the house i shall never forget; he was ashamed to meet even the eyes of his children. this is so contrary to the nature of things, it gave me exquisite pain; i used, at those times, to show him extreme respect. i could not bear to see my parent humble himself before me. however neither his constitution, nor fortune could long bear the constant waste. he had, i have observed, a childish affection for his children, which was displayed in caresses that gratified him for the moment, yet never restrained the headlong fury of his appetites; his momentary repentance wrung his heart, without influencing his conduct; and he died, leaving an encumbered wreck of a good estate. as we had always lived in splendid poverty, rather than in affluence, the shock was not so great; and my mother repressed her anguish, and concealed some circumstances, that she might not shed a destructive mildew over the gaiety of youth. so fondly did i doat on this dear parent, that she engrossed all my tenderness; her sorrows had knit me firmly to her, and my chief care was to give her proofs of affection. the gallantry that afforded my companions, the few young people my mother forced me to mix with, so much pleasure, i despised; i wished more to be loved than admired, for i could love. i adored virtue; and my imagination, chasing a chimerical object, overlooked the common pleasures of life; they were not sufficient for my happiness. a latent fire made me burn to rise superior to my contemporaries in wisdom and virtue; and tears of joy and emulation filled my eyes when i read an account of a great action--i felt admiration, not astonishment. my mother had two particular friends, who endeavoured to settle her affairs; one was a middle-aged man, a merchant; the human breast never enshrined a more benevolent heart. his manners were rather rough, and he bluntly spoke his thoughts without observing the pain it gave; yet he possessed extreme tenderness, as far as his discernment went. men do not make sufficient distinction, said she, digressing from her story to address sagestus, between tenderness and sensibility. to give the shortest definition of sensibility, replied the sage, i should say that it is the result of acute senses, finely fashioned nerves, which vibrate at the slightest touch, and convey such clear intelligence to the brain, that it does not require to be arranged by the judgment. such persons instantly enter into the characters of others, and instinctively discern what will give pain to every human being; their own feelings are so varied that they seem to contain in themselves, not only all the passions of the species, but their various modifications. exquisite pain and pleasure is their portion; nature wears for them a different aspect than is displayed to common mortals. one moment it is a paradise; all is beautiful: a cloud arises, an emotion receives a sudden damp; darkness invades the sky, and the world is an unweeded garden;--but go on with your narrative, said sagestus, recollecting himself. she proceeded. the man i am describing was humanity itself; but frequently he did not understand me; many of my feelings were not to be analyzed by his common sense. his friendships, for he had many friends, gave him pleasure unmixed with pain; his religion was coldly reasonable, because he wanted fancy, and he did not feel the necessity of finding, or creating, a perfect object, to answer the one engraved on his heart: the sketch there was faint. he went with the stream, and rather caught a character from the society he lived in, than spread one around him. in my mind many opinions were graven with a pen of brass, which he thought chimerical: but time could not erase them, and i now recognize them as the seeds of eternal happiness: they will soon expand in those realms where i shall enjoy the bliss adapted to my nature; this is all we need ask of the supreme being; happiness must follow the completion of his designs. he however could live quietly, without giving a preponderancy to many important opinions that continually obtruded on my mind; not having an enthusiastic affection for his fellow creatures, he did them good, without suffering from their follies. he was particularly attached to me, and i felt for him all the affection of a daughter; often, when he had been interesting himself to promote my welfare, have i lamented that he was not my father; lamented that the vices of mine had dried up one source of pure affection. the other friend i have already alluded to, was of a very different character; greatness of mind, and those combinations of feeling which are so difficult to describe, raised him above the throng, that bustle their hour out, lie down to sleep, and are forgotten. but i shall soon see him, she exclaimed, as much superior to his former self, as he then rose in my eyes above his fellow creatures! as she spoke, a glow of delight animated each feature; her countenance appeared transparent; and she silently anticipated the happiness she should enjoy, when she entered those mansions, where death-divided friends should meet, to part no more; where human weakness could not damp their bliss, or poison the cup of joy that, on earth, drops from the lips as soon as tasted, or, if some daring mortal snatches a hasty draught, what was sweet to the taste becomes a root of bitterness. he was unfortunate, had many cares to struggle with, and i marked on his cheeks traces of the same sorrows that sunk my own. he was unhappy i say, and perhaps pity might first have awoke my tenderness; for, early in life, an artful woman worked on his compassionate soul, and he united his fate to a being made up of such jarring elements, that he was still alone. the discovery did not extinguish that propensity to love, a high sense of virtue fed. i saw him sick and unhappy, without a friend to sooth the hours languor made heavy; often did i sit a long winter's evening by his side, railing at the swift wings of time, and terming my love, humanity. two years passed in this manner, silently rooting my affection; and it might have continued calm, if a fever had not brought him to the very verge of the grave. though still deceived, i was miserable that the customs of the world did not allow me to watch by him; when sleep forsook his pillow, my wearied eyes were not closed, and my anxious spirit hovered round his bed. i saw him, before he had recovered his strength; and, when his hand touched mine, life almost retired, or flew to meet the touch. the first look found a ready way to my heart, and thrilled through every vein. we were left alone, and insensibly began to talk of the immortality of the soul; i declared that i could not live without this conviction. in the ardour of conversation he pressed my hand to his heart; it rested there a moment, and my emotions gave weight to my opinion, for the affection we felt was not of a perishable nature.--a silence ensued, i know not how long; he then threw my hand from him, as if it had been a serpent; formally complained of the weather, and adverted to twenty other uninteresting subjects. vain efforts! our hearts had already spoken to each other. feebly did i afterwards combat an affection, which seemed twisted in every fibre of my heart. the world stood still when i thought of him; it moved heavily at best, with one whose very constitution seemed to mark her out for misery. but i will not dwell on the passion i too fondly nursed. one only refuge had i on earth; i could not resolutely desolate the scene my fancy flew to, when worldly cares, when a knowledge of mankind, which my circumstances forced on me, rendered every other insipid. i was afraid of the unmarked vacuity of common life; yet, though i supinely indulged myself in fairy-land, when i ought to have been more actively employed, virtue was still the first mover of my actions; she dressed my love in such enchanting colours, and spread the net i could never break. our corresponding feelings confounded our very souls; and in many conversations we almost intuitively discerned each other's sentiments; the heart opened itself, not chilled by reserve, nor afraid of misconstruction. but, if virtue inspired love, love gave new energy to virtue, and absorbed every selfish passion. never did even a wish escape me, that my lover should not fulfil the hard duties which fate had imposed on him. i only dissembled with him in one particular; i endeavoured to soften his wife's too conspicuous follies, and extenuated her failings in an indirect manner. to this i was prompted by a loftiness of spirit; i should have broken the band of life, had i ceased to respect myself. but i will hasten to an important change in my circumstances. my mother, who had concealed the real state of her affairs from me, was now impelled to make me her confident, that i might assist to discharge her mighty debt of gratitude. the merchant, my more than father, had privately assisted her: but a fatal civil-war reduced his large property to a bare competency; and an inflammation in his eyes, that arose from a cold he had caught at a wreck, which he watched during a stormy night to keep off the lawless colliers, almost deprived him of sight. his life had been spent in society, and he scarcely knew how to fill the void; for his spirit would not allow him to mix with his former equals as an humble companion; he who had been treated with uncommon respect, could not brook their insulting pity. from the resource of solitude, reading, the complaint in his eyes cut him off, and he became our constant visitor. actuated by the sincerest affection, i used to read to him, and he mistook my tenderness for love. how could i undeceive him, when every circumstance frowned on him! too soon i found that i was his only comfort; i, who rejected his hand when fortune smiled, could not now second her blow; and, in a moment of enthusiastic gratitude and tender compassion, i offered him my hand.--it was received with pleasure; transport was not made for his soul; nor did he discover that nature had separated us, by making me alive to such different sensations. my mother was to live with us, and i dwelt on this circumstance to banish cruel recollections, when the bent bow returned to its former state. with a bursting heart and a firm voice, i named the day when i was to seal my promise. it came, in spite of my regret; i had been previously preparing myself for the awful ceremony, and answered the solemn question with a resolute tone, that would silence the dictates of my heart; it was a forced, unvaried one; had nature modulated it, my secret would have escaped. my active spirit was painfully on the watch to repress every tender emotion. the joy in my venerable parent's countenance, the tenderness of my husband, as he conducted me home, for i really had a sincere affection for him, the gratulations of my mind, when i thought that this sacrifice was heroic, all tended to deceive me; but the joy of victory over the resigned, pallid look of my lover, haunted my imagination, and fixed itself in the centre of my brain.--still i imagined, that his spirit was near me, that he only felt sorrow for my loss, and without complaint resigned me to my duty. i was left alone a moment; my two elbows rested on a table to support my chin. ten thousand thoughts darted with astonishing velocity through my mind. my eyes were dry; i was on the brink of madness. at this moment a strange association was made by my imagination; i thought of gallileo, who when he left the inquisition, looked upwards, and cried out, "yet it moves." a shower of tears, like the refreshing drops of heaven, relieved my parched sockets; they fell disregarded on the table; and, stamping with my foot, in an agony i exclaimed, "yet i love." my husband entered before i had calmed these tumultuous emotions, and tenderly took my hand. i snatched it from him; grief and surprise were marked on his countenance; i hastily stretched it out again. my heart smote me, and i removed the transient mist by an unfeigned endeavour to please him. a few months after, my mind grew calmer; and, if a treacherous imagination, if feelings many accidents revived, sometimes plunged me into melancholy, i often repeated with steady conviction, that virtue was not an empty name, and that, in following the dictates of duty, i had not bidden adieu to content. in the course of a few years, the dear object of my fondest affection, said farewel, in dying accents. thus left alone, my grief became dear; and i did not feel solitary, because i thought i might, without a crime, indulge a passion, that grew more ardent than ever when my imagination only presented him to my view, and restored my former activity of soul which the late calm had rendered torpid. i seemed to find myself again, to find the eccentric warmth that gave me identity of character. reason had governed my conduct, but could not change my nature; this voluptuous sorrow was superior to every gratification of sense, and death more firmly united our hearts. alive to every human affection, i smoothed my mothers passage to eternity, and so often gave my husband sincere proofs of affection, he never supposed that i was actuated by a more fervent attachment. my melancholy, my uneven spirits, he attributed to my extreme sensibility, and loved me the better for possessing qualities he could not comprehend. at the close of a summer's day, some years after, i wandered with careless steps over a pathless common; various anxieties had rendered the hours which the sun had enlightened heavy; sober evening came on; i wished to still "my mind, and woo lone quiet in her silent walk." the scene accorded with my feelings; it was wild and grand; and the spreading twilight had almost confounded the distant sea with the barren, blue hills that melted from my sight. i sat down on a rising ground; the rays of the departing sun illumined the horizon, but so indistinctly, that i anticipated their total extinction. the death of nature led me to a still more interesting subject, that came home to my bosom, the death of him i loved. a village-bell was tolling; i listened, and thought of the moment when i heard his interrupted breath, and felt the agonizing fear, that the same sound would never more reach my ears, and that the intelligence glanced from my eyes, would no more be felt. the spoiler had seized his prey; the sun was fled, what was this world to me! i wandered to another, where death and darkness could not enter; i pursued the sun beyond the mountains, and the soul escaped from this vale of tears. my reflections were tinged with melancholy, but they were sublime.--i grasped a mighty whole, and smiled on the king of terrors; the tie which bound me to my friends he could not break; the same mysterious knot united me to the source of all goodness and happiness. i had seen the divinity reflected in a face i loved; i had read immortal characters displayed on a human countenance, and forgot myself whilst i gazed. i could not think of immortality, without recollecting the ecstacy i felt, when my heart first whispered to me that i was beloved; and again did i feel the sacred tie of mutual affection; fervently i prayed to the father of mercies; and rejoiced that he could see every turn of a heart, whose movements i could not perfectly understand. my passion seemed a pledge of immortality; i did not wish to hide it from the all-searching eye of heaven. where indeed could i go from his presence? and, whilst it was dear to me, though darkness might reign during the night of life, joy would come when i awoke to life everlasting. i now turned my step towards home, when the appearance of a girl, who stood weeping on the common, attracted my attention. i accosted her, and soon heard her simple tale; that her father was gone to sea, and her mother sick in bed. i followed her to their little dwelling, and relieved the sick wretch. i then again sought my own abode; but death did not now haunt my fancy. contriving to give the poor creature i had left more effectual relief, i reached my own garden-gate very weary, and rested on it.--recollecting the turns of my mind during the walk, i exclaimed, surely life may thus be enlivened by active benevolence, and the sleep of death, like that i am now disposed to fall into, may be sweet! my life was now unmarked by any extraordinary change, and a few days ago i entered this cavern; for through it every mortal must pass; and here i have discovered, that i neglected many opportunities of being useful, whilst i fostered a devouring flame. remorse has not reached me, because i firmly adhered to my principles, and i have also discovered that i saw through a false medium. worthy as the mortal was i adored, i should not long have loved him with the ardour i did, had fate united us, and broken the delusion the imagination so artfully wove. his virtues, as they now do, would have extorted my esteem; but he who formed the human soul, only can fill it, and the chief happiness of an immortal being must arise from the same source as its existence. earthly love leads to heavenly, and prepares us for a more exalted state; if it does not change its nature, and destroy itself, by trampling on the virtue, that constitutes its essence, and allies us to the deity. on poetry, and our relish for the beauties of nature. on poetry, &c. a taste for rural scenes, in the present state of society, appears to be very often an artificial sentiment, rather inspired by poetry and romances, than a real perception of the beauties of nature. but, as it is reckoned a proof of refined taste to praise the calm pleasures which the country affords, the theme is never exhausted. yet it may be made a question, whether this romantic kind of declamation, has much effect on the conduct of those, who leave, for a season, the crowded cities in which they were bred. i have been led to these reflections, by observing, when i have resided for any length of time in the country, how few people seem to contemplate nature with their own eyes. i have "brushed the dew away" in the morning; but, pacing over the printless grass, i have wondered that, in such delightful situations, the sun was allowed to rise in solitary majesty, whilst my eyes alone hailed its beautifying beams. the webs of the evening have still been spread across the hedged path, unless some labouring man, trudging to work, disturbed the fairy structure; yet, in spite of this supineness, when i joined the social circle, every tongue rang changes on the pleasures of the country. having frequently had occasion to make the same observation, i was led to endeavour, in one of my solitary rambles, to trace the cause, and likewise to enquire why the poetry written in the infancy of society, is most natural: which, strictly speaking (for _natural_ is a very indefinite expression) is merely to say, that it is the transcript of immediate sensations, in all their native wildness and simplicity, when fancy, awakened by the sight of interesting objects, was most actively at work. at such moments, sensibility quickly furnishes similes, and the sublimated spirits combine images, which rising spontaneously, it is not necessary coldly to ransack the understanding or memory, till the laborious efforts of judgment exclude present sensations, and damp the fire of enthusiasm. the effusions of a vigorous mind, will ever tell us how far the understanding has been enlarged by thought, and stored with knowledge. the richness of the soil even appears on the surface; and the result of profound thinking, often mixing, with playful grace, in the reveries of the poet, smoothly incorporates with the ebullitions of animal spirits, when the finely fashioned nerve vibrates acutely with rapture, or when, relaxed by soft melancholy, a pleasing languor prompts the long-drawn sigh, and feeds the slowly falling tear. the poet, the man of strong feelings, gives us only an image of his mind, when he was actually alone, conversing with himself, and marking the impression which nature had made on his own heart.--if, at this sacred moment, the idea of some departed friend, some tender recollection when the soul was most alive to tenderness, intruded unawares into his thoughts, the sorrow which it produced is artlessly, yet poetically expressed--and who can avoid sympathizing? love to man leads to devotion--grand and sublime images strike the imagination--god is seen in every floating cloud, and comes from the misty mountain to receive the noblest homage of an intelligent creature--praise. how solemn is the moment, when all affections and remembrances fade before the sublime admiration which the wisdom and goodness of god inspires, when he is worshipped in a _temple not made with hands_, and the world seems to contain only the mind that formed, and the mind that contemplates it! these are not the weak responses of ceremonial devotion; nor, to express them, would the poet need another poet's aid: his heart burns within him, and he speaks the language of truth and nature with resistless energy. inequalities, of course, are observable in his effusions; and a less vigorous fancy, with more taste, would have produced more elegance and uniformity; but, as passages are softened or expunged during the cooler moments of reflection, the understanding is gratified at the expence of those involuntary sensations, which, like the beauteous tints of an evening sky, are so evanescent, that they melt into new forms before they can be analyzed. for however eloquently we may boast of our reason, man must often be delighted he cannot tell why, or his blunt feelings are not made to relish the beauties which nature, poetry, or any of the imitative arts, afford. the imagery of the ancients seems naturally to have been borrowed from surrounding objects and their mythology. when a hero is to be transported from one place to another, across pathless wastes, is any vehicle so natural, as one of the fleecy clouds on which the poet has often gazed, scarcely conscious that he wished to make it his chariot? again, when nature seems to present obstacles to his progress at almost every step, when the tangled forest and steep mountain stand as barriers, to pass over which the mind longs for supernatural aid; an interposing deity, who walks on the waves, and rules the storm, severely felt in the first attempts to cultivate a country, will receive from the impassioned fancy "a local habitation and a name." it would be a philosophical enquiry, and throw some light on the history of the human mind, to trace, as far as our information will allow us to trace, the spontaneous feelings and ideas which have produced the images that now frequently appear unnatural, because they are remote; and disgusting, because they have been servilely copied by poets, whose habits of thinking, and views of nature must have been different; for, though the understanding seldom disturbs the current of our present feelings, without dissipating the gay clouds which fancy has been embracing, yet it silently gives the colour to the whole tenour of them, and the dream is over, when truth is grossly violated, or images introduced, selected from books, and not from local manners or popular prejudices. in a more advanced state of civilization, a poet is rather the creature of art, than of nature. the books that he reads in his youth, become a hot-bed in which artificial fruits are produced, beautiful to the common eye, though they want the true hue and flavour. his images do not arise from sensations; they are copies; and, like the works of the painters who copy ancient statues when they draw men and women of their own times, we acknowledge that the features are fine, and the proportions just; yet they are men of stone; insipid figures, that never convey to the mind the idea of a portrait taken from life, where the soul gives spirit and homogeneity to the whole. the silken wings of fancy are shrivelled by rules; and a desire of attaining elegance of diction, occasions an attention to words, incompatible with sublime, impassioned thoughts. a boy of abilities, who has been taught the structure of verse at school, and been roused by emulation to compose rhymes whilst he was reading works of genius, may, by practice, produce pretty verses, and even become what is often termed an elegant poet: yet his readers, without knowing what to find fault with, do not find themselves warmly interested. in the works of the poets who fasten on their affections, they see grosser faults, and the very images which shock their taste in the modern; still they do not appear as puerile or extrinsic in one as the other.--why?--because they did not appear so to the author. it may sound paradoxical, after observing that those productions want vigour, that are merely the work of imitation, in which the understanding has violently directed, if not extinguished, the blaze of fancy, to assert, that, though genius be only another word for exquisite sensibility, the first observers of nature, the true poets, exercised their understanding much more than their imitators. but they exercised it to discriminate things, whilst their followers were busy to borrow sentiments and arrange words. boys who have received a classical education, load their memory with words, and the correspondent ideas are perhaps never distinctly comprehended. as a proof of this assertion, i must observe, that i have known many young people who could write tolerably smooth verses, and string epithets prettily together, when their prose themes showed the barrenness of their minds, and how superficial the cultivation must have been, which their understanding had received. dr. johnson, i know, has given a definition of genius, which would overturn my reasoning, if i were to admit it.--he imagines, that _a strong mind, accidentally led to some particular study_ in which it excels, is a genius.--not to stop to investigate the causes which produced this happy _strength_ of mind, experience seems to prove, that those minds have appeared most vigorous, that have pursued a study, after nature had discovered a bent; for it would be absurd to suppose, that a slight impression made on the weak faculties of a boy, is the fiat of fate, and not to be effaced by any succeeding impression, or unexpected difficulty. dr. johnson in fact, appears sometimes to be of the same opinion (how consistently i shall not now enquire), especially when he observes, "that thomson looked on nature with the eye which she only gives to a poet." but, though it should be allowed that books may produce some poets, i fear they will never be the poets who charm our cares to sleep, or extort admiration. they may diffuse taste, and polish the language; but i am inclined to conclude that they will seldom rouse the passions, or amend the heart. and, to return to the first subject of discussion, the reason why most people are more interested by a scene described by a poet, than by a view of nature, probably arises from the want of a lively imagination. the poet contracts the prospect, and, selecting the most picturesque part in his _camera_, the judgment is directed, and the whole force of the languid faculty turned towards the objects which excited the most forcible emotions in the poet's heart; the reader consequently feels the enlivened description, though he was not able to receive a first impression from the operations of his own mind. besides, it may be further observed, that gross minds are only to be moved by forcible representations. to rouse the thoughtless, objects must be presented, calculated to produce tumultuous emotions; the unsubstantial, picturesque forms which a contemplative man gazes on, and often follows with ardour till he is mocked by a glimpse of unattainable excellence, appear to them the light vapours of a dreaming enthusiast, who gives up the substance for the shadow. it is not within that they seek amusement; their eyes are seldom turned on themselves; consequently their emotions, though sometimes fervid, are always transient, and the nicer perceptions which distinguish the man of genuine taste, are not felt, or make such a slight impression as scarcely to excite any pleasurable sensations. is it surprising then that they are often overlooked, even by those who are delighted by the same images concentrated by the poet? but even this numerous class is exceeded, by witlings, who, anxious to appear to have wit and taste, do not allow their understandings or feelings any liberty; for, instead of cultivating their faculties and reflecting on their operations, they are busy collecting prejudices; and are predetermined to admire what the suffrage of time announces as excellent, not to store up a fund of amusement for themselves, but to enable them to talk. these hints will assist the reader to trace some of the causes why the beauties of nature are not forcibly felt, when civilization, or rather luxury, has made considerable advances--those calm sensations are not sufficiently lively to serve as a relaxation to the voluptuary, or even to the moderate pursuer of artificial pleasures. in the present state of society, the understanding must bring back the feelings to nature, or the sensibility must have such native strength, as rather to be whetted than destroyed by the strong exercises of passion. that the most valuable things are liable to the greatest perversion, is however as trite as true:--for the same sensibility, or quickness of senses, which makes a man relish the tranquil scenes of nature, when sensation, rather than reason, imparts delight, frequently makes a libertine of him, by leading him to prefer the sensual tumult of love a little refined by sentiment, to the calm pleasures of affectionate friendship, in whose sober satisfactions, reason, mixing her tranquillizing convictions, whispers, that content, not happiness, is the reward of virtue in this world. hints. [_chiefly designed to have been incorporated in the second part of the_ vindication of the rights of woman.] hints. 1. indolence is the source of nervous complaints, and a whole host of cares. this devil might say that his name was legion. 2. it should be one of the employments of women of fortune, to visit hospitals, and superintend the conduct of inferiors. 3. it is generally supposed, that the imagination of women is particularly active, and leads them astray. why then do we seek by education only to exercise their imagination and feeling, till the understanding, grown rigid by disuse, is unable to exercise itself--and the superfluous nourishment the imagination and feeling have received, renders the former romantic, and the latter weak? 4. few men have risen to any great eminence in learning, who have not received something like a regular education. why are women expected to surmount difficulties that men are not equal to? 5. nothing can be more absurd than the ridicule of the critic, that the heroine of his mock-tragedy was in love with the very man whom she ought least to have loved; he could not have given a better reason. how can passion gain strength any other way? in otaheite, love cannot be known, where the obstacles to irritate an indiscriminate appetite, and sublimate the simple sensations of desire till they mount to passion, are never known. there a man or woman cannot love the very person they ought not to have loved--nor does jealousy ever fan the flame. 6. it has frequently been observed, that, when women have an object in view, they pursue it with more steadiness than men, particularly love. this is not a compliment. passion pursues with more heat than reason, and with most ardour during the absence of reason. 7. men are more subject to the physical love than women. the confined education of women makes them more subject to jealousy. 8. simplicity seems, in general, the consequence of ignorance, as i have observed in the characters of women and sailors--the being confined to one track of impressions. 9. i know of no other way of preserving the chastity of mankind, than that of rendering women rather objects of love than desire. the difference is great. yet, while women are encouraged to ornament their persons at the expence of their minds, while indolence renders them helpless and lascivious (for what other name can be given to the common intercourse between the sexes?) they will be, generally speaking, only objects of desire; and, to such women, men cannot be constant. men, accustomed only to have their senses moved, merely seek for a selfish gratification in the society of women, and their sexual instinct, being neither supported by the understanding nor the heart, must be excited by variety. 10. we ought to respect old opinions; though prejudices, blindly adopted, lead to error, and preclude all exercise of the reason. the emulation which often makes a boy mischievous, is a generous spur; and the old remark, that unlucky, turbulent boys, make the wisest and best men, is true, spite of mr. knox's arguments. it has been observed, that the most adventurous horses, when tamed or domesticated, are the most mild and tractable. 11. the children who start up suddenly at twelve or fourteen, and fall into decays, in consequence, as it is termed, of outgrowing their strength, are in general, i believe, those children, who have been bred up with mistaken tenderness, and not allowed to sport and take exercise in the open air. this is analogous to plants: for it is found that they run up sickly, long stalks, when confined. 12. children should be taught to feel deference, not to practise submission. 13. it is always a proof of false refinement, when a fastidious taste overpowers sympathy. 14. lust appears to be the most natural companion of wild ambition; and love of human praise, of that dominion erected by cunning. 15. "genius decays as judgment increases." of course, those who have the least genius, have the earliest appearance of wisdom. 16. a knowledge of the fine arts, is seldom subservient to the promotion of either religion or virtue. elegance is often indecency; witness our prints. 17. there does not appear to be any evil in the world, but what is necessary. the doctrine of rewards and punishments, not considered as a means of reformation, appears to me an infamous libel on divine goodness. 18. whether virtue is founded on reason or revelation, virtue is wisdom, and vice is folly. why are positive punishments? 19. few can walk alone. the staff of christianity is the necessary support of human weakness. but an acquaintance with the nature of man and virtue, with just sentiments on the attributes, would be sufficient, without a voice from heaven, to lead some to virtue, but not the mob. 20. i only expect the natural reward of virtue, whatever it may be. i rely not on a positive reward. the justice of god can be vindicated by a belief in a future state--but a continuation of being vindicates it as clearly, as the positive system of rewards and punishments--by evil educing good for the individual, and not for an imaginary whole. the happiness of the whole must arise from the happiness of the constituent parts, or this world is not a state of trial, but a school. 21. the vices acquired by augustus to retain his power, must have tainted his soul, and prevented that increase of happiness a good man expects in the next stage of existence. this was a natural punishment. 22. the lover is ever most deeply enamoured, when it is with he knows not what--and the devotion of a mystic has a rude gothic grandeur in it, which the respectful adoration of a philosopher will never reach. i may be thought fanciful; but it has continually occurred to me, that, though, i allow, reason in this world is the mother of wisdom--yet some flights of the imagination seem to reach what wisdom cannot teach--and, while they delude us here, afford a glorious hope, if not a foretaste, of what we may expect hereafter. he that created us, did not mean to mark us with ideal images of grandeur, the _baseless fabric of a vision_--no--that perfection we follow with hopeless ardour when the whisperings of reason are heard, may be found, when not incompatible with our state, in the round of eternity. perfection indeed must, even then, be a comparative idea--but the wisdom, the happiness of a superior state, has been supposed to be intuitive, and the happiest effusions of human genius have seemed like inspiration--the deductions of reason destroy sublimity. 23. i am more and more convinced, that poetry is the first effervescence of the imagination, and the forerunner of civilization. 24. when the arabs had no trace of literature or science, they composed beautiful verses on the subjects of love and war. the flights of the imagination, and the laboured deductions of reason, appear almost incompatible. 25. poetry certainly flourishes most in the first rude state of society. the passions speak most eloquently, when they are not shackled by reason. the sublime expression, which has been so often quoted, [genesis, ch. 1, ver. 3.] is perhaps a barbarous flight; or rather the grand conception of an uncultivated mind; for it is contrary to nature and experience, to suppose that this account is founded on facts--it is doubtless a sublime allegory. but a cultivated mind would not thus have described the creation--for, arguing from analogy, it appears that creation must have been a comprehensive plan, and that the supreme being always uses second causes, slowly and silently to fulfil his purpose. this is, in reality, a more sublime view of that power which wisdom supports: but it is not the sublimity that would strike the impassioned mind, in which the imagination took place of intellect. tell a being, whose affections and passions have been more exercised than his reason, that god said, _let there be light! and there was light_; and he would prostrate himself before the being who could thus call things out of nothing, as if they were: but a man in whom reason had taken place of passion, would not adore, till wisdom was conspicuous as well as power, for his admiration must be founded on principle. 26. individuality is ever conspicuous in those enthusiastic flights of fancy, in which reason is left behind, without being lost sight of. 27. the mind has been too often brought to the test of enquiries which only reach to matter--put into the crucible, though the magnetic and electric fluid escapes from the experimental philosopher. 28. mr. kant has observed, that the understanding is sublime, the imagination beautiful--yet it is evident, that poets, and men who undoubtedly possess the liveliest imagination, are most touched by the sublime, while men who have cold, enquiring minds, have not this exquisite feeling in any great degree, and indeed seem to lose it as they cultivate their reason. 29. the grecian buildings are graceful--they fill the mind with all those pleasing emotions, which elegance and beauty never fail to excite in a cultivated mind--utility and grace strike us in unison--the mind is satisfied--things appear just what they ought to be: a calm satisfaction is felt, but the imagination has nothing to do--no obscurity darkens the gloom--like reasonable content, we can say why we are pleased--and this kind of pleasure may be lasting, but it is never great. 30. when we say that a person is an original, it is only to say in other words that he thinks. "the less a man has cultivated his rational faculties, the more powerful is the principle of imitation, over his actions, and his habits of thinking. most women, of course, are more influenced by the behaviour, the fashions, and the opinions of those with whom they associate, than men." (smellie.) when we read a book which supports our favourite opinions, how eagerly do we suck in the doctrines, and suffer our minds placidly to reflect the images which illustrate the tenets we have embraced? we indolently or quietly acquiesce in the conclusion, and our spirit animates and connects the various subjects. but, on the contrary, when we peruse a skilful writer, who does not coincide in opinion with us, how is the mind on the watch to detect fallacy? and this coolness often prevents our being carried away by a stream of eloquence, which the prejudiced mind terms declamation--a pomp of words.--we never allow ourselves to be warmed; and, after contending with the writer, are more confirmed in our own opinion, as much perhaps from a spirit of contradiction as from reason.--such is the strength of man! 31. it is the individual manner of seeing and feeling, pourtrayed by a strong imagination in bold images that have struck the senses, which creates all the charms of poetry. a great reader is always quoting the description of another's emotions; a strong imagination delights to paint its own. a writer of genius makes us feel; an inferior author reason. 32. some principle prior to self-love must have existed: the feeling which produced the pleasure, must have existed before the experience. the end. transcriber's notes: 1. obvious punctuation errors repaired. 2. this text contains blank space and lines of "--" and "*" characters. these are replicated from the printed pages, presumably they indicate censored text from the original source. 3. the listed errata at the beginning of volume 1 and volume 4 have been applied to the text. 4. the text as printed used incipits and 'long s' font. the incipits have not been replicated in this version, but can be viewed on 'long s' html version of the text or the page images linked from the html versions. 5. corrections: volume 1, page 33, "accuteness" changed to "acuteness" volume 1, page 51, "unfortutunate" changed to "unfortunate" volume 1, page 57, "resource" changed to "recourse" volume 1, page 90, "hunted" changed to "shunted" volume 1, page 103, "carreer" changed to "career" volume 1, page 161, "plased" changed to "pleased" volume 2, page 116, "and and" changed to "and" volume 3, page 35, "a r" changed to "air" volume 3, page 81, "he he" changed to "he" volume 3, page 120, "explananations" changed to "explanations" half a century. by jane grey swisshelm. * * * * * "god so willed: mankind is ignorant! a man am i: call ignorance my sorrow, not my sin!" "o, still as ever friends are they who, in the interest of outraged truth deprecate such rough handling of a lie!" robert browning. 1880. preface. it has been assumed, and is generally believed, that the anti-slavery struggle, which, culminated in the emancipation proclamation of 1862, originated in infidelity, and was a triumph of skepticism over christianity. in no way can this error be so well corrected as by the personal history of those who took part in that struggle; and as most of them have passed from earth without leaving any record of the education and motives which underlay their action, the duty they neglected becomes doubly incumbent on the few who remain. to supply one quota of the inside history of the great abolition war, is the primary object of this work; but scarcely secondary to this object is that of recording incidents characteristic of the peculiar institution overthrown in that struggle. another object, and one which struggles for precedence, is to give an inside history of the hospitals during the war of the rebellion, that the american people may not forget the cost of that government so often imperiled through their indifference. a third object, is to give an analysis of the ground which produced the woman's rights agitation, and the causes which limited its influence. a fourth is, to illustrate the force of education and the mutability of human character, by a personal narrative of one who, in 1836, would have broken an engagement rather than permit her name to appear in print, even in the announcement of marriage; and who, in 1850, had as much newspaper notoriety as any man of that time, and was singularly indifferent to the praise or blame of the press;--of one who, in 1837, could not break the seal of silence set upon her lips by "inspiration," even so far as to pray with a man dying of intemperance, and who yet, in 1862, addressed the minnesota senate in session, and as many others as could be packed in the hall, with no more embarrassment than though talking with a friend in a chimney corner. j.g.s. contents chapter i. i find life ii. progress in calvinism, hunt ghosts, see la fayette iii. father's death iv. go to boarding school v. lose my brother vi. join church, and make new endeavors to keep sabbath vii. deliverer of the dark night viii. fitting myself into my sphere ix. habitations of horrid cruelty x. kentucky contempt for labor xi. rebellion xii. the valley of the shadow of death xiii. "labor--service or act" xiv. swissvale xv. willows by the water-courses xvi. the waters grow deep xvii. my name appears in print xviii. mexican war letters xix. training school xx. rights of married women xxi. pittsburg saturday visiter xxii. reception of the visiter xxiii. my crooked telescope xxiv. mint, cummin and annis xxv. free soil party xxvi. visit washington xxvii. daniel webster xxviii. fugitive slave law--the two riddles xxix. bloomers and woman's rights conventions xxx. many matters xxxi. the mother church xxxii. politics and printers xxxiii. sumner, burlingame and cassius m. clay xxxiv. finance and desertion xxxv. my hermitage xxxvi. the minnesota dictator xxxvii. another visiter xxxviii. border ruffianism xxxix. speak in public xl. a famous victory xli. state and national politics xlii. religious controversies xliii. frontier life xliv. printers xlv. the rebellion xlvi. platforms xlvii. out into the world and home again xlviii. the aristocracy of the west xlix. the indian massacre of '62 l. a missive and a mission li. no use for me among the wounded lii. find work liii. hospital gangrene liv. get permission to work lv. find a name lvi. drop my alias lvii. hospital dress lviii. special work lix. heroic and anti-heroic treatment lx. cost of order lxi. learn to control pyaemia lxii. first case of growing a new bone lxiii. a heroic mother lxiv. two kinds of appreciation lxv. life and death lxvi. meet miss dix and go to fredericksburg lxvii. the old theater lxviii. am placed in authority lxix. visitors lxx. wounded officers lxxi. "now i lay me down to sleep" lxxii. more victims and a change of base lxxiii. prayers enough and to spare lxxiv. get out of the old theater lxxv. take boat and see a social party lxxvi. take final leave of fredericksburg lxxvii. try to get up a society and get sick lxxviii. an efficient nurse lxxix. two fredericksburg patients lxxx. am enlightened conclusion half a century. chapter i. i find life. those soft pink circles which fell upon my face and hands, caught in my hair, danced around my feet, and frolicked over the billowy waves of bright, green grass--did i know they were apple blossoms? did i know it was an apple tree through which i looked up to the blue sky, over which white clouds scudded away toward the great hills? had i slept and been awakened by the wind to find myself in the world? it is probable that i had for some time been familiar with that tree, and all my surroundings, for i had been breathing two and a half years, and had made some progress in the art of reading and sewing, saying catechism and prayers. i knew the gray kitten which walked away; knew that the girl who brought it back and reproved me for not holding it was adaline, my nurse; knew that the young lady who stood near was cousin sarah alexander, and that the girl to whom she gave directions about putting bread into a brick oven was big jane; that i was little jane, and that the white house across the common was squire horner's. there was no surprise in anything save the loveliness of blossom and tree; of the grass beneath and the sky above; and this first indelible imprint on my memory seems to have found this inner something i call me, as capable of reasoning as it has ever been. while i sat and wondered, father came, took me in his loving arms and carried me to mother's room, where she lay in a tent-bed, with blue foliage and blue birds outlined on the white ground of the curtains, like the apple-boughs on the blue and white sky. the cover was turned down, and i was permitted to kiss a baby-sister, and warned to be good, lest mrs. dampster, who had brought the baby, should come and take it away. this autocrat was pointed out, as she sat in a gray dress, white 'kerchief and cap, and no other potentate has ever inspired me with such reverential awe. my second memory is of a "great awakening" to a sense of sin, and of my lost and undone condition. on a warm summer day, while walking alone on the common which lay between home and squire horner's house, i was struck motionless by the thought that i had forgotten god. it seemed probable, considering the total depravity of my nature, that i had been thinking bad thoughts, and these i labored to recall, that i might repent and plead with divine mercy for forgiveness. but alas! i could remember nothing save the crowning crime--forgetfulness of god. i seemed to stand outside, and see myself a mere mite, in a pink sun-bonnet and white bib, the very chief of sinners, for the probability was i had been thinking of that bonnet and bib. it was quite certain that god knew my sin; and ah, the crushing horror that i could, by no possibility conceal aught from the all-seeing eye, while it was equally impossible to win its approval. the divine law was so perfect that i could not hope to meet its requirements--the divine law-giver so alert that no sin could escape detection. under that cloud of doom the sunshine grew dark, and i did not dare to move until a cheery voice called out something about my pretty bonnet, and gave me a sense of companionship in this dreadful, dreadful world. rose, a large native african, had spoken to me from her place in squire horner's kitchen, and i went home full of solemn resolves and sad forebodings. this is probably what evangelists would call my conversion, and it came in my third summer. there was a fire in the grate when mother showed dr. robt. wilson, our family physician, a pair of wristbands and collar i had stitched for father, and when they spoke of me as not being three years old--but then i had in my mind the marks of that "great awakening." to me, no childhood was possible under the training this indicates, yet in giving that training, my parents were loving and gentle as they were faithful. believing in the danger of eternal death, they could but guard me from it, by the only means of which they had any knowledge. before the completion of that momentous third year of life, i had learned to read the new testament readily, and was deeply grieved that our pastor played "patty cake" with my hands, instead of hearing me recite my catechism, and talking of original sin. during that winter i went regularly to school, where i was kept at the head of a spelling-class, in which were young men and women. one of these, wilkins mcnair, used to carry me home, much amused, no doubt, by my supremacy. his father, col. dunning mcnair, was proprietor of the village, and had been ridiculed for predicting that, in the course of human events, there would be a graded, mcadamized road, all the way from philadelphia to pittsburg, and that if he did not live to see it his children would. he was a neighbor and friend of wm. wilkins, afterwards judge, secretary of war, and minister to russia, and had named his son for him. when his prediction was fulfilled and the road made, it ran through his land, and on it he laid out the village and called it wilkinsburg. mr. mcnair lived south of it in a rough stone house--the manor of the neighborhood--with half a dozen slave huts ranged before the kitchen door, and the gateway between his grounds and the village, as seen from the upper windows of our house, was, to me, the boundary between the known and the unknown, the dread portal through which came adam, the poor old ragged slave, with whom my nurse threatened me when i did not do as she wished. he was a wretched creature, who made and sold hickory brooms, as he dragged his rheumatic limbs on the down grade of life, until he found rest by freezing to death in the woods, where he had gone for saplings. i was born on the 6th of december, 1815, in pittsburg, on the bank of the monongahela, near its confluence with the allegheny. my father was thomas cannon, and my mother mary scott. they were both scotch-irish and descended from the scotch reformers. on my mother's side were several men and women who signed the "solemn league and covenant," and defended it to the loss of livings, lauds and life. her mother, jane grey, was of that family which was allied to royalty, and gave to england her nine day's queen. this grandmother i remember as a stately old lady, quaintly and plainly dressed, reading a large bible or answering questions by quotations from its pages. she was unsuspicious as an infant, always doubtful about "actual transgressions" of any, while believing in the total depravity of all. educated in ireland as an heiress, she had not been taught to write, lest she should marry without the consent of her elder brother guardian. she felt that we owed her undying gratitude for bestowing her hand and fortune on our grandfather, who was but a yoeman, even if "he did have a good leasehold, ride a high horse, wear spurs, and have hamilton blood in his veins." she made us familiar with the battle of the boyne and the sufferings in londonderry, in both of which her great-grandfather had shared, but was incapable of that sectarian rancor, which marks so many descendents of the men who met on those fields of blood and fought for their convictions. in april, 1816, father moved from pittsburg out to the new village of wilkinsburg; took with him a large stock of goods, bought property, built the house in which i first remember him, and planted the apple tree which imprinted the first picture on my memory. but the crash which followed the last war with england brought general bankruptcy; the mortgages on col. mcnair's estate made the titles valueless, and this, with the fall of his real estate in pittsburg, reduced father to poverty, from which he never recovered. chapter ii. progress in calvinism--hunt ghosts--see la fayette.--age, 6-9. my parents were members of the covenanter congregation, of which dr. john black was pastor for forty-five years. he was a man of power, a profound logician, with great facility in conveying ideas. to his pulpit ministrations i am largely indebted for whatever ability i have to discriminate between truth and falsehood; but the church was in pittsburg, and our home seven miles away, so we seldom went to meeting. the rules of the denomination forbade "occasional hearing." father and mother had once been "sessioned" for stopping on their way home to hear the conclusion of a communion service in dr. brace's church, which was seceder. so our sabbaths were usually spent in religious services at home. these i enjoyed, as it aided my life-work of loving and thinking about god, who seemed, to my mind, to have some special need of my attention. nothing was done on that day which could have been done the day before, or could be postponed till the day after. coffee grinding was not thought of, and once, when we had no flour for saturday's baking, and the buckwheat cakes were baked the evening before and warmed on sabbath morning, we were all troubled about the violation of the day. there was a presbyterian "meeting-house" two miles east of wilkinsburg, where a large, wealthy congregation worshipped. rev. james graham was pastor, and unlike other presbyterians, they never "profaned the sanctuary" by singing "human compositions," but confined themselves to rouse's version of david's psalms, as did our own denomination. this aided that laxness of discipline which permitted big jane, adaline and brother william to attend sometimes, under care of neighbors. once i was allowed to accompany them. i was the proud possessor of a pair of red shoes, which i carried rolled up in my 'kerchief while we walked the two miles. we stopped in the woods; my feet were denuded of their commonplace attire and arrayed in white hose, beautifully clocked, and those precious slices, and my poor conscience tortured about my vanity. the girls also exchanged theirs for morocco slippers. we concealed our walking shoes under a mossy log and proceeded to the meeting-house. it was built in the form of a t, of hewn logs, and the whole structure, both inside and out, was a combination of those soft grays and browns with which nature colors wood, and in its close setting of primeval forest, made a harmonious picture. atone side lay a graveyard; birds sang in the surrounding trees, some of which reached out their giant arms and touched the log walls. swallows had built nests under the eaves outside, and some on the rough projections inside, and joined their twitter to the songs of other birds and the rich organ accompaniment of wind and trees. there were two sermons, and in the intermission, a church sociable, in fact if not in name. friends who lived twenty miles apart, met here, exchanged greetings and news, gave notices and invitations, and obeyed the higher law of kindness under protest of their calvinistic consciences. in this breathing-time we ate our lunch, went to the nearest house and had a drink from the spring which ran through the stone milk-house. it was a day full of sight-seeing and of solemn, grand impressions. of the two sermons i remember but one, and this from the text "many are called but few are chosen," and the comments were calvinism of the most rigid school. on our way home, my brother william--three years older than i--was very silent and thoughtful for some time, then spoke of the sermon, of which i entirely approved, but he stoutly declared that he did not believe it; did not believe god called people to come to him while he did not choose to have them come. it would not be fair, indeed, he thought it would be mean. that evening, when we were saying the shorter catechism, the question, "what are the decrees of god?" came to me, and after repeating the answer, i asked father to explain it--not that i needed any explanation, but that william might be enlightened; for i was anxious about his soul, on account of his skepticism. enlightened he could not be, and even to father expressed his doubts and disapprobation. we renewed the discussion when alone, and during all his life i labored with him; but soon found the common refuge of orthodox minds, in feeling that those especially loved by them will be made exceptions in the general distribution of wrath due to unbelief. one day i went with him to hunt the cow. we came to a wood just north of the village, where the wind roared and shook the trees so that i was quite awe-stricken; but he held my hand and assured me there was no danger, until he suddenly drew me back, exclaiming: "oh see!" as a great tree came crashing down across the path before us, and so near that it must have fallen on us if he had not seen it and stepped back. even then he refused to go home without the cow, and taking up a daddy-long-legs, he inquired of it where she was, and started in the direction indicated, when we were arrested by the voice of big jane, who had come to search for us. on reaching home, we found a new baby-sister, elizabeth. soon after her birth, in april, 1821, father moved back to pittsburg, and lived on sixth street, opposite trinity church, on property belonging to my maternal grandfather. there was no church there at that time, but a thickly peopled graveyard, which adjoined that of the first presbyterian church, on the corner of sixth and wood. these were above the level of the street, and were protected by a worm-fence that ran along the top of a green bank on which we played and gathered flowers. grandmother took me sometimes to walk in these graveyards at night, and there talked to me about god and heaven and the angels. i was sufficiently interested in these, but especially longed to see the ghosts, and often went to look for them. we had a bachelor uncle who delighted in telling us tales of the supernatural, and he peopled these graveyards with ghosts, in which i believed as implicitly as in the revelations made to john on the isle of patmos, which were my favorite literature. when the congregation concluded to abandon the "round church," which stood on the triangle between liberty, wood and sixth streets, and began to dig for a foundation for trinity, where it now stands, there was great desecration of graves. one day a thrill of excitement and stream of talk ran through the neighborhood, about a mrs. cooper, whose body had been buried three years, and was found in a wonderful state of preservation, when the coffin was laid open by the diggers. it was left that the friends might remove it, and that night i felt would be the time for ghosts. so i went over alone, and while i crouched by the open grave, peering in, a cloud passed, and the moon poured down a flood of light, by which i could see the quiet sleeper, with folded hands, taking her last, long rest. it was inexpressibly grand, solemn and sad. there were no gaslights, no paved street near, no one stirring. earth was far away and heaven near at hand, but no ghost came, and i went home disappointed. afterwards i had a still more disheartening adventure. i had gone an errand to cousin alexander's, on fifth street, stayed late, and coming home, found wood street deserted. the moon shone brightly, but on the graveyard side were heavy shadows, except in the open space opposite the church. i was on the other side, and there was the office of the democratic paper, and over the door the motto "our country, right or wrong." this had long appeared to be an uncanny spot, owing to the wickedness of this sentiment, and i was thinking of the possibility of seeing auld nick guarding his property, when my attention was attracted to a tall, white figure in the bright moonlight, outside the graveyard fence. i stopped an instant, in great surprise, and listened for footsteps, but no sound accompanied the motion. it did not walk, but glided, and must have risen out of the ground, for only a moment before there was nothing visible. i clasped my hands in mute wonder, but my ghost was getting away, and to make its acquaintance i must hurry. crossing the street i ran after and gained on it. it passed into the shadow of the engine house, on across sixth street, into the moonlight, then into the shadow, before i overtook it, when lo! it was a mortal woman, barefoot, in a dress which was probably a faded print. most prints faded then, and this was white, long and scant, making a very ghostly robe, while on her head she carried a bundle tied up in a sheet. she had, of course, come out of virgin alley, where many laundresses lived, and had just passed out of the shadow when i saw her. we exchanged salutations, and i went home to lie and brood over the unreliable nature of ghosts. i was trying to get into a proper frame of mind for saying my prayers, but i doubt if they were said that night, as we were soon aroused by the cries of fire. henry clay was being burned, in effigy, on the corner of sixth and wood streets, to show somebody's disapproval of his course in the election of john quincy adams. the democratic editor, mcfarland, was tried and found guilty of the offense, and took revenge in ridiculing his opponents. charles glenn, a fussy old gentleman, member of our church, was an important witness for the prosecution, and in the long, rhyming account published by the defendant, he was thus remembered: "then in came glenn, that man of peace, and swore to facts as sleek as grease; by all his uncle aleck's geese, mcfarland burnt the tar-barrel." it was before this time that lafayette revisited pittsburg, and people went wild to do him honor. the schools paraded for his inspection, and ours was ranged along the pavement in front of the first presbyterian church, the boys next the curb, the girls next the fence, all in holiday attire, and wearing blue badges. the distinguished visitor passed up between them, leaning on the arm of another gentleman, bowing and smiling as he went. when he came to where i stood, he stepped aside, laid his hand on my head, turned up my face and spoke to me. i was too happy to know what he said, and in all the years since that day, that hand has lain on my brow as a consecration. chapter iii. father's death.--age, 6-12. in the city we went regularly to meeting, and dr. black seemed always to talk to _me_, and i had no more difficulty in understanding his sermons, than in mastering the details of the most simple duty. the first of which i preserve the memory was about peter, who was made to illustrate the growth of crime. he began with boasting; then came its natural fruit, cowardice, in following his master afar off; next falsehood, and from this he proceeded to perjury. it did seem that a disciple of christ could go no further; but for falsehood and perjury there might be excuse in the hope of reward, and peter found a lower deep, for "he began to curse and to swear." a profane swearer is without temptation, and serves the devil for the pure love of the service. what more could peter do to prove that he knew not jesus? in the communion service is a ceremony called "fencing the tables," which consists of an appeal to the consciences of intended communicants. dr. black began with the first commandment and forbade those living in its violation to come to the table, and so proceeded through the decalogue. when he came to the eighth, he straightened himself, placed his hands behind him, and with thrilling emphasis said, "i debar from this holy table of the lord, all slave-holders and horse-thieves, and other dishonest persons," and without another word passed to the ninth commandment. soon after we returned to the city, sister mary died of consumption, and father's health began to fail. i have preserved the spinning wheel on which mother converted flax yarn into thread, which she sold to aid in the support of the family, but soon the entire burden fell on her, for father's illness developed into consumption, from which he died in march, 1823. in spite of all the testamentary precautions he could take, whatever of his estate might have been available for present support, was in the hands of lawyers, and mother was left with her children and the debts. there were the contents of his shop and warehouse, some valuable real estate in pittsburg, which had passed out of his possession on a claim of ground-rent, and a village home minus a title. william was a mechanical genius, so mother set him to making little chairs, which he readily sold, but he liked better to construct fire engines, which were quite wonderful but brought no money. he had a splendid physique, was honorable and faithful, and if mother had been guided by natural instinct in governing him, all would have been well; but he never met the requirements of the elders of the church, who felt it their duty to manage our family affairs. so he was often in trouble, and i, who gloried in him, contrived to shield him from many a storm. at this time there was a fashionable _furor_ for lace work. mother sent me to learn it, and then procured me pupils, whom i taught, usually sitting on their knee. but lace work soon gave way to painting on velvet. this, too, i learned, and found profit in selling pictures. ah, what pictures i did make. i reached the culminating glory of artist life, when judge braden, of butler, gave me a new crisp five dollar bill for a goddess of liberty. indeed, he wanted me to be educated for an artist, and was far-seeing and generous enough to have been my permanent patron, had an artistic education, or any other education, been possible for a western pennsylvania girl in that dark age--the first half of the nineteenth century. mother made a discovery in the art of coloring leghorn and straw bonnets, which brought her plenty of work, so we never lacked comforts of life, although grandfather's executors made us pay rent for the house we occupied. chapter iv. go to boarding-school.--age, 12. during my childhood there were no public schools in pennsylvania. the state was pretty well supplied with colleges for boys, while girls were permitted to go to subscription schools. to these we were sent part of the time, and in one of them joseph caldwell, afterwards a prominent missionary to india, was a schoolmate. but we had dr. black's sermons, full of grand morals, science and history. in lieu of colleges for girls, there were boarding-schools, and edgeworth was esteemed one of the best in the state. it was at braddock's field, and mrs. olever, an english woman of high culture, was its founder and principal. to it my cousin, mary alexander, was sent, but returned homesick, and refused to go back unless i went with her. it was arranged that i should go for a few weeks, as i was greatly in need of country air; and, highly delighted, i was at the rendezvous at the hour, one o'clock, with my box, ready for this excursion into the world of polite literature. mary was also there, and a new scholar, but father olever did not come for us until four o'clock. he was a small, nervous gentleman, and lamps were already lighted in the smoky city when we started to drive twelve miles through spring mud, on a cloudy, cheerless afternoon. we knew he had no confidence in his power to manage those horses, though we also knew he would do his best to save us from harm; but as darkness closed around us, i think we felt like babes in the woods, and shuddered with vague fear as much as with cold and damp. when we reached the "bullock pens," half a mile west of wilkinsburg, there were many lights and much bustle in and around the old yellow tavern, where teamsters were attending to their weary horses. here we turned off to the old mud road, and came to a place of which i had no previous knowledge--a place of outer darkness and chattering teeth. we met no more teams, saw no more lights, but seemed to be in an utterly uninhabited country. then, after an hour of wearisome jolting and plunging, we discovered that the darkness had not been total, for the line of the horizon had been visible, but now it was swallowed up. we knew we were in a wood, by the rush of the wind amid the dried white oak leaves--knew that the road grew rougher at every step--that our driver became more nervous as he applied the brake, and we went down, down. still the descent grew steeper. we stopped, and father olever felt for the bank with his whip to be sure we were on the road. then we heard the sound of rushing, angry waters, mingled with the roar of the wind, and he seemed to hesitate about going on, but we could not very well stay there, and he once more put his horses in motion, while we held fast and prayed silently to the great deliverer. after stopping again and feeling for the bank, lest we should go over the precipitous hillside, which he knew was there, he proceeded until, with a great plunge, we were in the angry waters, which arose to the wagon-bed, and roared and surged all around us. the horses tried to go on, when something gave way, and our guardian concluded further progress was impossible, and began to hallo at the top of his voice. for a long time there was no response; then came an answering call from a long distance. next a light appeared, and that, too, was far away, but came toward us. when it reached the brink of the water, and two men with it, we felt safe. the light-bearer held it up so that we saw him quite well, and his peculiar appearance suited his surroundings. he was more an overgrown boy than a man, beardless, with a long swarthy face, black hair and keen black eyes. he wore heavy boots outside his pantaloons, a blouse and slouch hat, spoke to his companion as one having authority, and with a laugh said to our small gentleman: "is this where you are?" but gave no heed to the answer as he waded in and threw off the check lines, saying: "i wonder you did not drown your horses." he next examined the wagon, paying no more attention to father olever's explanations than to the water in which he seemed quite at home, and when he had finished his inspection he said: "they must go to the house," and handing the light to the driver he took us up one by one and carried us to the wet bank as easily as a child carries her doll. he gave some directions to his companion, took the light and said to us: "come on," and we walked after him out into the limitless blackness, nothing doubting. we went what seemed a long way, following this brigand-looking stranger, without seeing any sign of life or hearing any sound save the roar of wind and water, but on turning a fence corner, we came in sight of a large two-story house, with a bright light streaming out through many windows, and a wide open door. there was a large stone barn on the other side of the road, and to this our conductor turned, saying to us: "go on to the house." this we did, and were met at the open door by a middle-aged woman, shading with one hand the candle held in the other. this threw a strong light on her face, which instantly reminded me of an eagle. she wore a double-bordered white cap over her black hair, and looked suspiciously at us through her small keen, black eyes, but kindly bade us come in to a low wainscoted hall, with broad stairway and many open doors. through one of these and a second door we saw a great fire of logs, and i should have liked to sit by it, but she led us into a square wainscoted room on the opposite side, in which blazed a coal fire almost as large as the log heap in the kitchen. she gave us seats, and a white-haired man who sat in the corner, spoke to us, and made me feel comfortable. up to this time all the surroundings had had an air of enchanted castles, brigands, ghosts, witches. the alert woman with the eagle face, in spite of her kindness, made me feel myself an object of doubtful character, but this old man set me quite at ease. we were no more than well warmed when the wagon drove to the door, and the boy-man with the lantern appeared, saying, "come on." we followed him again, and he lifted us into the wagon, while the mistress of the house stood on the large flag-stone door-step, shading her candle-flame, and giving directions about our wraps. "coming events cast their shadows before," when they are between us and the light; but that night the light must have been between them and me; for i bade good-bye to our hostess without any premonition we should ever again meet, or that i should sit alone, as i do to-night, over half a century later, in that same old wainscoted room, listening to the roar of those same angry waters and the rush of the wind wrestling with the groaning trees, in the dense darkness of this low valley. when we had been carefully bestowed in the wagon, our deliverer took up his lantern, saying to father olever: "drive on." he was obeyed, and led the way over a bridge across another noisy stream, and along a road where there was the sound of a waterfall very near, then up a steep, rocky way until he stopped, saying, "i guess you can get along now." to father olever's thanks he only replied by a low, contemptuous but good-humored laugh, as he turned to retrace his steps. all comfort and strength and hope seemed to go with him. we were abandoned to our fate, babes in the woods again, with only god for our reliance. but after a while we could see the horizon, and arrived at our destination several minutes before midnight, to find the great mansion full of glancing lights and busy, expectant life. the large family had waited up for father olever's return, for he and his wagon were the connecting link between that establishment and the outside world. he appeared to great advantage surrounded by a bevy of girls clamoring for letters and messages. to me the scene was fairy-land. i had never before seen anything so grand as the great hall with its polished stairway. we had supper in the housekeeper's room, and i was taken up this stairway, and then up and up a corkscrew cousin until we reached the attic, which stretched over the whole house, one great dormitory called the "bee-hive." here i was to sleep with helen semple, a pittsburg girl, of about my own age, a frail blonde, who quite won my heart at our first meeting. next day was sabbath, and i was greatly surprised to see pupils walk on the lawn. this was such a desecration of the day, but i made no remark. i was too solemnly impressed by the grandeur of being at braddock's field to have hinted that anything could be wrong. but for my own share in the violation i was painfully penitent. this was not new, for there were a long series of years in which the principal business of six days of every week, was repentance for the very poor use made of the seventh, and from this dreary treadmill of sin and sorrow, no faith ever could or did free me. i never could see salvation in christ apart from salvation from sin, and while the sin remained the salvation was doubtful and the sorrow certain. on the afternoon of that first sabbath, a number of young lady pupils came to the bee-hive for a visit, and as i afterwards learned to inspect and name the two new girls, when i was promptly and unanimously dubbed "wax doll." after a time, one remarked that they must go and study their "ancient history lesson." i caught greedily at the words, ancient history. ah, if i could only be permitted to study such a lesson! no such progress or promotion seemed open to me; but the thought interfered with my prayers, and followed me into the realm of sleep. so when that class was called next forenoon, i was alert, and what was my surprise, to hear those privileged girls stumbling over the story of sampson? could it be possible that was ancient history? how did it come to pass that every one did not know all about sampson, the man who had laid his lead on delilah's wicked lap, to be shorn of his strength. if there is any thing in that account, or any lesson to be drawn from it, with which i was not then familiar, it is something i have never learned. indeed, i seemed to have completed my theological education before i did my twelfth year. one morning, mrs. olever sent for me, and told me she had learned my mother was not able to send me to school, but if i would take charge of the lessons of the little girls, she would furnish me board and tuition. this most generous offer quite took my breath away, and was most gladly accepted; but it was easy work, and i wondered my own studies were so light. i was allowed to amuse myself drawing flowers, which were quite a surprise, and pronounced better than anything the drawing master could do--to recite poetry, for the benefit of the larger girls, and to play in the orchard with my pupils. with the other girls, i became interested in hair-dressing. i had read "the children of the abbey," and amanda's romantic adventures enchanted me; but she was quite outside my life. now i made a nearer acquaintance with her. she changed her residence; so had i. she had brown ringlets; i too should have them. so one friday night, my hair was put up in papers, and next morning, i let loose an amazing shower of curls. the next thing to do was to go off alone, and sit reading in a romantic spot. of course i did not expect to meet lord mortimer! miss fitzallen never had any such expectations. i was simply going out to read and admire the beauties of nature. when i had seated myself, in proper attitude, on the gnarled root of an old tree, overhanging a lovely ravine, i proceeded to the reading part of the play, and must of course be too much absorbed to hear the approaching footsteps, to which i listened with bated breath. so i did not look up when they stopped at my side, or until a pleasant voice said: "why you look quite romantic, my dear." then i saw miss olever, the head teacher, familiarly called "sissy jane." in that real and beautiful presence miss fitzallen retired to her old place, and oh, the mortification she left behind her! i looked up, a detected criminal, into the face of her who had brought to me this humiliation, and took _her_ for a model. my folly did not prevent our being sincere friends during all her earnest and beautiful life. she passed on, and i got back to the bee-hive, when i disposed of my curls, and never again played heroine. chapter v. lose my brother.--age, 12-15. measured by the calendar, my boarding-school life was six weeks; but measured by its pleasant memories, it was as many years. mother wrote for me to come home; and in going i saw, by sunlight, the scene of our adventure that dark night going out. it was a lovely valley, walled in by steep, wooded hills. two ravines joined, bringing each its contribution of running water, and pouring it into the larger stream of the larger valley--a veritable "meeting of the waters"--in all of nature's work, beautiful exceedingly. the house, which stood in the center of a large, green meadow, through which the road ran, was built in two parts, of hewn logs, with one great stone chimney on the outside, protected by an overshot in the roof, but that one in which the log-heap burned that night was inside. one end had been an indian fort when gen. braddock tried to reach fort pitt by that road. the other end and stone barn had been built by its present proprietor. a log mill, the oldest in allegheny county, stood below the barn, and to it the french soldiers had come for meal from fort duquesne. the stream crossed by the bridge was the mill-race, and the waterfall made by the waste-gate. it was the homestead of a soldier of the revolution, one of washington's lieutenants--the old man we had seen. the woman was his second wife. they had a numerous family, and an unpronounceable name. at home i learned that, on account of a cough, i had been the object of a generous conspiracy between mother and mrs. olever, and had been brought home because i was worse. our doctors said i was in the first stage of consumption, that elizabeth was to reach that point early in life, and that our only hope lay in plenty of calomel. mother had lost her husband and four vigorous children; there had been no lack of calomel, and now, when death again threatened, she resolved to conduct the defense on some new plan. she had gained legal possession of our village home, and moved to it. our lot was large and well supplied with choice fruit, and the place seemed a paradise after our starved lives in the smoky city. my apple tree still grew at the east end of the house. there was a willow tree mother had planted, which now swept the ground with its long, graceful branches. there were quantities of rose and lilac bushes, a walled spring of delicious water in the cellar, and a whole world of wealth; but the potato lot looked up in despair--a patch of yellow clay. mother put a twelve years' accumulation of coal ashes on it, and thus proved them valuable both as a fertilizer and a preventive of potato-rot, though at first her project met general opposition. william did the heavy work and was proud of it. he was in splendid health, for his insubordination had, from a very early age, saved him from drugging either mental or physical. the lighter gardening became part of my treatment for consumption. by having me each day lie on the floor on my back without a pillow, and gentle use of dumb-bells, mother straightened my spine and developed my chest--my clothes being carefully adapted to its expansion. dancing was strictly forbidden by our church, but mother was educated in ireland and danced beautifully. she had a class of girls and taught us, and with plenty of fresh air, milk and eggs, effectually disposed of hereditary consumption in her family. but while attending to us, she must also make a living, so she bought a stock of goods on credit, opened a store, and soon had a paying business. in this i was her special assistant. but the work supplied to william did not satisfy the holy men of the church, who furnished us advice. he still made fire engines, and a brook in a meadow presented irresistible temptation to water-wheels and machinery. one of his tilt-hammers made a very good ghost, haunting the meadow and keeping off trespassers. he had a foundry, where he cast miniature cannon, kettles and curious things, and his rifle-practice was a neighborhood wonder. he brought water from the cellar, and did other chores which pennsylvania rules assigned to women, and when boys ridiculed him, he flogged them, and did it quite as effectually as he rendered them the same service when they were rude to a girl. he was a universal favorite, even if he did hate catechism and love cake. so mother's conscience was worked upon until she bound him to a cabinet maker in the city. to him, the restraint was unendurable, and he ran away. he came after dark to bid me good-bye, left love for mother and elizabeth, and next morning left pittsburg on a steamboat, going to that eldorado of pittsburg boys--"down the river." for some time letters came regularly from him, and he was happy and prosperous. then they ceased, and after two years of agonizing suspense, we heard that he had died of yellow fever in new orleans. to us, this was dreadful, irreparable, and was wholly due to that iron-bedstead piety which permits no natural growth, but sets down all human loves and longings as of satanic origin. soon after our removal to the village, grandfather's estate was advertised for sheriff's sale. mother had the proceedings stayed, the executors dismissed, and took out letters of administration, which made it necessary for her to spend some portion of every month in the city. this threw the entire charge of house and store on me. as soon, therefore, as possible, she sent me to the city to school, where i realized my aspiration of studying ancient history and the piano, and devoured the contents of the text-book of natural philosophy with an avidity i had never known for a novel. in april, 1830, i began to teach school, the only one in wilkinsburg, and had plenty of pupils, young men and women, boys and girls, at two dollars and one dollar and a half a term. taught seven hours a day, and saturday forenoon, which was devoted to bible reading and catechism. i was the first, i believe, in allegheny co., to teach children without beating them. i abolished corporeal punishment entirely, and was so successful that boys, ungovernable at home, were altogether tractable. this life was perfectly congenial, and i followed it for nearly six years. mother started a sabbath school, the only one in the village, and this, too, we continued for years. one of the pupils was a girl of thirteen, daughter of a well-to-do farmer, who lived within a mile of the village. her father had been converted at a camp-meeting and was a devout methodist. the first day she attended, i asked her the question: "how many gods are there?" she thought a moment, and then said, with an air of satisfaction: "five." i was shocked, and answered in the language of the catechism: "o margaret! 'there is but one only living and true god.'" she hung her head, then nodded it, and with the emphasis of a judge who had weighed all the evidence, said: "i am sure i ha' hearn tell o' more nur one of em." a young theological student came sometimes to stay over sabbath and assist in the school. he led in family worship, and had quite a nice time, until one evening he read a chapter from the song of songs which was solomon's, when i bethought me that he was very much afraid of toads. i began to cultivate those bright-eyed creatures, so that it always seemed probable i had one in my pocket or sleeve. the path of that good young man became thorny until it diverged from mine. i was almost fifteen, when i overheard a young lady say i was growing pretty. i went to my mirror and spent some moments in unalloyed happiness and triumph. then i thought, "pretty face, the worms will eat you. all the prettiest girls i know are silly, but you shall never make a fool of me. helen's beauty ruined troy. cleopatra was a wretch. so if you are pretty, _i_ will be master, remember that." chapter vi. join church and make new endeavors to keep sabbath.--age, 15. in the year 1800, the covenanter church of this country said in her synod: "slavery and christianity are incompatible," and never relaxed her discipline which forbade fellowship with slave-holders--so i was brought up an abolitionist. i was still a child when i went through wilkins' township collecting names to a petition for the abolition of slavery in the district of columbia. here, in a strictly orthodox presbyterian community, i was everywhere met by the objections: "niggers have no souls," "the jews held slaves," "noah cursed canaan," and these points i argued from house to house, occasionally for three years, and made that acquaintance which led to my being sent for in cases of sickness and death, before i had completed my sixteenth year. in this, i in some measure took the place long filled by mother, who was often a substitute for doctor and preacher. looking back at her life, i think how little those know of calvinists who regard them merely as a class of autocrats, conscious of their own election to glory, and rejoicing in the reprobation of all others; for i have never known such humble, self-distrustful people as i have found in that faith. mother, whose life was full of wisdom and good works, doubted, even to the last, her own acceptance with god. she and i believed that "a jealous god," who can brook no rivals, had taken away our loving husband and father; our strong and brave son and brother, because we loved them too much, and i was brought up to think it a great presumption to assume that such a worm of the dust as i, could be aught to the creator but a subject of punishment. during the spring of 1831, mother said to me: "sabbath week is our communion, and i thought you might wish to join the church." i was startled and without looking up, said: "am i old enough?" "if you feel that the dying command of the savior, 'do this in remembrance of me' was addressed to you, you are old enough to obey it." not another word was said and the subject was never again broached between us, but here a great conflict began. that command was given to me, but how could i obey it without eating and drinking damnation to myself? was mine a saving faith, or did i, like the devils, believe and tremble? i had been believing as long as i could remember, but did not seem to grow in the image of god. the conflict lasted several days. sleep left me. the heavens were iron and the earth brass. i turned to erskine to learn the signs of saving faith, but found only reason to suspect self-deception. i could not submit to god's will--could not be willing that william should be lost--nay, i was not willing that any one should be lost. i could not stay in heaven, and know that any one was enduring endless torments in some other place! i must leave and go to their relief. it was dreadful that abraham did not even try to go to poor dives, or to send some one. my whole soul flew into open revolt; then oh! the total depravity which could question "the ways of god to man." i hated milton. i despised his devils; had a supreme contempt for the "prince of the power of the air;" did not remember a time when i was afraid of him. god was "my refuge and my shield, in straits a present aid." if he took care of me, no one else could hurt me; if he did not, no one else could; and to be accepted by him was all there was or could be worth caring for; but how should i find this acceptance with my heart full of rebellion? one afternoon i became unable to think, but a white mist settled down over hell. even those contemptible devils were having their tongues cooled with blessed drops of water. the fires grew dim, and it seemed as if there was to be a rain of grace and mercy in that region of despair. then i preferred my petition, that god would write his name upon my forehead, and give me that "new name" which should mark me as his; that he would bring william into the fold, and do with me as he would. i would be content to spend my whole life in any labor he should appoint, without a sign of the approval of god or man, if, in the end, i and mine should be found among those "who had washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the lamb." i fell asleep--slept hours--and when the sun was setting, woke in perfect peace. my proposition had been accepted, and wonderful grace, which had given what i had not dared to ask, assurance of present acceptance. i should have all the work and privation for which i had bargained--should be a thistle-digger in the vineyard; should be set to tasks from which other laborers shrank, but in no trial could i ever be alone, and should at last hear the welcome "well done." i arose as one from a grave to a joyous resurrection; but kept all these things in my heart. personal experiences being altogether between god and the soul, were not considered fit subjects for conversation, and when i came before the session applying for church, membership, no mention was made of them, except as a general confession of faith. rev. andrew black addressed the table at which i sat in my first communion, and said: "the lord's supper has been named the eucharist, after the oath taken by a roman soldier, never to turn his back upon his leader. you, in partaking of these emblems, do solemnly vow that you will never turn your back upon christ, but that you will follow him whithersoever he goeth. let others do as they will, you are to follow the lamb, through good and through evil report, to a palace or to a prison; follow him, even if he should lead you out of the church." this was in perfect harmony with my private agreement, and no other act of my life has been so solemn or far-reaching in its consequences, as that ratification of my vow, and it is one i have least cause to repent. however, it brought a new phase to an old trouble. how should i follow christ? i could not do as he had done. i could not go to meeting every sabbath, and society every friday; and if i did, was that following christ who never built a meeting-house, or conducted any service resembling those now held? i read the life of jonathan edwards, and settled back into the old sabbath-keeping rut. resolving to do my best, i prayed all week, for grace to keep the next sabbath. i rose early that trial-morning, prayed as soon as my eyes were open, read a chapter, looked out into the beautiful morning, thought about god and prayed--spent so much time praying, that elizabeth had breakfast ready when i went down stairs. while i ate it, i held my thoughts to the work of the day, worshiping god; but many facts and fancies forced themselves in and disturbed my pious meditations. after breakfast, i went back to my room to continue my labor; but mother soon came and said: "do you intend to let elizabeth do all the work?" i dropped my roll of saintship, and went and washed the dishes. had i been taught that he who does any honest work serves god and follows christ, what a world of woe would have been spared me. chapter vii. the deliverer of the dark night.--age, 19-21. quiltings furnished the principal amusement, and at these i was in requisition, both for my expertness with the needle, and my skill in laying out work; but as i had no brother to come for me, i usually went home before the evening frolic, which consisted of plays. male and female partners went through the common quadrille figures, keeping time to the music of their own voices, and making a denouement every few moments by some man kissing some woman, perhaps in a dark hall, or some woman kissing some man, or some man kissing all the women, or _vice versa_. elders and preachers often looked on in pious approbation, and the church covered these sports with the mantle of her approval, but was ready to excommunicate any one who should dance. promiscuous dancing was the fiery dragon which the church went out to slay. only its death could save her from a fit of choler which might be fatal, unless, indeed, the dancing were sanctified by promiscuous kissing. if men and women danced together without kissing, they were in immediate danger of eternal damnation; but with plenty of kissing, and rude wrestling to overcome the delicacy of women who objected to such desecration, the church gave her blessing to the quadrille. my protest against these plays had given offense, and i chose to avoid them; but one evening the host begged me to remain, saying he would see that i was not annoyed, and would himself take me home. the frolic was only begun, when he came and asked permission to introduce a gentleman, saying: "if you do not treat him well, i will never forgive you." there was no need of this caution, for he presented a man whose presence made me feel that i was a very little girl and should have been at home. he was over six feet tall, well formed and strongly built, with black hair and eyes, a long face, and heavy black whiskers. he was handsomely dressed, and his manner that of a grave and reverend seignior. a russian count in a new york drawing room, then, when counts were few, could not have seemed more foreign than this man in that village parlor, less than two miles from the place of his birth. he was the son of the old revolutionary soldier, with the unpronouncable name, who lived in the beautiful valley. this i knew at once, but did not, for some time, realize that it was he who rescued us from the black waters on that dark night, carried us to safety and light, and left us again in darkness. this incident, so much to me, he never could distinguish among the many times he had "helped olever and his seminary girls out of scrapes," and he never spoke of these adventures without that same laugh which i noticed when father olever thanked him. he had elected me as his wife some years before this evening, and had not kept it secret; had been assured his choice was presumptuous, but came and took possession of his prospective property with the air of a man who understood his business. i next saw him on horseback, and this man of giant strength in full suit of black, riding a large spirited black horse, became my "black knight." my sister hated him, and my mother doubted him, or rather doubted the propriety of my receiving visits from him. his family were the leading methodists of the township; his father had donated land and built a meeting-house, which took his name, and his house was the headquarters of traveling preachers. there was a camp-meeting ground on the farm; his mother "lived without sin," prayed aloud and shouted in meeting, while the income and energy of the family were expended in propagating a faith which we believed false. a marriage with him would be incongruous and bring misery to both. these objections he overruled, by saying he was not a member of any church, would never interfere with my rights of conscience, would take or send me to my meeting when possible, and expect me to go sometimes with him. he proposed going up the allegheny to establish saw-mills, and if i would go into the woods with him, there should be no trouble about religion. so there seemed no valid objection, and two years after our introduction we were married, on the 18th of november, 1836. then all was changed. i offended him the day after by shedding tears when i left home to go for a visit to his father's house, and his sister had told him that i cried while dressing to be married. these offenses he never forgave, and concluded that since i cared so little for him, he would not leave his friends and go up the allegheny with me. his services were indispensable at home, since his brother samuel had gone into business for himself, and the next brother william was not seventeen, and could not take charge of the farm and mills. his mother was ready to take me into the family,--although the house was not large enough to accommodate us comfortably--the old shop in the yard could be fitted up for a school-room. i could teach and he could manage the estate. in this change, he but followed that impulse which led the men of england, centuries ago, to enact, that "marriage annuls all previous contracts between the parties," and which now leads men in all civilized countries to preserve such statutes. it is an old adage, "all is fair in love as in war," but i thought not of general laws, and only felt a private grievance. by a further change of plan, i was to get religion and preach. wesley made the great innovation of calling women to the pulpit, and although it had afterwards been closed to them generally, there were still women who did preach, while all were urged to take part in public worship. my husband had been converted after our engagement and shortly before our marriage, and was quite zealous. he thought me wonderfully wise, and that i might bring souls to christ if i only would. i quoted paul: "let women keep silence in churches, and learn of their husbands at home." he replied, "wives, obey your husbands." he laughed at the thought of my learning from him and said: "what shall i teach you? will you come to the mill and let me show you how to put a log on the carriage?" it was a very earnest discussion, and the bible was on both sides; but i followed the lead of my church, which taught me to be silent. he quoted his preachers, who were in league with him, to get me to give myself to the lord, help them save souls, by calling on men everywhere to repent; but i was obstinate. i would not get religion, would not preach, would not live in the house with his mother, and stayed with my own. his younger brothers came regularly to me for lessons with my sister, and i added two idiotic children bound to his sister's husband, to whose darkened minds i found the key hidden from other teachers. his brothers i adopted from the first, in place of the one i had lost, and they repaid my love in kind; but books soon appeared as an entering wedge between their souls and religion, which formed the entire mental pabulum of the family. i believe there was not at that time a member of the pittsburg conference who was a college graduate, few who had even a good, common school education, while two of those who preached in our meetinghouse and were frequent guests in the family, were unable to read. my husband's father was old and feeble, and had devised his property to his wife, to be divided at her death between her sons. my husband, as her agent, would come into possession of the whole, and they thought i might object to the "prophet's chamber;" but it required no worldly motive to stimulate these fiery zealots to save a sinner from the toils of calvinism. it is probable many of them would have laid down his life for his religion, and when they got on the track of a sinner, they pursued him as eagerly as ever an english parson did a fox, but it was to save, not to kill. in these hot pursuits, they did not stand on ceremony, and in my case, found a subject that would not run. my kith and kin had died at the stake, bearing testimony against popery and prelacy; had fought on those fields where scotchmen charged in solid columns, singing psalms; and though i was wax at all other points, i was granite on "the solemn league and covenant." with the convictions of others i did not interfere, but when attacked would "render a reason." my assailants denounced theological seminaries as "preacher-factories"--informed me that "neither dr. black nor any of his congregation ever had religion," and that only by getting it could any one be saved. my husband became proud of my defense, and the boys grew disrespectful to their religious guides. their mother became anxious about their souls, so the efforts for my conversion were redoubled. from the first the preachers disapproved of my being permitted to go to my meeting, and especially to my husband accompanying me. he refused to go, on the ground that he had not been invited to commune, and as i sank in the deep waters of affliction, i did so need the pulpit teachings of my old pastor, which seemed to lift me and set my feet upon a rock. one day i walked the seven miles and back, when the family carriage went to take two preachers to an appointment; three horses stood in the old stone barn, and my husband at home with his mother. this gave great offense as the advertisement of a grievance, and was never repeated. during all my childhood and youth, i had been spoiled by much love, if love can spoil. i was non-resistant by nature, and on principle, believed in the power of good. forbearance, generosity, helpful service, would, should, must, win my new friends to love me. getting me into the house with my mother-in-law, was so important a part of the plan of salvation, that to effect it, i was left without support or compensation for my services as teacher, tailor, dress-maker, for my husband's family. he visited me once or twice a week, and ignored my mother's presence, while she felt that in this, as in any church-joining conflict, only god could help me, and stood aloof. to me the sun was darkened, and the moon refused her light. i knew "that jealous god" who claimed the supreme love of his creatures, was scourging me for making an idol and bowing down before it--for loving my husband. i knew it was all just and clung to the almighty arm, with the old cry, "though he slay me, yet will i trust in him." to my husband i clung with like tenacity, and could not admit that my suffering was through any fault of his. the summer after my marriage, mother went for a long visit to butler, and left us in possession of her house. my husband bought a village property, including a wagon-maker's shop, employed a workman and sent him to board with me. he also made some additions to a dwelling on it, that we might go there to live, and the workmen boarded with me, while my mother-in-law furnished provisions and came or sent a daughter to see that i did not waste them. her reproofs were in the form of suggestions, and she sought to please me by saying she had "allowed james" to get certain things for me; but he did not visit me any oftener than when mother was at home, and when she returned in the autumn, the potatoes were frozen in the ground, the apples on the trees, and the cow stood starving at the stable door. then i learned that i had been expected to secure the fall crops on mother's lot, and this was not unreasonable, for i had married a pennsylvania farmer, and their wives and sisters and daughters did such work often, while the "men folks" pitched horseshoes to work off their surplus vitality. lack of strength was no reason why a woman should fail in her duty, for when one fell at her post, there was always another to take her place. up to this time mother had left me to settle my troubles, but now, she told me i must turn and demand justice; that generosity was more than thrown away; that i never could live with my husband and bear his neglect and unkindness and that of his family. i must leave him, defend myself, or die. that i should have been expected to gather apples and dig potatoes, filled her with indignation. she advised me to stay with her and refuse to see him, but i shuddered to think it had come to this in one short year, and felt that all would yet be well. so i went to live in the house he provided for me, his mother furnished my supplies, and he came once a week to see me. here let me say, that in my twenty years of married life, my conflicts were all spiritual; that there never was a time when my husband's strong right arm would not be tempered to infantile gentleness to tend me in illness, or when he hesitated to throw himself between me and danger. over streams and other places impassible to me, he carried me, but could not understand how so frail a thing could be so obstinate. chapter viii. fitting myself into my sphere.--age, 22, 23. during all my girlhood i saw no pictures, no art gallery, no studio, but had learned to feel great contempt for my own efforts at picture-making. a traveling artist stopped in wilkinsburg and painted some portraits; we visited his studio, and a new world opened to me. up to that time portrait painting had seemed as inaccessible as the moon--a sublimity i no more thought of reaching than a star; but when i saw a portrait on the easel, a palette of paints and some brushes, i was at home in a new world, at the head of a long vista of faces which i must paint; but the new aspiration was another secret to keep. bard, the wagon-maker, made me a stretcher, and with a yard of unbleached muslin, some tacks and white lead, i made a canvas. in the shop were white lead, lampblack, king's yellow and red lead, with oil and turpentine. i watched bard mix paints, and concluded i wanted brown. years before, i heard of brown umber, so i got umber and some brushes and begun my husband's portrait. i hid it when he was there or i heard any one coming, and once blistered it badly trying to dry it before the fire, so that it was a very rough work; but it was a portrait, a daub, a likeness, and the hand was his hand and no other. the figure was correct, and the position in the chair, and, from the moment i began it, i felt i had found my vocation. what did i care for preachers and theological arguments? what matter who sent me my bread, or whether i had any? what matter for anything, so long as i had a canvas and some paints, with that long perspective of faces and figures crowding up and begging to be painted. the face of every one i knew was there, with every line and varying expression, and in each i seemed to read the inner life in the outer form. oh, how they plead with me! what graceful lines and gorgeous colors floated around me! i forgot god, and did not know it; forgot philosophy, and did not care to remember it; but alas! i forgot to get bard's dinner, and, although i forgot to be hungry, i had no reason to suppose he did. he would willingly have gone hungry, rather than give any one trouble; but i had neglected a duty. not only once did i do this, but again and again, the fire went out or the bread ran over in the pans, while i painted and dreamed. my conscience began to trouble me. housekeeping was "woman's sphere," although i had never then heard the words, for no woman had gotten out of it, to be hounded back; but i knew my place, and scorned to leave it. i tried to think i could paint without neglect of duty. it did not occur to me that painting was a duty for a married woman! had the passion seized me before marriage, no other love could have come between me and art; but i felt that it was too late, as my life was already devoted to another object--housekeeping. it was a hard struggle. i tried to compromise, but experience soon deprived me of that hope, for to paint was to be oblivious of all other things. in my doubt, i met one of those newspaper paragraphs with which men are wont to pelt women into subjection: "a man does not marry an artist, but a housekeeper." this fitted my case, and my doom was sealed. i put away my brushes; resolutely crucified my divine gift, and while it hung writhing on the cross, spent my best years and powers cooking cabbage. "a servant of servants shall she be," must have been spoken of women, not negroes. friends have tried to comfort me by the assurance that my life-work has been better done by the pen, than it could have been with the pencil, but this cannot be. i have never cared for literary fame; have avoided, rather than sought it; have enjoyed the abuse of the press more than its praise; have held my pen with a feeling of contempt for its feebleness, and never could be so occupied with it as to forget a domestic duty, while i have never visited a picture gallery, but i have bowed in deep repentance for the betrayal of a trust. where are the pictures i should have given to the world? where my record of the wrongs and outrages of my age; of the sorrows and joys; the trials and triumphs, that should have been written amid autumn and sunset glories in the eloquent faces and speaking forms which have everywhere presented themselves, begging to be interpreted? why have i never put on canvas one pair of those pleading eyes, in which are garnered the woes of centuries? is that christianity which has so long said to one-half of the race, "thou shalt not use any gift of the creator, if it be not approved by thy brother; and unto man, not god, thou shalt ever turn and ask, 'what wilt thou have me to do?'" it was not only my art-love which must be sacrificed to my duty as a wife, but my literary tastes must go with it. "the husband is the head of the wife." to be head, he must be superior. an uncultivated husband could not be the superior of a cultivated wife. i knew from the first that his education had been limited, but thought the defect would be easily remedied as he had good abilities, but i discovered he had no love for books. his spiritual guides derided human learning and depended on inspiration. my knowledge stood in the way of my salvation, and i must be that odious thing--a superior wife--or stop my progress, for to be and appear were the same thing. i must be the mate of the man i had chosen; and if he would not come to my level, i must go to his. so i gave up study, and for years did not read one page in any book save the bible. my religions convictions i could not change, but all other differences should disappear. mother moved to the city in the spring of 1838, and my health was rapidly failing. i had rebelled against my mother-in-law, returned her supplies, and refused to receive anything from her. this brought on a fearful crisis, in which my husband threatened suicide; but i was firm, and he concluded to rent the mills and take me away. this he did. his father lived but a few months, and died on the second anniversary of our marriage. he lies buried in the ground he donated as "god's acre," with only this inscription at his head: "john swisshelm, aged 86." no sign that he was one of the world's heroes--yet, when our revolution broke out, his parents had but two children. the oldest enlisted and was killed, when john caught up his rifle, took his place, and kept it until the close of the war. he spent the winter in valley forge, and once, in the darkest time, discovered washington on his knees in a lonely thicket, praying aloud for his country. this gave him hope, when hope was well-nigh dead, and he followed his commander across the jerseys, one of the two thousand who wrote in blood, from their shoeless feet, their protest against british rule on the soil they thus consecrated to freedom. chapter ix. habitations of horrid cruelty.--age, 23, 24. on the 6th of june, 1838, the white frost lay on the west side of pittsburg roofs as we steamed away from her wharf, bound for louisville, where my husband proposed going into a business already established by his brother samuel. on the boat, all the way down the river, the general topic of conversation was the contrast between the desolate slave-cursed shores of kentucky, and the smiling plenty of the opposite bank; but louisville was largely settled by northern people, and was to prove an oasis in the desert of slavery. it lay at the head of the falls of the ohio, and the general government had lately expended large sums in building a canal around them. henry clay was in the zenith of his power, slavery held possession of the national resources, louisville might count on favors, and she was to be queen city of the west. there was an aspiring little place which fancied itself a rival, a little boat-landing, without natural advantages, called cincinnati, where they killed hogs; but it was quite absurd to think of her competing with the great metropolis at the head of the canal. i was quite surprised to find there were a good many houses and folks in cincinnati; but our boat did not stop long, and we soon reached our eldorado. before we effected a landing at the crowded wharf, i fell to wondering if a pittsburg drayman could take a louisville dray, its load, its three horses and ragged driver, pile them on his dray, and with his one horse take them to their destination--and i thought he could. samuel met us, and as we went in a hack to the boarding place he had engaged. i wondered what had happened that so many men were off work in the middle of the forenoon. who or what could they be, those fellows in shining black broadcloth, each with a stove-pipe hat on the side of his head, his thumbs in the armholes of a satin vest, displaying a wonderful glimmer of gold chain and diamond stud, balancing himself first on his heels and then on his toes, as he rolled a cigar from one side of his mouth to the other? how did they come to be standing around on corners and doorsteps by the hundred, like crows on a cornfield fence? it was some time before i learned that this was the advance guard of a great army of woman-whippers, which stretched away back to the atlantic, and around the shores of the gulf of mexico, and that they were out on duty as a staring brigade, whose business it was to insult every woman who ventured on the street without a male protector, by a stare so lascivious as could not be imagined on american free soil. i learned that they all lived, in whole or in part, by the sale of their own children, and the labor of the mothers extorted by the lash. i came to know one hoary-haired veteran, whose entire support came from the natural increase and wages of nineteen women, one of whom, a girl of eighteen, lived with him in a fashionable boarding-house, waited on him at table, slept in his room, and of whose yearly wages one hundred and seventy-five dollars were credited on his board bill. i learned that none of the shapely hands displayed on the black vests, had ever used other implement of toil than a pistol, bowie-knife or slave-whip; that any other tool would ruin the reputation of the owner of the taper digits; but they did not lose caste by horsewhipping the old mammys from whose bosoms they had drawn life in infancy. our boarding-house was on walnut street, one block west of the theatre, and looked toward the river. on the opposite side of the street stood a two-story brick house, always closed except when a negress opened and dusted the rooms. i never saw sadness or sorrow until i saw that face; and it did not appear except about her work, or when she emerged from a side gate to call in two mulatto children, who sometimes came out on the pavement. this house belonged to a northern "mudsill," who kept a grocery, and owned the woman, who was the mother of five children, of whom he was the father. the older two he had sold, one at a time, as they became saleable or got in his way. on the sale of the first, the mother "took on so that he was obliged to flog her almost to death before she gave up." but he had made her understand that their children were to be sold, at his convenience, and that he "would not have more than three little niggers about the house at one time." after that first lesson she had been "reasonable." our hostess, a kentucky lady, used to lament the loss of two boys--"two of the beautifulest boys!" they were the sons of her bachelor uncle, who had had a passion for liza, one of his father's slaves, a tall, handsome quadroon, who rejected his suit and was in love with jo, a fellow slave. to punish both, the young master had jo tied up and lashed until he fainted, while liza was held so that she must witness the torture, until insensibility came to her relief. this was done three times, when jo was sold, and liza herself bound to the whipping-post, and lashed until she yielded, and became the mother of those two beautiful boys. "but," added her biographer, "she never smiled after jo was sold, took consumption and died when her youngest boy was two months old. they were the beautifulest boys i ever laid eyes on, and uncle sot great store by them. he couldn't bear to have them out of his sight, and always said he would give them to me. he would have done it, i know, if he had made a will; but he took sick sudden, raving crazy, and never got his senses for one minute. it often took three men to hold him on the bed. he thought he saw jo and liza, and died cursing and raving." she paused to wipe away a tear, and added: "the boys were sold down south. maybe your way, up north, is best, after all. i never knew a cruel master die happy. they are sure to be killed, or die dreadful!" she had an old, rheumatic cook, martha, who seldom left her basement kitchen, except when she went to her baptist meeting, but for hours and hours she crooned heart-breaking melodies of that hope within her, of a better and a happier world. she had a severe attack of acute inflammation of the eyelids, which forcibly closed her eyes, and kept them closed; then she refused to work. her wages, one hundred and seventy-five dollars a year, were paid to her owner, a woman, and these went on; so her employer sent for her owner, and i, as an abolitionist, was summoned to the conference, that i might learn to pity the sorrows of mistresses, and understand the deceitfulness of slaves. the injured owner sat in the shaded parlor, in a blue-black satin dress, that might almost have stood upright without assistance from the flesh or bones inside; with the dress was combined a mass of lace and jewelry that represented a large amount of money, and the mass as it sat there, and as i recall it, has made costly attire odious. this bedizzoned martyr, this costumer's advertisement, sat and fanned as she recounted her grievances. her entire allowance for personal expenses, was the wages of nine women, and her husband would not give her another dollar. they, knowing her necessities, were so ungrateful!--nobody could think how ungrateful; but in all her sorrows, martha was her crowning grief. she had had two husbands, and had behaved so badly when the first was sold. then, every time one of her thirteen children were disposed of, she "did take on so;" nobody could imagine "how she took on!" once, the gentle mistress had been compelled to send her to the workhouse and have her whipped by the constable; and that cost fifty cents; but really, this martyr and her husband had grown weary of flogging martha. one hated so to send a servant to the public whipping-post; it looked like cruelty--did cruelty lacerate the feelings of refined people, and it was so ungrateful in martha, and all the rest of them, to torture this fine lady in this rough way. as to martha's ingratitude, there could be no doubt; for, to this, our hostess testified, and called me to witness, that she had sent her a cup of tea every day since she had complained of being sick; yes, "a cup of tea with sugar in it," and yet the old wretch had not gone to work. when they had finished the recital of their grievances they came down to business. the owner would remit two week's wages; after that it was the business of the employer to pay them, and see that they were earned. if it were necessary now to send martha to the whipping-post, the lady in satin would pay the fifty cents; but for any future flogging, the lady in lawn must be responsible to the city of louisville. we adjourned to the kitchen where old martha stood before her judge, clutching the table with her hard hands, trembling in every limb, her eyelids swollen out like puff-balls, and offensive from neglect, her white curls making a border to her red turban, receiving her sentence without a word. as a sheep before her shearers she was dumb, opening not her mouth. those wrinkled, old lips, from which i had heard few sounds, save those of prayer and praise, were closed by a cruelty perfectly incomprehensible in its unconscious debasement. our hostess was a leading member of the fourth st. m.e. church, the other feminine fiend a presbyterian. i promised the lord then and there, that for life, it should be my work to bring "deliverance to the captive, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound," but all i could do for martha, was to give her such medical treatment as would restore her sight and save her from the whipping-post, and this i did. while i lived on that dark and bloody ground, a man was beaten to death in an open shed, on the corner of two public streets, where the sound of the blows, the curses of his two tormentors, and his shrieks and unavailing prayers for mercy were continued a whole forenoon, and sent the complaining air shuddering to the ears of thousands, not one of whom offered any help. a brown-haired girl, maria, the educated, refined daughter of a kentucky farmer, was lashed by her brutal purchaser, once, and again and again for chastity, where hundreds who heard the blows and shrieks knew the cause. from that house she was taken to the work-house and scourged by the public executioner, backed by the whole force of the united states government. oh! god! can this nation ever, ever be forgiven for the blood of her innocent children? passing a crowded church on a sabbath afternoon, i stepped in, when the preacher was descanting on the power of religion, and, in illustration, he told of two wicked young men in that state, who were drinking and gambling on sunday morning, when one said: "i can lick the religion out of any nigger." the other would bet one hundred dollars that he had a nigger out of whom the religion could not be licked. the bet was taken and they adjourned to a yard. this unique nigger was summoned, and proved to be a poor old man. his master informed him he had a bet on him, and the other party commanded him to "curse jesus?" on pain of being flogged until he did. the old saint dropped on his knees before his master, and plead for mercy, saying: "massa! massa! i cannot curse jesus! jesus die for me! he die for you, massa. i no curse him; i no curse jesus!" the master began to repent. in babyhood he had ridden on those old bowed shoulders, then stalwart and firm, and he proposed to draw the bet, but the other wanted sport and would win the money. oh! the horrible details that that preacher gave of that day's sport, of the lashings, and faintings, and revivals, with washes of strong brine, the prayers for mercy, and the recurring moan! "i no curse jesus, massa! i no curse jesus; jesus die for me, massa; i die for jesus?" as the sun went down jesus took him, and his merciful master had sold a worthless nigger for one hundred dollars. but, the only point which the preacher made, was that one in favor of religion. when it could so support a nigger, what might it not do for one of the superior race? for months i saw every day a boy who could not have been more than ten years old, but who seemed to be eight, and who wore an iron collar with four projections, and a hoop or bail up over his head. this had been put on him for the crime of running away; and was kept on to prevent a repetition of that crime. the master, who thus secured his property, was an elder in the second presbyterian church, and led the choir. the principal baptist preacher owned and hired out one hundred slaves; took them himself to the public mart, and acted as auctioneer in disposing of their services. the time at which this was done, was in the christmas holidays, or rather the last day of the year, when the slaves' annual week of respite ended. a female member of the fourth st. methodist church was threatened with discipline, for nailing her cook to the fence by the ear with a ten-penny nail. the preacher in charge witnessed the punishment from a back window of his residence. hundreds of others witnessed it, called by the shrieks of the victim; and his reverence protested, on the ground that such scenes were calculated to injure the church. chapter x. kentucky contempt for labor.--age, 23, 24. to a white woman in louisville, work was a dire disgrace, and one sabbath four of us sat suffering from thirst, with the pump across the street, when i learned that for me to go for a pitcher of water, would be so great a disgrace to the house as to demand my instant expulsion. i grew tired doing nothing. my husband's business did not prosper, and i went to a dressmaker and asked for work. she was a new england woman, and after some shrewd questions, exclaimed: "my dear child, go home to your mother! what does your husband mean? does he not know you would be insulted at every step if you work for a living? go home--go home to your mother!" i was homesick, and the kindness of the voice and eyes made me cry. i told her i could not leave my husband. "then let him support you, or send you home until he can! i have seen too many like you go to destruction here. go home." i said that i could never go to destruction, but she interrupted me: "you know nothing about it. you are a mere baby. they all thought as you do. go home to your mother!" "but i never can go to destruction! no evil can befall me, for he that keepeth israel slumbers not nor sleeps." she concluded to give me work, but said: "i will send it by a servant. don't you come here." i never thrust my anti-slavery opinions on any one, but every southerner inquired concerning them, and i gave true answers. there were many boarders in the house, and one evening when there were eighteen men in the parlor, these questions brought on a warm discussion, when one said: "you had better take care how you talk, or we will give you a coat of tar and feathers." i agreed to accept such gratuitous suit, and a mississippi planter, who seemed to realize the situation, said gently: "indeed, madam, it is not safe for you to talk as you do." "when reminded of constitutional guarantees for freedom of speech, and his enjoyment of it in my native state, he replied: "there is no danger in pennsylvania from freedom of speech, but if people were allowed to talk as you do here, it would overthrow our institutions." there were mobs in the air. the mayor closed a sunday-school, on the ground that in it slaves were taught to read. the teacher, a new england woman, denied the charge, and claimed that only free children had been taught, while slaves were orally instructed to obey their masters, as good presbyterians, who hoped to escape the worm that never dies. her defense failed, but seemed to establish the right of free colored people to a knowledge of the alphabet, but there was no school for them, and i thought to establish one. jerry wade, the gault house barber, was a mulatto, who had bought himself and family, and acquired considerable real estate. in the back of one of his houses, lived his son with a wife and little daughter. we rented the front, and mother sent me furniture. this was highly genteel, for it gave us the appearance of owning slaves, and olivia, young wade's wife, represented herself as my slave, to bring her and her child security. as a free negro, she labored under many disadvantages, so begged me to claim her. in this house i started my school, and there were no lack of pupils whose parents were able and willing to pay for their tuition, but ruffians stood before the house and hooted at the "nigger school." threatening letters were sent me, and wade was notified that his house would be burned or sacked, if he permitted its use for such purpose. in one day my pupils were all withdrawn. after this, i began to make corsets. it was a joy to fit the superb forms of kentucky women, and my art-love found employment in it, but my husband did not succeed, and went down the river. a man came to see if i could give work to his half-sister, for whose support he could not fully provide. she was a fitzhugh,--a first virginia family. her father had died, leaving a bankrupt estate. she had learned dressmaking, and had come with him to louisville to find work, but she was young and beautiful, and he dare not put her into a shop, but thought i might protect her, so she came to live with me. one evening an old and wealthy citizen called about work i was doing for his wife, became interested in me, as a stranger who had seen little of louisville, and tendered the use of his theatre-box and carriage to the young lady and myself. i declined, with thanks. when he had taken leave, miss fitzhugh sprang to her feet, and with burning cheeks and flashing eyes, demanded to know if i knew that that man had insulted us both. i did not know, but she did, and would tell edward, who should cowhide him publicly. i told her that if edward attempted that, he would probably lose his life, and we would certainly be dragged into a police court. even if we had been insulted, it only proved that the old man thought we were like himself--that we were told in the psalms that wicked men thought god was like themselves, and did approve their sin, and he did not have them cowhided. after a moment's reflection she sat down, exclaiming: "well, you are the strangest woman i ever did see!" we never again saw the man, and i hope the incident helped the honest edward in his loving task of protecting the fiery fitzhugh. my husband's trip down the river was a failure, and he went back home. remembering he had heard me say i could do so much better at corset-making if i could buy goods at wholesale, he sold his wilkinsburg property and turned the proceeds into dry goods. to me this seemed very unwise, but i tried to make the best of it, and we took a business house on fourth street. i cut and fitted dresses, and with a tape-line could take a measure from which i could make a perfect fit without trying on. i soon had more work than i could do, and took two new girls, but the goods were dead stock. my husband was out of employment, and tried to assist in my business. he was out most of the day, and in the evening wanted to retire early. i was busy all day, and could not go out alone after dark, so came to be a prisoner. one warm evening i was walking back and forth in front of our house, though i knew it a great risk, when a man overtook me, cleared his throat as if to speak, and passed on to the lamp-post, which had made one limit of my walk. i did not shorten my path, and when i came up to the post he again cleared his throat as if to speak, and next time stepped out, lifted his hat, and remarked: "a very pleasant evening, miss." i stopped, looked at him, and said: "it is a very pleasant evening; had you not better walk on and enjoy it?" he bowed low, and answered: "i beg your pardon, madam. i was mistaken." "pardon for what, sir? it _is_ a very pleasant evening; please to pass on." he did, and i walked till i was tired, thinking of all the sacrifices i had made to be my husband's housekeeper and keep myself in woman's sphere, and here was the outcome! i was degrading him from his position of bread-winner. if it was my duty to keep his house, it must be his to find me a house to keep, and this life must end. i would go with him to the poorest cabin, but he must be the head of the matrimonial firm. he should not be my business assistant. i would not be captain with him for lieutenant. how to extricate myself i did not see, but extricated i would be. we needed a servant. a kentucky "gentleman," full six feet three, with broad shoulders and heavy black whiskers, came to say: "i have a woman i can let you have! a good cook, good washah and ionah, fust rate housekeepah! i'll let you have ah for two hundred dollahs a yeah; but i'll tell you honest, you'll have to hosswhipah youahself about twice a week, for that wife of youahs could nevah do anything with ah." while he talked i looked. his suit was of the finest black broadcloth, satin vest, a pompous display of chain, seals, studs and rings, his beaver on the back of his head, his thumbs in the arms of his vest, and feet spread like the collossus of rhodes. this new use for pennsylvania muscle seemed to strike my husband as infinitely amusing, for he burst out laughing, and informed the "gentleman" that he did not follow the profession of whipping women, and must decline his offer. but i wanted to be back on free soil, out of an atmosphere which killed all manhood, and furnished women-whippers as a substitute for men. chapter xi. rebellion.--age, 24. during the late spring and early summer, my letters from home spoke often of mother's failing health, and in july one came from her saying her disease had been pronounced cancer, and bidding me come to her. the same mail brought a letter from dr. joseph gazzam, telling me she was certainly on her death-bed, and adding: "let nothing prevent your coming to your mother at once." i was hurt by this call. was i such a monster that this old family friend thought it necessary to urge me to go to my dying mother? stunned and stupified with grief, i packed my trunk. my husband came in at noon, and i handed him the letters. he read them and expressed surprise and sorrow, and i told him to hurry to the wharf and see when the first boat started. he thought i should not go until i heard again. it might not be so bad. then, after reflecting, said, why go at all, if there was no hope? of what use could i be? if there was hope, he would agree to my going, but as there was none, he must object. in fact, he did not see how i could think of leaving him with those goods on his hands. how could i be so ready to drop all and not think of the consequences, for what could he do with that stock of dry goods. my mother pretended to be a christian, but would take me away from my duty. i, too, read the bible, but paid little heed to its teachings. he brought that book and read all of paul's directions to wives, but rested his case on ephesians, v, 22: "wives submit yourselves unto your own husbands as unto the lord. for the husband is head of the wife even as christ is head of the church; therefore, as the church is subject unto christ, so let the wives be to their own husbands in everything." while he continued his comments, i buried my head in pillows, saying, "lord what wilt thou have me to do?" milton epitomized paul when he made eve say to adam, "be god thy law, thou mine;" but was that the mind and will of god? had he transferred his claim to the obedience of half the human family? was every husband god to his wife? would wives appear in the general judgment at all, or if they did, would they hand in a schedule of marital commands? if the passage meant anything it meant this: one might as well try to be, and not to be, at the same time, as own allegiance to god and the same allegiance to man. i was either god's subject or i was not. if i was not, i owed him no obedience. christ as head of the church was her absolute lawgiver, and thus saith the lord, was all she dare demand. was i to obey my husband in that way? if so, i had no business with the moral law or any other law, save his commands. christian england had taken this view, and enacted that a wife should not be punished for any crime committed by command, or in presence of her husband, "because, being altogether subject to him, she had no will of her own;" but this position was soon abandoned, and this passage stamped as spurious. every christian church had so stamped it, for all encouraged wives to join their communion with or without the consent of their husbands. thousands of female martyrs had sealed their testimony with their blood, opposing the authority of their husbands, and had been honored by the church. as for me, i must take that passage alone for my bible, or expunge it. then and there i cast it from me forever, as being no part of divine law, and thus unconsciously took the first step in breaking through a faith in plenary inspiration. i next turned to the book in general for guidance: "wives, obey your husbands;" "children obey your parents;" "honor thy father and thy mother." what a labyrinth of irreconcilable contradictions! god, in nature, spoke with no uncertain sound, "go home to your mother," and my choice was made while my husband talked. i said that if he did not see about a boat i would. when he told me that he had a legal right to detain me, and would exercise it, i assured him the attempt would be as dangerous as useless, for i was going to pittsburg. he went out, promising to engage my passage, but staid so long that i went to the wharf, where respectable women were not seen alone, saw a boat with a flag out for pittsburg, engaged a berth, and so left louisville. chapter xii. the valley of the shadow of death.--age, 24, 25. mother was suffering when i reached her, as i had not dreamed of. after a consultation, drs. gazzam and fahnestock thought she could not live more than four weeks; but spear said she might linger three months. this blanched the cheek of each one. three months of such unremitting pain, steadily on the increase, was appalling; but mother faced the prospect without a murmur, willing to bear by god's grace what he should inflict, and to wait his good time for deliverance. i was filled with self-reproach, for i should have been with her months before. in a few days my mother-in-law and one of her daughters came to see how long i proposed to stay, why i had left james with the goods, and when i would go and take charge of them. they had had a letter from him, and he was in great trouble. she was gentle and grave--inquired minutely about our nursing, but thought it expensive--dwelt at length on the folly of spending time and money in caring for the sick when recovery was impossible. mother could not see them, and they were offended, for they proposed helping to take care of her, that i might return to my duty. some time after the visit of my mother-in-law, her son-in-law--who was a class-leader and a man of prominence in the community--came with solemn aspect, took my hand, sighed, and said: "i heard you had left james with the goods." here he sighed again, wagged his head, and added: "but i couldn't believe it!" and without another word turned and walked away. they chose to regard mother's illness as a personal grievance. "the way of the transgressor is hard;" and she, having sinned against the saints, must bear her iniquity, and thus suffer the just reward of her deeds. i had frequent letters from my husband, and he was waiting on the wharf, watching every boat for my appearance. i told him before leaving louisville, that i never would return--never again would try to live in a slave state, and advised him to sell the goods at auction, and with the money start a sawmill up the allegheny river, and i would go to him. this advice he resented. at length he grew tired waiting, and came for me. it is neither possible nor necessary here to describe the trouble which ensued, but i would not nor did not leave mother, and she at last remembered the protection to which she was entitled by the city government. with all mother's courage, her moans were heartbreaking. no opiate then known could bring one half-hour of any sleep in which they ceased, and in her waking hours the burden of her woe found vent in a low refrain: "my father! is it not enough?" our principal care was to guard her from noise. the click of a knife or spoon on a plate or cup in the adjoining room, sent a thrill of pain to her nerve centres. only two friends were gentle enough to aid elizabeth and me in nursing her, as she murmured, constantly: "if my husband were only here!" she could bear no voice in reading save gabriel adams' and my own. i read to her comforting passages of scripture, and said prayers which carried her soul up to the throne, and fell back on mine in showers of dust and ashes. a great black atheism had fallen on me. there was no justice on earth, no mercy in heaven. her house was in pittsburg, on sixth street, a little cottage built for her father and mother when they were alone. it stood back in a yard, and rough men in passing stepped lightly--children went elsewhere with their sports--friends tapped on the gate, and we went out to answer inquiries and receive supplies--prayers were offered for her in churches, societies and families. the house was a shrine consecrated by suffering and sorrow. the third month passed, and still she lingered. for seven weeks she took no nourishment but half a cup of milk, two parts water, per day. then her appetite returned and her agony increased, but still with no lament save: "my father! is it not enough?" in the sixth month, january 17th, 1840, relief came. as i knelt for her last words, she said: "elizabeth?" i replied, "she is here, dear mother, what of her?" summoning strength she said: "let no one separate you!" then looked up and said, "it is enough," and breathed no more. as her spirit rose, it broke the cloud, and the divine presence fell upon me. the room, the world was full of peace. she had been caught up out of the storm; and "he who endureth unto the end shall be saved." by her request, i and a dear friend, martha campbell, prepared her body for burial, and we wrapped her in a linen winding-sheet, as the body of christ was buried--no flowers, no decorations; only stern, solemn death. on the last day of father's life he had said to her, "mary you are human, and must have faults, but whatever they are i never have seen them." she had been his widow seventeen years, and by her desire we opened his grave and laid her body to mingle its dust with his, who had been her only love in the life that now is, and with whom she expected to spend an eternity. chapter xiii. "labor--service or act."--age, 25. mother's will left everything to trustees, for the use of elizabeth and myself. she had wished my husband to join her in a suit for the recovery of father's city property, and he refused, but signed a deed with me conveying my interest to her. this claim she also willed to her trustees for my use. he felt himself wronged and became angry, but had one remedy. being the owner of my person and services, he had a right to wages for the time spent in nursing mother, and would file his claim against her executors. i do not know why i should have been so utterly overwhelmed by this proposal to execute a law passed by christian legislators for the government of christian people--a law which had never been questioned by any nation, or state, or church, and was in full force all over the world. why should the discovery of its existence curdle my blood, stop my heart-beats, and send a rush of burning shame from forehead to finger-tip? why should i have blushed that my husband was a law-abiding citizen of the freest country in the world? why blame him for acting in harmony with the canons of every christian church--aye, of that one of which i was a member, and proud of its history as a bulwark of civil liberty? was it any fault of his that "all that she (the wife) can acquire by her labor-service or act during coverture, belongs to her husband?" certainly not. yet that law made me shrink and think of mother's warning, given so long ago. but marriage was a life-contract, and god required me to keep it to the end, and said, "when thou passeth through the fire i will be with thee, and the floods shall not overflow thee." i could not bear to have a bill sent to mother's executors for my wages, but i could compromise, and i did. he returned to louisville, sold the goods, went on a trading-boat, and joined samuel in little rock. while he was there samuel died--died a presbyterian, and left this message for me: "tell sister jane i will meet her in heaven." this my husband transmitted to me, and was deeply grieved and much softened by his brother's death. rev. isaiah niblock, of butler, pa., a distant relative and very near friend, asked me to take charge of the butler seminary and become his guest. my salary would be twenty-five dollars a month, and this was munificent. elizabeth went to pittsburg to school, and i to butler, where my success was complete and i very happy. among my pupils were two daughters of my old patron, judge braden. one of these, little nannie, was full of pleasant surprises, and "brought down the house" during examination, by reciting a country girl's account of her presentation at court, in which occurs this stanza: "and there the king and i were standing face and face together; i said, 'how is your majesty? it's mighty pleasant weather!'" by nannie's way of giving the lines, they were so fixed on my memory as to be often mingled with solemn reveries in after years. petitions were presented in the pennsylvania legislature for the abolition of capital punishment. senator sullivan, chairman of the committee to which they were referred, wrote to mr. niblock for the scripture view. he was ill and requested me to answer, which i did, and mr. sullivan drew liberally from my arguments in his report against granting the petitions. the report was attacked, and i defended it in several letters published in a butler paper--anonymously--and this was my first appearance in print, except a short letter published by george d. prentiss, in the louisville _journal_, of which i remember nothing, save the strangeness of seeing my thoughts in print. chapter xiv. swissvale.--age, 26, 27. in april, 1842, my husband took possession of the old home in the valley, and we went there to live. there were large possibilities in the old house, and we soon had a pleasant residence. i had the furniture mother left me, and a small income from her estate. the farm i named "swissvale," and such is the name thereof. when the pennsylvania railroad was built it ran through it, but not in sight of the house, and the station was called for the homestead. in the summer of '42 i began to write stories and rhymes, under the _nom de plume_ of "jennie deans," for _the dollar newspaper_ and _neal's saturday gazette_, both of philadelphia. reece c. fleeson published an anti-slavery weekly in pittsburg, _the spirit of liberty_, and for this i wrote abolition articles and essays on woman's right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. my productions were praised, and my husband was provoked that i did not use my own name. if i were not ashamed of my articles, why not sign them? he had not given up the idea that i should preach. indeed, he held me accountable for most of the evils in the world, on the ground that i could overthrow them if i would. elizabeth was married in june, and went to ohio. in the autumn, my husband's mother and the boys came to live with us, to which i made no objection, for "honor thy father and mother" was spoken as much to him as to me. maybe i had some spiritual pride in seeing that she turned from her converted daughters, who were wealthy and lived near, to make a home with unregenerate me. she liked my housekeeping, and "grandmother," as i always called her, with her white 'kerchiefs and caps, sitting by the fireplace plying her knitting-needles, became my special pride. my husband had converted the louisville goods into one panther, one deer, two bears, and a roll of "wildcat" money. it was not very good stock with which to begin life on a farm, but the monotony was relieved by a hooking, kicking cow, and a horse which broke wagons to splinters. tom, the panther, was domiciled in the corner made by the old stone chimney and the log wall of the house, close to the path which led to the garden. the bears were chained in the meadow behind the house and billy, the deer, ranged at will. tom and the bears ate pigs and poultry so fast that we gave up trying to raise any, while billy's visits to the garden did not improve the vegetables. i tried to establish some control over tom, as a substitute for the fear he felt for his master, who was not always within call, and who insisted that tom could be tamed so as to serve the place of a watchdog. tom had been quite obedient for tom, and my terror for him had abated. i was interested in the heathen of india, and was president of a society which met in pittsburg. coming home from a meeting, i was thrown out of a buggy and so badly hurt that i was kept in bed six weeks. when i began to go out on crutches, i started to go to the garden, and forgot tom until i heard him growl. he lay flat, with his nose on his paws, his tail on the ground straight as a ramrod, save a few inches at the tip, which wagged slowly, his eyes green and fiery, and i not three feet from his head, and just in reach, even if his chain held; but i had seen it break in one of those springs which he was now preparing to make. there was no help near! he would spring for my head and shoulders. if these were out of his way, he could not hold me by my dress which, was a thin muslin wrapper. he was not likely to leap until something moved, and might lie there sometime. i had heard that a panther will not jump under the gaze of a human eye, so i looked steadily into his, while i talked to him. "tom! tom! down sir," and so tried to recall his knowledge of me. fortunately my feet were a little in advance of my crutches, and while i looked and talked, holding my body motionless, i was planting my crutches and throwing my weight on my well foot. i heard the girl coming out of the house and knew the time had come. with all my strength i swung myself backward as he made the leap. his hot breath rushed into my face, his fiery eyes glared close to mine, but his chain was too short. then i knew i had no mission for taming panthers. from the first i had feared that he would kill some child, and it was impossible to prevent them trooping to see him. after my own narrow escape i protested so strongly against keeping him, that my husband consented to sell him to a menagerie; but those which came were supplied with panthers, and, although he was a splendid specimen, full nine feet long, no sale was found for him. that adventure supplied memory with a picture, which for long years breathed and never was absent. if it was not before me it was in some corner, and i knew tom was crouched to spring on me; his fiery eyes glared, the tip of his tail wagged, and he was waiting, only waiting for me to move. often when i woke at night, he was on my bed or in a corner of the room. he was hidden in fence corners and behind bushes on the roadside, and mary's little lamb was never half so faithful as my phantom panther. my husband could not understand the fear i felt, nor realize the danger of keeping him. he enjoyed his own mastery over him, and with a box on the side of the head he made tom whine and crouch like a spaniel. i have often wondered that in all the accounts i have ever read of lights with wild animals, no one ever planted a good fist-blow under the ear of his four-legged antagonist, and so stretch it out stiff to await his leisure in disposing of it. chapter xv. willows by the water-courses.--age, 27. pennsylvania customs made it unmanly for a man or boy to aid any woman, even mother or wife, in any hard work with which farms abounded at that time. dairy work, candle and sausage making were done by women, and any innovation was met with sneers. i stubbornly refused to yield altogether to a time-honored code, which required women to perform outdoor drudgery, often while men sat in the house, and soon had the sympathy of our own boys; for it was often impossible to obtain any domestic help, though pittsburg "charitable" people supported hundreds of women in idleness who might have had homes and wages in farmhouses. much of the natural beauty of swissvale had been destroyed by pioneer improvements, which i sought in some degree to replace. i loved the woods, and with my little grubbing-hoe transplanted many wild and beautiful things. this my mother-in-law did not approve, as her love for the beautiful was satisfied by a flower border in the garden. one day she said: "james, i would not have that willow in that corner. the roots will get into the race. it is the real basket willow, and if you cut it into stubs and stick them in the swamp, you can sell enough willow to buy all your baskets." i replied: "grandmother, you forget that is my tree; i want it to drape that bare knoll. the roots will run below the bed of the race. the boys can get plenty of stubs at flemming's." she only replied by a "humph!" and next day i discovered my tree had been sawed into pieces and planted in the swamp. words would not restore it, and i wasted none; but next morning rose early, and, hatchet in hand, went to the parent tree, climbed on a fence and cut off a limb, which i dragged home, feeling glad that anything had brought me a walk on such a glorious morning. i planted the main stock in that corner, then put about a hundred twigs in the swamp for basket willow. in a few days my second tree disappeared, and i brought another, for a tree there was indispensable, and i hoped to make my husband see as i did, and thought i had won his consent to willows. so i went up and down the race and runs, putting in twigs, and thinking of the "willows by the watercourses," and israel's lament: "by babel's streams we sat and wept when zion we thought on, in midst thereof we hanged our harps the willow trees upon." i was banished from my zion, never permitted to hear the teachings of my old pastor, for which my soul panted as the thirsty hart for the water brooks, and in my babylon i wanted willows. some of my plantings were permitted to remain, and swissvale is now noted for its magnificent willows; but that main tree was chopped up and burned. in its stead i planted a young chestnut, where it still stands, a thing of beauty and joy to the boys. chapter xvi. the waters grow deep.--age, 29. the plans for my conversion seemed to be aided by our coming to the farm, as i fitted up the "prophet's chamber" to entertain my husband's friends in his house. there were two preachers in the circuit. the eldest, a plain, blunt man, began on his first visit to pelt me with problems about "man-made ministers" and calvinism. i replied by citing the election of abraham, jacob, and the entire jewish nation, and by quoting the 8th chapter of romans, until he seemed to despair and came no more, for they could not accept my hospitality while i refused their religion. the other circuit rider was young, handsome and zealous, and was doing a great work in converting young girls. on his first visit i thought him rude. on his second, he inquired at table: "is this the place where they put onions into everything?" i replied that we used none in tea or coffee. when i joined him and my husband in the parlor, he waved his hand around the room to point out its decorations and said: "brother james tells me that this is all your work. it is quite wonderful, and now, sister, what a pity it is that you will not turn your attention to religion. you seem to do everything so well." he motioned as if to lay his hand on my shoulder. i drew back and said: "excuse me, sir, but i am not your sister; and as for your religion you remind me with it of doctor jaynes and his hair tonic." "how so, sister?" "again pardon, but i am not your sister. doctor jaynes uses a large part of his column to persuade us that it is good to have good hair. no one disputes that, and he should prove that his tonic will bring good hair. so you talk of the importance of religion. no one disputes this, and it is your business to prove that the nostrum you peddle is religion. i say it is not. it is a system of will worship. religion is obedience to god's law. you teach people that they can, and do, obey this law perfectly, while they do not know it. your church has no bibles in her pews, few in her families, and these unread. preachers and all, not one in twenty can repeat the ten commandments. you are blind leaders of the blind, and must all fall into the ditch, destroyed for lack of knowledge!" that week he proposed to abandon the swissvale meeting-house, and build one in wilkinsburg, giving as a reason the impossibility of keeping up a congregation with me on the farm. next conference sent rev. henderson as presiding elder, who brought in a new era. he slept in the "prophet's chamber," admired my pretty rooms, and said nothing about my getting religion. the circuit preacher was of the same mind, an earnest, modest, young man, wrestling with english grammar, who on his first visit sought my help about adverbs, while my mother-in-law looked on in evident displeasure. to her this was the dawn of that new day, in which the methodist church rivals all others in her institutions of learning. the good time of inspiration was slipping away. what wonder that she clutched it as jacob did his angel? there in that house she had for long years been an oracle to inspired men, and now to see god's spirit displaced by kirkham's grammar was rank infidelity. the wilkinsburg meeting-house was being built, and that one which had been to her all that the temple ever was to solomon, would be left to the owls and bats--her zion desolate. those walls, made sacred by visions of glory and shouts of triumph, would crumble to ruin in the clinging silence. how could she but think that the influence was evil which could bring such result? the new building was consecrated with much ceremony. the two hendersons staid with, us, and on sabbath morning consulted me as to the best way of taking up subscriptions. mother-in-law looked on till she could bear it no longer, and said: "brother henderson, if you mean to be in time for love feast, you must not stay fooling there." both men sprang to their feet, hurried away and never returned. general conference at its session in baltimore, in 1840, passed the "black gag" law, which forbade colored members of the church to give testimony in church-trials against white members, in any state where they were forbidden to testily in courts. four members of the pittsburg conference voted for it, and when my husband returned from the dedication, i learned that three of them had figured prominently in the exercises, and he had refused to commune on account of their ministrations. everything went smoothly for ten days, when my husband came to our room, where i sat writing, threw himself on the bed and poured out such a torrent of accusations as i had not dreamed possible, and of which i refrain from giving any adequate description. i looked up and saw that he was livid with rage. his words appeared the ravings of a mad man, yet there was method in them, and no crime in the calendar with which they did not charge me. butter money was not accounted for, pickles and preserves missing, things about the house were going to destruction, the country was full of falsehoods and i had told them all. it was all a blur of sound and fury, but in it stood out these words: "you ruined samuel, and now you are trying to ruin the boys and those two fool preachers. people know it, too, and i am ashamed to show my face for the talk." when he seemed to have finished, i asked: "how long since you learned my real character?" this spurred him to new wrath, and he exclaimed: "there now, that's the next of it. you will go and tell that i've abused you. it's not me. i never suspected your honesty, but my mother, yes, my poor old mother. i would not care, if you could only behave yourself before my mother!" i sat leaning my elbows on my table with my head in my hands, and the words "ruined samuel" became a refrain. i thought of the danger out of which i had plucked him while in louisville, of the force with which i had grappled him with hooks of steel, as he hung on the outer edge of that precipice of dissipation, while i clung to the almighty arm for help. i thought of the tears and solemnity with which this man had given to me the dying message of that rescued brother. earth seemed to be passing away, and to leave no standing room. i was teaching school in the abandoned meeting-house. it was noon recess and i must hurry or be late. i passed into the hall and out of the house, with the thought "i cross his threshold now for the last time;" but i must remain near and finish my school, when i would be present to meet those monstrous charges before the world. my reveries did not interfere with my school duties, and when they were over i sat in the old meeting-house or walked its one aisle, with the quiet dead lying all around me, thinking of that good fight which i should fight, ere i finished my course, and lay down to rest as they did. but the sun went down, the long twilight drew on the coming night, and i was homeless. where should i go? i thought of the burkhammers, whose little son lay among the dead beside me. i had tended him in his last illness and prepared his body for burial. they were german tenants of judge wilkins and to reach their house i must pass through the dark valley over which now lay a new pall. there were lights in the house as i passed, and tom rattled his chain and gave forth one of those shrieks which pierced the air for a mile. i was glad to know that he was not loose, and that it was only my phantom which crouched in every available place, ready to spring. the bears bellowed a response to his shriek, but i did not hasten. the stream, so loud and angry on that night of my first entrance into this vale of tears, was now low, and sang a lullaby of angelic music as i crossed it on stepping stones. on the hillside it was almost as dark as that night when father olever stopped and felt for the bank with his whip. the burkhammers asked no questions, and i went to sleep without giving any account of my strange visit, but about midnight i awoke myself and the whole family by my sobs. they gathered around my bed, and i must tell. what i said i do not know, but the old man interrupted me with: "oh tamm jim. you stay here mit us. my old woman und me, we has blenty. we dakes care of you. nopody never said nodding bad about you. everypody likes you, caus you is bleasant mit everypody." as he talked he drew his sleeve across his eyes, while his wife and daughter comforted me. i would board there and finish my school, then go to butler and take the seminary, or a place in the common school. i saw no one as i passed my late home next morning. in school the first exercise was bible, reading verse about with the pupils. the xxv (25) chapter of matthew came in order, and while reading its account of the final judgment, i saw as by a revelation why this trouble had been sent to me, and a great flood of light seemed thrown across my path before me. christ's little ones were sick and in prison, and i had not visited them! old martha, standing before her judges, rose up to upbraid me! i was to have followed the lamb, and had been making butter to add to an estate larger now than the owner could use. no wonder she thought i stole the money. i, who had failed to rebuke man-stealing, might steal anything. that meeting-house which i had been helping to build by entertaining its builders and aiding them about subscriptions, it and they were a part of a great man-thieving machine. i had been false to every principle of justice; had been decorating parlors when i should have been tearing down prisons! _i_, helping black gagites build a church! "when thou a thief didst see thou join'st with him in sin."' thinking, reaching out for the path to that bastile which i must attack, i went on with my school duties until my husband walked in and asked why i had not been at home. i was worn with intense strain, and at the word home, burst into a passion of tears. i told the pupils to take their books, and leave, there would be no more school, and i could hear them go around on tip-toe and whisper. twice a pair of little arms were thrown around me, and the sound of the retreating footsteps died away when my husband laid his hand all trembling on my head. i threw it off and begged him to go away, his presence would kill me. he would not go, and i went out into the woods. he followed, and said he had never charged me with an evil thought, much less an action, was the most loving of husbands and the most injured in that i had thought he had found fault with me. he might have spoken a hasty word, but was it right to lay it up against him? i still begged him to leave--that i should die if he did not. he went, and i crossed the fields to the house of thomas dickson, thinking that from it i could get to the city by the river road and fly any where. mrs. dickson made me go to bed, as i was able to go no where else, and here my husband's brother-in-law found me. he had come as peace-maker, and could not think what it all meant; some angry words of james about his mother, who would now go back to live with him. the dicksons joined him with entreaties. if my husband had injured me, he was very, very sorry, was quite overwhelmed with grief for the pain he had cost me. then they brought down the lever of scripture and conscience: "if thy brother offend thee seventy times seven," and i yielded. my husband came and i went home with him that evening, expecting that my mother-in-law was installed in her new home on the hill; but she met and kissed me at the door, and i did not care. nothing could add to the shudder of going into the house, and she seemed so grieved and frightened that my heart was touched, and i was sorry for her that we had ever met. chapter xvii. my name appears in print.--age, 29. it was the third morning after my return, that my head would not leave the pillow. dr. carothers came and blistered me from head to feet, and for three weeks i saw no one but my attendants and my phantom panther. he never left me. there was one corner of the room in which he stayed most, and sometimes there was not room for his tail to wag, and then he moved forward where i could not see his head. this troubled me, for then i could not hold him with my eyes. at night they were two balls of green fire; but they had always been, only when i was well i could turn my head away, now i could not move it. i knew most of the time it was a shadow from my brain, but was glad to hear tom's chain rattle and feel sure it was not his very self. they nursed me carefully, and i lay thinking of the "little ones sick and in prison." old martha came and plead with me. i saw liza and maria under the lash for the crime of chastity, and myself the accomplice of their brutal masters. i pictured one of them a member of the m.e. church, appealing to that church for redress and spurned under the "black gag," and i? why i had been helping men who voted for it to build a meeting-house! what was peter's denial compared to mine? the case arranged itself in my mind. i had writing materials brought, and there, with my head fast on the pillow, i wrote a hexameter rhyme half a column long, arraigning by name those black gag preachers, painting the scene, and holding them responsible. i signed my initials, and sent it to mr. fleeson, with a note telling him to give my name if it was inquired for. our "spirit" did not come that week; but soon my husband came to my room with a copy of "the pittsburg gazette," in which was an editorial and letter full of pious horror and denunciation of that article, and giving my name as the author; so that we knew mr. fleeson had published the name in full. this was my first appearance in print over my own signature, and while i was shocked, my husband was delighted, even though he knew a libel suit was threatened. i soon went to pittsburg, saw william elder and john a. wills, the only anti-slavery lawyers in the city. they said the article was actionable, for it had brought those men into contempt. elder added: "they are badly hurt, or they would not cry out so loud." both tendered their gratuitous services for my defense. in a civil suit we could prove the truth of the charge, and they could get nothing, for my husband owned no property--everything belonged to his mother--and my trustees could not be held for my misdeeds. their action would doubtless be criminal, and i would probably be imprisoned. i went home and wrote a reply to the _gazette_, which it refused to publish, but it appeared in the _spirit_. i reiterated, urged and intensified my charges against these false priests, until they were dumb about their injuries and libel suit, but of that original article i never could get a copy. every one had been sold and resold, and read to rags, before i knew it was in print. i continued to write for the "spirit," but still there did not seem to be anything i could do for the slave. as soon as i was able to be about the house, i fell into my old round of drudgery, but with hope and pride shut out of it. once my burden pressed so that i could not sleep, and rose at early dawn, and sat looking over the meadow, seeing nothing but a dense, white fog. i leaned back, closed my eyes and thought how like it was to my own life. when i looked again, oh, the vision of glory which, met my sight! the rising sun had sent, through an opening in the woods, a shaft of light, which centred on a hickory tree that stood alone in the meadow, and was then in the perfection of its golden autumn glory. it dripped with moisture, blazed and shimmered. the high lights were diamond tipped, and between them and the deepest shadow was every tint of orange and yellow, mingled and blended in those inimitable lines of natural foliage. over it, through it, and around it, rolled the white fog, in great masses, caressing the earth and hanging from the zenith, like the veil of the temple of the most high. all around lay the dark woods, framing in the vision like serried ranks encompassing a throne, to which great clouds rolled, then lifted and scudded away, like couriers coming for orders and hastening to obey them. john's new jerusalem never was so grand! no square corners and forbidding walls. the gates were not made of several solid pearls, but of millions of pearletts, strung on threads of love, offering no barriers through which any soul might not pass. my patmos had been visited and i could dwell in it, work and wait; but i would live in it, not lie in a tomb, and once more i took hold of life. i organized a society at which we read, had refreshments and danced--yea, broke church rules and practiced promiscuous dancing minus promiscuous kissing. of course this was wicked. i roamed the woods, brought wild flowers and planted them, set out berry bushes, and collected a large variety of roses and lilies. chapter xviii. mexican war.--age, 30-32. james g. birney was the presidential candidate of the "liberty party" in 1844, as he had been in '40. during the campaign i wrote under my initials for _the spirit of liberty_, and exposing the weak part of an argument soon came to be my recognized forte. for using my initials i had two reasons--my dislike and dread of publicity and the fear of embarrassing the liberty party with the sex question. abolitionists were men of sharp angles. organizing them was like binding crooked sticks in a bundle, and one of the questions which divided them was the right of women to take any prominent part in public affairs. in that campaign, the great whig argument against the election of polk was, that it would bring on a war with mexico for the extension of slavery, and when the war came, whigs and liberty party men vied with each other in their cry of "our country, right or wrong!" and rushed into the army over every barrier set up by their late arguments. the nation was seized by a military madness, and in the furore, the cause of the slave went to the wall, and _the spirit of liberty_ was discontinued. its predecessor, _the christian witness_, had failed under the successive management of william burleigh, dr. elder, and rev. edward smith, three giants in those days, and there seemed no hope that any anti-slavery paper could be supported in pittsburg, while all anti-slavery matter was carefully excluded from both religious and secular press. it was a dark day for the slave, and it was difficult to see hope for a brighter. to me, it seemed that all was lost, unless some one were especially called to speak that truth, which alone could make the people free, but certainly i could not be the messenger. for years there had ran through my head the words, "open thy mouth for the dumb, plead the cause of the poor and needy." the streams sang them, the winds shrieked them, and now a trumpet sounded them, but the words could not mean more than talking in private. i would not, could not, believe they meant more, for the bible in which i read them bid me be silent. my husband wanted me to lecture as did abbey kelley, but i thought this would surely be wrong. the church had silenced me so effectuately, that even now all my sense of the great need of words could not induce me to attempt it; but if i could "plead the cause" through the press, i must write. even this was dreadful, as i must use my own name, for my articles would certainly be libelous. if i wrote at all, i must throw myself headlong into the great political maelstrom, and would of course be swallowed up like a fishing-boat in the great norway horror which decorated our school geographies; for no woman had ever done such a thing, and i could never again hold up my head under the burden of shame and disgrace which would be heaped upon me. but what matter? i had no children to dishonor; all save one who had ever loved me were dead, and she no longer needed me, and if the lord wanted some one to throw into that gulf, no one could be better spared than i. _the pittsburg commercial journal_ was the leading whig paper of western pennsylvania, robert m. riddle, its editor and proprietor. his mother was a member of our church, and i thought somewhere in his veins must stir anti-slavery blood. so i wrote a letter to the _journal_, which appeared with an editorial disclaimer, "but the fair writer should have a hearing." this letter was followed by another, and they continued to appear once or twice a week during several months. i do not remember whom i attacked first, but from first to last my articles were as direct and personal as nathan's reproof to david. of slavery in the abstract i knew nothing. there was no abstraction in tying martha to a whipping-post and scourging her for mourning the loss of her children. the old kentucky saint who bore the torture of lash and brine all that bright sabbath day, rather than "curse jesus," knew nothing of the abstraction of slavery, or the finespun theories of politeness which covered the most revolting crimes with pretty words. this great nation was engaged in the pusillanimous work of beating poor little mexico--a giant whipping a cripple. every man who went to the war, or induced others to go, i held as the principal in the whole list of crimes of which slavery was the synonym. each one seemed to stand before me, his innermost soul laid bare, and his idiosyncrasy i was sure to strike with sarcasm, ridicule solemn denunciations, old truths from bible and history and the opinions of good men. i had a reckless abandon, for had i not thrown myself into the breach to die there, and would i not sell my life at its full value? my style i caught from my crude, rural surroundings, and was familiar to the unlearned, and i was not surprised to find the letters eagerly read. the _journal_ announced them the day before publication, the newsboys cried them, and papers called attention to them, some by daring to indorse, but more by abusing mr. riddle for publishing such unpatriotic and "incendiary rant." in quoting the strong points, a venal press was constrained to "scatter the living coals of truth." the name was held to be a _nom de plume_, for in print it looked so unlike the common pronunciation of that of one of the oldest families in the county that it was not recognized. moreover, it must be a disguise adopted by some man. wiseacres, said one of the county judges. no western pennsylvania woman had ever broken out of woman's sphere. all lived in the very centre of that sacred enclosure, making fires by which, husbands, brothers and sons sat reading the news; each one knowing that she had a soul, because the preacher who made his bread and butter by saving it had been careful to inform her of its existence as preliminary to her knowledge of the indispensable nature of his services. but the men whom i ridiculed and attacked knew the hand which, held the mirror up to nature, and also knew they had a legal remedy, and that to their fines and imprisonment i was as indifferent as to their opinions. one of these, hon. gabriel adams, had taken me by the hand at father's funeral, led me to a stranger and introduced me as: "the child i told you of, but eight years old, her father's nurse and comforter." he had smoothed my hair and told me not to cry; god would bless me for being a good child. he was a member of the session when i joined church; his voice in prayer had soothed mother's hard journey through the dark valley; and now, as mayor of the city, had ordered its illumination in honor of the battle of buena vista, and this, too, on saturday evening, when the unholy glorification extended into the sabbath. measured by the standards of his profession as an elder in the church, whose highest judicatory had pronounced slavery and christianity incompatible; no one was more valuable than he, and of none was i so unsparing, yet as i wrote, the letter was blistered with tears; but his oft repeated comment was: "jane is right," and he went out of his way to take my hand and say, "you were right." samuel black, a son of my pastor, dropped his place as leader of the pittsburg bar and rushed to the war. my comments were thought severe, even for me, yet the first intimation i had that i had not been cast aside as a monster, came from his sister, who sent me a message that her father, her husband and herself, approved my criticism. samuel returned with a colonel's commission, and one day i was about to pass him without recognition, where he stood on the pavement talking to two other lawyers, when he stepped before me and held out his hand. i drew back, and he said: "is it possible you will not take my hand?" i looked at it, then into his manly, handsome face, and answered: "there is blood on it; the blood of women and children slain at their own altars, on their own hearthstones, that you might spread the glorious american institution of woman-whipping and baby-stealing." "oh," he exclaimed, "this is too bad! i swear to you i never killed a woman or a child." "then you did not fight in mexico, did not help to bombard buena vista." his friends joined him, and insisted that i did the colonel great wrong, when he looked squarely into my face and, holding out his hand, said: "for sake of the old church, for sake of the old man, for sake of the old times, give me your hand." i laid it in his, and hurried away, unable to speak, for he was the most eloquent man in pennsylvania. he fell at last at the head of his regiment, while fighting in the battle of fair oaks, for that freedom he had betrayed in mexico. when kossuth was on his starring tour in this country, he used to create wild enthusiasm by "your own late glorious struggle with mexico;" but when he reached that climax in his pittsburg speech a dead silence fell upon the vast, cheering audience. the social ostracism i had expected when i stepped into the political arena, proved to be bunyan lions. instead of shame there came such a crop of glory that i thought of pulling down my barns and building greater, that i might have where to store my new goods. among the press notices copied by the _journal_ was this: "the _pittsburg commercial journal_ has a new contributor who signs her name 'jane g. swisshelm,' dips her pen in liquid gold, and sands her paper with the down from butterflies' wings." this troubled me, because it seemed as though i had been working for praise; still the pretty compliment gratified me. chapter xix. training school. paul fought with beasts at ephesus, as a part of his training for that "good fight" with principalities and powers and iniquity in high places, and i think that tom and the bears helped to prepare me for a long conflict with the southern tiger. i had early come to think that tom would kill some of the children who trooped to see him, and that i should be responsible as i alone saw the danger. this danger i sought to avert, but how to dispose of the beautiful creature i could not conjecture. there was usually a loaded gun in the house, but i was almost as much afraid of it as of tom. all our neighbors were delighted with him and loath to have him killed. i had once tried to poison a cat but failed, and i would not torture tom. i wanted dr. palmer to give me a dose for him, but he declined. i tried in vain to get some one to shoot him. then i thought of striking the great beast on the head with a hatchet, while he had hold of some domestic animal. the plan seemed feasible, but i kept my own council and my hatchet, and practiced with it until i could hit a mark, and thought i could bury the sharp blade in tom's skull. one day, all the men were in the meadow making hay, and i alone getting dinner. john mckelvey came with his great dog, watch. he went up into the meadow, and watch staid in the kitchen. i started to go to the garden for parsley, and found tom crouched to spring on a cow. he made the leap, came short of the cow, which ran away bellowing with terror, and tom had but touched the ground when watch sprang upon him. it was a sight for an amphitheatre. the two great creatures rolled in a struggle, which i knew must be fatal to watch, but thought he could engage tom's attention until i got my hatchet. i ran back for it, took the dinner-horn and blew a blast that would bring one man, and i did not want a thousand. then i ran back to the scene of conflict, horn in one hand, hatchet in the other, and lo! no conflict was there. no tom! no dog! nothing but the torn and bloody ground. horror of horrors, there was a broken chain! tom loose! tom free! now some one would be murdered. i turned to look, and there on a log not a rod from me, he stood with head erect and tail drooping, his white throat, jaws and broken chain dripping with blood, and with my first thankfulness that he had not escaped, came admiration for the splendid sight: the bold, sweeping curves and graceful motion as he turned his head to listen. then i learned panthers went by sound, not scent. i blew another blast on the horn and went toward him, for i must not lose sight of him. if he attacked me, could i defend myself with the hatchet? when they found me i would be horrible to look upon, and it would kill elizabeth. will my peas burn? the flies will get into that pitcher of cream. if i am killed, they will forget to put parsley in the soup. tom changed his weight from one fore-claw to the other, and gnashed his teeth. "here, the king and i are standing face and face together; king tom, how is your majesty, it's mighty pleasant weather." so ran my thoughts in the intense strain of that waiting. it must be full ten minutes before tom's master could get to the house after that first blast, and if he did not hear that, must be too late; but tom kept his place and my husband rushed by me, carrying the pitchfork with which he had been at work, and i saw no more until tom was in his cage. watch had dragged himself to his master's feet to die, and i went into the house and finished getting dinner, more than ever afraid of tom and more than ever at a loss to know how to get rid of him. yet he still lived and rattled his chain by the garden path, but it was a year before our next adventure. one summer morning at sunrise i was shocked out of sleep by shrieks and shouts and scurrying feet. i sprang out of bed and rushed into the hall in time to see tom dash out of it into the dining-room, mother-in-law and the girl disappearing up stairs and the two hired men through the barn door. my husband soon followed tom, who had taken refuge under a large heavy falling-leaf table, and seemed inclined to stay there. this time his collar was broken and feeling the advantage he paid no heed to the hand or voice of his quandom master. he would not move, but growled defiance, and the table protected him from a blow under the ear, so his late master became utterly nonplussed. if the cage were there, the great beast would probably go into it, but how get it there? the wealth of india would not have induced one of those men to come out of that barn, or one of those women to come down those stairs. something must be done, and i proposed to hold tom while my husband brought the cage. he hesitated. i was not in good fighting trim, for my hair which was long and heavy had fallen loose, but preparation could avail nothing. the only hope lay in perfect coolness and a steady gaze. i knelt and took hold of tom by the back of the neck, talked to him and thought that cage was long in coming. he shifted his weight and seemed about to get up. this meant escape, and i held him hard, commanding him to "lie down, sir." he blinked at me, seemed quite indifferent and altogether comfortable. by and by, the man who had ceased to be master returned without the cage, utterly demoralized; and was here without a weapon, without a plan. i resigned my place and told him i would bring a rope. this i intended to do, and also my hatchet. i had but gotten half way to the front door when there was a scuffle, the loud voice of my husband, shrieks up stairs, rattling of furniture and crashing of glass, and when i got back to the room i saw the tip of tom's tail disappearing. he had gone through the window and taken the sash with him. he ran into his cage, and that was his last taste of liberty; but he lived a year after, chained in a corn crib. every evening in the gloaming he would pace back and forth, raise his kingly head, utter his piercing shriek, then stop and hark for a response; walk again, shriek and listen, while the bears would bellow an answer. the bears, too, were often exciting and interesting. once i rescued a toddling child when running towards "big bear," and not more than two feet from where he stood waiting with hungry eyes. at another time, they both broke loose, on a bitter cold day when i was alone in the house. i defended myself with fire, meeting them at every door and window with a hickory brand. i wondered as they went round and round the house, if they would stop in the chimney corner, and make the acquaintance of tom; but they took no notice of him, and after they had eaten several buckets of porridge, they concluded there was nothing in the house they wanted, so became good natured and went and climbed a tree. such schoolmasters must have imparted a flavor of savagery to my mexican war letters, which attracted readers as they did visitors. chapter xx. rights of married women. after mother's death, i prosecuted to a successful issue a suit for the recovery of the house in which i was born. it stood on water street, near market, and our lawyer, walter lowrie, afterwards supreme judge, was to have given us possession of the property on the 1st of july, 1845, which would add eight hundred dollars a year to the income of my sister and myself. but on the 10th of april, the great fire swept away the building and left a lot bearing ground rent. property rose and we had a good offer for the lease. every one was willing to sell, but the purchasers concluded that both our husbands must sign the deed. to this no objection was made, and we met, in william shinn's office, when my husband refused to sign unless my share of the purchase money were paid to him. mother's will was sacred to me. the money he proposed to put in improvements on the swissvale mills. these, in case of his death before his mother, would go to his brothers. i had not even a dower right in the estate, and already the proceeds of my labor and income from my separate estate were put upon it. i refused to give him the money, and on my way alone from the lawyer's office it occurred to me that all the advances made by humanity had been through the pressure of injustice, and that the screws had been turned on me that i might do something to right the great wrong which forbade a married woman to own property. so, instead of spending my strength quarreling with the hand, i would strike for the heart of that great tyranny. i borrowed books from judge wilkins, took legal advice from colonel black, studied the laws under which i lived, and began a series of letters in the _journal_ on the subject of a married woman's right to hold property. i said nothing of my own affairs and confined myself to general principles, until a man in east liberty furnished me an illustration, and with it i made the cheeks of men burn with anger and shame. the case was that of a young german merchant who married the daughter of a wealthy farmer. her father gave her a handsome outfit in clothes and furniture. she became ill soon after marriage, her sister took her place as housekeeper and nursed her till she died, after bequeathing the clothes and furniture to the sister; but the sorrowing husband held fast to the property and proposed to turn it into money. the father wanted it as souvenirs of his lost child, and tried to purchase of him, but the husband raised the price until purchase was impossible, when he advertised the goods for sale at vendue. the father was an old citizen, highly respected, and so great contempt and indignation was felt, that at the vendue no one would bid against him, so the husband's father came forward and ran up the price of the articles. when her riding dress, hat and whip were held up, there was a general cry of shame. the incident came just in time for my purpose, so i turned every man's scorn against himself, said to them: "gentlemen, these are your laws! your english ancestors made them! your fathers brought them across the water and planted them here, where they flourish like a green bay tree. you robbed that wife of her right to devise her own property--that husband is simply your agent." lucretia mott and mary a. grew, of philadelphia, labored assiduously for the same object, and in the session of '47 and '48, the legislature of pennsylvania secured to married women the right to hold property. soon after the passage of the bill, william a. stokes said to me: "we hold you responsible for that law, and i tell you now, you will live to rue the day when you opened such a pandora's box in your native state, and cast such an apple of discord into every family in it." his standing as a lawyer entitled his opinion to respect, and as he went on to explain the impossibility of reconciling that statute with, the general tenor of law and precedent, i was gravely apprehensive. the public mind was not prepared for so great a change; there had been no general demand for it; lawyers did not know what to do with it, and judges shook their heads. indeed, there was so much doubt and opposition that i feared a repeal, until some months after col. kane came to me and said: "there is a young lawyer from steubenville named stanton who would like to be introduced to you." i was in a gracious mood and consented to receive the young lawyer named stanton. as he came into the room and advanced toward me, immediately i felt myself in the presence of a master mind, of a soul born to command. when introduced he gravely took my hand, and said: "i called to congratulate you upon the passage of your bill. it is a change i have long desired to see." we sat and talked on the subject some time, and my fears vanished into thin air. if this man had taken that law into favor it would surely stand, and as he predicted be "improved and enlarged." i have never been so forcibly impressed by any stranger. his compactness of body and soul, the clear outlines of face and figure, the terseness of his sentences, and firmness yet tenderness of his voice, were most striking; and as he passed down the long room after taking leave my thought was: "mr. stanton you have started for some definite point in life, some high goal, and you will reach it." this was prophetic, for he walked into the war department of this nation at a time when it is probable no other man in it, could have done the work there which freedom demanded in her hour of peril, for this young man was none other than edwin m. stanton, the ajax of the great rebellion. chapter xi. the pittsburg saturday visiter. after the war, abolitionists began to gather their scattered forces and wanted a liberty party organ. to meet this want, charles p. shiras started the _albatross_ in the fall of '47. he was the "iron city poet," author of "dimes and dollars" and "owe no man a dollar." he was of an old and influential family, had considerable private fortune, was courted and flattered, but laid himself and gifts on the altar of liberty. his paper was devoted to the cause of the slave and of the free laborer, and started with bright prospects. he and mr. fleeson urged me to become a regular contributor, but mr. riddle objected, and the _journal_ had five hundred readers for every one the _albatross_ could hope. in the one i reached the ninety and nine unconverted, while in the other i must talk principally to those who were rooted and grounded in the faith. so i continued my connection with the _journal_ until i met james mcmasters, a prominent abolitionist, who said sorrowfully: "well, the last number of the _albatross_ will be issued on thursday." "is it possible?" "possible and true! that is the end of its first quarter, and shiras gives it up. in fact we all do. no use trying to support an abolition paper here." while he spoke a thought struck me like a lightning flash, and he had but finished speaking, when i replied: "i have a great notion to start a paper myself." he was surprised, but caught at the idea, and said: "i wish you would. you can make it go if anybody can, and we'll do all we can to help you." i did not wait to reply, but hurried after my husband, who had passed on, soon overtook and told him the fate of the _albatross_. for this he was sorry, for he always voted a straight abolition ticket. i repeated to him what i had said to mr. mcmasters, when he said: "nonsense!" then reflected a little, and added, "well, i do not know after all but it would be a good idea. riddle makes lots of money out of your letters." when we had talked about five minutes, he turned to attend to business and i went to the _journal_ office. i found mr. riddle in his sanctum, and told him the _albatross_ was dead; the liberty party without an organ, and that i was going to start the _pittsburg saturday visitor;_ the first copy must be issued saturday week, so that abolitionists would not have time to be discouraged, and that i wanted him to print my paper. he had pushed his chair back from his desk, and sat regarding me in utter amazement while i stated the case, then said: "what do you mean? are you insane? what does your husband say?" i said my husband approved, the matter was all arranged, i would use my own estate, and if i lost it, it was nobody's affair. he begged me to take time to think, to send my husband to him, to consult my friends. told me my project was ruinous, that i would lose every dollar i put into it, and begged, entreated me to take time; but all to no purpose, when a bright idea came to him. "you would have to furnish a desk for yourself, you see there is but one in this room, and there is no other place for you. you could not conduct a paper and stay at home, but must spend a good deal of time here!" then i suddenly saw the appalling prospect thus politely presented. i had never heard of any woman save mary kingston working in an office. her father, a prominent lawyer, had employed her as his clerk, when his office was in their dwelling, and the situation was remarkable and very painful; and here was i, looking not more than twenty, proposing to come into the office of the handsome stranger who sat bending over his desk that he might not see me blush for the unwomanly intent. mr. riddle was esteemed one of the most elegant and polished gentlemen in the city, with fine physique and fascinating manners. he was a man of the world, and his prominence had caused his name to become the target for many an evil report in the bitter personal conflicts of political life. i looked the facts squarely in the face and thought: "i have been publicly asserting the right of woman to earn a living as book-keepers, clerks, sales-women, and now shall i shrink for fear of a danger any one must meet in doing as i advised? this is my red sea. it can be no more terrible than the one which confronted israel. duty lies on the other side, and i am going over! 'speak unto the children of israel that they go forward.' the crimson waves of scandal, the white foam of gossip, shall part before me and heap themselves up as walls on either hand." so rapidly did this reflection pass through my mind, or so absorbed was i with it, that there had been no awkward pause when i replied: "i will get a desk, shall be sorry to be in your way, but there is plenty of room and i can be quiet." he seemed greatly relieved, and said cheerfully: "oh yes, there is plenty of room, i can have my desk moved forward and take down the shutters, when there will be plenty of light. heretofore you have been jove thundering from a cloud, but if you will come down to dwell with mortals we must make a place for you." taking down the shutters meant exposing the whole interior of the room to view, from a very public street; and after he had exhausted every plea for time to get ready, he engaged to have the first copy of the _visiter_ printed on the day i had set. he objected to my way of spelling the word, but finding i had johnson for authority, would arrange the heading to suit. i was in a state of exaltation all forenoon, and when i met my husband at dinner, the reaction had set in, and i proposed to countermand the order, when he said emphatically: "you will do no such thing. the campaign is coming, you have said you will start a paper, and now if you do not, i will." the coming advent was announced, but i had no arrangements for securing either advertisements or subscribers. josiah king, now proprietor of the _pittsburg gazette_ and james h. mcclelland called at the _journal_ office and subscribed, and with these two supporters, the _pittsburg saturday visiter_, entered life. the mechanical difficulty of getting out the first number proved to be so great that the forms were not on the press at 3 p.m. by five the streets were so blocked by a waiting crowd, that vehicles went around by other ways, and it was six o'clock, jan. 20th, 1848, when the first copy was sold at the counter. i was in the editorial room all afternoon, correcting proof to the last moment, and when there was nothing more i could do, was detained by the crowd around the doors until it was after eleven. editors and reporters were gathered in the sanctum, and mr. riddle stood by his desk pointing out errors to some one who should have prevented them, when i had my wraps on ready to start. mr. fleeson, then a clerk on the _journal_, stepped out, hat in hand, and bowing to the proprietor, said: "mr. riddle, it is your privilege to see mrs. swisshelm to her lodgings, but as you seem to decline, i hope you will commission me." mr. fleeson was a small man and mr. riddle had drawn himself to his full height and stood looking down at him, saying: "i want it distinctly understood that mrs. swisshelm's relations in this office are purely those of business. if she requires anything of any man in it, she will command him and her orders shall be obeyed. she has not ordered my attendance, but has kept her servant here all the evening to see her to her friend's house, and this should be sufficient notice to any gentleman that she does not want him." during the ten years we used the same editorial-room. mr. riddle was often absent on the days i must be there, and always secured plenty of light by setting away the shutters when i entered. he generally made it necessary for me to go to his house and settle accounts, and never found it convenient to offer his escort to any place unless accompanied by his wife. the _visiter_ was three years old when he turned one day, examined me critically, and exclaimed: "why do you wear those hideous caps? you seem to have good hair. mrs. riddle says she knows you have, and she and some ladies were wondering only yesterday, why you do make yourself such a fright." the offending cap was a net scarf tied under the chin, and i said, "you know i am subject to quinsy, and this cap protects my tonsils." he turned away with a sigh, and did not suspect that my tonsils had no such protection outside the office, where i must meet a great many gentlemen and make it apparent that what i wanted of them was votes! votes!! votes for the women sold on the auction block, scourged for chastity, robbed of their children, and that admiration was no part of my object. any attempt to aid business by any feminine attraction was to my mind revolting in the extreme, and certain to bring final defeat. in nothing has the church of rome shown more wisdom than in the costume of her female missionaries. when a woman starts out in the world on a mission, secular or religious, she should leave her feminine charms at home. had i made capital of my prettiness, i should have closed the doors of public employment to women for many a year, by the very means which now makes them weak, underpaid competitors in the great workshop of the world. one day mr. riddle said: "i wish you had been here yesterday. robert watson called. he wanted to congratulate us on the relations we have for so long maintained. we have never spoken of it, but you must have known the risk of coming here. he has seen it, says he has watched you closely, and you are an exception to all known law, or the harbinger of a new era in human progress." robert watson was a retired lawyer of large wealth, who watched the world from his study, and philosophized about its doings; and when mr. riddle had given me this conclusion, the subject was never again referred to in our years of bargaining, buying and selling, paying and receipting. chapter xxii. reception of the visiter. while preparing matter for the first number of the _visiter_, i had time to think that so far as any organization was concerned, i stood alone. i could not work with garrison on the ground that the constitution was pro-slavery, for i had abandoned that in 1832, when our church split on it and i went with the new school, who held that it was then anti-slavery. the covenanters, before it was adopted, denounced it as a "covenant with death and an agreement with hell." i had long ago become familiar with the arguments on that side, and i concluded they were fallacious, and could not go back to them even for a welcome into the abolition ranks. the political action wing of the anti-slavery party had given formal notice that no woman need apply for a place among them. true, there was a large minority who dissented from this action, but there was division enough, without my furnishing a cause for contention. so i took pains to make it understood that i belonged to no party. i was fighting slavery on the frontier plan of indian warfare, where every man is captain-lieutenants, all the corporals and privates of his company. i was like the israelites in the days when there was no king, and "every man did that which, was right in his own eyes." it seemed good unto me to support james g. birney, for president, and to promulgate the principles of the platform on which he stood in the last election. this i would do, and no man had the right or power to stop me. my paper was a six column weekly, with a small roman letter head, my motto, "speak unto the children of israel that they go forward," the names of my candidates at the head of the editorial column and the platform inserted as standing matter. it was quite an insignificant looking sheet, but no sooner did the american eagle catch sight of it, than he swooned and fell off his perch. democratic roosters straightened out their necks and ran screaming with terror. whig coons scampered up trees and barked furiously. the world was falling and every one had "heard it, saw it, and felt it." it appeared that on some inauspicious morning each one of three-fourths of the secular editors from maine to georgia had gone to his office suspecting nothing, when from some corner of his exchange list there sprang upon him such a horror as he had little thought to see. a woman had started a political paper! a woman! could he believe his eyes? a woman! instantly he sprang to his feet and clutched his pantaloons, shouted to the assistant editor, when he, too, read and grasped frantically at his cassimeres, called to the reporters and pressmen and typos and devils, who all rushed in, heard the news, seized their nether garments and joined the general chorus, "my breeches! oh, my breeches!" here was a woman resolved to steal their pantaloons, their trousers, and when these were gone they might cry "ye have taken away my gods, and what have i more?" the imminence of the peril called for prompt action, and with one accord they shouted, "on to the breach, in defense of our breeches! repel the invader or fill the trenches with our noble dead." "that woman shall not have _my_ pantaloons," cried the editor of the big city daily; "nor my pantaloons" said the editor of the dignified weekly; "nor my pantaloons," said he who issued manifestos but once a month; "nor mine," "nor mine," "nor mine," chimed in the small fry of the country towns. even the religious press could not get past the tailor shop, and "pantaloons" was the watchword all along the line. george d. prentiss took up the cry, and gave the world a two-third column leader on it, stating explicitly, "she is a man all but the pantaloons." i wrote to him asking a copy of the article, but received no answer, when i replied in rhyme to suit his case: perhaps you have been busy horsewhipping sal or lizzie, stealing some poor man's baby, selling its mother, may-be. you say--and you are witty- that i--and, tis a pity- of manhood lack but dress; but you lack manliness, a body clean and new, a soul within it, too. nature must change her plan ere you can be a man. this turned the tide of battle. one editor said, "brother george, beware of sister jane." another, "prentiss has found his match." he made no reply, and it was not long until i thought the pantaloon argument was dropped forever. there was, however, a bright side to the reception of the _visiter_. horace greeley gave it respectful recognition, so did n.p. willis and gen. morris in the _home journal_. henry peterson's _saturday evening post, godey's lady's book_, graham's and sargeant's magazines, and the anti-slavery papers, one and all, gave it pleasant greeting, while there were other editors who did not, in view of this innovation, forget that they were american gentlemen. there were some saucy notices from "john smith," editor of _the great west_, a large literary sheet published in cincinnati. after john and i had pelted each other with paragraphs, a private letter told me that she, who had then won a large reputation as john smith, was celia, who afterwards became my very dear friend until the end of her lovely life, and who died the widow of another dear friend, wm. h. burleigh. in the second number of the _visiter_, james h. mcclelland, as secretary of the county convention, published its report and contributed an able article, thus recognizing it as the much needed county organ of the liberty party. chapter xxiii. my crooked telescope. in the autumn of 1847, dr. robert mitchell, of indiana, pa., was tried in pittsburg, in the united states court, before judge grier, for the crime of harboring fugitive slaves. in an old cabin ten miles from indiana, on one of the doctor's farms, some colored men had taken refuge and worked as harvest hands in the neighborhood. to it came the sheriff at midnight with a posse, and after as desperate a resistance as unarmed men could make, two were captured. on one of these was found a note: "kill a sheep and give jerry the half. rob't mitchell." the name of the man who had the note was jerry. it was addressed to a farmer who kept sheep for the doctor, so it was conclusive evidence of the act charged, and the only defense possible was want of knowledge. there was no proof that dr. mitchell knew jerry to be a slave, none, surely, that he knew him to be the property of plaintiff, who was bound to give notice of ownership before he could be entitled to damages from defendant. this defense judge grier overruled, by deciding that no notice was required, the law presumed a guilty knowledge on the part of defendant. under this ruling dr. mitchell was fined $5,000 and the costs, which were $5,000 additional. his homestead and a magnificent tract of pine land lying on the northern slope of the alleghenies, were sold by the sheriff of indiana county to pay the penalty of this act of christian charity; but the dr. said earnestly, "i'll do it again, if they take every dollar i have." this ruling was alarming, for under it, it was unsafe either to sell or give food or lodging to a stranger. the alarm was general, and even pro-slavery men regretted that this necessary act of justice should fall so heavily on so good and gentle a man. there was much unfavorable comment, but all in private, for the pittsburg press quailed before judge grier, and libel laws were the weapon with which he most loved to defend the dignity of the bench. one editor he had kept in jail three months and ruined his business. col. hiram kane was a brilliant writer, a poet and pungent paragraphist, and had at one time criticised some of judge grier's decisions, when by a libel suit the judge had broken up his business and kept him in jail eighteen months. public sentiment was on kane's side, and he had an ovation on his release, when he became city editor of the _journal_. there was disappointment that i had not criticised judge grier's course in the first number of the _visiter_, but this was part of my plan. in the second number i stated that there had been for a long time a great legal luminary visible in the pennsylvania heavens, which had suddenly disappeared. i had been searching for him for several weeks with the best telescopes in the city, and had about given him up as a lost star, when i bethought me of paddy, who had heated his gun-barrel and bent it around a tree so that he might be able to shoot around corners. paddy's idea was so excellent that i had adopted it and made a crooked telescope, by which i had found that luminary almost sixty degrees below our moral horizon. from this i proceeded to the merits of the case. judge grier and dr. mitchell were both elders in the presbyterian church. the judge administered to men the eucharist oath to follow christ, then usurped the law-making power of the united states to punish them for obeying one of the plainest precepts of the master. the article seemed to throw him into a furious passion. he threatened to sue mr. riddle for having the _visiter_ printed and sold in his office, and, as for me, i was to suffer all the pains and penalties which law and public scorn could inflict. he demanded a satisfactory retraction and apology as the least atonement he could accept for the insult. these mr. riddle promised in my name, and i did not hesitate to make the promise good. my next article was headed "an apology," and in it i stated the circumstances which had called it out, and the pleasant prospect of my being sent to mount airy (our county jail) in case this, my apology, was not satisfactory. i should of course do my best to satisfy his honor, but in case of failure, should take comfort in the fact that the mount would make a good observatory. from that height i should be able to use my telescope much better than in my present valley of humiliation. indeed, the mere prospect had so improved my glass, that i had caught a new view of our sunken star, and to-day, this dispenser of justice, this gentleman with the high sense of honor, was a criminal under sentence of death by the divine law. "he who stealeth a man and selleth him, or if he be found in his hand, he shall surely be put to death." judge grier had helped a gang of thieves to steal jerry, whose ancestors had been stolen in africa. the original thief sold all he could sell--the title of a thief--and as the stream cannot rise above the fountain, jerry's master held the same title to him that any man would to judge grier's horse, provided he had stolen it. the purchaser of a stolen horse acquired no title in him, and the purchaser of a stolen man acquired no title in him. the man who helped another steal a horse, was a horse thief, and the man who helped another steal a man, was a man thief, condemned to death by divine law. jerry, after having been once stolen, had recovered possession of himself, and his master and other thieves had re-stolen him! judge grier, with full knowledge of this fact, had prostituted law for the benefit of the thieves. nothing more was heard of a libel suit. two years after, james mcmasters was sued for harboring a fugitive; was to be tried before grier, and spoke to his lawyer about summoning the editor of the _visiter_. the attorney exclaimed: "oh bring her, by all means! no matter what she knows, or whether she knows anything; bring her into court, and i'll win the case for you. grier is more afraid of her than of the devil." the editor was summoned, gave testimony, and found judge grier a most courteous and considerate gentleman, with no signs of fear. the case hung on the question of notice. the judge reversed his former decision, and those who were apt to feed beggars, breathed more freely. a case was tried for the remanding of a slave, and lawyer snowden appeared for the master. the _visiter_ sketched the lawyer as his client's dog, towser; a dog of the blood-hound breed, with a brand new brass collar, running with his nose to the ground, while his owner clapped his hands and shouted: "seek him, seek him towser!" this caught the fancy of the street boys, who called him, "towser, where's your collar?" "seek him, towser." he was the last pittsburg lawyer who took a case against a slave, and public sentiment had so advanced that there never afterwards was a fugitive taken out of the county. chapter xxiv. mint, cummin and annis. while the bench and bar were thus demanding the attention of the _visiter_, the pulpit was examining its morals with a microscope, and defending the sum of all villainies as a bible institution. the american churches, with three exceptions, not only neglected "the weightier matters of the law, judgment and mercy," but were the main defense of the grossest injustice, the most revolting cruelty; and, to maintain an appearance of sanctity, were particularly devout and searching in the investigation of small sins. a religions contemporary discovered that the _visiter_ did actually advertise "jayne's expectorant," and such an expectoration of pious reprehension as this did call forth! the _visiter_ denied that the advertisement was immoral, and carried the war into africa--that old man-stealing africa--and there took the ground that chattel slavery never did exist among the jews; that what we now charge upon them as such was a system of bonded servitude; that the contract was originally between master and servant; the consideration of the labor paid to the servant; that in all cases of transfer, the master sold to another that portion of the time and labor of the servant, which were still due; that there was no hint of any man selling a free man into slavery for the benefit of the seller; that the servants bought from "the heathen around about," were bought from themselves, or in part at least, for their benefit, to bring them under general law and into the church; that nothing like american slavery was ever known in the days of moses, or any other day than that of this great republic, since our slavery was "the vilest that ever saw the sun," john wesley being witness. the _visiter_ cited the purchase by joseph of the people of egypt, and leviticus xxv, xxxix: "if thy brother be waxen poor and sell himself unto thee." the bible had not then been changed to suit the exigencies of slavery. in later editions, "sell himself" is converted into "be sold," but as the passage then stood it was a sledge-hammer with which one might beat the whole pro-slavery bible argument into atoms, and while the _visiter_ used it with all the force it could command, it took the ground that if the bible did sanction slavery, the bible must be wrong, since nothing could make slavery right. chapter xxv. free soil party. the free soil or barnburner party was organized in '48, and nominated martin van buren for president. the _visiter_ dropped its birney flag and raised the van buren standard. in supporting him the editor of the _visiter_ was charged with being false to the cause of the slave, and of playing into the hands of the whigs. all the editor had ever said about that pro-slavery ex-president was cast into its teeth by democratic, liberty party and garrisonian papers, which, one and all, held that van buren was a cunning old fox, as pro-slavery as in those days when, as president of the u.s. senate, he gave his casting vote for the bill which authorized every southern post-master to open all the mail which came to his office, search for and destroy any matter that he might think dangerous to southern institutions. in his present hostility to slavery, he was actuated by personal hatred of louis cass, the democratic candidate, and sought to draw off enough. democratic votes to defeat him. the object of the _visiter_ in supporting van buren was to smash one of the great pro-slavery parties of the nation, or gain an anti-slavery balance of power to counteract the slavery vote for which both contended. a few thousand reliable votes would compel one party to take anti-slavery ground. the van buren movement was almost certain to defeat the democrats, and force the whigs to seek our alliance. true, the free soil platform did not suit liberty party men, who said it simply proposed to confine slavery to its present limits, and not destroy it where it already existed. to all of which, and much more, the little _visiter_ replied, that with van buren's motives it had nothing to do. his present attitude was one of hostility to the spread of slavery, and this being a long step in advance of other parties, was a position desirable to gain and hold. to decline aiding those who proposed to circumscribe slavery because they did not propose its destruction, was as if a soldier should refuse to storm an outpost on the ground that it was not the citadel. checking the advance of an enemy was one step toward driving him off the field, and a rusty cannon might be worth several bright-barreled muskets in holding him at bay. the lord punished israel by the hand of jehu and hazael, both wicked men. slavery was bursting her bounds, coming over on us like the sea on holland. one very dirty shovel might be worth a hundred silver teaspoons in keeping back the waters, and this free soil party could do more to check its advance than a hundred of the little liberty party with that pure patriot, gerrit smith, at its head. in doing right, take all the help you can get, even from satan. let him assist to carry your burden as long as he will travel your road, and only be careful not to turn off with him when he takes his own. the _visitor_ had thousands of readers scattered over every state and territory in the nation, in england and the canadas. it was quoted more perhaps than any other paper in the country, and whether for blame or praise, its sentiments were circulated, and men of good judgment thought it made thousands of votes for the free soil party. chapter xxvi. visit washington.--age, 35. when slavery thought to reap the fruits of the war into which she had plunged the nation with mexico, lo! there was a lion in her path, and not a bunyan lion either, for this kingly beast wore no collar, no chain held him. the roused north had laid her great labor paw on the california gold fields and stood showing her teeth while the serpent with raised crest was coiled to strike, and the world waited and wondered. henry clay, the synonym for compromise, was still in the united states senate, and, with his cat-like tread, stepped in between the belligerents with a cunning device--a device similar to that by which the boys disposed of the knife they found jointly--one was to own, the other to carry and use it. so by this plan the lion was to own california, and the snake was to occupy it as a hunting-ground; nay, not it alone, but every state and territory in the union must be given up to its slimy purposes. in other words, california was to be admitted as a free state, upon condition of the passage of the fugitive slave bill, which authorized the slave-hunter to follow the fugitive into every home, every spot of this broad land; to tear him from any altar, and demand the services of every "good citizen" in his hellish work. men by thousands, once counted friends of freedom, bowed abjectly to this infamous decision. daniel webster, the leading whig statesman, made a set speech in favor of thus giving up the whole country to the dominion of the slave power. it was another great bid for the next presidential nomination, which must be controlled by the south. the danger was imminent, the crisis alarming, and the excitement very great. i longed to be in washington, so i wrote to horace greeley, who answered that he would pay me five dollars a column for letters. it was said that this was the first time a woman had been engaged in that capacity. i went to washington in the early part of '50, going by canal to the western foot of the alleghenies, and then by rail to the foot of the inclined plane, where our cars were wound up and let down by huge windlasses. i was in a whirl of wonder and excitement by this, my first acquaintance with the iron-horse, but had to stay all night in baltimore because the daily train for washington had left before ours came. i had letters to the proprietor of the irving house, where i took board. had others to col. benton, henry clay, and other great men, but he who most interested me was dr. gamaliel bailey, editor of the _national era_. the great want of an anti-slavery paper at the capitol had been supplied by five-dollar subscriptions to a publication fund, and dr. bailey called from cincinnati to take charge of it, and few men have kept a charge with more care and skill. he and the _era_ had just passed the ordeal of a frightful mob, in which he was conciliatory, unyielding and victorious; and he was just then gravely anxious about the great crisis, but most of all anxious that the _era_ should do yeoman service to the cause which had called it into life. the _era_ had a large circulation, and high literary standing, but dr. bailey was troubled about the difficulty or impossibility of procuring anti-slavery tales. mrs. southworth was writing serials for it, and he had hoped that she, a southern woman with northern principles, could weave into her stories pictures of slavery which would call damaging attention to it, but in this she had failed. anti-slavery tales, anti-slavery tales, was what the good doctor wanted. temperance had its story writer in arthur. if only abolition had a good writer of fiction, one who could interest and educate the young. he knew of but one pen able to write what he wanted, and alas, the finances of the _era_ could not command it. if only he could engage mrs. stowe. i had not heard of her, and he explained that she was a daughter of lyman beecher. i was surprised and exclaimed: "a daughter of lyman beecher write abolition stories! saul among the prophets!" i reminded the doctor that president beecher and prof. stowe had broken up the theological department of lane seminary by suppressing the anti-slavery agitation raised by theodore weld, a kentucky student, and threw their influence against disturbing the congregational churches with the new fanaticism; that edward beecher invented the "organic sin," devil, behind which churches and individuals took refuge when called upon to "come up to the help of the lord against the mighty." but dr. bailey said he knew them personally, and that despite their public record, they were at heart anti-slavery, and that prudence alone dictated their course. mrs. stowe was a graphic story-teller, had been in kentucky, taken in the situation and could describe the peculiar institution as no one else could. if he could only enlist her, the whole family would most likely follow into the abolition ranks; but the bounty money, alas, where could he raise it? where there is the will there is a way, and it was but a few months after that conversation when dr. bailey forwarded one hundred dollars to mrs. stowe as a retaining fee for her services in the cause of the slave, and lo! the result, "uncle tom's cabin." as it progressed he sent her another, and then another hundred dollars. was ever money so well expended? that grand old lion, joshua r. giddings, had also passed through the mob, and as i went with him to be presented to president taylor, a woman in the crowd stepped back, drew away her skirts, and with a snarl exclaimed, "a pair of abolitionists!" the whole air of freedom's capital thrilled and palpitated with hatred of her and her cause. on the question of the pending fugitive slave bill, the feeling was intense and bitterly partisan, although not a party measure. mr. taylor, the whig president, had pronounced the bill an insult to the north, and stated his determination to veto it. fillmore, the vice-president, was in favor of it. so, freedom looked to a man owning three hundred slaves, while slavery relied on "a northern man with southern principles." president taylor was hated by the south, was denounced as a traitor to his section, while southern men and women fawned upon and flattered fillmore. webster, the great whig statesman of the north, had bowed the knee to baal, while col. benton, of missouri, was on the side of freedom. the third, or anti-slavery party, represented by chase and hale in the senate, was beginning to make itself felt, and must be crushed and stamped out at all hazards--the infant must be strangled in its cradle. while abolition was scoffed at by hypocritical priests as opening a door to amalgamation, here, in the nation's capital, lived some of our most prominent statesmen in open concubinage with negresses, adding to their income by the sale of their own children, while one could neither go out nor stay in without meeting indisputable testimony of the truth of thomas jefferson's statement: "the best blood of virginia runs in the veins of her slaves." but the case which interested me most was a family of eight mulattoes, bearing the image and superscription of the great new england statesman, who paid the rent and grocery bills of their mother as regularly as he did those of his wife. pigs were the scavengers, mud and garbage the rule, while men literally wallowed in the mire of licentiousness and strong drink. in congress they sat and loafed with the soles of their boots turned up for the inspection of the ladies in the galleries. their language and gestures as they expectorated hither and thither were often as coarse as their positions, while they ranted about the "laws and constitution," and cracked their slave-whips over the heads of the dough-faces sent from the northern states. washington was a great slave mart, and her slave-pen was one of the most infamous in the whole land. one woman, who had escaped from it, was pursued in her flight across the long bridge, and was gaining on the four men who followed her, when they shouted to some on the virginia shore, who ran and intercepted her. seeing her way blocked, and all hope of escape gone, with one wild cry she clasped her hands above her head, sprang into the potomac, and was swept into that land beyond the river death, where alone was hope for the american slave. another woman with her two children was captured on the steps of the capitol building, whither she had fled for protection, and this, too, while the stars and stripes floated over it. one of president tyler's daughters ran away with the man she loved, in order that they might be married, but for this they must reach foreign soil. a young lady of the white house could not marry the man of her choice in the united states. the lovers were captured, and she was brought to his excellency, her father, who sold her to a slave-trader. from that washington slave-pen she was taken to new orleans by a man who expected to get twenty-five hundred dollars for her on account of her great beauty. my letters to the new york _tribune_, soon attracted so much attention that is was unpleasant for me to live in a hotel, and i became the guest of my friend mrs. emma d.e.n. southworth. it was pleasant to look into her great, dreamy grey eyes, with their heavy lashes, at the broad forehead and the clustering brown curls, and have her sit and look into the fire and talk as she wrote of the strange fancies which peopled her busy brain. among the legislative absurdities which early attracted my attention was that of bringing every claim against the government before congress. if a man thought government owed him ten dollars, the only way was to have the bill pass both houses. in my _tribune_ letters, i ventilated that thoroughly, and suggested a court, in which brother jonathan could appear by attorney. mr. greeley seconded the suggestion warmly, and this, i think, was the origin of the court of claims. there was yet one innovation i wanted to make, although my stay in washington would necessarily be short. no woman had ever had a place in the congressional reporter's gallery. this door i wanted to open to them, called on vice-president fillmore and asked him to assign me a seat in the senate gallery. he was much surprised and tried to dissuade me. the place would be very unpleasant for a lady, would attract attention, i would not like it; but he gave me the seat. i occupied it one day, greatly to the surprise of the senators, the reporters, and others on the floor and in the galleries; but felt that the novelty would soon wear off, and that women would work there and win bread without annoyance. but the senate had another sensation that day, for foot, in a speech alluded to "the gentleman from missouri." benton sprang to his feet, and started toward him, but a dozen members rushed up to hold him, and he roared: "stand off, gentlemen! unhand me! let me reach the scoundrel!" everyone stamped, and ran, and shouted "order!" the speaker pounded with his mallet, and foot ran down the aisle to the chair, drawing out a great horse-pistol and cocking it, cried: "let him come on, gentlemen! let him come on!" while he increased the distance between them as fast as time and space would permit. after the hubbub had subsided, foot explained: "mr. speaker, i saw the gentleman coming, and i advanced toward the chair." i have never seen a well-whipped rooster run from his foe, without thinking of foot's advance. chapter xxvii. daniel webster. darkest of the dark omens for the slave, in that dark day, was the defalcation of daniel webster. he whose eloquence had secured in name the great northwest to freedom, and who had so long been dreaded by the slave-power, had laid his crown in the dust; had counseled the people of the north to conquer their prejudices against catching slaves, and by his vote would open every sanctuary to the bloodhound. the prestige of his great name and the power of his great intellect were turned over to slavery, and the friends of freedom deplored and trembled for the result. there was some general knowledge through the country of the immorality of southern men in our national capital. serious charges had been made by abolitionists against henry clay, but webster was supposed to be a moral as well as an intellectual giant. brought up in puritan new england, he was accredited with all the new england virtues; and when a southern woman said to me, in answer to my strictures on southern men: "oh, you need not say anything! look at your own daniel webster!" i wondered and began to look at and inquire about him, and soon discovered that his whole panoply of moral power was a shell--that his life was full of rottenness. then i knew why i had come to washington. i gathered the principal facts of his life at the capitol, stated them to dr. snodgrass, a prominent washington correspondent, whose anti-slavery paper had been suppressed in baltimore by a mob, to joshua r. giddings and gamaliel bailey. they assured me of the truth of what had been told me, but advised me to keep quiet, as other people had done. i took the whole question into careful consideration; wrote a paragraph in a letter to the _visiter_, stating the facts briefly, strongly; and went to read it to my friend, mrs. george w. julian. i found her and her husband together, and read the letter to them. they sat dumb for a moment, then he exclaimed: "you must not publish that!" "is it true?" "oh, yes! it is true! but none the less you must not publish it!" "can i prove it?" "no one will dare deny it. we have all known that for years, but no one would dare to make it public. no good can come of its publication; it would ruin you, ruin your influence, ruin your work. you would lose your _tribune_ engagement, by which you are now doing so much good. we all feel the help you are to the good cause. do not throw away your influence!" "does not the cause of the slave hang on the issue in congress?" "i think it does." "is not mr. webster's influence all against it?" "yes, of course!" "would not that influence be very much less if the public knew just what he is?" "of course it would, but you cannot afford to tell them. you have no idea what his friends would say, what they would do. they would ruin you." i thought a moment, and said: "i will publish it, and let god take care of the consequences." "good!" exclaimed mrs. julian, clapping her hands. "i would if i were in your place." but when i went to post the letter, i hesitated, walked back and forth on the street, and almost concluded to leave out that paragraph. i shuddered lest mr. julian's prediction should prove true. i was gratified by my position on the _tribune_--the social distinction it gave me and courtesy which had been shown me. grave senators went out of their way to be polite, and even pro-slavery men treated me with distinguished consideration. my washington life had been eminently agreeable, and i dreaded changing popularity for public denunciation. but i remembered my red sea, and my motto--"speak unto the children of israel that they go forward." the duty of destroying that pro-slavery influence was plain. all the objections were for fear of the consequences to me. i had said god should take care of these, and mailed the letter, but i must leave washington. mr. greeley should not discharge me. i left the capitol the day after taking my seat in the reporter's gallery, feeling that that door was open to other women. the surprise with which the webster statement was received was fully equalled by the storm of denunciation it drew down upon me. the new york _tribune_ regretted and condemned. other secular papers made dignified protests. the religious press was shocked at my indelicacy, and fellows of the baser sort improved their opportunity to the utmost. i have never seen, in the history of the press, such widespread abuse of any one person as that with which i was favored; but, by a strange fatality, the paragraph was copied and copied. it was so short and pointed that in no other way could its wickedness be so well depicted as by making it a witness against itself. i had nothing to do but keep quiet. the accusation was made. i knew where to find the proof if it should be legally called for, and until it was i should volunteer no evidence, and my witnesses could not be attacked or discredited in advance. by and by people began to ask for the contradiction of this "vile slander." it was so circumstantial as to call for a denial. it could not be set aside as unworthy of attention. what did it mean? mr. webster was a prominent candidate for president. would his friends permit this story to pass without a word of denial? mr. julian was right; no one would dare deny the charge. he was, however, wrong in saying it would ruin me. my motive was too apparent, and the revelations too important, for any lasting disgrace to attach to it. on all hands it was assured that the disclosure had had a telling effect in disposing of a formidable power which had been arrayed against the slave, as mr. webster failed to secure the nomination. some one started a conundrum: "why is daniel webster like sisera? because he was killed by a woman," and this had almost as great a run as the original accusation. when the national convention met in pittsburg, in 1852, to form the free democratic party, there was an executive and popular branch held in separate halls. i attended the executive. very few women were present, and i the only one near the platform. the temporary chairman left the chair, came to me to be introduced, saying: "i want to take the hand that killed daniel webster." henry wilson was permanent chairman of that convention, and he came, too, with similar address. even mr. greeley continued to be my friend, and i wrote for the _tribune_ often after that time. chapter xxviii. fugitive slave law. when it became certain that the fugitive slave bill could pass congress, but could not command a two-thirds vote to carry it over the assured veto of president taylor, he ate a plate of strawberries, just as president harrison had done when he stood in the way of southern policy, and like his great predecessor taylor, died opportunely, when mr. fillmore became president, and signed the bill. when it was the law of the land, there was a rush of popular sentiment in favor of obedience, and a rush of slave-catchers to take advantage of its provisions. thousands of slaves were returned to bondage. whigs and democrats were still bidding for the southern vote, and now vied with each other as to who should show most willingness to aid their southern brethren in the recovery of their lost property. the church also rushed to the front to show its christian zeal for the wrongs of those brethren, who, by the escape of their slaves, lost the means of building churches and buying communion services, and there was no end of homilies on the dishonesty of helping men to regain possession of their own bodies. all manner of charges were rung about onesimus, and paul became the patron saint of slave-catchers. among the many devices brought to bear on the consciences of pittsburgers, was a sermon preached, as per announcement, by rev. riddle, pastor of the third presbyterian church. it was received with great favor, by his large wealthy congregation, was printed in pamphlet form, distributed by thousands and made a profound impression, for pittsburg is a presbyterian city, and a sermon by its leading pastor was convincing. the sermon was an out and out plea for the bill and obedience to its requirements. did not paul return onesimus to his master? were not servants told to obey their masters? running away was gross disobedience, etc., etc. robt. m. riddle, in a careful leader in _the journal_, deprecated the existence of the law, but since it did exist, counseled obedience. he was a polished and forcible writer and his arguments had great weight. the _visiter_ published an article on "the two riddles," in which was drawn a picture of a scantily clad woman, with bruised and bleeding feet, clasping an infant to her bosom, panting before her pursuers up third street. the master called on all good citizens for help. the cry reached the ears of the tall editor of the _journal_ seated at his desk. he dropped his pen, hastily donned his new brass collar and started in hot pursuit of this wicked woman, who was feloniously appropriating the property of her master. the other riddle--the presbyterian pastor--planted himself by the lamp post on the corner of third and market streets, and with spectacles on nose and raised hands, loudly implored divine blessing on the labors of his tall namesake. the _visiter_ concluded by advising masters who had slaves to catch, to apply to these gentlemen, who would attend to business from purely pious and patriotic motives. i did not see mr. riddle for two weeks after the publication of the sketch, and then we met on the street. he had never before been angry or vexed with me, but now he was both, and said: "how could you do me such an injustice?" "why is it an injustice?" "oh you know it is! you know i would cut off my right hand, before i would aid in capturing a fugitive." "then why do you counsel others to do it?" "oh you know better! and rev. riddle, he and his friends are distressed about it. you do not know what you have done! i have already had three letters from the south, asking me to aid in returning fugitives, and he, too, has had similar applications. oh it is too humiliating, too bad. you must set it right!" i agreed to do so, and the _visiter_ explained that it had been mistaken in saying that both or either of the two riddles would aid in returning fugitives. they both scorned the business, and robt. m., would cut off his right hand, rather than engage in it. he only meant that other people should do what would degrade him. he was not a good citizen, and did not intend to be. as for his reverence, he would shirk his christian duties; would not pray by that lamppost, or any other lamp-post, for the success of slave-catchers. he had turned his back upon paul, and had fallen from grace since preaching his famous sermon. the gentlemen had been accredited with a patriotism and piety of which they were incapable, and a retraction was necessary; but if any other more patriotic politician or divine, further advanced in sanctification would send their names to the _visiter_, it would notify the south. in answering bible arguments, as to the righteousness of the fugitive slave bill, the main dependence of _the visiter_ was deuteronomy xxiii: 15 and 16: "thou shalt not deliver unto his master, the servant which is escaped from his master unto thee. "he shall dwell with thee, even among you, in that place where he shall choose, in one of thy gates, where it liketh him best, thou shalt not oppress him." that old bible, in spite of pro-slavery interpreters, proved to be the great bulwark of human liberty. in 1852, slavery and democracy formed that alliance to which we owe the great rebellion. the south became solid, and whigs had no longer any motive for catching slaves. chapter xxix. bloomers and woman's rights conventions. the appearance of _the visiter_ was the signal for an outbreak, for which i was wholly unprepared, and one which proved the existence of an eating cancer of discontent in the body politic. under the smooth surface of society lay a mass of moral disease, which suddenly broke out into an eruption of complaints, from those who felt themselves oppressed by the old saxon and ecclesiastical laws under which one-half the people of the republic still lived. in the laws governing the interests peculiar to men, and those affecting their interests in common with woman, great advance had been made during the past six centuries, but those regarding the exclusive interests of women, had remained in _statu quo_, since king alfred the great and the knights of his round table fell asleep. the anti-negro slavery object of my paper seemed to be lost sight of, both by friends and foes of human progress, in the surprise at the innovation of a woman entering the political arena, to argue publicly on great questions of national policy, and while men were defending their pantaloons, they created and spread the idea, that masculine supremacy lay in the form of their garments, and that a woman dressed like a man would be as potent as he. strange as it may now seem, they succeeded in giving such efficacy to the idea, that no less a person than mrs. elizabeth cady stanton was led astray by it, so that she set her cool, wise head to work and invented a costume, which she believed would emancipate woman from thraldom. her invention was adopted by her friend mrs. bloomer, editor and proprietor of the _lily_, a small paper then in infancy in syracuse, n.y., and from her, the dress took its name--"the bloomer." both women believed in their dress, and staunchly advocated it as the sovereignest remedy for all the ills that woman's flesh is heir to. i made a suit and wore it at home parts of two days, long enough to feel assured that it must be a failure; and so opposed it earnestly, but nothing i could say or do could make it apparent that pantaloons were not the real objective point, at which all discontented woman aimed. i had once been tried on a charge of purloining pantaloons, and been acquitted for lack of evidence; but now, here was the proof! the women themselves, leaders of the malcontents, promulgated and pressed their claim to bifurcated garments, and the whole tide of popular discussion was turned into that ridiculous channel. the _visiter_ had a large list of subscribers in salem, ohio, and in the summer of '49 a letter from a lady came to me saying, that the _visiter_ had stirred up so much interest in women's rights that a meeting had been held and a committee appointed to get up a woman's rights convention, and she, as chairman of that committee, invited me to preside. i felt on reading this as if i had had a douche bath; then, as a lawyer might have felt who had carried a case for a corporation through the lower court, and when expecting it up before the supreme bench, had learned that all his clients were coming in to address the court on the merits of the case. by the pecks of letters i had been receiving, i had learned that there were thousands of women with grievances, and no power to state them or to discriminate between those which could be reached by law and those purely personal; and that the love of privacy with which the whole sex was accredited was a mistake, since most of my correspondents literally agonized to get before the public. publicity! publicity! was the persistent demand. to meet the demand, small papers, owned and edited by women, sprang up all over the land, and like jonah's gourd, perished in a night. ruskin says to be noble is to be known, and at that period there was a great demand on the part of women for their full allowance of nobility; but not one in a hundred thought of merit as a means of reaching it. no use waiting to learn to put two consecutive sentences together in any connected form, or for an idea or the power of expressing it. one woman was printing her productions, and why should not all the rest do likewise? they had so long followed some leader like a flock of sheep, that now they would rush through the first gap into newspaperdom. i declined the presidential honors tendered me, on the ground of inability to fill the place; and earnestly entreated the movers to reconsider and give up the convention, saying: "it will open a door through which fools and fanatics will pour in, and make the cause ridiculous." the answer was that it was too late to recede. the convention was held, and justified my worst fears. when i criticised it, the reply was: "if you had come and presided, as we wished you to do, the result would have been different. you started the movement and now refuse to lead it, but cannot stop it." the next summer a convention was held in akron, ohio, and i attended, hoping to modify the madness, but failed utterly, by all protests i could make, to prevent the introduction by the committee on resolutions of this: "_resolved_, that the difference in sex is one of education." a man stood behind the president to prompt her, but she could not catch his meaning, and when confusion came, she rose and made a little speech, in which she stated that she knew nothing of parliamentary rules, and when consenting to preside had resolved, if there were trouble, to say to the convention as she did to her boys at home: "quit behaving yourselves!" this brought down the house, but brought no order, and she sat down, smiling, a perfect picture of self-complaisance. people thought the press unmerciful in its ridicule of that convention, but i felt in it all there was much forbearance. no words could have done justice to the occasion. it was so much more ridiculous than ridicule, so much more absurd than absurdity. the women on whom that ridicule was heaped were utterly incapable of self-defense, or unconscious of its need. the mass of nobility seekers seemed content to get before the public by any means, and to wear its most stinging sarcasms as they would a new dress cap. in those days i reserved all my hard words for men, and in my notice of the convention mildly suggested that it would have been better had mrs. oliver johnson been made president, as she had great executive ability and a good knowledge of parliamentary rules. this suggestion was received by the president as an insult never to be forgiven, and in the _visiter_ defended herself against it. i replied, and in the discussion which followed she argued that the affairs of each family should be so arranged that the husband and wife would be breadwinner and housekeeper by turns, day or oven half day about. he should go to business in the forenoon, then in the afternoon take care of baby and permit her to go to the office, shop or warehouse from which came the family supplies. i took the ground that baby would be apt to object, and that in our family the rule would not work, since i could not put a log on the mill-carriage, and the water would be running to waste all my day or half-day as bread-winner. about the same time, mrs. stanton published a series of articles in mrs. bloomer's paper, the _lily_, in which she taught that it was right for a mother to make baby comfortable, lay him in his crib, come out, lock the door, and leave him to develop his lungs by crying or cooing, as he might decide, while mamma improved her mind and attended to her public and social duties. against such head winds, it was hard for my poor little craft to make progress in asserting the right of women to influence great public questions. for something over twenty years, after that akron meeting, i did not see a woman's rights convention, and in all have seen but five. up to 1876 there had been no material improvement in them, if those i saw were a fair specimen. their holders have always seemed to me like a woman who should undertake at a state fair to run a sewing machine, under pretense of advertising it, while she had never spent an hour in learning its use. however, those conventions have probably saved the republic. from the readiness with which pennsylvania legislators responded to the petition of three of four women, acting without concert, in the matter of property rights, it is probable that in a fit of generosity the men of the united states would have enfranchised its women _en masse;_ and the government now staggering under the ballots of ignorant, irresponsible men, must have gone down under the additional burden of the votes which would have been thrown upon it, by millions of ignorant, irresponsible women. before that time, the unanswerable argument of judge hurlbut had been published, and had made a deep impression on the minds of thinking men. had this been followed by the earnest, thrilling appeals of susan b. anthony, free from all alliance with cant and vanity, we should no doubt have had a voting population to-day, under which no government could exist ten years; but those conventions raised the danger signal, and men took heed to the warning. chapter xxx. many matters. the period of the _visiter_ was one of great mental activity--a period of hobbies--and it, having assumed the reform roll, was expected to assume all the reforms. turkish trowsers, fourierism, spiritualism, vegetarianism, phonetics, pneumonics, the eight hour law, criminal caudling, magdaleneism, and other devices for teaching pyramids to stand on their apex was pressed upon the _visiter_, and it held by the disciples of each as "false to all its professions," when declining to devote itself to its advocacy. there were a thousand men and women, who knew exactly what it ought to do; but seldom two of them agreed, and none ever thought of furnishing funds for the doing of it. reformers insisted that it should advocate their plan of hurrying up the millenium, furnish the white paper and pay the printers. pond parents came with their young geniuses to have them baptized in type from the _visiter_ font. male editors were far away folks, but the _visiter_ would sympathize with family hopes. ah, the crop of miltons, shakespeares, and drydens which was growing up in this land, full forty years ago. what has ever become of them? here conscience gives a twinge, for that wicked _visiter_ did advise that parents should treat young genius as scientists do wood, which they wish to convert into pure carbon, _i.e._, cover it up with neglect and discouragement, and pat these down with wholesome discipline, solid study and useful work, and so let the fire smoulder out of sight. the policy of the _visiter_ in regard to woman's rights, was to "go easy," except in the case of those slave-women, who had no rights. for others, gain an advance when you could. educate girls with boys, develop their brains, and take away legal disabilities little by little, as experience should show was wise; but never dream of their doing the world's hard work, either mental or physical; and heaven defend them from going into all the trades. the human teeth proved that we should eat flesh, and the human form proved that men should take the ore out of the mines, subdue the inertia of matter and the ferocity of animals; that they should raise the grain, build the houses, roads and heavy machinery; and that women should do the lighter work. as this work was as important as the heavier, and as it fell principally on wives and mothers, they in these relations should receive equal compensation with the husband and father. by this plan, the estate acquired by a matrimonial firm, would belong equally to both parties, and each could devise his or her share, so that a woman would know that her accumulations would go to her heirs, not to her successor. consequently, every wife would have an incentive to industry and economy, instead of being stimulated to idleness and extravagance as by existing laws. women should not weaken their cause by impracticable demands. make no claim which could not be won in a reasonable time. take one step at a time, get a good foothold in it and advance carefully. suffrage in municipal elections for property holders who could read, and had never been connected with crime, was the place to strike for the ballot. say nothing about suffrage elsewhere until it proved successful here. intemperance was then under treatment by washingtonianism. by this philosophy it was held that each man consists of about thirty pounds of solid matter, wet up with several buckets of water; that in youth his mother and sweetheart, kneads, rolls, pats and keeps him in shape, until his wife takes charge of him and makes him into large loaves or little cakes, according to family requirements; but must not stop kneading, rolling, patting, on pain of having him all flatten out. the diagnosis of drunkenness was that it was a disease for which the patient was in no way responsible, that it was created by existing saloons, and non-existing bright hearths, smiling wives, pretty caps and aprons. the cure was the patent nostrum of pledge-signing, a lying-made-easy invention, which like calomel, seldom had any permanent effect on the disease for which it was given, and never failed to produce another and a worse. here the cure created an epidemic of forgery, falsehood and perjury. napoleon selected his generals for their large noses. dr. washingtonian chose his leaders for their great vices. the honors bestowed upon his followers were measured by their crimes, and that man who could boast the largest accumulation was the hero of the hour. a decent, sober man was a mean-spirited fellow; while he who had brought the grey hair of parents in sorrow to the grave, wasted his patrimony and murdered his wife and children, was "king o' men for a' that." the heroines were those women who had smilingly endured every wrong, every indignity that brutality could inflict; had endured them not alone for themselves but for their children; and she who had caressed the father of her child while he dashed its brains out, headed the list in saintship; for love was the kneading trough, and obedience the rolling pin, in and with which that precious mess called a man was to be made into an angel. the _visiter_ held that the law-giver of mount sinai knew what was in man, and had not given any such account of him; that the commands, "thou shalt," and "thou shalt not," were addressed to each individual; that the disease of opening one's mouth and pouring whisky into it was under the control of the mouth-opener; that drunkenness was a crime for which the criminal should be punished by such terms of imprisonment as would effectually protect society and prevent its confirmation. it told women that that dough ought to be baked in the furnace of affliction; that the coil of an anaconda was preferable to the embraces of a drunken man; that it is a crime for a woman to become the mother of a drunkard's child; that she who fails to protect her child from the drunken fury of any man, even to the extent of taking his life on the spot, if possible, is a coward and a traitor to the highest impulses of humanity. these sentiments made a stir in temperance ranks, and there was much defense of the dear fellows. the organization, seemed to be principally occupied in teaching, that among men, only rumsellers are free moral agents, and that they and the women are to bear the iniquity of us all. one philadelphia woman, engaged in scattering rose-leaf remedies over the great cancer of the land, concluded that the editor of the _visiter_ horsewhipped the unfortunate man she called husband, once a day, with great regularity. much sympathy was expressed for that much-abused man; and this was amusing to those who knew he could have tied four such tyrants in a sheaf, and carried them off like a bundle of sticks. but people had found a monster, a giantess, with flaming black eyes, square jaws and big fists, who lived at the top of a very high bean-pole, and ate nothing but the uncooked flesh of men. however, the man-eating idea came to be useful, and proved that a bad name is better than none. in '49, the _visiter_ began a weekly series of "letters to country girls," which were seized upon as a new feature in journalism, were very extensively copied, and won golden opinions from all sorts of men. in '54 they were collected in book form, and "mine ancient enemy," george d. prentiss, gave them kindly notice. chapter xxxi. the mother church. when the _visiter_ entered life, it was still doubtful which side of the slavery question the roman church would take. o'connell was in the zenith of his power and popularity, was decidedly anti-slavery, and members of catholic churches chose sides according to personal feeling, as did those of other churches. it was not until 1852, that abolitionists began to feel the alliance between romanism and slavery; but from that time, to be a member of the roman church was to be a friend of "southern interests." in pittsburg there was great harmony between catholics and protestants, for the protestant-irish, by which western pennsylvania was so largely settled, were generally refugees driven from ireland for their connection with the union, or robert emmet rebellion. our pastor, rev. john black, escaped in the night, and he and the only catholic priest in pittsburg, father mcguire, were intimate friends. the bishop of the diocese, r.r. o'conner, was, i think, a priest of the capponsacchi order, one of those men by whose existence the creator renders a reason for the continuance of the race. after the days of which i write, there was an excitement in pittsburg about miss tiernan, a beautiful, accomplished girl, who became a nun, and was said to have mysteriously disappeared. when the bishop resigned his office and became a member of an austere order of monks, there were not lacking those who charged the act to remorse for his connection with her unexplained death; but i doubt not, that whatever that connection was, it did honor to his manhood, however it may have affected his priesthood. in the days of his episcopal honors, he was a favorite with all sorts and conditions of men, and when he published a letter condemning our infant-system of public schools, and demanding a division of the school fund, he produced a profound sensation. i think this letter appeared in '49. it was the morning of one of the days of the week i spent regularly at the office. i found mr. riddle waiting to ask what i proposed to do about it. i stated, without hesitation, that i would oppose it to the best of my ability, when he replied: "i took it for granted that you would have consulted mr. white (conductor of the _gazette_), and we feel that we cannot afford to lose our catholic patronage by taking issue with the bishop, and that it will not be necessary. you, as a pupil of dr. black, ought to be able to answer bishop o'conner's arguments, and we will leave him to you. the religious press will, of course, be a unit against him, and the secular press need not fear to leave the case in your hands." the two papers for which he spoke, were the two great whig dailies of the western part of the state. the other daily was the _democratic post_, conducted by a catholic, and virtually the bishop's organ; and to meet this attack on the very foundations of civil liberty, the _visitor_, a weekly, was the only representative of the secular press. the whig papers might have taken a different course, had it been known at first that bishop o'conner's letter was only a part of a concerted attack, and that all over the union the bishops had published similar letters. but this was before the days of telegraphy, and we were weeks learning the length and breadth of the movement. bishop o'conner replied very courteously to my strictures on his letter, and we maintained the controversy for some length of time. having all the right on my side, i must have been a dolt not to make it apparent; and the friends of the bishop must have felt that he gained nothing, else they would not have been so angry; but he was courteous until he dropped the subject. my catholic patrons gradually withdrew their advertisements and subscriptions. thousands of protestants were rejoiced at what they called my triumph, and borrowed the _visiter_ to read my articles. very many bought copies, but i think i did not gain one subscriber or advertiser by that labor in defense of a common cause. nay, i lost protestant as well as catholic support, for business men did not care to be known to catholic customers as a patron of a paper which had strenuously opposed the policy of the church. that experience and a close observation for many years have taught me that the secular papers of the united states, with a few exceptions, are almost as much under the control of the pontiff as the press of austria. nor is it the secular press alone which is thus controlled. there are religions papers who throw "sops to cerebus," as an offset to teachings demanded by protestant readers. these "sops" are paid for indirectly by patronage, which would be withdrawn whenever the bishop took alarm at an article in that same paper. protestants do not carry their religion either into political or business relations, and so there is no offset to the religious, political and business concentration of romanism. there was no other outbreak between me and my catholic neighbors until the dedication of the pittsburg cathedral, when my report gave serious offense, and caused bishop o'conner to make a very bitter personal attack on me. he did not know how truly the offensive features of my report were the result of ignorance; but thought me irreverent, blasphemous. i had never before been inside a catholic church; never seen a catholic ceremonial; did not know the name of a single vestment; was overwhelmed with astonishment, and thought my readers as ignorant as i; so tried to give a description which would enable them to see what i had seen, hear what i had heard. every bishop and priest and member of any religions brotherhood in this country and canada was said to be present. some of the things they wore looked like long night-gowns, some short ones; some like cradle quilts, some like larger quilts. there were many kinds of patch-work and embroidery; some of the men wore skirts and looked very funny. quite a number wore something on their heads which looked like three pieces of pasteboard, the shape of a large flat-iron, and fastened together at the right angles and points. they formed into procession and started around the outside of the building. i thought of going "around and about" jerusalem, and the movement had a meaning; but they walked into a fence corner, swung a censor, turned and walked into another corner, and then back into the house, without compassing the building. i said there was nothing to prevent bad spirits coming in at that side. i copied the bishop's angry reply, plead my ignorance and that of protestants in general for all that seemed irreverent, and called upon him for explanations. what did it all mean? what was the spiritual significance of those externals? i ignored his evident anger; had no reason to be other than personally respectful to him, yet my second article irritated him more than the first. i had stated that the men in the procession were the most villainous-looking set i had ever seen; that every head and face save those of the bishops of orleans and pittsburg, were more or less stamped by sensuality and low cunning. in bishop o'conner's reply, he said i had gone to look for handsome men. i answered that i had, and that it was right to do so. the church, in her works of art, had labored to represent christ and his apostles as perfectly-formed men--men with spiritual faces. she had never represented any of her saints as a wine-bibber, a gross beef-eater, or a narrow-headed, crafty, cringing creature. these living men could not be the rightful successors of those whose statues and pictures adorned that cathedral. archbishop hughes, in his sermon on that occasion, had argued that all the forms of the church had a holy significance. what was that significance? moreover, in the days of john there were seven churches. whatever had the church of rome done with the other six owned on the isle of patmos by him who stood in the midst of the seven golden candlesticks? for two months every issue of the _visiter_ copied and replied to one of the bishop's articles, but never could bring him to the point of explaining any portion of that great mystery. but the discussion marked me as the subject of a hatred i had not deemed possible, and i have seldom, if ever, met a catholic so obscure that he did not recognize my name as that of an enemy. so bitter was the feeling, that when my only baby came great fears were felt lest she should be abducted; but this i knew never could be done with bishop o'conner's consent. chapter xxxii. politics and printers. when the pittsburg national convention, which formed the free democratic party, had finished its labors, a committee waited on the _visiter_, to bespeak that support which had already been resolved upon, and soon after a state convention in harrisburg indorsed it by formal resolution as a party organ. it did its best to spread the principles of the party, and its services called out commendations, as well as the higher compliments of stalwart opposition, from the foes of those principles. allegheny county was overwhelmingly whig. the _visiter_ worked against the party, and the cry from the whig press became: "why attack our party? it is better than the democratic. if you were honest, you would devote yourself to its destruction, not to that of the whig." to this, the answer was: "the whig party is a gold-bearing quartz rock, and we mean to pound it into the smallest possible pieces, in order to get out the gold. the democratic party is an old red sandstone, and there is plenty of sand lying all around about." in the summer of 1852 the editor visited the world's fair, held in new york, and on her return found the office machinery at a stand-still. she had a contract with two printers, who, in making it, had given no notice that they were the irresponsible agents of a union, and therefore had no right to dispose of their own labor. they professed to be entirely satisfied with their work and wages, and loath to leave them; but mars' union had cracked his whip, and disobedience was ruin, if not death. for these poor pennsylvania self-made slaves the _visiter_ had no pity, although they plead for it. it advertised for women to take their places, stating that its editor was in its composing-room. other, if not all other city papers, did likewise, and there was a rush of women to the printing offices; but ninety out of a hundred had not passed that stage of development in which women live by wheedling men. those who wheedled most winningly got the places, and the result in less than two months was such a mess of scandal, as drove them, like whipped curs, back to their kennels; but the editor of the _visiter_ took a good look at each of the hundred applicants, and from them selected three, who had heads, not hat pins, on their shoulders. mr. riddle was a partner in the _visiter_, and engaged a woman. the editor refused to give her a case, when he indignantly said: "women have no mercy on each other. there is that poor woman who has been trying to make a living at her trade making vests, and is now on the point of starvation. i have mercy on her, but you have none." the answer was: "a woman who cannot make a living at one good trade already learned, will not mend matters by learning another. i do not propose to turn this office into an eleemosynary establishment. i want the women whom the work wants, not those who want the work. how long could that weak woman maintain her respectability among all these men? would it be any kindness to put her in a place she is incapable of filling, and where she must inflict incalculable injury on herself, and the general cause of woman's right to labor? do not let your generosity run away with your judgment." my three typos came to be the main stay of the _journal_, as well as the only typos of the _visiter_, for they were the nucleus of an efficient corps of female type-setters, who held their places until mr. riddle's last illness broke down his establishment. soon after the opening of the pa.c.r.r., there was a bad accident, one train running into another in a deep cut, at night; commenting on it the _visiter_ suggested a red light on the rear of every train. the suggestion was accepted immediately, and this is the origin of the red light signal. chapter xxxiii. sumner, burlingame and cassius m. clay. the republican party was organized in pittsburg, and when it became national through the philadelphia convention in the summer of '56, and nominated fremont, it seemed that it might injure rather than aid the party to have a woman take a prominent place in it. the nurseling--political abolition--was out of its cradle, had grown to man's estate, and with bearded lip had gone forth to battle, a man among men. there were honors and emoluments to be won in the cause of the slave, and no doubt of its final triumph. the _visiter_ had been sold to mr. riddle and united with his weekly, thus extending its circulation, and cutting off the ruinous expense of its publication. the _journal_ was thoroughly republican, and would be ably conducted. no further need of a page devoted to freedom, when every page was consecrated to the overthrow of slavery. before taking action, it was best to consult an old subscriber, charles sumner, then on the allegheny mountains, recovering from the brook's assault. i took baby and went to see him. he was domiciled in the family of dr. jackson, pennsylvania state geologist, and seemed to be one of it. in the sitting-room were his desk and lounge, where he wrote or lay and talked, principally with dr. furness, of philadelphia, who was with him, devoting an ever-growing store of information to the amusement of his friend. dr. jackson was full of instruction, and no man more ready than sumner to learn. he held that all knowledge was useful in adding to one's resources--inquired minutely about the shoeing of the horse he rode; and over a watermelon at dessert the doctor gave a lecture on amputation, which became a large capital to one at least of his hearers, and was of intense interest to sumner. the children loved him, loved to be near him, and never seemed to be in his way. once when a toddling wee thing crept to his side while he was absorbed in writing, took hold of his clothes, drew herself to his feet and laid her head against his knee, he placed a weight to hold his paper, laid his hand on her head and went on with his work. when some one would have removed her, he looked up and said: "oh, let the little one alone!" he spoke with profound admiration of mrs. purviance, wife of the member of congress from butler, pa. said he was sorry never to have met her. her influence in washington society had been so ennobling that the friends of freedom owed her a lasting debt of gratitude. she boarded with her husband at the national where her wealth, independence and sparkling social qualities made her a recognized leader, while all her influence was cast upon the right side. he thought the success of the north in the famous struggle which elected banks speaker of the house, was largely due to mrs. purviance. he was oppressed with anxiety about burlingame, who had gone to canada to fight a duel, and there was great rejoicing, when he suddenly appeared one evening after the sun had hidden behind the pine trees. he and sumner met and greeted each other with the abandon of boys. no duel had been fought, since brooks, the challenger, had refused to pass through pennsylvania to clifton, the place of meeting, for fear of mob violence. even the offer of a safe conduct of troops by the governor, failed to reassure him, and burlingame had hurried on to set his friend's mind at rest. after the general rejoicing, the two sat facing each other, when sumner leaned forward, placed a hand on each of burlingame's shoulders, and said: "tell me, anson, you did not mean to shoot that man, did you?" burlingame's head dropped an instant, then raising it, he said, slowly: "i intended to take the best aim i could." here he drew back his right arm, and took the position of holding a gun, "at the broadest part of him, his breast; wait for the word, and then--fire!" sumner dropped back in his chair, let his hands fall on his knees and exclaimed, sorrowfully: "oh, anson! i did not believe it." burlingame's eyes filled with tears, and he said: "charles, i saw you lying bleeding and insensible on the senate floor, when i did not expect ever again to hear you speak; and i intended then to kill him. i tell you, charles, we have got to meet those fellows with guns, some day, and the sooner we begin, the better." on being consulted, both these champions of the right said the _visiter_ must not desert the cause. sumner added solemnly: "the slave never had more need of it; never had more need of you." so that editor went on with her work, feeling such an opinion as almost a divine call. in talking with mr. sumner during that visit, i learned that the same doctor attended both president harrison and president taylor in their last illness, and used his professional authority to prevent their friends seeing them until the fatal termination of their illness was certain. also, that it was that same doctor who was within call when brooks made his assault on sumner, took charge of the case, and made an official statement that the injury was very slight, gave it a superficial dressing, and sought to exclude every one from the room of his patient. said sumner: "i shuddered when i recovered consciousness, and found this man beside me." he dismissed him promptly, and did not hesitate to say that he believed he would not have recovered under his treatment. when the south seceded, this useful man left washington and joined the confederacy. the campaign of 1856 was very spirited. a large mass meeting was held in pittsburg, and cassius m. clay was the orator of the occasion. he was at the heighth of a great national popularity, and seemed as if any honor might be open to him. he dined that evening with robert palmer, of allegheny, and a small party of friends. the house was brilliantly lighted, and at the table, while clay was talking, and every one in gala day spirits, the light suddenly went out, and what a strange sensation fell on one guest--a feeling of coming evil. there was no re-lighting. the gas had failed, prophetic of the going out of that brilliant career, and its slow ending in the glimmer of a single candle. chapter xxxiv. finance and desertion. the _pittsburg saturday visiter_ began life with two subscribers, and in the second year reached six thousand, but was always a heavy drain on my income. my domestic duties made it impossible i could give any attention to the business department, and i was glad, at the close of the first year, to transfer a half interest to mr. riddle, who became equal partner and co-editor. at the end of the second year he proposed to buy my interest, unite the _visiter_ with his weekly, and pay me a salary for editing a page. had the proposal been made directly to me, i should have accepted at once, but it was made through my brother-in-law, william swisshelm, who had been clerk and business manager of the _visiter_ for eighteen months. he advised me not to accept; said the paper was netting fifteen hundred a year, and that if i would retain my interest he would purchase mr. riddle's, get type, have all the work done in a separate establishment, and make it a decided success. i was afraid of this arrangement, but was anxious to keep up the paper as a separate publication, and agreed on condition that he would assume the entire financial responsibility, keep my interest at mr. riddle's valuation, and leave me no further risk than my services. if there were profits, we would share them; if none, i got no pay, as usual, but sunk no money. to make the changes he desired, i loaned him money until i had most of my small estate invested, and supposed the paper was prospering until suddenly informed that the sheriff was about to sell it. we transferred it to mr. riddle, with my services two years in advance, to pay the debts, and i wrote for the new york _tribune_, at five dollars a column, to meet my personal expenses, as my income from my property was gone. i forget at what time the _visiter_ was united to the weekly _journal;_ but very soon after the presidential campaign of '52, i learned that my late partner had endorsed several notes which were not likely to be paid by the persons who gave them, and that one of these was already entered as a lien against his interest in the family estate. we had had no settlement, so i went to my lawyer, william m. shinn, who said that the entire interest of my debtor in his father's will was worth less than my claim since his death, without heirs, before his mother transferred his share to the other heirs. he advised me, if possible, to get a deed of that share as the only security for which i could hope. i directed him to prepare it, went immediately to the office, saw my late partner, and told him that if he did not execute that deed, i would sue him for a settlement before i left the city. he did, and i took it home early in the afternoon. in march '57, i resigned my place on the _family journal and visiter_, feeling that my public work was over, and that no life save one of absolute solitude was possible for me. i had lived over twenty years without the legal right to be alone one hour--to have the exclusive use of one foot of space--to receive an unopened letter, or to preserve a line of manuscript "from sharp and sly inspection." in the latter half of the nineteenth century, a pennsylvania court decided that a husband had a right to open and read any communication addressed to his wife. living as i did, under this law i had burned the private journal kept in girlhood, and the letters received from my brother, mother, sister and other friends, to preserve their contents from the comments of the farm laborers and female help, who, by common custom, must eat at our table and take part in our conversation. at the office i had received, read and burned, without answer, letters from some of the most prominent men and women of the era; letters which would be valuable history to-day; have, therefore, no private papers, and write this history, except a few public dates, entirely from memory. into the mists some rays of light penetrated, and by them i saw that the marriage contract by which i was bound, was that one which i had made and which secured my liberty of conscience and voice in choosing a home. the fraud by which church, and state substituted that bond made for saxon swine-herds, who ate boar's heads, lived in unchinked houses and wore brass collars, in the days when alfred the great was king, was such as would vitiate any other contract, and must annul even that of marriage; but, granting that it was binding, it must bind both parties, and had been broken by the party of the other part through failure to comply with its requirements. our marriage had been a mistake, productive of mutual injury; but for one, it was not too late to repair the wrong. he, a man in the prime of life, with unspotted reputation, living without labor, on the income of a patrimonial estate, to which he had made large additions, could easily find a help-mate for him; one who could pad matrimonial fetters with those devices by which husbands are managed. my desertion would leave him free to make a new choice, and i could more easily earn a living alone. the much-coveted and long-delayed birth of a living child appeared to have barred my appeal to this last resort, but the mother's right to the custody of her infant is one i would defend to the taking of life. my husband would consent to no separation, and we had a struggle for my separate, personal property or its equivalent; a struggle in which wm. m. shinn was my lawyer, and judge mellon his, and in which i secured my piano by replevin, dr. john scott being my bondsman, and learned that i might not call a porter into the house to remove my trunk. i therefore got my clothing, some books, china and bedding by stealth, and the assistance of half a dozen families of neighbors. a test suit as to my right to support was decided in 1859, and in it a judge in my native city, charged the jury that: "if a wife have no dress and her husband refuse to provide one, she may purchase one--a plain dress--not silk, or lace, or any extravagance; if she have no shoes, she may get a pair; if she be sick and he refuse to employ a physician, she may send for one, and get the medicine he may prescribe; and for these necessaries the husband is liable, but here his liability ceases." the suit was about goods i had purchased by my lawyer's advice--two black silk dresses, a thirty dollar shawl, a dozen pairs black kid gloves, stockings, flannel, linen, half dozen yards white brussels lace, any one of which would have outlawed the bill, even if i had gone in an eden costume to make the purchase; but being clothed when i made my appearance at the counter, the merchant could not plead that i "had no dress," and lost his case. in a subsequent suit carried up to the supreme court and decided in '68, it was proved that my husband had forbidden our merchant to credit me on his account, and the merchant's books presented in court showed that for twelve years he had kept two separate accounts, one against my husband and one against me. on his were charged clothing for himself, mother, brothers and employes, common groceries, etc.; while on mine were entered all my clothing, all high-priced tea, white sugar, etc., all tableware, fine cutlery, table linen, bedding, curtains and towels; on his were, credits for farm products; on mine, only cash; and he was credited with butter and eggs on the same day that i was charged with bed-ticking and towels. my personal expenses from nov. 18, '36, the date of our marriage, until nov. 18, '56, twenty years, averaged less than fifty dollars a year. all my husband's labor for all his life, and mine for twenty years, with a large part of my separate property, had gone to swell his mother's estate, on the proceeds of which she kept her carriage and servants until she died, aged ninety-four, while i earned a living for myself and his only child. i left pittsburg with my baby about the 20th of may, '57, and went by boat to st. paul. before leaving, i went to settle with mr. riddle and say goodbye, and found him much troubled. he said: "why is it i have known nothing of all this? i did not dream there was anything wrong in your domestic relations, and may have been selfish and inconsiderate." my husband, mine no more, came upon the boat while she lay at the wharf, held baby on his knee and wept over her; when the last bell rang, he bade me good-bye; carried her to the gangway, held her to the last moment, then placed her in my arms, sprang ashore and hurried up the wharf. he would, i think, have carried her off, but that he knew she would break his heart crying for mother before i could get to her. he had once taken her away in a fit of anger and walked the floor with her most of the night, seriously alarmed for her life, and could not venture on that experiment again. he loved her most tenderly, and his love was as tenderly returned. since, as a duty to her, i was careful to teach her to "honor thy father" on earth as well as in heaven. had he and i gone into the pine woods, as he proposed, upon marriage; had we been married under an equitable law or had he emigrated to minnesota, as he proposed, before i thought of going, there would have been no separation; but after fifteen years in his mother's house i must run away or die, and leave my child to a step-mother. so i ran away. he thought i would return; enlarged and improved the house, wrote and waited for us; could make no deed without my signature; i would sign none, and after three years he got a divorce for desertion. in '70 he married again, and i having, voluntarily, assumed the legal guilt of breaking my marriage contract, do cheerfully accept the legal penalty--a life of celibacy--bringing no charge against him who was my husband, save that he was not much better than the average man. knew his rights, and knowing sought to maintain them against me; while, in some respects, he was to me incalculably more than just. years after i left him, he said to our neighbor, miss hawkins, when speaking of me: "i believe she is the best woman god ever made, and we would have had no trouble but for her friends." my sister had removed with her husband to st. cloud, minnesota, and through him i had secured forty acres of land on the shore of one of a nest of lovely lakes, lying on the east side of the mississippi, twelve miles from st. cloud. on this little farm i would build a cabin of tamarac logs, with the bark on and the ends sticking out at the corners criss-cross. my cabin would have one room and a loft, each with a floor of broad rough boards well jointed, and a ladder to go from one to the other. it would have an open fire-place, a rough flag hearth, and a rustic porch, draped with hop vines and wild roses. i would have a boat, catch fish and raise poultry. no sound of strife should ever come into my cabin but those of waves, winds, birds and insects. ah, what a paradise it would be! i had not yet learned that every human soul is a shunamite, "a company of two armies," and wherever there is one, there is strife. to live is to contend, and life is finished when contentions end. at st. paul i took a stage, and night came on when we were still twenty miles from st. cloud. the wolves stood and looked at the stage, and i knew they were between me and my hermitage; but they were only prairie wolves, and all day my cabin had been growing more and more beautiful. the lakes, the flowers, the level prairies and distant knolls, but most of all the oak openings were enchanting, and in one of these my cabin would stand. the passengers talked politics and i talked too, and one man said to me: "did you say you were going to st. cloud? "yes." "well, i tell you, madam, them sentiments of yours won't go down there. gen. lowrie don't allow no abolition in these parts and he lives in st. cloud." i had had many surprises, but few to equal this; had heard of gen. lowrie as a man of immense wealth and influence, but no one had hinted at this view of his character. i had thought of him as the friend of my friends; but as the other passengers were confirming this account and i watching the wolves, there flashed across my mind the thought: "this is a broad country; but if this be true, there is not room in it for gen. lowrie and me." chapter xxxv. my hermitage. it was midnight before we reached east st. cloud, and the ferry-boat had stopped running, so that it was a bright morning the 7th of june when i found myself in half a dozen pairs of loving arms. in a few days we made an excursion to the site of my cabin. it was more beautiful than i had thought. on the opposite side of the lake lived captain briggs, with a head full of sea-stories, and a new england wife. my hermitage would be greatly improved by such neighbors only one mile distant, and as the captain had lately killed two large bears between his house and the site of mine, there would soon be no more bears. but i must have the loft of my cabin large enough for several beds, as the children insisted on spending their summers with me. brother harry bespoke a second room, for he would want a place to stay all night when out hunting with his friends, and my hermitage began to grow into a hotel. i had commenced arrangements with workmen, when harry said to me: "sis, elizabeth and i have talked this matter over, and if you persist, we will take out a writ of lunacy. there is not a man in this territory who would not say on oath, that you are insane to think of going where the bears would eat you if the indians did not kill you. the troops are ordered away from the forts; you'll get frontier life enough with us, for we are going to have music with the indians." next day the troops from fort ripley marched past, on their way to kansas, to put down the free state party. bleeding kansas was called on for more blood, and united states soldiers were to sacrifice the friends of freedom on the altar of slavery. the people of minnesota were left without protection from savages, that the people of kansas might be given over to the tender mercies of men no less barbarous than the sioux. i had run away from the irrepressible conflict, feeling that my work was done; had fled to the great northwest--forever consecrated to freedom by solemn act and deed of the nation--thinking i should see no more of our national curse, when here it confronted me as it had never done before. my cabin perished in a night, like jonah's gourd--perished that liberty might be crushed in kansas; for without a garrison at fort ripley, my project was utterly insane. chapter xxxvi. the minnesota dictator. every day, from my arrival in st. cloud, evidence had been accumulating of the truth of that stage-whisper about gen. lowrie, who lived in a semi-barbaric splendor, in an imposing house on the bank of the mississippi, where he kept slaves, bringing them from and returning them to his tennessee estate, at his convenience, and no man saying him nay. he owned immense tracts of land; had and disposed of all the government contracts he pleased; traveled over europe with his salaried physician; said to this man "go," and he went, to that "come," and he came, and to a third "do this," and it was done. but of all his commands "go" was most potent; for, as president of a claim club, his orders to pre-emptors were enforced by judge lynch. he never condescended to go to congress, but sent an agent; furnished all the democratic votes that could possibly be wanted in any emergency, and nobody wondered when a good list came from a precinct in which no one lived. republicans on their arrival in his dominion, were converted to the democratic faith, fast as sinners to christianity in a maffitt meeting, and those on whom the spirit fell not, kept very quiet. people had gone there to make homes, not to fight the southern tiger, and any attempt against such overwhelming odds seemed madness, for lowrie's dominion was largely legitimate. he was one of those who are born to command--of splendid physique and dignified bearing, superior intellect and mesmeric fascination. his natural advantages had been increased by a liberal education; he had been brought up among slaves, lived among indians as agent and interpreter, felt his own superiority, and asserted it with the full force of honest conviction. on all hands he was spoken of as dictator, and there was both love and respect mingled with the fear by which he governed. his father was a presbyterian minister, who taught that slavery was divine, and both were generous and lenient masters. he was the embodiment of the slave power. all its brute force, pious pretenses, plausibility, chivalry, all the good and bad of the southern character; all the weapons of the army of despotism were concentrated in this man, the friend of my friends, the man who stood ready to set me on the pinnacle of social distinction by his recognition. across the body of the prostrate slave lay the road to wealth, and many good men had shut their eyes and stepped over. the territorial government under buchanan was a mere tool of slavery. every federal officer was a southerner, or a northern man with southern principles. government gold flowed freely in that channel, and to the eagles gen. lowrie had but to say, as to his other servants, "come," and they flew into his exchequer. so thoroughly was minnesota under the feet of slavery, that in september, '60--after we thought the state redeemed--the house of william d. babbitt, in minneapolis, was surrounded from midnight until morning by a howling mob, stoning it, firing guns and pistols, attempting to force doors and windows, and only prevented gaining entrance by the solidity of the building and the bravery of its defense. it was thus besieged because its owner and occupant had dared interfere to execute the common law in favor of freedom. minneapolis and its twin-city st. anthony each had a large first-class hotel, to which southern people resorted in summer, bringing their slaves, holding them often for months, and taking them back to the south, no one daring to make objection; until one woman, eliza winston, appealed to mr. babbitt, who took her into court, where judge vanderbilt decreed her freedom, on the ground that her claimant had forfeited his title by bringing her into a free state. at the rendering of this decree, rev. knickerbocker, rector of the only protestant episcopal church in the city, arose in open court, and charged the judge with giving an unrighteous judgment. he condemned the law as at war with scripture and the rights of the master, and its enforcement as injurious to the best interests of the community. it was the old story of demetrius; and the people, already keenly alive to the profit of boarding southern families with their servants, were glad to have a mantle of piety thrown over their love of gain. the court room was packed, and under the eloquent appeal of the reverend gentleman, it soon became evident the populace would make a rush, take the woman out of the hands of the law, and deliver her to the master. she and her friends had about lost hope, when an unlooked for diversion called attention from them. the red head of "bill king," afterwards post-master of the u.s. house of representatives, arose, like the burning bush at the foot of mount horeb, and his stentorian voice poured forth such a torrent of denunciation on priest-craft, such a flood of solid swearing against the insolence and tyranny of ecclesiasticism, that people were surprised into inactivity, until mr. babbitt got the woman in his carriage and drove off with her. there could no longer be a question of her legal right to her own body and soul; but her friends knew that the law of freedom had lain too long dormant to be enforced now without further serious opposition, and mr. babbitt brought into use his old training on the underground railroad to throw the blood-hounds off the scent, so secreted the woman in the house of prof. stone, and prepared his own strong residence to bear a siege. for that siege preparations were made by the clerical party during the afternoon and evening, without any effort at concealment, and to brute force the besieging party added brute cunning. it was known that in my lecturing tours, i was often mr. babbitt's guest, and might arrive at any hour. so, shortly after midnight, the doorbell was rung, when mr. babbitt inquired: "who is there?" "mrs. swisshelm.' "it is not mrs. swisshelm's voice?" "william griffin (a colored porter) is with her." "it is not william griffin's voice." then, for the first time, there were signs of a multitude on the porch, and with an oath the speaker replied: "we want that slave." "you cannot have her." a rush was made to burst in the door, but it was of solid walnut and would not yield, when the assailants brought fenceposts to batter it in, and were driven back by a shot from a revolver in the hall. the mob retired to a safer distance, and the leader--mine host of a first-class hotel--mounted the carriage-block and harangued his followers on the sacred duty of securing the financial prosperity of the two cities by restoring eliza winston to her owners, and made this distinct declaration of principles: "i came to this state with five thousand dollars; have but five hundred left, but will spend the last cent to see 'bill' babbitt's heart's blood." after which heroic utterance a fresh volley of stones and shots were fired, and fresh rush made for doors and windows. the sidelights of the front door had been shattered, and one burly ruffian thrust himself halfway in, but stuck, when a defender leveled a revolver at his head, and said to mrs. babbitt, who was then in command of the hall, while her husband defended the parlor windows: "shall i shoot him?" "yes, shoot him like a dog." but mrs. edward messer, her sister, who knew mr. babbitt's dread of taking life, knocked the pistol up and struck the ruffian's head with a stick, when it was withdrawn, and again the mob fell back and resorted to stones and sticks and oaths and howlings and gunshots, and threats of firing the house. mrs. babbitt thought that personal appeals might bring citizens to the rescue, and in an interval of black darkness between lightning flashes, escaped through a back cellar way, and had almost reached the shelter of a cornfield adjoining the garden, when the lightning revealed her and three men started in pursuit. it was two months before the birth of one of her children, and mr. elliott, a neighbor who was hastening to the rescue, saw her danger and ran to engage her pursuers. stumbling through the corn, he encountered one and cudgeled him, but all were separated by the darkness. mrs. babbitt, however, succeeded in reaching the more thickly settled portion of the city, and the first man she called upon for help, replied: "you have made your bed--lie in it!" the sheriff came, with two or three men, and talked to the mob, which dispersed before daylight, with open threats to "have babbitt's heart's blood," and for months his family lived in momentary apprehension of his murder. for months he was hooted at in the streets of minneapolis as "nigger thief," and called "eliza." no arrests were made, and he has always felt it fortunate that mrs. messer prevented the shooting of the man in the side-light, as he thinks to this day that in the state of public sentiment, the man firing the shot would have been hanged for murder by any hennepin county jury, and his home razed to the ground or burned. eliza winston was sent by underground railroad to canada, because minnesota, in the year of grace, 1860, could not or would not defend the freedom of one declared free by decision of her own courts. when such events were actual facts in '60, near the center of the state, under a republican administration, what was the condition of public sentiment in the northern portion of the territory in '57, when there was scarce a pretense of law or order, and the southern democracy held absolute sway? i soon understood the situation; had known for years that the southern threats, which northern men laughed at as "tin kettle thunder," were the desperate utterances of lawless men, in firm alliance with the "hierarchy of rome for the overthrow of this republic." chapter xxxvii. another visiter. george brott was proprietor of lower st. cloud and had started a paper, _the advertiser_, to invite immigration. there were two practical printers in town, both property-owners, both interested in its growth, and when the resources of _the advertiser_ had been consumed and they had had union rates for work done on it, they fell back on their dignity and did nothing. they had enlisted in the wrong army, did not belong with this band of pioneers, making its way against savage beasts and men. they were soldiers of a union whose interests were all opposed to those of st. cloud, so they were looking on, waiting to see if the great need of a paper would not compel their neighbors to pay tribute to their union. mr. brott asked me if i would take charge of a paper and take town lots for a salary. i told him i was an abolitionist. he laughed, and said: "a lady has a right to be of whatever politics she pleases," and went on to say, that if i could recommend minnesota to emigrants, and st. cloud as a town site, he cared nothing for my opinions on other points. he thought we might unite all the town proprietors, and so raise money to pay the printers, so i wrote to each one, asking his support to the st. cloud _visiter_, as an advertising medium. all, save gen. lowrie, were prompt in making favorable response; but from him i had not heard, when there had been three issues of the paper. mr. brott was in the office, and i said: "there is one thing more. i feel that some day i will attack gen. lowrie, who is your friend. he will set shepley on me; i will make short work of him. then we will have a general melee, and i will clear out that clique. shepley is your lawyer, and i do not want to use your press in that way without your consent." while i spoke, his jaw dropped and he sat staring at me in literal open-mouthed wonder, then threw back his head, laughed heartily and said: "oh, go ahead! i bake no bread in any of their ovens!" very soon i had a letter from gen. lowrie, saying: "i myself will give the st. cloud _visiter_ a support second to that of no paper in the territory, if it will support buchanan's administration. otherwise i can do nothing." i had not finished reading, when the thought came: "now i have you." yet still i knew it looked like, ah, very like a man catching a whale with a fish hook secured to his own person, when there were a hundred chances to one that the whale had caught him. i replied that the st. cloud _visiter_ would support mr. buchanan's administration, since it could not live without gen. lowrie's assistance, and such was his ultimatum. on the second day after that contract was made, brother harry came, all trembling with rage, and said: "lowrie is telling all over town that he has bought you, and that the _visiter_ is to support buchanan!" "it is true," was the astounding answer, when he said bad words, rushed from the room and slammed the door. then followed ten days, the only ones since he became my brother when he would not call me "sis." elizabeth said: "i would have seen lowrie and his money in the bottom of the sea, first! what would mother say?" the next issue of the _visiter_ made no allusion to its change of base, and there was plenty of time to discuss the question. those who knew my record refused to believe i had sold out, and took bets on it. however, the next number contained an editorial which relieved the minds of friends, but which created the gravest apprehension. it stated that the _visiter_ would, in future, support buchanan's administration, and went on to state the objects of that administration as being the entire subversion of freedom and the planting of slavery in every state and territory, so that toombs could realize his boast, and call the roll of his slaves at the foot of bunker hill. it reminded its readers that john randolph had said in the united states senate when speaking to northern men: "we have driven you to the wall, and will drive you there again, and next time we will keep you there and nail you to the counter like base money." mr. buchanan, a northern man, had fulfilled the prediction. henry clay had said that northern workingmen were "mudsills, greasy mechanics and small-fisted farmers." these mudsills had been talking of voting themselves farms; but it would be much more appropriate if they would vote themselves masters. southern laborers were blessed with kind masters, and mr. buchanan and the st. cloud _visiter_ were most anxious that northern laborers should be equally well provided for. when the paper was read, there was a cry of "sold! sold! lowrie had sold himself instead of buying the _visiter_." at first there was a laugh, then a dead stillness of dread, and men looked at me as one doomed. chapter xxxviii. border ruffianism. in lowrie's first ebulition of wrath, he vowed vengeance, but an intimate friend of his, who had been a democrat in pittsburg, begged him to do nothing and said: "let her alone, for god's sake! let her alone, or she will kill you. i know her, and you do not. she has killed every man she ever touched. let her alone!" but lowrie knew it was too late for letting alone, and sent me a verbal message, by one he knew i would believe, that i must stop or the consequences would be fatal. stopping was no part of my plan, and so i told his messenger. the second number of buchanan's organ explained how it was that i became a supporter of a policy i had so long opposed. gen. lowrie owned northern minnesota, land and inhabitants, bought folks up as fast as they came to it, and had bought me. he was going to support the _visiter_ great power and glory, if it gave satisfaction as a democratic organ. i would work hard for the money, and it would be odd if any one gave mr. buchanan a more enthusiastic support than i. indeed, i was his only honest supporter. all the others pretended he was going to do something quite foreign to his purpose, while i was in his confidence. the one sole object of his administration was the perpetuation and spread of slavery, and this object the _visiter_ would support with the best arguments in its power. this was vitriol dressing on a raw wound, and the suppression of the _visiter_ was expected by judge lynch. brave men held their breath to see me beard the lion in his den, not knowing my armor as i did. then came an announcement with a great flourish of trumpets of a lecture on "woman," by the hon. shepley, the great legal light and democratic orator of minnesota. the lecture was delivered in due time to a densely packed house, and was as insulting as possible. the lecture divided women into four classes--coquettes, flirts, totally depraved, and strong-minded. he painted each class and found some redeeming trait in all save the last. the speaker might as well have named me as the object of his attack, and his charges thus publicly made were not to be misunderstood. at every point there were rounds and shouts of applause by clacquers, and brother harry once rose in a towering rage, but i dragged him down and begged him to keep quiet. in my review of the lecture, i praised it, commended its eloquence and points, but suggested that the learned gentleman had not included all women in his classification. for instance, he had left out the frontier belle who sat up all night playing cards with gentlemen; could beat any man at a game of poker, and laugh loud enough to be heard above the roaring of a river. in this i struck at gambling as a social amusement, which was then rapidly coming into fashion in our little city, and which to me was new and alarming. mr. shepley pretended to think that the picture resembled his wife, and this idea was seized upon as drowning men catch at straws. behind this they sought to conceal the whole significance of the quarrel. gen. lowrie cared not for my attacks on himself. oh, no, indeed! he was suddenly seized by a fit of chivalry, and would defend to the death, a lady whom he had never seen. an effort was made to dispose of me by mob, as a means of clearing the moral atmosphere of the city. it was being discussed in a grocery while "tom" alden lay on the counter. he rose, brought down his big fist, and with a preface of oaths, said: "now, boys, i tell you what it is. we're democrats. this is a fight between her and lowrie, and we're going to see fair play. if she licks him, let him take it. no woman is going to be mobbed in this city! so there!" gen. lowrie hid an uncle who lived with him, a very eccentric, single-minded man, who was greatly distressed about the affair, and who became a messenger bent on making peace. he begged me to desist for lowrie's sake, that i might not drive him to cover himself with shame, and bring lasting regret. he insisted that i knew nothing of the dangers which environed me; i would be secretly murdered, with personal indignities; would be tied to a log and set afloat on the mississippi. i had no wish to court danger--shrank from the thought of brute force; but if i let this man escape, his power, now tottering, would be re-established; slavery triumphant in the great northwest; minnesota confirmed a democratic strong-hold, sending delegates of dough-faces to congress to aid in the great conspiracy against the nation's life. so i told the messenger that i would continue to support buchanan's administration, that i would pile my support upon it until it broke down under the weight and sunk into everlasting infamy. the night after i had sent this, as my final answer to the offer of leniency, the _visiter_ was visited by three men in the "wee sma' hours, anent the twal," the press broken, some of the type thrown into the river, some scattered on the road, and this note left on the table: "if you ever again attempt to publish a paper in st. cloud, you yourself will be as summarily dealt with as your office has been.----vigilance." the morning brought intense excitement and the hush of a great fear. men walked down to the bank of the great mississippi, looked at the little wrecked office standing amid the old primeval forest, as if it were a great battle-ground, and the poor little type were the bodies of the valiant dead. they only spoke in whispers, and stood as if in expectation of some great event, until judge gregory arrived, and said, calmly: "gentlemen, this is an outrage which must be resented. the freedom of the press must be established if we do not want our city to become the center of a gang of rowdies who will drive all decent people away and cut off immigration. i move that we call a public meeting at the stearns house this evening, to express the sentiments of the people at st. cloud." this motion was carried unanimously, but very quietly, and i said: "gentlemen, i will attend that meeting and give a history of this affair." chapter xxxix. speak in public. at length the time had come when i could no longer skulk behind a printing press. that bulwark had been torn down, and now i must literally open my mouth for the dumb, or be one of those dogs spoken of in scripture who would not bark. the resolve to speak at that meeting had come in an instant as a command not to be questioned, and i began to prepare. james mckelvey, a lawyer, and nephew of my husband, drew my will and i executed it, settled my business and wrote a statement of the _visiter_ trouble that it might live if i ceased to do so, then went to bed, sent for miles brown to come to my room, and saw him alone. he was a pennsylvanian, who had the reputation of being a dead shot, and had a pair of fine revolvers. he pledged himself solemnly to go with me and keep near me, and shoot me square through the brain, if there was no other way of preventing me falling alive into the hands of the mob. my mind was then at ease, and i slept until my mail was brought. in it was a letter from william m. shinn, saying that without his knowledge, my husband had succeeded in having my one-third interest in the swissvale estate sold at sheriff's sale, and had become the purchaser. mr. shinn added his opinion that the sale was fraudulent, and proposed entering suit to have it set aside; but i could attend to no suit and lost all hope of saving anything from my separate estate. surely the hand of the lord lay heavily upon me that day, but i never doubted that it was his hand. the good shepherd would lead me and feed me and i should know no want. when it was time to go to the meeting, i was dressed by other hands than my own. i knew harry and my brother-in-law, henry swisshelm, had organized for defense, and asked no questions, but went with them. elizabeth carried her camphor bottle as coolly as if mobs and public meetings were things of every day life, while mrs. hyke, a new england woman, held my arm, saying: "we'll have a nice time in the river together, for i am going in with you. they can't separate us." as we approached the stearns house, the crowd thickened and pressed upon us. harry stopped and said: "gentlemen, stand back, if you please!" the guard closed around me, every man with his hand on his revolver. there were oaths and growls, but the mob gave way, and made no further opposition to our entrance. the meeting was called to order by thomas stearns, the owner of the house and for whom the county had been named, who with his brave wife had made every possible arrangement for the meeting. the large parlors were packed with women, and every other foot of space downstairs and even up, were filled with men, while around the house was a crowd. it was a wonder where all the people could have come from. a rostrum had been erected at the end of the parlor next the hall, but i had no sooner taken it than there was an ominous murmur outside, and it was discovered that my head made a tempting target for a shot through the front door, so the rostrum was moved out of range. there was not much excitement until i named gen. lowrie and two other men as the persons who had destroyed the _visiter_ office. then there was a perfect howl of oaths and cat-calls. gen. lowrie was on the ground himself, loading his forces outside. a rush was made, stones hurled against the house, pistols fired, and every woman sprang to her feet, but it was to hear and see, not shriek. harry held the doorway into the hall; henry that into the dining room. brown had joined harry, and i said in a low, concentrated voice: "brown." he turned and pressed up to the rostrum. "don't fail me! don't leave me! remember!" "i remember! don't be afraid! i'll do it! but i'm going to do some other shooting first." "save two bullets for me!" i plead, "and shoot so that i can see you." "i will, i will," but all the time he was looking to the door; mrs. hyke was clinging to me sobbing: "we'll go together; no one can part us." the mob were pressed back and comparative quiet restored, and when i finished the reading of my address i began to extemporize. what i said seemed to be the right words at the right time. a hushed attention fell upon the audience, inside and out. then there was applause inside, which called forth howls from the outside, and when i stepped from the platform, i was overwhelmed with congratulations, and more astonished than any one, to learn that i could speak in public. t.h. barrett, a young civil engineer, was chairman of the committee on resolutions, and brought in a set which thrilled the audience. they were a most indignant denunciation of the destruction of the office, an enthusiastic endorsement of the course of the _visiter_, and a determination to re-establish it, under the sole control of its editor. they were passed singly by acclamation until the last, when i protested that they should take time to think--should consider if it were not better to get another editor. there could be no peace with me in the editorial chair, for i was an abolitionist and would light slavery and woman-whippers to the death, and after it. there was a universal response of "good! good! give it to 'em, and we'll stand by you." this was the beginning of the final triumph of free speech, but the end was yet in the dim distance, and this i knew then as well as afterwards. t.h. barrett, who carried that meeting, is the man who fought the last battle of the rebellion at the head of his negro troops away down in texas, ten days after lee's surrender, and before that news had reached him, brown was charged with cowardice, in having kept back among the women, and i had to explain on his account. chapter xl. a famous victory. the day after the stearns house meeting, i was thought to be dying. all that medical skill and loving hands could do was done to draw me from the dark valley into which i seemed to have passed; while those men who had planted themselves and their rifles between me and death by violence, came on tip-toe to know if i yet lived. when i was able to be out it was not thought safe for me to do so--not even to cross the street and sit on the high green bank which overlooked the river. harry was constantly armed and on guard, and a pistol shot from his house, night or day, would have brought a score of armed men in a very short time. a printing company had been formed to re-establish the _visiter_. in it were forty good men and true, and they sent an agent to chicago to buy press and type. the st. cloud _visiter_ was to begin a new life as the mouthpiece of the republican party, and i was no longer a scout, conducting a war on the only rational plan of indian warfare. i begged my friends to stand abide and leave lowrie and me to settle the trouble, saying to them: "i cannot fight behind ramparts of friends. i must take the risks myself, must have an open field. protect me from brute force and give me moral aid, but stand aside." but they were full of enthusiasm, and would bear the brunt of battle. there were open threats of the destruction of the new press, and it was no time to quit the field. of the first number of the resurrected _visiter_, the st. cloud printing co. was publisher, and i sole editor. i prepared the contents very carefully, that they might not give unnecessary offense, dropped the role of supporting buchanan, and tried to make a strong republican paper of the abolition type, and in the leader gave a history of the destruction of my office. the paper gave great satisfaction to the publishers, who had not thought i could be so calm; but lowrie threatened a libel suit for my history of that outrage, and i said to the printing company: "you must get out of my way or i will withdraw." at once they gave me a bill of sale for the press and material, and of the second number i was sole editor and proprietor, but it was too late. the libel suit was brought, damages laid at $10,000, and every lawyer in that upper country retained for the prosecution. this was in the spring of '58. the two years previous the country had been devastated by grasshoppers, and no green thing had escaped. there was no old grain, the mass of people had been speculating in town lots, and such had been the demand for city charters, that a wag moved in legislature to reserve one-tenth of the land of minnesota for agricultural purposes. the territorial had just been exchanged for a state government, which was not yet in working order. the capital of every man in the printing company was buried in corner lots, or lots which were not on a corner. the wolves and bears cared nothing for surveyor's stakes, and held possession of most of the cities, howling defiance at the march of civilization. the troops were still in kansas establishing slavery, and we lived in a constant state of alarm. the men were organized for defense against indians, and must do picket duty. all the money was in the hands of the enemy. citizens had everything to buy and nothing to buy it with. provisions were brought up from st. paul by wagon, except when a boat could come from st. anthony. those men of the company who were especially marked, were men of families, and it is hard to starve children for the freedom of the press. the nearest court was st. anthony. any defense of that suit must be ruinous to those men, and i advised them to compromise. a committee was appointed to meet six lawyers, and were in despair when they learned the ultimatum of the great dictator. with the terms demanded, they had no inclination to comply, but sent j. fowler to me with the contract they were required to sign. this bound the company in a bond of $10,000 actual payment, that the _st. cloud visiter_ should publish in its columns a card from mr. shepley, of which a copy was appended, and which stated that the destruction of the office was not for any political cause, but was solely on account of an attack made by its editor on the reputation of a lady. also, that said _visiter_ should never again discuss or refer to the destruction of its office. fowler burned with indignation, and was much surprised when i returned the paper, saying that i would comply with these demands. he protested that i should not--that they had set out to defend the freedom of the press. "which you cannot do," i remarked. "you sign that paper just as you would hand your money to a robber who held a pistol to your head and demanded it. there is a point at which the bravest must yield, where resistance is madness, and you have reached this point. the press is mine, leave its freedom to me. defend me from brute force and do your duty to your families." he returned to the consultation room, where every one was surprised at my compliance. they had all given me credit for more pluck, but since i surrendered, the case was lost. the contract was signed, the bond executed, and everything made tight and fast as law could make it. the friends of free press were indignant, but bided their time. stephen miller, a nephew of my mother-in-law, and afterwards governor of minnesota, was on a visit to harrisburg during all this trouble, and when he returned, he flew into a towering rage over what he termed the cowardly backdown of the printing company, and published a card in the st. paul papers, washing his hands of it. but to the victors belong the spoils and glory, and now they made much of them. ladies got out their silks, their jewels and their laces. there were sounds of revelry by night, where fair women and gallant men drew around the social board, on which sparkled the wine-cup and glimmered the yellow gold, to be taken up by the winner. champagne was drunk in honor of the famous victory, hands were shaken over it, stray sheep were brought back into the true democratic fold, and late opinions about presses and types were forgotten. though, among all the rejoicings, the bar had the best of it. for once its members had not been like the blades of a pair of scissors; had not even seemed to cut each other, while only cutting that which came between. for once its members were a band of brothers, concentrated into one sharp, keen dagger, with which they had stabbed freedom to the heart. that triumphant bar stroked its bearded chin, and parted its silky mustache; hem'd its wisest hem; haw'd its most impressive haw. "if gen. lowrie had ah, but ah, taken legal advice ah, in the first instance ah, all would have been well ah!" they were the generals who had won this famous victory, and wore their laurels with a jaunty air, while a learned and distinguished divine from the center of the state, in a sermon, congratulated the lord on having succeeded in "restoring peace to this community, lately torn by dissensions,"--and all was quiet on the mississippi. on its bank sat poor little i, looking out on its solemn march to the sea, thinking of minnesota; sending a wail upon its bosom to meet and mingle with that borne by the missouri from kansas; thinking of a sad-faced slave, who landed with her babe in her arms here, just in front of my unfinished loft, performed the labor of a slave in this free northern land, and embarked from this same landing to go to a tennessee auction block, nobody saying to the master, "why do ye this?" against the power which thus trampled constitutional guarantees, congressional enactments and state rights in the dust, i seemed to stand alone, with my hands tied--stood in a body weighing just one hundred pounds, and kept in it by the most assiduous care. i was learning to set type, and as i picked the bits of lead from the labeled boxes, there ran the old tune of st. thomas, carrying through my brain these words: "yea, though i walk in death's dark vale, yet will i fear none ill." why did the heathen rage and kings vex themselves? god, even our god, should dash them together like potsherds. what an uneven fight it was--god and i against that little clique--against a world! i rented the office to the boys, who at once gave me notice that i was no longer wanted in it. they issued a half-sheet _visiter_, with "the devil" as editor and proprietor. his salutatory informed his readers, that he was in full possession and was going to have a good time; had taught the _visiter_ to lie, and was going to tunnel the mississippi. those were bright boys, and they had a jolly week. mr. shepley's card appeared, as per agreement, and thus far the terms of release for the printing company complied with, and the contract with the _dictator_ filled. but what next? had i actually given up the publication? of course i had. its finances were desperate, and what else could i do? what motive could i have for attempting to go on with it? oh, what a famous victory. the next publication day passed and no _visiter_. there was a dress parade of triumphant troops, and that most famous victory was bearing fruit. next day the _st. cloud democrat_ made its appearance, and i was sole editor and proprietor. into the first editorial column i copied verbatim, with a prominent heading, the article from the _visiter_ on which the libel suit was founded, and gave notice that i alone was pecuniarily responsible for all the injury that could possibly be done to the characters of all the men who might feel themselves aggrieved thereby. of the late _visiter_ i had an obituary; gave a short sketch of its stormy life; how it was insulted, overborne, enslaved; that it could not live a slave, and died in its new chains. it seems strange that those lawyers should have been so stupid, or should have accredited me with such amazing stupidity when they drew up that bond; but so it was, and the tables were completely turned. to sue me for libel was folly, for in st. paul or st. anthony i should have had the gratuitous services of the best legal talent in the state, and they and their case would have been ground into very small and dirty dust. no famous victory was ever before turned into a more total rout by a more simple ambush, and by it i won the clear field necessary to the continuance of my work. i still had protection from physical violence, but had no fear of legal molestation, and after the next fall election, border ruffianism fell into such disrepute in st. cloud that loaded guns seemed no longer necessary to sustain the freedom of the press. chapter xli. state and national politics. when _the st. cloud democrat_ began its career as the organ of the republican party in northern minnesota, the central and southern portions of the state were fairly supplied with republican papers, the conductors all being more or less skillful in the art of plowing and sowing the political field; but with no very bright prospect of harvesting a victory. under the lowrie dictatorship of the north, it is difficult to see how the success of a republican could have been made possible, any more than giving the electoral vote of southern republican states to the republican candidate in 1880. to overthrow that dictatorship was the work i had volunteered to do, and in doing it, my plan was to "plow deep," subsoil to the beam. preachers held men accountable to god for their sunday services, but it was my aim to urge the divine claim to obedience, all the rest of the week. i held that election day was of all others, the lord's day. he instituted the first republic. all the training which moses gave the jews was to fit them for self-government, and at his death the choice of their rulers was left with them and they were commanded to "choose men, fearing god and hating covetousness, and set them to rule over you." for no creed, no form of worship, no act of his life, is a man more directly responsible to god, than for casting his vote or the non-fulfillment of that duty. when the nominations were made for the second state election in 1859, gen. lowrie had lost ground so fast that he needed the indorsement of his party. this was given in his nomination for lieut. governor. the republicans nominated ignatius donnelly, a fiery young orator, who took the stump, and was not deterred by any super-refinement from making the most of his opponent's reputation as the stealthy destroyer of a printing office, because he had made a bad bargain in buying its editor. he and the party which had made his methods its own by nominating him, were held up to the most unmerciful ridicule. the canvass seemed to turn on the indorsement or repudiation of border-ruffianism, press-breaking, woman-mobbing. my _personnel_ had then become familiar to the people of the state, and the large man who instituted a mob to suppress a woman of my size, and then failed, was not a suitable leader for american men, even if they were democrats. the death-knell of democratic rule in minnesota was rung in that election. the whole republican state ticket was elected, with gov. ramsey at its head, and he was the first governor to tender troops to president lincoln for the suppression of the rebellion. the result was gratifying, although our own county, stearns, was overwhelmingly democratic, and must remain so, since the great mass of the people were catholics. however, the election of the state ticket was largely due to the personal popularity of gov. ramsey, and this could not be depended upon for a lasting arrangement, so i spent the winter following lecturing through the state, sowing seed for the coming presidential campaign. i never spoke in public during an election excitement, never advocated on the platform the claims of any particular man, but urged general principles. stephen miller was our st. cloud delegate to the chicago convention which nominated mr. lincoln, led the canvass in the state, as the most efficient speaker and was chairman of the electoral college. his prominent position in the border ruffian war added largely to his popularity in the state, and once more that little printing office under the grand old trees was plunged into politics; this time into an election on which hung the destinies of the nation. how that election was carried on in other states i know not, but in minnesota the banner of republicanism and human freedom was borne aloft over a well fought field. there was not much surface work. men struggled for the right against the old despotism of might, and planted their cause on foundations more enduring than minnesota granite itself. yet, even then, the opposition of the garrisonians was most persistent. there was a large anti-slavery element among the original settlers of minnesota, but it was mostly of the garrisonian or non-voting type, and had lain dormant under pro-slavery rule. to utilize this element at the polls was my special desire. the ground occupied by them was the one i had abandoned, _i.e._, the ground made by the covenanters when the constitution first appeared. they pronounced it "a covenant with death and an agreement with hell," and would not vote or hold office under it; would not take an oath to support it. so firmly had garrison planted himself on the old covenanter platform, that it is doubtful whether he labored harder for the overthrow of slavery or political anti-slavery; whether he more fiercely denounced slave-holders or men who voted against slave-holding. once after a "flaming" denunciation of political abolitionists, some one said to him: "mr. garrison, i am surprised at the ground you take! do you not think james g. birney and gerrit smith are anti-slavery?" he hesitated, and replied: "they have anti-slavery tendencies, i admit." now, james g. birney, when a young man, fell heir to the third of an alabama estate, and arranged with the other heirs to take the slaves as his portion. he took them all into a free state, emancipated them, and left himself without a dollar, but went to work and became the leader of political abolitionists, while gerrit smith devoted his splendid talents and immense wealth to the cause of the slave. when their mode of action was so reprehensible to mr. garrison, we may judge the strength of his opposition to that plan of action which resulted in the overthrow of slavery. his non-resistance covered ballots as well as bullets, and slavery, the creation of brute force and ballots, must not be attacked by any weapon, save moral suasion. so it was, that garrisonianism, off the line of the underground railroad, was a rather harmless foe to slavery, and was often used by it to prevent the casting of votes which would endanger its power. from the action of the slave power, it must by that time have been apparent to all, that adverse votes was what it most dreaded; but old-side covenanters, quakers, and garrisonians could not cast these without soiling their hands by touching that bad constitution. but that moral _dilettanteism_, which thinks first of its own hands, was not confined to non-voting abolitionists; for the "thorough goers" of the old liberty party, could not come down from their perch on platforms which embraced all the moralities, to work on one which only said to slavery "not another foot of territory." both these parties attacked me. the one argued that i, of necessity, endorsed slavery every where by recognizing the constitution; the other that i must favor its existence where it then was, by working with the republican party, which was only pledged to prevent its extension. to me, these positions seemed utterly untenable, their arguments preposterous, and i did my best to make this appear. i claimed the constitution as anti-slavery, and taught the duty of overthrowing slavery by and through it, but no argument which i used did half the service of an illustration which came to me: i had a little garden in which the weeds did grow, and little bobbie miller had a little broken hoe. when i went into my garden to cut the weeds away, i took up bobbie's little hoe to help me in the fray. if that little hoe were wanting, i'd take a spoon or fork, or any other implement, but always keep at work. if any one would send me a broader, sharper hoe, i'd use it on those ugly weeds and cut more with one blow; but till i got a better hoe, i'd work away with bobbie's. i'd ride one steady-going nag, and not a dozen hobbies; help any man or boy, or fiend to do what needed doing, and only stop when work came up which done would call for ruing. this conceit struck popular fancy as plain argument could not have done, and the republican party came to be called "robbie miller's hoe "--an imperfect means of reaching a great end, and one that any one might use without becoming responsible for its imperfections. during the heat of that lincoln campaign, galusha a. grow, then speaker of the u.s. house of representatives, came to st. cloud to speak, and found me ill with quinsy; but i went to the meeting. it was held in wilson's hall, which was on the second floor of a frame building, and was so packed that before he began fears were felt lest the floors should give way. but the speaker told the audience that the floor would "hold still" if they did; and any one who felt uneasy had better leave now. no one left, and for two hours and a half he held that packed assembly in close and silent attention. he was very popular on the frontier on account of his homestead bill, yet the hall was surrounded all the time he spoke by a howling democratic mob, who hurled stones against the house, fired guns, shouted and yelled, trying to drown his voice. to make it more interesting and try to draw out the audience, they made a huge bonfire and burned me in effigy as-"the mother of the republican party." the result of that campaign is known, for in it minnesota was made so thoroughly republican that the party must needs split, in order to got rid of its supremacy. chapter xlii. religious controversies. the _st. cloud democrat_ found in orthodoxy a foe almost as powerful and persistent as slavery itself. in a local controversy about dancing, i recommended that amusement as the only substitute for lascivious plays, and this was eagerly seized upon by those who saw nothing wrong in wholesale concubinage of the south. a fierce attack was made on _the democrat_ by a zealous baptist minister; to which i replied, when it was announced and proclaimed that on a certain sabbath, at 10 a.m., this minister would answer _the democrat_. at the appointed hour the house overflowed, and people crowded around the doors and windows, while gen. lowrie occupied a prominent seat in the audience. it surely was an odd sight to see that preacher mount the stand, carrying an open copy of _the democrat_, lay it down beside the bible, and read verse about from the two documents. the sermon was as odd as the text. it disposed of me by the summary mode of denunciation, but also disposed of david, solomon and miriam at the same time. when i gave the discourse a careful scriptural criticism, i carried the community, and was strengthened by the controversy. but another, more serious and general dispute was at hand. when theodore parker died, the orthodox press from maine to georgia, handed him over to satan to be tormented; and then my reputation for heresy reached its flood-tide. rev. john renwick, one of our covenanter martyrs, was my ideal of a christian, and when he lay in the edinburg prison under sentence of death, his weeping friends begged him to conform and save his life. they said to him: "dinna ye think that we, who ha' conformit may be saved?" "aye, aye. god forbid that i should limit his grace." "an' dinna ye think, ye too could be saved and conform?" "oh, aye aye. the blood of christ cleanseth fra all sin." "weel, what mair do ye want, than the salvation o' yer saul?" "mair, mickle mair! i want to honor my master, and bear witness to the truth." to satisfy this want, he died a felon's death. the central idea of that old hero-making westminster theology was, that man's chief end is to glorify god first, and enjoy him forever when that is done. in all the religious training of my youth, i had never heard the term "seek salvation." we were to seek the privilege of serving god; yet i was willing to be dead-headed into heaven, with the rest of the presbyterians. a protestant episcopal convention had pointedly refused to advise members of that church to respect the marriage relation among their slaves, and so had dimmed the elizabethian glory of a church which once stood for freedom so nobly that the winds and waves became her allies, and crowned her with victory. the general assembly had laid the honor of its martyrs in the dust by endorsing human slavery; and i must be false to every conviction if i did not protest against calling that christianity which held out crowns of glory to man-thieves and their abettors, and everlasting torments to those who had spent their lives glorifying god and bearing witness to the truth. my defense of parker and unwillingness to have all unitarians sent to the other side of the great gulf, won for me a prominent place among those whom the churches pronounced "infidels." but there came a time when "providence" seemed to be on the side of the slave. rev. j. calhoun was a highly-cultured gentleman, a presbyterian clergyman, and one of those urbane men who add force and dignity to any opinion. his wife was gen. lowrie's only sister. he preached gratuitously in st. cloud, and border ruffianism and slavery gained respectability through their connection, when he and his wife made that fatal plunge off the bridge in st. cloud--a plunge which sent a thrill of horror through the land. i accompanied my sympathetic, respectful obituary notice, with the statement that the costly cutter wrecked, and the valuable horse instantly killed, were both purchased with money obtained by the sale of a woman and her child, who had been held as slaves in minnesota, in defiance of her law, and been taken by this popular divine to a tennessee auction block. the accident was entirely owing to the unprecedented and unaccountable behavior of that horse, and people shuddered with a new horror on being reminded of the price which had been paid for him--bodies and souls of two citizens and the honor of that free state. chapter xliii. frontier life. the culture which the pale faces introduced into that land of the dakotas was sometimes curious. the first sermon i heard there was preached in rockville--a town-site on the sauk, twelve miles from its confluence with the mississippi--in a store-room of which the roof was not yet shingled. the only table in the town served as a pulpit; the red blankets from one wagon were converted into cushions for the front pews, which consisted of rough boards laid on trussles. there was only one hymn book, and after reading the hymn, the preacher tendered the book to any one who would lead the singing, but no one volunteered. my scruples about psalms seemed to vanish, so i went forward, took the book, lined out the hymn, and started a tune, which was readily taken up and sung by all present. we were well satisfied with what the day brought us, as we rode home past those wonderful granite rocks which spring up out of the prairie, looking like old hay-ricks in a meadow. there were people in our frontier town who would have graced any society, and with the elasticity of true culture adapted themselves to all circumstances. at my residence, which adjoined the _democrat_ office, i held fortnightly receptions, at which dancing was the amusement, and coffee and sandwiches the refreshments. at one of these, i had the honor to entertain gov. ramsey, lieut.-gov. donnelly, state treas. shaeffer, and a large delegation from st. paul; but not having plates for seventy people, i substituted squares of white printing paper. when gov. ramsey received his, he turned it over, and said: "what am i to do with this?" "that is the ticket you are to vote," was the answer. in our social life there was often a weird mingling of civilization and barbarism. upon one occasion, a concert was given, in which the audience were in full dress, and all evening in the principal streets of st. cloud a lot of chippewas played foot-ball with the heads of some sioux, with whom they had been at war that day. in those days, brains and culture were found in shanties. the leaders of progress did not shrink from association with the rude forces of savages and mother nature. st. cloud was the advance post of that march of civilization by which the northern pacific railroad has since sought to reach the sascatchewan, a territory yet to be made into five wheat-growing states as large as illinois. all the hudson bay goods from europe passed our doors, in wagons or on sleds, under the care of the burbanks, the great mail carriers and express men of minnesota, and once they brought a young lady who had come by express from glasgow, scotland, and been placed under the charge of their agent at new york, and whom they handed over to the officer she had come to marry on the shores of hudson bay. but their teams usually came east with little freight, as the furs sent to europe came down in carts, not one of which had so much iron as a nail in them, and which came in long, creaking trains, drawn by oxen or indian ponies. in each train there was generally one gorgeous equipage--a cart painted blue, with a canvas cover, drawn by one large white ox in raw-hide harness. in this coach of state rode the lady of the train--who was generally a half-breed--on her way to do her shopping in st. paul. once the lady was a full-blooded indian, and had her baby with her, neatly dressed and strapped to a board. a bandage across the forehead held the head in place, and every portion of the body was as secure as board and bandages could make them, except the arms from the elbow down, but no danger of the little fellow sucking his thumb. his lady mamma did not have to hold him, for he was stood up in a corner like a cane or umbrella, and seemed quite comfortable as well as content. she had traveled seven weeks, had come seventeen hundred miles to purchase some dresses and trinkets, and would no doubt be a profitable customer to st. paul merchants, for the lady of the train was a person of wealth and authority, always the wife of the commander-in-chief, and her sentence of death might have been fatal to any man in it. in these trains were always found indians filling positions as useful laborers, for the english government never gave premiums for idleness and vagabondism among indians, by feeding and clothing them without effort on their own part. their dexterity in turning griddle cakes, by shaking the pan and giving it a jerk which sent the cake up into the air and brought it down square into the pan other side up, would have made biddy's head whirl to see. the "gov. ramsey" was the first steamboat which ran above the falls of st. anthony, and in the spring of '59 she was steamed and hawsered up the sauk rapids, and ran two hundred miles, until the falls of pokegamy offered insurmountable barriers to further progress. it was thought impossible to get her down again, there was no business for her, and she lay useless until, the next winter, anson northup took out her machinery and drew it across on sleds to the red river of the north, where it was built into the first steamboat which ever ran on that river. before starting on his expedition, mr. northup came to the _democrat_ office to leave an advertisement and ask me to appeal to the public for aid in provisions and feed to be furnished along the route. he was in a buffalo suit, from his ears to his feet, and looked like a bale of furs. on his head he wore a fox skin cap with the nose lying on the two paws of the animal just between his eyes, the tail hanging down between his shoulders. he was a brave, strong man, and carried out his project, which to most people was wild. nothing seemed more important than the cultivation of health for the people, and to this i gave much earnest attention, often expressed in the form of badinage. there were so many young housekeepers that there was much need of teachers. i tried to get the new england women to stop feeding their families on dough--especially hot soda dough--and to substitute well-baked bread as a steady article of diet. in trying to wean them from cake, i told of a time when chaos reigned on earth, long before the days of the mastodons, but even then, new england women were up making cake, and would certainly be found at that business when the last trump sounded. but they bore with my "crotchets" very patiently, and even seemed to enjoy them. chapter xliv. printers. the printer's case used to be one of the highways to editorial and congressional honors; but the little fellows of the craft invented a machine which goes over it like a "header" over a wheat-field and leaves a dead level of stalks, all minus the heads, so that no tall fellows are left to shame them by passing on from the "stick" to the tripod or speaker's mallet. their great union rolling-pin flattens them all out like pie-crust, and tramps are not overshadowed by the superiority of industrious men. but the leveling process makes impassable mountains and gorges in other walks of life--makes it necessary that a publisher with one hundred readers must pay as much for type-setting as he with a hundred thousand. the salary of editors and contributors may vary from nothing to ten thousand a year; but through all mutations of this life, the printer's wages must remain in _statu quo_. so the union kills small papers, prevents competition in the newspaper business, builds up monster establishments, and keeps typos at the case forever and a day. i knew when the _visiter_ started that it could not live and pay for type-setting the same price as paid by the new york _tribune_, and the day the office became mine, i stated that fact to the printers, who took their hats and left. in '52, i had spent some part of every day for two weeks in a composing room, and with the knowledge then acquired, i, in '58 started the business of practical printer. i took a proof of my first stick, and lo, it read from right to left. i distributed that, but had to mark the stick that i might remember. the first day i took two boys as apprentices. first, wesley miller, who had spent two months in a harrisburg office, and knew something of the art, but did not like anything about it except working the press. second, my nephew, william b. mitchell, who was thirteen, knew nothing of types, but was a model of patient industry. our magnanimous printers hung around hotels, laughing at the absurdity of this amateur office. we might set type, but when it came to making and locking up a form, ha, ha, wouldn't there be sport? that handsome new type would all be a mess of pi, then somebody would be obliged to come to their terms or st. cloud would be without a paper. it was their great opportunity to display their interest in the general welfare, and they embraced it to the full; but of the little i had learned in that short apprenticeship six years ago, i retained a clear conception of the principles of justification by works. i brought these to bear on those forms, made them up, locked them, and sent for stephen miller to carry them to the press, when each one lifted like a paving stone; but alas, alas, the columns read from right to left. i unlocked them, put the matter back in the galleys, made them up new, and we had the paper off on time. from that time until the first of january, '63, i carried on the business of practical printer, issued a paper every week, did a large amount of job work, was city and county printer for half a dozen counties, did all the legal advertising, published the tax lists, and issued extras during the indian massacres. chapter xlv. the rebellion. when, after mr. lincoln's election, the south made the north understand that her threats of disunion meant something more than "tin kettle thunder," there was little spirit of compromise among the republicans and douglas democrats of minnesota, who generally looked with impatience on the abject servility with which northern men in congress begged their southern masters not to leave them, with no slaves to catch, no peculiar institution to guard. i was in favor of not only permitting the southern states to leave the union, but of driving them out of it as we would drive tramps out of a drawing room. _put_ them out! and open every avenue for the escape of their slaves. but from that spirit of conciliation with which the north first met, secession, the change was sudden. the fire on sumter lit an actual flame of freedom, and the people were ready then to wipe slavery from the whole face of the land. when gen. fremont issued his famous order confiscating the slaves of rebels in arms, i was in receipt of a large exchange list, and have never seen such unanimity on any subject. i think there were but two papers which offered an objection; but this land was not worthy to do a generous deed. so, president lincoln rescinded that order, and the great rushing stream of popular enthusiasm was dammed, turned back to flow into the dismal swamp of constitutional quibbles and statutory inventions. there it lay, and bred reptiles and miasmas to sting and poison the guilty inhabitants of this great land; and never since have we been permitted to reach an enthusiasm in favor of any great principle; for history has no record of a great act so thoroughly divested of all greatness by the meanness of the motive, as is our "act of emancipation." long after the war was in progress, the old habit of yielding precedence to the south manifested itself so strongly as to sour and disgust the staunchest republicans. the only two important military appointments given by mr. lincoln's administration to st. cloud were given to two southern democrats, officeholders under buchanan and supporters of breckinridge, the southern candidate for president in '60. in the autumn of '61, i asked a farmer to take out and post bills for a meeting to send delegates to the county convention. he had been an active worker in the campaign of '60, had never sought an office, and i was surprised when he declined so small a service, but his explanation was this: "if the democrats win the election, the democrats will get the offices. if the republicans win the election, the democrats will get the offices, and i don't see but we may as well let them win the election." when i explained that the more false others were to a party or principle, the more need there was for him to be true, he took the bills and managed the meeting; but running a republican ticket under a republican administration was not so easy as running the same ticket under buchanan. then men had hope and enthusiasm, but this was killed by a victory through which the enemy was made to triumph. as gov. ramsey was the first to tender troops to president lincoln for the suppression of the rebellion, so the men of minnesota were among the first to organize and drill. stephen miller raised a company in st. cloud, with it joined the first regiment at ft. snelling, and was appointed lieut. col. we went to ft. snelling to see our first regiment embark. it was a grand sight to see the men in red shirts and white havelocks march down that rocky, winding way, going to their southern graves, for very few of them ever returned. more troops were called for, and two companies formed in st. cloud. while they waited under marching orders, they and the citizens were aroused at two o'clock one morning by the cry from the east side of the river of, "indians, indians." a boat was sent over and brought a white-lipped messenger, with the news of the sioux massacre at ft. ridgley. chapter xlvi. platforms. my first public speech was the revelation of a talent hidden in a napkin, and i set about putting it to usury. i wrote a lecture--"women and politics"--as a reason for my anomalous position and a justification of those men who had endorsed my right to be a political leader, and gave sketches of women in sacred and profane history who had been so endorsed by brave and wise men. the lecture gave an account of the wrongs heaped upon women by slavery, as a reason why women were then called upon for special activity, and i never failed to "bring down the house" by describing the scene in which the tall kentuckian proposed to the tall pennsylvanian that he should horsewhip an old woman one hundred and two times, to compel her to earn two hundred dollars with which his mightiness might purchase havana cigars, gold chains, etc., or to elicit signs of shame by relating the fact of the united states government proposing to withdraw diplomatic relations with austria for whipping hungarian women for political offenses, while woman-whipping was the principal industry of our american chivalry. i stated that men had sought to divide this world into two fields--religion and politics. in the first, they were content that their mothers and wives should dwell with them, but in the second, no kid slipper was ever to be set. horace mann had warned women to stand back, saying: "politics is a stygian pool." i insisted that politics had reached this condition through the permit given to satan to turn all the waste water of his mills into that pool; that this grant must be rescinded and the pool drained at all hazards. indeed the emergency was such that even women might handle shovels. chicago had once been in a swamp, but the city fathers had lifted it six feet. politicians must "raise the grade," must lift their politics the height of a man, and make them a habitation for men, not reptiles. at this an audience would burst into uproarous applause. as for the grand division, no surveyor could find the line; for no line was possible between religion and politics. the attempt to divide them is an assumption that there is some part of the universe in which the lord is not law-giver. the fathers of the republic had explored and found a country they thought was outside the divine jurisdiction, and called it politics. because old world government had bowed to popes and prelates, they would ignore deity, and say to omnipotence what canute did to the sea: "thus far shalt thou go but no further, and here shall thy proud waves be stayed." but god laughed them to scorn, and would certainly dash them to pieces. the government which they had set up like the golden image of nebuchadnezzer, and demanded that all should bow before it, this same government was bound to sustain men in scourging women for chastity. every man who voted a democratic ticket voted to put down as insurrection any attempt to stand between the cradle and its robber. i never spoke of the st. cloud trouble--there was too much else to talk about. i was seldom interrupted by anything but applause; but in stillwater i was hissed for denouncing buchanan's administration. i waited a moment, then lowered my voice, and said i had raised a good many goslings, and thought i had left them all in pennsylvania, but found some had followed me, and was sorry to have no corn for them. there was no further interruption. i was at that time the guest of a son of my pittsburg friend, judge mcmillan, who led the singing in our church, and with whom i expect to sing "st. thomas" in heaven. my host of that evening afterwards became u.s. senator from minnesota. a considerable portion of three winters i traveled in minnesota and lectured, one day riding thirty miles in an open cutter when the mercury was frozen and the wind blew almost a gale. have crossed houseless prairies between midnight and morning, with only a stage driver, and i never encountered a neglect or a rudeness: but found gentlemen in red flannel shirts and their trowsers stuffed into the tops of their boots, who had no knowledge of grammar, and who would, i think, have sold their lives dearly in my defense. late in '60 or early in '61, i lectured in mantorville, and was the guest of mr. bancroft, editor of the _express_, when he handed me a copy of the new york _tribune_, pointed to an item, and turned away. it was a four line announcement that he who had been my husband had obtained a divorce on the ground of desertion. i laid down the paper, looked at my hands, and thought: "once more you are mine. true, the proceeds of your twenty years of brick-making are back there in egypt with your lost patrimony, but we are over the red sea, out in the free desert; no pursuit is possible, and if bread fails, god will send manna." while i sat, mrs. bancroft came to me, caressed me, and said: "old things have passed away, and all things have become new." chapter xlvii. out into the world and home again. in my first lecturing winter i spoke in the hall of representatives, st. paul, to a large audience, and succeeded past all my hopes. i spoke there again in the winter of '61 and '62, on the anti-slavery question, and in a public hall on "woman's legal disabilities." both were very successful, and i was invited to give the latter lecture before the senate, which i did. the hall was packed and the lecture received with profound attention, interrupted by hearty applause. the senate was in session, and gen. lowrie occupied his seat as a member. it was a great fall for him to tumble from his dictatorship to so small an honor. he sat and looked at me like one in a dream, and i could not but see that he was breaking. i hoped he would come up with others when they began to crowd around me, but he did not. i had come to be the looked-at of all lookers; the talked-of of all talkers; was the guest of geo. a. nurse, the u.s. attorney, dined with the governor, and was praised by the press. i was dubbed the "fanny kemble of america," and reminded critics of the then greatest shylock of the stage. a judge from ohio said there was "not a man in the state who could have presented that case (woman's legal disabilities) so well." indeed, i was almost as popular as if i were about to be hanged! a responsible eastern lecture-agent offered me one hundred dollars each for three lectures, one in milwaukee, one in chicago and one in cleveland. i wanted to accept, but was overruled by friends, who thought me too feeble to travel alone, and that i would make more by employing an agent. they selected a pious gentleman, whose name i have forgotten, and we left st. paul at four o'clock one winter morning, in a prairie schooner on bob-sleds, to ride to la crosse. one of the passengers was a pompous southerner, who kept boasting of the "buck niggers" he had sold and the "niggers" he had caught, and his delight in that sort of work. his talk was aimed at me, but he did not address me, and for hours i took no notice; then, after an unusual explosion, i said quietly: "can you remember, sir, just exactly how many niggers you have killed and eaten in your day?" he looked out on the river and seemed to begin a calculation, but must have found the lists of his exploits too long for utterance, for he had spoken not another word when we reached la crosse, where we took cars for madison, wisconsin. we reached that beautiful city of lakes in time to meet news of the ft. donelson fatal victory; that victory made so much worse than a hundred defeats by the return to their masters of the slaves who remained in the fort and claimed the protection of our flag--the victory which converted the great loyal army of the north into a gang of slave-catchers. alas, my native land! all hope for the preservation of the government died out in my heart. what could a just god want with such a people? what could he do but destroy them? that victory was celebrated in madison with appropriate ceremonies. men got drunk and cursed "niggers and abolitionists," sat up all night in noisy orgies drinking health and success to him who was the synonym of american glory. the excitement and sudden revulsion against abolitionists with the total incompetence of my agent, caused a financial failure of my lecture, but i made pleasant friendships with gov. harvey, prof. carr and their wives. i started along the route we had come, and everywhere, in cars, hotels, men were hurrahing for grant and cursing "niggers and abolitionists." the hero had healed the breach between the loving brothers of the north and south, who were to rush into each others arms across the prostrate form of liberty. thank god for the madness of the south; for that sublime universal government which maketh "the wrath of man to praise him." even in that hour of triumph for despotism, i did not doubt but freedom would march on until no slave contaminated the earth; but before that march this degraded government must share the fate of that other babylon, which once dealt "in slaves and souls of men." my first small town lecture was another financial failure, and in the hall i paid and dismissed that highly respectable incubus--my agent. that night i slept in a hotel, and going to a bed which had not been properly ventilated, wondered if it could be my duty to breast that storm of popular frenzy. could i at any time be required to drink tea out of a coarse delf cup and sleep in such a bed? luxuries i wanted none; but a china cup, silver spoon and soft blankets were necessaries of life. as i lay, uncertain always whether i slept, i seemed to sit on a projecting rock on the side of a precipice draped with poisonous vines. there was no spot on which i could place my feet, while out of holes, snakes hissed at me, and on ledges panthers glared at me with their green fiery eyes, and the tips of their tails wagging. far below lay a lovely green valley, walled on both sides by these haunted precipitous banks, but stretching up and down until lost in vista. i knew that to the right was north--the direction of home; and to the left, south--the way out into the great unknown. if i could only reach that lovely valley and the clear stream which ran through it; but this was a vain longing, until there appeared in it a young man in a grey suit and soft broad-brimmed black felt hat. he came up the precipice toward me, and a way made itself before him, until he held up his hand, and said: "come down!" i saw his face, and knew it was christ. after seeing that face, all the conceptions of all the artists are an offense. moreover, the christ of to-day, in the person of his follower, has often come to me in the garb of a working man, but never in priestly robes. he led me down the precipice without a word, pointed northward and said: "walk in the valley and you will be safe." he was gone, and i became conscious that i had been seeking popularity, money, and these were not for me; i must go home, but first i would try to repair the loss incurred by that agent. i lectured in a small town, a nucleus of a seven day baptist settlement, and was the guest of the proprietor, who had built a great many concrete walls. coming out into a heavy wind, i took acute inflammation of the lungs. my hostess gave me every attention; but i must go home for my symptoms were alarming, so took the train the next morning, with my chest in wet compresses, a viol of aconite in my pocket, and was better when by rail and schooner i reached the house of the good samaritan, judge wilson, of winona. here i was made whole, lectured in winona and other towns, and got back to st. paul with more money than when i left. i started for home one morning in a schooner. at one the next morning our craft settled down and refused to go farther. the snow was three feet deep; it had been raining steadily for twelve hours, and when the men got out to pry out the runners, they went down, down, far over their knees. the driver and express agent were booted for such occasions, but the two germans were not. myself, "these four and no more," were down in the book of fate for a struggle with inertia. it was muscle and mind against matter. to the muscle i contributed nothing, but might add something to the common stock of mind. the agent, and driver concluded that he should take a horse and go to the nearest house, two miles back, to get shovels to dig us out. i asked if there were fresh horses and men at the house. "no." "how far is it to st. cloud?" "six miles." "are there fresh horses and men there?" "oh, plenty." "if you dig us out here, how long will it be before we go in again?" this they did not know. "then had not the driver better go to st. cloud with both horses? the horse left here would be ruined standing in that slush." "but, madam," said the agent, "if we do that we will have to leave you here all night." "well," i said, "i do not see how you are going to get rid of me." so the driver started with the two horses on that dreadful journey; had i known how dreadful, i should have tried to keep him till morning. as he left, i made the germans draw off their boots and pour out the water, rub their chilled feet and roll them up in a buffalo robe. the agent lay on his box, i cuddled in a corner, and we all went to sleep to the music of the patter of the soft rain on our canvas cover. at sunrise we were waked by a little army of men and horses and another schooner, into which we passed by bridge. we reached st. cloud in time for breakfast, and were greeted by the news that general lowrie had been sent home insane. he was confined in his own house, and his much envied young wife, with her two babies, had become an object of pity. chapter xlviii. the aristocracy of the west. before going to minnesota, i had the common cooper idea of the dignity and glory of the noble red man of the forest; and was especially impressed by his unexampled faithfulness to those pale-faces who had ever been so fortunate as to eat salt with him. in planning my hermitage, i had pictured the most amicable relations with those unsophisticated children of nature, who should never want for salt while there was a spoonful in my barrel. i should win them to friendships as i had done railroad laborers, by caring for their sick children, and aiding their wives. indeed, i think the indians formed a large part of the attractions of my cabin by the lakes; and it required considerable time and experience to bring me to any true knowledge of the situation, which was, and is, this: between the indian and white settler, rages the world-old, world-wide war of hereditary land-ownership against those who beg their brother man for leave to live and toil. william penn disclaimed the right of conquest as a land title, while he himself held an english estate based on that title, and while every acre of land on the globe was held by it. he could not recognize that title in english hands, but did in the hands of indians, and while pretending to purchase of them a conquest title, perpetrated one of the greatest swindles on record since that by which jacob won the birthright of his starving brother. this penn swindle has been so carefully cloaked that it has become the basis of our whole indian policy, the legitimate parent of a system never equalled on earth for crime committed with the best intentions. it intends to be especially just, by holding that the creator made north america for the exclusive use of savages, and that civilization can only exist here by sufferance of the proprietors. this sufferance it tries to purchase by engaging to support these proprietors in absolute idleness, from the proceeds of the toil they license, even as kings and other landed aristocrats are supported by the labor of their subjects and tenants. as the successors of the tent-maker of tarsus have for thirteen centuries been found on the side of aristocrats in every contest with plebians, so the piety of the east, controlled by men who live without labor, was and is on the side of the royal red man, who has a most royal contempt for plows, hoes and all other degrading implements. the same community of interests which arrayed the mass of the clergy on the side of southern slaveholders, arrayed that same clergy on the side of the western slave holder, and against the men who seek, with plows and hoes, to get a living out of the ground. under this arrangement we have the spectacle of a christian people arrayed in open hostility to those who plant christian churches, schools and libraries on the lair of the wolf; and in alliance with the savage who coolly unjoints the feet and hands of little children, puts them in his hunting pouch as evidence of his valor, and leaves the victim to die at leisure; of those who thrust christian babies into ovens, and deliberately roast them to death; of those who bind infants, two by two, by one wrist, and throw them across a fence to die; of those who collect little children in groups and lock them up in a room, to wail out their little lives; of those who commit outrages on innocent men and women who the pen must forever refuse to record. the apology with which piety converts the crimes of its pets into virtues, is that its own agents have failed to carry out its own contract with its own friends. the men and women who take their lives in their hands to lead the westward march of civilization, are held as foes by the main body of the army, who conspire with the enemy, and hand them over as scapegoats whose tortures and death are to appease divine wrath for the crimes which this same main body say it has itself committed against indians. no one pretends that western settlers have injured indians, but eastern philanthropists, through the government they control, have, according to their own showing, been guilty of no end of frauds; and as they do not, and cannot, stop the stealing, they pay their debts to the noble red man by licensing him to outrage women, torture infants and burn homes. when gold is scarce in the east, they substitute scalps and furnish indians with scalping-knives by the thousand, that they may collect their dues at their own convenience. this may seem to-day a bitter partisan accusation, but it must be the calm verdict of history when this comes to be written by impartial pens. under the pretense that america belonged, in fee simple, and by special divine right, to that particular hoard of savages, who, by killing off some other hoard of savages, were in possession when columbus first saw the great west, the eastern states, which had already secured their land by conquest, have become more implacable foes to civilization than the savages themselves. the quaker would form no alliance with southern slave-holders. he recoiled from the sale of women and children in south carolina, but covered with his gray mantle of charity the slave trade in minnesota. when a settler refused to exchange his wife or daughter with an indian for a pony, and that indian massacred the whole family to repair his wrongs, his quaker lawyer justified the act on the score of extreme provocation, and won triumphal acquittal from the jury of the world. when the sioux, after the bull run disaster, arose as the allies of the south, and butchered one thousand men, women and children in minnesota, the quakers and other good people flew to arms in their defense, and carried public sentiment in their favor. the agents of the eastern people had delayed the payment of annuity three weeks, and then insulted mr. lo by tendering him one-half his money in government bonds, and for this great wrong the peaceable quaker, the humanitarian unitarian, the orthodox congregationalist and presbyterian, the enthusiastic methodist and staid baptist, felt it but right mr. lo should have his revenge. most eastern christians are opposed to polygamy in utah, and fourierism in france, but in minnesota among indians these institutions are sacred. they demanded that england should by law prohibit widow-burning and other heathen customs in india, but nothing so rude as statutes must interfere with the royal privileges of these western landlords. if by gentle means mr. lo can be persuaded to stop taking all the wives he can get, extorting their labor by the cudgel, and selling them and their children at will, all well and good! millions are expended on the persuading business, and prayer poured out like the rains in noah's flood, without any perceptible effect; but still they keep on paying and praying, and carefully abstain from all means at all likely to accomplish the desired result. all the property of every tribe must be held in common, so that there can possibly be no incentive to industry and economy; but if the indian refuse to be civilized on that plan, he must go on taking scalps and being excused, until extermination solve the problem. long before i saw an indian on his native soil, the u.s. government had spent millions in carrying out this penn policy. for long years, indians had sat like crows, watching the white farmers and artisans sent to teach them industry, and had grunted their honest contempt. they watched the potato planting, that they might pick out the seed for present use. they pulled down fences, and turned their ponies into the growing crops, used the rails for fire wood, burned mills and houses built for them, rolled barrels of flour up steep acclivities, started them down and shouted to see them leap and the flour spurt through the staves; knocked the heads out of other barrels, and let the ponies eat the flour; poured bags of corn on the ground when they wanted the bag, and in every way showed their contempt for the government, whose policy they believed to be the result of cowardice. thousands of dollars' worth of agricultural machinery lay "rotting in the sun" while the noble red aristocrat played poker in the shade; his original contempt for labor intensified by his power to extract a living from laborers, through their fear of his scalping knife. hole-in-the-day, the chippewa chief, had been educated by baptist missionaries, and was a good english scholar, but would not condescend to speak to the government except through an interpreter. for him six hundred acres of land had been fenced, and a large frame cottage built and painted white. in this he lived with six wives, and a united states salary of two thousand a year and his traveling expenses. he dressed like a white man, dined with state officers in st. paul, went to church with a lady on his arm, sat in a front pew, and was a highly distinguished gentleman of the scalping school. chapter xlix. the indian massacre of '62. the indians had been ugly from the first outbreak of the rebellion, and commissioner dole, with senator wilkinson, had come out to pacify them. the party passed through st. cloud, and had camped several miles west, when in the night there came up one of those sudden storms peculiar to this land. their tents were whisked away like autumn leaves, and they left clinging to such productions of mother nature as were at hand, well rooted in her bosom, to avoid a witches' dance in the air. but it grew worse when the rain had covered the level ground six inches deep in water, and they must keep their heads above the surface. they returned to st. cloud in the morning in sorry plight, and the delay was one of the injuries to the poor indians, and counted as sufficient justification for the subsequent massacre. the delay, however, saved their lives. the messenger who aroused the people of st. cloud in the small hours was traveling post after this dole commission, for whose safety there was much anxiety, but none for st. cloud, since the indians would not attack us while there were two companies of soldiers in town. true, they were unarmed, but surely arms would be sent and their marching orders rescinded. the outbreak was mysterious. it was of course in the interests of the south, and meant to prevent the troops leaving the state; but why had not the tribes struck together? the answer was that after the massacre had been arranged in council, two sioux visited a white family in which they had often been entertained, were drunk, and could not resist the impulse to butcher their entertainers. this precipitated the attack, for so soon as the news reached the tribe, they went to work to execute their bloody purpose. johnson, a converted chippewa, hurried to inform us that his tribe with hole-in-the-day in council had resolved to join the sioux and were to have made st. cloud their base of operations, but the sioux had broken out before the arms and ammunition came, and these they were hourly expecting. on the same day a formal message came from hole-in-the-day that commissioner dole must come to the reservation to confer with his young braves, who would await his arrival ten days, after which time their great chief declined to be responsible for them. a runner arrived from ft. abercrombie, who had escaped by crawling through the grass, and reported the fort besieged by a thousand savages, and quite unprepared for defense. there were several st. cloud people in the fort, and so far from expecting aid from it it must be relieved. the garrison at ft. ripley had not a man to spare for outside defense. people began to pour into st. cloud with tales of horror to freeze the blood, and the worst reports were more than confirmed. the victorious sioux had undisputed possession of the whole country west, southwest and northwest of us, up to within twelve miles of the city, and had left few people to tell tales. our troops spent their time teaching women and children the use of firearms, and hoping for arms and orders to go to the relief of abercrombie. there was no telegraph, and the last mail left no alternative but to start for fort snelling, with such short time to get there that every available man and horse must go to hurry them forward. they left in the afternoon, and that was a dreadful night. many of the more timid women had gone east, but of those that remained some paced the streets, wringing their hands and sobbing out their fear and despair and sorrow for the husbands and brothers and sons taken from them at such a crisis. when the troops left, we thought there were no more men in st. cloud, but next morning found a dozen, counting the boys, who were organized to go out west to the rescue of settlers, and still there were some guards and pickets, and some who did nothing but find fault with everything any one else did. men and women spoke with stiffened lips and blanched faces. families in the outskirts gathered to more central places, and there were forty-two women and children in my house the night after the troops left, and for every night for weeks. we kept large kettles of boiling water as one means of defense. i always had the watchword, and often at midnight i would go out to see that the pickets were on duty, and report to the women that all was well. brother harry was appointed general of state troops, succeeding gen. lowrie, and arms were sent to him for distribution, while women kept muskets by them and practiced daily. the office of my democratic contemporary was closed, and he fled to new england, while his assistant went with my only male assistant to rescue settlers. i had two young ladies in the office, one a graduate of a new york high school, and through all the excitement they kept at work as coolly as at any other time. we got out the paper regularly, and published many extras. the history of the horrors and heroisms which reached us during the six weeks in which ft. abercrombie held out until relief came, would make a volume, and cannot he written here. the unimaginable tortures and indecencies inflicted on brave men and good women, are something for which the christian supporters and excusers of the sioux must yet account at the bar where sentimental sympathy with criminals is itself a crime; and where the wail of tortured infants will not be hushed by reckoning of bad beef and a deficiency in beans. while the sioux sat in council to determine that butchery, some objected, on the ground that such crimes would be punished, but little crow, leader of the war party, quieted their fears by saying: "white man no like indian! indian catch white man, roast him, kill him! white man catch indian, feed him, give him blankets," and on this assurance they acted. one thing was clearly proven by that outbreak, viz.: that services to, and friendship for, indians, are the best means of incurring their revenge. those families who had been on most intimate terms with them, were those who were massacred first and with the greatest atrocities. the more frequently they had eaten salt with a pale-face, the more insatiable was their desire for vengeance. the missionaries were generally spared, as the source through which they expected pardon and supplies. the indian was much too cunning to kill the goose that laid the golden egg. the tribe do not object to the conversion of individuals. saying prayers does not interfere with their ideas of their own importance. preachers do not labor with their hands, and indians can join the clerical order or get religion, without losing caste, for labor to them is pollution. two wagon loads of arms and ammunition _en route_ for hole-in-the-day, were intercepted during the massacre, and for want of them he was induced to keep quiet. for being such a good indian, he had a triumphal trip to washington at government expense, got ten thousand dollars, and a seventh wife. chapter l. a missive and a mission. soon after the people had returned to such homes as were left them, i received a letter from general lowrie, who was then in an insane asylum in cincinnati. i caught his humor and answered as carefully as if he had been a sick brother, gave an extract in the _democrat_, accompanied by a notice, and sent him a copy; after which he wrote frequently, and i tried earnestly to soothe him. in one of his letters was this passage: "your quarrel and mine was all wrong. there was no one in that upper country capable of understanding you but me, no one capable of understanding me, but you. we should have been friends, and would have been, if we had not each had a self which we were all too anxious to defend." after the sioux had finished their work of horror, minnesota men, aided by volunteers from iowa and wisconsin, pursued and captured the murderers of one thousand men, women and children; tried them, found them guilty, and proposed to hang them just as if they had been white murderers. but when the general government interfered and took the prisoners out of the hands of the state authorities, and when it became evident that eastern people endorsed the massacre and condemned the victims as sinners who deserved their fate, one of the state officers proposed that i should go east, try to counteract the vicious public sentiment, and aid our congressional delegation in their effort to induce the administration either to hang the sioux murderers, or hold them as hostages during the war. to me this was a providential call, for i had been planning to make a home in the east, that our daughter, then old enough to live without me, might spend a portion of her time with her father. with letters from all our state officers, i left my minnesota home at four o'clock a.m., january 2nd, '63, leaving the _democrat_ in charge of my first apprentice, william b. mitchell. in washington, the minnesota delegation secured the use of dr. sutherland's church, and a packed audience for my lecture on indians. it was enthusiastically applauded, and for a time i did hope for some security for women and children on the frontier; but the secretary of the interior assured me it was not worth while to see the president, for "mr. lincoln will hang nobody!" and our minnesota delegation agreed with him. indeed, there was such a _furor_ of pious pity for the poor injured sioux, such admiration for their long suffering patience under wrong, and final heroic resistance, that i might about as well have tried to row myself from the head of goat island up the rapids of niagara, as stem that current. the ring which makes money by caudling indians, had the ear of both president and people, and the bureau had a paying contract in proving little crow's sagacity. the sioux never were so well supplied with blankets and butcher-knives, as when they received their reward for that massacre; never had so many prayers said and hymns sung over them, and their steamboat ride down the minnesota and mississippi and up the missouri, to a point within two days' walk of the scene of their exploits, furnished them an excursion of about two thousand miles, and left them well prepared for future operations. they appreciated their good fortune, have been a terror to united states troops and western settlers ever since, and have enjoyed their triumph to the full. one morning senator wilkinson and i went to see the president, and in the vestibule of the white house met two gentlemen whom he introduced as sec. stanton and gen. fremont. the first said he needed no introduction, and i said i had asked senator wilkinson to see him on my account. he replied: "do not ask any one to see me! if you want anything from me, come yourself. no one can have more influence." gen. fremont inquired where i was staying, and said he would call on me. this frightened me, and i felt like running away. but they were so kind and cordial that our short chat is a pleasant memory; but mr. wilkinson and i failed to see mr. lincoln. next day sec. stanton gave me an appointment in the quarter master general's office, but there was no place for me to go to work. gen. fremont called at the houses of two friends where i was visiting, but both times i was absent. in 1850 i had also missed the calls of his wife and sister, and so i seemed destined never to meet the people i admired above all others. my friends wished me to attend a presidential reception; but it was useless to see mr. lincoln on the business which brought me to washington, and i did not care to see him on any other. he had proved an obstructionist instead of an abolitionist, and i felt no respect for him; while his wife was every where spoken of as a southern woman with southern sympathies--a conspirator against the union. i wanted nothing to do with the occupants of the white house, but was told i could go and see the spectacle without being presented. so i went in my broadcloth traveling dress, and lest there should be trouble about my early leave-taking, would not trust my cloak to the servants, but walked through the hall with it over my arm. i watched the president and mrs. lincoln receive. his sad, earnest, honest face was irresistible in its plea for confidence, and mrs. lincoln's manner was so simple and motherly, so unlike that of all southern women i had seen, that i doubted the tales i had heard. her head was not that of a conspirator. she would be incapable of a successful deceit, and whatever her purposes were, they must be known to all who knew her. mr. lincoln stood going through one of those, dreadful ordeals of hand-shaking, working like a man pumping for life on a sinking vessel, and i was filled with indignation for the selfish people who made this useless drain on his nervous force. i wanted to stand between him and them, and say, "stand back, and let him live and do his work." but i could not resist going to him with the rest of the crowd, and when he took my hand i said: "may the lord have mercy on you, poor man, for the people have none." he laughed heartily, and the men around him, joined in his merriment. when i came to mrs. lincoln, she did not catch the name at first, and asked to hear it again, then repeated it, and a sudden glow of pleasure lit her face, as she held out her hand and said how very glad she was to see me. i objected to giving her my hand because my black glove would soil her white one; but she said: "then i shall preserve the glove to remember a great pleasure, for i have long wished to see you." my escort was more surprised than i by her unusual cordiality, and said afterwards: "it was no polite affectation. i cannot understand it from her." i understood at once that i had met one with whom i was in sympathy. no politeness could have summoned that sudden flash of pleasure. her manner was too simple and natural to have any art in it; and why should she have pretended a friendship she did not feel? abolitionists were at a discount. they had gone like the front ranks of the french cavalry at waterloo, into the sunken way, to make a bridge, over which moderate men were rushing to honors and emoluments. gideon's army had done its work, and given place to the camp followers, who gathered up the spoils of victory. none wore so poor that they need do them reverence, and i recognized mrs. lincoln as a loyal, liberty-loving woman, more staunch even than her husband in opposition to the rebellion and its cause, and as my very dear friend for life. chapter li. no use for me among the wounded. i had not thought, even after deciding to remain in washington, of doing any hospital work--knew nothing about it; and in strength was more like a patient than a nurse; but while i waited for a summons to go to the duties of my clerkship, i met some ladies interested in hospitals. one of these, mrs. thayer, had an ambulance at her command, and took me for a day's visiting among the forts, on a day when it was known that our armies in virginia were engaged with the enemy. the roads were almost impassable, and as a skillful driver and two good horses used their best efforts to take us from place to place, i felt like a thief; that ambulance ought to be at the front, and us with it, or on our knees pleading for the men whose breasts were a living wall between us and danger, between liberty and her deadly foes. the men in the forts had no special need of us, and sometimes their thanks for the tracts we brought them, gave an impulse to strike them square in the face, but mrs. thayer was happy in her work, and thought me uncivil to her friends. we reached the last fort on our round before i saw anything interesting; and here a sorrowful woman drew me aside to tell me of the two weeks she had spent with her husband, now in the last stage of camp-fever, and of her fruitless efforts to get sufficient straw for his bed, while the bones were cutting through the skin as he lay on the slats of his cot. she wrung her hands in a strange, suppressed agony, and exclaimed "oh! if they had only let me take him home when i came first; but say nothing here, or they will not let me stay." i verified her statement of her husband's condition, so that i could speak from observation without compromising her, and spoke to the surgeon, who politely regretted the scarcity of straw, and hoped to get some soon. i returned to the sufferer, who was from new hampshire, and a very intelligent man; and after talking with him and his wife, concluded to look up the commander of that fort, and put some powder and a lighted match into his ear; but first consulted mrs. thayer, who begged me to take no notice, else she would no longer be permitted to visit the fort. she had introduced me to two fashionably dressed ladies, officers' wifes, resident there; and when i must say or do nothing about this man, lest i should destroy mrs. thayer's opportunity for doing good, i concluded we had discovered a new variety of savage, and came away thinking i could do something in the city. next morning i stated the case to miss dix, who was neither shocked nor surprised. i had never before seen her, but her tall, angular person, very red face, and totally unsympathetic manner, chilled me. the best ambulance in the service was exclusively devoted to her use, and i thought she would surely go or send a bed to that man before noon; but she proposed to do nothing of the kind, had engagements for the day, which seemed to me of small import compared to that of placing that man on a comfortable bed; but she could do nothing that day, by reason of these engagements, and nothing next day, it being sunday, on which day she attended to no business. we spoke of the great battle then in progress, and i tendered my services, could take no regular appointment, would want no pay, could not work long; but might be of use in an emergency! emergencies were things of which she had no conception. everything in her world moved by rule, and her arrangements were complete. she had sent eight nurses to the front, and more could only be in the way. i inquired about hospital supplies, and she grew almost enthusiastic in explaining the uselessness, nay, absurdity, of sending any. government furnished everything that could possibly be wanted. the sanitary and christian commissioners were all a mistake; soldiers' aid societies a delusion and a snare. she was burdened with stores sent to her for which there was no use; and she hoped i would use my influence to stop the business of sending supplies. from her i went direct to the sanitary commission, and found a large house full of salaried clerks and porters, and boxes, and bails, although this was not their storehouse. here again i stated the case of the man without a bed, and found listeners neither surprised nor shocked. every one seemed quite familiar with trifles of that nature, and by and by, i, too, would look upon them with, indifference. i do not remember whether it was saturday engagements, or sunday sanctity, or lack of jurisdiction, which barred the commission from interference; but think they must wait until the fort surgeon sent a requisition. i inquired here about hospital stores, and found there was great demand for everything, especially money. they declined my services in every capacity save that of inducing the public to hurry forward funds and supplies. i told them of miss dix's opinion on that subject, and they agreed that it was quite useless to send anything to her, since she used nothing she received, and would not permit any one else to use stores. late in the next week mrs. thayer came, in great tribulation, to know how i ever could have done so foolish and useless a thing as report that case to miss dix! oh dear! oh dear! it was so unwise! miss dix had gone to the fort on monday, taken the surgeon to task about that bed, gave me as her authority, and for me mrs. thayer was responsible, and would be excluded from that fort on account of my indiscretion. there was another standing quarrel between the directress of nurses and the surgeons. the bitterness engendered would all be visited upon the patients, and it was so deplorable to think i had been so imprudent. her distress was so real, and she was so real in her desire to do good, that i felt myself quite a culprit, especially as the man got no bed, and died on his slats. i was so lectured and warned about the sin of this, my first offense, in telling that which "folk wad secret keep" in hospital management, that i was afraid to go to another, lest i should get some one into trouble; so stayed at home while the washington hospitals were being filled with wounded from the battle of chancellorville. i think it was the afternoon of the second sabbath that i went with mrs. kelsey to visit campbell, to get material for a letter, and tendered my services, but their arrangements were complete. passing through the wards it did indeed seem as if nothing was wanting. as a matter of form, i asked james bride, of wisconsin, if there was anything i could do for him, was surprised to see him hesitate, and astounded to have him answer: "well, nothing particular, unless"--he stopped and picked at the coverlid--"unless you could get us something to quench thirst." "something to quench thirst? why, i have been told you have everything you can possibly require!" "well, they are very good to us, and do all they can; but it gets very hot in here in the afternoons, we cannot go out into the shade, and get so thirsty. drinking so much water makes us sick, and if we had something a little sour!" "but, would they let me bring you anything?" "o yes! i see ladies bring things every day." "then i shall be glad to bring you something tomorrow." chapter lii. find work. that morning i wrote to the new york _tribune,_ relating the incident of the man asking for cooling drinks, and saying that if people furnished the material, i would devote my time to distributing their gifts. next morning i got two dozen lemons, pressed the juice into a jar, put in sugar, took a glass and spoon and, so soon as visitors were admitted, began giving lemonade to those men who seemed to have most need. going to the water tank for every glass of water made it slow work, but i improved my walks by talking to the men, hearing their wants and adding to their stock of hope and cheerfulness, and was glad to see that the nurses did not seem to object to my presence, even though campbell was the one only hospital in the city from which female nurses were rigorously excluded. so noted had it become for the masculine pride of its management, that i had been warned not to stay past the length of an ordinary visit, lest i should be roughly told to go away; and my surprise was equal to my pleasure, when a man came and said: "would it not be easier for you if you had a pitcher?" i said it would, but that i lived too far away to bring one. "oh! i will bring you a pitcher! why did you not ask for one?" "i did not want to trouble you, for they told me you did not like to have women here." he laughed, and said: "i guess we'll all be glad enough to have you! not many of your sort. first thing they all do is to begin to make trouble, and it always takes two men to wait on one of them." he brought the pitcher, and i felt that i was getting on in the world. still i was very humble and careful to win the favor of "the king's chamberlain"--those potencies, the nurses, who might report me to that royal woman-hater, dr. baxter, surgeon in charge, whose name was a terror to women who intruded themselves into military hospitals. as i passed, with my pitcher, i saw one man delerious, and expectorating, profusely, a matter green as grass could be--knew this was hospital gangrene, and remembered all dr. palmer had told me years before, of his experience in paris hospitals, and the antidotes to that and scurvey poison. indeed, the results of many conversations with first-class physicians, and of some reading on the subject of camp diseases, came to me; and i knew just what was wanted here, but saw no sign that the want was likely to be supplied. for this man it was too late, but i could not see that anything was being done to prevent the spread of this fearful scourge. passing from that ward into the one adjoining, i came suddenly upon two nurses dressing a thigh stump, while the patient filled the air with half-suppressed shrieks and groans. i had never before seen a stump, but remembered dr. jackson's lecture over the watermellon at desert, on amputation, for the benefit of charles sumner; and electricity never brought light quicker than there came to me the memory of all he had said about the proper arrangement of the muscles over the end of the bone; and added to this, came a perfect knowledge of the relations of those mangled muscles to the general form of the body. i saw that the nurse who held the stump tortured the man by disregarding natural law, and setting down pitcher and glass on the floor, i stepped up, knelt, slipped my hands under the remains of that strong thigh, and said to the man who held it: "now, slip out your hands! easy! easy! there!" the instant it rested on my hands the groans ceased, and i said: "is that better?" "oh, my god! yes!" "well, then, i will always hold it when it is dressed!" "but you will not be here!" "i will come!" "that would be too much trouble!" "i have nothing else to do, and will think it no trouble!" the nurse, who did the dressing, was very gentle, and there was no more pain; but i saw that the other leg was amputated below the knee, and this was a double reason why he should be tenderly cared for. so i took the nurse aside, and asked when the wounds were to be dressed again. he said in the morning, and promised to wait until i came to help. next morning i was so much afraid of being late that i would not wait for the street cars to begin running, but walked. the guard objected to admitting me, as it was not time for visitors, but i explained and he let me pass. i must not go through the wards at that hour, so went around and came in by the door near which he lay. what was my surprise to find that not only were his wounds dressed, but that all his clothing and bed had been changed, and everything about him made as white and neat and square as if he were a corpse, which he more resembled than a living man. oh, what a tribute of agony he had paid to the demon of appearance! we all pay heavy taxes to other people's eyes; but on none is the levy quite so onerous as on the patients of a model hospital! i saw that he breathed and slept, and knew his time was short; but sought the head nurse, and asked why he had not waited for me; he hesitated, stammered, blushed and said: "why, the fact is, sister, he has another wound that it would not be pleasant for you to see." "do you mean that that man has a groin wound in addition to all else?" "yes, sister! yes! and i thought--" "no matter what you thought, you have tortured him to save your mock-modesty and mine. you could have dressed that other wound, covered him, and let me hold the stump. you saw what relief it gave him yesterday. how could you--how dare you torture him?" "well, sister, i have been in hospitals with sisters a great deal, and they never help to dress wounds. i thought you would not get leave to come. would not like to." "i am not a sister, i am a mother; and that man had suffered enough. oh, how dared you? how dared you to do such a thing?" i wrung my hands, and he trembled like a leaf, and said. "it was wrong, but i did not know. i never saw a sister before--" "i tell you i am no sister, and i cannot think whatever your sisters are good for." he promised to let me help him whenever it would save pain, and i returned to the dying man. the sun shone and birds sang. he stirred, opened his eyes, smiled to see me, and said. "it is a lovely morning, and i will soon be gone." i said, "yes; the winter of your life is past; for you the reign of sorrow is over and gone; the spring time appears on the earth, and the time for the singing of birds has come; your immortal summer is close at hand; christ, who loveth us, and has suffered for us, has prepared mansions of rest, for those who love him, and you are going soon." "oh, yes; i know he will take me home, and provide for my wife and children when i am gone." "then all is well with you!" he told me his name and residence, in pittsburg, and i remembered that his parents lived our near neighbors when i was a child. so, more than ever, i regretted that i could not have made his passage through the dark valley one of less pain; but it was a comfort to his wife to know i had been with him. when he slept again, i got a slightly wounded man to sit by him and keep away the flies, while i went to distribute some delicacies brought to him by visitors, and which he would never need. at the door of ward three, a large man stood, and seemed to be an officer. i asked him if there were any patients in that ward who would need wine penado. he looked down at me, pleasantly, and said: "i think it very likely, madam, for it is a very bad ward." it was indeed a very bad ward, for a settled gloom lay upon the faces of the occupants, who suffered because the ward-master and entire set of nurses had recently been discharged, and new, incompetent men appointed in their places. as i passed down, turning from right to left, to give to such men as needed it the mild stimulant i had brought, i saw how sad and hopeless they were; only one man seemed inclined to talk, and he sat near the centre of the ward, while some one dressed his shoulder from which the arm had been carried away by a cannon ball. a group of men stood around him, talking of that strange amputation, and he was full of chat and cheerfulness. they called him charlie; but my attention was quickly drawn to a young man, on a cot, close by, who was suffering torture from the awkwardness of a nurse who was dressing a large, flesh-wound on the outside of his right thigh. i set my bowl on the floor, caught the nurse's wrist, lifted his hand away, and said: "oh, stop! you are hurting that man! let me do that!" he replied, pleasantly, "i'll be very glad to, for i'm a green hand!" i took his place; saw the wounded flesh creep at the touch of cold water, and said: "cold water hurts you!" "yes ma'am; a little!" "then we must have some warm!" but nurse said there was none. "no warm water?" i exclaimed, as i drew back and looked at him, in blank astonishment. "no, ma'am! there's no warm water!" "how many wounded men have you in this hospital?" "well, about seven hundred, i believe." "about seven hundred wounded men, and no warm water! so none of them get anything to eat!" "oh, yes! they get plenty to eat." "and how do you cook without warm water?" "why, there's plenty of hot water in the kitchen, but we're not allowed to go there, and we have none in the wards." "where is the kitchen?" he directed me. i covered the wound--told the patient to wait and i would get warm water. in the kitchen a dozen cooks stopped to stare at me, but one gave me what i came for, and on returning to the ward i said to charlie: "now you can have some warm water, if you want it." "but i do not want it! i like cold water best!" "then it is best for you, but it is not best for this man!" i had never before seen any such wound as the one i was dressing, but i could think of but one way--clean it thoroughly, put on clean lint and rags and bandages, without hurting the patient, and this was very easy to do; but while i did this, i wanted to do something more, viz.: dispel the gloom which hung over that ward. i knew that sick folks should have their minds occupied by pleasant thoughts, and never addressed an audience with more care than i talked to that one man, in appearance, while really talking to all those who lay before me and some to whom my back was turned. i could modulate my voice so as to be heard at quite a distance, and yet cause no jar to very sensitive nerves close at hand; and when i told my patient that i proposed to punish him now, while he was in my power, all heard and wondered; then every one was stimulated to learn that it was to keep him humble, because, having received such a wound in the charge on marie's hill, he would be so proud by and by that common folks would be afraid to speak to him. i should be quite thrown into the shade by his laurels, and should probably take my revenge in advance by sticking pins in him now, when he could not help himself. this idea proved to be quite amusing, and before i had secured that bandage, the men seemed to have forgotten their wounds, except as a source of future pride, and were firing jokes at each other as rapidly as they had done bullets at the enemy. when, therefore, i proposed sticking pins into any one else who desired such punishment, there was quite a demand for my services, and with my basin of tepid water i started to wet the hard, dry dressings, and leave them to soften before being removed. before night i discovered that lint is an instrument of incalculable torture, and should never be used, as either blood or pus quickly converts some portion of it into splints, as irritating as a pine shaving. chapter liii. hospital gangrene. about nine o'clock i returned to the man i had come to help, and found that he still slept. i hoped he might rouse and have some further message for his wife, before death had finished his work, and so remained with him, although i was much needed in the "very bad ward." i had sat by him but a few moments when i noticed a green shade on his face. it darkened, and his breathing grew labored--then ceased. i think it was not more than twenty minutes from the time i observed the green tinge until he was gone. i called the nurse, who brought the large man i had seen at the door of the bad ward, and now i knew he was a surgeon, knew also, by the sudden shadow on his face when he saw the corpse, that he was alarmed; and when he had given minute directions for the removal of the bed and its contents, the washing of the floor and sprinkling with chloride of lime, i went close to his side, and said in a low voice: "doctor, is not this hospital gangrene?" he looked down at me, seemed to take my measure, and answered: "i am very sorry to say, madam, that it is." "then you want lemons!" "we would be glad to have them!" "glad to have them?" i repeated, in profound astonishment, "why, you _must_ have them!" he seemed surprised at my earnestness, and set about explaining: "we sent to the sanitary commission last week, and got half a box." "sanitary commission, and half a box of lemons? how many wounded have you?" "seven hundred and fifty." "seven hundred and fifty wounded men! hospital gangrene, and half a box of lemons!" "well, that was all we could get; government provides none; but our chaplain is from boston--his wife has written to friends there and expects a box next week!" "to boston for a box of lemons!" i went to the head nurse whom i had scolded in the morning, who now gave me writing materials, and i wrote a short note to the _new york tribune_: "hospital gangrene has broken out in washington, and we want lemons! _lemons!_ lemons! ~lemons!~ no man or woman in health, has a right to a glass of lemonade until these men have all they need; send us lemons!" i signed my name and mailed it immediately, and it appeared next morning. that day schuyler colfax sent a box to my lodgings, and five dollars in a note, bidding me send to him if more were wanting; but that day lemons began to pour into washington, and soon, i think, into every hospital in the land. gov. andrews sent two hundred boxes to the surgeon general. i received so many, that at one time there were twenty ladies, several of them with ambulances, distributing those which came to my address, and if there was any more hospital gangrene that season i neither saw nor heard of it. the officers in campbell knew of the letter, and were glad of the supplies it brought, but some time passed before they identified the writer as the little sister in the bad ward, who had won the reputation of being the "best wound-dresser in washington." chapter liv. get permission to work. rules required me to leave campbell at five o'clock, but the sun was going down, and i lay on a cot, in the bad ward, feeling that going home, or anywhere else, was impossible, when that large doctor came, felt my pulse, laid his hand on my brow, and said: "you must not work so hard or we will lose you! i have been hunting for you to ask if you would like to remain with us?" "like to remain with you? well, you will have to send a file of soldiers with fixed bayonets to drive me away." he laughed quite heartily, and said: "we do not want you to go away. i am executive officer; surgeon kelley and dr. baxter, surgeon in charge, has commissioned me to say that if you wish to stay, he will have a room prepared for you. he hunted for you to say so in person, but is gone; now i await your decision. shall i order you a room?" "surgeon baxter! why--what does he know about me?" "oh, surgeon baxter, two medical inspectors, and the surgeon of this ward were present this morning when you came in and took possession." his black eyes twinkled, and he shook with laughter when i sat up, clasped my hands, and said: "oh, dear? were they the men who were standing around charlie? why i had not dreamed of them being surgeons!" "did you not know by their shoulders traps?" "shoulderstraps? do surgeons have shoulderstraps? i thought only officers wore them!" "well, surgeons are officers, and you can know by my shoulderstraps that i am a surgeon." "oh, i do not mind you; but dr. baxter! how i did behave before him! what must he have thought? and he does not allow women to come here!" "well. you passed inspection; and as you propose to stay with us, i will have a room prepared for you." he then went on to state that the reason doctor baxter would not have female nurses, was that he would not submit to miss dix's interference, did not like the women she chose, and army regulations did not permit him to employ any other. "but," he continued, "no one can object to his entertaining a guest, and as his guest you can employ your time as you wish." ah! what a glorious boon it was, this privilege of work, and my little barrack-room, just twice the width of my iron cot. i would not have exchanged for any suite in windsor palace. chapter lv. find a name. nothing was more needed in the bad ward, than an antidote for homesickness, and, to furnish this, i used my talking talent to the utmost, but no subject was so interesting as myself. i was the mystery of the hour. charlie was commissioned to make discoveries, and the second day came, with a long face, and said: "do you know what they say about you?" "no indeed! and suspect i should never guess." "well, they say you're an old maid!" i stopped work, rose from my knees, confronted him and exclaimed, with an injured air: "an old maid! why charlie! is it possible you let them talk in that manner about me, after the nice pickles i gave you?" the pickles had made him sick, and now there was a general laugh at his expense, but he stuck to his purpose and said: "well, ain't you on old maid?" "an old maid, charlie? did any one ever see such a saucy boy?" "oh, but tell us, good earnest, ain't you an old maid?" "well then, good earnest, charlie, i expect i shall be one, if i live to be old enough." "live to be old enough! how old do you call yourself?" i set down my basin, counted on my fingers, thought it over and replied: "well, if i live two months and five days longer, i shall be sixteen." then there was a shout at charlie's expense, and i resumed my work, grave as an owl. that furnished amusement until it grew stale, when charlie came to ask me my name, and i told him it was mrs. snooks. "mrs. snooks?" repeated a dozen men, who looked sadly disappointed, and charlie most of all, as i added: "yes; mrs. timothy snooks, of snooksville, minnesota." this was worse and worse. it was evident no one liked the name, but all, save one, were too polite to say so, and he roared out: "i don't believe a word of it!" i sat at some distance with my back to him, dressing a wound; and, without turning, said, "why? what is the matter with you?" "i don't believe that such a looking woman as you are ever married a fellow by the name of snooks:" "that is because you are not acquainted with the snooks' family: brother peter's wife is a much better looking woman than i am!" "good lookin'!" he sneered; "call yourself good lookin', do you?" "well, i think you intimated as much, did he not boys?" they all said he had, and the laugh was turned on him; but he exclaimed doggedly, "i don't care! i'm not goin' to call you snooks!" "and what do you propose to call me?" "i'll call you mary." "but mary is not my name." "i don't care! it's the name of all the nice girls i know!" "very good! i too shall probably be a nice girl if i live to grow up, but just now it seems as if i should die in infancy--am too good to live." "you're the greatest torment ever any man saw." the last pin was in that bandage; i arose, turned, and the thought flashed through my brain, "a tiger." his eyes literally blazed, and i went to him, looking straight into them, just as i had done into tom's more than once. a minnie rifle ball had passed through his right ankle, and when i saw him first the flesh around the wound was purple and the entire limb swollen almost to bursting. the ward master told me he had been given up three days before, and was only waiting his turn to be carried to the dead house. next morning the surgeon confirmed the account, said he had been on the amputation table and sent away in hope the foot might be saved, adding: "i think we were influenced by the splendor of the man's form. it seemed sacrilege to mangle such a leg then, before we knew it was too late." i thought the inflammation might be removed. he said if that were done they could amputate and save him, and the conversation ended in the surgeon giving the man to me to experiment on my theory. this seemed to be generally known, and the case was watched with great interest. no one interfered with my treatment of him, and nurses designated him to me as "your man." he was a cross between a hercules and apollo--grey-eyed, brown-haired, the finest specimen of physical manhood i have ever seen, and now his frail hold on life was endangered by the rage into which i had unwittingly thrown him. so i sat bathing and soothing him, looking ever and anon steadily into his eyes, and said: "you had better call me mother." "mother!" he snarled, "you my mother!" "why not?" "why, you're not old enough!" "i am twice as old as you are! "no, you 're not; and another thing, you're not big enough!" he raised his head, surveyed me leisurely and contemptuously, his dark silky moustache went up against his handsome nose as he sank back and said slowly: "why, you-'re-not-much-bigger-'an-a-bean!" "still, i am large enough to take care of you and send you back to your regiment if you are reasonable: but no one can do anything for you if you fly into a rage in this way!" "yes! and you know that, and you put me in a rage going after them other fellows. you know i've got the best right to you. i claimed you soon as you come in the door, and called you afore you got half down the ward. you said you'd take care of me and now you don't do it. the surgeon give me to you too. you know i can't live if you don't save me, and you don't care if i die!" i was penitent and conciliatory, and promised to be good, when he said doggedly: "yes! and i'll call you mary!" "very well, mary is a good name--it was my mother's, and i shall no doubt come to like it." "i guess it is a good name! it was my mother's name too, and any woman might be glad to be called mary. but i never did see a woman 'at had any sense!" he soon growled himself to sleep, and from that time i called him "ursa major;" but he only slept about half an hour, when a nurse in great fright summoned me. they had lifted him and he had fainted. i helped to put him back into bed, and bathed him until consciousness returned, when he grasped my wrist with a vice-like hold and groaned. "oh god! oh mother! is this death?" i heard no more of miss mary, or nice girls; but god and mother and death were often on his lips. to the great surprise of every one i quelled the inflammation and fever, banished the swelling, and got him into good condition, when the foot was amputated and shown to me. the ankle joint was ground into small pieces, and these were mingled with bits of leather and woolen sock. no wonder the inflammation had been frightful; but it was some time after that before i knew the foot might have been saved by making a sufficient opening from the outside, withdrawing the loose irritating matter, and keeping an opening through which nature could have disposed of her waste. i do not know if surgery have yet discovered this plain, common-sense rule, but tens of thousands of men have died, and tens of thousands of others have lost limbs because it was not known and acted upon. all those men who died of gun-shot flesh wounds were victims to surgical stupidity. i nursed the cross man until he went about on crutches, and his faith in me was equal in perfection to his form, for he always held that i could "stop this pain" if i would, and rated me soundly if i was "off in ward ten" when he wanted me. one day he scolded worse than usual, and soon after an irishman said, in an aside: "schure mum, an' ye mustn't be afther blamin' de rist av us fur that fellow's impidence. schure, an' there's some av us that 'ud kick him out av the ward, if we could, for the way he talks to ye afther all that you have done for 'im an' fur all av us." "why! why! how can you feel so? what difference is it to me how he talks? it does him good to scold, and what is the use of a man having a mother if he cannot scold her when he is in pain? i wish you would all scold me! it would do you ever so much good. you quite break my heart with your patience. do, please be as cross as bears, all of you, whenever you feel like it, and i will get you well in half the time." "schure mum, an' nobody iver saw the likes of ye!" a man was brought from a field hospital, and laid in our ward, and one evening his stump was giving him great pain, when the cross man advised him to send for me, and exclaimed: "there's mother, now; send for her." "oh!" groaned the sufferer, "what can she do?" "i don't know what she can do; an' she don't know what she can do; but just you send for her! she'll come, and go to fussin' an' hummin' about just like an old bumble-bee, an' furst thing you know you won't know nothin', for the pain'll be gone an' you'll be asleep." chapter lvi. drop my alias. the second or third day of my hospital work, mrs. gaylord, the chaplain's wife, came and inquired to what order i belonged, saying that the officers of the hospital were anxious to know. i laughed, and told her i belonged exclusively to myself, and did not know of any order which would care to own me. then she very politely inquired my name, and i told her it was mrs. jeremiah snooks, when she went away, apparently doubting my statement. i had been in campbell almost a week, when dr. kelly came and said: "madam, i have been commissioned by the officers of this hospital to ascertain your name. none of us know how to address you, and it is very awkward either in speaking to you, or of you, not to be able to name you." "doctor, will not mrs. snooks do for a name, for all the time i shall be here?" "no, madam, it will not do." i was very unwilling to give my name, which was prominently before the public, on account of my indian lecture and _tribune_ letters, but i seemed to have at least a month's work to do in campbell. hospital stores were pouring in to my city address, and being sent to me at a rate which created much wonder, and the men who had given me their confidence had a right to know who i was. so i gave my name, and must repeat it before the doctor could realize the astounding fact; even then he took off his cap and said: "it is not possible you are _the_ mrs. ----, the lady who lectured in doctor sunderland's church!" so i was proclaimed, with a great flourish of trumpets. for two hours my patients seemed afraid of me, and it did seem too bad to merge that giantess of the bean-pole and the press and the tall woman of the platform both in poor little insignificant me! it was like blotting out the big bear and the middle-sized bear from the old bear story, and leaving only the one poor little bear to growl over his pot of porridge. in ward five was one man who had been laid on his left side, and never could be moved while he lived. his right arm suffered for lack of support, and when i knelt to give him nourishment from a spoon, and pray with him that the deliverer would soon come, he always laid that arm over my shoulders. the first time i knelt there after i was known, he said: "ah, you are such a great lady, and do not mind a poor soldier laying his arm over you!" "christ, the great captain of our salvation," i replied, "gathers you in his arms and pillows your head upon his bosom. am i greater than he? your good right arm has fought for liberty, and it is an honor to support it, when you are no longer able." but nothing else i could ever say to him, was so much comfort as the old cry of the sufferer by the wayside, "jesus, thou son of david, have mercy on me." over and over again we said that prayer in concert, while he waited in agony for the only relief possible--that of death; and from our last interview i returned to the bad ward, so sad that i felt the shadow of my face fall upon every man in it. i could not drive away death's gloom; but i could work and talk, and both work and talk were needed. i sat down between two young irishmen, both with wounded heads, and began to bathe them, and comfort them, and said: "if you are not better in the morning, i shall amputate both those heads; they shall not plague you in this manner another day." maybe my sad face made this funny, for their sense of the ridiculous was so touched that they clasped their sore heads and shrieked with laughter. every man in the ward caught the infection, and i was called upon for explanations of the art of amputating heads, and inquiries as to surgeon baxter's capacity of performing the operation. this grotesque idea proved a fruitful subject of conversation, and aided in leading sufferers away from useless sorrow, toward hope and health; and bad as the ward was we lost but two men in it. chapter lvii. hospital dress. in that sad ward one superior, intelligent young man, who was thought to be doing well, suddenly burst an artery, and ropes were put up to warn visitors and others not to come in, and we who were in, moved with bated breath lest some motion should start the life-current. while his last hope was on a stillness which forbade him to move a finger, two lady visitors came to the door, were forbidden to enter, but seeing me inside, must follow the sheep instinct of the sex, and go where any other woman had gone. so, with pert words, they forced their way in, made a general flutter, and, oh horror! one of them caught her hoops on the iron cot of the dying man. he was only saved from a severe jerk by the prompt intervention of the special nurse. they were led out as quietly as possible, but the man had received a slight jerk and a serious shock. the hemorrhage would probably have returned if they had not come in, but it did return, and the young, strong life ebbed steadily away in a crimson current which spread over the floor. from that day until the end of my hospital work, one fact forced itself upon my attention, and this is, that with all the patriotism of the american women, during that war, and all their gush of sympathy for the soldier, a vast majority were much more willing to "kiss him for his mother" than render him any solid service, and that not one in a hundred of the women who succeeded in getting into hospitals would dress so as not to be an object of terror to men whose life depended on quiet. women were capable of any heroism save wearing a dress suitable for hospital work. the very, very few who laid aside their hoops, those instruments of dread and torture, generally donned bloomers, and gave offense by airs of independence. good women would come long distances to see dying husbands, brothers and sons, and fill the wards with alarm by their hoops. when any one was hurt by them they were very sorry, but never gave up the cause of offense, while their desire to look well, and the finery and fixings they donned to improve their appearance, was a very broad and painful burlesque. women were seldom permitted to stay in a hospital over night, even with a dying friend, and the inhabitants were generally glad when they started for home. it was the dress nuisance which caused nuns to have the preference in so many cases; but i could not see or hear that they ever did anything but make converts to the church and take care of clothing and jellies. one thing is certain, _i.e._, that women never can do efficient and general service in hospitals until their dress is prescribed by laws inexorable as those of the medes and persians. then, that dress should be entirely destitute of steel, starch, whale-bone, flounces, and ornaments of all descriptions; should rest on the shoulders, have a skirt from the waist to the ankle, and a waist which leaves room for breathing. i never could have done my hospital work but for the dress which led most people to mistake me for a nun. chapter lviii. special work. in the wilderness of work i must choose, and began to select men who had been given up by the surgeons, and whom i thought might be saved by special care. surgeon kelly soon entered into my plan, and made his ward my headquarters. to it my special patients were brought, until there was no more room for them. that intuitive perception of the natural position of muscles, and the importance of keeping them in it, which came to me on first seeing a wound dressed, gave me such control over pain that i used to go through the wards between midnight and morning and put amputation cases to sleep at the rate of one in fifteen minutes. in these morning walks i saw that the nurses were on duty and had substantial refreshments, saw those changes for the worse, sure to come, if they came at all, in those chill hours. seeing them soon was important to meeting them successfully, and i succeeded in breaking up many a chill before it did serious damage, which must have proved fatal if left until the morning visit of the surgeon. also, in those walks i chose special cases; have more than once sat down by a man and calculated in this way: "you may have twenty, forty years of useful life, if i can save you; i shall certainly die one year sooner for the labor i expend on you, but there will be a large gain in the average of life and usefulness; and when you risked all of your life for the country as much mine as yours, it is but just that i should give a small part of mine to save you." every man lived whom i elected to life, and dr. kelly, who knew more than any one else about my plans, and on whom i most counted for aid, has said that i saved enough to the government in bounty money, by returning men to duty who would otherwise have died, to warrant it in supporting me the balance of my life; but his statements could not always be relied upon, for he insisted that i never slept, had not been asleep during the seven weeks spent in campbell, was a witch and would float like a cork, if thrown from the long bridge into the potomac. in selecting a man in desperate case to be saved, i always took his temperament and previous life into consideration. a man of pure life and sanguine temperament was hard to kill. give him the excuse of good nursing and he would live through injuries which must be fatal to a bilious, suspicious man, or one who had been guilty of any excess. a tobacco chewer or smoker died on small provocation. a drunkard or debauchee was killed by a scratch. there were two ward surgeons who disapproved of the innovation of a woman in campbell, and especially of one held amenable to no rules. they were both in favor of heroic treatment, which i did not care to witness, and i spent little time in their wards. one of them kept a man, with two bricks tied to his foot and hanging over the foot of the bed, until he died, after ten days of a sleepless agony such as could not well have been excelled in an inquisition; while his wife tried to comfort him under a torture she begged in vain to have remitted. the night after she started home with his body, i was passing through the ward, when i came upon a young philadelphia zouave in a perfect paroxysm of anguish. three nurses stood around him, and to my inquiry "what _is_ the matter?" replied by dumb show that coming death was the matter, and that soon all would be over; while in words they told me he had not slept for forty-eight hours. i had one place a chair for me, sat down, and with my long, thin hands grasped the thigh stump, which was making all the trouble, drew and pressed the muscle into a natural, easy position, cooed and talked and comforted the sufferer, as i should have done a sick baby, and in ten minutes he was asleep. then i whispered the nurses to bring cotton and oakum, and little cushions; made them put the cotton and oakum, in small tufts, to my index fingers; and while i crooned my directions in a sing-song lullaby air, i worked in this support, gradually and imperceptibly withdrawing my hands, until i could substitute the little cushions for the force by which they held the muscle in proper position. this done, my boy-soldier slept as sweetly as ever he had done in his crib. next morning a nurse came running for me to hurry to him. he had slept six hours, waked, had his breakfast, and had his wound dressed, and now the pain was back bad as ever. i went, fixed the mangled muscle with reference to his change of position, made a half-mould to hold it there, and before i had finished he began an eight-hour sleep. ten days after he was sent home to his mother, and i saw or heard of him no more. chapter lix. heroic and anti-heroic treatment. the other ward in which i was not welcome, adjoined that one in which my room was situated, and to reach it i must go out of doors or pass through one-half the length of that ward. in these passages i had an opportunity for studying piemia and its ordinary treatment, and could give the men lemonade when they wanted it. in this ward lay a young german with a wounded ankle. he had a broad, square forehead, skin white as wax, large blue eyes and yellow hair, inclined to curl. his whole appearance indicated high culture, and an organization peculiarly sensitive to pleasure or pain; but no one seemed to understand that he suffered more than others from a like cause. surgeon and nurses scoffed at his moans, and thought it babyish, for a muscular man over six feet to show so many signs of pain. i think that from some cause, the surgeon felt vindictive toward him, and that his subordinates took their cue from him. when i went to give him lemonade, he would clutch my hand or dress, look up in my face, and plead: "oh, mutter! mutter!" but if i sat down to soothe and comfort him, a nurse always came to remind me of the surgeon's orders, and i used to go around on the outside, that he might not see and call me. when he was in the amputation room i heard his shrieks and groans, and carried a glass of wine to the door for him. he heard my voice, and called "mutter! mutter!" i pushed past the orderly, ran to him, and his pleading eyes seemed to devour me as he fastened his gaze on my face. i cannot think to this day why be should have been nude for the amputation of a foot; but he was, and some one threw a towel across his loins as i approached. dr. baxter said: "no sympathy! no sympathy!" so i stood by him, placed a hand on each side of his corrugated brow, steadied my voice and said: "be a man and a soldier!" he had asked me for bread; i gave him a stone, and no wonder he dashed it back in my face. with a fierce cry he said: "i hev been a man and a sojer long enough!" ah! verily had he, and much too long. days before that he should have been "a boy again;" aye, a baby, a very infant--should have been soothed and softened and comforted with all the tenderness of mother-love; but even now, in this cruel extremity, every sign of sympathy was denied him. some one put a hand gently but firmly on each of my shoulders, turned my back to him, took me out of the room, and i hurried away, while the air shuddered with his shrieks and groans. after he had been brought back to his place in the ward i could often hear him as i passed to and from my room, and even while i occupied it. once he saw me through the open door, and called, "mutter! mutter!" i went, knelt by him, took his hands, which were stretched appealingly to me, and spoke comforting words, while his blue eyes seemed ready to start from their sockets, as he clung to my hands with the old familiar cry: "oh, mutter! mutter!" he was strapped down to his iron cot, about as closely as he had been to the amputation table, and the cot fastened to the floor. i had not been five minutes at his side when his special nurse hurried up and warned me to leave, saying: "it's surgeon's orders. he's not going to have any babyin'!" i drew my hands from the frantic grasp, took away that last hold on human sympathy, and hurried oat, while his cry of "oh, mutter! mutter!" rung in my ears as i turned and looked on his pure high brow for the last time. next morning i heard he had lock-jaw, and that the surgeon was to leave. the night after that victim of some frightful, fiendish experiment had been carried to the dead-house, i was passing through the ward, when attracted by sounds of convulsive weeping, and i found a young man in an agony of grief, in one of those sobbing fits sure to come to the bravest. he was in a high fever, and while i bathed his face and hands, i asked the cause of his outbreak, and he sobbed: "oh, the pain in my wound! this is the third night i have not slept, and my god! i can bear it no longer!" it was a flesh-wound in the thigh, such an one as usually proved fatal, and while i set him to talking i began patching scraps of observation into a theory. he was from pennsylvania, and bitterly charged his state with having done nothing for her wounded, and when i asked why he had not sent for me, he said: "oh, i thought you were from massachusetts, like all the rest of them; and if my own state would do nothing for me, i would not beg. people come here every day looking for massachusetts soldiers. since i have been frantic here, ladies have come and stood and looked at me, and said 'poor fellow!' as if i had been a dog. i was as well raised as any of them, even if i am a common soldier." i thought his recovery very doubtful, and talked to draw his thoughts to the better land. to his charges against his native land, i said: "i am a pennsylvanian; and more than that, the governor of pennsylvania sent me to you; bade me come to-night, that you might know he had not forgotten you." "he did? why, how did he know anything about it?" "he just knows all about it, and has been caring for you all this time. i do not mean andy curtin. he is nothing but a subaltern; but the dear lord, our father in heaven, who never forgets us, though he often afflicts us. he sent me to you now, that you might know he loves you. it was he who made me love you and care to help you. all the love and care that come to you are a part of his love." "he wept afresh but less bitterly, and said: "oh you will think i am a baby!" "well! that is just what you ought to be. your past life is sufficient certificate of manhood; and now has come your time to be a baby, while i am mother. you have been lying here like an engine, under a high pressure of steam, and the safety-value fastened down with a billet of wood, until there has been almost an explosion. now just take away that stick of wood--your manhood and pride, and let out all the groans and tears you have pent in your heart. cry all you can! this is your time for crying!" when i had talked him into a mood to let me feel if his feet were warm, i found that wounded limb dreadfully swollen, cold almost as death, stretched out as he lay on his back, and a cushion right under the heel. had there been no wound the position must have been unendurable. without letting him know, i drew that cushion up until it filled the hollow between the heel and calf of the leg, and supported the strained muscle, tucked a handful of oakum under the knee, moved the toes, brushed and rubbed the foot, until circulation started, sponged it, rolled it in flannel, of which i had a supply in my basket, washed the well foot, and put a warm woolen sock on it, arranged the cover so that it would not rest on the toes of the sore leg; told him to get the new surgeon next morning to make a large opening on the lower side of his thigh, where the bullet had gone out--to ask him to cut lengthwise of the muscle; get out everything he could, that ought not to be in there; keep that opening open with a roll of bandage, so that old mother nature should have a trap-door through which she could throw her chips out of that work-shop in his thigh; to be sure and not hint to the surgeon that i had said anything about it, and not fail to have it done. i left him asleep, and the next day he told me the surgeon had taken a quart of pus and several pieces of woolen cloth out of his wound, and his recovery was rapid. chapter lx. cost of order. in making molds and rests for mangled limbs, i had large demands for little cushions, and without economy could not get enough. when one just fitted a place i wanted to keep it, and to do this, must have it aired, perhaps washed. to avoid lint dressings, i hunted pieces of soft, table linen, gave to patients pieces to suit, and as the supply was short they would get nurses and surgeons to leave their pieces of linen, after dressing their wounds until i should take charge, and have them cleansed for next time. to do all this, i must use the grass-plats and railings for airing and drying cushions and rags. these plats and railings were for ornament, and there was soon a protest against putting them to "such vile uses." i had gone into the hospital with the stupid notion that its primary object was the care and comfort of the sick and wounded. it was long after that i learned that a vast majority of all benevolent institutions are gotten up to gratify the asthetic tastes of the public; exhibit the wealth and generosity of the founders, and furnish places for officers. the beneficiaries of the institutions are simply an apology for their existence, and having furnished that apology, the less said about them the better. the surgeons of campbell did really want its patients to be happy and get well; but it was a model institution, with a reputation to sustain; was part of a system under general laws, which might not be broken with impunity. there was no law against a man dying for want of sleep from pain caused by misplaced muscle; but the statutes against litter were inexorable as those of the medes and persians. the campbell surgeons winked at my litter, until one regular inspection day, when my cushions and rags, clean and unclean, those marked john smith, and those labeled tom brown, were all huddled up and stuffed _en masse_ into the pantry closet. i used to wonder if the creator had invented a new variety of idiot, and made a lot in order to supply the army with medical inspectors, or, if by some cunning military device, the surgeon-general had been able to select all those conglomerations of official dignity and asinine stupidity, from the open donkey-market of the world. inspecting a hospital was just like investigating an indian fraud. the man whose work was to be inspected or investigated, met the inspector or investigator at the door, showed him all he wished him to see and examine witnesses wholly in his power--when the inspected and inspector, the investigated and investigator exchanged compliments, and the public were gratified to learn that all was in a most gratifying condition of perfect order. one day we had a particularly searching inspection, and next day nurse told me of some four new cases which had been brought in a week before, one of whom the inspectors said was past hope. i found his feet and legs with, a crust on them like the shell of a snail; had a piece of rubber cloth laid under them, and with tepid water, a good crash towel, and plenty of rubbing, got down to the skin, which i rubbed well with lard. then with fresh towels and water at hand, i drew away the sheet in which the patient had rolled his head, and while i washed his head and arms and breast, i talked, and he tried to answer; but it was some time before he could steady his tongue and lips so as to articulate, and when he did, his first words were: "are you the woman that's been a-washin' my feet?" "that is exactly what i have been doing, and much need they had of it. do you not think you are a pretty fellow to have me come all the way from minnesota to wash your feet?" it was with much effort he could fix his dazed eyes on my face, and he made several pitiful attempts before he succeeded in saying: "i think ye'r the best woman that ever i saw!" "ah, that is because you never saw much, away out there in venango county, pennsylvania, where you live. there are thousands of better women than i, running around hunting work, in this part of the country." "is there?" "yes, indeed; and nothing for them to do!" "i never saw none uv 'em!" "that is because you have had your head rolled up in that sheet. just keep your head uncovered, so you can breathe this nice, fresh air; open your eyes every little while, and you will see a whole row of those women, all hunting work!" he seemed quite interested, and when i had done washing and given directions to a nurse to cleanse the balance of his person, i asked if there was anything more i could do for him, when he stammered: "not unless you could get me a cup of tea--a cup of good green tea, 'thout any milk or sugar in it. if you do, i'll pay you for it." "pay me for it, will you? and how much will you give me--three cents?" "oh, i'll give you twenty-five cents." "twenty-five cents for a cup of good green tea, without any milk or sugar in it!" i called the ward to witness the bargain, said i should grow rich at that rate, and hurried off for the tea. i had a little silver tray and tea-set, with two china cups. mrs. gangewer, of the ohio aid society, had sent me a tin tea-kettle and spirit-lamp; folks at a distance had sent plenty of the best tea; and that little tea-tray had become a prominent feature of campbell long before this poor fellow specified his want. i made the tray unusually attractive that day, and fed him his tea from a spoon, while he admired the tiny pot, out of which, with the aid of the kettle, i could furnish twenty cups of good tea. when i had served all in that ward who wanted tea, the first one took a second cup, and while taking it his skin grew moist, and i knew he was saved from that death of misplaced matter vulgarly called "dirt," to which well-paid medical inspectors had consigned him, while giving their invaluable scientific attention to floor-scrubbing and bed-making, to whitewashing and laundry-work. i doubt if there were a medical inspector in the army who was not a first rate judge of the art of folding and ironing a sheet or pillow-slip; of the particular tuck which brought out the outlines of the corners of a mattress, as seen through a counterpane; and of the art and mystery of cleaning a floor. it did seem as if they had all reached office through their great proficiency as cabin-boys. next day i went to that ward with my tea-tray; and after learning that that man had been washed once more, asked him if he wanted another cup of tea. "i'd like to have one," he stammered; "but i didn't pay you for the last one, and i can't find my wallet!" i saw the debt troubled him, and took this as one more evidence that somewhere there were people who sold hospital stores to sick soldiers. so i took pains to explain that he owed me nothing; that the tea was his--ladies had sent it to me to give to him--and all the pay they wanted was for him to get well, and go home to his mother. the idea that some one was thinking for him seemed to do him almost as much good as the tea. i left campbell next day, but on my first visit found him convalescing, and on the second visit he ran down the ward holding his sides and laughing, and i saw or heard of him no more. chapter lxi. learn to control piemia. about ten days after i went to campbell, i was called at midnight to a death-bed. it was a case of flesh-wound in the thigh, and the whole limb was swollen almost to bursting, so cold as to startle by the touch, and almost as transparent as glass. i knew this was piemia and that for it medical science had no cure; but i wanted to warm that cold limb, to call circulation back to that inert mass. the first thought was warm, wet compresses, hot bricks, hot flannel; but the kitchen was locked, and it was little i could do without fire, except to receive and write down his dying messages to parents, and the girl who was waiting to be his wife. when the surgeon's morning hour came he still lived; and at my suggestion the warm compresses were applied. he said, "they feel so good," and was quite comforted by them, but died about ten o'clock. i was greatly grieved to think he had suffered from cold the last night of life, but how avoid any number of similar occurrences? there was no artificial heat in any of the wards. a basin of warm water was only to be obtained by special favor of the cooks; but they had been very courteous. the third day of my appearance among them, one looked up over the edge of the tub over which he bent, washing potatoes, and said, as i stood waiting for hot water, "do you know what you look like going around here among us fellows?" "no! but nothing dreadful i hope." "you just look like an angel, and that's what we all think; we're ever so much better since you came." the memory of this speech gave me courage to go and lay my trouble before the cooks, who gathered to hear me tell the story of that death, the messages left for the friends who should see him no more, and of my sorrow that i could not drive away the cold on that last, sad night. they all wiped their eyes on their aprons; head cook went to a cupboard, brought a key and handed it to me, saying: "there, mother, is a key of this kitchen; come in here whenever you please. we will always find room on the ranges for your bricks, and i'll have something nice in the cupboard every night for you and the nurses." this proved to be the key to the situation, and after i received that bit of metal from cook, there was not one death from piemia in any ward where i was free to work, although i have had as many, i think, as sixty men struck with the premonitary chill, in one night. i concluded that "piemia" was french for neglect, and that the antidote was warmth, nourishing food, stimulants, friction, fresh air and cheerfulness, and did not hesitate to say that if death wanted to get a man out of my hands, he must send some other agent than piemia. i do not believe in the medical theory concerning it; do not believe pus ever gets into the veins, or that there is any poison about it, except that of ignorance and indifference on the part of doctors and nurses. chapter lxii. first case of growing a new bone. i had searched for minnesota men in campbell, found none, and had been there a week, when mrs. kelsey told me there was one in ward ten, credited to a wisconsin regiment; and from him i learned that he was a friend and neighbor of my friends, mr. and mrs. bancroft, of mantorville, and my conscience reproached me for not sooner finding him; but the second day mrs. gaylord came, as a messenger from the surgeons, to tell me i need not spend time and strength on him, as he could not be saved. his was a thigh wound. they had thought to amputate, but found the bone shattered from joint to joint--had, with a chain saw, cut it off above the knee, and picked out the bone in pieces. there was a splinter attached to the upper joint, but that was all the bone left in the thigh, and the injury was one from which recovery was impossible. his father, a doctor, was visiting him, and knew he must die. i went to the patient, who said: "dr. true, the ward surgeon has just been here, and tells me i must die!" i sat by him fitting the measure i had been taking for two days to this new aspect of the case, and talking of death, and the preparation for it, until i thought i understood the case, when i said: "be ready for death, as every one of any sense should always be; but i do not intend to let you die." "i guess you cannot help it! all the surgeons and father agree that there is no hope for me." "but they are all liable to be mistaken, and none of them have taken into the account your courage and recuperative force; your good life and good conscience; your muscle, like a pine log; your pure breath; your clear skin and good blood. i do not care what they say, you will live; i will not let you die!" i found dr. baxter, and said: "i want you to save corporal kendall!" "corporal kendall! who is he?" "the man out of whose thigh you took the bone last week." his face grew sad, but he said: "oh, we mean to save them all if we can." "doctor, that is no answer. i am interested in this man, know his friends and want to understand his case. if i can keep his stomach in good working order and well supplied with blood-making food, keep away chills and keep down pain, so that he can sleep, will he not get well?" he laughed and replied: "well, i really never heard of a man dying under such circumstances." "i can do that, doctor." "if you can you will save him, of course, and we will give him to you." "but, doctor, you must do all the surgery. i must not give him pain; cannot see that wound." "oh, certainly, we will do everything in our power; but he is yours, for we have no hope of saving him." "another thing, doctor; you will have him brought to ward four." he gave the order at once, adding: "put him to the right of howard"--a young philadelphian with a thigh stump, who was likely to die of hemorrhage, and whose jerking nerves i could soothe and quiet better than any one else. by this arrangement the man minus a thigh bone was placed in the center of my field of labor, and under the care of dr. kelly; but full ten days after this arrangement was made, he came with a rueful face and said: "we have consulted the surgeon-general, medical inspector, and a dozen other surgeons outside the hospital, and they all agree that there is no hope for kendall. the surgeons here have commissioned me to tell you, for we think you ought to know. we all appreciate what you are doing, and think you will save all your other men if you live, but you cannot stand this strain long. you do not know it; but there is a limit to your powers of endurance, and you are breaking. you certainly will die if you keep on as you have been going, and it is not worth your while to kill yourself for kendall, for you cannot save him." "what is the reason he cannot be saved?" "well, there are several reasons. first, i performed the operation, and did not do it as thoroughly as i wished. he was coming out from under the influence of the chloroform, and they hurried me. the case was hopeless, and no use to give him pain, so there are several pieces of bone which i failed to find. these are driven into the flesh, and nature in trying to get rid of them will get up such excessive suppuration that he must die of exhaustion. then there is the thigh without a bone, and there is nothing in the books to warrant a hope that it could heal in that condition. we could not, in any case, hope for the formation of a new bone. there are re-sections of two inches, but this is the longest new formation of which we know anything, and in this case there can be no hope, because the periosteum is destroyed." "periosteum, doctor. what is that, again?" "it is the bone-feeder; the strong membrane which incloses the bone, and through which it is made. in this case it is absolutely destroyed, removed, torn to shreds--gone. so there are several reasons why he cannot be saved." "doctor kelly, do you intend to let him lie there and die?" "oh no! oh no! i will do all in my power for him. i am paid for that; it is my duty; but it is not your duty to sacrifice your own life in a vain effort to save another." "doctor kelly, he _shall_ not die; i will not let him. i know nothing about your books and bones; but he can live with one bone wanting, and i tell you he shall not die, and i will not die either." it was a week or more after this conversation i found my patient, one morning, with blue lips and a pinched nose, and said to him: "what is this?" "well, i had a chill last night." "a chill and did not send for me?" "you were here until after midnight, and must have some rest." "corporal kendall, how _dare_ you talk to me in that manner? you promised to send for me if there were any change for the worse; and after this i cannot trust you. now i must stay here. do you think i am going to lose my investment in you? do you suppose i would work over you as i have been doing, and then drop you for fear of a little more work?" as i passed to the kitchen i found that blue lips and pinched noses had suddenly come into fashion; that there were more of them than i had time to count; but did not, for a moment, dream of letting a man get into the graveyard by that gate. the merry, young irishman who had volunteered as my orderly, had a period of active service; and no more willing pair of hands and feet ever were interposed between men and death. hot bricks, hot blankets, bottles of hot water, hot whisky punch and green tea were the order of the forenoon, and of a good many hours of night and day after it; for that victory was won by a long struggle. for ten nights i never lay down in my room; but slept, all i did sleep, lying on a cot about the center of ward four, and two cots from the man minus a bone. i could drop asleep in an instant, and sleep during ordinary movements; but a change in a voice brought me to my post in a moment. i could command anything in the dispensary or store-rooms at any hour of the day or night, and carried many a man through the crisis of a night attack, when if he had been left until discovered in the morning, there would have been little hope for him; and when a surgeon could have done nothing without a key to the kitchen which none of them had. i kept no secrets from any of them: told each one just what i had done in his ward; thankfully received his approval and directions, asked about things i did not understand, and was careful that my nursing was in harmony with his surgery. during that trial-time there was one night that death seemed to be gaining the victory in corporal kendall's case. pain defied my utmost efforts and held the citadel. sleep fled; the circulation grew sluggish, and both he and i knew that the result hung on the hour. it was two o'clock a.m., and from midnight i had been trying to bring rest. the injured limb was suspended in a zinc trough. i had raised, lowered it by imperceptible motions; cut bandage where it seemed to bind, tucked in bits of cotton or oakum, kept the toes in motion, irritated the surface wherever i could get the point of a finger in through the bandages; kept up the heat of the body, and the hope of the soul; and sat down to hold his hands and try mesmeric passes and sounds, when he turned his head on the pillow, and said: "even if i should get well, i'll never be fit for infantry service again." "no, you never will." "i might walk with that machine you talk of; but never could march and carry a knapsack! but i have been thinking. i am a pretty good engineer. you know secretary stanton? you might get me transferred to the navy, and i could run an engine on a gunboat." "that is it, exactly! you will get over this! i will have you transferred to a gunboat, and next time you will go into the rebellion prow foremost. you ought to be at work, in time to help take charleston." i continued to talk, in a sing-song croone, to stroke his head, and hold his hand, until he slept, which was but a few moments after settling that transfer, and the last time i saw him, which was in '79, he got over the ground and up and down stairs, as fast as most people, his new bone being quite as good as any of the old ones, except being a little short and decidedly crooked, although the crook did not effect its usefulness or general appearance. chapter lxiii. a heroic mother. james bride, who drew me to campbell, by asking for "something to quench thirst," was one of the thousands who died of flesh-wounds, for want of surgical trap doors, through which nature might throw out her chips. his wound was in the hip, and no opening ever was made to the center of the injury, except that made by the bullet which had gone in and staid there. his mother came three days before he died, and being minus hoops and finery, the ward surgeon was anxious she should remain with her son, and we arranged that she should sleep in my room. there was just space between the cot and wall for the breadth of a mattress, and when the door was shut, that space was long enough, for me to lie between the door and the stand. i have never entertained a guest more cheerfully, or one by whose presence i felt more honored; yet the traveling costume was a short calico dress, strong leather shoes and blue woolen stockings, visible below the dress, a gingham sunbonnet and double-bordered cap tied under her chin. several richly dressed ladies came from eastern cities to see dying relatives, but to none of them were the surgeons so thoroughly respectful, as to this plain, strong, clean, high-souled country-woman, who staid with her son, and was hailed with joy by all the men in his ward, to every one of whom she was sympathetic and helpful. her case was hard. she and her husband, who was old and feeble, had just three sons, two strong and vigorous, one a cripple. their two vigorous sons enlisted together, and fell in the charge on marie's hill, within ten feet and ten minutes of each other. william was buried on the battle-field, and she had come to see james die in hospital. when all was over and her boy was carried to the dead house, they brought her to me, and i have never heard such pathetic, eloquent expressions of grief as those she poured forth in that little, rough, barrack-room. "oh, william! william!" she sobbed, "you are lying, to-night, in your bloody grave, and your mother will never know where it is! and you, james! you were my first-born, but i cannot go to you now, where you lie in the darkness among the dead! oh, but it is a sad story i must carry to your old father, to bring his gray hairs in sorrow to the grave. who can we lean upon, in our old age? who will take care of johnny when we are gone? oh, it is a hard, hard lot." she wrung her hands, bowed over her knees, in a paroxysm of tears, then raised herself, threw back her head, and exclaimed. "but oh! boys dear, wouldn't i rather you were where you are this night, than that you had thrown down your guns and run!" chapter lxiv. two kinds of appreciation. looking down the long vista of memory, to the many faces turned to me from beds of pain, i find few to which i can attach a name, and one i seem never to have looked upon but once. it is a long, sallow face, surmounted by bushy, yellow hair; it has a clear, oval outline, and straight nose, brown eyes and a down of young manhood on the wasted, trembling lips; i knew it then, as the face of a fever patient, but not one to whom i had rendered any special service, and felt surprised when the trembling lips said, in a pitiful, pleading way. "we boys has been a talkin' about you!" "have you, my dear--and what have you boys been saying about me?" "we've jist been a sayin' that good many ladies has been kind to us, but none uv 'em ever loved us but you!" "well, my dear, i do not know how it is with the other ladies, but i am sure i do love you very, very dearly! you do not know half how much i love you." "oh, yes, we do! yes, we do! we know 'at you don't take care uv us 'cause it's your juty! you jist do it 'cause you love to!" "that is it exactly--just because i love to, and because i want you to get well and go to your mothers." "yes! but the boys says you don't care about 'em when they get well." "they do not need to have me care for them when they are well." "oh, yes, they do! yes, they do! an' if that's the way you're a goin' to serve me, i'll stay sick a long time." when hospital stores came to me so fast that there was great trouble in getting them wisely distributed, campbell lent me an ambulance to go around, see where they were needed, and supply as many as i could. i had a letter from an old pittsburg neighbor, asking me to see his brother in douglas hospital, and went in an ambulance well supplied with jellies and fruit. douglas hospital was an institution of which the city was proud. it had much finer buildings than any other in the city, occupied the finest residence block in the city, and had a wide reputation for grandeur and beauty and superb management. i found the halls and rooms quite as elegant as i had any reason to expect, but was surprised to find that elegance undisturbed by the presence of sick or wounded men. in one back room a wounded officer looked lonely, and they said there were other rooms used for sick soldiers, but all i saw were parlors, reception rooms, offices and sleeping apartments for surgeons, and the lady abbess, with her attendant sisters of mercy or charity. after we had strolled through several sumptuous apartments, we were taken out into the adjoining square, where there were large barracks as white as lime and brushes could make them, and making a pretty picture among the trees. inside, the walls were white as on the outside, and the pictures already up, as well as those just being put up, were bright as bright could be. indeed. i do not know how pictures could have been greener or bluer or yellower or redder, and when the show-off man called my attention to them, as calculated to make the place cheerful; i recognized their merit, but suggested that some paper blinds might be desirable to keep the sun from shining into the faces of the men who lay on the cots. the roof or walls did not seem well calculated to keep out wind or rain, but paper blinds would ward off sunshine. from the condition of the floor, it was evident that the demon of the scrubbing brush, which has possession of all model institutions, had full sway in douglas barracks. pine boards could not well have been made whiter. no laundry man need have feared to own to the doing up of the bed linen and counterpanes, and science had not discovered any mode of making a bed look more like a packing box, than those in that model hospital. what an impertinence a sick or wounded man was, in one of those nice, square beds. he was almost certain to muss and toss it, and this must have been a crowning calamity. after the showman had shown all he cared to have me see. i sat talking with the man i had come to visit, and he said, in a whisper: "are there lice in all the hospitals?" "lice? why, certainly not." "well, there are plenty of them here, and they tell us they cannot be helped--that they have them in all the hospitals. look here!" he turned down the nice counterpane, and there, in the blanket, the disgusting creatures swarmed. i was shocked, and half rose, in the impulse to make an outcry, but he warned me not to let any one know he had told me, or it would be bad for him. i asked why he did not tell the surgeon. "he knows all about them, and says they cannot be helped." "you have sisters of charity here; tell them." "oh, they never do anything in the ward but walk around and talk nice, and pray with men who are going to die. they must know about them." i walked around alone, and the show-man did not seem to like it, but i talked with the men in the cots, put my hand under the cover, found feet encrusted with the exudations of fever, until they were hard and dry as a bit of kindling wood; hair full of dust from the battle-field, and not one man who had been washed since being carried away from it; while there were vermin in every bed. the ward-master objected to my leaving a jar of jelly with my friend. it would spoil the good order of the ward, and all delicacies were to be given into the care of the sisters. i found one of them who was quite willing to take charge of anything i wished to leave, but was powerless in the matter of vermin. it was the ward master's business to attend to that. it was the business of the sisters to look after the clothing when it came from the laundry, put it in order, and give it out when wanted. my failure to get a bed for the man in the fort by applying to those in authority, made me feel that it would be useless to try that plan about the vermin; and, in my perplexity, i turned to my old friend and confidant, the public. to reach it, i wrote to the _new york tribune_, giving a very mild statement of the case. two days after surgeon baxter came, with a copy of that letter, and told me he had been ordered to discharge me on account of it. i spoke of the men who must die if i left, and he was sorry but had no option. then he bethought him that maybe i might get the surgeon-general to permit me to remain, at least until the cases of my special patients were settled; otherwise i must leave the hospital that day. he was sorry i had dated the letter from campbell, had it not been for this, he could use his influence to sustain me; but professional etiquette forbade him to harbor or countenance one who spoke unfavorably of a brother-surgeon. in other words, by living in a hospital i became one of a ring, bound to keep hospital secrets, and use only words of commendation in speaking or writing of anything i saw. i took a street car and proceeded to the office of the surgeon-general--saw the man who held the lives of my patients in his hands, ate the only piece of humble pie that over crossed my lips, by apologizing for telling the truth, and got permission to go back to the men who looked to me for life. i have felt that i made a great mistake--felt that if i had then and there made war to the knife, and the knife to the hilt, against the whole system of fraud and cruelty embodied in the hospital service, i should have saved many more lives in the end. even while i talked to the head of that nest of corruption, and listened to his inane platitudes about my duty as an inmate of a hospital to report abuses to him, and "the regular way of proceeding," i did want to hurl the gauntlet of an irregular defiance into his plausible face, but the pleading eyes in campbell held me; i could not let those men die, and die they must if i must leave them. nobody denied the truth of my statements about douglas hospital, and i never learned that any one objected to the facts or their continuance. it was only their exposure which gave offense. this letter made me an object of dread. folks never knew what i might see or say next; and there soon arose another trouble about my living in campbell; for miss dix objected, claimed that it was an infringement on her authority. then again, there were others who could not see why there should be but one female nurse in campbell. dr. baxter, by admitting me, had abandoned his ground, acknowledged that men alone could not manage a first-class hospital; and having discovered his mistake, was bound to rectify it by admitting a corps of lady nurses. he was bombarded by miss dix's official power, pestered by the persistant appeals of volunteers; sneered and scoffed at and worried, until he fell back on his old position, and promptly dismissed me so soon as my patients were out of danger. he was always courteous to me as a visiter, and has my lasting gratitude and respect for breaking his rules and bearing the persecution he did, that i might do the work i did, and could not have done without his effective and generous co-operation. the proportion of thigh stumps saved, was the test of a hospital's success; and the summer i was in campbell, we saved nineteen out of twenty; next summer chaplain gaylord told me they lost nineteen in twenty, and added: "piemia has literally swept our wards." chapter lxv. life and death. when released from the hospital, i had neither money nor clothes, and this is all the account i can render to the generous people who sent me hospital stores. i could not answer their letters. some of them i never read. i could only give up my life to distributing their bounty, and knew that neither their money nor my own had remained in my hands when it was necessary for me to borrow two dollars to get a dress. my cloth traveling suit was no longer fit for use, and my platform suit too good. these were all i had brought to washington; but the best men never refused me audience because i wore a shaker bonnet, a black lawn skirt and gray linen sack. some thought i dressed in that way to be odd, but it was all i could afford. the quarter-master-general had canceled my appointment, because i had not reported for duty, but secretary stanton reinstated me, and i went to work on the largest salary i had ever received--fifty dollars a month. after some time it was raised to sixty, and i was more than independent; but my health was so broken that half a dozen doctors commanded me to lie on my back for a month, and i spent every moment i could in that position. i had grown hysterical, and twice while at work in the office, broke out into passionate weeping, while thinking of something in my hospital experience, something i had borne, when it occurred, without a tear, or even without feeling a desire to weep. in september i had twenty days' leave of absence to go to st. cloud, settle my business and bring my household gods. there were still no railroads in minnesota, and i was six days going, must have six to return, and one to visit friends at pittsburg, yet in the time left, sold _the democrat_, closed my home, and met gen. lowrie for the first and last time. he called and we spent an hour talking, principally of the war, which he thought would result in two separate governments. his reason seemed to be entirely restored; but his prestige, power, wealth and health were gone. i tried to avoid all personal matters, as well as reference to our quarrel, but he broke into the conversation to say: "i am the only person who ever understood you. people now think you go into hospitals from a sense of duty; from benevolence, like those good people who expect to get to heaven by doing disagreeable things on earth; but i know you go because you must; go for your own pleasure; you do not care for heaven or anything else, but yourself." he stopped, looked down, traced the pattern of the carpet with the point of his cane, then raised his head and continued: "you take care of the sick and wounded, go into all those dreadful places just as i used to drink brandy--for sake of the exhilaration it brings you." we shook hands on parting, and from our inmost hearts, i am sure, wished each other well. i was more than ever impressed by the genuine greatness of the man, who had been degraded by the use of irresponsible power. we reached washington in good time, and i soon realized the great advantage of rest. six hours of office work came so near nothing to do, that had i been in usual health i should probably have raised some disturbance from sheer idleness; but i learned by and by that the close attention demanded to avoid mistakes, could not well have been continued longer. several ladies continued distributing hospital stores for me all that fall and winter, and next spring i still had some to send out. when able i went myself, and in carver found a man who had been wounded in a cavalry charge, said to have been as desperate as that of "the light brigade;" and who refused to take anything from me, because he had "seen enough of these people who go around hospitals pretending to take care of wounded soldiers." i convinced him it was his duty to take the jelly in order to prevent my stealing it. also, that it was for my interest to save his life, that i might not have to pay my share of the cost of burying him and getting a man in his place. nay, that it was my duty to get him back into the saddle as fast as possible, that my government need not pay him for lying abed. he liked this view of the case, and not only took what i offered him, but next time i went asked for jefferson-tie shoes to support his foot, and when i brought them said he would be ready for duty in a week. in judiciary square, a surgeon asked me to give a jar of currant jelly to a man in ward six, who was fatally wounded. i found the man, those in the neighboring cots and the nurse, all very sad, talked to him a few moments, and said: "you think you are going to die!" "that is what they all say i must do!" "well, i say you are not going to do anything of the kind!" "oh! i guess i am!" "not unless you have made up your mind to it, and are quite determined. those hip wounds kill a great many men, because folks do not know how to manage them, and because the men are easy to kill; but it takes a good deal to kill a young man with a good conscience, who has never drank liquor or used tobacco; who has muscle like yours, a red beard and blue gray eyes." i summoned both his day and night nurse, told all three together of the surgical trap-door that old mother nature wanted made and kept open, clear up to the center of that wound. the surgeon would always make one if the patient wanted it. i told them about the warmth and nourishment and care needed, and left him and them full of hope and resolution. next time i was in judiciary, a young man on crutches accosted me, saying: "were not you in ward six, about six weeks ago?" "yes!" "do you remember a man there, that every one said was going to die, and you said he wouldn't?" "yes." "well, i'm the fellow." i looked at him inquiringly, and said: "well, did you die?" he burst into uproarious laughter, and replied: "no, but i'm blamed if i wouldn't, if you hadn't come along." i passed on, left him leaning against the wall finishing his laugh, and saw or heard of him no more. it was but a few days after he passed out of my knowledge that news came of the death of gen. lowrie. it was the old story, "the great man down," for he died in poverty and neglect, but with his better self in the ascendent. his body lies in an unmarked grave, in that land where once his word was law. pondering on his death, i thought of that country boy going to his father's house, with the life restored by one he knew not, even by name, and the going home of that mature man, who thought he knew my inmost soul, and with whose political death i was charged. only the wisdom of eternity can determine which, if either, i served or injured. to the one, life may lack blessing, to the other, death be all gain. chapter lxvi. meet miss dix and go to fredericksburg. i sat down stairs, for the first time after a two weeks' illness, when georgie willets, of jersey city, came in, saying: "here is a pass for you and one for me, to go to fredericksburg! a boat leaves in two hours, and we must hurry!" for several days the air had shuddered with accounts of the terrible suffering of our men, wounded in the battle of the wilderness; and a pall of uncertainty and gloom hung over the city. i made a tuck in a queen's-cloth dress, donned it, selected a light satchel, put into one side a bottle of whiskey and one of sherry, half a pound of green tea, two rolls of bandage and as much old table-linen as packed them close; put some clothing for myself in the other side, and a cake of black castile soap, for cleansing wounds; took a pair of good scissors, with one sharp point, and a small rubber syringe, as surgical instruments; put these in my pocket, with strings attaching them to my belt; got on my shaker bonnet, and with a large blanket shawl and tin cup, was on board with georgie, an hour before the boat left. it had brought a load of wounded from belle plain; some were still on board, and suffering intensely from thirst, and hard, dry dressings. it was a hot day, and we both went to work giving drinks of water, wetting wounds, and bathing hot heads and hands. as georgie passed the foot of the cabin stairs, miss dix was coming down, and called to her, saying: "what are you doing here?" she made no reply, but passed on to her work, when the irate lady turned to where i was drawing water from a cooler, and asked, in a tone of high displeasure: "who is that young girl?" "miss georgie willets, of jersey city," i replied. "and where is she going?" "to fredericksburg." "by whose authority?" she demanded. "by authority of the surgeon-general," i replied. "the surgeon-general has no authority to send a young girl down there alone." "she is not going alone." "who is going with her?" she asked, tartly. "i am." "who are you?" i told her, and she ceased to be insulting long enough to expostulate on the great impropriety of the proceeding, as well as to explain the total lack of any need of help in fredericksburg. she had just returned from that city, where she had arranged everything in the most satisfactory manner. hospitals had been established, with surgeons and nurses. there was therefore not the slightest occasion for our going further; but she was about to organize relief for the men while waiting at the washington wharf to be taken to hospitals. here i might be useful, and here she would be glad to have me work; but as for that handsome young girl, she wondered at me for bringing her into such a place. georgie was not merely handsome. she was grand, queenly; and i told miss dix that i differed with her about the kind of women who should go into such places. we wanted young, vigorous women--women whose self-respect and social position would command the respect of those to whom they ministered. she grew angry again, and said: "she shall not go to fredericksburg; i will have her arrested!" i was kneeling beside a man whose wounds i was bathing; for i had not suspended my work to talk with her, who stood, straight as a telegraph pole, holding a bottle which she ever and anon applied to her nose; but when she reached this climax, i raised my head, looked into her face, and said: "i shall not be sorry miss dix, if you do; for then i shall apply to my friends, mrs. abraham lincoln and secretary stanton, and have your authority tested." i went on with my work; she growled something and left the boat, but did not disturb us further. going down the river i grew worse, and thought i might be obliged to return with the boat, and stay at home; but consulted a surgeon on his way to the front, who talked with another, and said: "there is no immediate danger in your case. it is only secondary hemorrhage; and with care you may go on, but must not attempt to do anything. you can, however, be of incalculable service, simply by being in fredericksburg; can sit down and see that people do their duty. what our wounded need most, is people who have an interest in their welfare--friends. you can do a great deal toward supplying this want, this great need; but be careful and do not try to work." after some time this surgeon brought, and introduced col. chamberlain, of maine, evidently an invalid, and a man of the purely intellectual type. two other surgeons were with him, and all three endeavored to persuade him to return to washington, as his lack of health made it very dangerous, if not quite useless, for him to go to the front. i thought the surgeons right; and told him i feared he was throwing away his life, in an effort to do the impossible. he explained that he was in command of a brigade of eight regiments; that in them were hundreds of his neighbors and pupils, for he had resigned a professorship in a college to enlist. said he knew his own constitution better than any one else could know it; knew he would be stronger when he reached his post, and that the danger would be in any attempt to keep out of danger--the danger which his men must face. turning to me he said: "if you had eight children down there, you would go to them, if you could!" we arranged that if he should be wounded so as to suffer a thigh amputation, he should let me know, that i might nurse him through. at belle plaine, georgie went to look for transportation, and i to the sanitary commission boat, where i was introduced to mrs. gen. barlow and miss hancock, both busy furnishing hot coffee to those being embarked for washington. mrs. barlow was a tall, superbly formed woman, very handsome, and full of health and spirits. she looked down on me compassionately, and said: "oh, you poor little thing! what ever brought you here? we have sick folks enough now! do sit down until i get you a cup of tea!" while i drank the tea, she stood looking at me, and said meditatively: "oh, you queer little thing," and hurried off to her work. soon a colonel with a badly wounded head came on board, leaned against, a post and groaned. i found a basin of water and a towel, and began bathing his head, wetting those torturing dressings and making him comparatively comfortable, when she stopped in her hurried walk, looked on an instant, and exclaimed: "oh, you nice little thing! now i see what you are good for! i could not do that; but you will take care of their wounds and i will feed them! that will be grand!" soon georgie came to say there was no transportation to be had, but she had found a campbell surgeon in charge of a hospital tent, and he wanted me; said he was worn out, and had plenty of work for both of us. the doctor had a large tent, filled with wounded lying on loose hay. his patients seemed to want for nothing, but he must needs give so much time to receiving and forwarding those pouring in from the front, that he needed us. he had a little tent put up for us, and that was the only night i have ever slept in a tent. next morning while we were attending to a colonel, and lieutenant colonel, both of the same regiment, and both badly wounded and just brought in, one said to the other: "my god, if our men in fredericksburg could have a little of this care!" "why?" said i, "i have heard that everything possible was being done for them?" "everything possible!" exclaimed one, and both together began the most terrible recital of the neglect and abuse of the wounded in that horrible place--men dying of thirst, and women spitting in their faces, kicking and spurning them. we set down our basins; georgie started in one direction and i in another, to find transportation. the surgeon in command of the station stood superintending the loading of oats while he looked at my pass, and said he could not possibly send us, adding: "fredericksburg is no place for a lady. it is impossible to describe the condition of things there." "but, doctor, i am not a lady! i am a hospital nurse. the place where men are suffering must be the place for me. i do not look strong, but you cannot think how much i can do. "but, madam, you forget that our army is cut off from its base of supplies, and must be furnished with subsistence, and that we have not half the transportations we need." "doctor, you are sending bags of oats in ambulances! i do not weigh much more than one, and will be worth six when you get me there." he promised to send me that afternoon, but i doubted him; went to the christian commission tent, found a man who knew me by reputation, and told him they had better send me to fredericksburg, or put me under arrest, for i was in a mood to be dangerous. he feigned fright, caught up his hat, and said: "we'll get you out of this in the shortest possible space of time." an hour after i was on the way, and georgie a few moments in advance. i had seen bad roads in northern and western pennsylvania, but this was my first ride over no road. we met a steady stream of such wounded as were able to walk, but comparatively few were brought in ambulances. it was raining when we reached fredericksburg, at four o'clock on sabbath, and i went to the surgeon in command, reported, and asked him to send me to the worst place--the place where there was most need. "then i had better send you to the old theater, for i can get no one to stay there." he gave me my appointment, and i went to a corps surgeon, who signed it, and advised me not to go to the theater--i could do nothing, as the place was in such dreadful condition, while i could be useful in many other places. chapter lxvii. the old theater. this building was on princess ann street. the basement floor was level with the sidewalk, but the ground sloped upward at the back; so that the yard was higher than the floor. across the front was a vestibule, with two flights of stairs leading up to the auditorium; behind the vestibule a large, low room, with two rows of pillars supporting the upper floor; and behind this three small rooms, and a square hall with a side entrance. the fence was down between the theater and catholic church, next door. i stopped in the church to see georgie, who was already at work there, came and left by the back door, and entered the theater by the side hall. the mud was running in from the yard. opposite the door, in a small room, was a pile of knapsacks and blankets; and on them lay two men smoking. to get into the large room, i must step out of the hall mud over one man, and be careful not to step on another. i think it was six rows of men that lay close on the floor, with just room to pass between the feet of each row; they so close in the rows that in most places i must slide one foot before the other to get to their heads. the floor was very muddy and strewn with _debris_, principally of crackers. there was one hundred and eighty-two men in the building, all desperately wounded. they had been there a week. there were two leather water-buckets, two tin basins, and about every third man had saved his tin-cup or canteen; but no other vessel of any sort, size or description on the premises--no sink or cess-pool or drain. the nurses were not to be found; the men were growing reckless and despairing, but seemed to catch hope as i began to thread my way among them and talk. no other memory of life is more sacred than that of the candor with which they took me into their confidence, as if i had been of their own sex, yet ever sought to avoid wounding the delicacy they ascribed to mine. i found some of the nurses--cowards who had run away from battle, and now ran from duty--galvanized them into activity, invented substitutes for things that were wanting--making good use of an old knapsack and pocket-knife--and had tears of gratitude for pay. one man lay near the front door, in a scant flannel shirt and cotton drawers, his left thigh cut off in the middle and the stump supported on the only pillow in the house. it was six by ten inches, stuffed with straw. his head was supported by two bits of board and a pair of very muddy boots. he called me, clutched my dress, and plead: "mother, can't you get me a blanket, i'm so cold; i could live if i could get any care!" i went to the room where the men lay smoking on the blankets; but one of them wearing a surgeon's shoulderstraps, and speaking in a german accent, claimed them as his private property, and positively refused to yield one. the other man was his orderly, and words were useless--they kept their blankets. going into a room behind that, i found a man slightly wounded sitting on the floor, supporting another who had been shot across the face, and was totally blind. he called, and when i came and talked with them, said: "won't you stay with us?" "stay with you?" i replied, "well, i rather think i will, indeed; i came to stay, and am one of the folks it is hard to drive away!" "oh! thank god; everybody leaves us; they come and promise, and then go off, but i know you will stay; you will do something for us!" it was so pitiful, that for an instant my courage failed, and i said: "i will certainly stay with you; but fear it is little i can do for you." "oh, you can speak to us; you do not know how good your voice sounds. i have not seen a woman in three months; what is your name?" "my name is mother." "mother; oh my god! i have not seen my mother for two years. let me feel your hand?" i took between both of mine his hand, covered with mud and blood and smoke of battle, and told him i was not only going to stay with them, but was going to send him back to his regiment, with a lot more who were lying around here doing nothing, when there was so much fighting to be done; i had come on purpose to make them well, and they might make up their minds to it. my own courage had revived, and i must revive theirs; i could surely keep them alive until help should come. by softening the torturing bandages on his face, i made him more comfortable; and in an adjoining room found another man with a thigh stump, who had been served by field-surgeons, as the thieves served the man going from jerusalem to jericho: i.e., "stripped him, left him naked and half dead." those men surely did not go into battle without clothes; and why they should have been sent out of the surgeon's hands without enough of even underclothing to cover them, is the question i have never yet had answered. common decency led to his being placed in the back room alone, but i shall never blush for going to him and doing the little i could for his comfort. after i returned to the large room, i took notice about clothing, and found that most of the men had on their ordinary uniform; some had two blankets, more had one; but full one-third were without any. there was no shadow or pretense of a bed or pillow, not even a handful of straw or hay! there was no broom, no hoe, or shovel, or spade to sweep or scrape the floor; and the horrors were falling upon me when the man of the blankets came, and said: "mattam, iv you are goin' to do any ding for tese men, you petter git dem someding to eat." "something to eat?" "yaas! mine cot, someding to eat! de government petter leave dem to tie on de pattle field, nur do pring tem here to starve." i looked at him in much surprise, and said: "who are you?" "vy, i am de surgeon. tey send me here; put mine cot, i cannot do notting. tere ish notting to do mit!" i called out: "men, what have you had to eat?" "hard tack, and something they call coffee," was the response. "have you had no meat?" "meat? we have forgotten what it tastes like!" in one corner, near the front door, was a little counter and desk, with a stationary bench in front. to this desk the surgeon gave me a key. i found writing material, and sent a note of four lines to the corps surgeon. half an hour after, an irate little man stormed in and stamped around among those prostrate men, flourishing a scrap of paper and calling for the writer. his air was that of the champion who wanted to see "the man who struck billy patterson," and his fierceness quite alarmed me, lest he should step on some of the men. so i hurried to him, and was no little surprised to find that the offending missive was my note. i told him i had written it, and could have had no thought of "reporting" him, since i knew nothing about him. after considerable talk i learned that he had charge of the meat, and that none had been issued to that place, because no "requisition" had been sent. i had never written a requisition, but found blanks in that desk, filled one, signed it and gave it to the meat man, who engaged that the beef should be there next morning. it grew dark, and we had two tallow candles lighted! may none of my readers ever see such darkness made visible--such rows of haggard faces looking at them from out such cavernous gloom! i talked hopefully, worked and walked, while mentally exclaiming: "oh, god! what shall i do?" about nine o'clock dr. porter, division surgeon, came with georgie, to take us to our quarters. these were but half a block away, on the same side of the street, but on the opposite side, and corner of the next cross-street, in a nice two-story brick house, with a small yard in front. an old lady answered his summons, but refused to admit us: when he insisted and i interposed, saying the lady was afraid of soldiers, but would admit us. we would bid him good night, and soon our lodgings would be all right. she was relieved, took us in, cooked our rations for herself and us, gave us a comfortable bed, and was uniformly kind all the time we staid, and seemed sorry to have us leave. i spoke the first night to dr. porter about blankets and straw, or hay for beds, but was assured that none were to be had. supplies could not reach them since being cut off from their base, and the provost marshal, gen. patrick, would not permit anything to be taken out of the houses, though many of them were unoccupied, and well supplied with bedding and other necessaries. i thought we ought to get two blankets for those two naked men, if the government should pay their weight in gold for them; and suggested that the surgeons take what was necessary for the comfort of the men, and give vouchers to the owners. i knew such claims would be honored; would see that they should be; but he said the matter had been settled by the provost, and nothing more could be done. it seems to me now that i must have been benumbed, or i could have done something to provide covering for those men. i did think of giving one of them my shawl, but i must have died without it. i remembered my douglas hospital letter, and knew that gen. patrick could order me out of fredericksburg, and leave these men to rot in the old theater. already their wounds were infested by worms, which gnawed and tormented them; some of those wounds were turning black, many were green; the vitality of the men was sinking for want of food and warmth. i could not forsake them to look after reform; would not fail to do what i could, in an effort to do what i could not or might not accomplish. in the morning i saw that the men had something they called coffee, and found canned milk for it, which was nourishment; but a new difficulty arose. the men who brought the coffee would distribute it to those who had cups or canteens, and the others would get none. i had some trouble to induce them to leave their cans, until, with the two tin cups i could borrow, i could give about one-third the whole number the coffee they could not otherwise have. our cooking was done in the churchyard, with that of the church patients. a shed had been put up; but our cooking was an "uncovenanted mercy," and when our beef came there was a question as to how it could be cooked--how that additional work could be done. i wrote to the provost-marshal, stating our trouble, and the extremity of one hundred and eighty-two men. asked that we might take a cook-stove out of a vacant house near; promised to take good care of it and have it returned; and he wrote, for answer: "i am not a thief! if you want a stove send to the sanitary commission!" he must have known that the commission was as pressed as the government to conform its arrangements to the movements of an army cut off from its base of supplies, and that it had no stoves, so the plain english of his answer was: "let your wounded die of hunger, in welcome! i am here to guard the property of the citizens of fredericksburg!" i had already written to the commission for blankets and a broom, but there were none to be had. it soon however sent a man, who cut branches off trees, and with them swept the floors. chapter lxviii. am placed in authority. on monday morning i sent for dr. porter, and stated the trouble about nurses shirking. he had them all summoned in the front end of the large room, and in presence of the patients, said to them: "you see this lady? well, you are to report to her for duty; and if she has any fault to find with you she will report you to the provost-marshal!" i have never seen a set of men look more thoroughly subdued. there were eleven of them, and they all gave me the military salute. the doctor went off, and i set them to work. one middle-aged irishman had had some experience as a nurse; could dress wounds--slowly, but very well--was faithful and kind; and him i made head-nurse up stairs, where there were fifty-four patients, and gave him three assistants, for whom he was to be responsible. after patrick's note, i calculated my resources, and got ready for a close siege. as i sat on that little stationary bench, making an inventory, i heard shrieks, groans and curses, at the far end of the room; ran to the place, and got there in time to see the surgeon of the blankets tearing the dry dressings off a thigh stump! coming up behind him, i caught him by both ears, and had my hands full, ordered him to stop, and said: "you had better go back to your room and smoke." again i sent for surgeon porter, and in less than two hours that little wretch, with his orderly, packed up his blankets and i saw him or them no more. i had never dressed a thigh stump, but must dress a good many now; i rolled that one in a wet cloth, and covered it carefully, to let the man get time to rest, while i got rid of his horrid tormentor. when there was so much to be done, i would do the most needful thing first, and this was ridding the wounds of worms and gangrene, supporting the strength of the men by proper food, and keeping the air as pure as possible. i got our beef into the way of being boiled, and would have some good substantial broth made around it. i went on a foraging expedition--found a coal-scuttle which would do for a slop-pail, and confiscated it, got two bits of board, by which it could be converted into a stool, and so bring the great rest of a change of position to such men as could sit up; had a little drain made with a bit of board for a shovel, and so kept the mud from running in at the side door; melted the tops off some tin cans, and made them into drinking cups; had two of my men confiscate a large tub from a brewery, set it in the vestibule to wash rags for outside covers to wounds, to keep off chill, and had others bring bricks and rubbish mortar from a ruin across the street, to make substitutes for pillows. i dressed wounds! dressed wounds, and made thorough work of it. in the church was a dispensary where i could get any washes or medicines i wished, and i do not think i left a worm. some of them were over half an inch long, with black heads and many feet, but most were maggots. they were often deeply seated, but my syringe would drive them out, and twice a day i followed them up. the black and green places grew smaller and better colored with every dressing. the men grew stronger with plenty of beef and broth and canned milk. i put citric acid and sugar in their apple sauce as a substitute for lemons. i forget how many thigh stumps i had, but i think as many as twelve. one of them was very short and in a very bad condition. one morning when i was kneeling and dressing it, the man burst into tears, and said: "you do not seem to mind this, but i know you would not do it for anything but the love of god, and none but he can ever reward you; but if i live to see my wife and children, it will be through what you have done for me, and i will teach them to bless your name!" he quite took me by surprise, for i seemed to have forgotten any other life than that i was then living; and dressing the most frightful wounds was as natural as eating. i felt no disgust, no shrinking, and mere conventional delicacy is withdrawn when the angel of death breathes upon it. the man we stepped over at the back door, proved to be a student from the pennsylvania agricultural college, shot through the alimentary canal, near the base of the spine. for him there was no hope, but i did what i could to make him less uncomfortable, and once he said: "this is strange work for a lady." "you forget," i said, "that i am surgeon in charge, that you and i were made of the same kind of clay, in much the same fashion, and will soon turn into just the same kind of dust." how my heart was wrung for him, with his refined face, dying for a country which sent its bayonets to stand between him and the armful of straw, with which i might have raised him above that muddy floor. he had no knapsack to serve as a pillow, no blanket, no cup, and his position across the doorway was cold and uncomfortable; but even after i had made a better place for him, he objected to leaving two companions, who lay next to him, and i could not find room for all three together, even on that dirty floor. he himself always dressed the wound where the bullet entered, and was most grateful for the means of doing so. i cared for that one through which death's messenger made its exit, and although he knew its condition, he did not know the certainty of a fatal result, and resented any intimation that he should not recover. chapter lxix. visiters. the second morning of my work in the old theater, miss hancock came to see how i got along. she was thoroughly practical, and a most efficient laborer in the hospital field, and soon thought of something to better the condition of the man minus clothes, who lay quite near my desk and the front door, and caught my dress whenever he could, to plead for a blanket. she could get no blanket; but was stationed in the methodist church, where there was a surgeon in charge, and everything running in regular order. in a tent adjoining, this man could be laid out of the draught and chill of that basement, and she would do her best to get some clothing for him. she sent two men with a stretcher, who took him to the church tent, where i fear he was not much better provided for than in the place he left. after some days, mrs. gen. barlow came to see the men who all belonged to her husband's division, and were rejoiced to see her; and to express a general fear for my life. i was to die of overwork and want of sleep, "and then," she exclaimed, "what will become of these men? no one but you ever could or would have done anything for them. do you know there were three surgeons detailed for duty here, before you came, and none of them would stay? now if you die, they will. do take some rest!" i listened and looked at her flushed face, while she talked, and said: "mrs. barlow, i am not going to die--am in no danger whatever, and will hold out until help comes. this cannot last; government will come to the rescue, and my men will be here when it comes. after all is over, i will fall to pieces like an old stage coach when the king-bolt drops out; will lie around as lumber for a while, then some one will put me together again, and i will be good as new. it is you who are killing yourself. you must change your arrangements or you will take typhoid fever, and after such a strain, recovery will be hopeless. i take nobody's disease--am too repellant; but you will catch contagion very readily. keep away from fever cases and rest; you are in imminent peril." she hurried away, laughing at the idea of one in her perfect health being injured by hard work; but my heart was full of evil omen. i had talked with mrs. senator pomeroy, on her way from her last visit to the contraband camp, where she gave her life in labor for the friendless and poor, and she had looked very much as mrs. barlow did that day. soon after this, i was made glad by the sight of my friend, mrs. judge ingersol. people say her daughter, mrs. gov. chamberlain, is a beauty, but she is not old enough ever to have been as beautiful as her mother, that day, in her plain widow's dress, walking among the wounded, with her calm face so full of strength and gentleness. she and mrs. barlow had hatched a rebellion. in the city was a barn containing straw, for want of which our men were dying. it was guarded by one of gen. barlow's men. mrs. barlow took two others, went with them, placed herself in front of the guard, told them to break open the barn and carry out the straw, and him to fire, if he thought it is duty; but he must reach them through her. the man's orders were to guard the barn; with the straw out of it he had nothing to do. the men moved side and side, going in and out, and she kept in range to cover them until the last armful had been removed. it was taken away and was to be distributed; but there was still so little compared to the need, that there must be consultation about the manner of using it. mrs. ingersol thought it should be made into small pillows, and volunteered to undertake that work; as the commission could furnish muslin, i thought this best. she found a loft, and engaged several fredericksburg women to work for pay. they worked one day, but did not return on the second. there were a good many union women there by this time, who should have helped, but few could confine themselves to obscure work in a loft, when there was so much excitement on the streets. there was no authority to hold any one to steady employment; and so about two-thirds the helpers who reached fredericksburg, spent a large part of their time in an aimless wandering and wondering, and finding so much to be done, could do nothing. so, most of the time mrs. ingersol was in her loft alone, except the orderlies who stuffed her slips, sewed up the ends and carried them off to the places she designated; but she had nimble fingers, and sleight-of-hand, and turned out a surprising number of small straw pillows. as my allowance came, the question was what to do with them. they were too precious for use. what should i do with those scraps of white on that field of grime? our gaunt horror became grotesque, in view of such unwonted luxuries. what! a whole dozen or two little straw pillows among one hundred and sixty men! who should elect the aristocrats to be cradled in such luxury amid that world of want? when my aristocrat was elected, how should his luxury be applied? would i put it under his head or mangled limb? i think i never realized our destitution until those little pillows came to remind me that sometimes wounded men had beds! oh, god! would relief never come? like the scotch girl in the besieged fortress of india, i felt like laying my ear to the ground, to harken for the sound of the bagpipes, the tramp of the campbells coming. it did seem that, without surgical aid or comforts of any kind, my men must soon be all past hope; but a surgeon came, and i hailed him with joy, thinking him the advance guard of the army of relief. half an hour after his appearance i missed him, and saw him no more; and this was the fourth which left those men, after being regularly detailed to duty among them--left them to die or live, as they could. soon after this we had an official visit from one of those laundry critics, called "medical inspectors." as there were no sheets or counterpanes to look after, he turned his attention to a heap of dry rubbish in the vestibule, which gave the place an untidy appearance, as seen from the street. to remove this eyesore he had one of my nurses hunt up a wheel-barrow, and two shovels--shovels were accessible by this time--and ordered him and another to wheel that rubbish out into the street. the wheel-barrow coming in the door called my attention, when i learned that we were going to be made respectable. i sent the wheel-barrow home, gave the shovels to two men to dig a sink hole back in the yard, and forbade any disturbance of the dry, harmless rubbish in the vestibule. i would not have my men choked with dust by its removal, and set about getting up false appearances. no medical inspector should white that sepulchre until he cleared the dead men's bones out of it. he had not looked at a wound; did not know if the men had had any dinner. a man did not need a medical diploma to clear up after stage carpenters. if the government wanted that kind of work done, it had better send a man and cart with its donkey. chapter lxx. wounded officers. in washington, i had done nothing for any wounded officer, except a captain who was brought to our ward when all the others were taken away, and in fredericksburg i began on that principle. i found twenty in the old theater, and had them removed to private houses, to make room for the men, and that they might be better cared for. officers could be quartered in private houses, and have beds, most of those taken out of the theater were put into houses between it and our quarters, so that i could see them on my way to and from meals. among them was the blind man, who still craved to hear me speak and feel my hand, and i kept his face in a wet compress until a surgeon was dressing it and found the inflammation so gone that he drew the lid of one back, and the man cried out in delight: "i can see! i can see! now let me see mother." i stood in his range of vision, until the surgeon closed the lids, when he said: "now, mother, i shall always remember just how you look." i found in my visit to those men that some orderlies needed some one to keep them in order, and that a helpless man is not always sure his servant will serve him. often the orderlies themselves were powerless, and those men would have suffered if i had not cared for them. more than once some of them said: "i wish, mother, we were back with you in the old theater?" there was a captain whose stump i must fix every night before he could sleep, and when his wife came i tried to teach her, but she was so much afraid of hurting him she could do nothing. i learned in time that officers quartered in private houses, even with the greater comforts they had, often suffered more than the men in all their privations. mrs. barlow came for me to see one given up to die, and i found him in a large handsome room, on the first floor of an elegant residence, absolutely hopeless, but for years have not been able to recall the trouble in his case. it must have been easy to set right, for he began at once to recover, and i felt that people had been very stupid, and that there was an unreasonable amount of wonder and gratitude over whatever it was i did. it was often so easy to save a life, where there were the means of living, that a little courage or common sense seemed like a miraculous gift to people whose mental powers had been turned in other directions. but i found another side to looking after officers in private quarters. one evening after dark, georgia called to tell me of a dreadful case of suffering which a surgeon wished her to see. he was there to accompany her, but she declined going without me, and i went along, walking close behind them, as the pavement was narrow. he did not seem to notice that i was there, was troubled with the weight of his diploma and shoulderstraps, and talked very patronizingly to the lady at his side, until she turned, and said to me: "do you hear that?" "oh, yes," i replied, "and feel very grateful to the young man for his permission to do the work he is paid for doing, but if he had reserved his patronage until some one had asked for it, it would have had more weight." "your friend is sarcastic," was his reply to her; and i said no more until we reached the case of great distress, which was on the second floor of a vacant house, and proved to be a colonel in uniform, seated in an easy chair, smoking, while his orderly sat in another chair, oil the other side of the room. georgie stood looking from one man to the other in speechless surprise; but i spoke to the man in the chair, saying: "how is it, sir, that you, an officer, in need of nothing, have trespassed upon our time and strength, when you know that men are dying by hundreds for want of care?" he began to apologize and explain, but i said to georgie: "come, miss willets, we are not needed here." as we passed from the room, the surgeon took his cap to accompany us, when i stopped, made a gesture, and said: "young man! stay where you are! your friend must be too ill to do without you. i will see the young lady to her quarters. the vidette is on the corner, and we do not need you!" we came away filled with wonder, but we did not for some time realize the danger. we came to know that miss dix's caution was not altogether unwise; that women had been led into traps of this kind, when it would have been well for them had they died there, and when duty to themselves and the public required them to get one or more doctors ready for dissection. after that lesson, however, i did not fear to leave georgie, who remained with the army, doing grand work, until richmond fell, but laying the foundation of that consumption, of which she died. of all the lives which the rebellion cost us, none was more pure, more noble, than that of this beautiful, refined, strong, gentle girl. chapter lxxi. "now i lay me down to sleep." the sanitary commission soon got a supply of clothing, and sent two men to wash and dress my patients. these, with the one sweeping floors with branches, were an incalculable help and comfort; but these two did their work and passed on to other places. one of the men they had dressed grew weak, and i was at a loss to account for his symptoms, until by close questioning, i drew from him the answer, "it is my other wound!" these words sounded like a death-knell, but i insisted on seeing the other wound, and found four bullet holes under his new clothes. from the one wound, for which i had been caring, he might easily recover; but with four more so distributed that he must lie on one, and no surgeon to make trap doors, no bed--there was no hope. he was so bright, so good, so intelligent, so courageous, it was hard to give him up. ah, if i had him in campbell, with dr. kelly to use the knife! how my heart clung to him! he lay near the center of the room, with his head close to a column; and one night as i knelt giving him drink, and arranging his knapsack and brick pillow, making the most of his two blankets, and thinking of his mother at home, i was suddenly impressed by the beauty and grandeur of his face;--his broad, white brow shaded by bushy, chestnut hair, half curling; the delicate oval of his cheeks; the large, expressive grey eyes; the straight nose and firm chin and lips!--he could not have been more than twenty-two, almost six feet high, with a frame full of vigor. how many such men were there in this land? how many could we afford to sacrifice in order to preserve a country for the use of cowards and traitors, and other inferior types of the race? the feeble light of my candle threw this picture into strong relief against the surrounding gloom, and it was harder than ever to give him up, but this must be done; and i wanted to extract from that bitter cup one drop of sweetness for his mother; so i said to him: "now, george, do you think you can sleep?" he said he could, and i added: "will you pray before you sleep?" he said he would. "do you always pray before going to sleep?" he nodded, and i continued: "let us pray together, to-night, just the little prayer your mother taught you first." he clasped his hands, and together we repeated "now i lay me down to sleep," to the end; when i said: "do you mean that, george? do you mean to ask god to keep your soul, for christ's sake, while you are here; and, for his sake, to take it to himself when you go hence, whenever that may be?" the tears were running over his cheeks, and he said, solemnly: "i do." "then it is all well with you, and you can rest in him who giveth his beloved sleep." there was no time for long prayers, and i must go to another sufferer. a kind, strong man, from the michigan aid society, came and worked two days among my men, and said: "if i only had them in a tent, on the ground; but this floor is dreadful!" up stairs were some wounds i must dress, while a corpse lay close beside one of the men, so that i must kneel touching it, while i worked. it lay twelve hours before i could get it taken to its shallow, coffinless grave; and while i knelt there, the man whose wound i was dressing, said: "never mind; we'll make you up a good purse for this!" he had no sooner spoken than a murmur of contemptuous disapproval came from the other men, and one said: "a purse for her! she's got more money than all of us, i bet!" another called out: "no, we won't! won't do anything of the kind! we're your boys; ain't we, mother? you're not working for money!" "why," persisted the generous man, "we made up a purse of eighty dollars for a woman t' other time i was hurt, and she hadn't done half as much for us!" "eighty dollars!" called out the man who thought me rich; "eighty dollars for her! why i tell you she could give every one of us eighty dollars, and would not miss it!" another said: "she isn't one of the sort that are 'round after purses!" why any of them should have thought me rich i cannot imagine except for the respect with which officers treated me. to veil the iron hand i held over my nurses, i made a jest of my authority, pinned a bit of bandage on my shoulder, and played commander-in-chief. officers and guards would salute when we passed, as an innocent joke, but the men came to regard me as a person of rank. citizens of fredericksburg, who at first insulted me on the street, as they did other yankee nurses, heard that i was a person of great influence, and began to solicit my good offices on behalf of friends arrested by order of secretary stanton, and held as hostages, for our sixty wounded who were made prisoners while trying to pass through the city, before we took possession. so i was decked in plumes of fictitious greatness, and might have played princess in disguise if i had had time; but i had only two deaths in the old theater--this man up stairs, and the man without clothes, who lay alone in that back room, and after the amputation of his thigh, had no covering until government gave him one of virginia clay. chapter lxxii. more victims and a change of base. one day at noon, the air thrilled with martial music and the earth shook under the tramp of men as seven thousand splendid troops marched up princess ann street on their way to reinforce our army, whose rear was about eight miles from us. they were in superb order, and the forts around washington had been stripped of their garrisons, and most of their guns, to furnish them; but the generalship which cut our army off from its base of supplies, and blundered into the battle of the wilderness, like a blind horse into a briar patch, without shelling or burning the dry chapperal in which our dead and wounded were consumed together, after the battle, had made no arrangements for the safe arrival of its reinforcements. so they were ambushed soon after passing through fredericksburg; and that night, before ten o'clock, all the places i had succeeded in making vacant were filled with the wounded from this reinforcement. how many of them were brought to fredericksburg i do not know; but it must have been a good many, when some were sent to my den of horrors. one evening, after dark, i went to the dispensary, and found a surgeon just in from the front for supplies. while they were being put up, he told us of the horrible carnage at spottsylvania that day, when the troops had been hurled, again and again, against impregnable fortifications, under a rain of rifle balls, which cut down a solid white oak tree, eighteen inches in diameter. the battle had ceased for the night, and it was not known whether it would be renewed in the morning. "but if it is," said the speaker, "it will be the bloodiest day of the war, and we must be whipped, routed. the rebels are behind breastworks which cannot be carried. any man but grant would have known that this morning, but he is to fight it out on this line, and it is generally thought he will try it again in the morning. if he does, it will be a worse rout than bull run." no one was present but the surgeon in charge of the church, the dispensary clerk, and myself; so he was no alarmist, for when he had done speaking, he took his package, mounted his horse and left. people had said, through the day, that the roar of guns was heard in the higher portions of the city, but no news of the battle seemed to have reached it during all the next day. i spent it in preparing for the worst, warned georgie and tightened the reins on my nurses. i had had no reason to complain of any, and felt that i should hold them to duty, even through a rout. it also seemed well to know where our wounded were located, in that part of the city, so that if an attempt were made to remove them, in a hurry, there might not be any overlooked. at half-past eleven that night i had heard nothing from the front, and went to sleep, with heavy forebodings. at two o'clock i was aroused by the sounds of a moving multitude, rose and looked out to see, under the starlight, a black stream pouring down the side street, on the corner of which our quarters were situated, and turning down princess ann, toward the river landing. to me, it was the nation going to her doom, passing through the little period of starlight, on into the darkness and the unknown. in louisville, i had learned to believe that the eternal verities demanded the destruction of our government. true, the south had beaten the north in her bloody struggle for the privilege of holding her slaves while she flogged them; but i could see, in this, no reason why that north should be chosen as freedom's standard-bearer! our ignoble emancipation proclamation had furnished no rock of moral principle on which to plant her feet while she struggled in that bloody surf. god was blotting out our name from among the nations, that he might plant here a government worthy of such a country. i calculated there was a rear guard that would hold the enemy back until morning, and did not wake georgie, who needed sleep; but i must be with my men, who would be alarmed by the unusual sounds; must see that those nurses did not run away. to get to my post, i must cross that stream, and as i stood waiting on the bank, could see that it was not composed of men in martial array. it met exactly all my previous conceptions of a disorderly flight. there were men in and out of uniform, men rolled in blankets, men on horseback and men on foot, cannon, caisons, baggage wagons, beef cattle, ambulances and nondescripts, all mixed and mingled, filling the street from wall to wall; no one speaking a word, and all intent on getting forward as fast as possible. so thickly were they packed that i waited in vain, as much as twenty minutes, for some opening through which i might work my way to the other side, and at last called the vidette, who came and helped me over. reaching the theater, i found many of the men awake and listening; went among them and whispered, as i did something for each, that there was some movement on the street i did not understand, but should probably know about in the morning. during the suspense of those dark hours, and all the next day i was constantly reminded of the bible metaphor of "a nail fastened in a sure place." the absolute confidence which those men reposed in me, the comfort and strength i could give them, were so out of proportion to my strength that it was a study. i was a very small nail, but so securely fastened in the source of all strength, that they could hold by me and hope, even when there seemed nothing to hope for. as for me, all the armies of the world, and the world itself might melt or blow away, but i should be safe with god, and know that for every creature he was working out some noble destiny. all the pain, and sorrow, and defeat, were rough places--briars in an upward path to something we should all rejoice to see. all day that dark stream surged around that corner, and i took heart that the flight was not disorderly, since i heard of none coming by any other street. all day the work went on as usual at the old theater, and i made short excursions to other places. up that street in one end of an engine house, up a narrow, winding stair, i found a room full of men deserted, and in most pitiable condition. they were all supposed to be fever cases, but one young man had an ankle wound, in which inflammation had appeared. i hurried to the surgeons, stationed in the far end of the building, and reported the case. they sent immediately for the man, and i knew in two hours that the amputation had been successful, and barely in time. as i went on that errand, i met two christian commission men walking leisurely, admiring the light of the rising sun on the old buildings, and told them of the urgent demand for help, and chicken broth or beef broth and water up in that room. they were polite, and promised to go as soon as possible to the relief of that distress; but when i returned and up to the last knowledge i had of the case, they had not been there. i secured a can of cooked turkey, the only one i ever saw, and a pitcher of hot water, and with these made a substitute for chicken broth; gave them all drinks of water, bathed their faces, found one of their absent nurses, made him promise to stay, and went back to the main building to have some one see that he kept his word. here was a large floor almost covered with wounded, and among them a woman stumbled about weeping, wailing, boo-hooing and wringing her hands; i caught her wrist, and said: "what _is_ the matter?" "oh! oh! oh! boo-hoo! boo-hoo! the poor fellow is goin' to die an' wants me to write to his mother." "well, write to her and keep quiet! you need not kill all the rest of them because he is going to die." "oh! boo-hoo! some people has no feelin's; but i have got feelin's!" i led her to the surgeon in charge, who sent her and her "feelin's" to her quarters, and told her not to come back. she was the only one of the dix' nurses i saw in fredericksburg, and her large, flat, flabby face was almost hideous with its lack of eye-brows and lashes; but this hideousness must have been her recommendation, as she could not have been more than twenty years old. from the engine house i went to the methodist church. miss hancock had been detailed to the general hospital, just being established, and i found a house full of men in a sad condition. nine o'clock, on a hot morning, and no wounds dressed; bandages dry and hard, men thirsty and feverish, nurses out watching that stream pouring through the city, and patients helpless and despondent. i got a basin of water and a clean rag, never cared for sponges, and went from one to another, dripping water in behind those bandages to ease the torment of lint splints, brought drinks and talked to call their attention from the indefinite dread which filled the air, and got up considerable interest in--i do not remember what--but something which set them to talking. some wounds i dressed, and while engaged on one, a man called from the other side of the house to know what the fun was all about, when the man whose wound i was attending placed a hand on each of his sides, screamed with laughter, and replied: "oh, jim! do get her to dress your wound, for i swear, she'd make a dead man laugh!" i found some of the nurses; a surgeon came in who would, i thought, attend to them, and i went back to my post to find every man on duty. it was near sundown when we heard that this backward movement was a "change of base;" but to me it seemed more like looking for a base, as there had been none to change. the stream thickened toward nightfall, and continued until two o'clock next morning; so that our army was twenty-four hours passing through fredericksburg; and in that time i do not think a man strayed off on to any other street! all poured down that side street, turned that corner, and went on down princess ann. chapter lxxiii. prayers enough and to spare. the next evening, after hearing of the battle of spottsylvania, and while waiting to know if it had been renewed, i sat after sundown on the door-step of our quarters, when an orderly hurried up and inquired for the christian commission. a lieutenant was dying, and wanted to see a preacher. i directed the messenger, but doubted if he would find a preacher, as i had seen nothing of any save a catholic priest, with whom i had formed an alliance; and i went to stay with the dying man, who was alone. i found him nervous and tired, with nothing to hinder his return to his regiment inside of a month. he had been converted, was a member of the methodist church, and seemed an humble christian man. i told him he was getting well, had seen too much company, and must go to sleep, which he proceeded to do in a very short time after being assured that that motion was in order. he had slept perhaps five minutes when the messenger returned, followed by six preachers! i made a sign that he slept and should not be disturbed, but they gathered around the bed with so much noise they waked him. there seemed to be a struggle for precedence among his visitors, but one gained the victory. they all wanted to shake hands with the man in the bed, but his left arm was off, and i objected; whereupon the head spokesman groaned a good solid groan, to which the others groaned a response. he stood at the foot of the bed, spread his chest, and inquired: "well, brother, how is your soul in this solemn hour?" the answer was such as a good christian might make; and i told the gentleman that the lieutenant had been unnecessarily alarmed; that he had seen too much company, was weary and excited, needed rest, and was rapidly recovering; that he ought to go to sleep; but they all knelt around the bed, and the first prayed a good, long, loud prayer; talked about "the lake that burneth," and other pleasant things, while i held the patient's hand, and felt his nerves jerk. i thought it would soon be over; but no sooner had this one finished than the next fell to, and gave us a prayer with more of those sobs made by hard inhalation than his predecessor, and a good deal more brimstone. no sooner had he relieved his mind than a third threw back his head to begin, and i spoke, quietly as possible; begged they would let the lieutenant sleep; told them that down in the old theater was a man in a back room, alone and dying. i had tried to get some one to sit with him and pray with him, and hoped one or two of them would go to him at once, as every moment might make it too late. a man was also dying in the engine-house, who ought to have some christian friend with him as he crossed the dark valley. they listened impatiently; then the man whose turn it was to ventilate his eloquence, pushed his sleeves up to the elbows, rubbed his hands as if about to lift some heavy weight, and exclaimed: "yes, sister! yes. we'll attend to them; but, first, let us get through with this case!" then he went to work and ladled out groans, sobs and blue blazes. the other three followed suit, and when they had all had a good time on their knees, each one gave a short oration, and when they got through i reminded them again of the two dying men; but like the undutiful son, they said, "i go! and went not!" it was two of the six whom i met next morning, and asked to go to the relief of those poor patients, who promised and went not. chapter lxxiv. get out of the old theater. i do not know how long i was in charge of the old theater, but remember talking to some one of having been there ten days, and things looking as usual. it was after the change of base, that one afternoon i got eight hopeful cases sent to the general hospital, where they would have beds. that night about ten o'clock the vidette halted a man, who explained that he was surgeon in charge of that institution, and when he got leave to go on, i caught him by the lapel of his coat, and said: "if you are surgeon--what is the reason that the eight men i sent you this afternoon had had no supper at nine o'clock?" he promised to attend to them before he slept, and on that we parted. soon after this, dr. childs, of philadelphia, and a regular army surgeon, came to the old theater, hung their coats and official dignity, if they had any, on the wall--never said a word about the rubbish in the hall, but fastened up their sleeves and went to work. when they came, i felt as if i could not take another step, went to my room and lay down, thinking of raphael's useless angels leaning their baby arms on a cloud. my angels wore beards, and had their sleeves turned up like farm laborers, as they lifted men out of the depths of despair into the light and warmth of human help and human sympathy. in sending the men away, they sent the amputation cases and george to the church, and sent for me to go to them there. georgie had gone to the general hospital, and there was no surgeon in charge at the church when i went to it. so, once more, i set about doing that which was right in my own eyes. i could have a bale of hay, whipped out my needle and thread, and for several bad cases who had two blankets converted one into a bed tick, had it filled with hay, and a man placed on it; but three were sadly in need of beds, and had no blankets; and to them i alloted the balance of my precious bale, had it placed under them loose, and rejoiced in their joy over so great a luxury. my theater men had been laid in a row close to the wall, next to the late scene of their suffering; and about midnight of the first night there, a nurse asked me to go to a man who was dying. i found him in front of the altar. the doors and front panels of the pews had been fastened v shape to the floor, and he lay with one arm over this, and his head hanging forward. he had been shot through the chest, was breathing loud and in gasps, worn out for want of support, and to lay him down was to put out his lamp of life instantly. what he needed was a high-backed chair, but general patrick's sense of duty to the citizens of fredericksburg left no hope of such a support. as the only substitute in my reach, i sat on the edge of the pew door and its panel, drew his arm across my knee, raised his head to my shoulder, and held it there by laying mine against it. in this way i could talk in a low monotone to him, and the hopes to which the soul turns when about to leave the tenement of clay. he gasped acquiescence in these hopes, and his words led several men near to draw their sleeves across their eyes; but they all knew he was dying, and a little sympathy and sadness would not injure them. he reached toward the floor, and, the man next handed up a daguerreotype case, which he tried to open. i took and opened it; found the picture of a young, handsome woman, and held it and a candle, so that he could see it. his tears fell on it, as he looked, and he gasped, "i shall never be where that has been." i said: "is it your wife?" and he replied, "no! but she would have been." i always tried to avoid bringing sadness to the living on account of death; but it must have been hard for men to sleep in sound of his labored breathing; and to soften it i began singing "shining shore." he took it up at once, in a whisper tone, keeping time, as if used to singing. soon one, then another and another joined, until all over the church these prostrate men were singing that soft, sad melody. on the altar burned a row of candles before a life-sized picture of the virgin and child. the cocks crew the turn of the night outside, and when we had sung the hymn through, some of the men began again, and we had sung it a second time when i heard george call me. i knew that he, too, was dying, and would probably not hear the next crowing of the cock. i must go to him! how could i leave this head unsupported? oh, death where is thy sting? i think it was with me that night; but i went to george, and when the sun arose it looked upon two corpses, the remains of two who had gone from my arms in one night, full of hope in the great hereafter. chapter lxxv. take boat and see a social party. next morning a new surgeon took charge, and ordered that hay to be removed. the men clung to their beds and sent for me; i plead a respite, in hopes of getting muslin to make ticks; but was soon detected in the act of taking a bowl of broth to one of my patients. this the surgeon forbade on the ground that it was not regular meal time. i said the man was asleep at meal time. this he would not permit, men must be fed at regular hours, or not at all, and the new authority informed me that "more wounded soldiers had been killed by women stuffing them than by anything else." he had just come from massachusetts, and this was his first day among the wounded. i set my bowl down before the altar, found a surgeon who ranked him, and stated the case, when the higher authority said: "give every man an ox, every day, if he will take it in beef tea." "but, doctor, there is nothing in beef tea. i give broth." "very good, give them whatever you please and whenever you please--we can trust you." the new surgeon was promptly dismissed, and when next i saw him he was on his way back to massachusetts. that night a nurse came for me to go to the theater which had been vacated, and once more almost filled with men who lay in total darkness, without having any provision made for them. i got them lights, nurses and food, but could not go back for another siege in that building--could not leave my present post, but the city was being evacuated. both theater and church were emptied, and i went to the tobacco warehouse, where mrs. ingersol was perplexed about a man with a large bullet in his brain. when i had seen him and assured her that another ounce of lead in a skull of that kind was of no consequence, she redoubled her care, and i have no doubt he is living yet. but there was one man in whom i felt a deep interest and for whom i saw little hope. he had a chest wound, and had seemed to be doing well when there was a hemorrhage, and he lay white and still almost as death. he must not attempt to speak, and i was a godsend to him, for i knew what he needed without being told, and gave him the best care i could. he was of a western state, and his name dutton, and when i left him i thought he must die in being moved, as he must be soon; but i must go with a boat-load of wounded. this boat was a mere transport, and its precious freight was laid on the decks as close as they could well be packed, the cabin floor being given up to the wounded officers. there were several surgeons on board who may have been attending to the men, but cannot remember seeing any but one engaged in any work of that kind. there were also seven lady nurses, all i think volunteers, all handsomely if not elegantly dressed. of course they could do nothing there, and i cannot see how they could have done anything among the wounded in any place where there were no bedsteads to protect the men from their hoops. they had probably been engaged in preparing food, taking charge of, and distributing supplies and other important work, for personal attendance on the men was but a part of the work to be done. surgeons could do little without soiling their uniforms, but my dress had long been past soiling or spoiling; my old kid slippers without heels, could be slid, with the feet in them, quite under a man, and as i stepped sideways across them, they took care that my soft dress did not catch on their buttons. when i sat on one heel to bathe a hot face, give a drink or dress a wound, some man took hold of me with his well hand and steadied me, while another held my basin. i had half of an old knapsack to put under a wound, keep the floor dry and catch the worms when i drove them out--and no twenty early birds ever captured so many in the same length of time. i became so eager in the pursuit that i kept it up by candle-light, until late midnight, when i started to go to my stateroom. entering the cabin, i came upon a social party, the like of which i trust no one else will ever see. on the sofas sat those seven lady nurses, each with the arm of an officer around her waist, in full view of the wounded men on the floor, some of whom must go from that low bed, to one still lower--even down under the daisies. i stopped, uttered some exclamation, then stood in speechless surprise. three surgeons released the ladies they were holding, came forward and inquired if there was anything wanted. i might have replied that men and women were wanted, but think i said nothing. when i reached my room i found in the berth a woman who raised up and said: "the stewardess told me this was your room; will you let me stay with you?" she was another georgie--young, calm, strong, refined, was miss gray of columbia hospital, and staid with me through a long hard trial, in which she proved that her price was above rubies. next morning i found on one of the guards, young johnson, the son of an old wilkinsburg schoolmate. hoped i had so checked the decay and final destroyers which had already taken hold of him, that he might live. wrote to his people, and saw him at noon transferred with the other patients, the surgeons and stylish lady nurses, to a large hospital boat; when miss gray and i returned in the transport to fredericksburg. chapter lxxvi. take final leave of fredericksburg. i cannot remember if our boat lay at the fredericksburg wharf one day or two; but she might start any moment, and those who went ashore took the risk of being left, as this was the last boat. the evacuation was almost complete, and we waited the result of expeditions to gather up our wounded from field hospitals at the front. we were liable to attack at any moment, and were protected by a gunboat which lay close along side. there was plenty to do on board, but in doing it i must see the piles of stores on the wharf brought there too late to be of service to our wounded, and now to be abandoned to the rebels. there were certainly one hundred bales of hay, which would have more than replaced all that was withheld by united states bayonets from our own men in their extremity. i soon learned after entering fredericksburg, that our commissaries were issuing stores without stint to the citizens; went and saw them carry off loads of everything there was to give; and when those one hundred and eighty-two union soldiers were literally starving in the old theater, union soldiers were dealing out delicacies to rebels, while others guarded the meanest article of their property, and kept it from our men, even when it was necessary to save life. i consulted several old sanitary commission men, who told me it was always so when grant was at the front; that he was then in absolute command; that patrick, the provost marshal, was his friend, and would be sustained; and that we must be quiet or we would be ordered out of fredericksburg. gen. grant may have been loyal to the union cause, but it has always seemed to me that in fighting its battles, he was moved by the pure love of fighting, and took that side which could furnish him the most means to gratify his passion for war. his generalship was certainly of a kind that would soon have proved fatal to our cause in the war of the revolution, and only succeeded in the war of the rebellion, because the resources at his command were limitless, as compared with those of the enemy. it was late in the afternoon when our boat shoved off, and as we steamed away we saw the citizens rush down and take possession of the stores left on the wharf. during the evening and night we were fired into several times from the shores, but these attacks were returned from the gun-boat, which kept our assailants at such distance that their shots were harmless. we must have no lights that night, and the fires were put out or concealed, that they might not make us a target. so i slept, as there was nothing to be done, but in the morning was out early in search of worms, and was having good success, when two richly, fashionably dressed ladies came to tell me there was to be nothing to eat, save for those who took board at the captain's table. they had gone to the kitchen to make a cup of tea for a wounded officer, and were ignominiously driven off by the cook. what was to be done? we might be ten days getting to washington. i went in search of a surgeon in charge, and found one in bed, sick; waited at his door until he joined me, when together we saw the captain of the boat. there were two new cook-stoves on board, but to put one up would be to forfeit the insurance. there were plenty of commissary stores. the surgeon went with me, ordered the commissary to give me anything i wanted, and went back to bed. our stores consisted of crackers, coffee, dried-apples, essence of beef, and salt pork in abundance, a little loaf bread, and about half a pound of citric acid. of these only the crackers and bread could be eaten without being cooked. there were four hundred and fifty wounded men--all bad cases, all exhausted from privation. how many of them would live to reach washington on a diet of crackers and water? i went to the cook, a large, sensible colored woman, and stated the case as well as i could. after hearing it she said: "i see how it is; but you see all these officers and ladies are agoin to board with the captain, an' i'll have a sight o' cooking to do. i can't have none of those fine ladies comin' a botherin' around me, carryin' off my things or upsettin' 'em. but i'll tell you what i'll do; i'll hurry up my work and clare off my things; then you can have the kitchen, you an' that young lady that's with you; but them women, with their hoops an' their flounces, must stay out o' here!" it was hard to see how two of them would get into that small domain, a kitchen about ten feet square, half filled by a cook-stove, shelves, and the steep, narrow, open stairs which led to the upper deck; but what a kingdom that little kitchen was to me! all the utensils leaked, but cook helped me draw rags through the holes in the three largest which i was to have, and which covered the top of the stove. there were plenty of new wooden buckets and tin dippers on board as freight, some contraband women, and an active little man, who had once been a cook's assistant. he and the women were glad to work for food. he was to help me in the kitchen. they worked outside, and must not get in the way of the crew. they washed dried apples and put them to soak in buckets, pounded crackers in bags and put the crumbs into buckets, making each one a third full and covering them with cold water. i put a large piece of salt pork into my largest boiler, added water and beef essence enough to almost fill the boiler, seasoned it, and as soon as it reached boiling point had it ladled into the buckets with the cracker-crumbs, and sent for distribution. the second boiler was kept busy cooking dried apples, into which i put citric acid and sugar, for gangrene prevailed among the wounds. in the third boiler i made coffee; i kept it a-soak, and as soon as it boiled i put it strong into buckets, one-third full of cold water. i kept vessels in the oven and on the small spaces on top of the stove. my little man fired up like a fire-king, another man laid plenty of wood at hand; and i think that was the only cook-stove that was ever "run" to its full capacity for a week. by so running it, i could give every man a pint of warm soup and one of warm coffee every twenty-four hours. to do this, everything must "come to time." when one piece of pork was cooked, it was cut into small pieces and distributed, and another put into the boiler. during our cooking times i usually sat on the stairs, where i could direct and be out of the way; and to improve the time, often had a plate and cup from which i ate and drank. cook always saved me something nice, and i made tea for myself. i was running my body as i did the cook stove, making it do quadruple duty, and did not spare the fuel in either case. around each foot, below the instep, i had a broad, firm bandage, one above each ankle and one below each knee. if soldiers on the march had adopted this precaution, they would have escaped the swollen limbs so often distressing. i also had each knee covered by several layers of red flannel, to protect them while i knelt on damp places. soon after going into campbell, i discovered that muscles around the bone will do double service if held firmly in place, and so was enabled in all my hospital work, to do what seemed miraculous to the most experienced surgeons. i rested every moment i could, never stood when i might sit, made no useless motions, spent no strength in sorrow, had no sentiment, was simply the engineer of a machine--my own body; could fall asleep soon as i lay down, and wake any moment with my senses all alert, outlived my prejudice about china cups, and drank tea from brown earthen mugs used for soup, and never washed save in cold water; often ate from a tin plate with my left hand, while my right held a stump to prevent that jerking of the nerves which is so agonizing to the patient, many a time eating from the same tin plate with my patient, and making merry over it; and think i must have outstanding engagements to dance cotillions with one hundred one-legged men. one day while i sat eating and watching, that just enough cans of beef were put into each boiler of broth, and no time wasted by letting it stand after reaching boiling point, a surgeon asked to see me at the kitchen door. he informed me that up on the forecastle, some men had had soup twice while those in some other place had had none. he evidently wished to be lenient, but felt that i had been guilty of great neglect. i heard his grievance, and said: "doctor, how many of you surgeons are on this boat?" after some consideration he answered: "four!" "four surgeons!" i repeated, "beside the surgeon in charge, who is sick! we have four hundred and fifty wounded men! i draw all the rations, find a way to cook them, have them cooked and put into the buckets, ready for distribution. do you not think that you four could organize a force to see that they are honestly distributed--or do you expect me to be in the kitchen, up in the forecastle, and at the stern on the boiler deck, at one and the same time? doctor, could you not take turns in amusing those ladies? could they not spare two of you for duty?" i heard no more complaints, but left miss grey more in charge of the kitchen, and did enough medical inspecting to know that i had been unjust. some of the surgeons had been on duty, and the men were not so much neglected as i had feared. as for the ladies, i do not know how many there were of them, but they were of good social position--quite as good as the average of those whose main object in life is to look as much better than their neighbors as circumstances will admit. there was on board one of those folks for whose existence christianity is responsible, and which sensible hindoos reduce to their original elements, viz.: a widow who gets a living by being pious, and is respectable through sheer force of cheap finery; one who estimates herself by her surroundings, and whose every word and look and motion is an apology for her existence. she was a dix, or paid nurse. the ladies snubbed her; we had no room for her hoops; and she spent her time in odd corners, taking care of them and her hair, and turning up her eyes, like a duck in a thunder-storm, under the impression that it looked devotional. if i had killed all the folks i have felt like killing, she would have gone from that boat to her final rest. one night about eleven o'clock a strange surgeon, who had just come aboard with twenty wounded, came to the kitchen door, and handed in a requisition for tea and custard and chicken for his men. the man told him he could have nothing but cracker-broth or coffee. he was very indignant, and proceeded to get up a scene; but the man said, firmly: "can't help it, surgeon! that's the orders!" "orders! whose orders?" i got down from my porch on the stairs, came forward and said: "it is my orders, sir, and i am sorry, but this is really all we can do for you. if your men have tin cups, each one can have a cup of warm soup--it will not be very hot--or a cup of warm coffee. those who get soup will get no coffee, and those who get coffee can have no soup. you can get tin cups from the commissary, and should have them ready, so that the food will not cool." while i made this statement he stood regarding me with ineffable disdain, and when i was through inquired: "who are you?" "i am the cook!" "the cook!" he repeated, contemptuously. "i will report your insolence when we reach washington!" "that may be your duty; but i will send up the coffee and soup, and do you get the tin cups." he stamped off in dudgeon, and others who heard him were highly indignant; but i was greatly pleased to find a surgeon who would get angry and raise a disturbance on behalf of his patients. i never knew his name, but if this should meet his eye i trust he will accept my thanks for his faithfulness to his charge. on the lower deck, behind the boilers, lay twenty wounded prisoners, who at first looked sulky; but as i was stepping over and among them, one caught my dress, looked up pleadingly, and said: "mother, can't you get me some soft bread? i can't eat this hard-tack." he was young, scarce more than a boy; had large, dark eyes, a good head--tokens of gentle nurture--and alas! a thigh stump. he told me he was of a mississippi regiment, and his name willie gibbs. i bathed his hot face, and said i would see about the bread; then went to another part of the deck, where our men were very closely packed, and stated the case to them. there was very little soft bread--it was theirs by right; what should i do? i think they all spoke at once, and all said the same words: "oh, mother! give the johnnies the soft bread! we can eat hard-tack!" i think i was impartial, but there was a temptation to give willie gibbs a little more than his share of attention. his face was so sad, and there was so little hope that he would ever again see those who loved him, that i think i did more for him than for any other one on board. his companions came to call me "mother," and i hope felt their captivity softened by my care; and often rebel hands supported me while i crouched at work. when we approached washington, i proposed rewarding the cook for the incalculable service she had rendered, but she replied: "no, ma'am, i will not take anything from you 'cept that apron! when we get to washington, you will not want it any more, an' i'll keep it all my life to remember you, and leave it to my children! lord! there isn't another lady in the world could 'a done what you've done; an' i know you're a lady! them women with the fine clothes is trying to pass for ladies, but, lord! i know no lady 'u'd dress up that way in a place like this, an' men know it, too--just look at you, an' how you do make them fellers in shoulderstraps stand 'round!" her observation showed her southern culture, for whatever supremacy the north may have over the south, southern ladies are far in advance of those of the north in the art of dress. a southern lady seldom commits an incongruity, or fails to dress according to age, weather, and the occasion. i do not think any one of any social standing would have gone among wounded men, with the idea of rendering any assistance, tricked out in finery, as hundreds, if not thousands, of respectable northern women did. the apron which i gave to my friend the cook, was brown gingham, had seen hard service, and cost, originally, ten cents, and half an hour's hand-sewing; but if it aids her to remember me as pleasantly as i do her, it is part of a bond of genuine friendship. chapter lxxvii. try to get up a society and get sick. after two days in bed at home, i was so much better, that when mrs. ingersol came with a plan for organizing a society to furnish the army with female nurses, i went to see mrs. lincoln about it. she was willing to cooperate, and i went to secretary stanton, who heard me, and replied: "you must know that mrs. barlow and mrs. ingersol and you are not fair representatives of your sex," and went on to explain the embarrassment of the surgeon-general from the thousands of women pressing their services upon the government, and the various political influences brought to bear on behalf of applicants, and of the well grounded opposition of surgeons to the presence of women in hospitals, on account of their general unfitness. gen. scott, as a personal friend of miss dix, had appointed her to the place she held, and it was so convenient and respectful to refer people to her, that the war department would not interfere with the arrangement. in other words, she was a break-water against which feminine sympathies could dash and splash without submerging the hospital service. after what i had seen among the women who had succeeded in getting in, i had not much to say. a society might prescribe a dress, but might be no more successful than miss dix in making selections of those who should wear it. i asked the secretary how it came that no better provision had been made for our wounded after the battle of the wilderness, and tears sprang to his eyes as he replied: "we did not know where they were. we had made every arrangement at the points designated by gen. grant, but he changed his plans and did not notify us. the whole army was cut off from its base of supplies and must be sustained. as soon as we knew the emergency, we did everything in our power; but all our preparations were lost. everything had to be done over again. you cannot regret the suffering more than i, but it was impossible for me to prevent it." i never saw him so earnest, so sorrowful, so deeply moved. that effort seemed to be the straw which broke the camel's back, and i was so ill as to demand medical attendance. for this i sent to campbell. dr. kelly came, but his forte was surgery, and my case was left with dr. true, who had had longer practice in medicine. they both decided that i had been inoculated with gangrene while dressing wounds, and for some weeks i continued to sink. i began to think my illness fatal, and asked the doctor, who said: "i have been thinking i ought to tell you that if you have any unsettled business you should attend to it." i had a feeling of being generally distributed over the bed, of being a mass of pulp without any central force, but i had had a letter that day from my daughter, who was with her father and grandmother in swissvale, and wanted to come to me, and the thought came: "does god mean to make my child an orphan, that others may receive their children by my death?" then i had a strange sensation of a muster, a gathering of scattered life-force, and when it all came together it made a protest; i signed to the doctor, who put his ear to my lips, and i said: "doctor true, i shall live to be an hundred and twenty years old!" he took up the lamp, threw the light on my face, and peered anxiously into it, and i looked straight into his eyes, and said: "i will!" he laughed and set down the lamp, saying: "then you must get over this!" "you must get me over it. bring dr. kelly!" next morning, i had them carry me into a larger room, where the morning sun shone on me, and ten days after, started for pennsylvania, where i spent three weeks with my old swissvale neighbors, col. hawkins and wm. s. haven. when i returned to washington, i found an official document, a recommendation from the quarter-master general, of my dismissal for absence without leave. it was addressed to secretary stanton, who had written on the outside: "respectfully referred to mrs. swisshelm, by edwin m. stanton." i went back to work, and learned that mrs. gen. barlow had died of typhoid fever, in washington. no man died more directly for the government. thousands who fell on the battle-field, exhibited less courage and devotion to that service, and did less to secure its success. i know not where her body lies, but wherever it does, no decoration-day should pass in which her memory is not crowned with immortelles. she died at a time when my life was despaired of, and when mrs. ingersol wrote to a maine paper of my illness, adding: "i hope the lord will not take her away, until he has made another like her." she told me afterwards that just then she held the world at a grudge; but it must have been relieved of my presence long ere this, if i had not found in homoepathy relief from pain, which for eight months made life a burden, and for which the best old-school physicians proposed no cure. chapter lxxviii. an efficient nurse. to show the capabilities of some of the women who thought they had a mission for saving the country by acting as hospital nurses, i give the history of one. while i lay ill, a friend came and told of a most excellent woman who had come from afar, and tendered her services to the government, who had exerted much influence and spent much effort to get into a hospital as nurse, but had failed. hearing of my illness, her desire to be useful led her to tender her services, so that if she could not nurse wounded soldiers she could nurse one who had. the generous offer was accepted, and i was left an afternoon in her care. i wanted a cup of tea. she went to the kitchen to make it, and one hour after came up with a cup of tea, only this and nothing more, save a saucer. to taste the tea. i must have a spoon, and to get one she must go along a hall, down a long flight of stairs, through another hall and the kitchen, to the pantry. when she had made the trip the tea was so much too strong that a spoonful would have made a cup. she went down again for hot water, and after she had got to the kitchen remembered that she had thrown it out, thinking it would not be wanted. the fire had gone out, and she came up to inquire if she should make a new one, and if so, where she should find kindling? she had spent almost two hours running to and fro, was all in perspiration and a fluster, had done me a great deal of harm and nobody any good, had wasted all the kindlings for the evening fire, enough tea to have served a large family for a meal, and fairly illustrated a large part of the hospital service rendered by women oppressed with the nursing mission. my sense of relief was inexpressible when mrs. george b. lincoln returned from her visit to the white house, sent my tea-maker away and took charge of me once more. chapter lxxix. two fredericksburg patients. some months after leaving fredericksburg, i was walking on pennsylvania avenue, when the setting sun shone in my face, and a man in uniform stopped me, saying: "excuse me! you do not know me, but i know you!" i turned, looked at him carefully, and said: "i do not know you!" "oh, no! but the last time you saw me, you cut off my beard with your scissors and fed me with a teaspoon. when you left me you did not think you would ever see me again." "oh!" i exclaimed joyfully, "you are dutton." he laughed, and replied, "that's me. i have just got a furlough and am going home." he was very pale and thin, but i was so glad to see him and shake hands, and wish him safely home with his friends. during the great review after the war, i had a seat near the president's stand. there was a jam, and a man behind me called my attention to a captain, at a short distance, who had something to say to me, and passed along the words: "you took care of me on the boat coming from fredericksburg." looking across, i could see him quite well, but even when his hat was off could not recognize him; and this is all i have ever heard from or of the men with whose lives mine was so knit during that terrible time. i fear that not many survived, and doubt if a dozen of them ever knew me by any other name than that of "mother." chapter lxxx. am enlightened. when early appeared before washington, we all knew there was nothing to prevent his coming in and taking possession. the forts were stripped. there were no soldiers either in or around the city. the original inhabitants were ready to welcome him with open arms. the departments were closed, that the clerks might go out in military array, to oppose; but of course few soldiers were sitting at desks at that stage of the war. the news at the quartermaster's office one morning was that the foreign ministers had been notified, and that the city would be shelled that afternoon. we lived on the north side of the city; and when i went home, thousands of people were on the streets, listening to the sound of guns at fort reno. so far as i knew, there was a universal expectation that the city would be occupied by rebel troops that night. as this was in harmony with the general tenor of my anticipations for a quarter of a century, i readily shared in the popular opinion, and for once was with the majority. among the groups who stood in the streets were many contrabands, and their faces were pitiful to see. one scantily-clad woman, holding a ragged infant, and with two frightened, ragged children clinging to her skirts, stood literally quaking. her black face had turned gray with terror, and she came to me and asked: "oh! missus! does ye tink dey will get in?" suddenly my eyes were opened, like those of the prophet's servant when he saw the horses and chariots of fire, and i replied: "no! never! they will come no nearer than they now are! you can go home and rest in peace, for you are just as safe from them as if you were in heaven!" she was greatly comforted; but a gentleman said, as she moved away: "i wish i could share your opinion; but what is to hinder their coming in?" "god is to hinder! he has appointed us to rescue these people. they are collected here in thousands, and the prayers of centuries are to be answered now!" i myself went home feeling all the confidence i spoke, and wondering i could have been so stupid as to doubt. our government and people were very imperfect, but had developed a sublime patriotism--made an almost miraculous growth in good. ten righteous men would have saved sodom. we had ten thousand; and i must think there are few histories of supernatural interference in the affairs of the jews more difficult to account for, on merely natural grounds, than the preservation of washington in that crisis. conclusion. december 6th, 1865, the fiftieth anniversary of my birth, found me in washington, at work in the quarter-master's office, on a salary of sixty dollars a month, without any provision for support in old age; and so great a sufferer as never to have a night of rest unbroken by severe pain, but with my interest in a country rescued from the odium of southern slavery, and a faint light breaking of the day which is yet to abolish that of the west. in the summer of '66, dr. king, of pittsburg, came to know what i would take for my interest in ten acres of the swissvale estate, which he had purchased. my deed had presented a barrier to the sale of a portion of it, and he was in trouble: i consulted secretary stanton, who said: "your title to that property is good against the world!" it had become valuable and the idea of its ownership was alarming! i had made up my mind to poverty, had been discharged from the quarter-master's office by special order of president johnson, "for speaking disrespectfully of the president of the united states!"--_washington star_--was the first person dismissed by mr. johnson; was without visible means of support, could not suddenly adjust my thought to anything so foreign to all my plans as coming into possession of a valuable estate, and said: "oh, secretary stanton, how shall i ever undertake such a stewardship at my time of life?" he looked sternly at me, and replied: "mrs. swisshelm, don't be a fool! take care of yourself! it is time you would begin. the property is yours now. you are morally responsible for it, and can surely make some better use of it than giving it away to rich men around pittsburg. go at once and attend to your interests." this was our last interview. i instituted the suit he advised, and he would have plead my cause before the supreme court, but when it came up he was holding possession of the war department to defeat president johnson's policy of making the south triumphant. however, the decree of the court was in my favor, and through it i have been able to rescue the old log block house from the tooth of decay, and to sit in it and recall those passages of life with which it is so intimately connected. the end. woman in the nineteenth century, and kindred papers relating to the sphere, condition and duties, of woman. by margaret fuller ossoli. edited by her brother, arthur b. fuller. with an introduction by horace greeley. preface. * * * * * it has been thought desirable that such papers of margaret fuller ossoli as pertained to the condition, sphere and duties of woman, should be collected and published together. the present volume contains, not only her "woman in the nineteenth century,"--which has been before published, but for some years out of print, and inaccessible to readers who have sought it,--but also several other papers, which have appeared at various times in the _tribune_ and elsewhere, and yet more which have never till now been published. my free access to her private manuscripts has given to me many papers, relating to woman, never intended for publication, which yet seem needful to this volume, in order to present a complete and harmonious view of her thoughts on this important theme. i have preferred to publish them without alteration, as most just to her views and to the reader; though, doubtless, she would have varied their expression and form before giving them to the press. it seems right here to remark, in order to avoid any misapprehension, that margaret ossoli's thoughts wore not directed so exclusively to the subject of the present volume as have been the minds of some others. as to the movement for the emancipation of woman from the unjust burdens and disabilities to which she has been subject oven in our own land, my sister could neither remain indifferent nor silent; yet she preferred, as in respect to every other reform, to act independently and to speak independently from her own stand-point, and never to merge her individuality in any existing organization. this she did, not as condemning such organizations, nor yet as judging them wholly unwise or uncalled for, but because she believed she could herself accomplish more for their true and high objects, unfettered by such organizations, than if a member of them. the opinions avowed throughout this volume, and wherever expressed, will, then, be found, whether consonant with the reader's or no, in all cases honestly and heartily her own,--the result of her own thought and faith. she never speaks, never did speak, for any clique or sect, but as her individual judgment, her reason and conscience, her observation and experience, taught her to speak. i could have wished that some one other than a brother should have spoken a few fitting words of margaret fuller, as a woman, to form a brief but proper accompaniment to this volume, which may reach some who have never read her "memoirs," recently published, or have never known her in personal life. this seemed the more desirable, because the strictest verity in speaking of her must seem, to such as knew her not, to be eulogy. but, after several disappointments as to the editorship of the volume, the duty, at last, has seemed to devolve upon me; and i have no reason to shrink from it but a sense of inadequacy. it is often supposed that literary women, and those who are active and earnest in promoting great intellectual, philanthropic, or religious movements, must of necessity neglect the domestic concerns of life. it may be that this is sometimes so, nor can such neglect be too severely reprehended; yet this is by no means a necessary result. some of the most devoted mothers the world has ever known, and whose homes were the abode of every domestic virtue, themselves the embodiment of all these, have been women whose minds were highly cultured, who loved and devoted both thought and time to literature, and were active in philanthropic and diffusive efforts for the welfare of the race. the letter to m., which is published on page 345, is inserted chiefly as showing the integrity and wisdom with which margaret advised her friends; the frankness with which she pointed out to every young woman who asked counsel any deficiencies of character, and the duties of life; and that among these latter she gave due place to the humblest which serve to make home attractive and happy. it is but simple justice for me to bear, in conjunction with many others, my tribute to her domestic virtues and fidelity to all home duties. that her mind found chief delight in the lowest forms of these duties may not be true, and it would be sad if it were; but it is strictly true that none, however humble, were either slighted or shunned. in common with a younger sister and brother, i shared her care in my early instruction, and found over one of the truest counsellors in a sister who scorned not the youngest mind nor the simplest intellectual wants in her love for communion, through converse or the silent page, with the minds of the greatest and most gifted. during a lingering illness, in childhood, well do i remember her as the angel of the sick-chamber, reading much to me from books useful and appropriate, and telling many a narrative not only fitted to wile away the pain of disease and the weariness of long confinement, but to elevate the mind and heart, and to direct them to all things noble and holy; over ready to watch while i slept, and to perform every gentle and kindly office. but her care of the sick--that she did not neglect, but was eminent in that sphere of womanly duty, even when no tie of kindred claimed this of her, mr. cass's letter abundantly shows; and also that this gentleness was united to a heroism which most call manly, but which, i believe, may as justly be called truly womanly. mr. cass's letter is inserted because it arrived too late to find a place in her "memoirs," and yet more because it bears much on margaret ossoli's characteristics as a woman. a few also of her private letters and papers, not bearing, save, indirectly, on the subject of this volume, are yet inserted in it, as further illustrative of her thought, feeling and action, in life's various relations. it is believed that nothing which exhibits a true woman, especially in her relations to others as friend, sister, daughter, wife, or mother, can fail to interest and be of value to her sex, indeed to all who are interested in human welfare and advancement, since these latter so much depend on the fidelity of woman. nor will anything pertaining to the education and care of children be deemed irrelevant, especially by mothers, upon whom these duties must always largely devolve. of the intellectual gifts and wide culture of margaret fuller there is no need that i should speak, nor is it wise that one standing in my relation to her should. those who knew her personally feel that no words ever flowed from her pen equalling the eloquent utterances of her lips; yet her works, though not always a clear oppression of her thoughts, are the evidences to which the world will look as proof of her mental greatness. on one point, however, i do wish to bear testimony--not needed with those who knew her well, but interesting, perhaps, to some readers into whose bands this volume may fall. it is on a subject which one who knew her from his childhood up--at _home_, where best the _heart_ and _soul_ can be known,--in the unrestrained hours of domestic life,--in various scenes, and not for a few days, nor under any peculiar circumstances--can speak with confidence, because he speaks what he "doth know, and testifieth what he hath seen." it relates to her christian faith and hope. "with all her intellectual gifts, with all her high, moral, and noble characteristics," there are some who will ask, "was her intellectual power sanctified by christian faith as its basis? were her moral qualities, her beneficent life, the results of a renewed heart?" i feel no hesitation here, nor would think it worth while to answer such questions at all, were her life to be read and known by all who read this volume, and were i not influenced also, in some degree, by the tone which has characterized a few sectarian reviews of her works, chiefly in foreign periodicals. surely, if the saviour's test, "by their fruits ye shall know them," be the true one, margaret ossoli was preeminently a christian. if a life of constant self-sacrifice,--if devotion to the welfare of kindred and the race,--if conformity to what she believed god's law, so that her life seemed ever the truest form of prayer, active obedience to the deity,--in fine, if carrying christianity into all the departments of action, so far as human infirmity allows,--if these be the proofs of a christian, then whoever has read her "memoirs" thoughtfully, and without sectarian prejudice or the use of sectarian standards of judgment, must feel her to have been a christian. but not alone in outward life, in mind and heart, too, was she a christian. the being brought into frequent and intimate contact with religious persons has been one of the chief privileges of my vocation, but never yet have i met with any person whose reverence for holy things was deeper than hers. abhorring, as all honest minds must, every species of cant, she respected true religious thought and feeling, by whomsoever cherished. god seemed nearer to her than to any person i have over known. in the influences of his holy spirit upon the heart she fully believed, and in experience realized them. jesus, the friend of man, can never have been more truly loved and honored than she loved and honored him. i am aware that this is strong language, but strength of language cannot equal the strength of my conviction on a point where i have had the best opportunities of judgment. rich as is the religion of jesus in its list of holy confessors, yet it can spare and would exclude none who in heart, mind and life, confessed and reverenced him as did she. among my earliest recollections, is her devoting much time to a thorough examination of the evidences of christianity, and ultimately declaring that to her, better than all arguments or usual processes of proof, was the soul's want of a divine religion, and the voice within that soul which declared the teachings of christ to be true and from god; and one of my most cherished possessions is that bible which she so diligently and thoughtfully read, and which bears, in her own handwriting, so many proofs of discriminating and prayerful perusal. as in regard to reformatory movements so here, she joined no organized body of believers, sympathizing with all of them whose views were noble and christian; deploring and bearing faithful testimony against anything she deemed narrowness or perversion in theology or life. this volume from her hand is now before the reader. the fact that a large share of it was never written or revised by its authoress for publication will be kept in view, as explaining any inaccuracy of expression or repetition of thought, should such occur in its pages. nor will it be deemed surprising, if, in papers written by so progressive a person, at so various periods of life, and under widely-varied circumstances, there should not always be found perfect union as to every expressed opinion. it is probable that this will soon be followed by another volume, containing a republication of "summer on the lakes," and also the "letters from europe," by the same hand. in the preparation of this volume much valuable assistance has been afforded by mr. greeley, of the new york _tribune_, who has been earnest in his desire and efforts for the diffusion of what margaret has written. a. b. f. boston, _may 10th_, 1855. introduction. * * * * * the problem of woman's position, or "sphere,"--of her duties, responsibilities, rights and immunities as woman,--fitly attracts a large and still-increasing measure of attention from the thinkers and agitators of our time, the legislators, so called,--those who ultimately enact into statutes what the really governing class (to wit, the thinkers) have originated, matured and gradually commended to the popular comprehension and acceptance,--are not as yet much occupied with this problem, only fitfully worried and more or less consciously puzzled by it. more commonly they merely echo the mob's shallow retort to the petition of any strong-minded daughter or sister, who demands that she be allowed a voice in disposing of the money wrenched from her hard earnings by inexorable taxation, or in shaping the laws by which she is ruled, judged, and is liable to be sentenced to prison or to death, "it is a woman's business to obey her husband, keep his home tidy, and nourish and train his children." but when she rejoins to this, "very true; but suppose i choose not to have a husband, or am not chosen for a wife--what then? i am still subject to your laws. why am i not entitled, as a rational human being, to a voice in shaping them? i have physical needs, and must somehow earn a living. why should i not be at liberty to earn it in any honest and useful calling?"--the mob's flout is hushed, and the legislator is struck dumb also. they were already at the end of their scanty resources of logic, and it would be cruel for woman to ask further: "suppose me a wife, and my husband a drunken prodigal--what am i to do then? may i not earn food for my babes without being exposed to have it snatched from their mouths to replenish the rumseller's till, and aggravate my husband's madness? if some sympathizing relative sees fit to leave me a bequest wherewith to keep my little ones together, why may i not be legally enabled to secure this to their use and benefit? in short, why am i not regarded by the law as a _soul_, responsible for my acts to god and humanity, and not as a mere body, devoted to the unreasoning service of my husband?" the state gives no answer, and the champions of her policy evince wisdom in imitating her silence. the writer of the following pages was one of the earliest as well as ablest among american women, to demand for her sex equality before the law with her titular lord and master, her writings on this subject have the force which springs from the ripening of profound reflection into assured conviction. she wrote as one who had observed, and who deeply felt what she deliberately uttered. others have since spoken more fluently, more variously, with a greater affluence of illustration; but none, it is believed, more earnestly or more forcibly. it is due to her memory, as well as to the great and living cause of which she was so eminent and so fearless an advocate, that what she thought and said with regard to the position of her sex and its limitations, should be fully and fairly placed before the public. for several years past her principal essay on "woman," here given, has not been purchasable at any price, and has only with great difficulty been accessible to the general reader. to place it within the reach of those who need and require it, is the main impulse to the publication of this volume; but the accompanying essays and papers will be found equally worthy of thoughtful consideration. h. greeley. contents. * * * * * part i. woman in the nineteenth century * * * * * part ii miscellanies aulauron and laurie wrongs and duties of american woman george sand the same subject consuelo jenny lind, the "consuelo" of george sand caroline ever-growing lives household nobleness "glumdalclitches" "ellen; or, forgive and forget," "coubrier des etats unis," the same subject books of travel review of mrs. jameson's essays woman's influence over the insane review of browning's poems christmas children's books woman in poverty the irish character the same subject educate men and women as souls * * * * * part iii. extracts from journal and letters * * * * * appendix preface to woman in the nineteenth century. * * * * * the following essay is a reproduction, modified and expanded, of an article published in "the dial, boston, july, 1843," under the title of "the great lawsuit.--man _versus_ men; woman _versus_ women." this article excited a good deal of sympathy, add still more interest. it is in compliance with wishes expressed from many quarters that it is prepared for publication in its present form. objections having been made to the former title, as not sufficiently easy to be understood, the present has been substituted as expressive of the main purpose of the essay; though, by myself, the other is preferred, partly for the reason others do not like it,--that is, that it requires some thought to see what it means, and might thus prepare the reader to meet me on my own ground. besides, it offers a larger scope, and is, in that way, more just to my desire. i meant by that title to intimate the fact that, while it is the destiny of man, in the course of the ages, to ascertain and fulfil the law of his being, so that his life shall be seen, as a whole, to be that of an angel or messenger, the action of prejudices and passions which attend, in the day, the growth of the individual, is continually obstructing the holy work that is to make the earth a part of heaven. by man i mean both man and woman; these are the two halves of one thought. i lay no especial stress on the welfare of either. i believe that the development of the one cannot be effected without that of the other. my highest wish is that this truth should be distinctly and rationally apprehended, and the conditions of life and freedom recognized as the same for the daughters and the sons of time; twin exponents of a divine thought. i solicit a sincere and patient attention from those who open the following pages at all. i solicit of women that they will lay it to heart to ascertain what is for them the liberty of law. it is for this, and not for any, the largest, extension of partial privileges that i seek. i ask them, if interested by these suggestions, to search their own experience and intuitions for better, and fill up with fit materials the trenches that hedge them in. from men i ask a noble and earnest attention to anything that can be offered on this great and still obscure subject, such as i have met from many with whom i stand in private relations. and may truth, unpolluted by prejudice, vanity or selfishness, be granted daily more and more as the due of inheritance, and only valuable conquest for us all! _november_, 1844. woman in the nineteenth century. * * * * * "frailty, thy name is woman." "the earth waits for her queen." the connection between these quotations may not be obvious, but it is strict. yet would any contradict us, if we made them applicable to the other side, and began also, frailty, thy name is man. the earth waits for its king? yet man, if not yet fully installed in his powers, has given much earnest of his claims. frail he is indeed,--how frail! how impure! yet often has the vein of gold displayed itself amid the baser ores, and man has appeared before us in princely promise worthy of his future. if, oftentimes, we see the prodigal son feeding on the husks in the fair field no more his own, anon we raise the eyelids, heavy from bitter tears, to behold in him the radiant apparition of genius and love, demanding not less than the all of goodness, power and beauty. we see that in him the largest claim finds a due foundation. that claim is for no partial sway, no exclusive possession. he cannot be satisfied with any one gift of life, any one department of knowledge or telescopic peep at the heavens. he feels himself called to understand and aid nature, that she may, through his intelligence, be raised and interpreted; to be a student of, and servant to, the universe-spirit; and king of his planet, that, as an angelic minister he may bring it into conscious harmony with the law of that spirit. in clear, triumphant moments, many times, has rung through the spheres the prophecy of his jubilee; and those moments, though past in time, have been translated into eternity by thought; the bright signs they left hang in the heavens, as single stars or constellations, and, already, a thickly sown radiance consoles the wanderer in the darkest night. other heroes since hercules have fulfilled the zodiac of beneficent labors, and then given up their mortal part to the fire without a murmur; while no god dared deny that they should have their reward, siquis tamen, hercule, siquis forte deo doliturus erit, daia praemia nollet, sed meruise dari sciet, invitus que probabit, assensere dei sages and lawgivers have bent their whole nature to the search for truth, and thought themselves happy if they could buy, with the sacrifice of all temporal ease and pleasure, one seed for the future eden. poets and priests have strung the lyre with the heart-strings, poured out their best blood upon the altar, which, reared anew from age to age, shall at last sustain the flame pure enough to rise to highest heaven. shall we not name with as deep a benediction those who, if not so immediately, or so consciously, in connection with the eternal truth, yet, led and fashioned by a divine instinct, serve no less to develop and interpret the open secret of love passing into life, energy creating for the purpose of happiness; the artist whose hand, drawn by a preexistent harmony to a certain medium, moulds it to forms of life more highly and completely organized than are seen elsewhere, and, by carrying out the intention of nature, reveals her meaning to those who are not yet wise enough to divine it; the philosopher who listens steadily for laws and causes, and from those obvious infers those yet unknown; the historian who, in faith that all events must have their reason and their aim, records them, and thus fills archives from which the youth of prophets may be fed; the man of science dissecting the statements, testing the facts and demonstrating order, even where he cannot its purpose? lives, too, which bear none of these names, have yielded tones of no less significance. the candlestick set in a low place has given light as faithfully, where it was needed, as that upon the hill, in close alleys, in dismal nooks, the word has been read as distinctly, as when shown by angels to holy men in the dark prison. those who till a spot of earth scarcely larger than is wanted for a grave, have deserved that the sun should shine upon its sod till violets answer. so great has been, from time to time, the promise, that, in all ages, men have said the gods themselves came down to dwell with them; that the all-creating wandered on the earth to taste, in a limited nature, the sweetness of virtue; that the all-sustaining incarnated himself to guard, in space and time, the destinies of this world; that heavenly genius dwelt among the shepherds, to sing to them and teach them how to sing. indeed, "der stets den hirten gnadig sich bewies." "he has constantly shown himself favorable to shepherds." and the dwellers in green pastures and natural students of the stars were selected to hail, first among men, the holy child, whose life and death were to present the type of excellence, which has sustained the heart of so large a portion of mankind in these later generations. such marks have been made by the footsteps of _man_ (still, alas! to be spoken of as the _ideal_ man), wherever he has passed through the wilderness of _men_, and whenever the pigmies stepped in one of those, they felt dilate within the breast somewhat that promised nobler stature and purer blood. they were impelled to forsake their evil ways of decrepit scepticism and covetousness of corruptible possessions. convictions flowed in upon them. they, too, raised the cry: god is living, now, to-day; and all beings are brothers, for they are his children. simple words enough, yet which only angelic natures can use or hear in their full, free sense. these were the triumphant moments; but soon the lower nature took its turn, and the era of a truly human life was postponed. thus is man still a stranger to his inheritance, still a pleader, still a pilgrim. yet his happiness is secure in the end. and now, no more a glimmering consciousness, but assurance begins to be felt and spoken, that the highest ideal man can form of his own powers is that which he is destined to attain. whatever the soul knows how to seek, it cannot fail to obtain. this is the law and the prophets. knock and it shall be opened; seek and ye shall find. it is demonstrated; it is a maxim. man no longer paints his proper nature in some form, and says, "prometheus had it; it is god-like;" but "man must have it; it is human." however disputed by many, however ignorantly used, or falsified by those who do receive it, the fact of an universal, unceasing revelation has been too clearly stated in words to be lost sight of in thought; and sermons preached from the text, "be ye perfect," are the only sermons of a pervasive and deep-searching influence. but, among those who meditate upon this text, there is a great difference of view as to the way in which perfection shall be sought. "through the intellect," say some. "gather from every growth of life its seed of thought; look behind every symbol for its law; if thou canst _see_ clearly, the rest will follow." "through the life," say others. "do the best thou knowest today. shrink not from frequent error in this gradual, fragmentary state. follow thy light for as much as it will show thee; be faithful as far as thou canst, in hope that faith presently will lead to sight. help others, without blaming their need of thy help. love much, and be forgiven." "it needs not intellect, needs not experience," says a third. "if you took the true way, your destiny would be accomplished, in a purer and more natural order. you would not learn through facts of thought or action, but express through them the certainties of wisdom. in quietness yield thy soul to the causal soul. do not disturb thy apprenticeship by premature effort; neither check the tide of instruction by methods of thy own. be still; seek not, but wait in obedience. thy commission will be given." could we indeed say what we want, could we give a description of the child that is lost, he would be found. as soon as the soul can affirm clearly that a certain demonstration is wanted, it is at hand. when the jewish prophet described the lamb, as the expression of what was required by the coming era, the time drew nigh. but we say not, see not as yet, clearly, what we would. those who call for a more triumphant expression of love, a love that cannot be crucified, show not a perfect sense of what has already been given. love has already been expressed, that made all things new, that gave the worm its place and ministry as well as the eagle; a love to which it was alike to descend into the depths of hell, or to sit at the right hand of the father. yet, no doubt, a new manifestation is at hand, a new hour in the day of man. we cannot expect to see any one sample of completed being, when the mass of men still lie engaged in the sod, or use the freedom of their limbs only with wolfish energy. the tree cannot come to flower till its root be free from the cankering worm, and its whole growth open to air and light. while any one is base, none can be entirely free and noble. yet something new shall presently be shown of the life of man, for hearts crave, if minds do not know how to ask it. among the strains of prophecy, the following, by an earnest mind of a foreign land, written some thirty years ago, is not yet outgrown; and it has the merit of being a positive appeal from the heart, instead of a critical declaration what man should _not_ do. "the ministry of man implies that he must be filled from the divine fountains which are being engendered through all eternity, so that, at the mere name of his master, he may be able to cast all his enemies into the abyss; that he may deliver all parts of nature from the barriers that imprison them; that he may purge the terrestrial atmosphere from the poisons that infect it; that he may preserve the bodies of men from the corrupt influences that surround, and the maladies that afflict them; still more, that he may keep their souls pure from the malignant insinuations which pollute, and the gloomy images that obscure them; that he may restore its serenity to the word, which false words of men fill with mourning and sadness; that he may satisfy the desires of the angels, who await from him the development of the marvels of nature; that, in fine, his world may be filled with god, as eternity is." [footnote: st. martin] another attempt we will give, by an obscure observer of our own day and country, to draw some lines of the desired image. it was suggested by seeing the design of crawford's orpheus, and connecting with the circumstance of the american, in his garret at rome, making choice of this subject, that of americans here at home showing such ambition to represent the character, by calling their prose and verse "orphic sayings"--"orphics." we wish we could add that they have shown that musical apprehension of the progress of nature through her ascending gradations which entitled them so to do, but their attempts are frigid, though sometimes grand; in their strain we are not warmed by the fire which fertilized the soil of greece. orpheus was a lawgiver by theocratic commission. he understood nature, and made her forms move to his music. he told her secrets in the form of hymns, nature as seen in the mind of god. his soul went forth toward all beings, yet could remain sternly faithful to a chosen type of excellence. seeking what he loved, he feared not death nor hell; neither could any shape of dread daunt his faith in the power of the celestial harmony that filled his soul. it seemed significant of the state of things in this country, that the sculptor should have represented the seer at the moment when he was obliged with his hand to shade his eyes. each orpheus must to the depths descend; for only thus the poet can be wise; must make the sad persephone his friend, and buried love to second life arise; again his love must lose through too much love, must lose his life by living life too true, for what he sought below is passed above, already done is all that he would do must tune all being with his single lyre, must melt all rooks free from their primal pain, must search all nature with his one soul's fire, must bind anew all forms in heavenly chain. if he already sees what he must do, well may he shade his eyes from the far-shining view. a better comment could not be made on what is required to perfect man, and place him in that superior position for which he was designed, than by the interpretation of bacon upon the legends of the syren coast "when the wise ulysses passed," says he, "he caused his mariners to stop their ears, with wax, knowing there was in them no power to resist the lure of that voluptuous song. but he, the much experienced man, who wished to be experienced in all, and use all to the service of wisdom, desired to hear the song that he might understand its meaning. yet, distrusting his own power to be firm in his better purpose, he caused himself to be bound to the mast, that he might be kept secure against his own weakness. but orpheus passed unfettered, so absorbed in singing hymns to the gods that he could not even hear those sounds of degrading enchantment." meanwhile, not a few believe, and men themselves have expressed the opinion, that the time is come when eurydice is to call for an orpheus, rather than orpheus for eurydice; that the idea of man, however imperfectly brought out, has been far more so than that of woman; that she, the other half of the same thought, the other chamber of the heart of life, needs now take her turn in the full pulsation, and that improvement in the daughters will best aid in the reformation of the sons of this age. it should be remarked that, as the principle of liberty is better understood, and more nobly interpreted, a broader protest is made in behalf of woman. as men become aware that few men have had a fair chance, they are inclined to say that no women have had a fair chance. the french revolution, that strangely disguised angel, bore witness in favor of woman, but interpreted her claims no less ignorantly than those of man. its idea of happiness did not rise beyond outward enjoyment, unobstructed by the tyranny of others. the title it gave was "citoyen," "citoyenne;" and it is not unimportant to woman that even this species of equality was awarded her. before, she could be condemned to perish on the scaffold for treason, not as a citizen, but as a subject. the right with which this title then invested a human being was that of bloodshed and license. the goddess of liberty was impure. as we read the poem addressed to her, not long since, by beranger, we can scarcely refrain from tears as painful as the tears of blood that flowed when "such crimes were committed in her name." yes! man, born to purify and animate the unintelligent and the cold, can, in his madness, degrade and pollute no less the fair and the chaste. yet truth was prophesied in the ravings of that hideous fever, caused by long ignorance and abuse. europe is conning a valued lesson from the blood-stained page. the same tendencies, further unfolded, will bear good fruit in this country. yet, by men in this country, as by the jews, when moses was leading them to the promised land, everything has been done that inherited depravity could do, to hinder the promise of heaven from its fulfilment. the cross, here as elsewhere, has been planted only to be blasphemed by cruelty and fraud. the name of the prince of peace has been profaned by all kinds of injustice toward the gentile whom he said he came to save. but i need not speak of what has been done towards the red man, the black man. those deeds are the scoff of the world; and they have been accompanied by such pious words that the gentlest would not dare to intercede with "father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." here, as elsewhere, the gain of creation consists always in the growth of individual minds, which live and aspire, as flowers bloom and birds sing, in the midst of morasses; and in the continual development of that thought, the thought of human destiny, which is given to eternity adequately to express, and which ages of failure only seemingly impede. only seemingly; and whatever seems to the contrary, this country is as surely destined to elucidate a great moral law, as europe was to promote the mental culture of man. though the national independence be blurred by the servility of individuals; though freedom and equality have been proclaimed only to leave room for a monstrous display of slave-dealing and slave-keeping; though the free american so often feels himself free, like the roman, only to pamper his appetites end his indolence through the misery of his fellow-beings; still it is not in vain that the verbal statement has been made, "all men are born free and equal." there it stands, a golden certainty wherewith to encourage the good, to shame the bad. the new world may be called clearly to perceive that it incurs the utmost penalty if it reject or oppress the sorrowful brother. and, if men are deaf, the angels hear. but men cannot be deaf. it is inevitable that an external freedom, an independence of the encroachments of other men, such as has been achieved for the nation, should be so also for every member of it. that which has once been clearly conceived in the intelligence cannot fail, sooner or later, to be acted out. it has become a law as irrevocable as that of the medes in their ancient dominion; men will privately sin against it, but the law, as expressed by a leading mind of the age, "tutti fatti a semblanza d'un solo, figli tutti d'un solo riscatto, in qual'ora, in qual parte del suolo trascorriamo quest' aura vital, siam fratelli, siam stretti ad un patto: maladetto colui che lo infrange, che s'innalza sul finoco che piange che contrista uno spirto immortal." [footnote: manzoni] "all made in the likeness of the one. all children of one ransom, in whatever hour, in whatever part of the soil, we draw this vital air, we are brothers; we must be bound by one compact; accursed he who infringes it, who raises himself upon the weak who weep, who saddens an immortal spirit." this law cannot fail of universal recognition. accursed be he who willingly saddens an immortal spirit--doomed to infamy in later, wiser ages, doomed in future stages of his own being to deadly penance, only short of death. accursed be he who sins in ignorance, if that ignorance be caused by sloth. we sicken no less at the pomp than the strife of words. we feel that never were lungs so puffed with the wind of declamation, on moral and religious subjects, as now. we are tempted to implore these "word-heroes," these word-catos, word-christs, to beware of cant [footnote: dr. johnson's one piece of advice should be written on every door: "clear your mind of cant." but byron, to whom it was so acceptable, in clearing away the noxious vine, shook down the building. sterling's emendation is worthy of honor: "realize your cant, not cast it off."] above all things; to remember that hypocrisy is the most hopeless as well as the meanest of crimes, and that those must surely be polluted by it, who do not reserve a part of their morality and religion for private use. landor says that he cannot have a great deal of mind who cannot afford to let the larger part of it lie fallow; and what is true of genius is not less so of virtue. the tongue is a valuable member, but should appropriate but a small part of the vital juices that are needful all over the body. we feel that the mind may "grow black and rancid in the smoke" even "of altars." we start up from the harangue to go into our closet and shut the door. there inquires the spirit, "is this rhetoric the bloom of healthy blood, or a false pigment artfully laid on?" and yet again we know where is so much smoke, must be some fire; with so much talk about virtue and freedom, must be mingled some desire for them; that it cannot be in vain that such have become the common topics of conversation among men, rather than schemes for tyranny and plunder, that the very newspapers see it best to proclaim themselves "pilgrims," "puritans," "heralds of holiness." the king that maintains so costly a retinue cannot be a mere boast, or carabbas fiction. we have waited here long in the dust; we are tired and hungry; but the triumphal procession must appear at last. of all its banners, none has been more steadily upheld, and under none have more valor and willingness for real sacrifices been shown, than that of the champions of the enslaved african. and this band it is, which, partly from a natural following out of principles, partly because many women have been prominent in that cause, makes, just now, the warmest appeal in behalf of woman. though there has been a growing liberality on this subject, yet society at large is not so prepared for the demands of this party, but that its members are, and will be for some time, coldly regarded as the jacobins of their day. "is it not enough," cries the irritated trader, "that you have done all you could to break up the national union, and thus destroy the prosperity of our country, but now you must be trying to break up family union, to take my wife away from the cradle and the kitchen-hearth to vote at polls, and preach from a pulpit? of course, if she does such things, she cannot attend to those of her own sphere. she is happy enough as she is. she has more leisure than i have,--every means of improvement, every indulgence." "have you asked her whether she was satisfied with these _indulgences_?" "no, but i know she is. she is too amiable to desire what would make me unhappy, and too judicious to wish to step beyond the sphere of her sex. i will never consent to have our peace disturbed by any such discussions." "'consent--you?' it is not consent from you that is in question--it is assent from your wife." "am not i the head of my house?" "you are not the head of your wife. god has given her a mind of her own. "i am the head, and she the heart." "god grant you play true to one another, then! i suppose i am to be grateful that you did not say she was only the hand. if the head represses no natural pulse of the heart, there can be no question as to your giving your consent. both will be of one accord, and there needs but to present any question to get a full and true answer. there is no need of precaution, of indulgence, nor consent. but our doubt is whether the heart _does_ consent with the head, or only obeys its decrees with a passiveness that precludes the exercise of its natural powers, or a repugnance that turns sweet qualities to bitter, or a doubt that lays waste the fair occasions of life. it is to ascertain the truth that we propose some liberating measures." thus vaguely are these questions proposed and discussed at present. but their being proposed at all implies much thought, and suggests more. many women are considering within themselves what they need that they have not, and what they can have if they find they need it. many men are considering whether women are capable of being and having more than they are and have, _and_ whether, if so, it will be best to consent to improvement in their condition. this morning, i open the boston "daily mail," and find in its "poet's corner" a translation of schiller's "dignity of woman." in the advertisement of a book on america, i see in the table of contents this sequence, "republican institutions. american slavery. american ladies." i open the "_deutsche schnellpost_" published in new york, and find at the head of a column, _juden und frauenemancipation in ungarn_--"emancipation of jews and women in hungary." the past year has seen action in the rhode island legislature, to secure married women rights over their own property, where men showed that a very little examination of the subject could teach them much; an article in the democratic review on the same subject more largely considered, written by a woman, impelled, it is said, by glaring wrong to a distinguished friend, having shown the defects in the existing laws, and the state of opinion from which they spring; and on answer from the revered old man, j. q. adams, in some respects the phocion of his time, to an address made him by some ladies. to this last i shall again advert in another place. these symptoms of the times have come under my view quite accidentally: one who seeks, may, each month or week, collect more. the numerous party, whose opinions are already labeled and adjusted too much to their mind to admit of any new light, strive, by lectures on some model-woman of bride-like beauty and gentleness, by writing and lending little treatises, intended to mark out with precision the limits of woman's sphere, and woman's mission, to prevent other than the rightful shepherd from climbing the wall, or the flock from using any chance to go astray. without enrolling ourselves at once on either side, let us look upon the subject from the best point of view which to-day offers; no better, it is to be feared, than a high house-top. a high hill-top, or at least a cathedral-spire, would be desirable. it may well be an anti-slavery party that pleads for woman, if we consider merely that she does not hold property on equal terms with men; so that, if a husband dies without making a will, the wife, instead of taking at once his place as head of the family, inherits only a part of his fortune, often brought him by herself, as if she were a child, or ward only, not an equal partner. we will not speak of the innumerable instances in which profligate and idle men live upon the earnings of industrious wives; or if the wives leave them, and take with them the children, to perform the double duty of mother and father, follow from place to place, and threaten to rob them of the children, if deprived of the rights of a husband, as they call them, planting themselves in their poor lodgings, frightening them into paying tribute by taking from them the children, running into debt at the expense of these otherwise so overtasked helots. such instances count up by scores within my own memory. i have seen the husband who had stained himself by a long course of low vice, till his wife was wearied from her heroic forgiveness, by finding that his treachery made it useless, and that if she would provide bread for herself and her children, she must be separate from his ill fame--i have known this man come to install himself in the chamber of a woman who loathed him, and say she should never take food without his company. i have known these men steal their children, whom they knew they had no means to maintain, take them into dissolute company, expose them to bodily danger, to frighten the poor woman, to whom, it seems, the fact that she alone had borne the pangs of their birth, and nourished their infancy, does not give an equal right to them. i do believe that this mode of kidnapping--and it is frequent enough in all classes of society--will be by the next age viewed as it is by heaven now, and that the man who avails himself of the shelter of men's laws to steal from a mother her own children, or arrogate any superior right in them, save that of superior virtue, will bear the stigma he deserves, in common with him who steals grown men from their mother-land, their hopes, and their homes. i said, we will not speak of this now; yet i _have_ spoken, for the subject makes me feel too much. i could give instances that would startle the most vulgar and callous; but i will not, for the public opinion of their own sex is already against such men, and where cases of extreme tyranny are made known, there is private action in the wife's favor. but she ought not to need this, nor, i think, can she long. men must soon see that as, on their own ground, woman is the weaker party, she ought to have legal protection, which would make such oppression impossible. but i would not deal with "atrocious instances," except in the way of illustration, neither demand from men a partial redress in some one matter, but go to the root of the whole. if principles could be established, particulars would adjust themselves aright. ascertain the true destiny of woman; give her legitimate hopes, and a standard within herself; marriage and all other relations would by degrees be harmonized with these. but to return to the historical progress of this matter. knowing that there exists in the minds of men a tone of feeling toward women as toward slaves, such as is expressed in the common phrase, "tell that to women and children;" that the infinite soul can only work through them in already ascertained limits; that the gift of reason, man's highest prerogative, is allotted to them in much lower degree; that they must be kept from mischief and melancholy by being constantly engaged in active labor, which is to be furnished and directed by those better able to think, &c., &c.,--we need not multiply instances, for who can review the experience of last week without recalling words which imply, whether in jest or earnest, these views, or views like these,--knowing this, can we wonder that many reformers think that measures are not likely to be taken in behalf of women, unless their wishes could be publicly represented by women? "that can never be necessary," cry the other side. "all men are privately influenced by women; each has his wife, sister, or female friends, and is too much biased by these relations to fail of representing their interests; and, if this is not enough, let them propose and enforce their wishes with the pen. the beauty of home would be destroyed, the delicacy of the sex be violated, the dignity of halls of legislation degraded, by an attempt to introduce them there. such duties are inconsistent with those of a mother;" and then we have ludicrous pictures of ladies in hysterics at the polls, and senate-chambers filled with cradles. but if, in reply, we admit as truth that woman seems destined by nature rather for the inner circle, we must add that the arrangements of civilized life have not been, as yet, such as to secure it to her. her circle, if the duller, is not the quieter. if kept from "excitement," she is not from drudgery. not only the indian squaw carries the burdens of the camp, but the favorites of louis xiv. accompany him in his journeys, and the washerwoman stands at her tub, and carries home her work at all seasons, and in all states of health. those who think the physical circumstances of woman would make a part in the affairs of national government unsuitable, are by no means those who think it impossible for negresses to endure field-work, even during pregnancy, or for sempstresses to go through their killing labors. as to the use of the pen, there was quite as much opposition to woman's possessing herself of that help to free agency as there is now to her seizing on the rostrum or the desk; and she is likely to draw, from a permission to plead her cause that way, opposite inferences to what might be wished by those who now grant it. as to the possibility of her filling with grace and dignity any such position, we should think those who had seen the great actresses, and heard the quaker preachers of modern times, would not doubt that woman can express publicly the fulness of thought and creation, without losing any of the peculiar beauty of her sex. what can pollute and tarnish is to act thus from any motive except that something needs to be said or done. woman could take part in the processions, the songs, the dances of old religion; no one fancied her delicacy was impaired by appearing in public for such a cause. as to her home, she is not likely to leave it more than she now does for balls, theatres, meetings for promoting missions, revival meetings, and others to which she flies, in hope of an animation for her existence commensurate with what she sees enjoyed by men. governors of ladies'-fairs are no less engrossed by such a charge, than the governor of a state by his; presidents of washingtonian societies no less away from home than presidents of conventions. if men look straitly to it, they will find that, unless their lives are domestic, those of the women will not be. a house is no home unless it contain food and fire for the mind as well as for the body. the female greek, of our day, is as much in the street as the male to cry, "what news?" we doubt not it was the same in athens of old. the women, shut out from the market-place, made up for it at the religious festivals. for human beings are not so constituted that they can live without expansion. if they do not get it in one way, they must in another, or perish. as to men's representing women fairly at present, while we hear from men who owe to their wives not only all that is comfortable or graceful, but all that is wise, in the arrangement of their lives, the frequent remark, "you cannot reason with a woman,"--when from those of delicacy, nobleness, and poetic culture, falls the contemptuous phrase "women and children," and that in no light sally of the hour, but in works intended to give a permanent statement of the best experiences,--when not one man, in the million, shall i say? no, not in the hundred million, can rise above the belief that woman was made _for man_,--when such traits as these are daily forced upon the attention, can we feel that man will always do justice to the interests of woman? can we think that he takes a sufficiently discerning and religious view of her office and destiny _ever_ to do her justice, except when prompted by sentiment,--accidentally or transiently, that is, for the sentiment will vary according to the relations in which he is placed? the lover, the poet, the artist, are likely to view her nobly. the father and the philosopher have some chance of liberality; the man of the world, the legislator for expediency, none. under these circumstances, without attaching importance, in themselves, to the changes demanded by the champions of woman, we hail them as signs of the times. we would have every arbitrary barrier thrown down. we would have every path laid open to woman as freely as to man. were this done, and a slight temporary fermentation allowed to subside, we should see crystallizations more pure and of more various beauty. we believe the divine energy would pervade nature to a degree unknown in the history of former ages, and that no discordant collision, but a ravishing harmony of the spheres, would ensue. yet, then and only then will mankind be ripe for this, when inward and outward freedom for woman as much as for man shall be acknowledged as a _right_, not yielded as a concession. as the friend of the negro assumes that one man cannot by right hold another in bondage, so should the friend of woman assume that man cannot by right lay even well-meant restrictions on woman. if the negro be a soul, if the woman be a soul, apparelled in flesh, to one master only are they accountable. there is but one law for souls, and, if there is to be an interpreter of it, he must come not as man, or son of man, but as son of god. were thought and feeling once so far elevated that man should esteem himself the brother and friend, but nowise the lord and tutor, of woman,--were he really bound with her in equal worship,--arrangements as to function and employment would be of no consequence. what woman needs is not as a woman to act or rule, but as a nature to grow, as an intellect to discern, as a soul to live freely and unimpeded, to unfold such powers as were given her when we left our common home. if fewer talents were given her, yet if allowed the free and full employment of these, so that she may render back to the giver his own with usury, she will not complain; nay, i dare to say she will bless and rejoice in her earthly birth-place, her earthly lot. let us consider what obstructions impede this good era, and what signs give reason to hope that it draws near. i was talking on this subject with miranda, a woman, who, if any in the world could, might speak without heat and bitterness of the position of her sex. her father was a man who cherished no sentimental reverence for woman, but a firm belief in the equality of the sexes. she was his eldest child, and came to him at an age when he needed a companion. from the time she could speak and go alone, he addressed her not as a plaything, but as a living mind. among the few verses he ever wrote was a copy addressed to this child, when the first locks were cut from her head; and the reverence expressed on this occasion for that cherished head, he never belied. it was to him the temple of immortal intellect. he respected his child, however, too much to be an indulgent parent. he called on her for clear judgment, for courage, for honor and fidelity; in short, for such virtues as he knew. in so far as he possessed the keys to the wonders of this universe, he allowed free use of them to her, and, by the incentive of a high expectation, he forbade, so far as possible, that she should let the privilege lie idle. thus this child was early led to feel herself a child of the spirit. she took her place easily, not only in the world of organized being, but in the world of mind. a dignified sense of self-dependence was given as all her portion, and she found it a sure anchor. herself securely anchored, her relations with others were established with equal security. she was fortunate in a total absence of those charms which might have drawn to her bewildering flatteries, and in a strong electric nature, which repelled those who did not belong to her, and attracted those who did. with men and women her relations were noble,--affectionate without passion, intellectual without coldness. the world was free to her, and she lived freely in it. outward adversity came, and inward conflict; but that faith and self-respect had early been awakened which must always lead, at last, to an outward serenity and an inward peace. of miranda i had always thought as an example, that the restraints upon the sex were insuperable only to those who think them so, or who noisily strive to break them. she had taken a course of her own, and no man stood in her way. many of her acts had been unusual, but excited no uproar. few helped, but none checked her; and the many men who knew her mind and her life, showed to her confidence as to a brother, gentleness as to a sister. and not only refined, but very coarse men approved and aided one in whom they saw resolution and clearness of design. her mind was often the leading one, always effective. when i talked with her upon these matters, and had said very much what i have written, she smilingly replied; "and yet we must admit that i have been fortunate, and this should not be. my good father's early trust gave the first bias, and the rest followed, of course. it is true that i have had less outward aid, in after years, than most women; but that is of little consequence. religion was early awakened in my soul,--a sense that what the soul is capable to ask it must attain, and that, though i might be aided and instructed by others, i must depend on myself as the only constant friend. this self-dependence, which was honored in me, is deprecated as a fault in most women. they are taught to learn their rule from without, not to unfold it from within. "this is the fault of man, who is still vain, and wishes to be more important to woman than, by right, he should be." "men have not shown this disposition toward you," i said. "no; because the position i early was enabled to take was one of self-reliance. and were all women as sure of their wants as i was, the result would be the same. but they are so overloaded with precepts by guardians, who think that nothing is so much to be dreaded for a woman as originality of thought or character, that their minds are impeded by doubts till they lose their chance of fair, free proportions. the difficulty is to got them to the point from which they shall naturally develop self-respect, and learn self-help. "once i thought that men would help to forward this state of things more than i do now. i saw so many of them wretched in the connections they had formed in weakness and vanity. they seemed so glad to esteem women whenever they could. "'the soft arms of affection,' said one of the most discerning spirits, 'will not suffice for me, unless on them i see the steel bracelets of strength.' "but early i perceived that men never, in any extreme of despair, wished to be women. on the contrary, they were ever ready to taunt one another, at any sign of weakness, with, "'art thou not like the women, who,'-the passage ends various ways, according to the occasion and rhetoric of the speaker. when they admired any woman, they were inclined to speak of her as 'above her sex.' silently i observed this, and feared it argued a rooted scepticism, which for ages had been fastening on the heart, and which only an age of miracles could eradicate. ever i have been treated with great sincerity; and i look upon it as a signal instance of this, that an intimate friend of the other sex said, in a fervent moment, that i 'deserved in some star to be a man.' he was much surprised when i disclosed my view of my position and hopes, when i declared my faith that the feminine side, the side of love, of beauty, of holiness, was now to have its full chance, and that, if either were better, it was better now to be a woman; for even the slightest achievement of good was furthering an especial work of our time. he smiled incredulously. 'she makes the best she can of it,' thought he. 'let jews believe the pride of jewry, but i am of the better sort, and know better.' "another used as highest praise, in speaking of a character in literature, the words 'a manly woman.' "so in the noble passage of ben jonson: 'i meant the day-star should not brighter ride, nor shed like influence, from its lucent seat; i meant she should be courteous, facile, sweet, free from that solemn vice of greatness, pride; i meant each softest virtue there should meet, fit in that softer bosom to abide, only a learned and a _manly_ soul i purposed her, that should with even powers the rock, the spindle, and the shears control of destiny, and spin her own free hours.'" "me thinks," said i, "you are too fastidious in objecting to this. jonson, in using the word 'manly,' only meant to heighten the picture of this, the true, the intelligent fate, with one of the deeper colors." "and yet," said she, "so invariable is the use of this word where a heroic quality is to be described, and i feel so sure that persistence and courage are the most womanly no less than the most manly qualities, that i would exchange these words for others of a larger sense, at the risk of marring the fine tissue of the verse. read, 'a heavenward and instructed soul,' and i should be satisfied. let it not be said, wherever there is energy or creative genius, 'she has a masculine mind.'" * * * * * this by no means argues a willing want of generosity toward woman. man is as generous towards her as he knows how to be. wherever she has herself arisen in national or private history, and nobly shone forth in any form of excellence, men have received her, not only willingly, but with triumph. their encomiums, indeed, are always, in some sense, mortifying; they show too much surprise. "can this be you?" he cries to the transfigured cinderella; "well, i should never have thought it, but i am very glad. we will tell every one that you have '_surpassed your sex_.'" in every-day life, the feelings of the many are stained with vanity. each wishes to be lord in a little world, to be superior at least over one; and he does not feel strong enough to retain a life-long ascendency over a strong nature. only a theseus could conquer before he wed the amazonian queen. hercules wished rather to rest with dejanira, and received the poisoned robe as a fit guerdon. the tale should be interpreted to all those who seek repose with the weak. but not only is man vain and fond of power, but the same want of development, which thus affects him morally, prevents his intellectually discerning the destiny of woman: the boy wants no woman, but only a girl to play ball with him, and mark his pocket handkerchief. thus, in schiller's dignity of woman, beautiful as the poem is, there is no "grave and perfect man," but only a great boy to be softened and restrained by the influence of girls. poets--the elder brothers of their race--have usually seen further; but what can you expect of every-day men, if schiller was not more prophetic as to what women must be? even with richter, one foremost thought about a wife was that she would "cook him something good." but as this is a delicate subject, and we are in constant danger of being accused of slighting what are called "the functions," let me say, in behalf of miranda and myself, that we have high respect for those who "cook something good," who create and preserve fair order in houses, and prepare therein the shining raiment for worthy inmates, worthy guests. only these "functions" must not be a drudgery, or enforced necessity, but a part of life. let ulysses drive the beeves home, while penelope there piles up the fragrant loaves; they are both well employed if these be done in thought and love, willingly. but penelope is no more meant for a baker or weaver solely, than ulysses for a cattle-herd. the sexes should not only correspond to and appreciate, but prophesy to one another. in individual instances this happens. two persons love in one another the future good which they aid one another to unfold. this is imperfectly or rarely done in the general life. man has gone but little way; now he is waiting to see whether woman can keep step with him; but, instead of calling but, like a good brother, "you can do it, if you only think so," or impersonally, "any one can do what he tries to do;" he often discourages with school-boy brag: "girls can't do that; girls can't play ball." but let any one defy their taunts, break through and be brave and secure, they rend the air with shouts. this fluctuation was obvious in a narrative i have lately seen, the story of the life of countess emily plater, the heroine of the last revolution in poland. the dignity, the purity, the concentrated resolve, the calm, deep enthusiasm, which yet could, when occasion called, sparkle up a holy, an indignant fire, make of this young maiden the figure i want for my frontispiece. her portrait is to be seen in the book, a gentle shadow of her soul. short was the career. like the maid of orleans, she only did enough to verify her credentials, and then passed from a scene on which she was, probably, a premature apparition. when the young girl joined the army, where the report of her exploits had preceded her, she was received in a manner that marks the usual state of feeling. some of the officers were disappointed at her quiet manners; that she had not the air and tone of a stage-heroine. they thought she could not have acted heroically unless in buskins; had no idea that such deeds only showed the habit of her mind. others talked of the delicacy of her sex, advised her to withdraw from perils and dangers, and had no comprehension of the feelings within her breast that made this impossible. the gentle irony of her reply to these self-constituted tutors (not one of whom showed himself her equal in conduct or reason), is as good as her indignant reproof at a later period to the general, whose perfidy ruined all. but though, to the mass of these men, she was an embarrassment and a puzzle, the nobler sort viewed her with a tender enthusiasm worthy of her. "her name," said her biographer, "is known throughout europe. i paint her character that she may be as widely loved." with pride, he shows her freedom from all personal affections; that, though tender and gentle in an uncommon degree, there was no room for a private love in her consecrated life. she inspired those who knew her with a simple energy of feeling like her own. "we have seen," they felt, "a woman worthy the name, capable of all sweet affections, capable of stern virtue." it is a fact worthy of remark, that all these revolutions in favor of liberty have produced female champions that share the same traits, but emily alone has found a biographer. only a near friend could have performed for her this task, for the flower was reared in feminine seclusion, and the few and simple traits of her history before her appearance in the field could only have been known to the domestic circle. her biographer has gathered them up with a brotherly devotion. no! man is not willingly ungenerous. he wants faith and love, because he is not yet himself an elevated being. he cries, with sneering scepticism, "give us a sign." but if the sign appears, his eyes glisten, and he offers not merely approval, but homage. the severe nation which taught that the happiness of the race was forfeited through the fault of a woman, and showed its thought of what sort of regard man owed her, by making him accuse her on the first question to his god,--who gave her to the patriarch as a handmaid, and, by the mosaical law, bound her to allegiance like a serf,--even they greeted, with solemn rapture, all great and holy women as heroines, prophetesses, judges in israel; and, if they made eve listen to the serpent, gave mary as a bride to the holy spirit. in other nations it has been the same down to our day. to the woman who could conquer a triumph was awarded. and not only those whose strength was recommended to the heart by association with goodness and beauty, but those who were bad, if they were steadfast and strong, had their claims allowed. in any age a semiramis, an elizabeth of england, a catharine of russia, makes her place good, whether in a large or small circle. how has a little wit, a little genius, been celebrated in a woman! what an intellectual triumph was that of the lonely aspasia, and how heartily acknowledged! she, indeed, met a pericles. but what annalist, the rudest of men, the most plebeian of husbands, will spare from his page one of the few anecdotes of roman women--sappho! eloisa! the names are of threadbare celebrity. indeed, they were not more suitably met in their own time than the countess colonel plater on her first joining the army. they had much to mourn, and their great impulses did not find due scope. but with time enough, space enough, their kindred appear on the scene. across the ages, forms lean, trying to touch the hem of their retreating robes. the youth here by my side cannot be weary of the fragments from the life of sappho. he will not believe they are not addressed to himself, or that he to whom they were addressed could be ungrateful. a recluse of high powers devotes himself to understand and explain the thought of eloisa; he asserts her vast superiority in soul and genius to her master; he curses the fate that casts his lot in another age than hers. he could have understood her; he would have been to her a friend, such as abelard never could. and this one woman he could have loved and reverenced, and she, alas! lay cold in her grave hundreds of years ago. his sorrow is truly pathetic. these responses, that come too late to give joy, are as tragic as anything we know, and yet the tears of later ages glitter as they fall on tasso's prison bars. and we know how elevating to the captive is the security that somewhere an intelligence must answer to his. the man habitually most narrow towards woman will be flushed, as by the worst assault on christianity, if you say it has made no improvement in her condition. indeed, those most opposed to new acts in her favor, are jealous of the reputation of those which have been done. we will not speak of the enthusiasm excited by actresses, improvisatrici, female singers,--for here mingles the charm of beauty and grace,--but female authors, even learned women, if not insufferably ugly and slovenly, from the italian professor's daughter who taught behind the curtain, down to mrs. carter and madame dacier, are sure of an admiring audience, and, what is far better, chance to use what they have learned, and to learn more, if they can once get a platform on which to stand. but how to get this platform, or how to make it of reasonably easy access, is the difficulty. plants of great vigor will almost always struggle into blossom, despite impediments. but there should be encouragement, and a free genial atmosphere for those of move timid sort, fair play for each in its own kind. some are like the little, delicate flowers which love to hide in the dripping mosses, by the sides of mountain torrents, or in the shade of tall trees. but others require an open field, a rich and loosened soil, or they never show their proper hues. it may be said that man does not have his fair play either; his energies are repressed and distorted by the interposition of artificial obstacles. ay, but he himself has put them there; they have grown out of his own imperfections. if there _is_ a misfortune in woman's lot, it is in obstacles being interposed by men, which do _not_ mark her state; and, if they express her past ignorance, do not her present needs. as every man is of woman born, she has slow but sure means of redress; yet the sooner a general justness of thought makes smooth the path, the better. man is of woman born, and her face bends over him in infancy with an expression he can never quite forget. eminent men have delighted to pay tribute to this image, and it is an hackneyed observation, that most men of genius boast some remarkable development in the mother. the rudest tar brushes off a tear with his coat-sleeve at the hallowed name. the other day, i met a decrepit old man of seventy, on a journey, who challenged the stage company to guess where he was going. they guessed aright, "to see your mother." "yes," said he, "she is ninety-two, but has good eyesight still, they say. i have not seen her these forty years, and i thought i could not die in peace without." i should have liked his picture painted as a companion-piece to that of a boisterous little boy, whom i saw attempt to declaim at a school exhibition- "o that those lips had language! life has passed with me but roughly since i heard thee last." he got but very little way before sudden tears shamed him from the stage. some gleams of the same expression which shone down upon his infancy, angelically pure and benign, visit man again with hopes of pure love, of a holy marriage. or, if not before, in the eyes of the mother of his child they again are seen, and dim fancies pass before his mind, that woman may not have been born for him alone, but have come from heaven, a commissioned soul, a messenger of truth and love; that she can only make for him a home in which he may lawfully repose, in so far as she is "true to the kindred points of heaven and home." in gleams, in dim fancies, this thought visits the mind of common men. it is soon obscured by the mists of sensuality, the dust of routine, and he thinks it was only some meteor or ignis fatuus that shone. but, as a rosicrucian lamp, it burns unwearied, though condemned to the solitude of tombs; and to its permanent life, as to every truth, each age has in some form borne witness. for the truths, which visit the minds of careless men only in fitful gleams, shine with radiant clearness into those of the poet, the priest, and the artist. whatever may have been the domestic manners of the ancients, the idea of woman was nobly manifested in their mythologies and poems, whore she appears as site in the ramayana, a form of tender purity; as the egyptian isis, [footnote: for an adequate description of the isis, see appendix a.] of divine wisdom never yet surpassed. in egypt, too, the sphynx, walking the earth with lion tread, looked out upon its marvels in the calm, inscrutable beauty of a virgin's face, and the greek could only add wings to the great emblem. in greece, ceres and proserpine, significantly termed "the great goddesses," were seen seated side by side. they needed not to rise for any worshipper or any change; they were prepared for all things, as those initiated to their mysteries knew. more obvious is the meaning of these three forms, the diana, minerva, and vesta. unlike in the expression of their beauty, but alike in this,--that each was self-sufficing. other forms were only accessories and illustrations, none the complement to one like these. another might, indeed, be the companion, and the apollo and diana set off one another's beauty. of the vesta, it is to be observed, that not only deep-eyed, deep-discerning greece, but ruder rome, who represents the only form of good man (the always busy warrior) that could be indifferent to woman, confided the permanence of its glory to a tutelary goddess, and her wisest legislator spoke of meditation as a nymph. perhaps in rome the neglect of woman was a reaction on the manners of etruria, where the priestess queen, warrior queen, would seem to have been so usual a character. an instance of the noble roman marriage, where the stern and calm nobleness of the nation was common to both, we see in the historic page through the little that is told us of brutus and portia. shakspeare has seized on the relation in its native lineaments, harmonizing the particular with the universal; and, while it is conjugal love, and no other, making it unlike the same relation as seen in cymbeline, or othello, even as one star differeth from another in glory. "by that great vow which did incorporate and make us one, unfold to me, yourself, your other half, why you are heavy. ... dwell i but in the suburbs of your good pleasure? if it be no more, portia is brutus' harlot, not his wife." mark the sad majesty of his tone in answer. who would not have lent a life-long credence to that voice of honor? "you are my true and honorable wife; as dear to me as are the ruddy drops that visit this sad heart." it is the same voice that tells the moral of his life in the last words- "countrymen, my heart doth joy, that, yet in all my life, i found no man but he was true to me." it was not wonderful that it should be so. shakspeare, however, was not content to let portia rest her plea for confidence on the essential nature of the marriage bond: "i grant i am a woman; but withal, a woman that lord brutus took to wife. i grant i am a woman; but withal, a woman well reputed--cato's daughter. think you i am _no stronger than my sex_, being so fathered and so husbanded?" and afterward in the very scene where brutus is suffering under that "insupportable and touching loss," the death of his wife, cassius pleads- "have you not love enough to bear with me, when that rash humor which my mother gave me makes me forgetful? _brutus_.--yes, cassius, and henceforth, when you are over-earnest with your brutus, he'll think your mother chides, and leaves you so." as indeed it was a frequent belief among the ancients, as with our indians, that the _body_ was inherited from the mother, the _soul_ from the father. as in that noble passage of ovid, already quoted, where jupiter, as his divine synod are looking down on the funeral pyre of hercules, thus triumphs- "neo nisi _materna_ vulcanum parte potentem, sentiet. aeternum est, a me quod traxit, et expers atque immune neois, nullaque domabile flamma idque ego defunctum terra coelestibus oris accipiam, cunctisque meum laetabile factum dis fore confido. "the part alone of gross _maternal_ flame fire shall devour; while that from me he drew shall live immortal and its force renew; that, when he's dead, i'll raise to realms above; let all the powers the righteous act approve." it is indeed a god speaking of his union with an earthly woman, but it expresses the common roman thought as to marriage,--the same which permitted a man to lend his wife to a friend, as if she were a chattel "she dwelt but in the suburbs of his good pleasure." yet the same city, as i have said, leaned on the worship of vesta, the preserver, and in later times was devoted to that of isis. in sparta, thought, in this respect as in all others, was expressed in the characters of real life, and the women of sparta were as much spartans as the men. the "citoyen, citoyenne" of france was here actualized. was not the calm equality they enjoyed as honorable as the devotion of chivalry? they intelligently shared the ideal life of their nation. like the men they felt: "honor gone, all's gone: better never have been born." they were the true friends of men. the spartan, surely, would not think that he received only his body from his mother. the sage, had he lived in that community, could not have thought the souls of "vain and foppish men will be degraded after death to the forms of women; and, if they do not then make great efforts to retrieve themselves, will become birds." (by the way, it is very expressive of the hard intellectuality of the merely _mannish_ mind, to speak thus of birds, chosen always by the _feminine_ poet as the symbols of his fairest thoughts.) we are told of the greek nations in general, that woman occupied there an infinitely lower place than man. it is difficult to believe this, when we see such range and dignity of thought on the subject in the mythologies, and find the poets producing such ideals as cassandra, iphigenia, antigone, macaria; where sibylline priestesses told the oracle of the highest god, and he could not be content to reign with a, court of fewer than nine muses. even victory wore a female form. but, whatever were the facts of daily life, i cannot complain of the age and nation which represents its thought by such a symbol as i see before me at this moment. it is a zodiac of the busts of gods and goddesses, arranged in pairs. the circle breathes the music of a heavenly order. male and female heads are distinct in expression, but equal in beauty, strength and calmness. each male head is that of a brother and a king,--each female of a sister and a queen. could the thought thus expressed be lived out, there would be nothing more to be desired. there would be unison in variety, congeniality in difference. coming nearer our own time, we find religion and poetry no less true in their revelations. the rude man, just disengaged from the sod, the adam, accuses woman to his god, and records her disgrace to their posterity. he is not ashamed to write that he could be drawn from heaven by one beneath him,--one made, he says, from but a small part of himself. but in the same nation, educated by time, instructed by a succession of prophets, we find woman in as high a position as she has ever occupied, no figure that has ever arisen to greet our eyes has been received with more fervent reverence than that of the madonna. heine calls her the _dame du comptoir_ of the catholic church, and this jeer well expresses a serious truth. and not only this holy and significant image was worshipped by the pilgrim, and the favorite subject of the artist, but it exercised an immediate influence on the destiny of the sex. the empresses who embraced the cross converted sons and husbands. whole calendars of female saints, heroic dames of chivalry, binding the emblem of faith on the heart of the best-beloved, and wasting the bloom of youth in separation and loneliness, for the sake of duties they thought it religion to assume, with innumerable forms of poesy, trace their lineage to this one. nor, however imperfect may be the action, in our day, of the faith thus expressed, and though we can scarcely think it nearer this ideal than that of india or greece was near their ideal, is it in vain that the truth has been recognized, that woman is not only a part of man, bone of his bone, and flesh of his flesh, born that men might not be lonely--but that women are in themselves possessors of and possessed by immortal souls. this truth undoubtedly received a greater outward stability from the belief of the church that the earthly parent of the saviour of souls was a woman. the assumption of the virgin, as painted by sublime artists, as also petrarch's hymn to the madonna, [footnote: appendix b.] cannot have spoken to the world wholly without result, yet oftentimes those who had ears heard not. see upon the nations the influence of this powerful example. in spain look only at the ballads. woman in these is "very woman;" she is the betrothed, the bride, the spouse of man; there is on her no hue of the philosopher, the heroine, the savante, but she looks great and noble. why? because she is also, through her deep devotion, the betrothed of heaven. her upturned eyes have drawn down the light that casts a radiance round her. see only such a ballad as that of "lady teresa's bridal," where the infanta, given to the moorish bridegroom, calls down the vengeance of heaven on his unhallowed passion, and thinks it not too much to expiate by a life in the cloister the involuntary stain upon her princely youth. [footnote: appendix c.] it was this constant sense of claims above those of earthly love or happiness that made the spanish lady who shared this spirit a guerdon to be won by toils and blood and constant purity, rather than a chattel to be bought for pleasure and service. germany did hot need to _learn_ a high view of woman; it was inborn in that race. woman was to the teuton warrior his priestess, his friend, his sister,--in truth, a wife. and the christian statues of noble pairs, as they lie above their graves in stone, expressing the meaning of all the by-gone pilgrimage by hands folded in mutual prayer, yield not a nobler sense of the place and powers of woman than belonged to the _altvater_ day. the holy love of christ which summoned them, also, to choose "the better part--that which could not be taken from them," refined and hallowed in this nation a native faith; thus showing that it was not the warlike spirit alone that left the latins so barbarous in this respect. but the germans, taking so kindly to this thought, did it the more justice. the idea of woman in their literature is expressed both to a greater height and depth than elsewhere. i will give as instances the themes of three ballads: one is upon a knight who had always the name of the virgin on his lips. this protected him all his life through, in various and beautiful modes, both from sin and other dangers; and, when he died, a plant sprang from his grave, which so gently whispered the ave maria that none could pass it by with an unpurified heart. another is one of the legends of the famous drachenfels. a maiden, one of the earliest converts to christianity, was carried by the enraged populace to this dread haunt of "the dragon's fabled brood," to be their prey. she was left alone, but undismayed, for she knew in whom she trusted. so, when the dragons came rushing towards her, she showed them a crucifix and they crouched reverently at her feet. next day the people came, and, seeing these wonders, were all turned to the faith which exalts the lowly. the third i have in mind is another of the rhine legends. a youth is sitting with the maid he loves on the shore of an isle, her fairy kingdom, then perfumed by the blossoming grape-vines which draped its bowers. they are happy; all blossoms with them, and life promises its richest vine. a boat approaches on the tide; it pauses at their foot. it brings, perhaps, some joyous message, fresh dew for their flowers, fresh light on the wave. no! it is the usual check on such great happiness. the father of the count departs for the crusade; will his son join him, or remain to rule their domain, and wed her he loves? neither of the affianced pair hesitates a moment. "i must go with my father,"--"thou must go with thy father." it was one thought, one word. "i will be here again," he said, "when these blossoms have turned to purple grapes." "i hope so," she sighed, while the prophetic sense said "no." and there she waited, and the grapes ripened, and were gathered into the vintage, and he came not. year after year passed thus, and no tidings; yet still she waited. he, meanwhile, was in a moslem prison. long he languished there without hope, till, at last, his patron saint appeared in vision and announced his release, but only on condition of his joining the monastic order for the service of the saint. and so his release was effected, and a safe voyage home given. and once more he sets sail upon the rhine. the maiden, still watching beneath the vines, sees at last the object of all this patient love approach--approach, but not to touch the strand to which she, with outstretched arms, has rushed. he dares not trust himself to land, but in low, heart-broken tones, tells her of heaven's will; and that he, in obedience to his vow, is now on his way to a convent on the river-bank, there to pass the rest of his earthly life in the service of the shrine. and then he turns his boat, and floats away from her and hope of any happiness in this world, but urged, as he believes, by the breath of heaven. the maiden stands appalled, but she dares not murmur, and cannot hesitate long. she also bids them prepare her boat. she follows her lost love to the convent gate, requests an interview with the abbot, and devotes her elysian isle, where vines had ripened their ruby fruit in vain for her, to the service of the monastery where her love was to serve. then, passing over to the nunnery opposite, she takes the veil, and meets her betrothed at the altar; and for a life-long union, if not the one they had hoped in earlier years. is not this sorrowful story of a lofty beauty? does it not show a sufficiently high view of woman, of marriage? this is commonly the chivalric, still more the german view. yet, wherever there was a balance in the mind of man, of sentiment with intellect, such a result was sure. the greek xenophon has not only painted us a sweet picture of the domestic woman, in his economics, but in the cyropedia has given, in the picture of panthea, a view of woman which no german picture can surpass, whether lonely and quiet with veiled lids, the temple of a vestal loveliness, or with eyes flashing, and hair flowing to the free wind, cheering on the hero to fight for his god, his country, or whatever name his duty might bear at the time. this picture i shall copy by and by. yet xenophon grew up in the same age with him who makes iphigenia say to achilles, "better a thousand women should perish than one man cease to see the light." this was the vulgar greek sentiment. xenophon, aiming at the ideal man, caught glimpses of the ideal woman also. from the figure of a cyrus the pantheas stand not afar. they do not in thought; they would not in life. i could swell the catalogue of instances far beyond the reader's patience. but enough have been brought forward to show that, though there has been great disparity betwixt the nations as between individuals in their culture on this point, yet the idea of woman has always cast some rays and often been forcibly represented. far less has woman to complain that she has not had her share of power. this, in all ranks of society, except the lowest, has been hers to the extent that vanity would crave, far beyond what wisdom would accept. in the very lowest, where man, pressed by poverty, sees in woman only the partner of toils and cares, and cannot hope, scarcely has an idea of, a comfortable home, he often maltreats her, and is less influenced by her. in all ranks, those who are gentle and uncomplaining, too candid to intrigue, too delicate to encroach, suffer much. they suffer long, and are kind; verily, they have their reward. but wherever man is sufficiently raised above extreme poverty, or brutal stupidity, to care for the comforts of the fireside, or the bloom and ornament of life, woman has always power enough, if she choose to exert it, and is usually disposed to do so, in proportion to her ignorance and childish vanity. unacquainted with the importance of life and its purposes, trained to a selfish coquetry and love of petty power, she does not look beyond the pleasure of making herself felt at the moment, and governments are shaken and commerce broken up to gratify the pique of a female favorite. the english shopkeeper's wife does not vote, but it is for her interest that the politician canvasses by the coarsest flattery. france suffers no woman on her throne, but her proud nobles kiss the dust at the feet of pompadour and dubarry; for such flare in the lighted foreground where a roland would modestly aid in the closet. spain (that same spain which sang of ximena and the lady teresa) shuts up her women in the care of duennas, and allows them no book but the breviary; but the ruin follows only the more surely from the worthless favorite of a worthless queen. relying on mean precautions, men indeed cry peace, peace, where there is no peace. it is not the transient breath of poetic incense that women want; each can receive that from a lover. it is not life-long sway; it needs but to become a coquette, a shrew, or a good cook, to be sure of that. it is not money, nor notoriety, nor the badges of authority which men have appropriated to themselves. if demands, made in their behalf, lay stress on any of these particulars, those who make them have not searched deeply into the need. the want is for that which at once includes these and precludes them; which would not be forbidden power, lest there be temptation to steal and misuse it; which would not have the mind perverted by flattery from a worthiness of esteem; it is for that which is the birthright of every being capable of receiving it,--the freedom, the religious, the intelligent freedom of the universe to use its means, to learn its secret, as far as nature has enabled them, with god alone for their guide and their judge. ye cannot believe it, men; but the only reason why women over assume what is more appropriate to you, is because you prevent them from finding out what is fit for themselves. were they free, were they wise fully to develop the strength and beauty of woman; they would never wish to be men, or man-like. the well-instructed moon flies not from her orbit to seize on the glories of her partner. no; for she knows that one law rules, one heaven contains, one universe replies to them alike. it is with women as with the slave: "vor dem sklaven, wenn er die kette bricht, vor dem frelen menschen erzittert nicht." tremble not before the free man, but before the slave who has chains to break. in slavery, acknowledged slavery, women are on a par with men. each is a work-tool, an article of property, no more! in perfect freedom, such as is painted in olympus, in swedenborg's angelic state, in the heaven where there is no marrying nor giving in marriage, each is a purified intelligence, an enfranchised soul,--no less. "jene himmlische gestalten sie fragen nicht nach mann und welb, und keine kielder, keine falten umgeben den verklarten leib." the child who song this was a prophetic form, expressive of the longing for a state of perfect freedom, pure love. she could not remain here, but was translated to another air. and it may be that the air of this earth will never be so tempered that such can bear it long. but, while they stay, they must bear testimony to the truth they are constituted to demand. that an era approaches which shall approximate nearer to such a temper than any has yet done, there are many tokens; indeed, so many that only a few of the most prominent can here be enumerated. the reigns of elizabeth of england and isabella of castile foreboded this era. they expressed the beginning of the new state; while they forwarded its progress. these were strong characters, and in harmony with the wants of their time. one showed that this strength did not unfit a woman for the duties of a wife and a mother; the other, that it could enable her to live and die alone, a wide energetic life, a courageous death. elizabeth is certainly no pleasing example. in rising above the weakness, she did not lay aside the foibles ascribed to her sex; but her strength must be respected now, as it was in her own time. mary stuart and elizabeth seem types, moulded by the spirit of the time, and placed upon an elevated platform, to show to the coming ages woman such as the conduct and wishes of man in general is likely to make her. the first shows woman lovely even to allurement; quick in apprehension and weak in judgment; with grace and dignity of sentiment, but no principle; credulous and indiscreet, yet artful; capable of sudden greatness or of crime, but not of a steadfast wisdom, nor self-restraining virtue. the second reveals woman half-emancipated and jealous of her freedom, such as she has figured before or since in many a combative attitude, mannish, not equally manly; strong and prudent more than great or wise; able to control vanity, and the wish to rule through coquetry and passion, but not to resign these dear deceits from the very foundation, as unworthy a being capable of truth and nobleness. elizabeth, taught by adversity, put on her virtues as armor, more than produced them in a natural order from her soul. the time and her position called on her to act the wise sovereign, and she was proud that she could do so, but her tastes and inclinations would have led her to act the weak woman. she was without magnanimity of any kind. we may accept as an omen for ourselves that it was isabella who furnished columbus with the means of coming hither. this land must pay back its debt to woman, without whose aid it would not have been brought into alliance with the civilized world. a graceful and meaning figure is that introduced to us by mr. prescott, in the conquest of mexico, in the indian girl marina, who accompanied cortez, and was his interpreter in all the various difficulties of his career. she stood at his side, on the walls of the besieged palace, to plead with her enraged countrymen. by her name he was known in new spain, and, after the conquest, her gentle intercession was often of avail to the conquered. the poem of the future may be read in some features of the story of "malinche." the influence of elizabeth on literature was real, though, by sympathy with its finer productions, she was no more entitled to give name to an era than queen anne. it was simply that the fact of having a female sovereign on the throne affected the course of a writer's thoughts. in this sense, the presence of a woman on the throne always makes its mark. life is lived before the eyes of men, by which their imaginations are stimulated as to the possibilities of woman. "we will die for our king, maria, theresa," cry the wild warriors, clashing their swords; and the sounds vibrate through the poems of that generation. the range of female character in spenser alone might content us for one period. britomart and belphoebe have as much room on the canvas as florimel; and, where this is the case, the haughtiest amazon will not murmur that una should be felt to be the fairest type. unlike as was the english queen to a fairy queen, we may yet conceive that it was the image of a queen before the poet's mind that called up this splendid court of women. shakspeare's range is also great; but he has left out the heroic characters, such as the macaria of greece, the britomart of spenser. ford and massinger have, in this respect, soared to a higher flight of feeling than he. it was the holy and heroic woman they most loved, and if they could not paint an imogen, a desdemona, a rosalind, yet, in those of a stronger mould, they showed a higher ideal, though with so much less poetic power to embody it, than we see in portia or isabella, the simple truth of cordelia, indeed, is of this sort. the beauty of cordelia is neither male nor female; it is the beauty of virtue. the ideal of love and marriage rose high in the mind of all the christian nations who were capable of grave and deep feeling. we may take as examples of its english aspect the lines, "i could not love thee, dear, so much, loved i not honor more." or the address of the commonwealth's man to his wife, as she looked out from the tower window to see him, for the last time, on his way to the scaffold. he stood up in the cart, waved his hat, and cried, "to heaven, my love, to heaven, and leave you in the storm!" such was the love of faith and honor,--a love which stopped, like colonel hutchinson's, "on this side idolatry," because it was religious. the meeting of two such souls donne describes as giving birth to an "abler soul." lord herbert wrote to his love, "were not our souls immortal made, our equal loves can make them such." in the "broken heart," of ford, penthea, a character which engages my admiration even more deeply than the famous one of calanthe, is made to present to the mind the most beautiful picture of what these relations should be in their purity. her life cannot sustain the violation of what she so clearly feels. shakspeare, too, saw that, in true love, as in fire, the utmost ardor is coincident with the utmost purity. it is a true lover that exclaims in the agony of othello, "if thou art false, o then heaven mocks itself!" the son, framed, like hamlet, to appreciate truth in all the beauty of relations, sinks into deep melancholy when he finds his natural expectations disappointed. he has no other. she to whom he gave the name, disgraces from his heart's shrine all the sex. "frailty, thy name is woman." it is because a hamlet could find cause to say so, that i have put the line, whose stigma has never been removed, at the head of my work. but, as a lover, surely hamlet would not have so far mistaken, as to have finished with such a conviction. he would have felt the faith of othello, and that faith could not, in his more dispassionate mind, have been disturbed by calumny. in spain, this thought is arrayed in a sublimity which belongs to the sombre and passionate genius of the nation. calderon's justina resists all the temptation of the demon, and raises her lover, with her, above the sweet lures of mere temporal happiness. their marriage is vowed at the stake; their goals are liberated together by the martyr flame into "a purer state of sensation and existence." in italy, the great poets wove into their lives an ideal love which answered to the highest wants. it included those of the intellect and the affections, for it was a love of spirit for spirit. it was not ascetic, or superhuman, but, interpreting all things, gave their proper beauty to details of the common life, the common day. the poet spoke of his love, not as a flower to place in his bosom, or hold carelessly in his hand, but as a light toward which he must find wings to fly, or "a stair to heaven." he delighted to speak of her, not only as the bride of his heart, but the mother of his soul; for he saw that, in cases where the right direction had been taken, the greater delicacy of her frame and stillness of her life left her more open than is man to spiritual influx. so he did not look upon her as betwixt him and earth, to serve his temporal needs, but, rather, betwixt him and heaven, to purify his affections and lead him to wisdom through love. he sought, in her, not so much the eve as the madonna. in these minds the thought, which gleams through all the legends of chivalry, shines in broad intellectual effulgence, not to be misinterpreted; and their thought is reverenced by the world, though it lies far from the practice of the world as yet,--so far that it seems as though a gulf of death yawned between. even with such men the practice was, often, widely different from the mental faith. i say mental; for if the heart were thoroughly alive with it, the practice could not be dissonant. lord herbert's was a marriage of convention, made for him at fifteen; he was not discontented with it, but looked only to the advantages it brought of perpetuating his family on the basis of a great fortune. he paid, in act, what he considered a dutiful attention to the bond; his thoughts travelled elsewhere; and while forming a high ideal of the companionship of minds in marriage, he seems never to have doubted that its realization must be postponed to some other state of being. dante, almost immediately after the death of beatrice, married a lady chosen for him by his friends, and boccaccio, in describing the miseries that attended, in this case, "the form of an union where union is none," speaks as if these were inevitable to the connection, and as if the scholar and poet, especially, could expect nothing but misery and obstruction in a domestic partnership with woman. centuries have passed since, but civilized europe is still in a transition state about marriage; not only in practice but in thought. it is idle to speak with contempt of the nations where polygamy is an institution, or seraglios a custom, while practices far more debasing haunt, well-nigh fill, every city and every town, and so far as union of one with one is believed to be the only pure form of marriage, a great majority of societies and individuals are still doubtful whether the earthly bond must be a meeting of souls, or only supposes a contract of convenience and utility. were woman established in the rights of an immortal being, this could not be. she would not, in some countries, be given away by her father, with scarcely more respect for her feelings than is shown by the indian chief, who sells his daughter for a horse, and beats her if she runs away from her new home. nor, in societies where her choice is left free, would she be perverted, by the current of opinion that seizes her, into the belief that she must marry, if it be only to find a protector, and a home of her own. neither would man, if he thought the connection of permanent importance, form it so lightly. he would not deem it a trifle, that he was to enter into the closest relations with another soul, which, if not eternal in themselves, must eternally affect his growth. neither, did he believe woman capable of friendship, [footnote: see appendix d, spinoza's view] would he, by rash haste, lose the chance of finding a friend in the person who might, probably, live half a century by his side. did love, to his mind, stretch forth into infinity, he would not miss his chance of its revelations, that he might the sooner rest from his weariness by a bright fireside, and secure a sweet and graceful attendant "devoted to him alone." were he a step higher, he would not carelessly enter into a relation where he might not be able to do the duty of a friend, as well as a protector from external ill, to the other party, and have a being in his power pining for sympathy, intelligence and aid, that he could not give. what deep communion, what real intercourse is implied in sharing the joys and cares of parentage, when any degree of equality is admitted between the parties! it is true that, in a majority of instances, the man looks upon his wife as an adopted child, and places her to the other children in the relation of nurse or governess, rather than that of parent. her influence with them is sure; but she misses the education which should enlighten that influence, by being thus treated. it is the order of nature that children should complete the education, moral and mental, of parents, by making them think what is needed for the best culture of human beings, and conquer all faults and impulses that interfere with their giving this to these dear objects, who represent the world to them. father and mother should assist one another to learn what is required for this sublime priesthood of nature. but, for this, a religious recognition of equality is required. where this thought of equality begins to diffuse itself, it is shown in four ways. first;--the household partnership. in our country, the woman looks for a "smart but kind" husband; the man for a "capable, sweet-tempered" wife. the man furnishes the house; the woman regulates it. their relation is one of mutual esteem, mutual dependence. their talk is of business; their affection shows itself by practical kindness. they know that life goes more smoothly and cheerfully to each for the other's aid; they are grateful and content. the wife praises her husband as a "good provider;" the husband, in return, compliments her as a "capital housekeeper." this relation is good so far as it goes. next comes a closer tie, which takes the form either of mutual idolatry or of intellectual companionship. the first, we suppose, is to no one a pleasing subject of contemplation. the parties weaken and narrow one another; they lock the gate against all the glories of the universe, that they may live in a cell together. to themselves they seem the only wise; to all others, steeped in infatuation; the gods smile as they look forward to the crisis of cure; to men, the woman seems an unlovely syren; to women, the man an effeminate boy. the other form, of intellectual companionship, has become more and more frequent. men engaged in public life, literary men, and artists, have often found in their wives companions and confidants in thought no less than in feeling. and, as the intellectual development of woman has spread wider and risen higher, they have, not unfrequently, shared the same employment; as in the case of roland and his wife, who were friends in the household and in the nation's councils, read, regulated home affairs, or prepared public documents together, indifferently. it is very pleasant, in letters begun by roland and finished by his wife, to see the harmony of mind, and the difference of nature; one thought, but various ways of treating it. this is one of the best instances of a marriage of friendship. it was only friendship, whose basis was esteem; probably neither party knew love, except by name. roland was a good man, worthy to esteem, and be esteemed; his wife as deserving of admiration as able to do without it. madame roland is the fairest specimen we yet have of her class; as clear to discern her aim, as valiant to pursue it, as spenser's britomart; austerely set apart from all that did not belong to her, whether as woman or as mind. she is an antetype of a class to which the coming time will afford a field--the spartan matron, brought by the culture of the age of books to intellectual consciousness and expansion. self-sufficingness, strength, and clearsightedness were, in her, combined with a power of deep and calm affection. she, too, would have given a son or husband the device for his shield, "return with it or upon it;" and this, not because she loved little, but much. the page of her life is one of unsullied dignity. her appeal to posterity is one against the injustice of those who committed such crimes in the name of liberty. she makes it in behalf of herself and her husband. i would put beside it, on the shelf, a little volume, containing a similar appeal from the verdict of contemporaries to that of mankind, made by godwin in behalf of his wife, the celebrated, the by most men detested, mary wolstonecraft. in his view, it was an appeal from the injustice of those who did such wrong in the name of virtue. were this little book interesting for no other cause, it would be so for the generous affection evinced under the peculiar circumstances. this man had courage to love and honor this woman in the face of the world's sentence, and of all that was repulsive in her own past history. he believed he saw of what soul she was, and that the impulses she had struggled to act out were noble, though the opinions to which they had led might not be thoroughly weighed. he loved her, and he defended her for the meaning and tendency of her inner life. it was a good fact. mary wolstonecraft, like madame dudevant (commonly known as george sand) in our day, was a woman whose existence better proved the need of some new interpretation of woman's rights than anything she wrote. such beings as these, rich in genius, of most tender sympathies, capable of high virtue and a chastened harmony, ought not to find themselves, by birth, in a place so narrow, that, in breaking bonds, they become outlaws. were there as much room in the world for such, as in spenser's poem for britomart, they would not run their heads so wildly against the walls, but prize their shelter rather. they find their way, at last, to light and air, but the world will not take off the brand it has set upon them. the champion of the rights of woman found, in godwin, one who would plead that cause like a brother. he who delineated with such purity of traits the form of woman in the marguerite, of whom the weak st. leon could never learn to be worthy,--a pearl indeed whose price was above rubies,--was not false in life to the faith by which he had hallowed his romance. he acted, as he wrote, like a brother. this form of appeal rarely fails to touch the basest man:--"are you acting toward other women in the way you would have men act towards your sister?" george sand smokes, wears male attire, wishes to be addressed as "mon frere;"--perhaps, if she found those who were as brothers indeed, she would not care whether she were brother or sister. [footnote: a note appended by my sister in this place, in the first edition, is here omitted, because it is incorporated in another article in this volume, treating of george sand more at length.--[ed.]] we rejoice to see that she, who expresses such a painful contempt for men in most of her works, as shows she must have known great wrong from them, depicts, in "la roche mauprat," a man raised by the workings of love from the depths of savage sensualism to a moral and intellectual life. it was love for a pure object, for a steadfast woman, one of those who, the italian said, could make the "stair to heaven." this author, beginning like the many in assault upon bad institutions, and external ills, yet deepening the experience through comparative freedom, sees at last that the only efficient remedy must come from individual character. these bad institutions, indeed, it may always be replied, prevent individuals from forming good character, therefore we must remove them. agreed; yet keep steadily the higher aim in view. could you clear away all the bad forms of society, it is vain, unless the individual begin to be ready for better. there must be a parallel movement in these two branches of life. and all the rules left by moses availed less to further the best life than the living example of one messiah. still the mind of the age struggles confusedly with these problems, better discerning as yet the ill it can no longer bear, than the good by which it may supersede it. but women like sand will speak now and cannot be silenced; their characters and their eloquence alike foretell an era when such as they shall easier learn to lead true lives. but though such forebode, not such shall be parents of it. [footnote: appendix e.] those who would reform the world must show that they do not speak in the heat of wild impulse; their lives must be unstained by passionate error; they must be severe lawgivers to themselves. they must be religious students of the divine purpose with regard to man, if they would not confound the fancies of a day with the requisitions of eternal good. their liberty must be the liberty of law and knowledge. but as to the transgressions against custom which have caused such outcry against those of noble intention, it may be observed that the resolve of eloisa to be only the mistress of abelard, was that of one who saw in practice around her the contract of marriage made the seal of degradation. shelley feared not to be fettered, unless so to be was to be false. wherever abuses are seen, the timid will suffer; the bold will protest. but society has a right to outlaw them till she has revised her law; and this she must be taught to do, by one who speaks with authority, not in anger or haste. if godwin's choice of the calumniated authoress of the "rights of woman," for his honored wife, be a sign of a new era, no less so is an article to which i have alluded some pages back, published five or six years ago in one of the english reviews, where the writer, in doing fall justice to eloisa, shows his bitter regret that she lives not now to love him, who might have known bettor how to prize her love than did the egotistical abelard. these marriages, these characters, with all their imperfections, express an onward tendency. they speak of aspiration of soul, of energy of mind, seeking clearness and freedom. of a like promise are the tracts lately published by goodwyn barmby (the european pariah, as he calls himself) and his wife catharine. whatever we may think of their measures, we see in them wedlock; the two minds are wed by the only contract that can permanently avail, that of a common faith and a common purpose. we might mention instances, nearer home, of minds, partners in work and in life, sharing together, on equal terms, public and private interests, and which wear not, on any side, the aspect of offence shown by those last-named: persons who steer straight onward, yet, in our comparatively free life, have not been obliged to run their heads against any wall. but the principles which guide them might, under petrified and oppressive institutions, have made them warlike, paradoxical, and, in some sense, pariahs. the phenomena are different, the law is the same, in all these cases. men and women have been obliged to build up their house anew from the very foundation. if they found stone ready in the quarry, they took it peaceably; otherwise they alarmed the country by pulling down old towers to get materials. these are all instances of marriage as intellectual companionship. the parties meet mind to mind, and a mutual trust is produced, which can buckler them against a million. they work together for a common, purpose, and, in all these instances, with the same implement,--the pen. the pen and the writing-desk furnish forth as naturally the retirement of woman as of man. a pleasing expression, in this kind, is afforded by the union in the names of the howitts. william and mary howitt we heard named together for years, supposing them to be brother and sister; the equality of labors and reputation, even so, was auspicious; more so, now we find them man and wife. in his late work on germany, howitt mentions his wife, with pride, as one among the constellation of distinguished english-women, and in a graceful, simple manner. and still we contemplate with pleasure the partnership in literature and affection between the howitts,--the congenial pursuits and productions--the pedestrian tours wherein the married pair showed that marriage, on a wide enough basis, does not destroy the "inexhaustible" entertainment which lovers find in one another's company. in naming these instances, i do not mean to imply that community of employment is essential to the union of husband and wife, more than to the union of friends. harmony exists in difference, no less than in likeness, if only the same key-note govern both parts. woman the poem, man the poet! woman the heart, man the head! such divisions are only important when they are never to be transcended. if nature is never bound down, nor the voice of inspiration stifled, that is enough. we are pleased that women should write and speak, if they feel need of it, from having something to tell; but silence for ages would be no misfortune, if that silence be from divine command, and not from man's tradition. while goetz von berlichingen rides to battle, his wife is busy in the kitchen; but difference of occupation does not prevent that community of inward life, that perfect esteem, with which he says, "whom god loves, to him gives he such a wife." manzoni thus dedicates his "adelchi." "to his beloved and venerated wife, enrichetta luigia blondel, who, with conjugal affection and maternal wisdom, has preserved a virgin mind, the author dedicates this 'adelchi,' grieving that he could not, by a more splendid and more durable monument, honor the dear name, and the memory of so many virtues." the relation could not be fairer, nor more equal, if she, too, had written poems. yet the position of the parties might have been the reverse as well; the woman might have sung the deeds, given voice to the life of the man, and beauty would have been the result; as we see, in pictures of arcadia, the nymph singing to the shepherds, or the shepherd, with his pipe, alluring the nymphs; either makes a good picture. the sounding lyre requires not muscular strength, but energy of soul to animate the hand which would control it. nature seems to delight in varying the arrangements, as if to show that she will be fettered by no rule; and we must admit the same varieties that she admits. the fourth and highest grade of marriage union is the religious, which may be expressed as pilgrimage toward a common shrine. this includes the others: home sympathies and household wisdom, for these pilgrims must know how to assist each other along the dusty way; intellectual communion, for how sad it would be on such a journey to have a companion to whom you could not communicate your thoughts and aspirations as they sprang to life; who would have no feeling for the prospects that open, more and more glorious as we advance; who would never see the flowers that may be gathered by the most industrious traveller! it must include all these. such a fellow-pilgrim count zinzendorf seems to have found in his countess, of whom he thus writes: "twenty-five years' experience has shown me that just the help-meet whom i have is the only one that could suit my vocation. who else could have so carried through my family affairs? who lived so spotlessly before the world? who so wisely aided me in my rejection of a dry morality? who so clearly set aside the pharisaism which, as years passed, threatened to creep in among us? who so deeply discerned as to the spirits of delusion which sought to bewilder us? who would have governed my whole economy so wisely, richly and hospitably, when circumstances commanded? who have taken indifferently the part of servant or mistress, without, on the one side, affecting an especial spirituality; on the other, being sullied by any worldly pride? who, in a community where all ranks are eager to be on a level, would, from wise and real causes, have known how to maintain inward and outward distinctions? who, without a murmur, have seen her husband encounter such dangers by land and sea? who undertaken with him, and _sustained_, such astonishing pilgrimages? who, amid such difficulties, would have always held up her head and supported me? who found such vast sums of money, and acquitted them on her own credit? and, finally, who, of all human beings, could so well understand and interpret to others my inner and outer being as this one, of such nobleness in her way of thinking, such great intellectual capacity, and so free from the theological perplexities that enveloped me!" let any one peruse, with all intentness, the lineaments of this portrait, and see if the husband had not reason, with this air of solemn rapture and conviction, to challenge comparison? we are reminded of the majestic cadence of the line whose feet stop in the just proportion of humanity, "daughter of god and mati, accomplished eve!" an observer [footnote: spangenberg] adds this testimony: "we may, in many marriages, regard it as the best arrangement, if the man has so much advantage over his wife, that she can, without much thought of her own, be led and directed by him as by a father. but it was not so with the count and his consort. she was not made to be a copy; she was an original; and, while she loved and honored him, she thought for herself, on all subjects, with so much intelligence, that he could and did look on her as a sister and friend also." compare with this refined specimen of a religiously civilized life the following imperfect sketch of a north american indian, and we shall see that the same causes will always produce the same results, the flying pigeon (ratchewaine) was the wife of a barbarous chief, who had six others; but she was his only true wife, because the only one of a strong and pure character, and, having this, inspired a veneration, as like as the mind of the man permitted to that inspired by the countess zinzendorf. she died when her son was only four years old, yet left on his mind a feeling of reverent love worthy the thought of christian chivalry. grown to manhood, he shed tears on seeing her portrait. the flying pigeon. "ratchewaine was chaste, mild, gentle in her disposition, kind, generous, and devoted to her husband. a harsh word was never known to proceed from her mouth; nor was she ever known to be in a passion. mabaskah used to say of her, after her death, that her hand was shut when those who did not want came into her presence; but when the really poor came in, it was like a strainer full of holes, letting all she held in it pass through. in the exercise of generous feeling she was uniform, it was not indebted for its exercise to whim, nor caprice, nor partiality. no matter of what nation the applicant for her bounty was, or whether at war or peace with her nation; if he were hungry, she fed him; if naked, she clothed him; and, if houseless, she gave him shelter. the continued exercise of this generous feeling kept her poor. and she has been known to give away her last blanket--all the honey that was in the lodge, the last bladder of bear's oil, and the last piece of dried meat. "she was scrupulously exact in the observance of all the religious rites which her faith imposed upon her. her conscience is represented to have been extremely tender. she often feared that her acts were displeasing to the great spirit, when she would blacken her face, and retire to some lone place, and fast and pray." to these traits should be added, but for want of room, anecdotes which show the quick decision and vivacity of her mind. her face was in harmony with this combination. her brow is as ideal and the eyes and lids as devout and modest as the italian picture of the madonna, while the lower part of the face has the simplicity and childish strength of the indian race. her picture presents the finest specimen of indian beauty we have ever seen. such a woman is the sister and friend of all beings, as the worthy man is their brother and helper. with like pleasure we survey the pairs wedded on the eve of missionary effort they, indeed, are fellow-pilgrims on the well-made road, and whether or no they accomplish all they hope for the sad hindoo, or the nearer savage, we feel that in the burning waste their love is like to be a healing dew, in the forlorn jungle a tent of solace to one another. they meet, as children of one father, to read together one book of instruction. we must insert in this connection the most beautiful picture presented by ancient literature of wedded love under this noble form. it is from the romance in which xenophon, the chivalrous greek, presents his ideal of what human nature should be. the generals of cyrus had taken captive a princess, a woman of unequalled beauty, and hastened to present her to the prince as that part of the spoil he would think most worthy of his acceptance. cyrus visits the lady, and is filled with immediate admiration by the modesty and majesty with which she receives him. he finds her name is panthea, and that she is the wife of abradatus, a young king whom she entirely loves. he protects her as a sister, in his camp, till he can restore her to her husband. after the first transports of joy at this reunion, the heart of panthea is bent on showing her love and gratitude to her magnanimous and delicate protector. and as she has nothing so precious to give as the aid of abradatus, that is what she most wishes to offer. her husband is of one soul with her in this, as in all things. the description of her grief and self-destruction, after the death which ensued upon this devotion, i have seen quoted, but never that of their parting when she sends him forth to battle. i shall copy both. if they have been read by any of my readers, they may be so again with profit in this connection, for never were the heroism of a true woman, and the purity of love in a true marriage, painted in colors more delicate and more lively. "the chariot of abradatus, that had four perches and eight horses, was completely adorned for him; and when he was going to put on his linen corslet, which was a sort of armor used by those of his country, panthea brought him a golden helmet, and arm-pieces, broad bracelets for his wrists, a purple habit that reached down to his feet, and hung in folds at the bottom, and a crest dyed of a violet color. these things she had made, unknown to her husband, and by taking the measure of his armor. he wondered when he saw them, and inquired thus of panthea: 'and have you made me these arms, woman, by destroying your own ornaments?' 'no, by jove!' said panthea, 'not what is the most valuable of them; for it is you, if you appear to others to be what i think you, that will be my greatest ornament.' and, saying that, she put on him the armor, and, though she endeavored to conceal it, the tears poured down her checks. when abradatus, who was before a man of fine appearance, was set out in those arms, he appeared the most beautiful and noble of all, especially being likewise so by nature. then, taking the reins from the driver, he was just preparing to mount the chariot, when panthea, after she had desired all that were there to retire, thus said: "'o abradatus! if ever there was a woman who had a greater regard to her husband than to her own soul, i believe you know that i am such an one; what need i therefore speak of things in particular? for i reckon that my actions have convinced you more than any words i can now use. and yet, though i stand thus affected toward you, as you know i do, i swear, by this friendship of mine and yours, that i certainly would rather choose to be put under ground jointly with you, approving yourself a brave man, than to live with you in disgrace and shame; so much do i think you and myself worthy of the noblest things. then i think that we both lie under great obligations to cyrus, that, when i was a captive, and chosen out for himself, he thought fit to treat me neither as a slave, nor, indeed, as a woman of mean account, but he took and kept me for you, as if i were his brother's wife. besides, when araspes, who was my guard, went away from him, i promised him, that, if he would allow me to send for you, you would come to him, and approve yourself a much better and move faithful friend than araspes.' "thus she spoke; and abradatus, being struck with admiration at her discourse, laying, his hand gently on her head, and lifting up his eyes to heaven, made this prayer: 'do thou, o greatest jove! i grant me to appear a husband worthy of panthea, and a friend worthy of cyrus, who has done us so much honor!' "having said this, he mounted the chariot by the door of the driver's seat; and, after he had got up, when the driver shut the door, panthea, who had now no other way to salute him, kissed the seat of the chariot. the chariot then moved, and she, unknown to him, followed, till abradatus turning about, and seeing her, said: 'take courage, panthea! fare you happily and well, and now go your ways.' on this her women and servants carried her to her conveyance, and, laying her down, concealed her by throwing the covering of a tent over her. the people, though abradatus and his chariot made a noble spectacle, were not able to look at him till panthea was gone." after the battle-"cyrus calling to some of his servants, 'tell me, said he, 'has any one seen abradatus? for i admire that he now does not appear.' one replied, 'my sovereign, it is because he is not living, but died in the battle as he broke in with his chariot on the egyptians. all the rest, except his particular companions, they say, turned off when they saw the egyptians' compact body. his wife is now said to have taken up his dead body, to have placed it in the carriage that she herself was conveyed in, and to have brought it hither to some place on the river pactolus, and her servants are digging a grave on a certain elevation. they say that his wife, after setting him out with all the ornaments she has, is sitting on the ground with his head on her knees.' cyrus, hearing this, gave himself a blow on the thigh, mounted his horse at a leap, and, taking with him a thousand horse, rode away to this scene of affliction; but gave orders to gadatas and gobryas to take with them all the rich ornaments proper for a friend and an excellent man deceased, and to follow after him; and whoever had herds of cattle with him, he ordered them to take both oxen, and horses, and sheep in good number, and to bring them away to the place where, by inquiry, they should find him to be, that he might sacrifice these to abradatus. "as soon as he saw the woman sitting on the ground, and the dead body there lying, he shed tears at the afflicting sight, and said: 'alas! thou brave and faithful soul, hast thou left us, and art thou gone?' at the same time he took him by the right hand, and the hand of the deceased came away, for it had been cut off with a sword by the egyptians. he, at the sight of this, became yet much more concerned than before. the woman shrieked out in a lamentable manner, and, taking the hand from cyrus, kissed it, fitted it to its proper place again, as well as she could, and said: 'the rest, cyrus, is in the same condition, but what need you see it? and i know that i was not one of the least concerned in these his sufferings, and, perhaps, you were not less so; for i, fool that i was! frequently exhorted him to behave in such a manner as to appear a friend to you, worthy of notice; and i know he never thought of what he himself should suffer, but of what he should do to please you. he is dead, therefore,' said she, 'without reproach, and i, who urged him on, sit here alive.' cyrus, shedding tears for some time in silence, then spoke:--'he has died, woman, the noblest death; for he has died victorious! do you adorn him with these things that i furnish you with.' (gobryas and gadatas were then come up, and had brought rich ornaments in great abundance with them.) 'then,' said he, 'be assured that he shall not want respect and honor in all other things; but, over and above, multitudes shall concur in raising him a monument that shall be worthy of us, and all the sacrifices shall be made him that are proper to be made in honor of a brave man. you shall not be left destitute, but, for the sake of your modesty and every other virtue, i will pay you all other honors, as well as place those about you who will conduct you wherever you please. do you but make it known to me where it is that you desire to be conveyed to.' and panthea replied: 'be confident, cyrus, i will not conceal from you to whom it is that i desire to go.' "he, having said this, went away with great pity for her that she should have lost such a husband, and for the man that he should have left such a wife behind him, never to see her more. panthea then gave orders for her servants to retire, 'till such time,' said she, 'as i shall have lamented my husband as i please.' her nurse she bid to stay, and gave orders that, when she was dead, she would wrap her and her husband up in one mantle together. the nurse, after having repeatedly begged her not to do this, and meeting with no success, but observing her to grow angry, sat herself down, breaking out into tears. she, being beforehand provided with a sword, killed herself, and, laying her head down on her husband's breast, she died. the nurse set up a lamentable cry, and covered them both, as panthea had directed. "cyrus, as soon as he was informed of what the woman had done, being struck with it, went to help her if he could. the servants, three in number, seeing what had been done, drew their swords and killed themselves, as they stood at the place where she bad ordered them. and the monument is now said to have been raised by continuing the mound on to the servants; and on a pillar above, they say, the names of the man and woman were written in syriac letters. "below were three pillars, and they were inscribed thus, 'of the servants.' cyrus, when he came to this melancholy scene, was struck with admiration of the woman, and, having lamented over her, went away. he took care, as was proper, that all the funeral rites should be paid them in the noblest manner, and the monument, they say, was raised up to a very great size." * * * * * these be the ancients, who, so many assert, had no idea of the dignity of woman, or of marriage. such love xenophon could paint as subsisting between those who after death "would see one another never more." thousands of years have passed since, and with the reception of the cross, the nations assume the belief that those who part thus may meet again and forever, if spiritually fitted to one another, as abradatus and panthea were, and yet do we see such marriages among them? if at all, how often? i must quote two more short passages from xenophon, for he is a writer who pleases me well. cyrus, receiving the armenians whom he had conquered-"'tigranes,' said he, 'at what rate would you purchase the regaining of your wife?' now tigranes happened to be _but lately married_, and had a very great love for his wife." (that clause perhaps sounds _modern_.) "'cyrus,' said he, 'i would ransom her at the expense of my life.' "'take then your own to yourself,' said he. ... "when they came home, one talked of cyrus' wisdom, another of his patience and resolution, another of his mildness. one spoke of his beauty and smallness of his person, and, on that, tigranes asked his wife, 'and do you, armenian dame, think cyrus handsome?' 'truly,' said she, 'i did not look at him.' 'at whom, then, _did_ you look?' said tigranes. 'at him who said that, to save me from servitude, he would ransom me at the expense of his own life.'" from the banquet.-"socrates, who observed her with pleasure, said, 'this young girl has confirmed me in the opinion i have had, for a long time, that the female sex are nothing inferior to ours, excepting only in strength of body, or, perhaps, his steadiness of judgment.'" * * * * * in the economics, the manner in which the husband gives counsel to his young wife presents the model of politeness and refinement. xenophon is thoroughly the gentleman; gentle in breeding and in soul. all the men he describes are so, while the shades of manner are distinctly marked. there is the serene dignity of socrates, with gleams of playfulness thrown across its cool, religious shades, the princely mildness of cyrus, and the more domestic elegance of the husband in the economics. there is no way that men sin more against refinement, as well as discretion, than in their conduct toward their wives. let them look at the men of xenophon. such would know how to give counsel, for they would know how to receive it. they would feel that the most intimate relations claimed most, not least, of refined courtesy. they would not suppose that confidence justified carelessness, nor the reality of affection want of delicacy in the expression of it. such men would be too wise to hide their affairs from the wife, and then expect her to act as if she knew them. they would know that, if she is expected to face calamity with courage, she must be instructed and trusted in prosperity, or, if they had failed in wise confidence, such as the husband shows in the economics, they would be ashamed of anger or querulous surprise at the results that naturally follow. such men would not be exposed to the bad influence of bad wives; for all wives, bad or good, loved or unloved, inevitably influence their husbands, from the power their position not merely gives, but necessitates, of coloring evidence and infusing feelings in hours when the--patient, shall i call him?--is off his guard. those who understand the wife's mind, and think it worth while to respect her springs of action, know bettor where they are. but to the bad or thoughtless man, who lives carelessly and irreverently so near another mind, the wrong he does daily back upon himself recoils. a cyrus, an abradatus, knows where he stands. * * * * * but to return to the thread of my subject. another sign of the times is furnished by the triumphs of female authorship. these have been great, and are constantly increasing. women have taken possession of so many provinces for which men had pronounced them unfit, that, though these still declare there are some inaccessible to them, it is difficult to say just _where_ they must stop. the shining names of famous women have cast light upon the path of the sex, and many obstructions have been removed. when a montague could learn better than her brother, and use her lore afterwards to such purpose as an observer, it seemed amiss to hinder women from preparing themselves to see, or from seeing all they could, when prepared. since somerville has achieved so much, will any young girl be prevented from seeking a knowledge of the physical sciences, if she wishes it? de stael's name was not so clear of offence; she could not forget the woman in the thought; while she was instructing you as a mind, she wished to be admired as a woman; sentimental tears often dimmed the eagle glance. her intellect, too, with all its splendor, trained in a drawing-room, fed on flattery, was tainted and flawed; yet its beams make the obscurest school-house in new england warmer and lighter to the little rugged girls who are gathered together on its wooden bench. they may never through life hear her name, but she is not the less their benefactress. the influence has been such, that the aim certainly is, now, in arranging school instruction for girls, to give them as fair a field as boys. as yet, indeed, these arrangements are made with little judgment or reflection; just as the tutors of lady jane grey, and other distinguished women of her time, taught them latin and greek, because they knew nothing else themselves, so now the improvement in the education of girls is to be made by giving them young men as teachers, who only teach what has been taught themselves at college, while methods and topics need revision for these new subjects, which could better be made by those who had experienced the same wants. women are, often, at the head of these institutions; but they have, as yet, seldom been thinking women, capable of organizing a new whole for the wants of the time, and choosing persons to officiate in the departments. and when some portion of instruction of a good sort is got from the school, the far greater proportion which is infused from the general atmosphere of society contradicts its purport. yet books and a little elementary instruction are not furnished in vain. women are better aware how great and rich the universe is, not so easily blinded by narrowness or partial views of a home circle. "her mother did so before her" is no longer a sufficient excuse. indeed, it was never received as an excuse to mitigate the severity of censure, but was adduced as a reason, rather, why there should be no effort made for reformation. whether much or little has been done, or will be done,--whether women will add to the talent of narration the power of systematizing,--whether they will carve marble, as well as draw and paint,--is not important. but that it should be acknowledged that they have intellect which needs developing--that they should not be considered complete, if beings of affection and habit alone--is important. yet even this acknowledgment, rather conquered by woman than proffered by man, has been sullied by the usual selfishness. too much is said of women being better educated, that they may become better companions and mothers _for_ men. they should be fit for such companionship, and we have mentioned, with satisfaction, instances where it has been established. earth knows no fairer, holier relation than that of a mother. it is one which, rightly understood, must both promote and require the highest attainments. but a being of infinite scope must not be treated with an exclusive view to any one relation. give the soul free course, let the organization, both of body and mind, be freely developed, and the being will be fit for any and every relation to which it may be called. the intellect, no more than the sense of hearing, is to be cultivated merely that woman may be a more valuable companion to man, but because the power who gave a power, by its mere existence signifies that it must be brought out toward perfection. in this regard of self-dependence, and a greater simplicity and fulness of being, we must hail as a preliminary the increase of the class contemptuously designated as "old maids." we cannot wonder at the aversion with which old bachelors and old maids have been regarded. marriage is the natural means of forming a sphere, of taking root in the earth; it requires more strength to do this without such an opening; very many have failed, and their imperfections have been in every one's way. they have been more partial, more harsh, more officious and impertinent, than those compelled by severer friction to render themselves endurable. those who have a more full experience of the instincts have a distrust as to whether the unmarried can be thoroughly human and humane, such as is hinted in the saying, "old-maids' and bachelors' children are well cared for," which derides at once their ignorance and their presumption. yet the business of society has become so complex, that it could now scarcely be carried on without the presence of these despised auxiliaries; and detachments from the army of aunts and uncles are wanted to stop gaps in every hedge. they rove about, mental and moral ishmaelites, pitching their tents amid the fixed and ornamented homes of men. in a striking variety of forms, genius of late, both at home and abroad, has paid its tribute to the character of the aunt and the uncle, recognizing in these personages the spiritual parents, who have supplied defects in the treatment of the busy or careless actual parents. they also gain a wider, if not so deep experience. those who are not intimately and permanently linked with others, are thrown upon themselves; and, if they do not there find peace and incessant life, there is none to flatter them that they are not very poor, and very mean. a position which so constantly admonishes, may be of inestimable benefit. the person may gain, undistracted by other relationships, a closer communion with the one. such a use is made of it by saints and sibyls. or she may be one of the lay sisters of charity, a canoness, bound by an inward vow,--or the useful drudge of all men, the martha, much sought, little prized,--or the intellectual interpreter of the varied life she sees; the urania of a half-formed world's twilight. or she may combine all these. not needing to care that she may please a husband, a frail and limited being, her thoughts may turn to the centre, and she may, by steadfast contemplation entering into the secret of truth and love, use it for the good of all men, instead of a chosen few, and interpret through it all the forms of life. it is possible, perhaps, to be at once a priestly servant and a loving muse. saints and geniuses have often chosen a lonely position, in the faith that if, undisturbed by the pressure of near ties, they would give themselves up to the inspiring spirit, it would enable them to understand and reproduce life better than actual experience could. how many "old maids" take this high stand we cannot say: it is an unhappy fact that too many who have come before the eye are gossips rather, and not always good-natured gossips. but if these abuse, and none make the best of their vocation, yet it has not failed to produce some good results. it has been seen by others, if not by themselves, that beings, likely to be left alone, need to be fortified and furnished within themselves; and education and thought have tended more and more to regard these beings as related to absolute being, as well as to others. it has been seen that, as the breaking of no bond ought to destroy a man, so ought the missing of none to hinder him from growing. and thus a circumstance of the time, which springs rather from its luxury than its purity, has helped to place women on the true platform. perhaps the next generation, looking deeper into this matter, will find that contempt is put upon old maids, or old women, at all, merely because they do not use the elixir which would keep them always young. under its influence, a gem brightens yearly which is only seen to more advantage through the fissures time makes in the casket. [footnote: appendix f.] no one thinks of michael angelo's persican sibyl, or st. theresa, or tasso's leonora, or the greek electra, as an old maid, more than of michael angelo or canova as old bachelors, though all had reached the period in life's course appointed to take that degree. see a common woman at forty; scarcely has she the remains of beauty, of any soft poetic grace which gave her attraction as woman, which kindled the hearts of those who looked on her to sparkling thoughts, or diffused round her a roseate air of gentle love. see her, who was, indeed, a lovely girl, in the coarse, full-blown dahlia flower of what is commonly matron-beauty, "fat, fair, and forty," showily dressed, and with manners as broad and full as her frill or satin cloak. people observe, "how well she is preserved!" "she is a fine woman still," they say. this woman, whether as a duchess in diamonds, or one of our city dames in mosaics, charms the poet's heart no more, and would look much out of place kneeling before the madonna. she "does well the honors of her house,"--"leads society,"--is, in short, always spoken and thought of upholstery-wise. or see that care-worn face, from which every soft line is blotted,--those faded eyes, from which lonely tears have driven the flashes of fancy, the mild white beam of a tender enthusiasm. this woman is not so ornamental to a tea-party; yet she would please better, in picture. yet surely she, no more than the other, looks as a human being should at the end of forty years. forty years! have they bound those brows with no garland? shed in the lamp no drop of ambrosial oil? not so looked the iphigenia in aulis. her forty years had seen her in anguish, in sacrifice, in utter loneliness. but those pains were borne for her father and her country; the sacrifice she had made pure for herself and those around her. wandering alone at night in the vestal solitude of her imprisoning grove, she has looked up through its "living summits" to the stars, which shed down into her aspect their own lofty melody. at forty she would not misbecome the marble. not so looks the persica. she is withered; she is faded; the drapery that enfolds her has in its dignity an angularity, too, that tells of age, of sorrow, of a stern resignation to the _must_. but her eye, that torch of the soul, is untamed, and, in the intensity of her reading, we see a soul invincibly young in faith and hope. her age is her charm, for it is the night of the past that gives this beacon-fire leave to shine. wither more and more, black chrysalid! thou dost but give the winged beauty time to mature its splendors! not so looked victoria colonna, after her life of a great hope, and of true conjugal fidelity. she had been, not merely a bride, but a wife, and each hour had helped to plume the noble bird. a coronet of pearls will not shame her brow; it is white and ample, a worthy altar for love and thought. even among the north american indians, a race of men as completely engaged in mere instinctive life as almost any in the world, and where each chief, keeping many wives as useful servants, of course looks with no kind eye on celibacy in woman, it was excused in the following instance mentioned by mrs. jameson. a woman dreamt in youth that she was betrothed to the sun. she built her a wigwam apart, filled it with emblems of her alliance, and means of on independent life. there she passed her days, sustained by her own exertions, and true to her supposed engagement. in any tribe, we believe, a woman, who lived as if she was betrothed to the sun, would be tolerated, and the rays which made her youth blossom sweetly, would crown her with a halo in age. there is, on this subject, a nobler view than heretofore, if not the noblest, and improvement here must coincide with that in the view taken of marriage. "we must have units before we can have union," says one of the ripe thinkers of the times. if larger intellectual resources begin to be deemed needful to woman, still more is a spiritual dignity in her, or even the mere assumption of it, looked upon with respect. joanna southcote and mother anne lee are sure of a band of disciples; ecstatica, dolorosa, of enraptured believers who will visit them in their lowly huts, and wait for days to revere them in their trances. the foreign noble traverses land and sea to hear a few words from the lips of the lowly peasant girl, whom he believes especially visited by the most high. very beautiful, in this way, was the influence of the invalid of st. petersburg, as described by de maistre. mysticism, which may be defined as the brooding soul of the world, cannot fail of its oracular promise as to woman. "the mothers," "the mother of all things," are expressions of thought which lead the mind towards this side of universal growth. whenever a mystical whisper was heard, from behmen down to st. simon, sprang up the thought, that, if it be true, as the legend says, that humanity withers through a fault committed by and a curse laid upon woman, through her pure child, or influence, shall the new adam, the redemption, arise. innocence is to be replaced by virtue, dependence by a willing submission, in the heart of the virgin-mother of the new race. the spiritual tendency is toward the elevation of woman, but the intellectual by itself is not so. plato sometimes seems penetrated by that high idea of love, which considers man and woman as the two-fold expression of one thought. this the angel of swedenborg, the angel of the coming age, cannot surpass, but only explain more fully. but then again plato, the man of intellect, treats woman in the republic as property, and, in the timaeus, says that man, if he misuse the privileges of one life, shall be degraded into the form of woman; and then, if ho do not redeem himself, into that of a bird. this, as i said above, expresses most happily how antipoetical is this state of mind. for the poet, contemplating the world of things, selects various birds as the symbols of his most gracious and ethereal thoughts, just as he calls upon his genius as muse rather than as god. but the intellect, cold, is ever more masculine than feminine; warmed by emotion, it rushes toward mother-earth, and puts on the forms of beauty. the electrical, the magnetic element in woman has not been fairly brought out at any period. everything might be expected from it; she has far more of it than man. this is commonly expressed by saying that her intuitions are more rapid and more correct. you will often see men of high intellect absolutely stupid in regard to the atmospheric changes, the fine invisible links which connect the forms of life around them, while common women, if pure and modest, so that a vulgar self do not overshadow the mental eye, will seize and delineate these with unerring discrimination. women who combine this organization with creative genius are very commonly unhappy at present. they see too much to act in conformity with those around them, and their quick impulses seem folly to those who do not discern the motives. this is an usual effect of the apparition of genius, whether in man or woman, but is more frequent with regard to the latter, because a harmony, an obvious order and self-restraining decorum, is most expected from her. then women of genius, even more than men, are likely to be enslaved by an impassioned sensibility. the world repels them more rudely, and they are of weaker bodily frame. those who seem overladen with electricity frighten those around them. "when she merely enters the room, i am what the french call _herisse_," said a man of petty feelings and worldly character of such a woman, whose depth of eye and powerful motion announced the conductor of the mysterious fluid. woe to such a woman who finds herself linked to such a man in bonds too close! it is the crudest of errors. he will detest her with all the bitterness of wounded self-love. he will take the whole prejudice of manhood upon himself, and, to the utmost of his power, imprison and torture her by its imperious rigors. yet, allow room enough, and the electric fluid will be found to invigorate and embellish, not destroy life. such women are the great actresses, the songsters. such traits we read in a late searching, though too french, analysis of the character of mademoiselle rachel, by a modern, la rochefeucault. the greeks thus represent the muses; they have not the golden serenity of apollo; they are overflowed with thought; there is something tragic in their air. such are the sibyls of gueroino; the eye is overfull of expression, dilated and lustrous; it seems to have drawn the whole being into it. sickness is the frequent result of this overcharged existence. to this region, however misunderstood, or interpreted with presumptuous carelessness, belong the phenomena of magnetism, or mesmerism, as it is now often called, where the trance of the ecstatica purports to be produced by the agency of one human being on another, instead of, as in her case, direct from the spirit. the worldling has his sneer at this as at the services of religion. "the churches can always be filled with women"--"show me a man in one of your magnetic states, and i will believe." women are, indeed, the easy victims both of priestcraft and self-delusion; but this would not be, if the intellect was developed in proportion to the other powers. they would then have a regulator, and be more in equipoise, yet must retain the same nervous susceptibility while their physical structure is such as it is. it is with just that hope that we welcome everything that tends to strengthen the fibre and develop the nature on more sides. when the intellect and affections are in harmony; when intellectual consciousness is calm and deep; inspiration will not be confounded with fancy. then, "she who advances with rapturous, lyrical glances, singing the song of the earth, singing its hymn to the gods," will not be pitied as a mad-woman, nor shrunk from as unnatural. the greeks, who saw everything in forms, which we are trying to ascertain as law, and classify as cause, embodied all this in the form of cassandra. cassandra was only unfortunate in receiving her gift too soon. the remarks, however, that the world still makes in such cases, are well expressed by the greek dramatist. in the trojan dames there are fine touches of nature with regard to cassandra. hecuba shows that mixture of shame and reverence that prosaic kindred always do toward the inspired child, the poet, the elected sufferer for the race. when the herald announces that cassandra is chosen to be the mistress of agamemnon, hecuba answers, with indignation, betraying the pride and faith she involuntarily felt in this daughter. "_hec_. the maiden of phoebus, to whom the golden-haired gave as a privilege a virgin life! _tal_. love of the inspired maiden hath pierced him. _hec_. then cast away, my child, the sacred keys, and from thy person the consecrated garlands which thou wearest." yet, when, a moment after, cassandra appears, singing, wildly, her inspired song, hecuba calls her, "my _frantic_ child." yet how graceful she is in her tragic _raptus_, the chorus shows. "_chorus_. how sweetly at thy house's ills thou smil'st, chanting what, haply, thou wilt not show true." if hecuba dares not trust her highest instinct about her daughter, still less can the vulgar mind of the herald talthybius, a man not without feeling, but with no princely, no poetic blood, abide the wild, prophetic mood which insults all his prejudices. "_tal_. the venerable, and that accounted wise, is nothing better than that of no repute; for the greatest king of all the greeks, the dear son of atreus, a possessed with the love of this mad-woman. i, indeed, am poor; yet i would not receive her to my bed." the royal agamemnon could see the beauty of cassandra; _he_ was not afraid of her prophetic gifts. the best topic for a chapter on this subject, in the present day, would be the history of the seeress of prevorst, the best observed subject of magnetism in our present times, and who, like her ancestresses of delphos, was roused to ecstasy or phrensy by the touch of the laurel. i observe in her case, and in one known to me here, that what might have been a gradual and gentle disclosure of remarkable powers was broken and jarred into disease by an unsuitable marriage. both these persons were unfortunate in not understanding what was involved in this relation, but acted ignorantly, as their friends desired. they thought that this was the inevitable destiny of woman. but when engaged in the false position, it was impossible for them to endure its dissonances, as those of less delicate perceptions can; and the fine flow of life was checked and sullied. they grew sick; but, even so, learned and disclosed more than those in health are wont to do. in such cases, worldlings sneer; but reverent men learn wondrous news, either from the person observed, or by thoughts caused in themselves by the observation. fenelon learns from guyon, kerner from his seeress, what we fain would know. but to appreciate such disclosures one must be a child; and here the phrase, "women and children," may, perhaps, be interpreted aright, that only little children shall enter into the kingdom of heaven. all these motions of the time, tides that betoken a waxing moon, overflow upon our land. the world at large is readier to let woman learn and manifest the capacities of her nature than it ever was before, and here is a less encumbered field and freer air than anywhere else. and it ought to be so; we ought to pay for isabella's jewels. the names of nations are feminine--religion, virtue and victory are feminine. to those who have a superstition, as to outward reigns, it is not without significance that the name of the queen of our motherland should at this crisis be victoria,--victoria the first. perhaps to us it may be given to disclose the era thus outwardly presaged. another isabella too at this time ascends the throne. might she open a new world to her sex! but, probably, these poor little women are, least of any, educated to serve as examples or inspirers for the rest. the spanish queen is younger; we know of her that she sprained her foot the other day, dancing in her private apartments; of victoria, that she reads aloud, in a distinct voice and agreeable manner, her addresses to parliament on certain solemn days, and, yearly, that she presents to the nation some new prop of royalty. these ladies have, very likely, been trained more completely to the puppet life than any other. the queens, who have been queens indeed, were trained by adverse circumstances to know the world around them and their own powers. it is moving, while amusing, to read of the scottish peasant measuring the print left by the queen's foot as she walks, and priding himself on its beauty. it is so natural to wish to find what is fair and precious in high places,--so astonishing to find the bourbon a glutton, or the guelph a dullard or gossip. in our own country, women are, in many respects, better situated than men. good books are allowed, with more time to read them. they are not so early forced into the bustle of life, nor so weighed down by demands for outward success. the perpetual changes, incident to our society, make the blood circulate freely through the body politic, and, if not favorable at present to the grace and bloom of life, they are so to activity, resource, and would be to reflection, but for a low materialist tendency, from which the women are generally exempt in themselves, though its existence, among the men, has a tendency to repress their impulses and make them doubt their instincts, thus often paralyzing their action during the best years. but they have time to think, and no traditions chain them, and few conventionalities, compared with what must be met in other nations. there is no reason why they should not discover that the secrets of nature are open, the revelations of the spirit waiting, for whoever will seek them. when the mind is once awakened to this consciousness, it will not be restrained by the habits of the past, but fly to seek the seeds of a heavenly future. their employments are more favorable to meditation than those of men. woman is not addressed religiously here more than elsewhere. she is told that she should be worthy to be the mother of a washington, or the companion of some good man.' but in many, many instances, she has already learned that all bribes have the same flaw; that truth and good are to be sought solely for their own sakes. and, already, an ideal sweetness floats over many forms, shines in many eyes. already deep questions are put by young girls on the great theme: what shall i do to enter upon the eternal life? men are very courteous to them. they praise them often, check them seldom. there is chivalry in the feeling toward "the ladies," which gives them the best seats in the stage-coach, frequent admission, not only to lectures of all sorts, but to courts of justice, halls of legislature, reform conventions. the newspaper editor "would be better pleased that the lady's book should be filled up exclusively by ladies. it would then, indeed, be a true gem, worthy, to be presented by young men to the, mistress of their affections." can gallantry go further? in this country is venerated, wherever seen, the character which goethe spoke of as an ideal, which he saw actualized in his friend and patroness, the grand duchess amelia: "the excellent woman is she, who, if the husband dies, can be a father to the children." and this, if read aright, tells a great deal. women who speak in public, if they have a moral power, such as has been felt from angelina grimke and abby kelly,--that is, if they speak for conscience' sake, to serve a cause which they hold sacred,--invariably subdue the prejudices of their hearers, and excite an interest proportionate to the aversion with which it had been the purpose to regard them. a passage in a private letter so happily illustrates this, that it must be inserted here. abby kelly in the town-house of ----. "the scene was not unheroic--to see that woman, true to humanity and her own nature, a centre of rude eyes and tongues, even gentlemen feeling licensed to make part of a species of mob around a female out of her sphere. as she took her seat in the desk amid the great noise, and in the throng, full, like a wave, of something to ensue, i saw her humanity in a gentleness and unpretension, tenderly open to the sphere around her, and, had she not been supported by the power of the will of genuineness and principle, she would have failed. it led her to prayer, which, in woman especially, is childlike; sensibility and will going to the side of god and looking up to him; and humanity was poured out in aspiration. "she acted like a gentle hero, with her mild decision and womanly calmness. all heroism is mild, and quiet, and gentle, for it is life and possession; and combativeness and firmness show a want of actualness. she is as earnest, fresh and simple, as when she first entered the crusade. i think she did much good, more than the men in her place could do, for woman feels more as being and reproducing--this brings the subject more into home relations. men speak through, and mostly from intellect, and this addresses itself to that in others which is combative." not easily shall we find elsewhere, or before this time, any written observations on the same subject, so delicate and profound. the late dr. channing, whose enlarged and tender and religious nature shared every onward impulse of his tune, though his thoughts followed his wishes with a deliberative caution which belonged to his habits and temperament, was greatly interested in these expectations for women. his own treatment of them was absolutely and thoroughly religious. he regarded them as souls, each of which had a destiny of its own, incalculable to other minds, and whose leading it must follow, guided by the light of a private conscience. he had sentiment, delicacy, kindness, taste; but they were all pervaded and ruled by this one thought, that all beings had souls, and must vindicate their own inheritance. thus all beings were treated by him with an equal, and sweet, though solemn, courtesy. the young and unknown, the woman and the child, all felt themselves regarded with an infinite expectation, from which there was no reaction to vulgar prejudice. he demanded of all he met, to use his favorite phrase, "great truths." his memory, every way dear and reverend, is, by many, especially cherished for this intercourse of unbroken respect. at one time, when the progress of harriet martineau through this country, angelina grimke's appearance in public, and the visit of mrs. jameson, had turned his thoughts to this subject, he expressed high hopes as to what the coming era would bring to woman. he had been much pleased with the dignified courage of mrs. jameson in taking up the defence of her sex in from which women usually shrink, because, if they express themselves on such subjects with sufficient force and clearness to do any good, they are exposed to assaults whose vulgarity makes them painful. in intercourse with such a woman, he had shared her indignation at the base injustice, in many respects, and in many regions, done to the sex; and been led to think of it far more than ever before. he seemed to think that he might some time write upon the subject. that his aid is withdrawn from the cause is a subject of great regret; for, on this question as on others, he would have known how to sum up the evidence, and take, in the noblest spirit, middle ground. he always furnished a platform on which opposing parties could stand and look at one another under the influence of his mildness and enlightened candor. two younger thinkers, men both, have uttered noble prophecies, auspicious for woman. kinmont, all whose thoughts tended towards the establishment of the reign of love and peace, thought that the inevitable means of this would be an increased predominance given to the idea of woman. had he lived longer, to see the growth of the peace party, the reforms in life and medical practice which seek to substitute water for wine and drugs, pulse for animal food, he would have been confirmed in his view of the way in which the desired changes are to be effected. in this connection i must mention shelley, who, like all men of genius, shared the feminine development, and, unlike many, knew it. his life was one of the first pulse-beats in the present reform-growth. he, too, abhorred blood and heat, and, by his system and his song, tended to reinstate a plant-like gentleness in the development of energy. in harmony with this, his ideas of marriage were lofty, and, of course, no less so of woman, her nature, and destiny. for woman, if, by a sympathy as to outward condition, she is led to aid the enfranchisement of the slave, must be no less so, by inward tendency, to favor measures which promise to bring the world more thoroughly and deeply into harmony with her nature. when the lamb takes place of the lion as the emblem of nations, both women and men will be as children of one spirit, perpetual learners of the word and doers thereof, not hearers only. a writer in the new york pathfinder, in two articles headed "femality," has uttered a still more pregnant word than any we have named. he views woman truly from the soul, and not from society, and the depth and leading of his thoughts are proportionably remarkable. he views the feminine nature as a harmonizer of the vehement elements, and this has often been hinted elsewhere; but what he expresses most forcibly is the lyrical, the inspiring and inspired apprehensiveness of her being. this view being identical with what i have before attempted to indicate, as to her superior susceptibility to magnetic or electric influence, i will now try to express myself more fully. there are two aspects of woman's nature, represented by the ancients as muse and minerva. it is the former to which the writer in the pathfinder looks. it is the latter which wordsworth has in mind, when he says, "with a placid brow, which woman ne'er should forfeit, keep thy vow." the especial genius of woman i believe to be electrical in movement, intuitive in function, spiritual in tendency. she excels not so easily in classification, or recreation, as in an instinctive seizure of causes, and a simple breathing out of what she receives, that has the singleness of life, rather than the selecting and energizing of art. more native is it to her to be the living model of the artist than to set apart from herself any one form in objective reality; more native to inspire and receive the poem, than to create it. in so far as soul is in her completely developed, all soul is the same, but in so far as it is modified in her as woman, it flows, it breathes, it sings, rather than deposits soil, or finishes work; and that which is especially feminine flushes, in blossom, the face of earth, and pervades, like air and water, all this seeming solid globe, daily renewing and purifying its life. such may be the especially feminine element spoken of as femality. but it is no more the order of nature that it should be incarnated pure in any form, than that the masculine energy should exist unmingled with it in any form. male and female represent the two sides of the great radical dualism. but, in fact, they are perpetually passing into one another. fluid hardens to solid, solid rushes to fluid. there is no wholly masculine man, no purely feminine woman. history jeers at the attempts of physiologists to bind great original laws by the forms which flow from them. they make a rule; they say from observation what can and cannot be. in vain! nature provides exceptions to every rule. she sends women to battle, and sets hercules spinning; she enables women to bear immense burdens, cold, and frost; she enables the man, who feels maternal love, to nourish his infant like a mother. of late she plays still gayer pranks. not only she deprives organizations, but organs, of a necessary end. she enables people to read with the top of the head, and see with the pit of the stomach. presently she will make a female newton, and a male syren. man partakes of the feminine in the apollo, woman of the masculine as minerva. what i mean by the muse is that unimpeded clearness of the intuitive powers, which a perfectly truthful adherence to every admonition of the higher instincts would bring to a finely organized human being. it may appear as prophecy or as poesy. it enabled cassandra to foresee the results of actions passing round her; the seeress to behold the true character of the person through the mask of his customary life. (sometimes she saw a feminine form behind the man, sometimes the reverse.) it enabled the daughter of linnaeus to see the soul of the flower exhaling from the flower. [footnote: the daughter of linnaeus states, that, while looking steadfastly at the red lily, she saw its spirit hovering above it, as a red flame. it is true, this, like many fair spirit-stories, may be explained away as an optical illusion, but its poetic beauty and meaning would, even then, make it valuable, as an illustration of the spiritual fact.] it gave a man, but a poet-man, the power of which he thus speaks: "often in my contemplation of nature, radiant intimations, and as it were sheaves of light, appear before me as to the facts of cosmogony, in which my mind has, perhaps, taken especial part." he wisely adds, "but it is necessary with earnestness to verify the knowledge we gain by these flashes of light." and none should forget this. sight must be verified by light before it can deserve the honors of piety and genius. yet sight comes first, and of this sight of the world of causes, this approximation to the region of primitive motions, women i hold to be especially capable. even without equal freedom with the other sex, they have already shown themselves so; and should these faculties have free play, i believe they will open new, deeper and purer sources of joyous inspiration than have as yet refreshed the earth. let us be wise, and not impede the soul. let her work as she will. let us have one creative energy, one incessant revelation. let it take what form it will, and let us not bind it by the past to man or woman, black or white. jove sprang from rhea, pallas from jove. so let it be. if it has been the tendency of these remarks to call woman rather to the minerva side,--if i, unlike the more generous writer, have spoken from society no less than the soul,--let it be pardoned! it is love that has caused this,--love for many incarcerated souls, that might be freed, could the idea of religious self-dependence be established in them, could the weakening habit of dependence on others be broken up. proclus teaches that every life has, in its sphere, a totality or wholeness of the animating powers of the other spheres; having only, as its own characteristic, a predominance of some one power. thus jupiter comprises, within himself, the other twelve powers, which stand thus: the first triad is _demiurgic or fabricative_, that is, jupiter, neptune, vulcan; the second, _defensive_, vesta, minerva, mars; the third, _vivific_, ceres, juno, diana; and the fourth, mercury, venus, apollo, _elevating and harmonic_. in the sphere of jupiter, energy is predominant--with venus, beauty; but each comprehends and apprehends all the others. when the same community of life and consciousness of mind begin among men, humanity will have, positively and finally, subjugated its brute elements and titanic childhood; criticism will have perished; arbitrary limits and ignorant censure be impossible; all will have entered upon the liberty of law, and the harmony of common growth. then apollo will sing to his lyre what vulcan forges on the anvil, and the muse weave anew the tapestries of minerva. it is, therefore, only in the present crisis that the preference is given to minerva. the power of continence must establish the legitimacy of freedom, the power of self-poise the perfection of motion. every relation, every gradation of nature is incalculably precious, but only to the soul which is poised upon itself, and to whom no loss, no change, can bring dull discord, for it is in harmony with the central soul. if any individual live too much in relations, so that he becomes a stranger to the resources of his own nature, he falls, after a while, into a distraction, or imbecility, from which he can only be cured by a time of isolation, which gives the renovating fountains time to rise up. with a society it is the same. many minds, deprived of the traditionary or instinctive means of passing a cheerful existence, must find help in self-impulse, or perish. it is therefore that, while any elevation, in the view of union, is to be hailed with joy, we shall not decline celibacy as the great fact of the time. it is one from which no vow, no arrangement, can at present save a thinking mind. for now the rowers are pausing on their oars; they wait a change before they can pull together. all tends to illustrate the thought of a wise cotemporary. union is only possible to those who are units. to be fit for relations in time, souls, whether of man or woman, must be able to do without them in the spirit. it is therefore that i would have woman lay aside all thought, such as she habitually cherishes, of being taught and led by men. i would have her, like the indian girl, dedicate herself to the sun, the sun of truth, and go nowhere if his beams did not make clear the path. i would have her free from compromise, from complaisance, from helplessness, because i would have her good enough and strong enough to love one and all beings, from the fulness, not the poverty of being. men, as at present instructed, will not help this work, because they also are under the slavery of habit. i have seen with delight their poetic impulses. a sister is the fairest ideal, and how nobly wordsworth, and even byron, have written of a sister! there is no sweeter sight than to see a father with his little daughter. very vulgar men become refined to the eye when leading a little girl by the hand. at that moment, the right relation between the sexes seems established, and you feel as if the man would aid in the noblest purpose, if you ask him in behalf of his little daughter. once, two fine figures stood before me, thus. the father of very intellectual aspect, his falcon eye softened by affection as he looked down on his fair child; she the image of himself, only more graceful and brilliant in expression. i was reminded of southey's kehama; when, lo, the dream was rudely broken! they were talking of education, and he said, "i shall not have maria brought too forward. if she knows too much, she will never find a husband; superior women hardly ever can." "surely," said his wife, with a blush, "you wish maria to be as good and wise as she can, whether it will help her to marriage or not." "no," he persisted, "i want her to have a sphere and a home, and some one to protect her when i am gone." it was a trifling incident, but made a deep impression. i felt that the holiest relations fail to instruct the unprepared and perverted mind. if this man, indeed, could have looked at it on the other side, he was the last that would have been willing to have been taken himself for the home and protection he could give, but would have been much more likely to repeat the tale of alcibiades with his phials. but men do _not_ look at both sides, and women must leave off asking them and being influenced by them, but retire within themselves, and explore the ground-work of life till they find their peculiar secret. then, when they come forth again, renovated and baptized, they will know how to turn all dross to gold, and will be rich and free though they live in a hut, tranquil if in a crowd. then their sweet singing shall not be from passionate impulse, but the lyrical overflow of a divine rapture, and a new music shall be evolved from this many-chorded world. grant her, then, for a while, the armor and the javelin. let her put from her the press of other minds, and meditate in virgin loneliness. the same idea shall reappear in due time as muse, or ceres, the all-kindly, patient earth-spirit. among the throng of symptoms which denote the present tendency to a crisis in the life of woman,--which resembles the change from girlhood, with its beautiful instincts, but unharmonized thoughts, its blind pupilage and restless seeking, to self-possessed, wise and graceful womanhood,--i have attempted to select a few. one of prominent interest is the unison upon the subject of three male minds, which, for width of culture, power of self-concentration and dignity of aim, take rank as the prophets of the coming age, while their histories and labors are rooted in the past. swedenborg came, he tells us, to interpret the past revelation and unfold a new. he announces the new church that is to prepare the way for the new jerusalem, a city built of precious stones, hardened and purified by secret processes in the veins of earth through the ages. swedenborg approximated to that harmony between the scientific and poetic lives of mind, which we hope from the perfected man. the links that bind together the realms of nature, the mysteries that accompany her births and growths, were unusually plain to him. he seems a man to whom insight was given at a period when the mental frame was sufficiently matured to retain and express its gifts. his views of woman are, in the main, satisfactory. in some details we my object to them, as, in all his system, there are still remains of what is arbitrary and seemingly groundless--fancies that show the marks of old habits, and a nature as yet not thoroughly leavened with the spiritual leaven. at least, so it seems to me now. i speak reverently, for i find such reason to venerate swedenborg, from an imperfect knowledge of his mind, that i feel one more perfect might explain to me much that does not now secure my sympathy. his idea of woman is sufficiently large and noble to interpose no obstacle to her progress. his idea of marriage is consequently sufficient. man and woman share an angelic ministry; the union is of one with one, permanent and pure. as the new church extends its ranks, the needs of woman must be more considered. quakerism also establishes woman on a sufficient equality with man. but, though the original thought of quakerism is pure, its scope is too narrow, and its influence, having established a certain amount of good and made clear some truth, must, by degrees, be merged in one of wider range. [footnote: in worship at stated periods, in daily expression, whether by word or deed, the quakers have placed woman on the same platform with man. can any one assert that they have reason to repent this?] the mind of swedenborg appeals to the various nature of man, and allows room for aesthetic culture and the free expression of energy. as apostle of the new order, of the social fabric that is to rise from love, and supersede the old that was based on strife, charles fourier comes next, expressing, in an outward order, many facts of which swedenborg saw the secret springs. the mind of fourier, though grand and clear, was, in some respects, superficial. he was a stranger to the highest experiences. his eye was fixed on the outward more than the inward needs of man. yet he, too, was a seer of the divine order, in its musical expression, if not in its poetic soul. he has filled one department of instruction for the new era, and the harmony in action, and freedom for individual growth, he hopes, shall exist; and, if the methods he proposes should not prove the true ones, yet his fair propositions shall give many hints, and make room for the inspiration needed for such. he, too, places woman on an entire equality with man, and wishes to give to one as to the other that independence which must result from intellectual and practical development. those who will consult him for no other reason, might do so to see how the energies of woman may be made available in the pecuniary way. the object of fourier was to give her the needed means of self-help, that she might dignify and unfold her life for her own happiness, and that of society. the many, now, who see their daughters liable to destitution, or vice to escape from it, may be interested to examine the means, if they have not yet soul enough to appreciate the ends he proposes. on the opposite side of the advancing army leads the great apostle of individual culture, goethe. swedenborg makes organization and union the necessary results of solitary thought. fourier, whose nature was, above all, constructive, looked to them too exclusively. better institutions, he thought, will make better men. goethe expressed, in every way, the other side. if one man could present better forms, the rest could not use them till ripe for them. fourier says, as the institutions, so the men! all follies are excusable and natural under bad institutions. goethe thinks, as the man, so the institutions! there is no excuse for ignorance and folly. a man can grow in any place, if he will. ay! but, goethe, bad institutions are prison-walls and impure air, that make him stupid, so that he does not will. and thou, fourier, do not expect to change mankind at once, or even "in three generations," by arrangement of groups and series, or flourish of trumpets for attractive industry. if these attempts are made by unready men, they will fail. yet we prize the theory of fourier no less than the profound suggestion of goethe. both are educating the age to a clearer consciousness of what man needs, what man can be; and better life must ensue. goethe, proceeding on his own track, elevating the human being, in the most imperfect states of society, by continual efforts at self-culture, takes as good care of women as of men. his mother, the bold, gay frau aja, with such playful freedom of nature; the wise and gentle maiden, known in his youth, over whose sickly solitude "the holy ghost brooded as a dove;" his sister, the intellectual woman _par excellence_; the duchess amelia; lili, who combined the character of the woman of the world with the lyrical sweetness of the shepherdess, on whose chaste and noble breast flowers and gems were equally at home; all these had supplied abundant suggestions to his mind, as to the wants and the possible excellences of woman. and from his poetic soul grew up forms new and more admirable than life has yet produced, for whom his clear eye marked out paths in the future. in faust margaret represents the redeeming power, which, at present, upholds woman, while waiting for a better day. the lovely little girl, pure in instinct, ignorant in mind, is misled and profaned by man abusing her confidence.[footnote: as faust says, her only fault was a "kindly delusion,"--"ein guter wahn."] to the mater _dolorosa_ she appeals for aid. it is given to the soul, if not against outward sorrow; and the maiden, enlightened by her sufferings, refusing to receive temporal salvation by the aid of an evil power, obtains the eternal in its stead. in the second part, the intellectual man, after all his manifold strivings, owes to the interposition of her whom he had betrayed _his_ salvation. she intercedes, this time, herself a glorified spirit, with the mater _gloriosa_. leonora, too, is woman, as we see her now, pure, thoughtful, refined by much acquaintance with grief. iphigenia he speaks of in his journals as his "daughter," and she is the daughter [footnote: goethe was as false to his ideas, in practice, as lord herbert. and his punishment was the just and usual one of connections formed beneath the standard of right, from the impulses of the baser self. iphigenia was the worthy daughter of his mind; but the son, child of his degrading connection in actual life, corresponded with that connection. this son, on whom goethe vainly lavished so much thought and care, was like his mother, and like goethe's attachment for his mother. "this young man," says a late well-informed writer (m. henri blaze), "wieland, with good reason, called the son of the servant, _der sohn der magd_. he inherited from his father only his name and his _physique_."] whom a man will wish, even if he has chosen his wife from very mean motives. she is the virgin, steadfast, soul, to whom falsehood is more dreadful than any other death. but it is to wilhelm meister's apprenticeship and wandering years that i would especially refer, as these volumes contain the sum of the sage's observations during a long life, as to what man should do, under present circumstances, to obtain mastery over outward, through an initiation into inward life, and severe discipline of faculty. as wilhelm advances into the upward path, he becomes acquainted with better forms of woman, by knowing how to seek, and how to prize them when found. for the weak and immature man will, often, admire a superior woman, but he will not be able to abide by a feeling which is too severe a tax on his habitual existence. but, with wilhelm, the gradation is natural, and expresses ascent in the scale of being. at first, he finds charm in mariana and philina, very common forms of feminine character, not without redeeming traits, no less than charms, but without wisdom or purity. soon he is attended by mignon, the finest expression ever yet given to what i have called the lyrical element in woman. she is a child, but too full-grown for this man; he loves, but cannot follow her; yet is the association not without an enduring influence. poesy has been domesticated in his life; and, though he strives to bind down her heavenward impulse, as art or apothegm, these are only the tents, beneath which he may sojourn for a while, but which may be easily struck, and carried on limitless wanderings. advancing into the region of thought, he encounters a wise philanthropy in natalia (instructed, let us observe, by an _uncle_); practical judgment and the outward economy of life in theresa; pure devotion in the fair saint. further, and last, he comes to the house of macaria, the soul of a star; that is, a pure and perfected intelligence embodied in feminine form, and the centre of a world whose members revolve harmoniously around her. she instructs him in the archives of a rich human history, and introduces him to the contemplation of the heavens. from the hours passed by the side of mariana to these with macaria, is a wide distance for human feet to traverse. nor has wilhelm travelled so far, seen and suffered so much, in vain, he now begins to study how he may aid the next generation; he sees objects in harmonious arrangement, and from his observations deduces precepts by which to guide his course as a teacher and a master, "help-full, comfort-full." in all these expressions of woman, the aim of goethe is satisfactory to me. he aims at a pure self-subsistence, and a free development of any powers with which they may be gifted by nature as much for them as for men. they are units, addressed as souls. accordingly, the meeting between man and woman, as represented by him, is equal and noble; and, if he does not depict marriage, he makes it possible. in the macaria, bound with the heavenly bodies in fixed revolutions, the centre of all relations, herself unrelated, he expresses the minerva side of feminine nature. it was not by chance that goethe gave her this name. macaria, the daughter of hercules, who offered herself as a victim for the good of her country, was canonized by the greeks, and worshipped as the goddess of true felicity. goethe has embodied this felicity as the serenity that arises from wisdom, a wisdom such as the jewish wise man venerated, alike instructed in the designs of heaven, and the methods necessary to carry them into effect upon earth. mignon is the electrical, inspired, lyrical nature. and wherever it appears we echo in our aspirations that of the child, "so let me seem until i be:- take not the _white robe_ away." * * * * * "though i lived without care and toil, yet felt i sharp pain enough to make me again forever young." all these women, though we see them in relations, we can think of as unrelated. they all are very individual, yet seem nowhere restrained. they satisfy for the present, yet arouse an infinite expectation. the economist theresa, the benevolent natalia, the fair saint, have chosen a path, but their thoughts are not narrowed to it. the functions of life to them are not ends, but suggestions. thus, to them, all things are important, because none is necessary. their different characters have fair play, and each is beautiful in its minute indications, for nothing is enforced or conventional; but everything, however slight, grows from the essential life of the being. mignon and theresa wear male attire when they like, and it is graceful for them to do so, while macaria is confined to her arm-chair behind the green curtain, and the fair saint could not bear a speck of dust on her robe. all things are in their places in this little world, because all is natural and free, just as "there is room for everything out of doors." yet all is rounded in by natural harmony, which will always arise where truth and love are sought in the light of freedom. goethe's book bodes an era of freedom like its own of "extraordinary, generous seeking," and new revelations. new individualities shall be developed in the actual world, which shall advance upon it as gently as the figures come out upon his canvas. i have indicated on this point the coincidence between his hopes and those of fourier, though his are directed by an infinitely higher and deeper knowledge of human nature. but, for our present purpose, it is sufficient to show how surely these different paths have conducted to the same end two earnest thinkers. in some other place i wish to point out similar coincidences between goethe's model school and the plans of fourier, which may cast light upon the page of prophecy. * * * * * many women have observed that the time drew nigh for a better care of the sex, and have thrown out hints that may be useful. among these may be mentioned-miss edgeworth, who, although restrained by the habits of her age and country, and belonging more to the eighteenth than the nineteenth century, has done excellently as far as she goes. she had a horror of sentimentalism, and of the love of notoriety, and saw how likely women, in the early stages of culture, were to aim at these. therefore she bent her efforts to recommending domestic life. but the methods she recommends are such as will fit a character for any position to which it may be called. she taught a contempt of falsehood, no less in its most graceful, than in its meanest apparitions; the cultivation of a clear, independent judgment, and adherence to its dictates; habits of various and liberal study and employment, and a capacity for friendship. her standard of character is the same for both sexes,--truth, honor, enlightened benevolence, and aspiration after knowledge. of poetry, she knows nothing, and her religion consists in honor and loyalty to obligations once assumed--in short, in "the great idea of duty which holds us upright." her whole tendency is practical. mrs. jameson is a sentimentalist, and, therefore, suits us ill in some respects, but she is full of talent, has a just and refined perception of the beautiful, and a genuine courage when she finds it necessary. she does not appear to have thought out, thoroughly, the subject on which we are engaged, and her opinions, expressed as opinions, are sometimes inconsistent with one another. but from the refined perception of character, admirable suggestions are given in her "women of shakspeare," and "loves of the poets." but that for which i most respect her is the decision with which she speaks on a subject which refined women are usually afraid to approach, for fear of the insult and scurrile jest they may encounter; but on which she neither can nor will restrain the indignation of a full heart. i refer to the degradation of a large portion of women into the sold and polluted slaves of men, and the daring with which the legislator and man of the world lifts his head beneath the heavens, and says, "this must be; it cannot be helped; it is a necessary accompaniment of _civilization_." so speaks the _citizen_. man born of woman, the father of daughters, declares that he will and must buy the comforts and commercial advantages of his london, vienna, paris, new york, by conniving at the moral death, the damnation, so far as the action of society can insure it, of thousands of women for each splendid metropolis. o men! i speak not to you. it is true that your wickedness (for you must not deny that at least nine thousand out of the ten fall through the vanity you have systematically flattered, or the promises you have treacherously broken); yes, it is true that your wickedness is its own punishment. your forms degraded and your eyes clouded by secret sin; natural harmony broken and fineness of perception destroyed in your mental and bodily organization; god and love shut out from your hearts by the foul visitants you have permitted there; incapable of pure marriage; incapable of pure parentage; incapable of worship; o wretched men, your sin is its own punishment! you have lost the world in losing yourselves. who ruins another has admitted the worm to the root of his own tree, and the fuller ye fill the cup of evil, the deeper must be your own bitter draught. but i speak not to you--you need to teach and warn one another. and more than one voice rises in earnestness. and all that _women_ say to the heart that has once chosen the evil path is considered prudery, or ignorance, or perhaps a feebleness of nature which exempts from similar temptations. but to you, women, american women, a few words may not be addressed in vain. one here and there may listen. you know how it was in the oriental clime, one man, if wealth permitted, had several wives and many handmaidens. the chastity and equality of genuine marriage, with "the thousand decencies that flow" from its communion, the precious virtues that gradually may be matured within its enclosure, were unknown. but this man did not wrong according to his light. what he did, he might publish to god and man; it was not a wicked secret that hid in vile lurking-places and dens, like the banquets of beasts of prey. those women were not lost, not polluted in their own eyes, nor those of others. if they were not in a state of knowledge and virtue, they were at least in one of comparative innocence. you know how it was with the natives of this continent. a chief had many wives, whom he maintained and who did his household work; those women were but servants, still they enjoyed the respect of others and their own. they lived together, in peace. they knew that a sin against what was in their nation esteemed virtue, would be as strictly punished in man as in woman. now pass to the countries where marriage is between one and one. i will not speak of the pagan nations, but come to those which own the christian rule. we all know what that enjoins; there is a standard to appeal to. see, now, not the mass of the people, for we all know that it is a proverb and a bitter jest to speak of the "down-trodden million." we know that, down to our own time, a principle never had so fair a chance to pervade the mass of the people, but that we must solicit its illustration from select examples. take the paladin, take the poet. did _they_ believe purity more impossible to man than to woman? did they wish woman to believe that man was less amenable to higher motives,--that pure aspirations would not guard him against bad passions,--that honorable employments and temperate habits would not keep him free from slavery to the body? o no! love was to them a part of heaven, and they could not even wish to receive its happiness, unless assured of being worthy of it. its highest happiness to them was that it made them wish to be worthy. they courted probation. they wished not the title of knight till the banner had been upheld in the heats of battle, amid the rout of cowards. i ask of you, young girls--i do not mean _you_ whose heart is that of an old coxcomb, though your looks have not yet lost their sunny tinge. not of you whose whole character is tainted with vanity, inherited or taught, who have early learned the love of coquettish excitement, and whose eyes rove restlessly in search of a "conquest" or a "beau;" you who are ashamed _not_ to be seen by others the mark of the most contemptuous flattery or injurious desire. to such i do not speak. but to thee, maiden, who, if not so fair, art yet of that unpolluted nature which milton saw when he dreamed of comus and the paradise. thou, child of an unprofaned wedlock, brought up amid the teachings of the woods and fields, kept fancy-free by useful employment and a free flight into the heaven of thought, loving to please only those whom thou wouldst not be ashamed to love; i ask of thee, whose cheek has not forgotten its blush nor thy heart its lark-like hopes, if he whom thou mayest hope the father will send thee, as the companion of life's toils and joys, is not to thy thought pure? is not manliness to thy thought purity, not lawlessness? can his lips speak falsely? can he do, in secret, what he could not avow to the mother that bore him? o say, dost thou not look for a heart free, open as thine own, all whose thoughts may be avowed, incapable of wronging the innocent, or still further degrading the fallen--a man, in short, in whom brute nature is entirely subject to the impulses of his better self? yes! it was thus that thou didst hope; for i have many, many times seen the image of a future life, of a destined spouse, painted on the tablets of a virgin heart. it might be that she was not true to these hopes. she was taken into what is called "the world," froth and scum as it mostly is on the social caldron. there, she saw fair woman carried in the waltz close to the heart of a being who appeared to her a satyr. being warned by a male friend that he was in fact of that class, and not fit for such familiar nearness to a chaste being, the advised replied that "women should know nothing about such things." she saw one fairer given in wedlock to a man of the same class. "papa and mamma said that 'all men were faulty at some time in their lives; they had a great many temptations.' frederick would be so happy at home; he would not want to do wrong." she turned to the married women; they, o tenfold horror! laughed at her supposing "men were like women." sometimes, i say, she was not true, and either sadly accommodated herself to "woman's lot," or acquired a taste for satyr-society, like some of the nymphs, and all the bacchanals of old. but to those who could not and would not accept a mess of pottage, or a circe cup, in lieu of their birthright, and to these others who have yet their choice to make, i say, courage! i have some words of cheer for you. a man, himself of unbroken purity, reported to me the words of a foreign artist, that "the world would never be better till men subjected themselves to the same laws they had imposed on women;" that artist, he added, was true to the thought. the same was true of canova, the same of beethoven. "like each other demi-god, they kept themselves free from stain;" and michael angelo, looking over here from the loneliness of his century, might meet some eyes that need not shun his glance. in private life, i am assured by men who are not so sustained and occupied by the worship of pure beauty, that a similar consecration is possible, is practised; that many men feel that no temptation can be too strong for the will of man, if he invokes the aid of the spirit instead of seeking extenuation from the brute alliances of his nature. in short, what the child fancies is really true, though almost the whole world declares it a lie. man is a child of god; and if he seeks his guidance to keep the heart with diligence, it will be so given that all the issues of life may be pure. life will then be a temple. the temple round spread green the pleasant ground; the fair colonnade be of pure marble pillars made; strong to sustain the roof, time and tempest proof; yet, amidst which, the lightest breeze can play as it please; the audience hall be free to all who revere the power worshipped here, sole guide of youth, unswerving truth. in the inmost shrine stands the image divine, only seen by those whose deeds have worthy been- priestlike clean. those, who initiated are, declare, as the hours usher in varying hopes and powers; it changes its face, it changes its age, now a young, beaming grace, now nestorian sage; but, to the pure in heart, this shape of primal art in age is fair, in youth seems wise, beyond compare, above surprise; what it teaches native seems, its new lore our ancient dreams; incense rises from the ground; music flows around; firm rest the feet below, clear gaze the eyes above, when truth, to point the way through life, assumes the wand of love; but, if she cast aside the robe of green, winter's silver sheen, white, pure as light, makes gentle shroud as worthy weed as bridal robe had been. [footnote: as described by the historians:- "the temple of juno is like what the character of woman should be. columns! graceful decorums, attractive yet sheltering. porch! noble, inviting aspect of the life. kaos! receives the worshippers. see here the statue of the divinity. ophistodpmos! sanctuary where the most precious possessions were kept safe from the hand of the spoiler and the eye of the world."] we are now in a transition state, and but few steps have yet been taken. from polygamy, europe passed to the marriage _de convenance_. this was scarcely an improvement an attempt was then made to substitute genuine marriage (the mutual choice of souls inducing a permanent union), as yet baffled on every side by the haste, the ignorance, or the impurity of man. where man assumes a high principle to which he is not yet ripened, it will happen, for a long time, that the few will be nobler than before; the many, worse. thus now. in the country of sidney and milton, the metropolis is a den of wickedness, and a sty of sensuality; in the country of lady russell, the custom of english peeresses, of selling their daughters to the highest bidder, is made the theme and jest of fashionable novels by unthinking children who would stare at the idea of sending them to a turkish slave-dealer, though the circumstances of the bargain are there less degrading, as the will and thoughts of the person sold are not so degraded by it, and it is not done in defiance of an acknowledged law of right in the land and the age. i must here add that i do not believe there ever was put upon record more depravation of man, and more despicable frivolity of thought and aim in woman; than in the novels which purport to give the picture of english fashionable life, which are read with such favor in our drawing-rooms, and give the tone to the manners of some circles. compared with the cold, hard-hearted folly there described, crime is hopeful; for it, at least, shows some power remaining in the mental constitution. to return:--attention has been awakened among men to the stains of celibacy, and the profanations of marriage. they begin to write about it and lecture about it. it is the tendency now to endeavor to help the erring by showing them the physical law. this is wise and excellent; but forget not the better half. cold bathing and exercise will not suffice to keep a life pure, without an inward baptism, and noble, exhilarating employment for the thoughts and the passions. early marriages are desirable, but if (and the world is now so out of joint that there are a hundred thousand chances to one against it) a man does not early, or at all, find the person to whom he can be united in the marriage of souls, will you give him in the marriage _de convenance_? or, if not married, can you find no way for him to lead a virtuous and happy life? think of it well, ye who think yourselves better than pagans, for many of _them_ knew this sure way. [footnote: the persian sacred books, the desatir, describe the great and holy prince ky khosrou, as being "an angel, and the son of an angel," one to whom the supreme says, "thou art not absent from before me for one twinkling of an eye. i am never out of thy heart. and i am contained in nothing but in thy heart, and in a heart like thy heart. and i am nearer unto thee than thou art to thyself." this prince had in his golden seraglio three ladies of surpassing beauty, and all four, in this royal monastery, passed their lives, and left the world as virgins. the persian people had no scepticism when the history of such a mind was narrated.] to you, women of america, it is more especially my business to address myself on this subject, and my advice may be classed under three heads: clear your souls from the taint of vanity. do not rejoice in conquests, either that your power to allure may be seen by other women, or for the pleasure of rousing passionate feelings that gratify your love of excitement. it must happen, no doubt, that frank and generous women will excite love they do not reciprocate, but, in nine cases out of ten, the woman has, half consciously, done much to excite. in this case, she shall not be held guiltless, either as to the unhappiness or injury of the lover. pure love, inspired by a worthy object, must ennoble and bless, whether mutual or not; but that which is excited by coquettish attraction of any grade of refinement, must cause bitterness and doubt, as to the reality of human goodness, so soon as the flush of passion is over. and, that you may avoid all taste for these false pleasures, "steep the soul in one pure love, and it will lost thee long." the love of truth, the love of excellence, whether you clothe them in the person of a special object or not, will have power to save you from following duessa, and lead you in the green glades where una's feet have trod. it was on this one subject that a venerable champion of good, the last representative of the spirit which sanctified the revolution, and gave our country such a sunlight of hope in the eyes of the nations, the same who lately, in boston, offered anew to the young men the pledge taken by the young men of his day, offered, also, his counsel, on being addressed by the principal of a girl's school, thus:-reply of mr. adams. mr. adams was so deeply affected by the address of miss foster, as to be for some time inaudible. when heard, he spoke as follows: "this is the first instance in which a lady has thus addressed me personally; and i trust that all the ladies present will be able sufficiently to enter into my feelings to know that i am more affected by this honor than by any other i could hare received, "you have been pleased, madam, to allude to the character of my father, and the history of my family, and their services to the country. it is indeed true that, from the existence of the republic as an independent nation, my father and myself have been in the public service of the country, almost without interruption. i came into the world, as a person having personal responsibilities, with the declaration of independence, which constituted us a nation. i was a child at that time, and had then perhaps the greatest of blessings that can be bestowed on man--a mother who was anxious and capable to form her children to be what they ought to be. from that mother i derived whatever instruction--religious especially and moral--has pervaded a long life; i will not say perfectly, and as it ought to be; but i will say, because it is justice only to the memory of her whom i revere, that if, in the course of my life, there has been any imperfection, or deviation from what she taught me, the fault is mine, and not hers. "with such a mother, and such other relations with the sex, of sister, wife, and daughter, it has been the perpetual instruction of my life to love and revere the female sex. and in order to carry that sentiment of love and reverence to its highest degree of perfection, i know of nothing that exists in human society better adapted to produce that result, than institutions of the character that i have now the honor to address. "i have been taught, as i have said, through the course of my life, to love and to revere the female sex; but i have been taught, also--and that lesson has perhaps impressed itself on my mind even more strongly, it may be, than the other--i have been taught not to flatter them. it is not unusual, in the intercourse of man with the other sex--and especially for young men--to think that the way to win the hearts of ladies is by flattery. to love and to revere the sex, is what i think the duty of man; _but not to flatter them;_ and this i would say to the young ladies here--and if they, and others present, will allow me, with all the authority which nearly four score years may have with those who have not yet attained one score--i would say to them what i have no doubt they say to themselves, and are taught here, not to take the flattery of men as proof of perfection. "i am now, however, i fear, assuming too much of a character that does not exactly belong to me. i therefore conclude, by assuring you, madam, that your reception of me has affected me, as you perceive, more than i can express in words; and that i shall offer my best prayers, till my latest hour, to the creator of us all, that this institution especially, and all others of a similar kind, designed to form the female mind to wisdom and virtue, may prosper to the end of time." it will be interesting to add here the character of mr. adams' mother, as drawn by her husband, the first john adams, in a family letter [footnote: journal and correspondence of miss adams, vol. i., p. 246.] written just before his death. "i have reserved for the last the life of lady russell. this i have not yet read, because i read it more than forty years ago. on this hangs a tale which you ought to know and communicate it to your children. i bought the life and letters of lady russell in the year 1775, and sent it to your grandmother, with an express intent and desire that she should consider it a mirror in which to contemplate herself; for, at that time, i thought it extremely probable, from the daring and dangerous career i was determined to run, that she would one day find herself in the situation of lady russell, her husband without a head. this lady was more beautiful than lady russell, had a brighter genius, more information, a more refined taste, and, at least, her equal in the virtues of the heart; equal fortitude and firmness of character, equal resignation to the will of heaven, equal in all the virtues and graces of the christian life. like lady russell, she never, by word or look, discouraged me from running all hazards for the salvation of my country's liberties; she was willing to share with me, and that her children should share with us both, in all the dangerous consequences we had to hazard." will a woman who loves flattery or an aimless excitement, who wastes the flower of her mind on transitory sentiments, ever be loved with a love like that, when fifty years' trial have entitled to the privileges of "the golden marriage?" such was the love of the iron-handed warrior for her, not his hand-maid, but his help-meet: "whom god loves, to him gives he such a wife." i find the whole of what i want in this relation, in the two epithets by which milton makes adam address _his_ wife. in the intercourse of every day he begins: "daughter of god and man, _accomplished_ eve." [footnote: see appendix h.] in a moment of stronger feeling, "daughter of god and man, immortal eve." what majesty in the cadence of the line; what dignity, what reverence in the attitude both of giver and receiver! the woman who permits, in her life, the alloy of vanity; the woman who lives upon flattery, coarse or fine, shall never be thus addressed, she is _not_ immortal so far as her will is concerned, and every woman who does so creates miasma, whose spread is indefinite. the hand which casts into the waters of life a stone of offence knows not how far the circles thus caused may spread their agitations. a little while since i was at one of the most fashionable places of public resort. i saw there many women, dressed without regard to the season or the demands of the place, in apery, or, as it looked, in mockery, of european fashions. i saw their eyes restlessly courting attention. i saw the way in which it was paid; the style of devotion, almost an open sneer, which it pleased those ladies to receive from men whose expression marked their own low position in the moral and intellectual world. those women went to their pillows with their heads full of folly, their hearts of jealousy, or gratified vanity; those men, with the low opinion they already entertained of woman confirmed. these were american _ladies;_ that is, they were of that class who have wealth and leisure to make full use of the day, and confer benefits on others. they were of that class whom the possession of external advantages makes of pernicious example to many, if these advantages be misused. soon after, i met a circle of women, stamped by society as among the most degraded of their sex. "how," it was asked of them, "did you come here?" for by the society that i saw in the former place they were shut up in a prison. the causes were not difficult to trace: love of dress, love of flattery, love of excitement. they had not dresses like the other ladies, so they stole them; they could not pay for flattery by distinctions, and the dower of a worldly marriage, so they paid by the profanation of their persons. in excitement, more and more madly sought from day to day, they drowned the voice of conscience. now i ask you, my sisters, if the women at the fashionable house be not answerable for those women being in the prison? as to position in the world of souls, we may suppose the women of the prison stood fairest, both because they had misused less light, and because loneliness and sorrow had brought some of them to feel the need of better life, nearer truth and good. this was no merit in them, being an effect of circumstance, but it was hopeful. but you, my friends (and some of you i have already met), consecrate yourselves without waiting for reproof, in free love and unbroken energy, to win and to diffuse a better life. offer beauty, talents, riches, on the altar; thus shall you keep spotless your own hearts, and be visibly or invisibly the angels to others. i would urge upon those women who have not yet considered this subject, to do so. do not forget the unfortunates who dare not cross your guarded way. if it do not suit you to act with those who have organized measures of reform, then hold not yourself excused from acting in private. seek out these degraded women, give them tender sympathy, counsel, employment. take the place of mothers, such as might have saved them originally. if you can do little for those already under the ban of the world,--and the best-considered efforts have often failed, from a want of strength in those unhappy ones to bear up against the sting of shame and the prejudices of the world, which makes them seek oblivion again in their old excitements,--you will at least leave a sense of love and justice in their hearts, that will prevent their becoming utterly embittered and corrupt. and you may learn the means of prevention for those yet uninjured. these will be found in a diffusion of mental culture, simple tastes, best taught by your example, a genuine self-respect, and, above all, what the influence of man tends to hide from woman, the love and fear of a divine, in preference to a human tribunal. but suppose you save many who would have lost their bodily innocence (for as to mental, the loss of that is incalculably more general), through mere vanity and folly; there still remain many, the prey and spoil of the brute passions of man; for the stories frequent in our newspapers outshame antiquity, and vie with the horrors of war. as to this, it must be considered that, as the vanity and proneness to seduction of the imprisoned women represented a general degradation in their sex; so do these acts a still more general and worse in the male. where so many are weak, it is natural there should be many lost; where legislators admit that ten thousand prostitutes are a fair proportion to one city, and husbands tell their wives that it is folly to expect chastity from men, it is inevitable that there should be many monsters of vice. i must in this place mention, with respect and gratitude, the conduct of mrs. child in the case of amelia norman. the action and speech of this lady was of straightforward nobleness, undeterred by custom or cavil from duty toward an injured sister. she showed the case and the arguments the counsel against the prisoner had the assurance to use in their true light to the public. she put the case on the only ground of religion and equity. she was successful in arresting the attention of many who had before shrugged their shoulders, and let sin pass as necessarily a part of the company of men. they begin to ask whether virtue is not possible, perhaps necessary, to man as well as to woman. they begin to fear that the perdition of a woman must involve that of a man. this is a crisis. the results of this case will be important. in this connection i must mention eugene sue, the french novelist, several of whose works have been lately translated among us, as having the true spirit of reform as to women. like every other french writer, he is still tainted with the transmissions of the old _regime_. still, falsehood may be permitted for the sake of advancing truth, evil as the way to good. even george sand, who would trample on every graceful decorum, and every human law, for the sake of a sincere life, does not see that she violates it by making her heroines able to tell falsehoods in a good cause. these french writers need ever to be confronted by the clear perception of the english and german mind, that the only good man, consequently the only good reformer, is he "who bases good on good alone, and owes to virtue every triumph that he knows." still, sue has the heart of a reformer, and especially towards women; he sees what they need, and what causes are injuring them. from the histories of fleur de marie and la louve, from the lovely and independent character of rigolette, from the distortion given to matilda's mind, by the present views of marriage, and from the truly noble and immortal character of the "hump-backed sempstress" in the "wandering jew," may be gathered much that shall elucidate doubt and direct inquiry on this subject. in reform, as in philosophy, the french are the interpreters to the civilized world. their own attainments are not great, but they make clear the post, and break down barriers to the future. observe that the good man of sue is as pure as sir charles grandison. apropos to sir charles. women are accustomed to be told by men that the reform is to come _from them_. "you," say the men, "must frown upon vice; you must decline the attentions of the corrupt; you must not submit to the will of your husband when it seems to you unworthy, but give the laws in marriage, and redeem it from its present sensual and mental pollutions." this seems to us hard. men have, indeed, been, for more than a hundred years, rating women for countenancing vice. but, at the same time, they have carefully hid from them its nature, so that the preference often shown by women for bad men arises rather from a confused idea that they are bold and adventurous, acquainted with regions which women are forbidden to explore, and the curiosity that ensues, than a corrupt heart in the woman. as to marriage, it has been inculcated on women, for centuries, that men have not only stronger passions than they, but of a sort that it would be shameful for them to share or even understand; that, therefore, they must "confide in their husbands," that is, submit implicitly to their will; that the least appearance of coldness or withdrawal, from whatever cause, in the wife is wicked, because liable to turn her husband's thoughts to illicit indulgence; for a man is so constituted that he must indulge his passions or die! accordingly, a great part of women look upon men as a kind of wild beasts, but "suppose they are all alike;" the unmarried are assured by the married that, "if they knew men as they do," that is, by being married to them, "they would not expect continence or self-government from them." i might accumulate illustrations on this theme, drawn from acquaintance with the histories of women, which would startle and grieve all thinking men, but i forbear. let sir charles grandison preach to his own sex; or if none there be who feels himself able to speak with authority from a life unspotted in will or deed, let those who are convinced of the practicability and need of a pure life, as the foreign artist was, advise the others, and warn them by their own example, if need be. the following passage, from a female writer, on female affairs, expresses a prevalent way of thinking on this subject: "it may be that a young woman, exempt from all motives of vanity, determines to take for a husband a man who does not inspire her with a very decided inclination. imperious circumstances, the evident interest of her family, or the danger of suffering celibacy, may explain such a resolution. if, however, she were to endeavor to surmount a personal repugnance, we should look upon this as _injudicious_. such a rebellion of nature marks the limit that the influence of parents, or the self-sacrifice of the young girl, should never pass. _we shall be told that this repugnance is an affair of the imagination_. it may be so; but imagination is a power which it is temerity to brave; and its antipathy is more difficult to conquer than its preference." [footnote: madame necker de saussure.] among ourselves, the exhibition of such a repugnance from a woman who had been given in marriage "by advice of friends," was treated by an eminent physician as sufficient proof of insanity. if he had said sufficient cause for it, he would have been nearer right. it has been suggested by men who were pained by seeing bad men admitted, freely, to the society of modest women,--thereby encouraged to vice by impunity, and corrupting the atmosphere of homes,--that there should be a senate of the matrons in each city and town, who should decide what candidates were fit for admission to their houses and the society of their daughters. [footnote: see goethe's tasso. "a synod of good women should decide,"--if the golden age is to be restored.] such a plan might have excellent results; but it argues a moral dignity and decision which does not yet exist, and needs to be induced by knowledge and reflection. it has been the tone to keep women ignorant on these subjects, or, when they were not, to command that they should seem so. "it is indelicate," says the father or husband, "to inquire into the private character of such an one. it is sufficient that i do not think him unfit to visit you." and so, this man, who would not tolerate these pages in his house, "unfit for family reading," because they speak plainly, introduces there a man whose shame is written on his brow, as well as the open secret of the whole town, and, presently, if _respectable_ still, and rich enough, gives him his daughter to wife. the mother affects ignorance, "supposing he is no worse than most men." the daughter _is_ ignorant; something in the mind of the new spouse seems strange to her, but she supposes it is "woman's lot" not to be perfectly happy in her affections; she has always heard, "men could not understand women," so she weeps alone, or takes to dress and the duties of the house. the husband, of course, makes no avowal, and dreams of no redemption. "in the heart of every young woman," says the female writer above quoted, addressing herself to the husband, "depend upon it, there is a fund of exalted ideas; she conceals, represses, without succeeding in smothering them. _so long as these ideas in your wife are directed to you, they are, no doubt, innocent_, but take care that they be not accompanied with _too much_ pain. in other respects, also, spare her delicacy. let all the antecedent parts of your life, if there are such, which would give her pain, be concealed from her; _her happiness and her respect for you would suffer from this misplaced confidence._ allow her to retain that flower of purity, _which should distinguish her, in your eyes, from every other woman_." we should think so, truly, under this canon. such a man must esteem purity an exotic that could only be preserved by the greatest care. of the degree of mental intimacy possible, in such a marriage, let every one judge for himself! on this subject, let every woman, who has once begun to think, examine herself; see whether she does not suppose virtue possible and necessary to man, and whether she would not desire for her son a virtue which aimed at a fitness for a divine life, and involved, if not asceticism, that degree of power over the lower self, which shall "not exterminate the passions, but keep them chained at the feet of reason." the passions, like fire, are a bad muster; but confine them to the hearth and the altar, and they give life to the social economy, and make each sacrifice meet for heaven. when many women have thought upon this subject, some will be fit for the senate, and one such senate in operation would affect the morals of the civilized world. at present i look to the young. as preparatory to the senate, i should like to see a society of novices, such as the world has never yet seen, bound by no oath, wearing no badge, in place of an oath, they should have a religious faith in the capacity of man for virtue; instead of a badge, should wear in the heart a firm resolve not to stop short of the destiny promised him as a son of god. their service should be action and conservatism, not of old habits, but of a better nature, enlightened by hopes that daily grow brighter. if sin was to remain in the world, it should not be by their connivance at its stay, or one moment's concession to its claims. they should succor the oppressed, and pay to the upright the reverence due in hero-worship by seeking to emulate them. they would not denounce the willingly bad, but they could not be with them, for the two classes could not breathe the same atmosphere. they would heed no detention from the time-serving, the worldly and the timid. they could love no pleasures that were not innocent and capable of good fruit, i saw, in a foreign paper, the title now given to a party abroad, "los exaltados." such would be the title now given these children by the world: los exaltados, las exaltadas; but the world would not sneer always, for from them would issue a virtue by which it would, at last, be exalted too. i have in my eye a youth and a maiden whom i look to as the nucleus of such a class. they are both in early youth; both as yet uncontaminated; both aspiring, without rashness; both thoughtful; both capable of deep affection; both of strong nature and sweet feelings; both capable of large mental development. they reside in different regions of earth, but their place in the soul is the same. to them i look, as, perhaps, the harbingers and leaders of a new era, for never yet have i known minds so truly virgin, without narrowness or ignorance. when men call upon women to redeem them, they mean such maidens. but such are not easily formed under the present influences of society. as there are more such young men to help give a different tone, there will be more such maidens. the english, novelist, d'israeli, has, in his novel of "the young duke," made a man of the most depraved stock be redeemed by a woman who despises him when he has only the brilliant mask of fortune and beauty to cover the poverty of his heart and brain, but knows how to encourage him when he enters on a better course. but this woman was educated by a father who valued character in women. still, there will come now and then one who will, as i hope of my young exaltada, be example and instruction for the rest. it was not the opinion of woman current among jewish men that formed the character of the mother of jesus. since the sliding and backsliding men of the world, no less than the mystics, declare that, as through woman man was lost, so through woman must man be redeemed, the time must be at hand. when she knows herself indeed as "accomplished," still more as "immortal eve," this may be. as an immortal, she may also know and inspire immortal love, a happiness not to be dreamed of under the circumstances advised in the last quotation. where love is based on concealment, it must, of course, disappear when the soul enters the scene of clear vision! and, without this hope, how worthless every plan, every bond, every power! "the giants," said the scandinavian saga, "had induced loke (the spirit that hovers between good and ill) to steal for them iduna (goddess of immortality) and her apples of pure gold. he lured her out, by promising to show, on a marvellous tree he had discovered, apples beautiful as her own, if she would only take them with her for a comparison. thus having lured her beyond the heavenly domain, she was seized and carried away captive by the powers of misrule. "as now the gods could not find their friend iduna, they were confused with grief; indeed, they began visibly to grow old and gray. discords arose, and love grew cold. indeed, odur, spouse of the goddess of love and beauty, wandered away, and returned no more. at last, however, the gods, discovering the treachery of loke, obliged him to win back iduna from the prison in which she sat mourning. he changed himself into a falcon, and brought her back as a swallow, fiercely pursued by the giant king, in the form of an eagle. so she strives to return among us, light and small as a swallow. we must welcome her form as the speck on the sky that assures the glad blue of summer. yet one swallow does not make a summer. let us solicit them in flights and flocks!" * * * * * returning from the future to the present, let us see what forms iduna takes, as she moves along the declivity of centuries to the valley where the lily flower may concentrate all its fragrance. it would seem as if this time were not very near to one fresh from books, such as i have of late been--no: _not_ reading, but sighing over. a crowd of books having been sent me since my friends knew me to be engaged in this way, on woman's "sphere,", woman's "mission," and woman's "destiny," i believe that almost all that is extant of formal precept has come under my eye. among these i read with refreshment a little one called "the whole duty of woman," "indited by a noble lady at the request of a noble lord," and which has this much of nobleness, that the view it takes is a religious one. it aims to fit woman for heaven; the main bent of most of the others is to fit her to please, or, at least, not to disturb, a husband. among these i select, as a favorable specimen, the book i have already quoted, "the study [footnote: this title seems to be incorrectly translated from the french. i have not seen the original] of the life of woman, by madame necker de saussure, of geneva, translated from the french." this book was published at philadelphia, and has been read with much favor here. madame necker is the cousin of madame de stael, and has taken from her works the motto prefixed to this. "cette vie n'a quelque prix que si elle sert a' l'education morale do notre coeur." mde. necker is, by nature, capable of entire consistency in the application of this motto, and, therefore, the qualifications she makes, in the instructions given to her own sex, show forcibly the weight which still paralyzes and distorts the energies of that sex. the book is rich in passages marked by feeling and good suggestions; but, taken in the whole, the impression it leaves is this: woman is, and _shall remain_, inferior to man and subject to his will, and, in endeavoring to aid her, we must anxiously avoid anything that can be misconstrued into expression of the contrary opinion, else the men will be alarmed, and combine to defeat our efforts. the present is a good time for these efforts, for men are less occupied about women than formerly. let us, then, seize upon the occasion, and do what we can to make our lot tolerable. but we must sedulously avoid encroaching on the territory of man. if we study natural history, our observations may be made useful, by some male naturalist; if we draw well, we may make our services acceptable to the artists. but our names must not be known; and, to bring these labors to any result, we must take some man for our head, and be his hands. the lot of woman is sad. she is constituted to expect and need a happiness that cannot exist on earth. she must stifle such aspirations within her secret heart, and fit herself, as well as she can, for a life of resignations and consolations. she will be very lonely while living with her husband. she must not expect to open her heart to him fully, or that, after marriage, he will be capable of the refined service of love. the man is not born for the woman, only the woman for the man. "men cannot understand the hearts of women." the life of woman must be outwardly a well-intentioned, cheerful dissimulation of her real life. naturally, the feelings of the mother, at the birth of a female child, resemble those of the paraguay woman, described by southey as lamenting in such heart-breaking tones that her mother did not kill her the hour she was born,--"her mother, who knew what this life of a woman must be;"--or of those women seen at the north by sir a. mackenzie, who performed this pious duty towards female infants whenever they had an opportunity. "after the first delight, the young mother experiences feelings a little different, according as the birth of a son or a daughter has been announced. "is it a son? a sort of glory swells at this thought the heart of the mother; she seems to feel that she is entitled to gratitude. she has given a citizen, a defender, to her country; to her husband an heir of his name; to herself a protector. and yet the contrast of all these fine titles with this being, so humble, soon strikes her. at the aspect of this frail treasure, opposite feelings agitate her heart; she seems to recognise in him _a nature superior to her own_, but subjected to a low condition, and she honors a future greatness in the object of extreme compassion. somewhat of that respect and adoration for a feeble child, of which some fine pictures offer the expression in the features of the happy mary, seem reproduced with the young mother who has given birth to a son. "is it a daughter? there is usually a slight degree of regret; so deeply rooted is the idea of the superiority of man in happiness and dignity; and yet, as she looks upon this child, she is more and more _softened_ towards it. a deep sympathy--a sentiment of identity with this delicate being--takes possession of her; an extreme pity for so much weakness, a more pressing need of prayer, stirs her heart. whatever sorrows she may have felt, she dreads for her daughter; but she will guide her to become much wiser, much better than herself. and then the gayety, the frivolity of the young woman have their turn. this little creature is a flower to cultivate, a doll to decorate." similar sadness at the birth of a daughter i have heard mothers express not unfrequently. as to this living so entirely for men, i should think when it was proposed to women they would feel, at least, some spark of the old spirit of races allied to our own. "if he is to be my bridegroom _and lord_" cries brunhilda, [footnote: see the nibelungen lays.] "he must first be able to pass through fire and water." "i will serve at the banquet," says the walkyrie, "but only him who, in the trial of deadly combat, has shown himself a hero." if women are to be bond-maids, let it be to men superior to women in fortitude, in aspiration, in moral power, in refined sense of beauty. you who give yourselves "to be supported," or because "one must love something," are they who make the lot of the sex such that mothers are sad when daughters are born. it marks the state of feeling on this subject that it was mentioned, as a bitter censure on a woman who had influence over those younger than herself,--"she makes those girls want to see heroes?" "and will that hurt them?" "certainly; how _can_ you ask? they will find none, and so they will never be married." "_get_ married" is the usual phrase, and the one that correctly indicates the thought; but the speakers, on this occasion, were persons too outwardly refined to use it. they were ashamed of the word, but not of the thing. madame necker, however, sees good possible in celibacy. indeed, i know not how the subject could be better illustrated, than by separating the wheat from the chaff in madame necker's book; place them in two heaps, and then summon the reader to choose; giving him first a near-sighted glass to examine the two;--it might be a christian, an astronomical, or an artistic glass,--any kind of good glass to obviate acquired defects in the eye. i would lay any wager on the result. but time permits not here a prolonged analysis. i have given the clues for fault-finding. as a specimen of the good take the following passage, on the phenomena of what i have spoken of, as the lyrical or electric element in woman. "women have been seen to show themselves poets in the most pathetic pantomimic scenes, where all the passions were depicted full of beauty; and these poets used a language unknown to themselves, and, the performance once over, their inspiration was a forgotten dream. without doubt there is an interior development to beings so gifted; but their sole mode of communication with us is their talent. they are, ill all besides, the inhabitants of another planet." similar observations have been made by those who have seen the women at irish wakes, or the funeral ceremonies of modern greece or brittany, at times when excitement gave the impulse to genius; but, apparently, without a thought that these rare powers belonged to no other planet, but were a high development of the growth of this, and might, by wise and reverent treatment, be made to inform and embellish the scenes of every day. but, when woman has her fair chance, she will do so, and the poem of the hour will vie with that of the ages. i come now with satisfaction to my own country, and to a writer, a female writer, whom i have selected as the clearest, wisest, and kindliest, who has, as yet, used pen here on these subjects. this is miss sedgwick. miss sedgwick, though she inclines to the private path, and wishes that, by the cultivation of character, might should vindicate right, sets limits nowhere, and her objects and inducements are pure. they are the free and careful cultivation of the powers that have been given, with an aim at moral and intellectual perfection. her speech is moderate and sane, but never palsied by fear or sceptical caution. herself a fine example of the independent and beneficent existence that intellect and character can give to woman, no less than man, if she know how to seek and prize it,--also, that the intellect need not absorb or weaken, but rather will refine and invigorate, the affections,--the teachings of her practical good sense come with great force, and cannot fail to avail much. every way her writings please me both as to the means and the ends. i am pleased at the stress she lays on observance of the physical laws, because the true reason is given. only in a strong and clean body can the soul do its message fitly. she shows the meaning of the respect paid to personal neatness, both in the indispensable form of cleanliness, and of that love of order and arrangement, that must issue from a true harmony of feeling. the praises of cold water seem to me an excellent sign in the age. they denote a tendency to the true life. we are now to have, as a remedy for ills, not orvietan, or opium, or any quack medicine, but plenty of air and water, with due attention to warmth and freedom in dress, and simplicity of diet. every day we observe signs that the natural feelings on these subjects are about to be reinstated, and the body to claim care as the abode and organ of the soul; not as the tool of servile labor, or the object of voluptuous indulgence. a poor woman, who had passed through the lowest grades of ignominy, seemed to think she had never been wholly lost, "for," said she, "i would always have good under-clothes;" and, indeed, who could doubt that this denoted the remains of private self-respect in the mind? a woman of excellent sense said, "it might seem childish, but to her one of the most favorable signs of the times was that the ladies had been persuaded to give up corsets." yes! let us give up all artificial means of distortion. let life be healthy, pure, all of a piece. miss sedgwick, in teaching that domestics must have the means of bathing us much as their mistresses, and time, too, to bathe, has symbolized one of the most important of human rights. another interesting sign of the time is the influence exercised by two women, miss martineau and miss barrett, from their sick-rooms. the lamp of life which, if it had been fed only by the affections, depended on precarious human relations, would scarce have been able to maintain a feeble glare in the lonely prison, now shines far and wide over the nations, cheering fellow-sufferers and hallowing the joy of the healthful. these persons need not health or youth, or the charms of personal presence, to make their thoughts available. a few more such, and "old woman" [footnote: an apposite passage is quoted in appendix f.] shall not be the synonyme for imbecility, nor "old maid" a term of contempt, nor woman be spoken of as a reed shaken by the wind. it is time, indeed, that men and women both should cease to grow old in any other way than as the tree does, full of grace and honor. the hair of the artist turns white, but his eye shines clearer than ever, and we feel that age brings him maturity, not decay. so would it be with all, were the springs of immortal refreshment but unsealed within the soul; then, like these women, they would see, from the lonely chamber window, the glories of the universe; or, shut in darkness, be visited by angels. i now touch on my own place and day, and, as i write, events are occurring that threaten the fair fabric approached by so long an avenue. week before last, the gentile was requested to aid the jew to return to palestine; for the millennium, the reign of the son of mary was near. just now, at high and solemn mass, thanks were returned to the virgin for having delivered o'connell from unjust imprisonment, in requital of his having consecrated to her the league formed in behalf of liberty on tara's hill. but last week brought news which threatens that a cause identical with the enfranchisement of jews, irish, women, ay, and of americans in general, too, is in danger, for the choice of the people threatens to rivet the chains of slavery and the leprosy of sin permanently on this nation, through the annexation of texas! ah! if this should take place, who will dare again to feel the throb of heavenly hope, as to the destiny of this country? the noble thought that gave unity to all our knowledge, harmony to all our designs,--the thought that the progress of history had brought on the era, the tissue of prophecies pointed out the spot, where humanity was, at last, to have a fair chance to know itself, and all men be born free and equal for the eagle's flight,--flutters as if about to leave the breast, which, deprived of it, will have no more a nation, no more a home on earth. women of my country!--exaltadas! if such there be,--women of english, old english nobleness, who understand the courage of boadicea, the sacrifice of godiva, the power of queen emma to tread the red-hot iron unharmed,--women who share the nature of mrs. hutchinson, lady russell, and the mothers of our own revolution,--have you nothing to do with this? you see the men, how they are willing to sell shamelessly the happiness of countless generations of fellow-creatures, the honor of their country, and their immortal souls, for a money market and political power. do you not feel within you that which can reprove them, which can check, which can convince them? you would not speak in vain; whether each in her own home, or banded in unison. tell these men that you will not accept the glittering baubles, spacious dwellings, and plentiful service, they mean to offer you through those means. tell them that the heart of woman demands nobleness and honor in man, and that, if they have not purity, have not mercy, they are no longer fathers, lovers, husbands, sons of yours. this cause is your own, for, as i have before said, there is a reason why the foes of african slavery seek more freedom for women; but put it not upon that ground, but on the ground of right. if you have a power, it is a moral power. the films of interest are not so close around you as around the men. if you will but think, you cannot fail to wish to save the country from this disgrace. let not slip the occasion, but do something to lift off the curse incurred by eve. you have heard the women engaged in the abolition movement accused of boldness, because they lifted the voice in public, and lifted the latch of the stranger. but were these acts, whether performed judiciously or no, _so_ bold as to dare before god and man to partake the fruits of such offence as this? you hear much of the modesty of your sex. preserve it by filling the mind with noble desires that shall ward off the corruptions of vanity and idleness. a profligate woman, who left her accustomed haunts and took service in a new york boarding-house, said "she had never heard talk so vile at the five points, as from the ladies at the boarding-house." and why? because they were idle; because, having nothing worthy to engage them, they dwelt, with unnatural curiosity, on the ill they dared not go to see. it will not so much injure your modesty to have your name, by the unthinking, coupled with idle blame, as to have upon your soul the weight of not trying to save a whole race of women from the scorn that is put upon _their_ modesty. think of this well! i entreat, i conjure you, before it is too late. it is my belief that something effectual might be done by women, if they would only consider the subject, and enter upon it in the true spirit,--a spirit gentle, but firm, and which feared the offence of none, save one who is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity. and now i have designated in outline, if not in fulness, the stream which is ever flowing from the heights of my thought. in the earlier tract i was told i did not make my meaning sufficiently clear. in this i have consequently tried to illustrate it in various ways, and may have been guilty of much repetition. yet, as i am anxious to leave no room for doubt, i shall venture to retrace, once more, the scope of my design in points, as wad done in old-fashioned sermons. man is a being of two-fold relations, to nature beneath, and intelligences above him. the earth is his school, if not his birth-place; god his object; life and thought his means of interpreting nature, and aspiring to god. only a fraction of this purpose is accomplished in the life of any one man. its entire accomplishment is to be hoped only from the sum of the lives of men, or man considered as a whole. as this whole has one soul and one body, any injury or obstruction to a part, or to the meanest member, affects the whole. man can never be perfectly happy or virtuous, till all men are so. to address man wisely, you must not forget that his life is partly animal, subject to the same laws with nature. but you cannot address him wisely unless you consider him still more as soul, and appreciate the conditions and destiny of soul. the growth of man is two-fold, masculine and feminine. so far as these two methods can be distinguished, they are so as energy and harmony; power and beauty; intellect and love; or by some such rude classification; for we have not language primitive and pure enough to express such ideas with precision. these two sides are supposed to be expressed in man and woman, that is, as the more and the less, for the faculties have not been given pure to either, but only in preponderance. there are also exceptions in great number, such as men of far more beauty than power, and the reverse. but, as a general rule, it seems to have been the intention to give a preponderance on the one side, that is called masculine, and on the other, one that is called feminine. there cannot be a doubt that, if these two developments were in perfect harmony, they would correspond to and fulfil one another, like hemispheres, or the tenor and bass in music. but there is no perfect harmony in human nature; and the two parts answer one another only now and then; or, if there be a persistent consonance, it can only be traced at long intervals, instead of discoursing an obvious melody. what is the cause of this? man, in the order of time, was developed first; as energy comes before harmony; power before beauty. woman was therefore under his care as an elder. he might have been her guardian and teacher. but, as human nature goes not straight forward, but by excessive action and then reaction in an undulated course, he misunderstood and abused his advantages, and became her temporal master instead of her spiritual sire. on himself came the punishment. he educated woman more as a servant than a daughter, and found himself a king without a queen. the children of this unequal union showed unequal natures, and, more and more, men seemed sons of the handmaid, rather than princess. at last, there were so many ishmaelites that the rest grew frightened and indignant. they laid the blame on hagar, and drove her forth into the wilderness. but there were none the fewer ishmaelites for that. at last men became a little wiser, and saw that the infant moses was, in every case, saved by the pure instincts of woman's breast. for, as too much adversity is better for the moral nature than too much prosperity, woman, in this respect, dwindled less than man, though in other respects still a child in leading-strings. so man did her more and more justice, and grew more and more kind. but yet--his habits and his will corrupted by the past--he did not clearly see that woman was half himself; that her interests were identical with his; and that, by the law of their common being, he could never reach his true proportions while she remained in any wise shorn of hers. and so it has gone on to our day; both ideas developing, but more slowly than they would under a clearer recognition of truth and justice, which would have permitted the sexes their due influence on one another, and mutual improvement from more dignified relations. wherever there was pure love, the natural influences were, for the time, restored. wherever the poet or artist gave free course to his genius, he saw the truth, and expressed it in worthy forms, for these men especially share and need the feminine principle. the divine birds need to be brooded into life and song by mothers. wherever religion (i mean the thirst for truth and good, not the love of sect and dogma) had its course, the original design was apprehended in its simplicity, and the dove presaged sweetly from dodona's oak. i have aimed to show that no age was left entirely without a witness of the equality of the sexes in function, duty and hope. also that, when there was unwillingness or ignorance, which prevented this being acted upon, women had not the less power for their want of light and noble freedom. but it was power which hurt alike them and those against whom they made use of the arms of the servile,--cunning, blandishment, and unreasonable emotion. that now the time has come when a clearer vision and better action are possible--when man and woman may regard one another, as brother and sister, the pillars of one porch, the priests of one worship. i have believed and intimated that this hope would receive an ampler fruition, than ever before, in our own land. and it will do so if this land carry out the principles from which sprang our national life. i believe that, at present, women are the best helpers of one another. let them think; let them act; till they know what they need. we only ask of men to remove arbitrary barriers. some would like to do more. but i believe it needs that woman show herself in her native dignity, to teach them how to aid her; their minds are so encumbered by tradition. when lord edward fitzgerald travelled with the indians, his manly heart obliged him at once to take the packs from the squaws and carry them. but we do not read that the red men followed his example, though they are ready enough to carry the pack of the white woman, because she seems to them a superior being. let woman appear in the mild majesty of ceres, and rudest churls will be willing to learn from her. you ask, what use will she make of liberty, when she has so long been sustained and restrained? i answer; in the first place, this will not be suddenly given. i read yesterday a debate of this year on the subject of enlarging women's rights over property. it was a leaf from the class-book that is preparing for the needed instruction. the men learned visibly as they spoke. the champions of woman saw the fallacy of arguments on the opposite side, and were startled by their own convictions. with their wives at home, and the readers of the paper, it was the same. and so the stream flows on; thought urging action, and action leading to the evolution of still better thought. but, were this freedom to come suddenly, i have no fear of the consequences. individuals might commit excesses, but there is not only in the sex a reverence for decorums and limits inherited and enhanced from generation to generation, which many years of other life could not efface, but a native love, in woman as woman, of proportion, of "the simple art of not too much,"--a greek moderation, which would create immediately a restraining party, the natural legislators and instructors of the rest, and would gradually establish such rules as are needed to guard, without impeding, life. the graces would lead the choral dance, and teach the rest to regulate their steps to the measure of beauty. but if you ask me what offices they may fill, i reply--any. i do not care what case you put; let them be sea-captains, if you will. i do not doubt there are women well fitted for such an office, and, if so, i should be as glad to see them in it, as to welcome the maid of saragossa, or the maid of missolonghi, or the suliote heroine, or emily plater. i think women need, especially at this juncture, a much greater range of occupation than they have, to rouse their latent powers. a party of travellers lately visited a lonely hut on a mountain. there they found an old woman, who told them she and her husband had lived there forty years. "why," they said, "did you choose so barren a spot?" she "did not know; _it was the man's notion."_ and, during forty years, she had been content to act, without knowing why, upon "the man's notion." i would not have it so. in families that i know, some little girls like to saw wood, others to use carpenters' tools. where these tastes are indulged, cheerfulness and good-humor are promoted. where they are forbidden, because "such things are not proper for girls," they grow sullen and mischievous. fourier had observed these wants of women, as no one can fail to do who watches the desires of little girls, or knows the ennui that haunts grown women, except where they make to themselves a serene little world by art of some kind. he, therefore, in proposing a great variety of employments, in manufactures or the care of plants and animals, allows for one third of women as likely to have a taste for masculine pursuits, one third of men for feminine. who does not observe the immediate glow and serenity that is diffused over the life of women, before restless or fretful, by engaging in gardening, building, or the lowest department of art? here is something that is not routine, something that draws forth life towards the infinite. i have no doubt, however, that a large proportion of women would give themselves to the same employments as now, because there are circumstances that must lead them. mothers will delight to make the nest soft and warm. nature would take care of that; no need to clip the wings of any bird that wants to soar and sing, or finds in itself the strength of pinion for a migratory flight unusual to its kind. the difference would be that _all_ need not be constrained to employments for which _some_ are unfit. i have urged upon the sex self-subsistence in its two forms of self-reliance and self-impulse, because i believe them to be the needed means of the present juncture. i have urged on woman independence of man, not that i do not think the sexes mutually needed by one another, but because in woman this fact has led to an excessive devotion, which has cooled love, degraded marriage, and prevented either sex from being what it should be to itself or the other. i wish woman to live, _first_ for god's sake. then she will not make an imperfect man her god, and thus sink to idolatry. then she will not take what is not fit for her from a sense of weakness and poverty. then, if she finds what she needs in man embodied, she will know how to love, and be worthy of being loved. by being more a soul, she will not be less woman, for nature is perfected through spirit. now there is no woman, only an overgrown child. that her hand may be given with dignity, she must be able to stand alone. i wish to see men and women capable of such relations as are depicted by landor in his pericles and aspasia, where grace is the natural garb of strength, and the affections are calm, because deep. the softness is that of a firm tissue, as when "the gods approve the depth, but not the tumult of the soul, a fervent, not ungovernable love." a profound thinker has said, "no married woman can represent the female world, for she belongs to her husband. the idea of woman must be represented by a virgin." but that is the very fault of marriage, and of the present relation between the sexes, that the woman does belong to the man, instead of forming a whole with him. were it otherwise, there would be no such limitation to the thought. woman, self-centred, would never be absorbed by any relation; it would be only an experience to her as to man. it is a vulgar error that love, _a_ love, to woman is her whole existence; she also is born for truth and love in their universal energy. would she but assume her inheritance, mary would not be the only virgin mother. not manzoni alone would celebrate in his wife the virgin mind with the maternal wisdom and conjugal affections. the soul is ever young, ever virgin. and will not she soon appear?--the woman who shall vindicate their birthright for all women; who shall teach them what to claim, and how to use what they obtain? shall not her name be for her era victoria, for her country and life virginia? yet predictions are rash; she herself must teach us to give her the fitting name. an idea not unknown to ancient times has of late been revived, that, in the metamorphoses of life, the soul assumes the form, first of man, then of woman, and takes the chances, and reaps the benefits of either lot. why then, say some, lay such emphasis on the rights or needs of woman? what she wins not as woman will come to her as man. that makes no difference. it is not woman, but the law of right, the law of growth, that speaks in us, and demands the perfection of each being in its kind--apple as apple, woman as woman. without adopting your theory, i know that i, a daughter, live through the life of man; but what concerns me now is, that my life be a beautiful, powerful, in a word, a complete life in its kind. had i but one more moment to live i must wish the same. suppose, at the end of your cycle, your great world-year, all will be completed, whether i exert myself or not (and the supposition is _false_,--but suppose it true), am i to be indifferent about it? not so! i must beat my own pulse true in the heart of the world; for _that_ is virtue, excellence, health. thou, lord of day! didst leave us to-night so calmly glorious, not dismayed that cold winter is coming, not postponing thy beneficence to the fruitful summer! thou didst smile on thy day's work when it was done, and adorn thy down-going as thy up-rising, for thou art loyal, and it is thy nature to give life, if thou canst, and shine at all events! i stand in the sunny noon of life. objects no longer glitter in the dews of morning, neither are yet softened by the shadows of evening. every spot is seen, every chasm revealed. climbing the dusty hill, some fair effigies that once stood for symbols of human destiny have been broken; those i still have with me show defects in this broad light. yet enough is left, even by experience, to point distinctly to the glories of that destiny; faint, but not to be mistaken streaks of the future day. i can say with the bard, "though many have suffered shipwreck, still beat noble hearts." always the soul says to us all, cherish your best hopes as a faith, and abide by them in action. such shall be the effectual fervent means to their fulfilment; for the power to whom we bow has given its pledge that, if not now, they of pure and steadfast mind, by faith exalted, truth refined, _shall_ hear all music loud and clear, whose first notes they ventured here. then fear not thou to wind the horn, though elf and gnome thy courage scorn; ask for the castle's king and queen; though rabble rout may rush between, beat thee senseless to the ground, in the dark beset thee round; persist to ask, and it will come; seek not for rest in humbler home; so shalt thou see, what few have seen, the palace home of king and queen. 15_th november_, 1844. part ii. * * * * * miscellanies. aglauron and laurie. a drive through the country near boston. aglauron and laurie are two of the pleasantest men i know. laurie combines, with the external advantages of a beautiful person and easy address, all the charm which quick perceptions and intelligent sympathy give to the intercourse of daily life. he has an extensive, though not a deep, knowledge of men and books,--his naturally fine taste has been more refined by observation, both at home and abroad, than is usual in this busy country; and, though not himself a thinker, he follows with care and delight the flights of a rapid and inventive mind. he is one of those rare persons who, without being servile or vacillating, present on no side any barrier to the free action of another mind. yes, he is really an agreeable companion. i do not remember ever to have been wearied or chilled in his company. aglauron is a person of far greater depth and force than his friend and cousin, but by no means as agreeable. his mind is ardent and powerful, rather than brilliant and ready,--neither does he with ease adapt himself to the course of another. but, when he is once kindled, the blaze of light casts every object on which it falls into a bold relief, and gives every scene a lustre unknown before. he is not, perhaps, strictly original in his thoughts; but the severe truth of his character, and the searching force of his attention, give the charm of originality to what he says. accordingly, another cannot, by repetition, do it justice. i have never any doubt when i write down or tell what laurie says, but aglauron must write for himself. yet i almost always take notes of what has passed, for the amusement of a distant friend, who is learning, amidst the western prairies, patience, and an appreciation of the poor benefits of our imperfectly civilized state. and those i took this day, seemed not unworthy of a more general circulation. the sparkle of talk, the free breeze that swelled its current, are always fled when you write it down; but there is a gentle flow, and truth to the moment, rarely attained in more elaborate compositions. my two friends called to ask if i would drive with them into the country, and i gladly consented. it was a beautiful afternoon of the last week in may. nature seemed most desirous to make up for the time she had lost, in an uncommonly cold and wet spring. the leaves were bursting from their sheaths with such rapidity that the trees seemed actually to greet you as you passed along. the vestal choirs of snow-drops and violets were chanting their gentle hopes from every bank, the orchards were white with blossoms, and the birds singing in almost tumultuous glee. we drove for some time in silence, perhaps fearful to disturb the universal song by less melodious accents, when aglauron said: "how entirely are we new-born today! how are all the post cold skies and hostile breezes vanished before this single breath of sweetness! how consoling is the truth thus indicated!" _laurie_. it is indeed the dearest fact of our consciousness, that, in every moment of joy, pain is annihilated. there is no past, and the future is only the sunlight streaming into the far valley. _aglauron._ yet it was the night that taught us to prize the day. _laurie._ even so. and i, you know, object to none of the "dark masters." _aglauron_. nor i,--because i am sure that whatever is, is good; and to find out the _why_ is all our employment here. but one feels so at home in such a day as this! _laurie._ as this, indeed! i never heard so many birds, nor saw so many flowers. do you not like these yellow flowers? _aglauron._ they gleam upon the fields as if to express the bridal kiss of the sun. he seems most happy, if not most wealthy, when first he is wed to the earth. _laurie._ i believe i have some such feeling about these golden flowers. when i did not know what was the asphodel, so celebrated by the poets, i thought it was a golden flower; yet this yellow is so ridiculed as vulgar. _aglauron_. it is because our vulgar luxury depreciates objects not fitted to adorn our dwellings. these yellow flowers will not bear being token out of their places and brought home to the centre-table. but, when enamelling the ground, the cowslip, the king-cup,--nay, the marigold and dandelion even,--are resplendently beautiful. _laurie_. they are the poor man's gold. see that dark, unpointed house, with its lilac shrubbery. as it stands, undivided from the road to which the green bank slopes down from the door, is not the effect of that enamel of gold dandelions beautiful? _aglauron_. it seems as if a stream of peace had flowed from the door-step down to the very dust, in waves of light, to greet the passer-by. that is, indeed, a quiet house. it looks as if somebody's grandfather lived there still. _laurie_. it is most refreshing to see the dark boards amid those houses of staring white. strange that, in the extreme heat of summer, aching eyes don't teach the people better. _aglauron_. we are still, in fact, uncivilized, for all our knowledge of what is done "in foreign parts" cannot make us otherwise. civilization must be homogeneous,--must be a natural growth. this glistening white paint was long preferred because the most expensive; just as in the west, i understand, they paint houses red to make them resemble the hideous red brick. and the eye, thus spoiled by excitement, prefers red or white to the stone-color, or the browns, which would harmonize with other hues. _laurie_. i should think the eye could never be spoiled so far as to like these white palings. these bars of glare amid the foliage are unbearable. _myself_. what color should they be? _laurie_. an invisible green, as in all civilized parts of the globe. then your eye would rest on the shrubbery undisturbed. _myself_. your vaunted italy has its palaces of white stucco and buildings of brick. _laurie_. ay,--but the stucco is by the atmosphere soon mellowed into cream-color, the brick into rich brown. _myself_. i have heard a connoisseur admire our own red brick in the afternoon sun, above all other colors. _laurie_. there are some who delight too much in the stimulus of color to be judges of harmony of coloring. it is so, often, with the italians. no color is too keen for the eye of the neapolitan. he thinks, with little riding-hood, there is no color like red. i have seen one of the most beautiful new palaces paved with tiles of a brilliant red. but this, too, is barbarism. _myself_. you are pleased to call it so, because you make the english your arbiters in point of taste; but i do not think they, on your own principle, are our proper models. with their ever-weeping skies, and seven-piled velvet of verdure, they are no rule for us, whose eyes are accustomed to the keen blue and brilliant clouds of our own realm, and who see the earth wholly green scarce two months in the year. no white is more glistening than our january snows; no house here hurts my eye more than the fields of white-weed will, a fortnight hence. _laurie._ true refinement of taste would bid the eye seek repose the more. but, even admitting what you say, there is no harmony. the architecture is borrowed from england; why not the rest? _aglauron._ but, my friend, surely these piazzas and pipe-stem pillars are all american. _laurie._ but the cottage to which they belong is english. the inhabitants, suffocating in small rooms, and beneath sloping roofs, because the house is too low to admit any circulation of air, are in need, we must admit, of the piazza, for elsewhere they must suffer all the torments of mons. chaubert in his first experience of the oven. but i do not assail the piazzas, at any rate; they are most desirable, in these hot summers of ours, were they but in proportion with the house, and their pillars with one another. but i do object to houses which are desirable neither as summer nor winter residences here. the shingle palaces, celebrated by irving's wit, were far more appropriate, for they, at least, gave free course to the winds of heaven, when the thermometer stood at ninety-five degrees in the shade. _aglauron._ pity that american wit nipped in the bud those early attempts at an american architecture. here in the east, alas! the case is become hopeless. but in the west the log-cabin still promises a proper basis. _laurie._ you laugh at me. but so it is. i am not so silly as to insist upon american architecture, american art, in the 4th of july style, merely for the gratification of national vanity. but a building, to be beautiful, should harmonize exactly with the uses to which it is to be put, and be an index to the climate and habits of the people. there is no objection to borrowing good thoughts from other nations, if we adopt the new style because we find it will serve our convenience, and not merely because it looks pretty outside. _aglauron._ i agree with you that here, as well as in manners and in literature, there is too ready access to the old stock, and, though i said it in jest, my hope is, in truth, the log-cabin. this the settler will enlarge, as his riches and his family increase; he will beautify as his character refines, and as his eye becomes accustomed to observe objects around him for their loveliness as well as for their utility. he will borrow from nature the forms and coloring most in harmony with the scene in which his dwelling is placed. might growth here be but slow enough! might not a greediness for gain and show cheat men of all the real advantages of their experience! (here a carriage passed.) _laurie._ who is that beautiful lady to whom you bowed? _aglauron._ beautiful do you think her? at this distance, and with the freshness which the open air gives to her complexion, she certainly does look so, and was so still, five years ago, when i knew her abroad. it is mrs. v----. _laurie._ i remember with what interest you mentioned her in your letters. and you promised to tell me her true story. _aglauron._ i was much interested, then, both in her and her story, but, last winter, when i met her at the south, she had altered, and seemed so much less attractive than before, that the bright colors of the picture are well-nigh effaced. _laurie._ the pleasure of telling the story will revive them again. let us fasten our horses and go into this little wood. there is a seat near the lake which is pretty enough to tell a story upon. _aglauron._ in all the idyls i ever read, they were told in caves, or beside a trickling fountain. _laurie._ that was in the last century. we will innovate. let us begin that american originality we were talking about, and make the bank of a lake answer our purpose. * * * * * we dismounted accordingly, but, on reaching the spot, aglauron at first insisted on lying on the grass, and gazing up at the clouds in a most uncitizen-like fashion, and it was some time before we could get the promised story. at last,- * * * * * i first saw mrs. v---at the opera in vienna. abroad, i scarcely cared for anything in comparison with music. in many respects the old world disappointed my hopes; society was, in essentials, no better, nor worse, than at home, and i too easily saw through the varnish of conventional refinement. lions, seen near, were scarcely more interesting than tamer cattle, and much more annoying in their gambols and caprices. parks and ornamental grounds pleased me less than the native forests and wide-rolling rivers of my own land. but in the arts, and most of all in music, i found all my wishes more than realized. i found the soul of man uttering itself with the swiftness, the freedom and the beauty, for which i had always pined. i easily conceived how foreigners, once acquainted with this diverse language, pass their lives without a wish for pleasure or employment beyond hearing the great works of the masters. it seemed to me that here was wealth to feed the thoughts for ages. this lady fixed my attention by the rapturous devotion with which she listened. i saw that she too had here found her proper home. every shade of thought and feeling expressed in the music was mirrored in her beautiful countenance. her rapture of attention, during some passages, was enough of itself to make you hold your breath; and a sudden stroke of genius lit her face into a very heaven with its lightning. it seemed to me that in her i should find one who would truly sympathize with me, one who looked on the art not as a connoisseur, but a votary. i took the speediest opportunity of being introduced to her at her own house by a common friend. but what a difference! at home i scarcely knew her. still she was beautiful; but the sweetness, the elevated expression, which the satisfaction of an hour had given her, were entirely fled. her eye was restless, her cheek pale and thin, her whole expression perturbed and sorrowful. every gesture spoke the sickliness of a spirit long an outcast from its natural home, bereft of happiness, and hopeless of good. i perceived, at first sight of her every-day face, that it was not unknown to me. three or four years earlier, staying in the country-house of one of her friends, i had seen her picture. the house was very dull,--as dull as placid content with the mere material enjoyments of life, and an inert gentleness of nature, could make its inhabitants. they were people to be loved, but loved without a thought. their wings had never grown, nor their eyes coveted a wider prospect than could be seen from the parent nest. the friendly visitant could not discompose them by a remark indicating any expansion of mind or life. much as i enjoyed the beauty of the country around, when out in the free air, my hours within the house would have been dull enough but for the contemplation of this picture. while the round of common-place songs was going on, and the whist-players were at their work, i used to sit and wonder how this being, so sovereign in the fire of her nature, so proud in her untamed loveliness, could ever have come of their blood. her eye, from the canvas, even, seemed to annihilate all things low or little, and able to command all creation in search of the object of its desires. she had not found it, though; i felt this on seeing her now. she, the queenly woman, the boadicea of a forlorn hope, as she seemed born to be, the only woman whose face, to my eye, had ever given promise of a prodigality of nature sufficient for the entertainment of a poet's soul, was--i saw it at a glance--a captive in her life, and a beggar in her affections. _laurie._ a dangerous object to the traveller's eye, methinks! _aglauron._ not to mine! the picture had been so; but, seeing her now, i felt that the glorious promise of her youthful prime had failed. she had missed her course; and the beauty, whose charm to the imagination had been that it seemed invincible, was now subdued and mixed with earth. _laurie._ i can never comprehend the cruelty in your way of viewing human beings, aglauron. to err, to suffer, is their lot; all who have feeling and energy of character must share it; and i could not endure a woman who at six-and-twenty bore no trace of the past. _aglauron._ such women and such men are the companions of everyday life. but the angels of our thoughts are those moulds of pure beauty which must break with a fall. the common air must not touch them, for they make their own atmosphere. i admit that such are not for the tenderness of daily life; their influence must be high, distant, starlike, to be pure. such was this woman to me before i knew her; one whose splendid beauty drew on my thoughts to their future home. in knowing her, i lost the happiness i had enjoyed in knowing what she should have been. at first the disappointment was severe, but i have learnt to pardon her, as others who get mutilated or worn in life, and show the royal impress only in their virgin courage. but this subject would detain me too long. let me rather tell you of mrs. v----'s sad history. a friend of mine has said that beautiful persons seem rarely born to their proper family, but amidst persons so rough and uncongenial that _their_ presence commands like that of a reproving angel, or pains like that of some poor prince changed at nurse, and bound for life to the society of churls. so it was with emily. her father was sordid, her mother weak; persons of great wealth and greater selfishness. she was the youngest by many years, and left alone in her father's house. notwithstanding the want of intelligent sympathy while she was growing up, and the want of all intelligent culture, she was not an unhappy child. the unbounded and foolish indulgence with which she was treated did not have an obviously bad effect upon her then; it did not make her selfish, sensual, or vain. her character was too powerful to dwell upon such boons as those nearest her could bestow. she negligently received them all as her due. it was later that the pernicious effects of the absence of all discipline showed themselves; but in early years she was happy in her lavish feelings, and in beautiful nature, on which she could pour them, and in her own pursuits. music was her passion; in it she found food, and an answer for feelings destined to become so fatal to her peace, but which then glowed so sweetly in her youthful form as to enchant the most ordinary observer. when she was not more than fifteen, and expanding like a flower in each sunny day, it was her misfortune that her first husband saw and loved her. emily, though pleased by his handsome person and gay manners, never bestowed a serious thought on him. if she had, it would have been the first ever disengaged from her life of pleasurable sensation. but when he did plead his cause with all the ardor of youth, and the flourishes which have been by usage set apart for such occasions, she listened with delight; for all his talk of boundless love, undying faith, etc., seemed her native tongue. it was like the most glowing sunset sky. it swelled upon the ear like music. it was the only way she ever wished to be addressed, and she now saw plainly why all talk of everyday people had fallen unheeded on her ear. she could have listened all day. but when, emboldened by the beaming eye and ready smile with which she heard, he pressed his suit more seriously, and talked of marriage, she drew back astonished. marry yet?--impossible! she had never thought of it; and as she thought now of marriages, such as she had seen them, there was nothing in marriage to attract. but l---was not so easily repelled; he made her every promise of pleasure, as one would to a child. he would take her away to journey through scenes more beautiful than she had ever dreamed of; he would take her to a city where, in the fairest home, she should hear the finest music, and he himself, in every scene, would be her devoted slave, too happy if for every now pleasure he received one of those smiles which had become his life. he saw her yielding, and hastened to secure her. her father was delighted, as fathers are strangely wont to be, that he was likely to be deprived of his child, his pet, his pride. the mother was threefold delighted that she would have a daughter married so _young_,--at least three years younger than any of her elder sisters were married. both lent their influence; and emily, accustomed to rely on them against all peril, and annoyance, till she scarcely knew there was pain or evil in the world, gave her consent, as she would have given it to a pleasure-party for a day or a week. the marriage was hurried on; l---intent on gaining his object, as men of strong will and no sentiment are wont to be, the parents thinking of the eclat of the match. emily was amused by the preparations for the festivity, and full of excitement about the new chapter which was to be opened in her life. yet so little idea had she of the true business of life, and the importance of its ties, that perhaps there was no figure in the future that occupied her less than that of her bridegroom, a handsome man, with a sweet voice, her captive, her adorer. she neither thought nor saw further, lulled by the pictures of bliss and adventure which were floating before her fancy, the more enchanting because so vague. it was at this time that the picture that so charmed me was taken. the exquisite rose had not yet opened its leaves so as to show its heart; but its fragrance and blushful pride were there in perfection. poor emily! she had the promised journeys, the splendid home. amid the former her mind, opened by new scenes, already learned that something she seemed to possess was wanting in the too constant companion of her days. in the splendid home she received not only musicians, but other visitants, who taught her strange things. four little months after her leaving home, her parents were astonished by receiving a letter in which she told them they had parted with her too soon; that she was not happy with mr. l----, as he had promised she should be, and that she wished to have her marriage broken. she urged her father to make haste about it, as she had particular reasons for impatience. you may easily conceive of the astonishment of the good folks at home. her mother wondered and cried. her father immediately ordered his horses, and went to her. he was received with rapturous delight, and almost at the first moment thanked for his speedy compliance with her request. but when she found that he opposed her desire of having her marriage broken, and when she urged him with vehemence and those marks of caressing fondness she had been used to find all-powerful, and he told her at last it could not be done, she gave way to a paroxysm of passion; she declared that she could not and would not live with mr. l----; that, so soon as she saw anything of the world, she saw many men that she infinitely preferred to him; and that, since her father and mother, instead of guarding her, so mere a child as she was, so entirely inexperienced, against a hasty choice, had persuaded and urged her to it, it was their duty to break the match when they found it did not make her happy. "my child, you are entirely unreasonable." "it is not a time to be patient; and i was too yielding before. i am not seventeen. is the happiness of my whole life to be sacrificed?" "emily, you terrify me! do you love anybody else?" "not yet; but i am sure shall find some one to love, now i know what it is. i have seen already many whom i prefer to mr. l----." "is he not kind to you?" "kind! yes; but he is perfectly uninteresting. i hate to be with him. i do not wish his kindness, nor to remain in his house." in vain her father argued; she insisted that she could never be happy as she was; that it was impossible the law could be so cruel as to bind her to a vow she had taken when so mere a child; that she would go home with her father now, and they would see what could be done. she added that she had already told her husband her resolution. "and how did he bear it?" "he was very angry; but it is better for him to be angry once than unhappy always, as i should certainly make him did i remain here." after long and fruitless attempts to reason her into a different state of mind, the father went in search of the husband. he found him irritated and mortified. he loved his wife, in his way, for her personal beauty. he was very proud of her; he was piqued to the last degree by her frankness. he could not but acknowledge the truth of what she said, that she had been persuaded into the match when but a child; for she seemed a very infant now, in wilfulness and ignorance of the world. but i believe neither he nor her father had one compunctious misgiving as to their having profaned the holiness of marriage by such an union. their minds had never been opened to the true meaning of life, and, though they thought themselves so much wiser, they were in truth much less so than the poor, passionate emily,--for her heart, at least, spoke clearly, if her mind lay in darkness. they could do nothing with her, and her father was at length compelled to take her home, hoping that her mother might be able to induce her to see things in a different light. but father, mother, uncles, brothers, all reasoned with her in vain. totally unused to disappointment, she could not for a long time believe that she was forever bound by a bond that sat uneasily on her untamed spirit. when at last convinced of the truth, her despair was terrible. "am i his? his forever? must i never then love? never marry one whom i could really love? mother! it is too cruel. i cannot, will not believe it. you always wished me to belong to him. you do not now wish to aid me, or you are afraid! o, you would not be so, could you but know what i feel!" at last convinced, she then declared that if she could not be legally separated from l----, but must consent to bear his name, and never give herself to another, she would at least live with him no more. she would not again leave her father's house. here she was deaf to all argument, and only force could have driven her away. her indifference to l---had become hatred, in the course of these thoughts and conversations. she regarded herself as his victim, and him as her betrayer, since, she said, he was old enough to know the importance of the step to which he led her. her mind, naturally noble, though now in this wild state, refused to admit his love as an excuse. "had he loved me," she said, "he would have wished to teach me to love him, before securing me as his property. he is as selfish as he is dull and uninteresting. no! i will drag on my miserable years here alone, but i will not pretend to love him nor gratify him by the sight of his slave!" a year and more passed, and found the unhappy emily inflexible. her husband at last sought employment abroad, to hide his mortification. after his departure, emily relaxed once from the severe coldness she had shown since her return home. she had passed her time there with her music, in reading poetry, in solitary walks. but as the person who had been, however unintentionally, the means of making her so miserable, was further removed from her, she showed willingness to mingle again with the family, and see one or two young friends. one of these, almeria, effected what all the armament of praying and threatening friends had been unable to do. she devoted herself to emily. she shared her employments and her walks; she sympathized with all her feelings, even the morbid ones which she saw to be sincerity, tenderness and delicacy gone astray,--perverted and soured by the foolish indulgence of her education, and the severity of her destiny made known suddenly to a mind quite unprepared. at last, having won the confidence and esteem of emily, by the wise and gentle cheek her justice and clear perceptions gave to all extravagance, almeria ventured on representing to emily her conduct as the world saw it. to this she found her quite insensible. "what is the world to me?" she said. "i am forbidden to seek there all it can offer of value to woman--sympathy and a home." "it is full of beauty still," said almeria, looking out into the golden and perfumed glories of a june day. "not to the prisoner and the slave," said emily. "all are such, whom god hath not made free;" and almeria gently ventured to explain the hopes of larger span which enable the soul that can soar upon their wings to disregard the limitations of seventy years. emily listened with profound attention. the words were familiar to her, but the tone was not; it was that which rises from the depths of a purified spirit,--purified by pain, softened into peace. "have you made any use of these thoughts in your life, almeria?" the lovely preacher hesitated not to reveal a tale before unknown except to her own heart, of woe, renunciation, and repeated blows from a hostile fate. emily heard it in silence, but she understood. the great illusions of youth vanished. she did not suffer alone; her lot was not peculiar. another, perhaps many, were forbidden the bliss of sympathy and a congenial environment. and what had almeria done? revenged herself? tormented all around her? clung with wild passion to a selfish resolve? not at all. she had made the best of a wreck of life, and deserved a blessing on a new voyage. she had sought consolation in disinterested tenderness for her fellow-sufferers, and she deserved to cease to suffer. the lesson was taken home, and gradually leavened the whole being of this spoiled but naturally noble child. a few weeks afterwards, she asked her father when mr. l---was expected to return. "in about three months," he replied, much surprised. "i should like to have you write to him for me." "what now absurdity?" said the father, who, long mortified and harassed, had ceased to be a fond father to his once adored emily. "say that my views are unchanged as to his soliciting a marriage with me when too childish to know my own mind on that or any other subject; but i have now seen enough of the world to know that he meant no ill, if no good, and was no more heedless in this great matter than many others are. he is not born to know what one constituted like me must feel, in a home where i found no rest for my heart. i have now read, seen and thought, what has made me a woman. i can be what you call reasonable, though not perhaps in your way. i see that my misfortune is irreparable. i heed not the world's opinion, and would, for myself, rather remain here, and keep up no semblance of a connection which my matured mind disclaims. but that scandalizes you and my mother, and makes your house a scene of pain and mortification in your old age. i know you, too, did not neglect the charge of me, in your own eyes. i owe you gratitude for your affectionate intentions at least. "l---too is as miserable as mortification can make one like him. write, and ask him if he wishes my presence in his house on my own terms. he must not expect from me the affection, or marks of affection, of a wife. i should never have been his wife had i waited till i understood life or myself. but i will be his attentive and friendly companion, the mistress of his house, if he pleases. to the world it will seem enough,--he will be more comfortable there,--and what he wished of me was, in a great measure, to show me to the world. i saw that, as soon as we were in it, i could not give him happiness if i would, for we have not a thought nor employment in common. but if we can agree on the way, we may live together without any one being very miserable except myself, and i have made up my mind." the astonishment of the father may be conceived, and his cavils; l----'s also. to cut the story short, it was settled in emily's way, for she was one of the sultana kind, dread and dangerous. l---hardly wished her to love him now, for he half hated her for all she had done; yet he was glad to have her back, as she had judged, for the sake of appearances. all was smoothed over by a plausible story. people, indeed, knew the truth as to the fair one's outrageous conduct perfectly, but mr. l---was rich, his wife beautiful, and gave good parties; so society, as such, bowed and smiled, while individuals scandalized the pair. they had been living on this footing for several years, when i saw emily at the opera. she was a much altered being. debarred of happiness in her affections, she had turned for solace to the intellectual life, and her naturally powerful and brilliant mind had matured into a splendor which had never been dreamed of by those who had seen her amid the freaks end day-dreams of her early youth. yet, as i said before, she was not captivating to me, as her picture had been. she was, in a different way, as beautiful in feature and coloring as in her spring-time. her beauty, all moulded and mellowed by feeling, was far more eloquent; but it had none of the virgin magnificence, the untouched tropical luxuriance, which had fired my fancy. the false position in which she lived had shaded her expression with a painful restlessness; and her eye proclaimed that the conflicts of her mind had strengthened, had deepened, but had not yet hallowed, her character. she was, however, interesting, deeply so; one of those rare beings who fill your eye in every mood. her passion for music, and the great excellence she had attained as a performer, drew us together. i was her daily visitor; but, if my admiration ever softened into tenderness, it was the tenderness of pity for her unsatisfied heart, and cold, false life. but there was one who saw with very different eyes. v---had been intimate with emily some time before my arrival, and every day saw him more deeply enamored. _laurie._ and pray where was the husband all this time? _aglauron._ l---had sought consolation in ambition. he was a man of much practical dexterity, but of little thought, and less heart. he had at first been jealous of emily for his honor's sake,--not for any reality,--for she treated him with great attention as to the comforts of daily life; but otherwise, with polite, steady coldness. finding that she received the court, which many were disposed to pay her, with grace and affability, but at heart with imperial indifference, he ceased to disturb himself; for, as she rightly thought, he was incapable of understanding her. a coquette he could have interpreted; but a romantic character like hers, born for a grand passion, or no love at all, he could not. nor did he see that v---was likely to be more to her than any of her admirers. _laurie._ i am afraid i should have shamed his obtuseness. v---has nothing to recommend him that i know of, except his beauty, and that is the beauty of a _petit-maitre_--effeminate, without character, and very unlikely, i should judge, to attract such a woman as you give me the idea of. _aglauron._ you speak like a man, laurie; but have you never heard tales of youthful minstrels and pages being preferred by princesses, in the land of chivalry, to stalwart knights, who were riding all over the land, doing their devoirs maugre scars and starvation? and why? one want of a woman's heart is to admire and be protected; but another is to be understood in all her delicate feelings, and have an object who shall know how to receive all the marks of her inventive and bounteous affection. v---is such an one; a being of infinite grace and tenderness, and an equal capacity for prizing the same in another. effeminate, say you? lovely, rather, and lovable. he was not, indeed, made to grow old; but i never saw a fairer spring-time than shone in his eye when life, and thought, and love, opened on him all together. he was to emily like the soft breathing of a flute in some solitary valley; indeed, the delicacy of his nature made a solitude around him in the world. so delicate was he, and emily for a long time so unconscious, that nobody except myself divined how strong was the attraction which, as it drew them nearer together, invested both with a lustre and a sweetness which charmed all around them. but i see the sun is declining, and warns me to cut short a tale which would keep us here till dawn if i were to detail it as i should like to do in my own memories. the progress of this affair interested me deeply; for, like all persons whose perceptions are more lively than their hopes, i delight to live from day to day in the more ardent experiments of others. i looked on with curiosity, with sympathy, with fear. how could it end? what would become of them, unhappy lovers? one too noble, the other too delicate, ever to find happiness in an unsanctioned tie. i had, however, no right to interfere, and did not, even by a look, until one evening, when the occasion was forced upon me. there was a summer fete given at l----'s. i had mingled for a while with the guests in the brilliant apartments; but the heat oppressed, the conversation failed to interest me. an open window tempted me to the garden, whose flowers and tufted lawns lay bathed in moonlight. i went out alone; but the music of a superb band followed my steps, and gave impulse to my thoughts. a dreaming state, pensive though not absolutely sorrowful, came upon me,--one of those gentle moods when thoughts flow through the mind amber-clear and soft, noiseless, because unimpeded. i sat down in an arbor to enjoy it, and probably stayed much longer than i could have imagined; for when i reentered the large saloon it was deserted. the lights, however, were not extinguished, and, hearing voices in the inner room, i supposed some guests still remained; and, as i had not spoken with emily that evening, i ventured in to bid her good-night. i started, repentant, on finding her alone with v----, and in a situation that announced their feelings to be no longer concealed from each other. she, leaning back on the sofa, was weeping bitterly, while v----, seated at her feet, holding her hands within his own, was pouring forth his passionate words with a fervency which prevented him from perceiving my entrance. but emily perceived me at once, and starting up, motioned me not to go, as i had intended. i obeyed, and sat down. a pause ensued, awkward for me and for v----, who sat with his eyes cast down and blushing like a young girl detected in a burst of feeling long kept secret. emily sat buried in thought, the tears yet undried upon her cheeks. she was pale, but nobly beautiful, as i had never yet seen her. after a few moments i broke the silence, and attempted to tell why i had returned so late. she interrupted me: "no matter, aglauron, how it happened; whatever the chance, it promises to give both v---and myself, what we greatly need, a calm friend and adviser. you are the only person among these crowds of men whom i could consult; for i have read friendship in your eye, and i know you have truth and honor. v---thinks of you as i do, and he too is, or should be, glad to have some counsellor beside his own wishes." v---did not raise his eyes; neither did he contradict her. after a moment he said, "i believe aglauron to be as free from prejudice as any man, and most true and honorable; yet who can judge in this matter but ourselves?" "no one shall judge," said emily; "but i want counsel. god help me! i feel there is a right and wrong; but how can my mind, which has never been trained to discern between them, be confident of its power at this important moment? aglauron, what remains to me of happiness,--if anything do remain; perhaps the hope of heaven, if, indeed, there be a heaven,--is at stake! father and brother have failed their trust. i have no friend able to understand, wise enough to counsel me. the only one whose words ever came true to my thoughts, and of whom you have often reminded me, is distant. will you, this hour, take her place?" "to the best of my ability," i replied without hesitation, struck by the dignity of her manner. "you know," she said, "all my past history; all do so here, though they do not talk loudly of it. you and all others have probably blamed me. you know not, you cannot guess, the anguish, the struggles of my childish mind when it first opened to the meaning of those words, love, marriage, life. when i was bound to mr. l----, by a vow which from my heedless lips was mockery of all thought, all holiness, i had never known a duty, i had never felt the pressure of a tie. life had been, so far, a sweet, voluptuous dream, and i thought of this seemingly so kind and amiable person as a new and devoted ministrant to me of its pleasures. but i was scarcely in his power when i awoke. i perceived the unfitness of the tie; its closeness revolted me. "i had no timidity; i had always been accustomed to indulge my feelings, and i displayed them now. l----, irritated, averted his mastery; this drove me wild; i soon hated him, and despised too his insensibility to all which i thought most beautiful. from all his faults, and the imperfection of our relation, grew up in my mind the knowledge of what the true might be to me. it is astonishing how the thought grow upon me day by day. i had not been married more than three months before i knew what it would be to love, and i longed to be free to do so. i had never known what it was to be resisted, and the thought never came to me that i could now, and for all my life, be bound by so early a mistake. i thought only of expressing my resolve to be free. "how i was repulsed, how disappointed, you know, or could divine if you did not know; for all but me have been trained to bear the burden from their youth up, and accustomed to have the individual will fettered for the advantage of society. for the same reason, you cannot guess the silent fury that filled my mind when i at last found that i had struggled in vain, and that i must remain in the bondage that i had ignorantly put on. "my affections were totally alienated from my family, for i felt they had known what i had not, and had neither put me on my guard, nor warned me against precipitation whose consequences must be fatal. i saw, indeed, that they did not look on life as i did, and could be content without being happy; but this observation was far from making me love them more. i felt alone, bitterly, contemptuously alone. i hated men who had made the laws that bound me. i did not believe in god; for why had he permitted the dart to enter so unprepared a breast? i determined never to submit, though i disdained to struggle, since struggle was in vain. in passive, lonely wretchedness i would pass my days. i would not feign what i did not feel, nor take the hand which had poisoned for me the cup of life before i had sipped the first drops. "a friend--the only one i have ever known--taught me other thoughts. she taught me that others, perhaps all others, were victims, as much as myself. she taught me that if all the wrecked submitted to be drowned, the world would be a desert. she taught me to pity others, even those i myself was paining; for she showed me that they had sinned in ignorance, and that i had no right to make them suffer so long as i myself did, merely because they were the authors of my suffering. "she showed me, by her own pure example, what were duty and benevolence and employment to the soul, even when baffled and sickened in its dearest wishes. that example was not wholly lost: i freed my parents, at least, from their pain, and, without falsehood, became less cruel and more calm. "yet the kindness, the calmness, have never gone deep. i have been forced to live out of myself; and life, busy or idle, is still most bitter to the homeless heart. i cannot be like almeria; i am more ardent; and, aglauron, you see now i might be happy," she looked towards v----. i followed her eye, and was well-nigh melted too by the beauty of his gaze. "the question in my mind is," she resumed, "have i not a right to fly? to leave this vacant life, and a tie which, but for worldly circumstances, presses as heavily on l---as on myself. i shall mortify him; but that is a trifle compared with actual misery. i shall grieve my parents; but, were they truly such, would they not grieve still more that i must reject the life of mutual love? i have already sacrificed enough; shall i sacrifice the happiness of one i could really bless for those who do not know one native heart-beat of my life?" v---kissed her hand. "and yet," said she, sighing, "it does not always look so. we must, in that case, leave the world; it will not tolerate us. can i make v---happy in solitude? and what would almeria think? often it seems that she would feel that now i do love, and could make a green spot in the desert of life over which she mourned, she would rejoice to have me do so. then, again, something whispers she might have objections to make; and i wish--o, i long to know them! for i feel that this is the great crisis of my life, and that if i do not act wisely, now that i have thought and felt, it will be unpardonable. in my first error i was ignorant what i wished, but now i know, and ought not to be weak or deluded." i said, "have you no religious scruples? do you never think of your vow as sacred?" "never!" she replied, with flashing eyes. "shall the woman be bound by the folly of the child? no!--have never once considered myself as l----'s wife. if i have lived in his house, it was to make the best of what was left, as almeria advised. but what i feel he knows perfectly. i have never deceived him. but o! i hazard all! all! and should i be again ignorant, again deceived"---v---here poured forth all that can be imagined. i rose: "emily, this case seems to me so extraordinary that i must have time to think. you shall hear from me. i shall certainly give you my best advice, and i trust you will not over-value it." "i am sure," she said, "it will be of use to me, and will enable me to decide what i shall do. v----, now go away with aglauron; it is too late for you to stay here." i do not know if i have made obvious, in this account, what struck me most in the interview,--a certain savage force in the character of this beautiful woman, quite independent of the reasoning power. i saw that, as she could give no account of the past, except that she saw it was fit, or saw it was not, so she must be dealt with now by a strong instalment made by another from his own point of view, which she would accept or not, as suited her. there are some such characters, which, like plants, stretch upwards to the light; they accept what nourishes, they reject what injures them. they die if wounded,--blossom if fortunate; but never learn to analyze all this, or find its reasons; but, if they tell their story, it is in emily's way;--"it was so;" "i found it so." i talked with v----, and found him, as i expected, not the peer of her he loved, except in love. his passion was at its height. better acquainted with the world than emily,--not because he had seen it more, but because he had the elements of the citizen in him,--he had been at first equally emboldened and surprised by the ease with which he won her to listen to his suit. but he was soon still more surprised to find that she would only listen. she had no regard for her position in society as a married woman,--none for her vow. she frankly confessed her love, so far as it went, but doubted as to whether it was _her whole love_, and doubted still more her right to leave l----, since she had returned to him, and could not break the bond so entirely as to give them firm foot-hold in the world. "i may make you unhappy," she said, "and then be unhappy myself; these laws, this society, are so strange, i can make nothing of them. in music i am at home. why is not all life music? we instantly know when we are going wrong there. convince me it is for the best, and i will go with you at once. but now it seems wrong, unwise, scarcely better than to stay as we are. we must go secretly, must live obscurely in a corner. that i cannot bear,--all is wrong yet. why am i not at liberty to declare unblushingly to all men that i will leave the man whom i _do not_ love, and go with him i _do_ love? that is the only way that would suit me,--i cannot see clearly to take any other course." i found v---had no scruples of conscience, any more than herself. he was wholly absorbed in his passion, and his only wish was to persuade her to elope, that a divorce might follow, and she be all his own. i took my part. i wrote next day to emily. i told her that my view must differ from hers in this: that i had, from early impressions, a feeling of the sanctity of the marriage vow. it was not to me a measure intended merely to insure the happiness of two individuals, but a solemn obligation, which, whether it led to happiness or not, was a means of bringing home to the mind the great idea of duty, the understanding of which, and not happiness, seemed to be the end of life. life looked not clear to me otherwise. i entreated her to separate herself from v---for a year, before doing anything decisive; she could then look at the subject from other points of view, and see the bearing on mankind as well as on herself alone. if she still found that happiness and v---were her chief objects, she might be more sure of herself after such a trial. i was careful not to add one word of persuasion or exhortation, except that i recommended her to the enlightening love of the father of our spirits. _laurie_. with or without persuasion, your advice had small chance, i fear, of being followed. _aglauron_. you err. next day v---departed. emily, with a calm brow and earnest eyes, devoted herself to thought, and such reading as i suggested. _laurie_. and the result? _aglauron_. i grieve not to be able to point my tale with the expected moral, though perhaps the true denouement may lead to one as valuable. l---died within the year, and she married v----. _laurie_. and the result? _aglauron_. is for the present utter disappointment in him. she was infinitely blest, for a time, in his devotion, but presently her strong nature found him too much hers, and too little his own. he satisfied her as little as l---had done, though always lovely and dear. she saw with keen anguish, though this time without bitterness, that we are never wise enough to be sure any measure will fulfil our expectations. but--i know not how it is--emily does not yet command the changes of destiny which she feels so keenly and faces so boldly. born to be happy only in the clear light of religious thought, she still seeks happiness elsewhere. she is now a mother, and all other thoughts are merged in that. but she will not long be permitted to abide there. one more pang, and i look to see her find her central point, from which all the paths she has taken lead. she loves truth so ardently, though as yet only in detail, that she will yet know truth as a whole. she will see that she does not live for emily, or for v----, or for her child, but as one link in a divine purpose. her large nature must at last serve knowingly. _myself_. i cannot understand you, aglauron; i do not guess the scope of your story, nor sympathize with your feeling about this lady. she is a strange, and, i think, very unattractive person. i think her beauty must have fascinated you. her character seems very inconsistent. _aglauron_. because i have drawn from life. _myself_. but, surely, there should be a harmony somewhere. _aglauron_. could we but get the right point of view. _laurie_. and where is that? he pointed to the sun, just sinking behind the pine grove. we mounted and rode home without a word more. but i do not understand aglauron yet, nor what he expects from this emily. yet her character, though almost featureless at first, gains distinctness as i think of it more. perhaps in this life i shall find its key. the wrongs of american women. the duty of american women. the same day brought us a copy of mr. burdett's little book,--in which the sufferings and difficulties that beset the large class of women who must earn their subsistence in a city like new york, are delineated with so much simplicity, feeling, and exact adherence to the facts,--and a printed circular, containing proposals for immediate practical adoption of the plan wore fully described in a book published some weeks since, under the title, "the duty of american women to their country," which was ascribed alternately to mrs. stowe and miss catharine beecher. the two matters seemed linked to one another by natural parity. full acquaintance with the wrong must call forth all manner of inventions for its redress. the circular, in showing the vast want that already exists of good means for instructing the children of this nation, especially in the west, states also the belief that among women, as being less immersed in other cares and toils, from the preparation it gives for their task as mothers, and from the necessity in which a great proportion stand of earning a subsistence somehow, at least during the years which precede marriage, if they _do_ marry, must the number of teachers wanted be found, which is estimated already at _sixty thousand_. we cordially sympathize with these views. much has been written about woman's keeping within her sphere, which is defined as the domestic sphere. as a little girl she is to learn the lighter family duties, while she acquires that limited acquaintance with the realm of literature and science that will enable her to superintend the instruction of children in their earliest years. it is not generally proposed that she should be sufficiently instructed and developed to understand the pursuits or aims of her future husband; she is not to be a help-meet to him in the way of companionship and counsel, except in the care of his house and children. her youth is to be passed partly in learning to keep house and the use of the needle, partly in the social circle, where her manners may be formed, ornamental accomplishments perfected and displayed, and the husband found who shall give her the domestic sphere for which she is exclusively to be prepared. were the destiny of woman thus exactly marked out; did she invariably retain the shelter of a parent's or guardian's roof till she married; did marriage give her a sure home and protector; were she never liable to remain a widow, or, if so, sure of finding immediate protection from a brother or new husband, so that she might never be forced to stand alone one moment; and were her mind given for this world only, with no faculties capable of eternal growth and infinite improvement; we would still demand for her a for wider and more generous culture, than is proposed by those who so anxiously define her sphere. we would demand it that she might not ignorantly or frivolously thwart the designs of her husband; that she might be the respected friend of her sons, not less than of her daughters; that she might give more refinement, elevation and attraction, to the society which is needed to give the characters of _men_ polish and plasticity,--no less so than to save them from vicious and sensual habits. but the most fastidious critic on the departure of woman from her sphere can scarcely fail to see, at present, that a vast proportion of the sex, if not the better half, do not, _cannot_ have this domestic sphere. thousands and scores of thousands in this country, no less than in europe, are obliged to maintain themselves alone. far greater numbers divide with their husbands the care of earning a support for the family. in england, now, the progress of society has reached so admirable a pitch, that the position of the sexes is frequently reversed, and the husband is obliged to stay at home and "mind the house and bairns," while the wife goes forth to the employment she alone can secure. we readily admit that the picture of this is most painful;--that nature made an entirely opposite distribution of functions between the sexes. we believe the natural order to be the best, and that, if it could be followed in an enlightened spirit, it would bring to woman all she wants, no less for her immortal than her mortal destiny. we are not surprised that men who do not look deeply and carefully at causes and tendencies, should be led, by disgust at the hardened, hackneyed characters which the present state of things too often produces in women, to such conclusions as they are. we, no more than they, delight in the picture of the poor woman digging in the mines in her husband's clothes. we, no more than they, delight to hear their voices shrilly raised in the market-place, whether of apples, or of celebrity. but we see that at present they must do as they do for bread. hundreds and thousands must step out of that hallowed domestic sphere, with no choice but to work or steal, or belong to men, not as wives, but as the wretched slaves of sensuality. and this transition state, with all its revolting features, indicates, we do believe, an approach of a nobler era than the world has yet known. we trust that by the stress and emergencies of the present and coming time the minds of women will be formed to more reflection and higher purposes than heretofore; their latent powers developed, their characters strengthened and eventually beautified and harmonized. should the state of society then be such that each may remain, as nature seems to have intended, woman the tutelary genius of home, while man manages the outdoor business of life, both may be done with a wisdom, a mutual understanding and respect, unknown at present. men will be no less gainers by this than women, finding in pure and more religious marriages the joys of friendship and love combined,--in their mothers and daughters better instruction, sweeter and nobler companionship, and in society at large, an excitement to their finer powers and feelings unknown at present, except in the region of the fine arts. blest be the generous, the wise, who seek to forward hopes like these, instead of struggling, against the fiat of providence and the march of fate, to bind down rushing life to the standard of the past! such efforts are vain, but those who make them are unhappy and unwise. it is not, however, to such that we address ourselves, but to those who seek to make the best of things as they are, while they also strive to make them better. such persons will have seen enough of the state of things in london, paris, new york, and manufacturing regions everywhere, to feel that there is an imperative necessity for opening more avenues of employment to women, and fitting them better to enter them, rather than keeping them back. women have invaded many of the trades and some of the professions. sewing, to the present killing extent, they cannot long bear. factories seem likely to afford them permanent employment. in the culture of fruit, flowers, and vegetables, even in the sale of them, we rejoice to see them engaged. in domestic service they will be aided, but can never be supplanted, by machinery. as much room as there is here for woman's mind and woman's labor, will always be filled. a few have usurped the martial province, but these must always be few; the nature of woman is opposed to war. it is natural enough to see "female physicians," and we believe that the lace cap and work-bag are as much at home here as the wig and gold-headed cane. in the priesthood, they have, from all time, shared more or less--in many eras more than at the present. we believe there has been no female lawyer, and probably will be none. the pen, many of the fine arts, they have made their own; and in the more refined countries of the world, as writers, as musicians, as painters, as actors, women occupy as advantageous ground as men. writing and music may be esteemed professions for them more than any other. but there are two others--where the demand must invariably be immense, and for which they are naturally better fitted than men--for which we should like to see them better prepared and better rewarded than they are. these are the professions of nurse to the sick, and of the teacher. the first of these professions we have warmly desired to see dignified. it is a noble one, now most unjustly regarded in the light of menial service. it is one which no menial, no servile nature can fitly occupy. we were rejoiced when an intelligent lady of massachusetts made the refined heroine of a little romance select this calling. this lady (mrs. george lee) has looked on society with unusual largeness of spirit and healthiness of temper. she is well acquainted with the world of conventions, but sees beneath it the world of nature. she is a generous writer, and unpretending as the generous are wont to be. we do not recall the name of the tale, but the circumstance above mentioned marks its temper. we hope to see the time when the refined and cultivated will choose this profession, and learn it, not only through experience and under the direction of the doctor, but by acquainting themselves with the laws of matter and of mind, so that all they do shall be intelligently done, and afford them the means of developing intelligence, as well as the nobler, tenderer feelings of humanity; for even this last part of the benefit they cannot receive if their work be done in a selfish or mercenary spirit. the other profession is that of teacher, for which women are peculiarly adapted by their nature, superiority in tact, quickness of sympathy, gentleness, patience, and a clear and animated manner in narration or description. to form a good teacher, should be added to this, sincere modesty combined with firmness, liberal views, with a power and will to liberalize them still further, a good method, and habits of exact and thorough investigation. in the two last requisites women are generally deficient, but there are now many shining examples to prove that if they are immethodical and superficial as teachers, it is because it is the custom so to teach them, and that when aware of these faults, they can and will correct them. the profession is of itself an excellent one for the improvement of the teacher during that interim between youth and maturity when the mind needs testing, tempering, and to review and rearrange the knowledge it has acquired. the natural method of doing this for one's self, is to attempt teaching others; those years also are the best of the practical teacher. the teacher should be near the pupil, both in years and feelings; no oracle, but the eldest brother or sister of the pupil. more experience and years form the lecturer and director of studies, but injure the powers as to familiar teaching. these are just the years of leisure in the lives even of those women who are to enter the domestic sphere, and this calling most of all compatible with a constant progress as to qualifications for that. viewing the matter thus, it may well be seen that we should hail with joy the assurance that sixty thousand _female_ teachers are wanted, and more likely to be, and that a plan is projected which looks wise, liberal and generous, to afford the means, to those whose hearts answer to this high calling, of obeying their dictates. the plan is to have cincinnati as a central point, where teachers shall be for a short time received, examined, and prepared for their duties. by mutual agreement and cooperation of the various sects, funds are to be raised, and teachers provided, according to the wants and tendencies of the various locations now destitute. what is to be done for them centrally, is for suitable persons to examine into the various kinds of fitness, communicate some general views whose value has been tested, and counsel adapted to the difficulties and advantages of their new positions. the central committee are to have the charge of raising funds, and finding teachers, and places where teachers are wanted. the passage of thoughts, teachers and funds, will be from east to west--the course of sunlight upon this earth. the plan is offered as the most extensive and pliant means of doing a good and preventing ill to this nation, by means of a national education; whose normal school shall have an invariable object in the search after truth, and the diffusion of the means of knowledge, while its form shall be plastic according to the wants of the time. this normal school promises to have good effects, for it proposes worthy aims through simple means, and the motive for its formation and support seems to be disinterested philanthropy. it promises to eschew the bitter spirit of sectarianism and proselytism, else we, for one party, could have nothing to do with it. men, no doubt, have oftentimes been kept from absolute famine by the wheat with which such tares are mingled; but we believe the time is come when a purer and more generous food is to be offered to the people at large. we believe the aim of all education to be to rouse the mind to action, show it the means of discipline and of information; then leave it free, with god, conscience, and the love of truth, for its guardians and teachers. woe be to those who sacrifice these aims of universal and eternal value to the propagation of a set of opinions! we can accept such doctrine as is offered by rev. colvin e. stowe, one of the committee, in the following passage: "in judicious practice, i am persuaded there will seldom be any very great difficulty, especially if there be excited in the community anything like a whole-hearted and enlightened sincerity in the cause of public instruction. "it is all right for people to suit their own taste and convictions in respect to sect; and by fair means, and at proper times, to teach their children and those under their influence to prefer the denominations which they prefer; but further than this no one has any right to go. it is all wrong to hazard the well-being of the soul, to jeopardize great public interests for the sake of advancing the interests of a sect. people must learn to practise some self-denial, on christian principles, in respect to their denominational prejudices as well as in respect to other things, before pure religion can ever gain a complete victory over every form of human selfishness." the persons who propose themselves to the examination and instruction of the teachers at cincinnati, till the plan shall be sufficiently under way to provide regularly for the office, are mrs. stowe and miss catharine beecher, ladies well known to fame, as possessing unusual qualifications for the task. as to finding abundance of teachers, who that reads this little book of mr. burdett's, or the account of the compensation of female labor in new york, and the hopeless, comfortless, useless, pernicious lives of those who have even the advantage of getting work must lead, with the sufferings and almost inevitable degradation to which those who cannot are exposed, but must long to snatch such as are capable of this better profession (and among the multitude there must be many who are or could be made so) from their present toils, and make them free, and the means of freedom and growth in others? to many books on such subjects--among others to "woman in the nineteenth century"--the objection has been made, that they exhibit ills without specifying any practical means for their remedy. the writer of the last-named essay does indeed think that it contains one great rule which, if laid to heart, would prove a practical remedy for many ills, and of such daily and hourly efficacy in the conduct of life, that any extensive observance of it for a single year would perceptibly raise the tone of thought, feeling and conduct, throughout the civilized world. but to those who ask not only such a principle, but an external method for immediate use, we say that here is one proposed which looks noble and promising; the proposers offer themselves to the work with heart and hand, with time and purse. go ye and do likewise. george sand. when i first knew george sand, i thought to have found tried the experiment i wanted. i did not value bettine so much. she had not pride enough for me. only now, when i am sure of myself, can i pour out my soul at the feet of another. in the assured soul it is kingly prodigality; in one which cannot forbear it is mere babyhood. i love "abandon" only when natures are capable of the extreme reverse. i know bettine would end in nothing; when i read her book i knew she could not outlive her love. but in _"les sept cordes de la lyre,"_ which i read first, i saw the knowledge of the passions and of social institutions, with the celestial choice which rose above them. i loved helene, who could hear so well the terrene voices, yet keep her eye fixed on the stars. that would be my wish also,--to know all, and then choose. i even revered her, for i was not sure that i could have resisted the call of the _now_; could have left the spirit and gone to god; and at a more ambitious age i could not have refused the philosopher. but i hoped much from her steadfastness, and i thought i heard the last tones of a purified life. gretchen, in the golden cloud, is raised above all past delusions, worthy to redeem and upbear the wise man who stumbled into the pit of error while searching for truth. still, in "andre" and "jacques," i trace the same high morality of one who had tried the liberty of circumstance only to learn to appreciate the liberty of law;--to know that license is the foe of freedom; and, though the sophistry of passion in these books disgusted me, flowers of purest hue seemed to grow upon the dark and dirty ground. i thought she had cast aside the slough of her past life, and begun a new existence beneath the sun of a new ideal. but here, in the _"lettres d'un voyageur,"_ what do i see? an unfortunate, wailing her loneliness, wailing her mistakes, _writing for money!_ she has genius, and a manly grasp of mind, but not a manly heart. will there never be a being to combine a man's mind and a woman's heart, and who yet finds life too rich to weep over? never? when i read in _"leon leoni"_ the account of the jeweller's daughter's life with her mother, passed in dressing, and learning to be looked at when dressed, _"avec un front impassible,"_ it reminded me of ---and her mother. what a heroine she would be for sand! she has the same fearless softness with juliet, and a sportive _naivete_ a mixture of bird and kitten, unknown to the dupe of leoni. if i were a man, and wished a wife, as many do, merely as an ornament, a silken toy, i would take ---as soon as any i know. her fantastic, impassioned and mutable nature would yield an inexhaustible amusement. she is capable of the most romantic actions,--wild as the falcon, voluptuous as the tuberose; yet she has not in her the elements of romance, like a deeper or less susceptible nature. my cold and reasoning ----, with her one love lying, perhaps never to be unfolded, beneath such sheaths of pride and reserve, would make a far better heroine. ---and her mother differ from juliet and _her_ mother by the impulse a single strong character gave them. even at this distance of time there is a light but perceptible taste of iron in the water. george sand disappoints me, as almost all beings do, especially since i have been brought close to her person by the _"lettres d'un voyageur."_ her remarks on lavater seem really shallow, _a la mode du genre feminin._ no self-ruling aspasia she, but a frail woman, mourning over her lot. any peculiarity in her destiny seems accidental; she is forced to this and to that to earn her bread, forsooth! yet her style--with what a deeply smouldering fire it burns! not vehement, but intense, like jean jacques. from a notice of george sand. it is probably known to a great proportion of readers that this writer is a woman, who writes under the name, and frequently assumes the dress and manners, of a man. it is also known that she has not only broken the marriage-bond, and, since that, formed other connections, independent of the civil and ecclesiastical sanction, but that she first rose into notice through works which systematically assailed the present institution of marriage, and the social bonds which are connected with it. no facts are more adapted to startle every feeling of our community; but, since the works of sand are read here, notwithstanding, and cannot fail to be so while they exert so important an influence abroad, it would be well they should be read intelligently, as to the circumstances of their birth and their tendency. george sand we esteem to be a person of strong passions, but of original nobleness and a love of right sufficient to guide them all to the service of worthy aims. but she fell upon evil times. she was given in marriage, according to the fashion of the old regime; she was taken from a convent, where she had heard a great deal about the law of god and the example of jesus, into a society where no vice was proscribed, if it would only wear the cloak of hypocrisy. she found herself impatient of deception, and loudly appealed to by passion; she yielded, but she could not do so, as others did, sinning against what she owned to be the rule of right and the will of heaven. she protested, she examined, she "hacked into the roots of things," and the bold sound of her axe called around her every foe that finds a home amid the growths of civilization. still she persisted. "if it be real," thought she, "it cannot be destroyed; as to what is false, the sooner it goes the better; and i, for one, would rather perish by its fall, than wither in its shade." schiller puts into the mouth of mary stuart these words, as her only plea: "the world knows the worst of me, and i may boast that, though i have erred, i am better than my reputation." sand may say the same. all is open, noble; the free descriptions, the sophistry of passion, are, at least, redeemed by a desire for truth as strong as ever beat in any heart. to the weak or unthinking, the reading of such books may not be desirable, for only those who take exercise as men can digest strong meat. but to any one able to understand the position and circumstances, we believe this reading cannot fail of bringing good impulses, valuable suggestions; and it is quite free from that subtle miasma which taints so large a portion of french literature, not less since the revolution than before. this we say to the foreign reader. to her own country, sand is a boon precious and prized, both as a warning and a leader, for which none there can be ungrateful. she has dared to probe its festering wounds; and if they be not past all surgery, she is one who, most of any, helps towards a cure. would, indeed, the surgeon had come with quite clean hands! a woman of sand's genius--as free, as bold, and pure from even the suspicion of error--might have filled an apostolic station among her people with what force had come her cry, "if it be false, give it up; but if it be true, keep to it,-one or the other!" but we have read all we wish to say upon this subject lately uttered just from the quarter we could wish. it is such a woman, so unblemished in character, so high in aim, so pure in soul, that should address this other, as noble in nature, but clouded by error, and struggling with circumstances. it is such women that will do such others justice. they are not afraid to look for virtue, and reply to aspiration, among those who have _not_ dwelt "in decencies forever." it is a source of pride and happiness to read this address from the heart of elizabeth barrett:- to george sand. a desire. thou large-brained woman and large-hearted man, self-called george sand! whose soul amid the lions of thy tumultuous senses moans defiance, and answers roar for roar, as spirits can,- i would some wild, miraculous thunder ran above the applauding circus, in appliance of thine own nobler nature's strength and science, drawing two pinions, white as wings of swan, from the strong shoulders, to amaze the place with holier light! that thou, to woman's claim, and man's, might join, beside, the angel's grace of a pure genius, sanctified from blame, till child and maiden pressed to thine embrace, to kiss upon thy lips a stainless fame! * * * * * to the same. a recognition. true genius, but true woman! dost deny thy woman's nature with a manly scorn, and break away the gauds and armlets worn by weaker woman in captivity? ah, vain denial! that revolted cry is sobbed in by a woman's voice forlorn:- thy woman's hair, my sister! all unshorn, floats back dishevelled strength in agony, disproving thy man's name; and while before the world thou burnest in a poet-fire, we see thy woman-heart beat evermore through the large flame. beat purer, heart! and higher, till god unsex thee on the spirit-shore, to which, alone unsexing, purely aspire! * * * * * this last sonnet seems to have been written after seeing the picture of sand, which represents her in a man's dress, but with long, loose hair, and an eye whose mournful fire is impressive, even in the caricatures. for some years sand has quitted her post of assailant. she has seen that it is better to seek some form of life worthy to supersede the old, than rudely to destroy it, heedless of the future. her force is bending towards philanthropic measures. she does not appear to possess much of the constructive faculty; and, though her writings command a great pecuniary compensation, and have a wide sway, it is rather for their tendency than for their thought. she has reached no commanding point of view from which she may give orders to the advanced corps. she is still at work with others in the breach, though she works with more force than almost any. in power, indeed, sand bears the palm above all other french novelists. she is vigorous in conception, often great in the apprehension and the contrast of characters. she knows passion, as has been hinted, at a _white_ heat, when all the lower particles are remoulded by its power. her descriptive talent is very great, and her poetic feeling exquisite. she wants but little of being a poet, but that little is indispensable. yet she keeps us always hovering on the borders of enchanted fields. she has, to a signal degree, that power of exact transcript from her own mind, in which almost all writers fail. there is no veil, no half-plastic integument between us and the thought; we vibrate perfectly with it. this is her chief charm, and next to it is one in which we know no french writer that resembles her, except rousseau, though he, indeed, is vastly her superior in it; that is, of concentrated glow. her nature glows beneath the words, like fire beneath ashes,--deep, deep! her best works are unequal; in many parts written hastily, or carelessly, or with flagging spirits. they all promise far more than they can perform; the work is not done masterly; she has not reached that point where a writer sits at the helm of his own genius. sometimes she plies the oar,--sometimes she drifts. but what greatness she has is genuine; there is no tinsel of any kind, no drapery carefully adjusted, no chosen gesture about her. may heaven lead her, at last, to the full possession of her best self, in harmony with the higher laws of life! we are not acquainted with all her works, but among those we know, mention "_la roche maupart_," "_andre_," "_jacques_," "_les sept cordes de la lyre_," and "_les maitres mosaistes_," as representing her higher inspirations, her sincerity in expression, and her dramatic powers. they are full of faults; still they show her scope and aim with some fairness, which such of her readers as chance first on such of her books as "_leone leoni_" may fail to find; or even such as "_simon_," and "_spiridion_," though into the imperfect web of these are woven threads of pure gold. such is the first impression made by the girl fiamma, so noble, as she appears before us with the words "_e l'onore_;" such the thought in _spiridion_ of making the apparition the reward of virtue. the work she is now publishing, "_consuelo_" with its sequel, "_baroness de rudolstadt_," exhibits her genius poised on a firmer pedestal, breathing a serener air. still it is faulty in conduct, and shows some obliquity of vision. she has not reached the interpreter's house yet. but when she does, she will have clues to guide many a pilgrim, whom one less tried, less tempted than herself could not help on the way. from a criticism on "consuelo." * * * * *. the work itself cannot fail of innumerable readers, and a great influence, for it counts many of the most significant pulse-beats of the tune. apart from its range of character and fine descriptions, it records some of the mystical apparitions, and attempts to solve some of the problems of the time. how to combine the benefits of the religious life with those of the artist-life in an existence more simple, more full, more human in short, than either of the two hitherto known by these names has been,--this problem is but poorly solved in the "countess of rudolstadt," the sequel to consuelo. it is true, as the english reviewer says, that george sand is a far better poet than philosopher, and that the chief use she can be of in these matters is, by her great range of observation and fine intuitions, to help to develop the thoughts of the time a little way further. but the sincerity, the reality of all he can obtain from this writer will be highly valued by the earnest man. in one respect the book is entirely successful--in showing how inward purity and honor may preserve a woman from bewilderment and danger, and secure her a genuine independence. whoever aims at this is still considered, by unthinking or prejudiced minds, as wishing to despoil the female character of its natural and peculiar loveliness. it is supposed that delicacy must imply weakness, and that only an amazon can stand upright, and have sufficient command of her faculties to confront the shock of adversity, or resist the allurements of tenderness. miss bremer, dumas, and the northern novelist, andersen, make women who have a tendency to the intellectual life of an artist fail, and suffer the penalties of arrogant presumption, in the very first steps of a career to which an inward vocation called them in preference to the usual home duties. yet nothing is more obvious than that the circumstances of the time do, more and more frequently, call women to such lives, and that, if guardianship is absolutely necessary to women, many must perish for want of it. there is, then, reason to hope that god may be a sufficient guardian to those who dare rely on him; and if the heroines of the novelists we have named ended as they did, it was for the want of the purity of ambition and simplicity of character which do not permit such as consuelo to be either unseated and depraved, or unresisting victims and breaking reeds, if left alone in the storm and crowd of life. to many women this picture will prove a true consuelo (consolation), and we think even very prejudiced men will not read it without being charmed with the expansion, sweetness and genuine force, of a female character, such as they have not met, but must, when painted, recognize as possible, and may be led to review their opinions, and perhaps to elevate and enlarge their hopes, as to "woman's sphere" and "woman's mission." if such insist on what they have heard of the private life of this writer, and refuse to believe that any good thing can come out of nazareth, we reply that we do not know the true facts as to the history of george sand. there has been no memoir or notice of her published on which any one can rely, and we have seen too much of life to accept the monsters of gossip in reference to any one. but we know, through her works, that, whatever the stains on her life and reputation may have been, there is in her a soul so capable of goodness and honor as to depict them most successfully in her ideal forms. it is her works, and not her private life, that we are considering. of her works we have means of judging; of herself, not. but among those who have passed unblamed through the walks of life, we have not often found a nobleness of purpose and feeling, a sincere religious hope, to be compared with the spirit that breathes through the pages of consuelo. the experiences of the artist-life, the grand and penetrating remarks upon music, make the book a precious acquisition to all whose hearts are fashioned to understand such things. we suppose that we receive here not only the mind of the writer, but of liszt, with whom she has publicly corresponded in the "_lettres d'un voyageur_." none could more avail us, for "in him also is a spark of the divine fire," as beethoven said of ichubert. we may thus consider that we have in this book the benefit of the most electric nature, the finest sensibility, and the boldest spirit of investigation combined, expressing themselves in a little world of beautiful or picturesque forms. although there are grave problems discussed, and sad and searching experiences described in this work, yet its spirit is, in the main, hopeful, serene, almost glad. it is the spirit inspired from a near acquaintance with the higher life of art. seeing there something really achieved and completed, corresponding with the soul's desires, faith is enlivened as to the eventual fulfilment of those desires, and we feel a certainty that the existence which looks at present so marred and fragmentary shall yet end in harmony. the shuttle is at work, and the threads are gradually added that shall bring out the pattern, and prove that what seems at present confusion is really the way and means to order and beauty. jenny lind, the "consuelo" of george sand. jenny lind, the prima donna of stockholm, is among the most distinguished of those geniuses who have been invited to welcome the queen to germany. her name has been unknown among us, as she is still young, and has not wandered much from the scene of her first triumphs; but many may have seen, last winter, in the foreign papers, an account of her entrance into stockholm after an absence of some length. the people received her with loud cries of homage, took the horses from her carriage and drew her home; a tribute of respect often paid to conquerors and statesmen, but seldom, or, as far as we know, never to the priesthood of the muses, who have conferred the higher benefit of raising, refining and exhilarating, the popular mind. an accomplished swede, now in this country, communicated to a friend particulars of jenny lind's career, which suggested the thought that she might have given the hint for the principal figure in sand's late famous novel, "consuelo." this work is at present in process of translation in "the harbinger," a periodical published at brook farm, mass.; but, as this translation has proceeded but a little way, and the book in its native tongue is not generally, though it has been extensively, circulated here, we will give a slight sketch of its plan. it has been a work of deepest interest to those who have looked upon sand for some years back, as one of the best exponents of the difficulties, the errors, the aspirations, the weaknesses, and the regenerative powers of the present epoch. the struggle in her mind and the experiments of her life have been laid bare to the eyes of her fellow-creatures with fearless openness--fearless, not shameless. let no man confound the bold unreserve of sand with that of those who have lost the feeling of beauty and the love of good. with a bleeding heart and bewildered feet she sought the truth, and if she lost the way, returned as soon as convinced she had done so; but she would never hide the fact that she had lost it. "what god knows, i dare avow to man," seems to be her motto. it is impossible not to see in her, not only the distress and doubts of the intellect, but the temptations of a sensual nature; but we see too the courage of a hero and a deep capacity for religion. this mixed nature, too, fits her peculiarly to speak to men so diseased as men are at present. they feel she knows their ailment, and if she find a cure, it will really be by a specific remedy. an upward tendency and growing light are observable in all her works for several years past, till now, in the present, she has expressed such conclusions as forty years of the most varied experience have brought to one who had shrunk from no kind of discipline, yet still cried to god amid it all; one who, whatever you may say against her, you must feel has never accepted a word for a thing, or worn one moment the veil of hypocrisy; and this person one of the most powerful nature, both as to passion and action, and of an ardent, glowing genius. these conclusions are sadly incomplete. there is an amazing alloy in the last product of her crucible, but there is also so much of pure gold that the book is truly a cordial, as its name of consuelo (consolation) promises. the young consuelo lives as a child the life of a beggar. her youth is passed in the lowest circumstances of the streets of venice. she brings the more pertinacious fire of spanish blood to be fostered by the cheerful airs of italy. a vague sense of the benefits to be derived, from such mingling of various influences, in the formation of a character, is to be discerned in several works of art now, when men are really wishing to become citizens of the world, though old habits still interfere on every side with so noble a development. nothing can be more charming than the first volume, which describes the young girl amid the common life of venice. it is sunny, open, and romantic as the place. the beauty of her voice, when a little singing-girl in the streets, arrested the attention of a really great and severe master, porpora, who educated her to music. in this she finds the vent and the echo for her higher self. her affections are fixed on a young companion, an unworthy object, but she does not know him to be so. she judges from her own candid soul, that all must be good, and derives from the tie, for a while, the fostering influences which love alone has for genius. clear perception follows quickly upon her first triumphs in art. they have given her a rival, and a mean rival, in her betrothed, whose talent, though great, is of an inferior grade to hers; who is vain, every way impure. her master, porpora, tries to avail himself of this disappointment to convince her that the artist ought to devote himself to art alone; that private ties must interfere with his perfection and his glory. but the nature of consuelo revolts against this doctrine, as it would against the seclusion of a convent. she feels that genius requires manifold experience for its development, and that the mind, concentrated on a single object, is likely to pay by a loss of vital energy for the economy of thoughts and time. driven by these circumstances into germany, she is brought into contact with the old noblesse, a very different, but far less charming, atmosphere than that of the gondoliers of venice. but here, too, the strong, simple character of our consuelo is unconstrained, if not at home, and when her heart swells and needs expansion, she can sing. here the count de rudolstadt, albert, loves consuelo, which seems, in the conduct of the relation, a type of a religious democracy in love with the spirit of art. we do not mean that any such cold abstraction is consciously intended, but all that is said means this. it shadows forth one of the greatest desires which convulse our age. a most noble meaning is couched in the history of albert, and though the writer breaks down under such great attempts, and the religion and philosophy of the book are clumsily embodied compared with its poesy and rhetoric, yet great and still growing thoughts are expressed with sufficient force to make the book a companion of rare value to one in the same phase of mind. albert is the aristocratic democrat, such as alfieri was; one who, in his keen perception of beauty, shares the good of that culture which ages have bestowed on the more fortunate classes, but in his large heart loves and longs for the good of all men, as if he had himself suffered in the lowest pits of human misery. he is all this and more in his transmigration, real or fancied, of soul, through many forms of heroic effort and bloody error; in his incompetency to act at the present time, his need of long silences, of the company of the dead and of fools, and eventually of a separation from all habitual ties, is expressed a great idea, which is still only in the throes of birth, yet the nature of whose life we begin to prognosticate with some clearness. consuelo's escape from the castle, and even from albert, her admiration of him, and her incapacity to love him till her own character be more advanced, are told with great naturalness. her travels with joseph haydn, are again as charmingly told as the venetian life. here the author speaks from her habitual existence, and far more masterly than of those deep places of thought where she is less at home. she has lived much, discerned much, felt great need of great thoughts, but not been able to think a great way for herself. she fearlessly accompanies the spirit of the age, but she never surpasses it; _that_ is the office of the great thinker. at vienna consuelo is brought fully into connection with the great world as an artist. she finds that its realities, so far from being less, are even more harsh and sordid for the artist than for any other; and that with avarice, envy and falsehood, she must prepare for the fearful combat which awaits noble souls in any kind of arena, with the pain of disgust when they cannot raise themselves to patience--with the almost equal pain, when they can, of pity for those who know not what they do. albert is on the verge of the grave; and consuelo, who, not being able to feel for him sufficient love to find in it compensation for the loss of that artist-life to which she feels nature has destined her, had hitherto resisted the entreaties of his aged father, and the pleadings of her own reverential and tender sympathy with the wants of his soul, becomes his wife just before he dies. the sequel, therefore, of this history is given under the title of countess of rudolstadt. consuelo is still on the stage; she is at the prussian court. the well-known features of this society, as given in the memoirs of the time, are put together with much grace and wit. the sketch of frederic is excellent. the rest of the book is devoted to expression of the author's ideas on the subject of reform, and especially of association as a means thereto. as her thoughts are yet in a very crude state, the execution of this part is equally bungling and clumsy. worse: she falsifies the characters of both consuelo and albert,--who is revived again by subterfuge of trance,--and stains her best arrangements by the mixture of falsehood and intrigue. yet she proceeds towards, if she walks not by, the light of a great idea; and sincere democracy, universal religion, scatter from afar many seeds upon the page for a future time. the book should be, and will be, universally read. those especially who have witnessed all sand's doubts and sorrows on the subject of marriage, will rejoice in the clearer, purer ray which dawns upon her now. the most natural and deep part of the book, though not her main object, is what relates to the struggle between the claims of art and life, as to whether it be better for the world and one's self to develop to perfection a talent which heaven seemed to have assigned as a special gift and vocation, or sacrifice it whenever the character seems to require this for its general development. the character of consuelo is, throughout the first part, strong, delicate, simple, bold, and pure. the fair lines of this picture are a good deal broken in the second part; but we must remain true to the impression originally made upon us by this charming and noble creation of the soul of sand. it is in reference to _our_ consuelo that a correspondent [footnote: we do not know how accurate is this correspondent's statement of facts. the narrative is certainly interesting.--_ed_.] writes, as to jenny lind; and we are rejoiced to find that so many hints were, or might have been, furnished for the picture from real life. if jenny lind did not suggest it, yet she must also be, in her own sphere, a consuelo. "jenny lind must have been born about 1822 or 1828. when a young child, she was observed, playing about and singing in the streets of stockholm, by mr. berg, master of singing for the royal opera. pleased and astonished at the purity and suavity of her voice, he inquired instantly for her family, and found her father, a poor innkeeper, willing and glad to give up his daughter to his care, on the promise to protect her and give her an excellent musical education. he was always very careful of her, never permitting her to sing except in his presence, and never letting her appear on the stage, unless as a mute figure in some ballet, such, for instance, as cupid and the graces, till she was sixteen, when she at once executed her part in 'der freyschutz,' to the full satisfaction and surprise of the public of stockholm. from that time she gradually became the favorite of every one. without beauty, she seems, from her innocent and gracious manners, beautiful on the stage and charming in society. she is one of the few actresses whom no evil tongue can ever injure, and is respected and welcomed in any and all societies. "the circumstances that reminded me of consuelo were these: that she was a poor child, taken up by this singing-master, and educated thoroughly and severely by him; that she loved his son, who was a good-for-nothing fellow, like anzoleto, and at last discarded him; that she refused the son of an english earl, and, when he fell sick, his father condescended to entreat for him, just as the count of rudolstadt did for his son; that, though plain and low in stature, when singing her best parts she appears beautiful, and awakens enthusiastic admiration; that she is rigidly correct in her demeanor towards her numerous admirers, having even returned a present sent her by the crown-prince, oscar, in a manner that she deemed equivocal. this last circumstance being noised abroad, the next time she appeared on the stage she was greeted with more enthusiastic plaudits than ever, and thicker showers of flowers fell upon her from the hands of her true friends, the public. she was more fortunate than consuelo in not being compelled to sing to a public of prussian corporals." indeed, the picture of frederic's opera-audience, with the pit full of his tall grenadiers with their wives on their shoulders, never daring to applaud except when he gave the order, as if by tap of drum, opposed to the tender and expansive nature of the artist, is one of the best tragicomedies extant. in russia, too, all is military; as soon as a new musician arrives, he is invested with a rank in the army. even in the church nicholas has lately done the same. it seems as if he could not believe a man to be alive, except in the army; could not believe the human heart could beat, except by beat of drum. but we believe in russia there is at least a mask of gayety thrown over the chilling truth. the great frederic wished no disguise; everywhere he was chief corporal, and trampled with his everlasting boots the fair flowers of poesy into the dust. the north has been generous to us of late; she has sent us _ole bull_. she is about to send _frederika bremer_. may she add jenny lind! caroline. the other evening i heard a gentle voice reading aloud the story of maurice, a boy who, deprived of the use of his limbs by paralysis, was sustained in comfort, and almost in cheerfulness, by the exertions of his twin sister. left with him in orphanage, her affections were centred upon him, and, amid the difficulties his misfortunes brought upon them, grew to a fire intense and pure enough to animate her with angelic impulses and powers. as he could not move about, she drew him everywhere in a little cart; and when at last they heard that sea-bathing might accomplish his cure, conveyed him, in this way, hundreds of miles to the sea-shore. her pious devotion and faith were rewarded by his cure, and (a french story would be entirely incomplete otherwise) with money, plaudits and garlands, from the by-standers. though the story ends in this vulgar manner, it is, in its conduct, extremely sweet and touching, not only as to the beautiful qualities developed by these trials in the brother and sister, but in the purifying and softening influence exerted, by the sight of his helplessness and her goodness, on all around them. those who are the victims of some natural blight often fulfil this important office, and bless those within their sphere more, by awakening feelings of holy tenderness and compassion, than a man healthy and strong can do by the utmost exertion of his good-will and energies. thus, in the east, men hold sacred those in whom they find a distortion or alienation of mind which makes them unable to provide for themselves. the well and sane feel themselves the ministers of providence to carry out a mysterious purpose, while taking care of those who are thus left incapable of taking care of themselves; and, while fulfilling this ministry, find themselves refined and made better. the swiss have similar feelings as to those of their families whom cretinism has reduced to idiocy. they are attended to, fed, dressed clean, and provided with a pleasant place for the day, before doing anything else, even by very busy and poor people. we have seen a similar instance, in this country, of voluntary care of an idiot, and the mental benefits that ensued. this idiot, like most that are called so, was not without a glimmer of mind. his teacher was able to give him some notions, both of spiritual and mental facts; at least she thought she had given him the idea of god, and though it appeared by his gestures that to him the moon was the representative of that idea, yet he certainly did conceive of something above him, and which inspired him with reverence and delight. he knew the names of two or three persons who had done him kindness, and when they were mentioned, would point upward, as he did to the moon, showing himself susceptible, in his degree, of mr. carlyle's grand method of education, hero-worship. she had awakened in him a love of music, so that he could be soothed in his most violent moods by her gentle singing. it was a most touching sight to see him sitting opposite to her at such tunes, his wondering and lack-lustre eyes filled with childish pleasure, while in hers gleamed the same pure joy that we may suppose to animate the looks of an angel appointed by heaven to restore a ruined world. we know another instance, in which a young girl became to her village a far more valuable influence than any patron saint who looks down from his stone niche, while his votaries recall the legend of his goodness in days long past. caroline lived in a little, quiet country village--quiet as no village can now remain, since the railroad strikes its spear through the peace of country life. she lived alone with a widowed mother, for whom, as well as for herself, her needle won bread, while the mother's strength, and skill sufficed to the simple duties of their household. they lived content and hopeful, till, whether from sitting still too much, or some other cause, caroline became ill, and soon the physician pronounced her spine to be affected, and to such a degree that she was incurable. this news was a thunder-bolt to the poor little cottage. the mother, who had lost her elasticity of mind, wept in despair; but the young girl, who found so early all the hopes and joys of life taken from her, and that she was seemingly left without any shelter from the storm, had even at first the faith and strength to bow her head in gentleness, and say, "god will provide." she sustained and cheered her mother. and god did provide. with simultaneous vibration the hearts of all their circle acknowledged the divine obligation of love and mutual aid between human beings. food, clothing, medicine, service, were all offered freely to the widow and her daughter. caroline grew worse, and was at last in such a state that she could only be moved upon a sheet, and by the aid of two persons. in this toilsome service, and every other that she required for years, her mother never needed to ask assistance. the neighbors took turns in doing all that was required, and the young girls, as they were growing up, counted it among their regular employments to work for or read to caroline. not without immediate reward was their service of love. the mind of the girl, originally bright and pure, was quickened and wrought up to the finest susceptibility by the nervous exaltation that often ensues upon affection of the spine. the soul, which had taken an upward impulse from its first act of resignation, grew daily more and more into communion with the higher regions of life, permanent and pure. perhaps she was instructed by spirits which, having passed through a similar trial of pain and loneliness, had risen to see the reason why. however that may be, she grew in nobleness of view and purity of sentiment, and, as she received more instruction from books also than any other person in her circle, had from many visitors abundant information as to the events which were passing around her, and leisure to reflect on them with a disinterested desire for truth, she became so much wiser than her companions as to be at last their preceptress and best friend, and her brief, gentle comments and counsels were listened to as oracles from one enfranchised from the films which selfishness and passion cast over the eyes of the multitude. the twofold blessing conferred by her presence, both in awakening none but good feelings in the hearts of others, and in the instruction she became able to confer, was such, that, at the end of five years, no member of that society would have been so generally lamented as caroline, had death called her away. but the messenger, who so often seems capricious in his summons, took first the aged mother, and the poor girl found that life had yet the power to bring her grief, unexpected and severe. and now the neighbors met in council. caroline could not be left quite alone in the house. should they take turns, and stay with her by night as well as by day? "not so," said the blacksmith's wife; "the house will never seem like home to her now, poor thing! and 't would be kind of dreary for her to change about her _nusses_ so. i'll tell you what; all my children but one are married and gone off; we have property enough; i will have a good room fixed for her, and she shall live with us. my husband wants her to, as much as me." the council acquiesced in this truly humane arrangement, and caroline lives there still; and we are assured that none of her friends dread her departure so much as the blacksmith's wife. "'ta'n't no trouble at all to have her," she says, "and if it was, i shouldn't care; she is so good and still, and talks so pretty! it's as good bein' with her as goin' to meetin'!" de maistre relates some similar passages as to a sick girl in st. petersburgh, though his mind dwelt more on the spiritual beauty evinced in her remarks, than on the good she had done to those around her. indeed, none bless more than those who "only stand and wait." even if their passivity be enforced by fate, it will become a spiritual activity, if accepted in a faith higher above fate than the greek gods were supposed to sit enthroned above misfortune. ever-growing lives. "age could not wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety." so was one person described by the pen which has made a clearer mark than any other on the history of man. but is it not surprising that such a description should apply to so few? of two or three women we read histories that correspond with the hint given in these lines. they were women in whom there was intellect enough to temper and enrich, heart enough to soften and enliven the entire being. there was soul enough to keep the body beautiful through the term of earthly existence; for while the roundness, the pure, delicate lineaments, the flowery bloom of youth were passing, the marks left in the course of those years were not merely of time and care, but also of exquisite emotions and noble thoughts. with such chisels time works upon his statues, tracery and fretwork, well worth the loss of the first virgin beauty of the alabaster; while the fire within, growing constantly brighter and brighter, shows all these changes in the material, as rich and varied ornaments. the vase, at last, becomes a lamp of beauty, fit to animate the councils of the great, or the solitude of the altar. two or three women there have been, who have thus grown even more beautiful with age. we know of many more men of whom this is true. these have been heroes, or still more frequently poets and artists; with whom the habitual life tended to expand the soul, deepen and vary the experience, refine the perceptions, and immortalize the hopes and dreams of youth. they were persons who never lost their originality of character, nor spontaneity of action. their impulses proceeded from a fulness and certainty of character, that made it impossible they should doubt or repent, whatever the results of their actions might be. they could not repent, in matters little or great, because they felt that their notions were a sincere exposition of the wants of their souls. their impulsiveness was not the restless fever of one who must change his place somehow or some-whither, but the waves of a tide, which might be swelled to vehemence by the action of the winds or the influence of an attractive orb, but was none the less subject to fixed laws. a character which does not lose its freedom of motion and impulse by contact with the world, grows with its years more richly creative, more freshly individual. it is a character governed by a principle of its own, and not by rules taken from other men's experience; and therefore it is that "age cannot wither them, nor custom stale their infinite variety." like violins, they gain by age, and the spirit of him who discourseth through them most excellent music, "like wine well kept and long, heady, nor harsh, nor strong, with each succeeding year is quaffed a richer, purer, mellower draught." our french neighbors have been the object of humorous satire for their new coinage of terms to describe the heroes of their modern romance. a hero is no hero unless he has "ravaged brows," is "blase" or "brise" or "fatigue." his eyes must be languid, and his cheeks hollow. youth, health and strength, charm no more; only the tree broken by the gust of passion is beautiful, only the lamp that has burnt out the better part of its oil precious, in their eyes. this, with them, assumes the air of caricature and grimace, yet it indicates a real want of this time--a feeling that the human being ought to grow more rather than less attractive with the passage of time, and that the decrease in physical charms would, in a fair and full life, be more than compensated by an increase of those which appeal to the imagination and higher feelings. a friend complains that, while most men are like music-boxes, which you can wind up to play their set of tunes, and then they stop, in our society the set consists of only two or three tunes at most that is because no new melodies are added after five-and-twenty at farthest. it is the topic of jest and amazement with foreigners that what is called society is 'given up so much into the hands of boys and girls. accordingly it wants spirit, variety and depth of tone, and we find there no historical presences, none of the charms, infinite in variety, of cleopatra, no heads of julius caesar, overflowing with meanings, as the sun with light. sometimes we hear an educated voice that shows us how these things might be altered. it has lost the fresh tone of youth, but it has gained unspeakably in depth, brilliancy, and power of expression. how exquisite its modulations, so finely shaded, showing that all the intervals are filled up with little keys of fairy delicacy and in perfect tune! its deeper tones sound the depth of the past; its more thrilling notes express an awakening to the infinite, and ask a thousand questions of the spirits that are to unfold our destinies, too far-reaching to be clothed in words. who does not feel the sway of such a voice? it makes the whole range of our capacities resound and tremble, and, when there is positiveness enough to give an answer, calls forth most melodious echoes. the human eye gains, in like manner, by tune and experience. its substance fades, but it is only the more filled with an ethereal lustre which penetrates the gazer till he feels as if "that eye were in itself a soul," and realizes the range of its power "to rouse, to win, to fascinate, to melt, and by its spell of undefined control magnetic draw the secrets of the soul." the eye that shone beneath the white locks of thorwaldsen was such an one,--the eye of immortal youth, the indicator of the man's whole aspect in a future sphere. we have scanned such eyes closely; when near, we saw that the lids were red, the corners defaced with ominous marks, the orb looked faded and tear-stained; but when we retreated far enough for its ray to reach us, it seemed far younger than the clear and limpid gaze of infancy, more radiant than the sweetest beam in that of early youth. the future and the past met in that glance, o for more such eyes! the vouchers of free, of full and ever-growing lives! household nobleness, "mistress of herself, though china fell." women, in general, are indignant that the satirist should have made this the climax to his praise of a woman. and yet, we fear, he saw only too truly. what unexpected failures have we seen, literally, in this respect! how often did the martha blur the mary out of the face of a lovely woman at the sound of a crash amid glass and porcelain! what sad littleness in all the department thus represented! obtrusion of the mop and duster on the tranquil meditation of a husband and brother. impatience if the carpet be defaced by the feet even of cherished friends. there is a beautiful side, and a good reason here; but why must the beauty degenerate, and give place to meanness? to woman the care of home is confided. it is the sanctuary, of which she should be the guardian angel. to all elements that are introduced there she should be the "ordering mind." she represents the spirit of beauty, and her influence should be spring-like, clothing all objects within her sphere with lively, fresh and tender hues. she represents purity, and all that appertains to her should be kept delicately pure. she is modesty, and draperies should soften all rude lineaments, and exclude glare and dust. she is harmony, and all objects should be in their places ready for, and matched to, their uses. we all know that there is substantial reason for the offence we feel at defect in any of these ways. a woman who wants purity, modesty and harmony, in her dress and manners, is insufferable; one who wants them in the arrangements of her house, disagreeable to everybody. she neglects the most obvious ways of expressing what we desire to see in her, and the inference is ready, that the inward sense is wanting. it is with no merely gross and selfish feeling that all men commend the good housekeeper, the good nurse. neither is it slight praise to say of a woman that she does well the honors of her house in the way of hospitality. the wisdom that can maintain serenity, cheerfulness and order, in a little world of ten or twelve persons, and keep ready the resources that are needed for their sustenance and recovery in sickness and sorrow, is the same that holds the stars in their places, and patiently prepares the precious metals in the most secret chambers of the earth. the art of exercising a refined hospitality is a fine art, and the music thus produced only differs from that of the orchestra in this, that in the former case the overture or sonata cannot be played twice in the same manner. it requires that the hostess shall combine true self-respect and repose, "the simple art of _not too much_," with refined perception of individual traits and moods in character, with variety and vivacity, an ease, grace and gentleness, that diffuse their sweetness insensibly through every nook of an assembly, and call out reciprocal sweetness wherever there is any to be found. the only danger in all this is the same that besets us in every walk of life; to wit, that of preferring the outward sign to the inward spirit whenever there is cause to hesitate between the two. "i admire," says goethe, "the chinese novels; they express so happily ease, peace and a finish unknown to other nations in the interior arrangements of their homes. "in one of them i came upon the line, 'i heard the lovely maidens laughing, and found my way to the garden, where they were seated in their light cane-chairs,' to me this brings an immediate animation, by the images it suggests of lightness, brightness and elegance." this is most true, but it is also most true that the garden-house would not seem thus charming unless its light cane-chairs had lovely, laughing maidens seated in them. and the lady who values her porcelain, that most exquisite product of the peace and thorough-breeding of china, so highly, should take the hint, and remember that unless the fragrant herb of wit, sweetened by kindness, and softened by the cream of affability, also crown her board, the prettiest tea-cups in the world might as well lie in fragments in the gutter, as adorn her social show. the show loses its beauty when it ceases to represent a substance. here, as elsewhere, it is only vanity, narrowness and self-seeking, that spoil a good thing. women would never be too good housekeepers for their own peace and that of others, if they considered housekeeping only as a means to an end. if their object were really the peace and joy of all concerned, they could bear to have their cups and saucers broken more easily than their tempers, and to have curtains and carpets soiled, rather than their hearts by mean and small feelings. but they are brought up to think it is a disgrace to be a bad housekeeper, not because they must, by such a defect, be a cause of suffering and loss of time to all within their sphere, but because all other women will laugh at them if they are so. here is the vice,--for want of a high motive there can be no truly good action. we have seen a woman, otherwise noble and magnanimous in a high degree, so insane on this point as to weep bitterly because she found a little dust on her picture-frames, and torment her guests all dinner-time with excuses for the way in which the dinner was cooked. we have known others to join with their servants to backbite the best and noblest friends for trifling derelictions against the accustomed order of the house. the broom swept out the memory of much sweet counsel and loving-kindness, and spots on the table-cloth were more regarded than those they made on their own loyalty and honor in the most intimate relations. "the worst of furies is a woman scorned," and the sex, so lively, mobile, impassioned, when passion is aroused at all, are in danger of frightful error, under great temptation. the angel can give place to a more subtle and treacherous demon, though one, generally, of less tantalizing influence, than in the breast of man. in great crises, woman needs the highest reason to restrain her; but her besetting sin is that of littleness. just because nature and society unite to call on her for such fineness and finish, she can be so petty, so fretful, so vain, envious and base! o, women, see your danger! see how much you need a great object in all your little actions. you cannot be fair, nor can your homes be fair, unless you are holy and noble. will you sweep and garnish the house, only that it may be ready for a legion of evil spirits to enter in--for imps and demons of gossip, frivolity, detraction, and a restless fever about small ills? what is the house for, if good spirits cannot peacefully abide there? lo! they are asking for the bill in more than one well-garnished mansion. they sought a home and found a work-house. martha! it was thy fault! "glumdalclitches." this title was wittily given by an editor of this city to the ideal woman demanded in "woman in the nineteenth century." we do not object to it, thinking it is really desirable that women should grow beyond the average size which has been prescribed for them. we find in the last news from paris these anecdotes of two who "tower" an inch or more "above their sex," if not yet of glumdalclitch stature. "_bravissima!_--the 7th of may, at paris, a young girl, who was washing linen, fell into the canal st. martin. those around called out for help, but none ventured to give it. just then a young lady elegantly dressed came up and saw the case; in the twinkling of an eye she threw off her hat and shawl, threw herself in, and succeeded in dragging the young girl to the brink, after having sought for her in vain several times under the water. this lady was mlle. adele chevalier, an actress. she was carried, with the girl she had saved, into a neighboring house, which she left, after having received the necessary cares, in a fiacre, and amid the plaudits of the crowd." the second anecdote is of a different kind, but displays a kind of magnanimity still more unusual in this poor servile world: "one of our (french) most distinguished painters of sea-subjects, gudin, has married a rich young english lady, belonging to a family of high rank, and related to the duke of wellington. m. gudin was lately at berlin at the same time with k----, inspector of pictures to the king of holland. the king of prussia desired that both artists should be presented to him, and received gudin in a very flattering manner; his genius being his only letter of recommendation. "monsieur k---has not the same advantage; but, to make up for it, he has a wife who enjoys in holland a great reputation for her beauty. the king of prussia is a cavalier, who cares more for pretty ladies than for genius. so monsieur and madame k---were invited to the royal table--an honor which was not accorded to monsieur and madame gudin. "humble representations were made to the monarch, advising him not to make such a marked distinction between the french artist and the dutch amateur. these failing, the wise counsellors went to madame gudin, and, intimating that they did so with the good-will of the king, said that she might be received as cousin to the duke of wellington, as daughter of an english general, and of a family which dates back to the thirteenth century. she could, if she wished, avail herself of her rights of birth to obtain the same honors with madame k----. to sit at the table of the king, she need only cease for a moment to be madame gudin, and become once more lady l----." does not all this sound like a history of the seventeenth century? surely etiquette was never maintained in a more arrogant manner at the court of louis xiv. but madame gudin replied that her highest pride lay in the celebrated name which she bears at present; that she did not wish to rely on any other to obtain so futile a distinction, and that, in her eyes, the most noble escutcheon was the palette of her husband. i need not say that this dignified feeling was not comprehended. madame gudin was not received at the table, but she had shown the nobleness of her character. for the rest, madame k----, on arriving at paris, had the bad taste to boast of having been distinguished above madame gudin, and the story reaching the tuileries, where monsieur and madame gudin are highly favored, excited no little mirth in the circle there. "ellen: or, forgive and forget." we notice this coarsely-written little fiction because it is one of a class which we see growing with pleasure. we see it with pleasure, because, in its way, it is genuine. it is a transcript of the crimes, calumnies, excitements, half-blind love of right, and honest indignation at the sort of wrong which it can discern, to be found in the class from which it emanates. that class is a large one in our country villages, and these books reflect its thoughts and manners as half-penny ballads do the life of the streets of london. the ballads are not more true to the facts; but they give us, in a coarser form, far more of the spirit than we get from the same facts reflected in the intellect of a dickens, for instance, or of any writer far enough above the scene to be properly its artist. so, in this book, we find what cooper, miss sedgwick and mrs. kirkland, might see, as the writer did, but could hardly believe in enough to speak of it with such fidelity. it is a current superstition that country people are more pure and healthy in mind and body than those who live in cities. it may be so in countries of old-established habits, where a genuine peasantry have inherited some of the practical wisdom and loyalty of the past, with most of its errors. we have our doubts, though, from the stamp upon literature, always the nearest evidence of truth we can get, whether, even there, the difference between town and country life is as much in favor of the latter as is generally supposed. but in our land, where the country is at present filled with a mixed population, who come seeking to be purified by a better life and culture from all the ills and diseases of the worst forms of civilization, things often _look_ worse than in the city; perhaps because men have more time and room to let their faults grow and offend the light of day. there are exceptions, and not a few; but, in a very great proportion of country villages, the habits of the people, as to food, air, and even exercise, are ignorant and unhealthy to the last degree. their want of all pure faith, and appetite for coarse excitement, is shown by continued intrigues, calumnies, and crimes. we have lived in a beautiful village, where, more favorably placed than any other person in it, both as to withdrawal from bad associations and nearness to good, we heard inevitably, from domestics, work-people, and school-children, more ill of human nature than we could possibly sift were we to elect such a task from all the newspapers of this city, in the same space of time. we believe the amount of ill circulated by means of anonymous letters, as described in this book, to be as great as can be imported in all the french novels (and that is a bold word). we know ourselves of two or three cases of morbid wickedness, displayed by means of anonymous letters, that may vie with what puzzled the best wits of france in a famous law-suit not long since. it is true, there is, to balance all this, a healthy rebound,--a surprise and a shame; and there are heartily good people, such as are described in this book, who, having taken a direction upward, keep it, and cannot be bent downward nor aside. but, then, the reverse of the picture is of a blackness that would appall one who came to it with any idyllic ideas of the purity and peaceful loveliness of agricultural life. but what does this prove? only the need of a dissemination of all that is best, intellectually and morally, through the whole people. our groves and fields have no good fairies or genii who teach, by legend or gentle apparition, the truths, the principles, that can alone preserve the village, as the city, from the possession of the fiend. their place must be taken by the school-master, and he must be one who knows not only "readin', writin', and 'rithmetic," but the service of god and the destiny of man. our people require a thoroughly-diffused intellectual life, a religious aim, such as no people at large ever possessed before; else they must sink till they become dregs, rather than rise to become the cream of creation, which they are too apt to flatter themselves with the fancy of being already. the most interesting fiction we have ever read in this coarse, homely, but genuine class, is one called "metallek." it may be in circulation in this city; but we bought it in a country nook, and from a pedlar; and it seemed to belong to the country. had we met with it in any other way, it would probably have been to throw it aside again directly, for the author does not know how to write english, and the first chapters give no idea of his power of apprehending the poetry of life. but happening to read on, we became fixed and charmed, and have retained from its perusal the sweetest picture of life lived in this land, ever afforded us, out of the pale of personal observation. that such things are, private observation has made us sure; but the writers of books rarely seem to have seen them; rarely to have walked alone in an untrodden path long enough to hold commune with the spirit of the scene. in this book you find the very life; the most vulgar prose, and the most exquisite poetry. you follow the hunter in his path, walking through the noblest and fairest scenes only to shoot the poor animals that were happy there, winning from the pure atmosphere little benefit except to good appetite, sleeping at night in the dirty hovels, with people who burrow in them to lead a life but little above that of the squirrels end foxes. there is throughout that air of room enough, and free if low forms of human nature, which, at such times, makes bearable all that would otherwise be so repulsive. but when we come to the girl who is the presiding deity, or rather the tutelary angel of the scene, how are all discords harmonized; how all its latent music poured forth! it is a portrait from the life--it has the mystic charm of fulfilled reality, how far beyond the fairest ideals ever born of thought! pure, and brilliantly blooming as the flower of the wilderness, she, in like manner, shares while she sublimes its nature. she plays round the most vulgar and rude beings, gentle and caressing, yet unsullied; in her wildness there is nothing cold or savage; her elevation is soft and warm. never have we seen natural religion more beautifully expressed; never so well discerned the influence of the natural nun, who needs no veil or cloister to guard from profanation the beauty she has dedicated to god, and which only attracts human love to hallow it into the divine. the lonely life of the girl after the death of her parents,--her fearlessness, her gay and sweet enjoyment of nature, her intercourse with the old people of the neighborhood, her sisterly conduct towards her "suitors,"--all seem painted from the life; but the death-bed scene seems borrowed from some sermon, and is not in harmony with the rest. in this connection we must try to make amends for the stupidity of an earlier notice of the novel, called "margaret, or the real and ideal," &c. at the time of that notice we had only looked into it here and there, and did no justice to a work full of genius, profound in its meaning, and of admirable fidelity to nature in its details. since then we have really read it, and appreciated the sight and representation of soul-realities; and we have lamented the long delay of so true a pleasure. a fine critic said, "this is a yankee novel; or rather let it be called _the_ yankee novel, as nowhere else are the thought and dialect of our villages really represented." another discovered that it must have been written in maine, by the perfection with which peculiar features of scenery there are described. a young girl could not sufficiently express her delight at the simple nature with which scenes of childhood are given, and especially at margaret's first going to meeting. she had never elsewhere found written down what she had felt. a mature reader, one of the most spiritualized and harmonious minds we have ever met, admires the depth and fulness in which the workings of the spirit through the maiden's life are seen by the author, and shown to us; but laments the great apparatus with which the consummation of the whole is brought about, and the formation of a new church and state, before the time is yet ripe, under the banner of mons. christi. but all these voices, among those most worthy to be heard, find in the book a _real presence_, and draw from it auspicious omens that an american literature is possible even in our day, because there are already in the mind here existent developments worthy to see the light, gold-fishes amid the moss in the still waters. for ourselves, we have been most charmed with the way the real and ideal are made to weave and shoot rays through one another, in which margaret bestows on external nature what she receives through books, and wins back like gifts in turn, till the pond and the mythology are alternate sections of the same chapter. we delight in the teachings she receives through chilion and his violin, till on the grave of "one who tried to love his fellow-men" grows up the full white rose-flower of her life. the ease with which she assimilates the city life when in it, making it a part of her imaginative tapestry, is a sign of the power to which she has grown. we have much more to think and to say of the book, as a whole, and in parts; and should the mood and summer leisure ever permit a familiar and intimate acquaintance with it, we trust they will be both thought and said. for the present, we will only add that it exhibits the same state of things, and strives to point out such remedies as we have hinted at in speaking of the little book which heads this notice; itself a rude charcoal sketch, but if read as hieroglyphics are, pointing to important meanings and results. "courrier des etats unis." no other nation can hope to vie with the french in the talent of communicating information with ease, vivacity and consciousness. they must always be the best narrators and the best interpreters, so far as presenting a clear statement of outlines goes. thus they are excellent in conversation, lectures, and journalizing. after we know all the news of the day, it is still pleasant to read the bulletin of the _"courrier des etats unis."_ we rarely agree with the view taken; but as a summary it is so excellently well done, every topic put in its best place, with such a light and vigorous hand, that we have the same pleasure we have felt in fairy tales, when some person under trial is helped by a kind fairy to sort the silks and feathers to their different places, till the glittering confusion assumes the order,--of a kaleidoscope. then, what excellent correspondents they have in paris! what a humorous and yet clear account we have before us, now, of the thiers game! we have traced guizot through every day with the utmost distinctness, and see him perfectly in the sick-room. now, here is thiers, playing with his chess-men, jesuits, &c. a hundred clumsy english or american papers could not make the present crisis in paris so clear as we see it in the glass of these nimble frenchmen. certainly it is with newspaper-writing as with food; the english and americans have as good appetites, but do not, and never will, know so well how to cook as the french. the parisian correspondent of the _"schnellpost"_ also makes himself merry with the play of m. thiers. both speak with some feeling of the impressive utterance of lamartine in the late debates. the jesuits stand their ground, but there is a wave advancing which will not fail to wash away what ought to go,--nor are its roarings, however much in advance of the wave itself, to be misinterpreted by intelligent ears. the world is raising its sleepy lids, and soon no organization can exist which from its very nature interferes in any way with the good of the whole. in germany the terrors of the authorities are more and more directed against the communists. they are very anxious to know what communism really is, or means. they have almost forgotten, says the correspondent, the repression of the jews, and like objects, in this new terror. meanwhile, the russian emperor has issued an edict, commanding the polish jews, both men and women, to lay aside their national garb. he hopes thus to mingle them with the rest of the mass he moves. it will be seen whether such work can be done by beginning upon the outward man. the paris correspondent of the _"courrier,"_ who gives an account of amusements, has always many sprightly passages illustrative of the temper of the times. horse-races are now the fashion, in which he rejoices, as being likely to give to france good horses of her own. a famous lottery is on the point of coming off,--to give an organ to the church of st. eustache,--on which it does not require a very high tone of morals to be severe. a public exhibition has been made of the splendid array of prizes, including every article of luxury, from jewels and cashmere shawls down to artificial flowers. a nobleman, president of the horticultural society, had given an entertainment, in which the part of the different flowers was acted by beautiful women, that of fruit and vegetables by distinguished men. such an amusement would admit of much light grace and wit, which may still be found in france, if anywhere in the world. there is also an amusing story of the stir caused among the french political leaders by the visit of a nobleman of one of the great english families, to paris. "he had had several audiences, previous to his departure from london, of queen victoria; he received a despatch daily from the english court. but in reply to all overtures made to induce him to open his mission, he preserved a gloomy silence. all attentions, all signs of willing confidence, are lavished on him in vain. france is troubled. 'has england,' thought she, 'a secret from us, while we have none from her?' she was on the point of inventing one, when, lo! the secret mission turns out to be the preparation of a ball-dress, with whose elegance, fresh from parisian genius, her britannic majesty wished to dazzle and surprise her native realm." 't is a pity americans cannot learn the grace which decks these trifling jests with so much prettiness. till we can import something of that, we have no right to rejoice in french fashions and french wines. such a nervous, driving nation as we are, ought to learn to fly along gracefully, on the light, fantastic toe. can we not learn something of the english beside the knife and fork conventionalities which, with them, express a certain solidity of fortune and resolve? can we not get from the french something beside their worst novels? "courrier des etats unis." our protegee, queen victoria. the _courrier_ laughs, though with features somewhat too disturbed for a graceful laugh, at a notice, published a few days since in the _tribune_, of one of its jests which scandalized the american editor. it does not content itself with a slight notice, but puts forth a manifesto, in formidably large type, in reply. with regard to the jest itself, we must remark that mr. greeley saw this only in a translation, where it had lost whatever of light and graceful in its manner excused a piece of raillery very coarse in its substance. we will admit that, had he seen it as it originally stood, connected with other items in the playful chronicle of pierre durand, it would have impressed him differently. but the cause of irritation in the _courrier_, and of the sharp repartees of its manifesto, is, probably, what was said of the influence among us of "french literature and french morals," to which the "organ of the french-american population" felt called on to make a spirited reply, and has done so with less of wit and courtesy than could have been expected from the organ of a people who, whatever may be their faults, are at least acknowledged in wit and courtesy preeminent. we hope that the french who come to us will not become, in these respects, americanized, and substitute the easy sneer, and use of such terms as "ridiculous," "virtuous misanthropy," &c., for the graceful and poignant raillery of their native land, which tickles even where it wounds. we may say, in reply to the _courrier_, that if fourierism "recoils towards a state of nature," it arises largely from the fact that its author lived in a country where the natural relations are, if not more cruelly, at least more lightly violated, than in any other of the civilized world. the marriage of convention has done its natural office in sapping the morals of france, till breach of the marriage vow has become one of the chief topics of its daily wit, one of the acknowledged traits of its manners, and a favorite--in these modern times we might say the favorite--subject of its works of fiction. from the time of moliere, himself an agonized sufferer behind his comic mask from the infidelities of a wife he was not able to cease to love, through memoirs, novels, dramas, and the volleyed squibs of the press, one fact stares us in the face as one of so common occurrence, that men, if they have not ceased to suffer in heart and morals from its poisonous action, have yet learned to bear with a shrug and a careless laugh that marks its frequency. understand, we do not say that the french are the most deeply stained with vice of all nations. we do not think them so. there are others where there is as much, but there is none where it is so openly acknowledged in literature, and therefore there is none whose literature alone is so likely to deprave inexperienced minds, by familiarizing them with wickedness before they have known the lure and the shock of passion. and we believe that this is the very worst way for youth to be misled, since the miasma thus pervades the whole man, and he is corrupted in head and heart at once, without one strengthening effort at resistance. were it necessary, we might substantiate what we say by quoting from the _courrier_ within the last fortnight, jokes and stories such as are not to be found so _frequently_ in the prints of any other nation. there is the story of the girl adelaide, which, at another time, we mean to quote, for its terrible pathos. there is a man on trial for the murder of his wife, of whom the witnesses say, "he was so fond of her you would never have known she was his wife!" here is one, only yesterday, where a man kills a woman to whom he was married by his relatives at eighteen, she being much older, and disagreeable to him, but their properties matching. after twelve years' marriage, he can no longer support the yoke, and kills both her and her father, and "his only regret is that he cannot kill all who had anything to do with the match." either infidelity or such crimes are the natural result of marriages made as they are in france, by agreement between the friends, without choice of the parties. it is this horrible system, and not a native incapacity for pure and permanent relations, that leads to such results. we must observe, _en passant_, that this man was the father of five children by this hated woman--a wickedness not peculiar to france or any nation, and which cannot foil to do its work of filling the world with sickly, weak, or depraved beings, who have reason to curse their brutal father that he does not murder them as well as their wretched mother,--who, more unhappy than the victim of seduction, is made the slave of sense in the name of religion and law. the last steamer brings us news of the disgrace of victor hugo, one of the most celebrated of the literary men of france, and but lately created one of her peers. the affair, however, is to be publicly "hushed up." but we need not cite many instances to prove, what is known to the whole world, that these wrongs are, if not more frequent, at least more lightly treated by the french, in literature and discourse, than by any nation of europe. this being the case, can an american, anxious that his country should receive, as her only safeguard from endless temptations, good moral instruction and mental food, be otherwise than grieved at the promiscuous introduction among us of their writings? we know that there are in france good men, pure books, true wit. but there is an immensity that is bad, and more hurtful to our farmers, clerks and country milliners, than to those to whose tastes it was originally addressed,--as the small-pox is most fatal among the wild men of the woods,--and this, from the unprincipled cupidity of publishers, is broad-cast recklessly over all the land we had hoped would become a healthy asylum for those before crippled and tainted by hereditary abuses. this cannot be prevented; we can only make head against it, and show that there is really another way of thinking and living,--ay, and another voice for it in the world. we are naturally on the alert, and if we sometimes start too quickly, that is better than to play "_le noir faineant_"--(the black sluggard). we are displeased at the unfeeling manner in which the _courrier_ speaks of those whom he calls _our models_. he did not misunderstand us, and some things he says on this subject deserve and suggest a retort that would be bitter. but we forbear, because it would injure the innocent with the guilty. the _courrier_ ranks the editor of the _tribune_ among "the men who have undertaken an ineffectual struggle against the perversities of this lower world." by _ineffectual_ we presume he means that it has never succeeded in exiling evil from this lower world. we are proud to be ranked among the band of those who at least, in the ever-memorable words of scripture, have "done what they could" for this purpose. to this band belong all good men of all countries, and france has contributed no small contingent of those whose purpose was noble, whose lives were healthy, and whose minds, even in their lightest moods, pure. we are better pleased to act as sutler or pursuivant of this band, whose strife the _courrier_ thinks so _impuissante_, than to reap the rewards of efficiency on the other side. there is not too much of this salt, in proportion to the whole mass that needs to be salted, nor are "occasional accesses of virtuous misanthropy" the worst of maladies in a world that affords such abundant occasion for it. in fine, we disclaim all prejudice against the french nation. we feel assured that all, or almost all, impartial minds will acquiese in what we say as to the tone of lax morality, in reference to marriage, so common in their literature. we do not like it, in joke or in earnest; neither are we of those to whom vice "loses most of its deformity by losing all its grossness." if there be a deep and ulcerated wound, we think the more "the richly-embroidered veil" is torn away the better. such a deep social wound exists in france; we wish its cure, as we wish the health of all nations and of all men; so far indeed would we "recoil towards a state of nature." we believe that nature wills marriage and parentage to be kept sacred. the fact of their not being so is to us not a pleasant subject of jest; and we should really pity the first lady of england for injury here, though she be a queen; while the ladies of the french court, or of parisian society, if they willingly lend themselves to be the subject of this style of jest, or find it agreeable when made, must be to us the cause both of pity, and disgust. we are not unaware of the great and beautiful qualities native to the french--of their chivalry, their sweetness of temper, their rapid, brilliant and abundant genius. we would wish to see these qualities restored to their native lustre, and not receive the base alloy which has long stained the virginity of the gold. on books of travel. [footnote: it need not be said, probably, that margaret fuller did not think the fact that books of travel by women have generally been piquant and lively rather than discriminating and instructive, a result of their nature, and therefore unavoidable; on the contrary, she regarded woman as naturally more penetrating than man, and the fact that in journeying she would see more of home-life than he, would give her a great advantage,--but she did believe woman needed a wider culture, and then she would not fail to _excel_ in writing books of travels. the merits now in such works she considered striking and due to woman's natural quickness and availing herself of all her facilities, and any deficiencies simply proved the need of a broader education.--[edit.]] among those we have, the best, as to observation of particulars and lively expression, are by women. they are generally ill prepared as regards previous culture, and their scope is necessarily narrower than that of men, but their tact and quickness help them a great deal. you can see their minds grow by what they feed on, when they travel. there are many books of travel, by women, that are, at least, entertaining, and contain some penetrating and just observations. there has, however, been none since lady mary wortley montague, with as much talent, liveliness, and preparation to observe in various ways, as she had. a good article appeared lately in one of the english periodicals, headed by a long list of travels by women. it was easy to observe that the personality of the writer was the most obvious thing in each and all of these books, and that, even in the best of them, you travelled with the writer as a charming or amusing companion, rather than as an accomplished or instructed guide. review of "memoirs and essays, by mrs. jameson." mrs. jameson appears to be growing more and more desperately modest, if we may judge from the motto: "what if the little rain should say, 'so small a drop as i can ne'er refresh the thirsty plain,- i'll tarry in the sky'" and other superstitious doubts and disclaimers proffered in the course of the volume. we thought the time had gone by when it was necessary to plead "request of friends" for printing, and that it was understood now-a-days that, from the facility of getting thoughts into print, literature has become not merely an archive for the preservation of great thoughts, but a means of general communication between all classes of minds, and all grades of culture. if writers write much that is good, and write it well, they are read much and long; if the reverse, people simply pass them by, and go in search of what is more interesting. there needs be no great fuss about publishing or not publishing. those who forbear may rather be considered the vain ones, who wish to be distinguished among the crowd. especially this extreme modesty looks superfluous in a person who knows her thoughts have been received with interest for ten or twelve years back. we do not like this from mrs. jameson, because we think she would be amazed if others spoke of her as this little humble flower, doubtful whether it ought to raise its head to the light. she should leave such affectations to her aunts; they were the fashion in their day. it is very true, however, that she should _not_ have published the very first paragraph in her book, which presents an inaccuracy and shallowness of thought quite amazing in a person of her fine perceptions, talent and culture. we allude to the contrast she attempts to establish between raphael and titian, in placing mind in contradistinction to beauty, as if beauty were merely physical. of course she means no such thing; but the passage means this or nothing, and, as an opening to a paper on art, is indeed reprehensible and fallacious. the rest of this paper, called the house of titian, is full of pleasant chat, though some of the judgments--that passed on canaletti's pictures, for instance--are opposed to those of persons of the purest taste; and in other respects, such as in speaking of the railroad to venice, mrs. jameson is much less wise than those over whom she assumes superiority. the railroad will destroy venice; the two things cannot coexist; and those who do not look upon that wondrous dream in this age, will, probably, find only vestiges of its existence. the picture of adelaide kemble is very pretty, though there is an attempt of a sort too common with mrs. jameson to make more of the subject than it deserves. adelaide kemble was not the true artist, or she could not so soon or so lightly have stept into another sphere. it is enough to paint her as a lovely woman, and a woman-genius. the true artist cannot forswear his vocation; heaven does not permit it; the attempt makes him too unhappy, nor will he form ties with those who can consent to such sacrilege. adelaide kemble loved art, but was not truly an artist. the "xanthian marbles," and "washington allston," are very pleasing papers. the most interesting part, however, are the sentences copied from mr. allston. these have his chaste, superior tone. we copy some of them. "what _light_ is in the natural world, such is _fame_ in the intellectual,--both requiring an _atmosphere_ in order to become perceptible. hence the fame of michel angelo is to some minds a nonentity; even as the sun itself would be invisible _in vacuo_" (a very pregnant statement, containing the true reason why "no man is a hero to his valet de chambre.") "fame does not depend on the will of any man; but reputation may be given and taken away; for fame is the sympathy of kindred intellects, and sympathy is not a subject of _willing_; while reputation, having its source in the popular voice, is a sentence which may be altered or suppressed at pleasure. reputation, being essentially contemporaneous, is always at the mercy of the envious and ignorant. but fame, whose very birth is posthumous, and which is only known to exist by the echoes of its footsteps through congenial minds, can neither be increased nor diminished by any degree of wilfulness." "an original mind is rarely understood until it has been _reflected_ from some half-dozen congenial with it; so averse are men to admitting the true in an unusual form; while any novelty, however fantastic, however false, is greedily swallowed. nor is this to be wondered at, for all truth demands a response, and few people care to _think_, yet they must have something to supply the place of thought. every mind would appear original if every man had the power of projecting his own into the minds of others." "all effort at originality must end either in the quaint or monstrous; for no man knows himself as on original; he can only believe it on the report of others to whom he is made known, as he is by the projecting power before spoken of." "there is an essential meanness in wishing to get the better of any one. the only competition worthy of a wise man is with himself." "reverence is an ennobling sentiment; it is felt to be degrading only by the vulgar mind, which would escape the sense of its own littleness by elevating itself into the antagonist of what is above it." "he that has no pleasure in looking up is not fit to look down; of such minds are the mannerists in art, and in the world--the tyrants of all sorts." "make no man your idol; for the best man must have faults, and his faults will naturally become yours, in addition to your own. this is as true in art as in morals." "the devil's heartiest laugh is at a detracting witticism. hence the phrase 'devilish good' has sometimes a literal meaning." "woman's mission and woman's position" is an excellent paper, in which plain truths ere spoken with an honorable straight-forwardness, and a great deal of good feeling. we despise the woman who, knowing such facts, is afraid to speak of them; yet we honor one, too, who does the plain right thing, for she exposes herself to the assaults of vulgarity, in a way painful to a person who has not strength to find shelter and repose in her motives. we recommend this paper to the consideration of all those, the unthinking, wilfully unseeing million, who are in the habit of talking of "woman's sphere," as if it really were, at present, for the majority, one of protection, and the gentle offices of home. the rhetorical gentlemen and silken dames, who, quite forgetting their washerwomen, their seamstresses, and the poor hirelings for the sensual pleasures of man, that jostle them daily in the streets, talk as if women need be fitted for no other chance than that of growing like cherished flowers in the garden of domestic love, are requested to look at this paper, in which the state of women, both in the manufacturing and agricultural districts of england, is exposed with eloquence, and just inferences drawn. "this, then, is what i mean when i speak of the anomalous condition of women in these days. i would point out, as a primary source of incalculable mischief, the contradiction between her assumed and her real position; between what is called her proper sphere by the laws of god and nature, and what has become her real sphere by the laws of necessity, and through the complex relations of artificial existence. in the strong language of carlyle, i would say that 'here is a lie standing up in the midst of society.' i would say 'down with it, even to the ground;' for while this perplexing and barbarous anomaly exists, fretting like an ulcer at the very heart of society, all new specifics and palliatives are in vain. the question must be settled one way or another; either let the man in all the relations of life be held the natural guardian of the woman, constrained to fulfil that trust, responsible in society for her well-being and her maintenance; or, if she be liable to be thrust from the sanctuary of home, to provide for herself through the exercise of such faculties as god has given her, let her at least have fair play; let it not be avowed, in the same breath that protection is necessary to her, and that it is refused her; and while we send her forth into the desert, and bind the burthen on her back, and put the staff in her hand, let not her steps be beset, her limbs fettered, and her eyes blindfolded." amen. the sixth and last of these papers, on the relative social position of "mothers and governesses," exhibits in true and full colors a state of things in england, beside which the custom in some parts of china of drowning female infants looks mild, generous, and refined;--an accursed state of things, beneath whose influence nothing can, and nothing ought to thrive. though this paper, of which we have not patience to speak further at this moment, is valuable from putting the facts into due relief, it is very inferior to the other, and shows the want of thoroughness and depth in mrs. jameson's intellect. she has taste, feeling and knowledge, but she cannot think out a subject thoroughly, and is unconsciously tainted and hampered by conventionalities. her advice to the governesses reads like a piece of irony, but we believe it was not meant as such. advise them to be burnt at the stake at once, rather than submit to this slow process of petrifaction. she is as bad as the reports of the "society for the relief of distressed and dilapidated governesses." we have no more patience. we must go to england ourselves, and see these victims under the water torture. till then, a dieu! woman's influence over the insane. in reference to what is said of entrusting an infant to the insane, we must relate a little tale which touched the heart in childhood from the eloquent lips of the mother. the minister of the village had a son of such uncommon powers that the slender means on which the large family lived were strained to the utmost to send him to college. the boy prized the means of study as only those under such circumstances know how to prize them; indeed, far beyond their real worth; since, by excessive study, prolonged often at the expense of sleep, he made himself insane. all may conceive the feelings of the family when their star returned to them again, shorn of its beams; their pride, their hard-earned hope, sunk to a thing so hopeless, so helpless, that there could be none so poor to do him reverence. but they loved him, and did what the ignorance of the time permitted. there was little provision then for the treatment of such cases, and what there was was of a kind that they shrunk from resorting to, if it could be avoided. they kept him at home, giving him, during the first months, the freedom of the house; but on his making an attempt to kill his father, and confessing afterwards that his old veneration had, as is so often the case in these affections, reacted morbidly to its opposite, so that he never saw a once-loved parent turn his back without thinking how he could rush upon him and do him an injury, they felt obliged to use harsher measures, and chained him to a post in one room of the house. there, so restrained, without exercise or proper medicine, the fever of insanity came upon him in its wildest form. he raved, shrieked, struck about him, and tore off all the raiment that was put upon him. one of his sisters, named lucy, whom he had most loved when well, had now power to soothe him. he would listen to her voice, and give way to a milder mood when she talked or sang. but this favorite sister married, went to her new home, and the maniac became wilder, more violent than ever. after two or three years, she returned, bringing with her on infant. she went into the room where the naked, blaspheming, raging object was confined. he knew her instantly, and felt joy at seeing her. "but, lucy," said he, suddenly, "is that your baby you have in your arms? give it to me, i want to hold it!" a pang of dread and suspicion shot through the young mother's heart,--she turned pale and faint. her brother was not at that moment so mad that he could not understand her fears. "lucy," said he, "do you suppose i would hurt _your_ child?" his sister had strength of mind and of heart; she could not resist the appeal, and hastily placed the child in his arms. poor fellow! he held it awhile, stroked its little face, and melted into tears, the first he had shed since his insanity. for some time after that he was better, and probably, had he been under such intelligent care as may be had at present, the crisis might have been followed up, and a favorable direction given to his disease. but the subject was not understood then, and, having once fallen mad, he was doomed to live and die a madman. from a criticism on browning's poems. * * * * "the return of the druses," a "blot in the 'scutcheon," and "colombo's birthday," all have the same originality of conception, delicate penetration into the mysteries of human feeling, atmospheric individuality, and skill in picturesque detail. all three exhibit very high and pure ideas of woman, and a knowledge, very rare in man, of the ways in which what is peculiar in her office and nature works. her loftiest elevation does not, in his eyes, lift her out of nature. she becomes, not a mere saint, but the goddess-queen of nature. her purity is not cold, like marble, but the healthy, gentle energy of the flower, instinctively rejecting what is not fit for it, with no need of disdain to dig a gulf between it and the lower forms of creation. her office to man is that of the muse, inspiring him to all good thoughts and deeds. the passions that sometimes agitate these maidens of his verso are the surprises of noble hearts unprepared for evil; and even their mistakes cannot cost bitter tears to their attendant angels. the girl in the "return of the druses" is the sort of nature byron tried to paint in myrrha. but byron could only paint women as they were to him. browning can show what they are in themselves. in "a blot in the 'scutcheon," we see a lily, storm-struck, half-broken, but still a lily. in "colombe's birthday," a queenly rose-bud, which expands into the full-glowing rose before our eyes. it is marvellous in this drama how the characters are unfolded to us by the crisis, which not only exhibits, but calls to life, the higher passions and the thoughts which were latent within them. we bless the poet for these pictures of women, which, however the common tone of society, by the grossness and levity of the remarks bandied from tongue to tongue, would seem to say to the contrary, declare there is still in the breasts of men a capacity for pure and exalting passion,--for immortal tenderness. of browning's delicate sheaths of meaning within meaning, which must be opened slowly, petal by petal, as we seek the heart of a flower, and the spirit-like, distant breathings of his lute, familiar with the secrets of shores distant and enchanted, a sense can only be gained by reading him a great deal; and we wish "bells and pomegranates" might be brought within the reach of all who have time and soul to wait and listen for such! christmas. our festivals come rather too near together, since we have so few of them;--thanksgiving, christmas-day, new-years'-day, and then none again till july. we know not but these four, with the addition of a "day set apart for fasting and prayer," might answer the purposes of rest and edification as well as a calendar full of saints' days, if they were observed in a better spirit. but, thanksgiving is devoted to good dinners; christmas and new-years' days to making presents and compliments; fast-day to playing at cricket and other games, and the fourth of july to boasting of the past, rather than to plans how to deserve its benefits and secure its fruits. we value means of marking time by appointed days, because man, on one side of his nature so ardent and aspiring, is on the other so indolent and slippery a being, that he needs incessant admonitions to redeem the time. time flows on steadily, whether _he_ regards it or not; yet, unless _he keep time_, there is no music in that flow. the sands drop with inevitable speed; yet each waits long enough to receive, if it be ready, the intellectual touch that should turn it to a sand of gold. time, says the grecian fable, is the parent of power, power is the father of genius and wisdom. time, then, is grandfather of the noblest of the human family; and we must respect the aged sire whom we see on the frontispiece of the almanacs, and believe his scythe was meant to mow down harvests ripened for an immortal use. yet the best provision made by the mind of society at large for these admonitions soon loses its efficacy, and requires that individual earnestness, individual piety, should continually reinforce the most beautiful form. the world has never seen arrangements which might more naturally offer good suggestions than those of the church of rome. the founders of that church stood very near a history radiant at every page with divine light. all their rites and ceremonial days illustrate facts of an universal interest. but the life with which piety first, and afterwards the genius of great artists, invested these symbols, waned at last, except to a thoughtful few. reverence was forgotten in the multitude of genuflexions; the rosary became a string of beads rather than a series of religious meditations; and the "glorious company of saints and martyrs" were not regarded so much as the teachers of heavenly truth, as intercessors to obtain for their votaries the temporal gifts they craved. yet we regret that some of those symbols had not been more reverenced by protestants, as the possible occasion of good thoughts, and, among others, we regret that the day set apart to commemorate the birth of jesus should have been stript, even by those who observe it, of many impressive and touching accessories. if ever there was an occasion on which the arts could become all but omnipotent in the service of a holy thought, it is this of the birth of the child jesus. in the palmy days of the catholic religion they may be said to have wrought miracles in its behalf; and in our colder time, when we rather reflect that light from a different point of view than transport ourselves into it, who, that has an eye and ear faithful to the soul, is not conscious of inexhaustible benefits from some of the works by which sublime geniuses have expressed their ideas?--in the adorations of the magi and the shepherds, in the virgin with the infant jesus, or that work which expresses what christendom at large has not begun to realize,--that work which makes us conscious, as we listen, why the soul of man was thought worthy and able to upbear a cross of such dreadful weight,--the messiah of handel. christmas would seem to be the day peculiarly sacred to children; and something of this feeling is beginning to show itself among us, though rather from german influence than of native growth. the ever-green tree is often reared for the children on christmas evening, and its branches cluster with little tokens that may, at least, give them a sense that the world is rich, and that there are some in it who care to bless them. it is a charming sight to see their glistening eyes, and well worth much trouble in preparing the christmas-tree. yet, on this occasion, as on all others, we should like to see pleasure offered to them in a form less selfish than it is. when shall we read of banquets prepared for the halt, the lame, and the blind, on the day that is said to have brought _their_ friend into the world? when will children be taught to ask all the cold and ragged little ones whom they have seen during the day wistfully gazing at the shop-windows, to share the joys of christmas-eve? we borrow the christmas-tree from germany; might we but borrow with it that feeling which pervades all their stories, about the influence of the christ-child, and has, i doubt not (for the spirit of literature is always, though refined, the essence of popular life), pervaded the conduct of children there. we will mention two of these as happily expressive of different sides of the desirable character. one is a legend of the saint hermann joseph. the legend runs that this saint, when a little boy, passed daily by a niche where was an image of the virgin and child, and delighted there to pay his devotions. his heart was so drawn towards the holy child that one day, having received what seemed to him a gift truly precious, a beautiful red and yellow apple, he ventured to offer it, with his prayer. to his unspeakable delight the child put forth his hand and took the apple. after that day, never was a gift bestowed upon the little hermann, that was not carried to the same place. he needed nothing for himself, but dedicated all his childish goods to the altar. after a while he was in trouble. his father, who was a poor man, found it necessary to take him from school, and bind him to a trade. he communicated his woes to his friends of the niche, and the virgin comforted him like a mother, and bestowed on him money, by means of which he rose to be a learned and tender shepherd of men. another still more touching story is that of the holy rupert. rupert was the only child of a princely house, and had something to give besides apples. but his generosity and human love were such that, as a child, he could never see poor children suffering without despoiling himself of all he had with him in their behalf. his mother was, at first, displeased with this; but when he replied, "they are thy children too," her reproofs yielded to tears. one time, when he had given away his coat to a poor child, he got wearied and belated on his homeward way. he lay down a while and fell asleep. then he dreamed that he was on a river-shore, and saw a mild and noble old man bathing many children. after he had plunged them into the water, he would place them on a beautiful island, where they looked white and glorious as little angels. rupert was seized with a strong desire to join them, and begged the old man to bathe him also in the stream. but he was answered, "it is not yet time." just then a rainbow spanned the island, and in its arch was enthroned the child jesus, dressed in a coat that rupert knew to be his own. and the child said to the others, "see this coat; it is one which my brother rupert has just sent to me. he has given us many gifts from his love; shall we not ask him to join us here?" and they shouted a musical "yes!" and rupert started out of his dream. but he had lain too long on the damp bank of the river without his coat, and cold and fever soon sent him to join the band of his brothers in their home. these are legends, superstitious, you will say. but, in casting aside the shell, have we retained the kernel? the image of the child jesus is not seen in the open street. does his heart find other means to express itself there? protestantism does not mean, we suppose, to deaden the spirit in excluding the form. the thought of jesus, as a child, has great weight with children who have learned to think of him at all. in thinking of him they form an image of all that the morning of a pure and fervent life should be and bring. in former days i knew a boy-artist whose genius, at that time, showed high promise. he was not more than fourteen years old--a pale, slight boy, with a beaming eye. the hopes and sympathy of friends, gained by his talent, had furnished him with a studio and orders for some pictures. he had picked up from the streets a boy, still younger and poorer than himself, to take care of the room and prepare his colors, and the two boys were as content in their relation as michael angelo with his urbino. if you went there, you found exposed to view many pretty pictures--"a girl with a dove," "the guitar-player," and such subjects as are commonly supposed to interest at his age. but, hid in a corner, and never shown, unless to the beggar-page or some most confidential friend, was the real object of his love and pride, the slowly-growing work of secret hours. the subject of this picture was christ teaching the doctors. and in those doctors he had expressed all he had already observed of the pedantry and shallow conceit of those in whom mature years have not unfolded the soul: and in the child, all he felt that early youth should be and seek, though, alas! his own feet failed him on the difficult road. this one record of the youth of jesus, had, at least, been much to his mind. in earlier days the little saints thought they best imitated the emanuel by giving apples and cents; but we know not why, in our age, that esteems itself so much enlightened, they should not become also the givers of spiritual gifts. we see in them, continually, impulses that only require a good direction to effect infinite good. see the little girls at work for foreign missions; that is not useless; they devote the time to a purpose that is not selfish; the horizon of their thoughts is extended. but they are perfectly capable of becoming home-missionaries as well. the principle of stewardship would make them so. i have seen a little girl of thirteen, who had much service, too, to do for a hard-working mother, in the midst of a circle of poor children whom she gathered daily to a morning school. she took them from the door-steps and the gutters; she washed their faces and hands; she taught them to read and sew, and told them stories that had delighted her own infancy. in her face, though in feature and complexion plain, was something already of a madonna sweetness, and it had no way eclipsed the gayety of childhood. i have seen a boy, scarce older, brought up for some time with the sons of laborers, who, so soon as he found himself possessed of superior advantages, thought not of surpassing others, but of excelling that he might be able to impart; and he was able to do it. if the other boys had less leisure, and could pay for less instruction, they did not suffer by it. he could not be happy unless they also could enjoy milton, and pass from nature to natural philosophy. he performed, though in a childish way, and in no grecian garb, the part of apollo amidst the herdsmen of admetus. the cause of education would be indefinitely furthered if, in addition to formal means, there were but this principle awakened in the hearts of the young, that what they have they must bestow. all are not natural instructors, but a large proportion are; and those who do possess such a talent are the best possible teachers to those a little younger than themselves. many have more patience with the difficulties they have lately left behind, and enjoy their power of assisting more than those further removed in age and knowledge do. then the intercourse may be far more congenial and profitable than where the teacher receives for hire all sorts of pupils as they are sent him by their guardians. here be need only choose those who have a predisposition for what he is best able to teach; and, as i would have the so-called higher instruction as much diffused in this way as the lower, there would be a chance of awakening all the power that now lies latent. if a girl, for instance, who has only a passable talent for music, but who, from the advantage of social position, has been able to gain thorough instruction, felt it her duty to teach whomsoever she know that had a talent without money to cultivate it, the good is obvious. those who are learning, receive an immediate benefit by the effort to rearrange and interpret what they learn; so the use of this justice would be two-fold. some efforts are made here and there; nay, sometimes there are those who can say they have returned usury for every gift of fate; and would others make the same experiments, they might find utopia not so far off as the children of this world, wise in securing their own selfish ease, would persuade us it must always be. we have hinted what sort of christmas-box we would wish for the children; it must be one as full, as that of the christ-child must be, of the pieces of silver that were lost and are found. but christmas with its peculiar associations has deep interest for men and women no less. at that time thus celebrated, a pure woman saw in her child what the son of man should be as a child of god. she anticipated fur him a life of glory to god, peace and good-will towards men. in any young mother's heart, who has any purity of heart, the same feelings arise. but most of these mothers carelessly let them go without obeying their instructions. if they did not, we should see other children, other men than now throng our streets. the boy could not invariably disappoint the mother, the man the wife, who steadily demanded of him such a career. and man looks upon woman, in this relation, always as he should. does he see in her a holy mother, worthy to guard the infancy of an immortal soul? then she assumes in his eyes those traits which the romish church loved to revere in mary. frivolity, base appetite, contempt, are exorcised, and man and woman appear again, in unprofaned connection, as brother and sister, children and servants of one divine love, and pilgrims to a common aim. were all this right in the private sphere, the public would soon right itself also, and the nations of christendom might join in a celebration such as "kings and prophets waited for," and so many martyrs died to achieve, of christ-mass. children's books. there is no branch of literature that better deserves cultivation, and none that so little obtains it from worthy hands, as this of children's books. it requires a peculiar development of the genius and sympathies, rare among men of factitious life, who are not men enough to revive with force and beauty the thoughts and scenes of childhood. it is all idle to talk baby-talk, and give shallow accounts of deep things, thinking thereby to interest the child. he does not like to be too much puzzled; but it is simplicity be wants, not silliness. we fancy their angels, who are always waiting in the courts of our father, smile somewhat sadly on the ignorance of those who would feed them on milk and water too long, and think it would be quite as well to give them a stone. there is too much amongst us of the french way of palming off false accounts of things on children, "to do them good," and showing nature to them in a magic lantern "purified for the use of childhood," and telling stories of sweet little girls and brave little boys,--o, all so good, or so bad! and above all, so _little_, and everything about them so little! children accustomed to move in full-sized apartments, and converse with full-grown men and women, do not need so much of this baby-house style in their literature. they like, or would like if they could get them, better things much more. they like the _arabian nights_, and _pilgrim's progress_, and _bunyan's emblems_, and _shakspeare_, and the _iliad_ and _odyssey_,--at least, they used to like them; and if they do not now, it is because their taste has been injured by so many sugar-plums. the books that were written in the childhood of nations suit an uncorrupted childhood now. they are simple, picturesque, robust. their moral is not forced, nor is the truth veiled with a well-meant but sure-to-fail hypocrisy. sometimes they are not moral at all,--only free plays of the fancy and intellect. these, also, the child needs, just as the infant needs to stretch its limbs, and grasp at objects it cannot hold. we have become so fond of the moral, that we forget the nature in which it must find its root; so fond of instruction, that we forget development. where ballads, legends, fairy-tales, are moral, the morality is heart-felt; if instructive, it is from the healthy common sense of mankind, and not for the convenience of nursery rule, nor the "peace of schools and families." o, that winter, freezing, snow-laden winter, which ushered in our eighth birthday! there, in the lonely farm-house, the day's work done, and the bright woodfire all in a glow, we were permitted to slide back the panel of the cupboard in the wall,--most fascinating object still in our eyes, with which no stateliest alcoved library can vie,--and there saw, neatly ranged on its two shelves, not--praised be our natal star!--_peter parley_, nor a history of the good little boy who never took anything that did not belong to him; but the _spectator_, _telemachus_, _goldsmith's animated nature_, and the _iliad_. forms of gods and heroes more distinctly seen, and with eyes of nearer love then than now!--our true uncle, sir roger de coverley, and ye, fair realms of nature's history, whose pictures we tormented all grown persons to illustrate with more knowledge, still more,--how we bless the chance that gave to us your great realities, which life has daily helped us, helps us still, to interpret, instead of thin and baseless fictions that would all this time have hampered us, though with only cobwebs! children need some childish talk, some childish play, some childish books. but they also need, and need more, difficulties to overcome, and a sense of the vast mysteries which the progress of their intelligence shall aid them to unravel. this sense is naturally their delight, as it is their religion, and it must not be dulled by premature explanations or subterfuges of any kind. there has been too much of this lately. miss edgeworth is an excellent writer for children. she is a child herself, as she writes, nursed anew by her own genius. it is not by imitating, but by reproducing childhood, that the writer becomes its companion. then, indeed, we have something especially good, for, "like wine, well-kept and long, heady, nor harsh, nor strong, with each succeeding year is quaffed, a richer, purer, mellower draught." miss edgeworth's grown people live naturally with the children; they do not talk to them continually about angels or flowers, but about the things that interest themselves. they do not force them forward, nor keep them back. the relations are simple and honorable; all ages in the family seem at home under one roof and sheltered by one care. the _juvenile miscellany_, formerly published by mrs. child, was much and deservedly esteemed by children. it was a healthy, cheerful, natural and entertaining companion to them. we should censure too monotonously tender a manner in what is written for children, and too constant an attention to moral influence. we should prefer a larger proportion of the facts of natural or human history, and that they should speak for themselves. woman in poverty. woman, even less than man, is what she should be as a whole. she is not that self-centred being, full of profound intuitions, angelic love, and flowing poesy, that she should be. yet there are circumstances in which the native force and purity of her being teach her how to conquer where the restless impatience of man brings defeat, and leaves him crushed and bleeding on the field. images rise to mind of calm strength, of gentle wisdom learning from every turn of adverse fate,--of youthful tenderness and faith undimmed to the close of life, which redeem humanity and make the heart glow with fresh courage as we write. they are mostly from obscure corners and very private walks. there was nothing shining, nothing of an obvious and sounding heroism to make their conduct doubtful, by tainting their motives with vanity. unknown they lived, untrumpeted they died. many hearts were warmed and fed by them, but perhaps no mind but our own ever consciously took account of their virtues. had art but the power adequately to tell their simple virtues, and to cast upon them the light which, shining through those marked and faded faces, foretold the glories of a second spring! the tears of holy emotion which fell from those eyes have seemed to us pearls beyond all price; or rather, whose price will be paid only when, beyond the grave, they enter those better spheres in whose faith they felt and acted here. from this private gallery we will, for the present, bring forth but one picture. that of a black nun was wont to fetter the eyes of visitors in the royal galleries of france, and my sister of mercy, too, is of that complexion. the old woman was recommended as a laundress by my friend, who had long prized her. i was immediately struck with the dignity and propriety of her manner. in the depth of winter she brought herself the heavy baskets through the slippery streets; and, when i asked her why she did not employ some younger person to do what was so entirely disproportioned to her strength, simply said, "she lived alone, and could not afford to hire an errand-boy." "it was hard for her?" "no, she was fortunate in being able to get work at her age, when others could do it better. her friends were very good to procure it for her." "had she a comfortable home?" "tolerably so,--she should not need one long." "was that a thought of joy to her?" "yes, for she hoped to see again the husband and children from whom she had long been separated." thus much in answer to the questions, but at other times the little she said was on general topics. it was not from her that i learnt how the great idea of duty had held her upright through a life of incessant toil, sorrow, bereavement; and that not only she had remained upright, but that her character had been constantly progressive. her latest act had been to take home a poor sick girl who had no home of her own, and could not bear the idea of dying in a hospital, and maintain and nurse her through the last weeks of her life. "her eye-sight was failing, and she should not be able to work much longer,--but, then, god would provide. _somebody_ ought to see to the poor, motherless girl." it was not merely the greatness of the act, for one in such circumstances, but the quiet matter-of-course way in which it was done, that showed the habitual tone of the mind, and made us feel that life could hardly do more for a human being than to make him or her the _somebody_ that is daily so deeply needed, to represent the right, to do the plain right thing. "god will provide." yes, it is the poor who feel themselves near to the god of love. though he slay them, still do they trust him. "i hope," said i to a poor apple-woman, who had been drawn on to disclose a tale of distress that, almost in the mere hearing, made me weary of life, "i hope i may yet see you in a happier condition." "with god's help," she replied, with a smile that raphael would have delighted to transfer to his canvas; a mozart, to strains of angelic sweetness. all her life she had seemed an outcast child; still she leaned upon a father's love. the dignity of a state like this may vary its form in, more or less richness and beauty of detail, but here is the focus of what makes life valuable. it is this spirit which makes poverty the best servant to the ideal of human nature. i am content with this type, and will only quote, in addition, a ballad i found in a foreign periodical, translated from chamisso, and which forcibly recalled my own laundress as an equally admirable sample of the same class, the ideal poor, which we need for our consolation, so long as there must be real poverty. "the old washerwoman. "among yon lines her hands have laden, a laundress with white hair appears, alert as many a youthful maiden, spite of her five-and-seventy years; bravely she won those white hairs, still eating the bread hard toll obtained her, and laboring truly to fulfil the duties to which god ordained her. "once she was young and full of gladness, she loved and hoped,--was wooed and won; then came the matron's cares,--the sadness no loving heart on earth may shun. three babes she bore her mate; she prayed beside his sick-bed,--he was taken; she saw him in the church-yard laid, yet kept her faith and hope unshaken. "the task her little ones of feeding she met unfaltering from that hour; she taught them thrift and honest breeding, her virtues were their worldly dower. to seek employment, one by one, forth with her blessing they departed, and she was in the world alone- alone and old, but still high-hearted. "with frugal forethought; self-denying, she gathered coin, and flax she bought, and many a night her spindle plying, good store of fine-spun thread she wrought. the thread was fashioned in the loom; she brought it home, and calmly seated to work, with not a thought of gloom, her decent grave-clothes she completed. "she looks on them with fond elation; they are her wealth, her treasure rare, her age's pride and consolation, hoarded with all a miser's care. she dons the sark each sabbath day, to hear the word that falleth never! well-pleased she lays it then away till she shall sleep in it forever! "would that my spirit witness bore me. that, like this woman, i had done the work my master put before me duly from morn till set of sun! would that life's cup had been by me quaffed in such wise and happy measure, and that i too might finally look on my shroud with such meek pleasure!" such are the noble of the earth. they do not repine, they do not chafe, even in the inmost heart. they feel that, whatever else may be denied or withdrawn, there remains the better part, which cannot be taken from them. this line exactly expresses the woman i knew:- "alone and old, but still high-hearted." will any, poor or rich, fail to feel that the children of such a parent were rich when "her virtues were their worldly dower"? will any fail to bow the heart in assent to the aspiration, "would that my spirit witness bore me that, like this woman, i had done the work my maker put before me duly from morn till set of sun"? may not that suffice to any man's ambition? [perhaps one of the most perplexing problems which beset woman in her domestic sphere relates to the proper care and influence which she should exert over the domestic aids she employs. as these are, and long must be, taken chiefly from one nation, the following pages treating of the irish character, and the true relation between employer and employed, can hardly fail to be of interest. they contain, too, some considerations which woman as well as man is too much in danger of overlooking, and which seem, even more than when first urged, to be timely in this reactionary to-day.--ed.] the irish character. in one of the eloquent passages quoted in the "_tribune_" of wednesday, under the head, "spirit of the irish press," we find these words: "domestic love, almost morbid from external suffering, prevents him (the irishman) from becoming a fanatic and a misanthrope, and reconciles him to life." this recalled to our mind the many touching instances known to us of such traits among the irish we have seen here. we have known instances of morbidness like this. a girl sent "home," after she was well established herself, for a young brother, of whom she was particularly fond. he came, and shortly after died. she was so overcome by his loss that she took poison. the great poet of serious england says, and we believe it to be his serious thought though laughingly said, "men have died, and worms have eaten them, but not for love." whether or not death may follow from the loss of a lover or child, we believe that among no people but the irish would it be upon the loss of a young brother. another poor young woman, in the flower of her youth, denied herself, not only every pleasure, but almost the necessaries of life to save the sum she thought ought to be hers before sending to ireland for a widowed mother. just as she was on the point of doing so she heard that her mother had died fifteen months before. the keenness and persistence of her grief defy description. with a delicacy of feeling which showed the native poetry of the irish mind, she dwelt, most of all, upon the thought that while she was working, and pinching, and dreaming of happiness with her mother, it was indeed but a dream, and that cherished parent lay still and cold beneath the ground. she felt fully the cruel cheat of fate. "och! and she was dead all those times i was thinking of her!" was the deepest note of her lament. they are able, however, to make the sacrifice of even these intense family affections in a worthy cause. we knew a woman who postponed sending for her only child, whom she had left in ireland, for years, while she maintained a sick friend who had no one else to help her. the poetry of which i have spoken shows itself even here, where they are separated from old romantic associations, and begin the new life in the new world by doing all its drudgery. we know flights of poetry repeated to us by those present at their wakes,--passages of natural eloquence, from the lamentations for the dead, more beautiful than those recorded in the annals of brittany or roumelia. it is the same genius, so exquisitely mournful, tender, and glowing, too, with the finest enthusiasm, that makes their national music, in these respects, the finest in the world. it is the music of the harp; its tones are deep and thrilling. it is the harp so beautifully described in "the harp of tara's halls," a song whose simple pathos is unsurpassed. a feeling was never more adequately embodied. it is the genius which will enable emmet's appeal to draw tears from the remotest generations, however much they may be strangers to the circumstances which called it forth, it is the genius which beamed in chivalrous loveliness through each act of lord edward fitzgerald,--the genius which, ripened by english culture, favored by suitable occasions, has shed such glory on the land which has done all it could to quench it on the parent hearth. when we consider all the fire which glows so untamably in irish veins, the character of her people, considering the circumstances, almost miraculous in its goodness, we cannot forbear, notwithstanding all the temporary ills they aid in here, to give them a welcome to our shores. those ills we need not enumerate; they are known to all, and we rank among them, what others would not, that by their ready service to do all the hard work, they make it easier for the rest of the population to grow effeminate, and help the country to grow too fast. but that is her destiny, to grow too fast: there is no use talking against it. their extreme ignorance, their blind devotion to their priesthood, their pliancy in the hands of demagogues, threaten continuance of these ills; yet, on the other hand, we must regard them as most valuable elements in the new race. they are looked upon with contempt for their wont of aptitude in learning new things; their ready and ingenious lying; their eye-service. these are the faults of an oppressed race, which must require the aid of better circumstances through two or three generations to eradicate. their virtues are their own; they are many, genuine, and deeply-rooted. can an impartial observer fail to admire their truth to domestic ties, their power of generous bounty, and more generous gratitude, their indefatigable good-humor (for ages of wrong which have driven them to so many acts of desperation, could never sour their blood at its source), their ready wit, their elasticity of nature? they are fundamentally one of the best nations of the world. would they were welcomed here, not to work merely, but to intelligent sympathy, and efforts, both patient and ardent, for the education of their children! no sympathy could be better deserved, no efforts wiselier timed. future burkes and currans would know how to give thanks for them, and fitzgeralds rise upon the soil--which boasts the magnolia with its kingly stature and majestical white blossoms,--to the same lofty and pure beauty. will you not believe it, merely because that bog-bred youth you placed in the mud-hole tells you lies, and drinks to cheer himself in those endless diggings? you are short-sighted, my friend; you do not look to the future; you will not turn your head to see what may have been the influences of the past. you have not examined your own breast to see whether the monitor there has not commanded you to do your part to counteract these influences; and yet the irishman appeals to you, eye to eye. he is very personal himself,--he expects a personal interest from you. nothing has been able to destroy this hope, which was the fruit of his nature. we were much touched by o'connell's direct appeal to the queen, as "lady!" but she did not listen,--and we fear few ladies and gentlemen will till the progress of destiny compels them. the irish character. since the publication of a short notice under this head in the "_tribune_," several persons have expressed to us that their feelings were awakened on the subject, especially as to their intercourse with the lower irish. most persons have an opportunity of becoming acquainted, if they will, with the lower classes of irish, as they are so much employed among us in domestic service, and other kinds of labor. we feel, say these persons, the justice of what has been said as to the duty and importance of improving these people. we have sometimes tried; but the want of real gratitude which, in them, is associated with such warm and wordy expressions of regard, with their incorrigible habits of falsehood and evasion, have baffled and discouraged us. you say their children ought to be educated; but how can this be effected when the all but omnipotent sway of the catholic religion and the example of parents are both opposed to the formation of such views and habits as we think desirable to the citizen of the new world? we answer first with regard to those who have grown up in another land, and who, soon after arriving here, are engaged in our service. first, as to ingratitude. we cannot but sadly smile on the remarks we hear so often on this subject. just heaven!--and to us how liberal! which has given those who speak thus an unfettered existence, free from religious or political oppression; which has given them the education of intellectual and refined intercourse with men to develop those talents which make them rich in thoughts and enjoyment, perhaps in money, too, certainly rich in comparison with the poor immigrants they employ,--what is thought in thy clear light of those who expect in exchange for a few shillings spent in presents or medicines, a few kind words, a little casual thought or care, such a mighty payment of gratitude? gratitude! under the weight of old feudalism their minds were padlocked by habit against the light; they might be grateful then, for they thought their lords were as gods, of another frame and spirit than theirs, and that they had no right to have the same hopes and wants, scarcely to suffer from the same maladies, with those creatures of silk, and velvet, and cloth of gold. then, the crumbs which fell from the rich man's table might be received with gratitude, and, if any but the dogs came to tend the beggar's sores, such might be received as angels. but the institutions which sustained such ideas have fallen to pieces. it is understood, even in europe, that "the rank is but the guinea's stamp, the man's the gowd for a' that, a man's a man for a' that." and being such, has a claim on this earth for something better than the nettles of which the french peasantry made their soup, and with which the persecuted irish, "under hiding," turned to green the lips white before with famine. and if this begins to be understood in europe, can you suppose it is not by those who, hearing that america opens a mother's arms with the cry, "all men are born free and equal," rush to her bosom to be consoled for centuries of woe, for their ignorance, their hereditary degradation, their long memories of black bread and stripes? however little else they may understand, believe they understand well _this much_. such inequalities of privilege, among men all born of one blood, should not exist. they darkly feel that those to whom much has been given owe to the master an account of stewardship. they know now that your gift is but a small portion of their right. and you, o giver! how did you give? with religious joy, as one who knows that he who loves god cannot fail to love his neighbor as himself? with joy and freedom, as one who feels that it is the highest happiness of gift to us that we have something to give again? didst thou put thyself into the position of the poor man, and do for him what thou wouldst have had one who was able to do for thee? or, with affability and condescending sweetness, made easy by internal delight at thine own wondrous virtue, didst thou give five dollars to balance five hundred spent on thyself? did you say, "james, i shall expect you to do right in everything, and to attend to my concerns as i should myself; and, at the end of the quarter, i will give you my old clothes and a new pocket-handkerchief, besides seeing that your mother is provided with fuel against christmas?" line upon line, and precept upon precept, the tender parent expects from the teacher to whom he confides his child; vigilance unwearied, day and night, through long years. but he expects the raw irish girl or boy to correct, at a single exhortation, the habit of deceiving those above them, which the expectation of being tyrannized over has rooted in their race for ages. if we look fairly into the history of their people, and the circumstances under which their own youth was trained, we cannot expect that anything short of the most steadfast patience and love can enlighten them as to the beauty and value of implicit truth, and, having done so, fortify and refine them in the practice of it. this we admit at the outset: first, you must be prepared for a religious and patient treatment of these people, not merely _un_educated, but _ill_-educated; a treatment far more religious and patient than is demanded by your own children, if they were born and bred under circumstances at all favorable. second, dismiss from your minds all thought of gratitude. do what you do for them for god's sake, and as a debt to humanity--interest to the common creditor upon principal left in your care. then insensibility, forgetfulness, or relapse, will not discourage you, and you will welcome proofs of genuine attachment to yourself chiefly as tokens that your charge has risen into a higher state of thought and feeling, so as to be enabled to value the benefits conferred through you. could we begin so, there would be hope of our really becoming the instructors and guardians of this swarm of souls which come from their regions of torment to us, hoping, at least, the benefits of purgatory. the influence of the catholic priesthood must continue very great till there is a complete transfusion of character in the minds of their charge. but as the irishman, or any other foreigner, becomes americanized, he will demand a new form of religion to suit his new wants. the priest, too, will have to learn the duties of an american citizen; he will live less and less for the church, and more for the people, till at last, if there be catholicism still, it will be under protestant influences, as begins to be the case in germany. it will be, not roman, but american catholicism; a form of worship which relies much, perhaps, on external means and the authority of the clergy,--for such will always be the case with religion while there are crowds of men still living an external life, and who have not learned to make full use of their own faculties,--but where a belief in the benefits of confession and the power of the church, as church, to bind and loose, atone for or decide upon sin, with similar corruptions, must vanish in the free and searching air of a new era. * * * * * between employer and employed there is not sufficient pains taken on the part of the former to establish a mutual understanding. people meet, in the relations of master and servant, who have lived in two different worlds. in this respect we are much worse situated than the same parties have been in europe. there is less previous acquaintance between the upper and lower classes. (we must, though unwillingly, use these terms to designate the state of things as at present existing.) meals are taken separately; work is seldom shared; there is very little to bring the parties together, except sometimes the farmer works with his hired irish laborer in the fields, or the mother keeps the nurse-maid of her baby in the room with her. in this state of things the chances for instruction, which come every day of themselves where parties share a common life instead of its results merely, do not occur. neither is there opportunity to administer instruction in the best manner, nor to understand when and where it is needed. the farmer who works with his men in the field, the farmer's wife who attends with her women to the churn and the oven, may, with ease, be true father and mother to all who are in their employ, and enjoy health of conscience in the relation, secure that, if they find cause for blame, it is not from faults induced by their own negligence. the merchant who is from home all day, the lady receiving visitors or working slippers in her nicely-furnished parlor, cannot be quite so sure that their demands, or the duties involved in them, are clearly understood, nor estimate the temptations to prevarication. it is shocking to think to what falsehoods human beings like ourselves will resort, to excuse a love of amusement, to hide ill-health, while they see us indulging freely in the one, yielding lightly to the other; and yet we have, or ought to have, far more resources in either temptation than they. for us it is hard to resist, to give up going to the places where we should meet our most interesting companions, or do our work with an aching brow. but we have not people over us whose careless, hasty anger drives us to seek excuses for our failures; if so, perhaps,--perhaps; who knows?--we, the better-educated, rigidly, immaculately true as we are at present, _might_ tell falsehoods. perhaps we might, if things were given us to do which we had never seen done, if we were surrounded by new arrangements in the nature of which no one instructed us. all this we must think of before we can be of much use. we have spoken of the nursery-maid as _the_ hired domestic with whom her mistress, or even the master, is likely to become acquainted. but, only a day or two since, we saw, what we see so often, a nursery-maid with the family to which she belonged, in a public conveyance. they were having a pleasant time; but in it she had no part, except to hold a hot, heavy baby, and receive frequent admonitions to keep _it_ comfortable. no inquiry was made as to _her_ comfort; no entertaining remark, no information of interest as to the places we passed, was addressed to her. had she been in that way with that family ten years she might have known _them_ well enough, for their characters lay only too bare to a careless scrutiny; but her joys, her sorrows, her few thoughts, her almost buried capacities, would have been as unknown to them, and they as little likely to benefit her, as the emperor of china. let the employer place the employed first in good physical circumstances, so as to promote the formation of different habits from those of the irish hovel, or illicit still-house. having thus induced feelings of self-respect, he has opened the door for a new set of notions. then let him become acquainted with the family circumstances and history of his new pupil. he has now got some ground on which to stand for intercourse. let instruction follow for the mind, not merely by having the youngest daughter set, now and then, copies in the writing-book, or by hearing read aloud a few verses in the bible, but by putting good books in their way, if able to read, and by intelligent conversation when there is a chance,--the master with the man who is driving him, the lady with the woman who is making her bed. explain to them the relations of objects around them; teach them to compare the old with the new life. if you show a better way than theirs of doing work, teach them, too, _why_ it is better. thus will the mind be prepared by development for a moral reformation; there will be some soil fitted to receive the seed. when the time is come,--and will you think a poor, uneducated person, in whose mind the sense of right and wrong is confused, the sense of honor blunted, easier of access than one refined and thoughtful? surely you will not, if you yourself are refined and thoughtful, but rather that the case requires far more care in the choice of a favorable opportunity,--when, then, the good time is come, perhaps it will be best to do what you do in a way that will make a permanent impression. show the irishman that a vice not indigenous to his nation--for the rich and noble who are not so tempted are chivalrous to an uncommon degree in their openness, bold sincerity, and adherence to their word--has crept over and become deeply rooted in the poorer people from the long oppressions they have undergone. show them what efforts and care will be needed to wash out the taint. offer your aid, as a faithful friend, to watch their lapses, and refine their sense of truth. you will not speak in vain. if they never mend, if habit is too powerful, still, their nobler nature will not have been addressed in vain. they will not forget the counsels they have not strength to follow, and the benefits will be seen in their children or children's children. many say, "well, suppose we do all this; what then? they are so fond of change, they will leave us." what then? why, let them go and carry the good seed elsewhere. will you be as selfish and short-sighted as those who never plant trees to shade a hired house, lest some one else should be blest by their shade? it is a simple duty we ask you to engage in; it is, also, a great patriotic work. you are asked to engage in the great work of mutual education, which must be for this country the system of mutual insurance. we have some hints upon this subject, drawn from the experience of the wise and good, some encouragement to offer from that experience, that the fruits of a wise planting sometimes ripen sooner than we could dare to expect. but this must be for another day. one word as to this love of change. we hear people blaming it in their servants, who can and do go to niagara, to the south, to the springs, to europe, to the seaside; in short, who are always on the move whenever they feel the need of variety to reanimate mind, health, or spirits. change of place, as to family employment, is the only way domestics have of "seeing life"--the only way immigrants have of getting thoroughly acquainted with the new society into which they have entered. how natural that they should incline to it! once more; put yourself in their places, and then judge them gently from your own, if you would be just to them, if you would be of any use. educate men and women as souls. had christendom but been true to its standard, while accommodating its modes of operation to the calls of successive times, woman would now have not only equal _power_ with man,--for of that omnipotent nature will never suffer her to be defrauded,--but a _chartered_ power, too fully recognized to be abused. indeed, all that is wanting is, that man should prove his own freedom by making her free. let him abandon conventional restriction, as a vestige of that oriental barbarity which confined woman to a seraglio. let him trust her entirely, and give her every privilege already acquired for himself,--elective franchise, tenure of property, liberty to speak in public assemblies, &c. nature has pointed out her ordinary sphere by the circumstances of her physical existence. she cannot wander far. if here and there the gods send their missives through women as through men, let them speak without remonstrance. in no age have men been able wholly to hinder them. a deborah must always be a spiritual mother in israel. a corinna may be excluded from the olympic games, yet all men will hear her song, and a pindar sit at her feet. it is man's fault that there ever were aspasias and ninons. these exquisite forms were intended for the shrines of virtue. neither need men fear to lose their domestic deities. woman is born for love, and it is impossible to turn her from seeking it. men should deserve her love as an inheritance, rather than seize and guard it like a prey. were they noble, they would strive rather not to be loved too much, and to turn her from idolatry to the true, the only love. then, children of one father, they could not err nor misconceive one another. society is now so complex, that it is no longer possible to educate woman merely as woman; the tasks which come to her hand are so various, and so large a proportion of women are thrown entirely upon their own resources. i admit that this is not their state of perfect development; but it seems as if heaven, having so long issued its edict in poetry and religion without securing intelligent obedience, now commanded the world in prose to take a high and rational view. the lesson reads to me thus:-sex, like rank, wealth, beauty, or talent, is but an accident of birth. as you would not educate a soul to be an aristocrat, so do not to be a woman. a general regard to her usual sphere is dictated in the economy of nature. you need never enforce these provisions rigorously. achilles had long plied the distaff as a princess; yet, at first sight of a sword, he seized it. so with woman; one hour of love would teach her more of her proper relations than all your formulas and conventions. express your views, men, of what you _seek_ in women; thus best do you give them laws. learn, women, what you should _demand_ of men; thus only can they become themselves. turn both from the contemplation of what is merely phenomenal in your existence, to your permanent life as souls. man, do not prescribe how the divine shall display itself in woman. woman, do not expect to see all of god in man. fellow-pilgrims and helpmeets are ye, apollo and diana, twins of one heavenly birth, both beneficent, and both armed. man, fear not to yield to woman's hand both the quiver and the lyre; for if her urn be filled with light, she will use both to the glory of god. there is but one doctrine for ye both, and that is the doctrine of the soul. part iii. extracts from journals and letters. [the following extract from margaret's journal will be read with a degree of melancholy interest when connected with the eventful end of her eventful life. it was written many years before her journey to europe, and rings in our ears now almost with the tones of prophecy.--ed.] i like to listen to the soliloquies of a bright child. in this microcosm the philosophical observer may trace the natural progression of the mind of mankind. i often silently observe l---, with this view. he is generally imitative and dramatic; the day-school, the singing-school or the evening party, are acted out with admirable variety in the humors of the scene, end great discrimination of character in its broader features. what is chiefly remarkable is his unconsciousness of his mental processes, and how thoughts it would be impossible for him to recall spring up in his mind like flowers and weeds in the soil. but to-night he was truly in a state of lyrical inspiration, his eyes flashing, his face glowing, and his whole composition chanted out in an almost metrical form. he began by mourning the death of a certain harriet whom he had let go to foreign parts, and who had died at sea. he described her as having "blue, sparkling eyes, and a sweet smile," and lamented that he could never kiss her cold lips again. this part, which he continued for some time, was in prolonged cadences, and a low, mournful tone, with a frequently recurring burden of "o, my harriet, shall i never see thee more!" * * * * * extract from journal. * * * * * it is so true that a woman may be in love with a woman, and a man with a man. it is pleasant to be sure of it, because it is undoubtedly the same love that we shall feel when we are angels, when we ascend to the only fit place for the mignons, where "sie fragen nicht nach mann und welb." it is regulated by the same law as that of love between persons of different sexes, only it is purely intellectual and spiritual, unprefaced by any mixture of lower instincts, undisturbed by any need of consulting temporal interests; its law is the desire of the spirit to realize a whole, which makes it seek in another being that which it finds not in itself. thus the beautiful seek the strong; the mute seek the eloquent; the butterfly settles on the dark flower. why did socrates so love alcibiades? why did korner so love schneider? how natural is the love of wallenstein for max, that of madame de stael for de recamier, mine for -----! i loved ---for a time with as much passion as i was then strong enough to feel. her face was always gleaming before me; her voice was echoing in my ear; all poetic thoughts clustered round the dear image. this love was for me a key which unlocked many a treasure which i still possess; it was the carbuncle (emblematic gem!) which cast light into many of the darkest corners of human nature. she loved me, too, though not so much, because her nature was "less high, less grave, less large, less deep;" but she loved more tenderly, less passionately. she loved me, for i well remember her suffering when she first could feel my faults, and knew one part of the exquisite veil rent away--how she wished to stay apart and weep the whole day. these thoughts were suggested by a large engraving representing madame recamier in her boudoir. i have so often thought over the intimacy between her and madame de stael. madame recamier is half-reclining on a sofa; she is clad in white drapery, which clings very gracefully to her round, but elegantly-slender form; her beautiful neck and arms are bare; her hair knotted up so as to show the contour of her truly-feminine head to great advantage. a book lies carelessly on her lap; one hand yet holds it at the place where she left off reading; her lovely face is turned towards us; she appears to muse on what she has been reading. when we see a woman in a picture with a book, she seems to be doing precisely that for which she was born; the book gives such an expression of purity to the female figure. a large window, partially veiled by a white curtain, gives a view of a city at some little distance. on one side stand the harp and piano; there are just books enough for a lady's boudoir. there is no picture, except one of de recamier herself, as corinne. this is absurd; but the absurdity is interesting, as recalling the connection. you imagine her to have been reading one of de stael's books, and to be now pondering what those brilliant words of her gifted friend can mean. everything in the room is in keeping. nothing appears to have been put there because other people have it; but there is nothing which shows a taste more noble and refined than you would expect from the fair frenchwoman. all is elegant, modern, in harmony with the delicate habits and superficial culture which you would look for in its occupant. * * * * * to her mother. _sept_. 5, 1837. * * * * * if i stay in providence, and more money is wanting than can otherwise be furnished, i will take a private class, which is ready for me, and by which, even if i reduced my terms to suit the place, i can earn the four hundred dollars that ---will need. if i do not stay, i will let her have my portion of our income, with her own, or even capital which i have a right to take up, and come into this or some other economical place, and live at the cheapest rate. it will not be even a sacrifice to me to do so, for i am weary of society, and long for the opportunity for solitary concentration of thought. i know what i say; if i live, you may rely upon me. god be with you, my dear mother! i am sure he will prosper the doings of so excellent a woman if you will only keep your mind calm and be firm. trust your daughter too. i feel increasing trust in mine own good mind. we will take good care of the children and of one another. never fear to trouble me with your perplexities. i can never be so situated that i do not earnestly wish to know them. besides, things do not trouble me as they did, for i feel within myself the power to aid, to serve. most affectionately, your daughter, m. * * * * * part of letter to m. _providence_, oct. 7, 1838. * * * for yourself, dear ------, you have attained an important age. no plan is desirable for you which is to be pursued with precision. the world, the events of every day, which no one can predict, are to be your teachers, and you must, in some degree, give yourself up, and submit to be led captive, if you would learn from them. principle must be at the helm, but thought must shift its direction with the winds and waves. happy as you are thus far in worthy friends, you are not in much danger of rash intimacies or great errors. i think, upon the whole, quite highly of your judgment about people and conduct; for, though your first feelings are often extravagant, they are soon balanced. i do not know other faults in you beside that want of retirement of mind which i have before spoken of. if m-----and a-----want too much seclusion, and are too severe in their views of life and man, i think you are too little so. there is nothing so fatal to the finer faculties as too ready or too extended a publicity. there is some danger lest there be no real religion in the heart which craves too much of daily sympathy. through your mind the stream of life has coursed with such rapidity that it has often swept away the seed or loosened the roots of the young plants before they had ripened any fruit. i should think writing would be very good for you. a journal of your life, and analyses of your thoughts, would teach you how to generalize, and give firmness to your conclusions. do not write down merely that things are beautiful, or the reverse; but _what_ they are, and _why_ they are beautiful or otherwise; and show these papers, at least at present, to nobody. be your own judge and your own helper. do not go too soon to any one with your difficulties, but try to clear them up for yourself. i think the course of reading you have fallen upon, of late, will be better for you than such books as you formerly read, addressed rather to the taste and imagination than the judgment. the love of beauty has rather an undue development in your mind. see now what it is, and what it has been. leave for a time the ideal, and return to the real. i should think two or three hours a day would be quite enough, at present, for you to give to books. now learn buying and selling, keeping the house, directing the servants; all that will bring you worlds of wisdom if you keep it subordinate to the one grand aim of perfecting the whole being. and let your self-respect forbid you to do imperfectly anything that you do at all. i always feel ashamed when i write with this air of wisdom; but you will see, by my hints, what i mean. your mind wants depth and precision; your character condensation. keep your high aim steadily in view; life will open the path to reach it. i think ----, even if she be in excess, is an excellent friend for you; her character seems to have what yours wants, whether she has or has not found the right way. * * * * * to her brother, a. b. f. _providence, feb_. 19, 1838 my dear a.: * * * * * i wish you could see the journals of two dear little girls, eleven years old, in my school. they love one another like bessie bell and mary gray in the ballad. they are just of a size, both lively as birds, affectionate, gentle, ambitious in good works and knowledge. they encourage one another constantly to do right; they are rivals, but never jealous of one another. one has the quicker intellect, the other is the prettier. i have never had occasion to find fault with either, and the forwardness of their minds has induced me to take both into my reading-class, where they are associated with girls many years their elders. particular pains do they take with their journals. these are written daily, in a beautiful, fair, round hand, well-composed, showing attention, and memory well-trained, with many pleasing sallies of playfulness, and some very interesting thoughts. * * * * * to the same. _jamaica plain, dec_. 20, 1840. * * * * about your school i do not think i could give you much advice which would be of value, unless i could know your position more in detail. the most important rule is, in all relations with our fellow-creatures, never forget that, if they are imperfect persons, they are immortal souls, and treat them as you would wish to be treated by the light of that thought. as to the application of means, abstain from punishment as much as possible, and use encouragement as far as you can _without flattery_. but be even more careful as to strict truth in this regard, towards children, than to persons of your own age; for, to the child, the parent or teacher is the representative of _justice;_ and as that of life is severe, an education which, in any degree, excites vanity, is the very worst preparation for that general and crowded school. i doubt not you will teach grammar well, as i saw you aimed at principles in your practice. in geography, try to make pictures of the scenes, that they may be present to their imaginations, and the nobler faculties be brought into action, as well as memory. in history, try to study and paint the characters of _great men_; they best interpret the leadings of events amid the nations. i am pleased with your way of speaking of both people and pupils; your view seems from the right point. yet beware of over great pleasure in being popular, or even beloved. as far as an amiable disposition and powers of entertainment make you so, it is a happiness; but if there is one grain of plausibility, it is poison. but i will not play mentor too much, lest i make you averse to write to your very affectionate sister, m. * * * * * to her brother, r. i entirely agree in what you say of _tuition_ and _intuition;_ the two must act and react upon one another, to make a man, to form a mind. drudgery is as necessary, to call out the treasures of the mind, as harrowing and planting those of the earth. and besides, the growths of literature and art are as much nature as the trees in concord woods; but nature idealized and perfected. * * * * * to the same. 1841. i take great pleasure in that feeling of the living presence of beauty in nature which your letters show. but you, who have now lived long enough to see some of my prophecies fulfilled, will not deny, though you may not yet believe the truth of my words when i say you go to an extreme in your denunciations of cities and the social institutions. _these_ are a growth also, and, as well as the diseases which come upon them, under the control of the one spirit as much as the great tree on which the insects prey, and in whose bark the busy bird has made many a wound. when we get the proper perspective of these things we shall find man, however artificial, still a part of nature. meanwhile, let us trust; and while it is the soul's duty ever to bear witness to the best it knows, let us not be hasty to conclude that in what suits us not there can be no good. let us be sure there _must_ be eventual good, could we but see far enough to discern it. in maintaining perfect truth to ourselves and choosing that mode of being which suits us, we had best leave others alone as much as may be. you prefer the country, and i doubt not it is on the whole a better condition of life to live there; but at the country party you have mentioned you saw that no circumstances will keep people from being frivolous. one may be gossipping, and vulgar, and idle in the country,--earnest, noble and wise, in the city. nature cannot be kept from us while there is a sky above, with so much as one star to remind us of prayer in the silent night. as i walked home this evening at sunset, over the mill-dam, towards the city, i saw very distinctly that the city also is a bed in god's garden. more of this some other time. * * * * * to a young friend. _concord, may _2, 1837. my dear: i am passing happy here, except that i am not well,--so unwell that i fear i must go home and ask my good mother to let me rest and vegetate beneath her sunny kindness for a while. the excitement of conversation prevents my sleeping. the drive here with mr. e-----was delightful. dear nature and time, so often calumniated, will take excellent care of us if we will let them. the wisdom lies in schooling the heart not to expect too much. i did that good thing when i came here, and i am rich. on sunday i drove to watertown with the author of "nature." the trees were still bare, but the little birds care not for that; they revel, and carol, and wildly tell their hopes, while the gentle, "voluble" south wind plays with the dry leaves, and the pine-trees sigh with their soul-like sounds for june. it was beauteous; and care and routine fled away, and i was as if they had never been, except that i vaguely whispered to myself that all had been well with me. * * * * * the baby here is beautiful. he looks like his father, and smiles so sweetly on all hearty, good people. i play with him a good deal, and he comes so _natural,_ after dante and other poets. ever faithfully your friend. * * * * * to the same. 1837. my beloved child: i was very glad to get your note. do not think you must only write to your friends when you can tell them you are happy; they will not misunderstand you in the dark hour, nor think you _forsaken_, if cast down. though your letter of wednesday was very sweet to me, yet i knew it could not last as it was then. these hours of heavenly, heroic strength leave us, but they come again: their memory is with us amid after-trials, and gives us a foretaste of that era when the steadfast soul shall be the only reality. my dearest, you must suffer, but you will always be growing stronger, and with every trial nobly met, you will feel a growing assurance that nobleness is not a mere _sentiment_ with you. i sympathize deeply in your anxiety about your mother; yet i cannot but remember the bootless fear and agitation about my mother, and how strangely our destinies were guided. take refuge in prayer when you are most troubled; the door of the sanctuary will never be shut against you. i send you a paper which is very sacred to me. bless heaven that your heart is awakened to sacred duties before any kind of gentle ministering has become impossible, before any relation has been broken. [footnote: it has always been my desire to find appropriate time and place to correct an erroneous impression which has gained currency in regard to my father, and which does injustice to his memory. that impression is that he was exceedingly stern and exacting in the parental relation, and especially in regard to my sister; that he forbid or frowned upon her sports;--excluded her from intercourse with other children when she, a child, needed such companionship, and required her to bend almost unceasingly over her books. this impression has, certainly in part, arisen from an autobiographical sketch, never written for publication nor intended for a literal or complete statement of her father's educational method, or the relation which existed between them, which was most loving and true on both sides. while the narrative is true, it is not the all she would have said, and, therefore, taken alone, conveys an impression which misleads those who did not know our father well. perhaps no better opportunity or place than this may ever arise to correct this impression so for us it is wrong. it is true that my father had a very high standard of scholarship, and did expect conformity to it in his children. he was not stern toward them. it is doubtless true, also, that he did not perfectly comprehend the rare mind of his daughter, or see for some years that she required no stimulating to intellectual effort, as do most children, but rather the reverse. but how many fathers are there who would have understood at once such a child as margaret fuller was, or would have done even as wisely as he? and how long is it since a wiser era has dawned upon the world (its light not yet fully welcomed), in which attention first to physical development to the exclusion of the mental, is an axiom in education! was it so deemed forty years ago? nor has it been considered that so gifted a child would naturally, as she did, _seek_ the companionship of those older than herself, and not of children who had little in unison with her. she needed, doubtless, to be _urged_ into the usual sports of children, and the company of those of her own age; if _not_ urged to enter these she was never excluded from either. she needed to be kept from books for a period, or to be led to those of a lighter cost than such as she read, and which usually task the thoughts of mature men. this simply was not done, and the error arose from no lack of tenderness, or consideration, from no lack of the wisdom of those times, but from the simple fact that the laws of physiology as connected with those of mind were not understood then as now, nor was attention so much directed to physical culture as of the primary importance it is now regarded. our father was indeed exact and strict with himself and others; but none has ever been more devoted to his children than he, or more painstaking with their education, nor more fondly loved them; and in later life they have ever been more and more impressed with the conviction of his fidelity and wisdom. that margaret venerated her father, and that his love was returned, is abundantly evidenced in her poem which accompanies this letter. this, too, was not written for the public eye, but it is too noble a tribute, too honorable both to father and daughter, to be suppressed. i trust that none, passing from one extreme to the other, will infer from the natural self-reproach and upbraiding because of short-comings, felt by every true mind when an honored and loved parent departs, that she lacked fidelity in the relation of daughter. she agreed not always with his views and methods, but this diversity of mind never affected their mutual respect and love.--[ed.]] lines written in march, 1836. "i will not leave you comfortless." o, friend divine! this promise dear falls sweetly on the weary ear! often, in hours of sickening pain, it soothes me to thy rest again. might i a true disciple be, following thy footsteps faithfully, then should i still the succor prove of him who gave his life for love. when this fond heart would vainly beat for bliss that ne'er on earth we meet, for perfect sympathy of soul, from those such heavy laws control; when, roused from passion's ecstasy, i see the dreams that filled it fly, amid my bitter tears and sighs those gentle words before me rise. with aching brows and feverish brain the founts of intellect i drain, and con with over-anxious thought what poets sung and heroes wrought. enchanted with their deeds and lays, i with like gems would deck my days; no fires creative in me burn, and, humbled, i to thee return; when blackest clouds around me rolled of scepticism drear and cold, when love, and hope, and joy and pride, forsook a spirit deeply tried; my reason wavered in that hour, prayer, too impatient, lost its power; from thy benignity a ray, i caught, and found the perfect day. a head revered in dust was laid; for the first time i watched my dead; the widow's sobs were checked in vain, and childhood's tears poured down like rain. in awe i gaze on that dear face, in sorrow, years gone by retrace, when, nearest duties most forgot, i might have blessed, and did it not! ignorant, his wisdom i reproved, heedless, passed by what most he loved, knew not a life like his to prize, of ceaseless toil and sacrifice. no tears can now that hushed heart move, no cares display a daughter's love, the fair occasion lost, no more can thoughts more just to thee restore. what can i do? and how atone for all i've done, and left undone? tearful i search the parting words which the beloved john records. "not comfortless!" i dry my eyes, my duties clear before me rise,- before thou think'st of taste or pride, see home-affections satisfied! be not with generous _thoughts_ content, but on well-doing constant bent; when self seems dear, self-seeking fair; remember this sad hour in prayer! though all thou wishest fly thy touch, much can one do who loveth much. more of thy spirit, jesus give, not comfortless, though sad, to live. and yet not sad, if i can know to copy him who here below sought but to do his father's will, though from such sweet composure still my heart be far. wilt thou not aid one whose best hopes on thee are stayed? breathe into me thy perfect love, and guide me to thy rest above! * * * * * to her brother, r----. * * * mr. keats, emma's father, is dead. to me this brings unusual sorrow, though i have never yet seen him; but i thought of him as one of the very few persons known to me by reputation, whose acquaintance might enrich me. his character was a sufficient answer to the doubt, whether a merchant can be a man of honor. he was, like your father, a man all whose virtues had stood the test. he was no word-hero. * * * * * to a young friend. _providence, june 16,1837_. my dear ------: i pray you, amid all your duties, to keep some hours to yourself. do not let my example lead you into excessive exertions. i pay dear for extravagance of this sort; five years ago i had no idea of the languor and want of animal spirits which torment me now. animal spirits are not to be despised. an earnest mind and seeking heart will not often be troubled by despondency; but unless the blood can dance at proper times, the lighter passages of life lose all their refreshment and suggestion. i wish you and ------had been here last saturday. our school-house was dedicated, and mr. emerson made the address; it was a noble appeal in behalf of the best interests of culture, and seemingly here was fit occasion. the building was beautiful, and furnished with an even elegant propriety. i am at perfect liberty to do what i please, and there are apparently the best dispositions, if not the best preparation, on the part of the hundred and fifty young minds with whom i am to be brought in contact. i sigh for the country; trees, birds and flowers, assure me that june is here, but i must walk through streets many and long, to get sight of any expanse of green. i had no fine weather while at home, though the quiet and rest were delightful to me; the sun did not shine once really warmly, nor did the apple-trees put on their blossoms until the very day i came away. * * * * * sonnet. to the same. although the sweet, still watches of the night find me all lonely now, yet the delight hath not quite gone, which from thy presence flows. the love, the joy that in thy bosom glows, lingers to cheer thy friend. from thy fresh dawn some golden exhalations have i drawn to make less dim my dusty noon. thy tones are with me still; some plaintive as the moans of dryads, when their native groves must fall, some wildly wailing, like the clarion-call on battle-field, strewn with the noble dead. some in soft romance, like the echoes bred in the most secret groves of arcady; yet all, wild, sad, or soft, how steeped in poesy! _providence, april_, 1838. * * * * * to the same. _providence, oct_. 21, 1838. * * * * i am reminded by what you say, of an era in my own existence; it is seven years bygone. for bitter months a heavy weight had been pressing on me,--the weight of deceived friendship. i could not be much alone,--a great burden of family cares pressed upon me; i was in the midst of society, and obliged to act my part there as well as i could. at that time i took up the study of german, and my progress was like the rebound of a string pressed almost to bursting. my mind being then in the highest state of action, heightened, by intellectual appreciation, every pang; and imagination, by prophetic power, gave to the painful present all the weight of as painful a future. at this time i never had any consolation, except in long solitary walks, and my meditations then were so far aloof from common life, that on my return my fall was like that of the eagle, which the sportsman's hand calls bleeding from his lofty flight, to stain the earth with his blood. in such hours we feel so noble, so full of love and bounty, that we cannot conceive how any pain should have been needed to teach us. it then seems we are so born for good, that such means of leading us to it were wholly unnecessary. but i have lived to know that the secret of all things is pain, and that nature travaileth most painfully with her noblest product. i was not without hours of deep spiritual insight, and consciousness of the inheritance of vast powers. i touched the secret of the universe, and by that touch was invested with talismanic power which has never left me, though it sometimes lies dormant for a long time. one day lives always in my memory; one chastest, heavenliest day of communion with the soul of things. it was thanksgiving-day. i was free to be alone; in the meditative woods, by the choked-up fountain, i passed its hours, each of which contained ages of thought and emotion. i saw, then, how idle were my griefs; that i had acquired _the thought_ of each object which had been taken from me; that more extended personal relations would only have given me pleasures which then seemed not worth my care, and which would surely have dimmed my sense of the spiritual meaning of all which had passed. i felt how true it was that nothing in any being which was fit for me, could long be kept from me; and that, if separation could be, real intimacy had never been. all the films seemed to drop from my existence, and i was sure that i should never starve in this desert world, but that manna would drop from heaven, if i would but rise with every rising sun to gather it. in the evening i went to the church-yard; the moon sailed above the rosy clouds,--the crescent moon rose above the heavenward-pointing spire. at that hour a vision came upon my soul, whose final scene last month interpreted. the rosy clouds of illusion are all vanished; the moon has waxed to full. may my life be a church, full of devout thoughts end solemn music. i pray thus, my dearest child! "our father! let not the heaviest shower be spared; let not the gardener forbear his knife till the fair, hopeful tree of existence be brought to its fullest blossom and fruit!" * * * * * to the same. _jamaica plain, june_, 1839. * * * i have had a pleasant visit at nahant, but was no sooner there than the air braced me so violently as to drive all the blood to my head. i had headache two of the three days we were there, and yet i enjoyed my stay very much. we had the rocks and piazzas to ourselves, and were on sufficiently good terms not to destroy, if we could not enhance, one another's pleasure. the first night we had a storm, and the wind roared and wailed round the house that ossianic poetry of which you hear so many strains. next day was clear and brilliant, with a high north-west wind. i went out about six o'clock, and had a two hours' scramble before breakfast. i do not like to sit still in this air, which exasperates all my nervous feelings; but when i can exhaust myself in climbing, i feel delightfully,--the eye is so sharpened, and the mind so full of thought. the outlines of all objects, the rocks, the distant sails, even the rippling of the ocean, were so sharp that they seemed to press themselves into the brain. when i see a natural scene by such a light it stays in my memory always as a picture; on milder days it influences me more in the way of reverie. after breakfast, we walked on the beaches. it was quite low tide, no waves, and the fine sand eddying wildly about. i came home with that frenzied headache which you are so unlucky as to know, covered my head with wet towels, and went to bed. after dinner i was better, and we went to the spouting-horn. c---was perched close to the fissure, far above me, and, in a pale green dress, she looked like the nymph of the place. i lay down on a rock, low in the water, where i could hear the twin harmonies of the sucking of the water into the spout, and the washing of the surge on the foot of the rock. i never passed a more delightful afternoon. clouds of pearl and amber were slowly drifting across the sky, or resting a while to dream, like me, near the water. opposite me, at considerable distance, was a line of rock, along which the billows of the advancing tide chased one another, and leaped up exultingly as they were about to break. that night we had a sunset of the gorgeous, autumnal kind, and in the evening very brilliant moonlight; but the air was so cold i could enjoy it but a few minutes. next day, which was warm and soft, i was out on the rocks all day. in the afternoon i was out alone, and had an admirable place, a cleft between two vast towers of rock with turret-shaped tops. i got on a ledge of rock at their foot, where i could lie and let the waves wash up around me, and look up at the proud turrets rising into the prismatic light. this evening was very fine; all the sky covered with crowding clouds, profound, but not sullen of mood, the moon wading, the stars peeping, the wind sighing very softly. we lay on the high rocks and listened to the plashing of the waves. the next day was good, but the keen light was too much for my eyes and brain; and, though i am glad to have been there, i am as glad to get back to our garlanded rocks, and richly-green fields and groves. i wish you could come to me now; we have such wealth of roses. * * * * * to the same. _jamaica plain, aug., 1839_. * * * * i returned home well, full of earnestness; yet, i know not why, with the sullen, boding sky came a mood of sadness, nay, of gloom, black as hades, which i have vainly striven to fend off by work, by exercise, by high memories. very glad was i of a painful piece of intelligence, which came the same day with your letter, to bring me on excuse for tears. that was a black friday, both above and within. what demon resists our good angel, and seems at such times to have the mastery? only _seems_, i say to myself; it is but the sickness of the immortal soul, and shall by-and-by be cast aside like a film. i think this is the great step of our life,--to change the _nature_ of our self-reliance. we find that the will cannot conquer circumstances, and that our temporal nature must vary its hue here with the food that is given it. only out of mulberry leaves will the silk-worm spin its thread fine and durable. the mode of our existence is not in our own power; but behind it is the immutable essence that cannot be tarnished; and to hold fast to this conviction, to live as far as possible by its light, cannot be denied us if we elect this kind of self-trust. yet is sickness wearisome; and i rejoice to say that my demon seems to have been frightened away by this day's sun. but, conscious of these diseases of the mind, believe that i can sympathize with a friend when subject to the same. do not fail to go and stay with ---------; few live so penetrating and yet so kind, so true, so sensitive. she is the spirit of love as well as of intellect. * * * * * * * * * to the same. my beloved child: i confess i was much disappointed when i first received your letter this evening. i have been quite ill for two or three days, and looked forward to your presence as a restorative. but think not i would have had you act differently; far better is it for me to have my child faithful to duty than even to have her with me. such was the lesson i taught her in a better hour. i am abashed to think how often lately i have found excuses for indolence in the weakness of my body; while now, after solitary communion with my better nature, i feel it was weakness of mind, weak fear of depression and conflict. but the father of our spirits will not long permit a heart fit for worship "--------to seek from weak recoils, exemptions weak, after false gods to go astray, deck altars vile with garlands gay," etc. his voice has reached me; and i trust the postponement of your visit will give me space to nerve myself to what strength i should, so that, when we do meet, i shall rejoice that you did not come to help or soothe me; for i shall have helped and soothed myself. indeed, i would not so willingly that you should see my short-comings as know that they exist. pray that i may never lose sight of my vocation; that i may not make ill-health a plea for sloth and cowardice; pray that, whenever i do, i may be punished more swiftly than this time, by a sadness as deep as now. * * * * * to her brother, r. _cambridge, august_ 6, 1842. my dear r.: i want to hear how you enjoyed your journey, and what you think of the world as surveyed from mountain-tops. i enjoy exceedingly staying among the mountains. i am satisfied with reading these bolder lines in the manuscript of nature. merely gentle and winning scenes are not enough for me. i wish my lot had been cast amid the sources of the streams, where the voice of the hidden torrent is heard by night, where the eagle soars, and the thunder resounds in long peals from side to side; where the grasp of a more powerful emotion has rent asunder the rocks, and the long purple shadows fall like a broad wing upon the valley. all places, like all persons, i know, have beauty; but only in some scenes, and with some people, can i expand and feel myself at home. i feel all this the more for having passed my earlier life in such a place as cambridgeport. there i had nothing except the little flower-garden behind the house, and the elms before the door. i used to long and sigh for beautiful places such as i read of. there was not one walk for me, except over the bridge. i liked that very much,--the river, and the city glittering in sunset, and the lively undulating line all round, and the light smokes, seen in some weather. * * * * * letter to the same. _milwaukie, july _29, 1848. dear r.: * * * daily i thought of you during my visit to the rock-river territory. it is only five years since the poor indians have been dispossessed of this region of sumptuous loveliness, such as can hardly be paralleled in the world. no wonder they poured out their blood freely before they would go. on one island, belonging to a mr. h., with whom we stayed, are still to be found their "caches" for secreting provisions,--the wooden troughs in which they pounded their corn, the marks of their tomahawks upon felled trees. when he first came, he found the body of an indian woman, in a canoe, elevated on high poles, with all her ornaments on. this island is a spot, where nature seems to have exhausted her invention in crowding it with all kinds of growths, from the richest trees down to the most delicate plants. it divides the river which there sweeps along in clear and glittering current, between noble parks, richest green lawns, pictured rocks crowned with old hemlocks, or smooth bluffs, three hundred feet high, the most beautiful of all. two of these,--the eagle's nest, and the deer's walk, still the resort of the grand and beautiful creature from which they are named,--were the scene of some of the happiest hours of my life. i had no idea, from verbal description, of the beauty of these bluffs, nor can i hope to give any to others. they lie so magnificently bathed in sunlight, they touch the heavens with so sharp and fair a line. this is one of the finest parts of the river; but it seems beautiful enough to fill any heart and eye all along its course, nowhere broken or injured by the hand of man. and there, i thought, if we two could live, and you could have a farm which would not cost a twentieth part the labor of a new england farm, and would pay twenty times as much for the labor, and have our books and, our pens and a little boat on the river, how happy we might be for four or five years,--at least, _as_ happy as fate permits mortals to be. for we, i think, are congenial, and if i could hope permanent peace on the earth, i might hope it with you. you will be glad to hear that i feel overpaid for coming here. much is my life enriched by the images of the great niagara, of the vast lakes, of the heavenly sweetness of the prairie scenes, and, above all, by the heavenly region where i would so gladly have lived. my health, too, is materially benefited. i hope to come back better fitted for toil and care, as well as with beauteous memories to sustain me in them. affectionately always, &c. * * * * * to miss r. _chicago_, _august_ 4, 1848. i have hoped from time to time, dear ----, that i should receive a few lines from you, apprizing me how you are this summer, but a letter from mrs. f---lately comes to tell me that you are not better, but, at least when at saratoga, worse. so writing is of course fatiguing, and i must not expect letters any more. to that i could make up my mind if i could hear that you were well again. i fear, if your malady disturbs you as much as it did, it must wear on your strength very much, and it seems in itself dangerous. however, it is good to think that your composure is such that disease can only do its legitimate work, and not undermine two ways,--the body with its pains, and the body through the mind with thoughts and fears of pains. i should have written to you long ago except that i find little to communicate this summer, and little inclination to communicate that little; so what letters i have sent, have been chiefly to beg some from my friends. i have had home-sickness sometimes here, as do children for the home where they are even little indulged, in the boarding-school where they are only tolerated. this has been in the town, where i have felt the want of companionship, because the dissipation of fatigue, or expecting soon to move again, has prevented my employing myself for myself; and yet there was nothing well worth looking at without. when in the country i have enjoyed myself highly, and my health has improved day by day. the characters of persons are brought out by the little wants and adventures of country life as you see it in this region; so that each one awakens a healthy interest; and the same persons who, if i saw them at these hotels, would not have a word to say that could fix the attention, become most pleasing companions; their topics are before them, and they take the hint. you feel so grateful, too, for the hospitality of the log-cabin; such gratitude as the hospitality of the rich, however generous, cannot inspire; for these wait on you with their domestics and money, and give of their superfluity only; but here the master gives you his bed, his horse, his lamp, his grain from the field, his all, in short; and you see that he enjoys doing so thoroughly, and takes no thought for the morrow; so that you seem in fields full of lilies perfumed with pure kindness; and feel, verily, that solomon in all his glory could not have entertained you so much to the purpose. travelling, too, through the wide green woods and prairies, gives a feeling both of luxury and repose that the sight of highly-cultivated country never can. there seems to be room enough for labor to pause and man to fold his arms and gaze, forgetting poverty, and care, and the thousand walls and fences that in the cultivated region must be built and daily repaired both for mind and body. nature seems to have poured forth her riches so without calculation, merely to mark the fulness of her joy; to swell in larger strains the hymn, "the one spirit doeth all things veil, for its life is love." i will not ask you to write to me now, as i shall so soon be at home. probably, too, i shall reserve a visit to b---for another summer; i have been so much a rover that when once on the road i shall wish to hasten home. ever yours, m. * * * * * to the same. _cambridge, january_ 21, 1644. my dear ------: i am anxious to get a letter, telling me how you fare this winter in the cottage. your neighbors who come this way do not give very favorable accounts of your looks; and, if you are well enough, i should like to see a few of those firm, well-shaped characters from your own hand. is there no chance of your coming to boston all this winter? i had hoped to see you for a few hours at least. i wrote you one letter while at the west; i know not if it was ever received; it was sent by a private opportunity, one of those "traps to catch the unwary," as they have been called. it was no great loss, if lost. i did not feel like writing letters while travelling. it took all my strength of mind to keep moving and to receive so many new impressions. surely i never had so clear an idea before of the capacity to bless, of mere _earth_, when fresh from the original breath of the creative spirit. to have this impression, one must see large tracts of wild country, where the traces of man's inventions are too few and slight to break the harmony of the first design. it will not be so, long, even where i have been now; in three or four years those vast flowery plains will be broken up for tillage,--those shapely groves converted into logs and boards. i wished i could have kept on now, for two or three years, while yet the first spell rested on the scene. i feel much refreshed, even by this brief intimacy with nature in an aspect of large and unbroken lineaments. i came home with a treasure of bright pictures and suggestions, and seemingly well. but my strength, which had been sustained by a free, careless life in the open air, has yielded to the chills of winter, and a very little work, with an ease that is not encouraging. however, i have had the influenza, and that has been about as bad as fever to everybody. _now_ i am pretty well, but much writing does not agree with me. * * * i wish you were near enough for me to go in and see you now and then. i know that, sick or well, you are always serene, and sufficient to yourself; but now you are so much shut up, it might animate existence agreeably to hear some things i might have to tell. * * * * * * * * to the same. * * * 1844. just as i was beginning to visit the institutions here, of a remedial and benevolent kind, i was stopped by influenza. so soon as i am quite well i shall resume the survey. i do not expect to do much, practically, for the suffering, but having such an organ of expression as the _tribune_, any suggestions that are well grounded may be of use. i have always felt great interest for those women who are trampled in the mud to gratify the brute appetites of men, and i wished i might be brought, naturally, into contact with them. now i am so, and i think i shall have much that is interesting to tell you when we meet. i go on very moderately, for my strength is not great; but i am now connected with a person who is anxious i should not overtask it. i hope to do more for the paper by-and-by. at present, besides the time i spend in looking round and examining my new field, i am publishing a volume, of which you will receive a copy, called "woman in the nineteenth century." a part of my available time is spent in attending to it as it goes through the press; for, really, the work seems but half done when your book is _written_. i like being here; the streams of life flow free, and i learn much. i feel so far satisfied as to have laid my plans to stay a year and a half, if not longer, and to have told mr. g---that i probably shall do so. that is long enough for a mortal to look forward, and not too long, as i must look forward in order to get what i want from europe. mr. greeley is a man of genuine excellence, honorable, benevolent, of an uncorrupted disposition, and of great, abilities. in modes of life and manners he is the man of the people, and of the _american_ people. * * * i rejoice to hear that your situation is improved. i hope to pass a day or two with you next summer, if you can receive me when i can come. i want to hear from you now and then, if it be only a line to let me know the state of your health. love to miss g----, and tell her i have the cologne-bottle on my mantle-piece now. i sent home for all the little gifts i had from friends, that my room might look more homelike. my window commands a most beautiful view, for we are quite out of the town, in a lovely place on the east river. i like this, as i can be in town when i will, and here have much retirement. you were right in supposing my signature is the star. ever affectionately yours. * * * * * to her brother, r. _fishkill-landing, nov 28, 1844._ dear r.: * * * * * the seven weeks of proposed abode here draw to a close, and have brought what is rarest,--fruition, of the sort proposed from them. i have been here all the time, except that three weeks since i went down to new york, and with ---visited the prison at sing-sing. on saturday we went up to sing-sing in a little way-boat, thus seeing that side of the river to much greater advantage than we can in the mammoth boats. we arrived in resplendent moonlight, by which we might have supposed the prisons palaces, if we had not known too well what was within. on sunday ---addressed the male convicts in a strain of most noble and pathetic eloquence. they listened with earnest attention; many were moved to tears,--some, i doubt not, to a better life. i never felt such sympathy with an audience;--as i looked over that sea of faces marked with the traces of every ill, i felt that at least heavenly truth would not be kept out by self-complacency and a dependence on good appearances. i talked with a circle of women, and they showed the natural aptitude of the sex for refinement. these women--some black, and all from the lowest haunts of vice--showed a sensibility and a sense of propriety which would not have disgraced any place. returning, we had a fine storm on the river, clearing up with strong winds. * * * * * to her brother, a. b. f. _rome, jan._ 20, 1849. my dear a.: your letter and mother's gave me the first account of your illness. some letters were lost during the summer, i do not know how. it did seem very hard upon you to have that illness just after your settlement; but it is to be hoped we shall some time know a good reason for all that seems so strange. i trust you are now becoming fortified in your health, and if this could only be, feel as if things would go well with you in this difficult world. i trust you are on the threshold of an honorable and sometimes happy career. from many pains, many dark hours, let none of the progeny of eve hope to escape! * * * * meantime, i hope to find you in your home, and make you a good visit there. your invitation is sweet in its tone, and rouses a vision of summer woods and new england sunday-morning bells. it seems to me that mother is at last truly in her sphere, living with one of her children. watch over her carefully, and don't let her do too much. her spirit is only all too willing,--but the flesh is weak, and her life so precious to us all! * * * * * * * * * to mazzini. "al cittadino reppresentante del popolo romano." _rome, march_ 8, 1849. dear mazzini: though knowing you occupied by the most important affairs, i again feel impelled to write a few lines. what emboldens me is the persuasion that the best friends, in point of sympathy and intelligence,--the only friends of a man of ideas and of marked character,--must be women. you have your mother; no doubt you have others, perhaps many. of that i know nothing; only i like to offer also my tribute of affection. when i think that only two years ago you thought of coming into italy with us in disguise, it seems very glorious that you are about to enter republican rome as a roman citizen. it seems almost the most sublime and poetical fact of history. yet, even in the first thrill of joy, i felt "he will think his work but beginning, now." when i read from your hand these words, "ii lungo esilio teste ricominciato, la vita non confortata, fuorche d'affetti lontani e contesi, e la speranza lungamente protrata, e il desiderio che comincia a farmi si supremo, di dormire finalmente in pace, da che non ho potuto, vivere in terra mia,"--when i read these words they made me weep bitterly, and i thought of them always with a great pang at the heart. but it is not so, dear mazzini,--you do not return to sleep under the sod of italy, but to see your thought springing up all over the soil. the gardeners seem to me, in point of instinctive wisdom or deep thought, mostly incompetent to the care of the garden; but on idea like this will be able to make use of any implements. the necessity, it is to be hoped, will educate the men, by making them work. it is not this, i believe, which still keeps your heart so melancholy; for i seem to read the same melancholy in your answer to the roman assembly, you speak of "few and late years," but some full ones still remain. a century is not needed, nor should the same man, in the same form of thought, work too long on an age. he would mould and bind it too much to himself. better for him to die and return incarnated to give the same truth on yet another side. jesus of nazareth died young; but had he not spoken and acted as much truth as the world could bear in his time? a frailty, a perpetual short-coming, motion in a curve-line, seems the destiny of this earth. the excuse awaits us elsewhere; there must be one,--for it is true, as said goethe, "care is taken that the tree grow not up into the heavens." men like you, appointed ministers, must not be less earnest in their work; yet to the greatest, the day, the moment is all their kingdom, god takes care of the increase. farewell! for your sake i could wish at this moment to be an italian and a man of action; but though i am an _american_, i am not even _a woman of action_; so the best i can do is to pray with the whole heart, "heaven bless dear mazzini!--cheer his heart, and give him worthy helpers to carry out his holy purposes." * * * * * to mr. and mrs. spring. _florence, dec._ 12, 1840. dear m. and r.: * * * your letter, dear r, was written in your noblest and most womanly spirit. i thank you warmly for your sympathy about my little boy. what he is to me, even you can hardly dream; you that have three, in whom the natural thirst of the heart was earlier satisfied, can scarcely know what my one ewe-lamb is to me. that he may live, that i may find bread for him, that i may not spoil him by overweening love, that i may grow daily better for his sake, are the ever-recurring thoughts,--say prayers,--that give their hue to all the current of my life. but, in answer to what you say, that it is still better to give the world a living soul than a portion of my life in a printed book, it is true; and yet, of my book i could know whether it would be of some worth or not; of my child, i must wait to see what his worth will be. i play with him, my ever-growing mystery! but from the solemnity of the thoughts he brings is refuge only in god. was i worthy to be parent of a soul, with its eternal, immense capacity for weal and woe? "god be merciful to me a sinner!" comes so naturally to a mother's heart! * * * * * what you say about the peace way is deeply true; if any one see clearly how to work in that way, let him, in god's name! only, if he abstain from fighting against giant wrongs, let him be sure he is really and ardently at work undermining them, or, better still, sustaining the rights that are to supplant them. meanwhile, i am not sure that i can keep my hands free from blood. cobden is good; but if he had stood in kossuth's place, would he not have drawn his sword against the austrian? you, could you let a croat insult your wife, carry off your son to be an austrian serf, and leave your daughter bleeding in the dust? yet it is true that while moses slew the egyptian, christ stood still to be spit upon; and it is true that death to man could do him no harm. you have the truth, you have the right, but could you act up to it in all circumstances? stifled under the roman priesthood, would you not have thrown it off with all your force? would you have waited unknown centuries, hoping for the moment when you could see another method? yet the agonies of that baptism of blood i feel, o how deeply! in the golden june days of rome. consistent no way, i felt i should have shrunk back,--i could not have had it shed. christ did not have to see his dear ones pass the dark river; he could go alone, however, in prophetic spirit. no doubt he foresaw the crusades. in answer to what you say of ----, i wish the little effort i made for him had been wiselier applied. yet these are not the things one regrets. it does not do to calculate too closely with the affectionate human impulse. we must be content to make many mistakes, or we should move too slowly to help our brothers much. * * * * * to her brother, r. _florence, jan._ 8, 1850. my dear r.: * * * * the way in which you speak of my marriage is such as i expected from you. now that we have once exchanged words on these important changes in our lives, it matters little to write letters, so much has happened, and the changes are too great to be made clear in writing. it would not be worth while to keep the family thinking of me. i cannot fix precisely the period of my return, though at present it seems to me probable we may make the voyage in may or june. at first we should wish to go and make a little visit to mother. i should take counsel with various friends before fixing myself in any place; see what openings there are for me, &c. i cannot judge at all before i am personally in the united states, and wish to engage myself no way. should i finally decide on the neighborhood of new york, i should see you all, often. i wish, however, to live with mother, if possible. we will discuss it on all sides when i come. climate is one thing i must think of. the change from the roman winter to that of new england might be very trying for ossoli. in new york he would see italians often, hear his native tongue, and feel less exiled. if we had our affairs in new york and lived in the neighboring country, we could find places as quiet as c------, more beautiful, and from which access to a city would be as easy by means of steam. on the other hand, my family and most cherished friends are in new england. i shall weigh all advantages at the time, and choose as may then seem best. i feel also the great responsibility about a child, and the mixture of solemn feeling with the joy its sweet ways and caresses give; yet this is only different in degree, not in kind, from what we should feel in other relations. we may more or less impede or brighten the destiny of all with whom we come in contact. much as the child lies in our power, still god and nature are there, furnishing a thousand masters to correct our erroneous, and fill up our imperfect, teachings. i feel impelled to try for good, for the sake of my child, most powerfully; but if i fail, i trust help will be tendered to him from some other quarter. i do not wish to trouble myself more than is inevitable, or lose the simple, innocent pleasure of watching his growth from day to day, by thinking of his future. at present my care of him is to keep him pure, in body and mind, to give for body and mind simple nutriment when he requires it, and to play with him. now he learns, playing, as we all shall when we enter a higher existence. with him my intercourse thus far has been precious, and if i do not well for _him_, he at least has taught _me_ a great deal. i may say of ossoli, it would be difficult to help liking him, so sweet is his disposition, so disinterested without effort, so simply wise his daily conduct, so harmonious his whole nature. and he is a perfectly unconscious character, and never dreams that he does well. he is studying english, but makes little progress. for a good while you may not be able to talk freely with him, but you will like showing him your favorite haunts,--he is so happy in nature, so sweet in tranquil places. * * * * * to ------. what a difference it makes to come home to a child! how it fills up all the gaps of life just in the way that is most consoling, most refreshing! formerly i used to feel sad at that hour; the day had not been nobly spent,--i had not done my duty to myself or others, and i felt so lonely! now i never feel lonely; for, even if my little boy dies, our souls will remain eternally united. and i feel _infinite_ hope for him,--hope that he will serve god and man more loyally than i have done; and seeing how full he is of life, how much he can afford to throw away, i feel the inexhaustibleness of nature, and console myself for my own incapacities. madame arconati is near me. we have had some hours of great content together, but in the last weeks her only child has been dangerously ill. i have no other acquaintance except in the american circle, and should not care to make any unless singularly desirable; for i want all my time for the care of my child, for my walks, and visits to objects of art, in which again i can find pleasure, end in the evening for study and writing. ossoli is forming some taste for books; he is also studying english; he learns of horace sumner, to whom he teaches italian in turn. * * * * * to mr. and mrs. s. _florence_, feb. 6, 1850. my dear m. and r.: you have no doubt ere this received a letter written, i think, in december, but i must suddenly write again to thank you for the new year's letter. it was a sweet impulse that led you all to write together, and had its full reward in the pleasure you gave! i have said as little as possible about ossoli and our relation, wishing my old friends to form their own impressions naturally, when they see us together. i have faith that all who ever knew me will feel that i have become somewhat milder, kinder, and more worthy to serve all who need, for my new relations. i have expected that those who have cared for me chiefly for my activity of intellect, would not care for him; but that those in whom the moral nature predominates would gradually learn to love and admire him, and see what a treasure his affection must be to me. but even that would be only gradually; for it is by acts, not by words, that one so simple, true, delicate and retiring, can be known. for me, while some of my friends have thought me exacting, i may say ossoli has always outgone my expectations in the disinterestedness, the uncompromising bounty, of his every act. he was the same to his father as to me. his affections are few, but profound, and thoroughly acted out. his permanent affections are few, but his heart is always open to the humble, suffering, heavy-laden. his mind has little habitual action, except in a simple, natural poetry, that one not very intimate with him would never know anything about. but once opened to a great impulse, as it was to the hope of freeing his country, it rises to the height of the occasion, and stays there. his enthusiasm is quiet, but unsleeping. he is very unlike most italians, but very unlike most americans, too. i do not expect all who cared for me to care for him, nor is it of importance to him that they should. he is wholly without vanity. he is too truly the gentleman not to be respected by all persons of refinement. for the rest, if my life is free, and not too much troubled, if he can enjoy his domestic affections, and fulfil his duties in his own way, he will be content. can we find this much for ourselves in bustling america the next three or four years? i know not, but think we shall come and try. i wish much to see you all, and exchange the kiss of peace. there will, i trust, be peace within, if not without. i thank you most warmly for your gift. be assured it will turn to great profit. i have learned to be a great adept in economy, by looking at my little boy. i cannot bear to spend a cent for fear he may come to want. i understand now how the family-men get so mean, and shall have to begin soon to pray against that danger. my little nino, as we call him for house and pet name, is in perfect health. i wash, and dress, and sew for him; and think i see a great deal of promise in his little ways, and shall know him better for doing all for him, though it is fatiguing and inconvenient at times. he is very gay and laughing, sometimes violent,--for he is come to the age when he wants everything in his own hands,--but, on the whole, sweet as yet, and very fond of me. he often calls me to kiss him. he says, "kiss," in preference to the italian word bacio. i do not cherish sanguine visions about him, but try to do my best by him, and enjoy the present moment. it was a nice account you gave of miss bremer. she found some "neighbors" as good as her own. you say she was much pleased by ----; could she know her, she might enrich the world with a portrait as full of little delicate traits as any in her gallery, and of a higher class than any in which she has been successful. i would give much that a competent person should paint ----. it is a shame she should die and leave the world no copy. * * * * * to mr. cass, charge d'affaires des etats unis d'amerique. _florence, may_ 2, 1850. dear mr. cass: i shall most probably leave florence and italy the 8th or 10th of this month, and am not willing to depart without saying adieu to yourself. i wanted to write the 30th of april, but a succession of petty interruptions prevented. that was the day i saw you first, and the day the french first assailed rome. what a crowded day that was! i had been to visit ossoli in the morning, in the garden of the vatican. just after my return you entered. i then went to the hospital, and there passed the eight amid the groans of many suffering and some dying men. what a strange first of may it was, as i walked the streets of rome by the early sunlight of the nest day! those were to me grand and impassioned hours. deep sorrow followed,--many embarrassments, many pains! let me once more, at parting, thank you for the sympathy you showed me amid many of these. a thousand years might pass, and you would find it unforgotten by me. i leave italy with profound regret, and with only a vague hope of returning. i could have lived here always, full of bright visions, and expanding in my faculties, had destiny permitted. may you be happy who remain here! it would be well worth while to be happy in italy! i had hoped to enjoy some of the last days, but the weather has been steadily bad since you left florence. since the 4th of april we have not had a fine day, and all our little plans for visits to favorite spots and beautiful objects, from which we have long been separated, have been marred! i sail in the barque elizabeth for new york. she is laden with marble and rags--a very appropriate companionship for wares of italy! she carries powers' statue of calhoun. adieu! remember that we look to you to keep up the dignity of our country. many important occasions are now likely to offer for the american (i wish i could write the columbian) man to advocate,--more, to _represent_ the cause of truth and freedom in the face of their foes. remember me as their lover, and your friend, m. o. * * * * * to ------. _florence_, _april_ 16, 1860. * * * there is a bark at leghorn, highly spoken of, which sails at the end of this month, and we shall very likely take that. i find it imperatively necessary to go to the united states to make arrangements that may free me from care. shall i be more fortunate if i go in person? i do not know. i am ill adapted to push my claims and pretensions; but, at least, it will not be such slow work as passing from disappointment to disappointment here, where i wait upon the post-office, and must wait two or three months, to know the fate of any proposition. i go home prepared to expect all that is painful and difficult. it will be a consolation to see my dear mother; and my dear brother e., whom i have not seen for ten years, is coming to new england this summer. on that account i wish to go _this_ year. * * * * * _may_ 10.--my head is full of boxes, bundles, phials of medicine, and pots of jelly. i never thought much about a journey for myself, except to try and return all the things, books especially, which i had been borrowing; but about my child i feel anxious lest i should not take what is necessary for his health and comfort on so long a voyage, where omissions are irreparable. the unpropitious, rainy weather delays us now from day to day, as our ship; the elizabeth,--(look out for news of shipwreck!) cannot finish taking in her cargo till come one or two good days. i leave italy with most sad and unsatisfied heart,--hoping, indeed, to return, but fearing that may not be permitted in my "cross-biased" life, till strength of feeling and keenness of perception be less than during these bygone rich, if troubled, years! i can say least to those whom i prize most. i am so sad and weary, leaving italy, that i seem paralyzed. * * * * * to the same. _ship elizabeth, off gibraltar, june_ 8, 1850. my dear m----: you will, i trust, long ere receiving this, have read my letter from florence, enclosing one to my mother, informing her under what circumstances i had drawn on you through ----, and mentioning how i wished the bill to be met in case of any accident to me on my homeward course. that course, as respects weather, has been thus far not unpleasant; but the disaster that has befallen us is such as i never dreamed of. i had taken passage with captain hasty--one who seemed to me one of the best and most high-minded of our american men. he showed the kindest interest in us. his wife, an excellent woman, was with him. i thought, during the voyage, if safe and my child well, to have as much respite from care and pain as sea-sickness would permit. but scarcely was that enemy in some measure quelled, when the captain fell sick. at first his disease presented the appearance of nervous fever. i was with him a great deal; indeed, whenever i could relieve his wife from a ministry softened by great love and the courage of womanly heroism: the last days were truly terrible with disgusts and fatigues; for he died, we suppose,--no physician has been allowed to come on board to see the body,--of confluent small-pox. i have seen, since we parted, great suffering, but nothing physical to be compared to this, where the once fair and expressive mould of man is thus lost in corruption before life has fled. he died yesterday morning, and was buried in deep water, the american consul's barge towing out one from this ship which bore the body, about six o'clock. it was sunday. a divinely calm, glowing afternoon had succeeded a morning of bleak, cold wind. you cannot think how beautiful the whole thing was:--the decent array and sad reverence of the sailors; the many ships with their banners flying; the stern pillar of hercules all bathed in roseate vapor; the little white sails diving into the blue depths with that solemn spoil of the good man, so still, when he had been so agonized and gasping as the last sun stooped. yes, it was beautiful; but how dear a price we pay for the poems of this world! we shall now be in quarantine a week; no person permitted to come on board until it be seen whether disease break out in other cases. i have no good reason to think it will _not_; yet i do not feel afraid. ossoli has had it; so he is safe. the baby is, of course, subject to injury. in the earlier days, before i suspected small-pox, i carried him twice into the sick-room, at the request of the captain, who was becoming fond of him. he laughed and pointed; he did not discern danger, but only thought it odd to see the old friend there in bed. it is vain by prudence to seek to evade the stern assaults of destiny. i submit. should all end well, we shall be in new york later than i expected; but keep a look-out. should we arrive safely, i should like to see a friendly face. commend me to my dear friends; and, with most affectionate wishes that joy and peace may continue to dwell in your house, adieu, and love as you can, your friend, margaret. * * * * * letter from hon. lewis cass, jr., united states charge d'affaires at rome, to mrs. e. k. channing. _legation des etats unis d'amerique, rome, may_ 10, 1851. madame: i beg leave to acknowledge the receipt of your letter of the ---ult., and to express my regret that the weak state of my eyesight has prevented me from giving it an earlier reply. in compliance with your request, i have the honor to state, succinctly, the circumstances connected with my acquaintance with the late madame ossoli, your deceased sister, during her residence in rome. in the month of april, 1849, rome, as you are no doubt aware, was placed in a state of siege by the approach of the french army. it was filled at that time with exiles and fugitives who had been contending for years, from milan in the north to palermo in the south, for the republican cause; and when the gates were closed, it was computed that there were, of italians alone, thirteen thousand refugees within the walls of the city, all of whom had been expelled from adjacent states, till rome became their last rallying-point, and, to many, their final resting-place. among these was to be seen every variety of age, sentiment, and condition,--striplings and blanched heads; wild, visionary enthusiasts; grave, heroic men, who, in the struggle for freedom, had ventured all, and lost all; nobles and beggars; bandits, felons and brigands. great excitement naturally existed; and, in the general apprehension which pervaded all classes, that acts of personal violence and outrage would soon be committed, the foreign residents, especially, found themselves placed in an alarming situation. on the 30th of april the first engagement took place between the french and roman troops, and in a few days subsequently i visited several of my countrymen, at their request, to concert measures for their safety. hearing, on that occasion, and for the first time, of miss fuller's presence in rome, and of her solitary mode of life, i ventured to call upon her, and offer my services in any manner that might conduce to her comfort and security. she received me with much kindness, and thus an acquaintance commenced. her residence on the piazzi barberini being considered an insecure abode, she removed to the casa dies, which was occupied by several american families. in the engagements which succeeded between the roman and french troops, the wounded of the former were brought into the city, and disposed throughout the different hospitals, which were under the superintendence of several ladies of high rank, who had formed themselves into associations, the better to ensure care and attention to those unfortunate men. miss fuller took an active part in this noble work; and the greater portion of her time, during the entire siege, was passed in the hospital of the trinity of the pilgrims, which was placed under her direction, in attendance upon its inmates. the weather was intensely hot; her health was feeble and delicate; the dead and dying were around her in every stage of pain and horror; but she never shrank from the duty she had assumed. her heart and soul were in the cause for which those men had fought, and all was done that woman could do to comfort them in their sufferings. i have seen the eyes of the dying, as she moved among them, extended on opposite beds, meet in commendation of her universal kindness; and the friends of those who then passed away may derive consolation from the assurance that nothing of tenderness and attention was wanting to soothe their last moments. and i have heard many of those who recovered speak with all the passionate fervor of the italian nature, of her whose sympathy and compassion, throughout their long illness, fulfilled all the offices of love and affection. mazzini, the chief of the triumvirate, who, better than any man in rome, knew her worth, often expressed to me his admiration of her high character; and the princess belgiojoso. to whom was assigned the charge of the papal palace, on the quirinal, which was converted on this occasion into a hospital, was enthusiastic in her praise. and in a letter which i received not long since from this lady, who was gaining the bread of an exile by teaching languages in constantinople, she alludes with much feeling to the support afforded by miss fuller to the republican party in italy. here, in rome, she is still spoken of in terms of regard and endearment, and the announcement of her death was received with a degree of sorrow not often bestowed upon a foreigner, especially one of a different faith. on the 29th of june, the bombardment from the french camp was very heavy, shells and grenades falling in every part of the city. in the afternoon of the 30th, i received a brief note from miss fuller, requesting me to call at her residence. i did so without delay, and found her lying on a sofa, pale and trembling, evidently much exhausted. she informed me that she had sent for me to place in my hand a packet of important papers, which she wished me to keep for the present, and, in the event of her death, to transmit it to her friends in the united states. she then stated that she was married to marquis ossoli, who was in command of a battery on the pincian hill,--that being the highest and most exposed position in rome, and directly in the line of bombs from the french camp. it was not to be expected, she said, that he could escape the dangers of another night, such as the last; and therefore it was her intention to remain with him, and share his fate. at the ave maria, she added, he would come for her, and they would proceed together to his post. the packet which she placed in my possession, contained, she said, the certificates of her marriage, and of the birth and baptism of her child. after a few words more, i took my departure, the hour she named having nearly arrived. at the porter's lodge i met the marquis ossoli, and a few moments afterward i saw them walking toward the pincian hill. happily, the cannonading was not renewed that night, and at dawn of day she returned to her apartments, with her husband by her side. on that day the french army entered rome, and, the gates being opened, madame ossoli, accompanied by the marquis, immediately proceeded to rieti, where she had left her child in the charge of a confidential nurse, formerly in the service of the ossoli family. she remained, as you are no doubt aware, some months at rieti, whence she removed to florence, where she resided until her ill-fated departure for the united states. during this period i received several letters from her, all of which, though reluctant to part with them, i enclose to your address in compliance with your request. i am, madame, very respectfully, your obedient servant, lewis cass, jr. appendix. a. apparition of the goddess isis to her votary, from apulelus. "scarcely had i closed my eyes, when, behold (i saw in a dream), a divine form emerging from the middle of the sea, and raising a countenance venerable even to the gods themselves. afterward, the whole of the most splendid image seemed to stand before me, having gradually shaken off the sea. i will endeavor to explain to you its admirable form, if the poverty of human language will but afford me the power of an appropriate narration; or if the divinity itself, of the most luminous form, will supply me with a liberal abundance of fluent diction. in the first place, then, her most copious and long hairs, being gradually intorted, and promiscuously scattered on her divine neck, were softly defluous. a multiform crown, consisting of various flowers, bound the sublime summit of her head. and in the middle of the crown, just on her forehead, there was a smooth orb, resembling a mirror, or rather a white refulgent light, which indicated that she was the moon. vipers, rising up after the manner of furrows, environed the crown on the right hand and on the left, and cerealian ears of corn were also extended from above. her garment was of many colors, and woven from the finest flax, and was at one time lucid with a white splendor, at another yellow, from the flower of crocus, and at another flaming with a rosy redness. but that which most excessively dazzled my sight, was a very black robe, fulgid with a dark splendor, and which, spreading round and passing under her right side, and ascending to her left shoulder, there rose protuberant, like the centre of a shield, the dependent part of her robe falling in many folds, and having small knots of fringe, gracefully flowing in its extremities. glittering stars were dispersed through the embroidered border of the robe, and through the whole of its surface, and the full moon, shining in the middle of the stars, breathed forth flaming fires. a crown, wholly consisting of flowers and fruits of every kind, adhered with indivisible connection to the border of conspicuous robe, in all its undulating motions. "what she carried in her hands also consisted of things of a very different nature. her right hand bore a brazen rattle, through the narrow lamina of which, bent like a belt, certain rods passing, produced a sharp triple sound through the vibrating motion of her arm. an oblong vessel, in the shape of a boat, depended from her left hand, on the handle of which, in that part which was conspicuous, an asp raised its erect head and largely swelling neck. and shoes, woven from the leaves of the victorious palm-tree, covered her immortal feet. such, and so great a goddess, breathing the fragrant odor of the shores of arabia the happy, deigned thus to address me." the foreign english of the translator, thomas taylor, gives this description the air of being itself a part of the mysteries. but its majestic beauty requires no formal initiation to be enjoyed. * * * * * b. i give this in the original, as it does not bear translation. those who read italian will judge whether it is not a perfect description of a perfect woman. lodi e preghiere a maria. vergine bella che di sol vestita, coronata di stelle, al sommo sole piacesti si, che'n te sua luce ascose; amor mi spinge a dir di te parole; ma non so 'ncominciar senza tu' alta, e di coiul che amando in te si pose. invoco lei che ben sempre rispose, chi la chiamo con fede. vergine, s'a mercede miseria extrema dell' smane cose giammal tivoise, al mio prego t'inohina; soccorri alla mia guerra; bench' l' sia terra, e tu del oiel regina. vergine saggia, e del bel numero una delle beata vergini prudenti; anzi la prima, e con piu chiara lampa; o saldo scudo dell' afflitte gente contra colpi di morte e di fortuna, sotto' l' quai si trionfu, non pur scampa: o refrigerio alcieco ardor ch' avvampa qui fra mortali schiocchi, vergine, que' begli occhi che vider tristi la spietata stampa ne' dolci membri del tuo caro figlio, volgi ai mio dubbio stato; che sconsigliato a te vien per consiglio. vergine pura, d'ognti parte intera, del tuo parto gentil figlluola e madre; che allumi questa vita, e t'altra adorni; per te il tuo figlio e quel del sommo padre, o finestra del ciel lucente altera, venne a salvarne in su gli estremi giorni, e fra tutt' i terreni altri soggiorni sola tu fusti eletta, vergine benedetta; che 'l pianto d' eva in allegrezza torni'; fammi; che puoi; della sua grazia degno, senza fine o beata, gla coronata nel superno regno. vergine santa d'ogni grazia piena; che per vera e altissima umiltate. salisti al ciel, onde miel preghi ascolti; tu partoristi il fonte di pietate, e di giustizia il sol, che rasserena il secol pien d'errori oscuri et tolti; tre dolci et cari nomi ha' in te raccolti, madre, figliuola e sposa: vergine gloriosa, donna del re che nostri lacci a sciolti e fatto 'l mondo libero et felice, nelle cui sante piaghe prego ch'appaghe il cor, vera beatrice. vergine sola al mondo senza exempio che 'l ciel di tue bellezze innamorasti, cui ne prima fu simil ne seconda, santi penseri, atti pietosi et casti al vero dio sacrato et vivo tempio fecero in tua verginita feconda. per te po la mia vita esser ioconda, sa' tuoi preghi, o maria, vergine dolce et pia, ove 'l fallo abondo, la gratia abonda. con le ginocchia de la mente inchine, prego che sia mia scorta, e la mia torta via drizzi a buon fine. vergine chiara et stabile in eterno, di questo tempestoso mare stella, d'ogni fedel nocchier fidata guida, pon' mente in che terribile procella i' mi ritrovo sol, senza governo, et o gia da vicin l'ultime strida. ma pur in te l'anima mia si fida, peccatrice, i' nol nego, vergine; ma ti prego che 'l tuo nemico del mio mal non rida: ricorditi che fece il peccar nostro prender dio, per scamparne, umana carne al tuo virginal chiostro. vergine, quante lagrime ho gia sparte, quante lusinghe et quanti preghi indarno, pur per mia pena et per mio grave danno! da poi ch'i nacqui in su la riva d'arno; cercando or questa ed or quell altra parte, non e stata mia vita altro ch'affanno. mortal bellezza, atti, o parole m' hanno tutta ingombrata l'alma, vergine sacra, ed alma, non tardar; ch' i' non forse all' ultim 'ann, i di miel piu correnti che saetta, fra mierie e peccati sonsen andati, e sol morte n'aspetta. vergine, tale e terra, e posto ha in doglia lo mio cor; che vivendo in pianto il tenne; e di mille miel mali un non sapea; e per saperlo, pur quel che n'avvenne, fora avvento: ch' ogni altra sua voglia era a me morte, ed a lei fama rea or tu, donna del ciel, tu nostra dea, se dir lice, e convicusi; vergine d'alti sensi, tu vedi il tutto; e quel che non potea far oltri, e nulla a e la tua gran virtute; pon fine al mio dolore; ch'a te onore ed a mo fia salute. vergine, in cui ho tutta mia speranza che possi e vogli al gran bisogno altarme; non mi lasciare in su l'estremo passo; non guardar me, ma chi degno crearme; no'l mio valor, ma l'alta sua sembianza; che in me ti mova a curar d'uorm si basso. medusa, e l'error mio lo han fatto un sasso d'umor vano stillante; vergine, tu di sante lagrime, e pie adempi 'l mio cor lasso; ch' almen l'ultlmo pianto sia divoto, senza terrestro limo; come fu'l primo non d'insania voto. vergine umana, e nemica d'orgoglio, del comune principio amor t'induca; miserere d'un cor contrito umile; che se poca mortal terra caduca amar con si mirabil fede soglio; che devro far di te cosa gentile? se dal mio stato assai misero, e vile per le tue man resurgo, vergine; e sacro, e purgo al tuo nome e pensieri e'ngegno, o stile; la lingua, o'l cor, le lagrime, e i sospiri, scorgimi al migilor guado; e prendi in grado i cangiati desiri. il di s'appressa, e non pote esser lunge; si corre il tempo, e vola, vergine unica, e sola; e'l cor' or conscienza, or morte punge. raccommandami al tuo figiluol, verace uomo, e veraco dio; ch'accolga i mio spirto ultimo in pace. as the scandinavian represented frigga the earth, or world-mother, knowing all things, yet never herself revealing them, though ready to be called to counsel by the gods, it represents her in action, decked with jewels and gorgeously attended. but, says the mythes, when she ascended the throne of odin, her consort (heaven), she left with mortals her friend, the goddess of sympathy, to protect them in her absence. since, sympathy goes about to do good. especially she devotes herself to the most valiant and the most oppressed. she consoles the gods in some degree even for the death of their darling baldur. among the heavenly powers she has no consort. * * * * * c. the wedding of the lady theresa. from lockhart's spanish ballads. 'twas when the fifth alphonso in leon held his sway, king abdulla of toledo an embassy did send; he asked his sister for a wife, and in an evil day alphonso sent her, for he feared abdalla to offend; he feared to move his anger, for many times before he had received in danger much succor from the moor. sad heart had fair theresa, when she their paction knew; with streaming tears she heard them tell she 'mong the moors must go; that she, a christian damsel, a christian firm and true, must wed a moorish husband, it well might cause her woe; but all her tears and all her prayers they are of small avail; at length she for her fate prepares, a victim sad and pale. the king hath sent his sister to fair toledo town, where then the moor abdalla his royal state did keep; when she drew near, the moslem from his golden throne came down, and courteously received her, and bade her cease to weep; with loving words he pressed her to come his bower within; with kisses he caressed her, but still she feared the sin. "sir king, sir king, i pray thee,"--'twas thus theresa spake,- "i pray thee, have compassion, and do to me no wrong; for sleep with thee i may not, unless the vows i break, whereby i to the holy church of christ my lord belong; for thou hast sworn to serve mahoun, and if this thing should be, the curse of god it must bring down upon thy realm and thee. "the angel of christ jesu, to whom my heavenly lord hath given my soul in keeping, is ever by my side; if thou dost me dishonor, he will unsheathe his sword, and smite thy body fiercely, at the crying of thy bride; invisible he standeth; his sword like fiery flame will penetrate thy bosom the hour that sees my shame." the moslem heard her with a smile; the earnest words she said he took for bashful maiden's wile, and drew her to his bower: in vain theresa prayed and strove,--she pressed abdalla's bed, perforce received his kiss of love, and lost her maiden flower. a woeful woman there she lay, a loving lord beside, and earnestly to god did pray her succor to provide. the angel of christ jesu her sore complaint did hear, and plucked his heavenly weapon from out his sheath unseen: he waved the brand in his right hand, and to the king came near, and drew the point o'er limb and joint, beside the weeping queen: a mortal weakness from the stroke upon the king did fall; he could not stand when daylight broke, but on his knees must crawl. abdalla shuddered inly, when he this sickness felt, and called upon his barons, his pillow to come nigh; "rise up," he said, "my liegemen," as round his bed they knelt, "and take this christian lady, else certainly i die; let gold be in your girdles, and precious stones beside, and swiftly ride to leon, and render up my bride." when they were come to leon theresa would not go into her brother's dwelling, where her maiden years were spent; but o'er her downcast visage a white veil she did throw, and to the ancient nunnery of las huelgas went. there, long, from worldly eyes retired, a holy life she led; there she, an aged saint, expired; there sleeps she with the dead. * * * * * d. the following extract from spinoza is worthy of attention, as expressing the view which a man of the largest intellectual scope may take of woman, if that part of his life to which her influence appeals has been left unawakened. he was a man of the largest intellect, of unsurpassed reasoning powers; yet he makes a statement false to history, for we well know how often men and women have ruled together without difficulty, and one in which very few men even at the present day--i mean men who are thinkers, like him--would acquiesce. i have put in contrast with it three expressions of the latest literature. first, from the poems of w. e. channing, a poem called "reverence," equally remarkable for the deep wisdom of its thought and the beauty of its utterance, and containing as fine a description of one class of women as exists in literature. in contrast with this picture of woman, the happy goddess of beauty, the wife, the friend, "the summer queen," i add one by the author of "festus," of a woman of the muse, the sybil kind, which seems painted from living experience. and, thirdly, i subjoin eugene sue's description of a wicked but able woman of the practical sort, and appeal to all readers whether a species that admits of three such varieties is so easily to be classed away, or kept within prescribed limits, as spinoza, and those who think like him, believe. spinoza. tractatus politici de democratia. caput xi. perhaps some one will here ask, whether the supremacy of man over woman is attributable to nature or custom? since, if it be human institutions alone to which this fact is owing, there is no reason why we should exclude women from a share in government. experience most plainly teaches that it is woman's weakness which places her under the authority of man. it has nowhere happened that men and women ruled together; but wherever men and women are found, the world over, there we see the men ruling and the women ruled, and in this order of things men and women live together in peace and harmony. the amazons, it is true, are reputed formerly to have held the reins of government, but they drove men from their dominions; the male of their offspring they invariably destroyed, permitting their daughters alone to live. now, if women were by nature upon an equality with men, if they equalled men in fortitude, in genius (qualities which give to men might, and consequently right), it surely would be the case, that, among the numerous and diverse nations of the earth, some would be found where both sexes ruled conjointly, and others where the men were ruled by the women, and so educated as to be mentally inferior; and since this state of things nowhere exists, it is perfectly fair to infer that the rights of women are not equal to those of men; but that women must be subordinate, and therefore cannot have an equal, far less a superior place in the government. if, too, we consider the passions of men--how the love men feel towards women is seldom anything but lust and impulse, and much less a reverence for qualities of soul than an admiration of physical beauty; observing, too, the jealousy of lovers, and other things of the same character--we shall see at a glance that it would be, in the highest degree, detrimental to peace and harmony, for men and women to possess on equal share in government. reverence. as an ancestral heritage revere all learning, and all thought. the painter's fame is thine, whate'er thy lot, who honorest grace. and need enough in this low time, when they, who seek to captivate the fleeting notes of heaven's sweet beauty, must despair almost, so heavy and obdurate show the hearts of their companions. honor kindly then those who bear up in their so generous arms the beautiful ideas of matchless forms; for were these not portrayed, our human fate,- which is to be all high, majestical, to grow to goodness with each coming age, till virtue leap and sing for joy to see so noble, virtuous men,--would brief decay; and the green, festering slime, oblivious, haunt about our common fate. o, honor them! but what to all true eyes has chiefest charm, and what to every breast where beats a heart framed to one beautiful emotion,--to one sweet and natural feeling, lends a grace to all the tedious walks of common life, this is fair woman,--woman, whose applause each poet sings,--woman the beautiful. not that her fairest brow, or gentlest form, charm us to tears; not that the smoothest cheek, wherever rosy tints have made their home, so rivet us on her; but that she is the subtle, delicate grace,--the inward grace, for words too excellent; the noble, true, the majesty of earth; the summer queen; in whose conceptions nothing but what's great has any right. and, o! her love for him, who does but his small part in honoring her; discharging a sweet office, sweeter none, mother and child, friend, counsel and repose; naught matches with her, naught has leave with her to highest human praise. farewell to him who reverences not with an excess of faith the beauteous sex; all barren he shall live a living death of mockery. ah! had but words the power, what could we say of woman! we, rude men of violent phrase, harsh action, even in repose inwardly harsh; whose lives walk blustering on high stilts, removed from all the purely gracious influence of mother earth. to single from the host of angel forms one only, and to her devote our deepest heart and deepest mind, seems almost contradiction. unto her we owe our greatest blessings, hours of cheer, gay smiles, and sudden tears, and more than these a sure perpetual love. regard her as she walks along the vast still earth; and see! before her flies a laughing troop of joys, and by her side treads old experience, with never-failing voice admonitory; the gentle, though infallible, kind advice, the watchful care, the fine regardfulness, whatever mates with what we hope to find, all consummate in her--the summer queen. to call past ages better than what now man is enacting on life's crowded stage, cannot improve our worth; and for the world blue is the sky as ever, and the stars kindle their crystal flames at soft fallen eve with the same purest lustre that the east worshipped. the river gently flows through fields where the broad-leaved corn spreads out, and loads its ear as when the indian tilled the soil. the dark green pine,--green in the winter's cold,- still whispers meaning emblems, as of old; the cricket chirps, and the sweet eager birds in the sad woods crowd their thick melodies; but yet, to common eyes, life's poetry something has faded, and the cause of this may be that man, no longer at the shrine of woman, kneeling with true reverence, in spite of field, wood, river, stars and sea, goes most disconsolate. a babble now, a huge and wind-swelled babble, fills the place of that great adoration which of old man had for woman. in these days no more is love the pith and marrow of man's fate. thou who in early years feelest awake to finest impulses from nature's breath, and in thy walk hearest such sounds of truth as on the common ear strike without heed, beware of men around thee! men are foul with avarice, ambition and deceit; the worst of all, ambition. this is life, spent in a feverish chase for selfish ends, which has no virtue to redeem its toil, but one long, stagnant hope to raise the self. the miser's life to this seems sweet and fair; better to pile the glittering coin, than seek to overtop our brothers and our loves. merit in this? where lies it, though thy name ring over distant lands, meeting the wind even on the extremest verge of the wide world? merit in this? better be hurled abroad on the vast whirling tide, than, in thyself concentred, feed upon thy own applause. thee shall the good man yield no reverence; but, while the idle, dissolute crowd are loud in voice to send thee flattery, shall rejoice that he has 'scaped thy fatal doom, and known how humble faith in the good soul of things provides amplest enjoyment. o, my brother if the past's counsel any honor claim from thee, go read the history of those who a like path have trod, and see a fate wretched with fears, changing like leaves at noon, when the new wind sings in the white birch wood. learn from the simple child the rule of life, and from the movements of the unconscious tribes of animal nature, those that bend the wing or cleave the azure tide, content to be, what the great frame provides,--freedom and grace. thee, simple child, do the swift winds obey, and the white waterfalls with their bold leaps follow thy movements. tenderly the light thee watches, girding with a zone of radiance, and all the swinging herbs love thy soft steps. description of angela, from "festus." i loved her for that she was beautiful, and that to me she seemed to be all nature and all varieties of things in one; would set at night in clouds of tears, and rise all light and laughter in the morning; fear no petty customs nor appearances, but think what others only dreamed about; and say what others did but think; and do what others would but say; and glory in what others dared but do; it was these which won me; and that she never schooled within her breast one thought or feeling, but gave holiday to all; that she told me all her woes, and wrongs, and ills; and so she made them mine in the communion of love; and we grew like each other, for we loved each other; she, mild and generous as the sun in spring; and i, like earth, all budding out with love. * * * * * the beautiful are never desolate; for some one alway loves them; god or man; if man abandons, god himself takes them; and thus it was. she whom i once loved died; the lightning loathes its cloud; the soul its clay. can i forget the hand i took in mine, pale as pale violets; that eye, where mind and matter met alike divine?--ah, no! may god that moment judge me when i do! o! she was fair; her nature once all spring and deadly beauty, like a maiden sword, startlingly beautiful. i see her now! wherever thou art thy soul is in my mind; thy shadow hourly lengthens o'er my brain and peoples all its pictures with thyself; gone, not forgotten; passed, not lost; thou wilt shine in heaven like a bright spot in the sun! she said she wished to die, and so she died, for, cloudlike, she poured out her love, which was her life, to freshen this parched heart. it was thus; i said we were to part, but she said nothing; there was no discord; it was music ceased, life's thrilling, bursting, bounding joy. she sate, like a house-god, her hands fixed on her knee, and her dark hair lay loose and long behind her, through which her wild bright eye flashed like a flint; she spake not, moved not, but she looked the more, as if her eye were action, speech, and feeling. i felt it all, and came and knelt beside her, the electric touch solved both our souls together; then came the feeling which unmakes, undoes; which tears the sea-like soul up by the roots, and lashes it in scorn against the skies. * * * * * it is the saddest and the sorest sight, one's own love weeping. but why call on god? but that the feeling of the boundless bounds all feeling; as the welkin does the world; it is this which ones us with the whole and god. then first we wept; then closed and clung together; and my heart shook this building of my breast like a live engine booming up and down; she fell upon me like a snow-wreath thawing. never were bliss and beauty, love and woe, ravelled and twined together into madness, as in that one wild hour to which all else the past is but a picture. that alone is real, and forever there in front. * * * * * * * * after that i left her, and only saw her once again alive. "mother saint perpetua, the superior of the convent, was a tall woman, of about forty years, dressed in dark gray serge, with a long rosary hanging at her girdle. a white mob-cap, with a long black veil, surrounded her thin, wan face with its narrow, hooded border. a great number of deep, transverse wrinkles ploughed her brow, which resembled yellowish ivory in color and substance. her keen and prominent nose was curved like the hooked beak of a bird of prey; her black eye was piercing and sagacious; her face was at once intelligent, firm, and cold. "for comprehending and managing the material interests of the society, mother saint perpetua could have vied with the shrewdest and most wily lawyer. when women are possessed of what is called _business talent_, and when they apply thereto the sharpness of perception, the indefatigable perseverance, the prudent dissimulation, and, above all, the correctness and rapidity of judgment at first sight, which are peculiar to them, they arrive at prodigious results. "to mother saint perpetua, a woman of a strong and solid head, the vast moneyed business of the society was but child's play. none better than she understood how to buy depreciated properties, to raise them to their original value, and sell them to advantage; the average purchase of rents, the fluctuations of exchange, and the current prices of shares in all the leading speculations, were perfectly familiar to her. never had she directed her agents to make a single false speculation, when it had been the question how to invest funds, with which good souls were constantly endowing the society of saint mary. she had established in the house a degree of order, of discipline, and, above all, of economy, that were indeed remarkable; the constant aim of all her exertions being, not to enrich herself, but the community over which she presided; for the spirit of association, when it is directed to an object of _collective selfishness_, gives to corporations all the faults and vices of individuals." * * * * * e. the following is an extract from a letter addressed to me by one of the monks of the nineteenth century. a part i have omitted, because it does not express my own view, unless with qualifications which i could not make, except by full discussion of the subject. "woman in the nineteenth century should be a pure, chaste, holy being. "this state of being in woman is no more attained by the expansion of her intellectual capacity, than by the augmentation of her physical force. "neither is it attained by the increase or refinement of her love for man, or for any object whatever, or for all objects collectively; but "this state of being is attained by the reference of all her powers and all her actions to the source of universal love, whose constant requisition is a pure, chaste and holy life. "so long as woman looks to man (or to society) for that which she needs, she will remain in an indigent state, for he himself is indigent of it, and as much needs it as she does. "so long as this indigence continues, all unions or relations constructed between man and woman are constructed in indigence, and can produce only indigent results or unhappy consequences. "the unions now constructing, as well as those in which the parties constructing them were generated, being based on self-delight, or lust, can lead to no more happiness in the twentieth than is found in the nineteenth century. "it is not amended institutions, it is not improved education, it is not another selection of individuals for union, that can meliorate the said result, but the _basis_ of the union must be changed. "if in the natural order woman and man would adhere strictly to physiological or natural laws, in physical chastity, a most beautiful amendment of the human race, and human condition, would in a few generations adorn the world. "still, it belongs to woman in the spiritual order, to devote herself wholly to her eternal husband, and become the free bride of the one who alone can elevate her to her true position, and reconstruct her a pure, chaste, and holy being." f. i have mislaid an extract from "the memoirs of an american lady," which i wished to use on this subject, but its import is, briefly, this: observing of how little consequence the indian women are in youth, and how much in age, because in that trying life, good counsel and sagacity are more prized than charms, mrs. grant expresses a wish that reformers would take a hint from observation of this circumstance. in another place she says: "the misfortune of our sex is, that young women are not regarded as the material from which old women must be made." i quote from memory, but believe the weight of the remark is retained. * * * * * g. euripides. sophocles. as many allusions are made in the foregoing pages to characters of women drawn by the greek dramatists, which may not be familiar to the majority of readers, i have borrowed from the papers of miranda some notes upon them. i trust the girlish tone of apostrophising rapture may be excused. miranda was very young at the time of writing, compared with her present mental age. _now_, she would express the same feelings, but in a worthier garb--if she expressed them at all. iphigenia! antigone! you were worthy to live! _we_ are fallen on evil times, my sisters; our feelings have been checked; our thoughts questioned; our forms dwarfed and defaced by a bad nurture. yet hearts like yours are in our breasts, living, if unawakened; and our minds are capable of the same resolves. you we understand at once; those who stare upon us pertly in the street, we cannot--could never understand. you knew heroes, maidens, and your fathers were kings of men. you believed in your country and the gods of your country. a great occasion was given to each, whereby to test her character. you did not love on earth; for the poets wished to show us the force of woman's nature, virgin and unbiased. you were women; not wives, or lovers, or mothers. those are great names, but we are glad to see _you_ in untouched flower. were brothers so dear, then, antigone? we have no brothers. we see no men into whose lives we dare look steadfastly, or to whose destinies we look forward confidently. we care not for their urns; what inscription could we put upon them? they live for petty successes, or to win daily the bread of the day. no spark of kingly fire flashes from their eyes. none! are there _none_? it is a base speech to say it. yes! there are some such; we have sometimes caught their glances. but rarely have they been rocked in the same cradle as we, and they do not look upon us much; for the time is not yet come. thou art so grand and simple! we need not follow thee; thou dost not need our love. but, sweetest iphigenia! who knew _thee_, as to me thou art known? i was not born in vain, if only for the heavenly tears i have shed with thee. she will be grateful for them. i have understood her wholly, as a friend should; better than she understood herself. with what artless art the narrative rises to the crisis! the conflicts in agamemnon's mind, and the imputations of menelaus, give us, at once, the full image of him, strong in will and pride, weak in virtue, weak in the noble powers of the mind that depend on imagination. he suffers, yet it requires the presence of his daughter to make him feel the full horror of what he is to do. "ah me! that breast, those cheeks, those golden tresses!" it is her beauty, not her misery, that makes the pathos. this is noble. and then, too, the injustice of the gods, that she, this creature of unblemished loveliness, must perish for the sake of a worthless woman. even menelaus feels it the moment he recovers from his wrath. "what hath she to do, the virgin daughter, with my helena! * * its former reasonings now my soul foregoes. * * * * for it is not just that thou shouldst groan, while my affairs go pleasantly, that those of thy house should die, and mine see the light." indeed, the overwhelmed aspect of the king of men might well move him. "_men_. brother, give me to take thy right hand. _aga_. i give it, _for_ the victory is thine, and i am wretched. i am, indeed, ashamed to drop the tear, and not to drop the tear i am ashamed." how beautifully is iphigenia introduced; beaming more and more softly on us with every touch of description! after clytemnestra has given orestes (then an infant) out of the chariot, she says: "ye females, in your arms receive her, for she is of tender age. sit here by my feet, my child, by thy mother, iphigenia, and show these strangers how i am blessed in thee, and here address thee to thy father. _iphi_. o, mother! should i run, wouldst thou be angry? and embrace my father heart to heart?" with the same sweet, timid trust she prefers the request to himself, and, as he holds her in his arms, he seems as noble as guido's archangel; as if he never could sink below the trust of such a being! the achilles, in the first scene, is fine. a true greek hero; not too good; all flushed with the pride of youth, but capable of godlike impulses. at first, he thinks only of his own wounded pride (when he finds iphigenia has been decoyed to aulis under the pretest of becoming his wife); but the grief of the queen soon makes him superior to his arrogant chafings. how well he says, "_far as a young man may_, i will repress so great a wrong!" by seeing him here, we understand why he, not hector, was the hero of the iliad. the beautiful moral nature of hector was early developed by close domestic ties, and the cause of his country. except in a purer simplicity of speech and manner, he might be a modern and a christian. but achilles is cast in the largest and most vigorous mould of the earlier day. his nature is one of the richest capabilities, and therefore less quickly unfolds its meaning. the impression it makes at the early period is only of power and pride; running as fleetly with his armor on as with it off; but sparks of pure lustre are struck, at moments, from the mass of ore. of this sort is his refusal to see the beautiful virgin he has promised to protect. none of the grecians must have the right to doubt his motives, how wise and prudent, too, the advice he gives as to the queen's conduct! he will cot show himself unless needed. his pride is the farthest possible remote from vanity. his thoughts are as free as any in our own time. "the prophet? what is he? a man who speaks, 'mong many falsehoods, but few truths, whene'er chance leads him to speak true; when false, the prophet is no more." had agamemnon possessed like clearness of sight, the virgin would not have perished, but greece would have had no religion and no national existence. when, in the interview with agamemnon, the queen begins her speech, in the true matrimonial style, dignified though her gesture be, and true all she says, we feel that truth, thus sauced with taunts, will not touch his heart, nor turn him from his purpose. but when iphigenia, begins her exquisite speech, as with the breathings of a lute,- "had i, my father, the persuasive voice of orpheus, &c. compel me not what is beneath to view. i was the first to call thee father; me thou first didst call thy child. i was the first that on thy knees fondly caressed thee, and from thee received the fond caress. this was thy speech to me:- 'shall i, my child, e'er see thee in some house of splendor, happy in thy husband, live and flourish, as becomes my dignity?' my speech to thee was, leaning 'gainst thy cheek, (which with my hand i now caress): 'and what shall i then do for thee? shall i receive my father when grown old, and in my house cheer him with each fond office, to repay the careful nurture which he gave my youth?' these words are in my memory deep impressed; thou hast forgot them, and will kill thy child." then she adjures him by all the sacred ties, and dwells pathetically on the circumstance which had struck even menelaus. "if paris be enamored of his bride, his helen,--what concerns it me? and how comes he to my destruction? look upon me; give me a smile, give me a kiss, my father; that, if my words persuade thee not, in death i may have this memorial of thy love." never have the names of father and daughter been uttered with a holier tenderness than by euripides, as in this most lovely passage, or in the "supplicants," after the voluntary death of evadne. iphis says: "what shall this wretch now do? should i return to my own house?--sad desolation there i shall behold, to sink my soul with grief. or go i to the house of capaneus? that was delightful to me, when i found my daughter there; but she is there no more. oft would she kiss my check, with fond caress oft soothe me. to a father, waxing old, nothing is dearer than a daughter! sons have spirits of higher pitch, but less inclined to sweet, endearing fondness. lead me then, instantly lead me to my house; consign my wretched age to darkness, there to pine and waste away. old age, struggling with many griefs, o, how i hate thee!" but to return to iphigenia,--how infinitely melting is her appeal to orestes, whom she holds in her robe! "my brother, small assistance canst thou give thy friends; yet for thy sister with thy tears implore thy father that she may not die. even infants have a sense of ills; and see, my father! silent though he be, he sues to thee. be gentle to me; on my life have pity. thy two children by this beard entreat thee, thy dear children; one is yet an infant, one to riper years arrived." the mention of orestes, then an infant, though slight, is of a domestic charm that prepares the mind to feel the tragedy of his after lot. when the queen says, "dost thou sleep, my son? the rolling chariot hath subdued thee; wake to thy sister's marriage happily." we understand the horror of the doom which makes this cherished child a parricide. and so, when iphigenia takes leave of him after her fate is by herself accepted,- "_iphi_. to manhood train orestes. _cly_. embrace him, for thou ne'er shalt see him more. _iphi_. (_to orestes_.) far as thou couldst, thou didst assist thy friends,"-we know not how to blame the guilt of the maddened wife and mother. in her last meeting with agamemnon, as in her previous expostulations and anguish, we see that a straw may turn the balance, and make her his deadliest foe. just then, came the suit of aegisthus,--then, when every feeling was uprooted or lacerated in her heart. iphigenia's moving address has no further effect than to make her father turn at bay and brave this terrible crisis. he goes out, firm in resolve; and she and her mother abandon themselves to a natural grief. hitherto nothing has been seen in iphigenia, except the young girl, weak, delicate, full of feeling, and beautiful as a sunbeam on the full, green tree. but, in the next scene, the first impulse of that passion which makes and unmakes us, though unconfessed even to herself, though hopeless and unreturned, raises her at once into the heroic woman, worthy of the goddess who demands her. achilles appears to defend her, whom all others clamorously seek to deliver to the murderous knife. she sees him, and, fired with thoughts unknown before, devotes herself at once for the country which has given birth to such a man. "to be too fond of life becomes not me; nor for myself alone, but to all greece, a blessing didst thou bear me. shall thousands, when their country's injured, lift their shields? shall thousands grasp the oar and dare, advancing bravely 'gainst the foe, to die for greece? and shall my life, my single life, obstruct all this? would this be just? what word can we reply? nay more, it is not right that he with all the grecians should contest in fight, should die, _and for a woman_. no! more than a thousand women is one man worthy to see the light of day. * * * for greece i give my life. slay me! demolish troy! for these shall be long time my monuments, my children these, my nuptials and my glory." this sentiment marks woman, when she loves enough to feel what a creature of glory and beauty a true _man_ would be, as much in our own time as that of euripides. cooper makes the weak hetty say to her beautiful sister: "of course, i don't compare you with harry. a handsome man is always far handsomer than any woman." true, it was the sentiment of the age, but it was the first time iphigenia had felt it. in agamemnon she saw _her father_; to him she could prefer her claim. in achilles she saw a _man_, the crown of creation, enough to fill the world with his presence, were all other beings blotted from its spaces. [footnote: men do not often reciprocate this pure love. "her prentice han' she tried on man, and then she made the lasses o'," is a fancy, not a feeling, in their more frequently passionate and strong than noble or tender natures.] the reply of achilles is as noble. here is his bride; he feels it now, and all his vain vaunting are hushed. "daughter of agamemnon, highly blest some god would make me, if i might attain thy nuptials. greece in thee i happy deem, and thee in greece. * * * in thy thought revolve this well; death is a dreadful thing." how sweet it her reply,--and then the tender modesty with which she addresses him here and elsewhere as "_stranger_" "reflecting not on any, thus i speak: enough of wars and slaughters from the charms of helen rise; but die not thou for me, o stranger, nor distain thy sword with blood, but let me save my country if i may. _achilles_. o glorious spirit! naught have i 'gainst this to urge, since such thy will, for what thou sayst is generous. why should not the truth be spoken?" but feeling that human weakness may conquer yet, he goes to wait at the alter, resolved to keep his promise of protection thoroughly. in the next beautiful scene she shows that a few tears might overwhelm her in his absence. she raises her mother beyond weeping them, yet her soft purity she cannot impart. "_iphi_. my father, and my husband do not hate; _cly_. for thy dear sake fierce contest must he bear. _iphi_. for greece reluctant me to death he yields; _cly_. basely, with guile unworthy atreus' son." this is truth incapable of an answer, and iphigenia attempts none. she begins the hymn which is to sustain her: "lead me; mine the glorious fate, to o'erturn the phrygian state." after the sublime flow of lyric heroism, she suddenly sinks back into the tenderer feeling of her dreadful fate. "o my country, where these eyes opened on pelasgic skies! o ye virgins, once my pride, in mycenae who abide! chorus. why of perseus, name the town, which cyclopean ramparts crown? iphigenia me you reared a beam of light, freely now i sink in night." _freely_; as the messenger afterwards recounts it. * * * * * "imperial agamemnon, when he saw his daughter, as a victim to the grave, advancing, groaned, and, bursting into tears, turned from the sight his head, before his eyes, holding his robe. the virgin near him stood, and thus addressed him: 'father, i to thee am present; for my country, and for all the land of greece, i freely give myself a victim: to the altar let them lead me, since such the oracle. if aught on me depends, be happy, and obtain the prize of glorious conquest, and revisit safe your country. of the grecians, for this cause, let no one touch me; with intrepid spirit silent will i present my neck.' she spoke, and all that heard revered the noble soul and virtue of the virgin." how quickly had the fair bud bloomed up into its perfection! had she lived a thousand years, she could not have surpassed this. goethe's iphigenia, the mature woman, with its myriad delicate traits, never surpasses, scarcely equals, what we know of her in euripides. can i appreciate this work in a translation? i think so, impossible as it may seem to one who can enjoy the thousand melodies, and words in exactly the right place, and cadence of the original. they say you can see the apollo belvidere in a plaster cast, and i cannot doubt it, so great the benefit conferred on my mind by a transcript thus imperfect. and so with these translations from the greek. i can divine the original through this veil, as i can see the movements of a spirited horse by those of his coarse grasscloth muffler. besides, every translator who feels his subject is inspired, and the divine aura informs even his stammering lips. iphigenia is more like one of the women shakspeare loved than the others; she is a tender virgin, ennobled and strengthened by sentiment more than intellect; what they call a woman _par excellence_. macaria is more like one of massinger's women. she advances boldly, though with the decorum of her sex and nation: "_macaria_. impute not boldness to me that i come before you, strangers; this my first request i urge; for silence and a chaste reserve is woman's genuine praise, and to remain quiet within the house. but i come forth, hearing thy lamentations, iolaus; though charged with no commission, yet perhaps i may be useful." * * her speech when she offers herself as the victim is reasonable, as one might speak to-day. she counts the cost all through. iphigenia is too timid and delicate to dwell upon the loss of earthly bliss and the due experience of life, even as much as jephtha'a daughter did; but macaria is explicit, as well befits the daughter of hercules. "should _these_ die, myself preserved, of prosperous future could i form one cheerful hope? a poor forsaken virgin who would deign to take in marriage? who would wish for sons from one so wretched? better then to die, than bear such undeserved miseries; one less illustrious this might more beseem. * * * * * i have a soul that unreluctantly presents itself, and i proclaim aloud that for my brothers and myself i die. i am not fond of life, but think i gain an honorable prize to die with glory." still nobler when iolaus proposes rather that she shall draw lots with her sisters. "by _lot_ i will not die, for to such death no thanks are due, or glory--name it not. if you accept me, if my offered life be grateful to you, willingly i give it for these; but by constraint i will not die." very fine are her parting advice and injunctions to them all: "farewell! revered old man, farewell! and teach these youths in all things to be wise, like thee, naught will avail them more." macaria has the clear minerva eye; antigone's is deeper and more capable of emotion, but calm; iphigenia's glistening, gleaming with angel truth, or dewy as a hidden violet. i am sorry that tennyson, who spoke with such fitness of all the others in his "dream of fair women," has not of iphigenia. of her alone he has not made a fit picture, but only of the circumstances of the sacrifice. he can never have taken to heart this work of euripides, yet he was so worthy to feel it. of jephtha's daughter he has spoken as he would of iphigenia, both in her beautiful song, and when "i heard him, for he spake, and grief became a solemn scorn of ills. it comforts me in this one thought to dwell- that i subdued me to my father's will; because the kiss he gave me, ere i fell, sweetens the spirit still. moreover it is written, that my race hewed ammon, hip and thigh, from arroer or arnon unto minneth. here her face glowed as i looked on her. she looked her lips; she left me where i stood; 'glory to god,' she sang, and past afar, thridding the sombre boskage of the woods, toward the morning-star." in the "trojan dames" there are fine touches of nature with regard to cassandra. hecuba shows that mixture of shame and reverence that prose kindred always do, towards the inspired child, the poet, the elected sufferer for the race. when the herald announces that she is chosen to be the mistress of agamemnon, hecuba answers indignant, and betraying the involuntary pride and faith she felt in this daughter. "the virgin of apollo, whom the god, radiant with golden looks, allowed to live. in her pure vow of maiden chastity? _tal_. with love the raptured virgin smote his heart. _hec_. cast from thee, o my daughter, cast away thy sacred wand; rend off the honored wreaths, the splendid ornaments that grace thy brows." but the moment cassandra appears, singing wildly her inspired song, hecuba, calls her "my _frantic_ child." yet how graceful she is in her tragic phrenzy, the chorus shows- "how sweetly at thy house's ills thou smilest, chanting what haply thou wilt not show true!" but if hecuba dares not trust her highest instinct about her daughter, still less can the vulgar mind of the herald (a man not without tenderness of heart, but with no princely, no poetic blood) abide the wild, prophetic mood which insults his prejudices both as to country and decorums of the sex. yet agamemnon, though not a noble man, is of large mould, and could admire this strange beauty which excited distaste in common minds. "_tal_. what commands respect, and is held high as wise, is nothing better than the mean of no repute; for this most potent king of all the grecians, the much-honored son of atreus, is enamored with his prize, this frantic raver. i am a poor man, yet would i not receive her to my bed." cassandra answers, with a careless disdain, "this is a busy slave." with all the lofty decorum of manners among the ancients, how free was their intercourse, man to man, how full the mutual understanding between prince and "busy slave!" not here in adversity only, but in the pomp of power it was so. kings were approached with ceremonious obeisance, but not hedged round with etiquette; they could see and know their fellows. the andromache here is just as lovely as that of the iliad. to her child whom they are about to murder, the same that was frightened at the "glittering plume," she says, "dost thou weep, my son? hast thou a sense of thy ill fate? why dost thou clasp me with thy hands, why hold my robes, and shelter thee beneath my wings, like a young bird? no more my hector comes, returning from the tomb; he grasps no more his glittering spear, bringing protection to thee." * * * * * * * "o, soft embrace, and to thy mother dear. o, fragrant breath! in vain i swathed thy infant limbs, in vain i gave thee nurture at this breast, and tolled, wasted with care. _if ever_, now embrace, now clasp thy mother; throw thine arms around my neck, and join thy cheek, thy lips to mine." as i look up, i meet the eyes of beatrice cenci, beautiful one! these woes, even, were less than thine, yet thou seemest to understand them all. thy clear, melancholy gaze says, they, at least, had known moments of bliss, and the tender relations of nature had not been broken and polluted from the very first. yes! the gradations of woe are all but infinite: only good can be infinite. certainly the greeks knew more of real home intercourse and more of woman than the americans. it is in vain to tell me of outward observances. the poets, the sculptors, always tell the truth. in proportion as a nation is refined, women _must_ have an ascendency. it is the law of nature. beatrice! thou wert not "fond of life," either, more than those princesses. thou wert able to cut it down in the full flower of beauty, as an offering to _the best_ known to thee. thou wert not so happy as to die for thy country or thy brethren, but thou wert worthy of such an occasion. in the days of chivalry, woman was habitually viewed more as an ideal; but i do not know that she inspired a deeper and more home-felt reverence than iphigenia in the breast of achilles, or macarla in that of her old guardian, iolaus. we may, with satisfaction, add to these notes the words to which haydn has adapted his magnificent music in "the creation." "in native worth and honor clad, with beauty, courage, strength adorned, erect to heaven, and tall, he stands, a man!--the lord and king of all! the large and arched front sublime of wisdom deep declares the seat, and in his eyes with brightness shines the soul, the breath and image of his god. with fondness leans upon his breast the partner for him formed,--a woman fair, and graceful spouse. her softly smiling virgin looks, of flowery spring the mirror, bespeak him love, and joy and bliss." whoever has heard this music must have a mental standard as to what man and woman should be. such was marriage in eden when "erect to heaven _he_ stood;" but since, like other institutions, this must be not only reformed, but revived, the following lines may be offered as a picture of something intermediate,--the seed of the future growth:-h. the sacred marriage. and has another's life as large a scope? it may give due fulfilment to thy hope, and every portal to the unknown may ope. if, near this other life, thy inmost feeling trembles with fateful prescience of revealing the future deity, time is still concealing; if thou feel thy whole force drawn more and more to launch that other bark on seas without a shore; and no still secret must be kept in store; if meannesses that dim each temporal deed, the dull decay that mars the fleshly weed, and flower of love that seems to fall and leave no seed- hide never the full presence from thy sight of mutual aims and tasks, ideals bright, which feed their roots to-day on all this seeming blight. twin stars that mutual circle in the heaven, two parts for spiritual concord given, twin sabbaths that inlock the sacred seven; still looking to the centre for the cause, mutual light giving to draw out the powers, and learning all the other groups by cognizance of one another's laws. the parent love the wedded love includes; the one permits the two their mutual moods; the two each other know, 'mid myriad multitudes; with child-like intellect discerning love, and mutual action energising love, in myriad forms affiliating love. a world whose seasons bloom from pole to pole, a force which knows both starting-point and goal, a home in heaven,--the union in the soul. mrs. warren's daughter a story of the woman's movement by sir harry johnston new york the macmillan company 1920 to my jury of matrons: winifred johnston ella hepworth-dixon catherine wells angela mond beatrice sands margaret powys annette henderson florence fellowes mary levy ray rockman-braham florence travers maud parry this book is affectionately dedicated, in the knowledge that--in the main--it has their sympathy and approval. h. h. johnston poling, _march, 1920_ preface the earlier part of vivien warren's life and that of her mother, catherine warren, was told by mr. george bernard shaw in his play, "mrs. warren's profession," published first in 1898. (_plays pleasant and unpleasant_: 1. _unpleasant_. constable and co., 6th edition.) i have his permission to continue the story from 1898 onwards. to understand my sequel it is not necessary to have read the play which so brilliantly placed the warren problem before us. but as most persons of average good education have found mr. shaw's comedies necessary to their mental furnishing, their understanding of contemporary life, it is probable that all who would be drawn to this book are already acquainted with the story of mrs. warren, and will be interested in learning what happened after that story was laid down by mr. shaw in 1897. i would in addition placate hostile or peevish reviewers by reminding them of the continuity of human histories; of biographies, real--though a little disguised by the sauce of fiction--and unreal--because entitled _life and letters, by his widow_. the best novel or life-story ever written does not commence with its opening page. the real commencement goes back to the stone ages or at any rate to the antecedent circumstances which led up to the crisis or the formation of the characters portrayed. mr. pickwick had a father, a grandfather; a mother in a mob-cap; in the eighteenth century. it is permissible to speculate on their stories and dispositions. neither does a novel or a biography end with the final page of its convenient instalment. when you lay down the book which describes the pathetic failure of lord randolph churchill, you do so with curiosity as to what will become of winston. with a pre-knowledge of the pickwick club, one may usefully employ the imagination in tracing out the possible careers of sam weller's chubby little boys; grown into old men, and themselves, perchance, leaving progeny that may have married into the peerage from the turf, or have entered the war cabinet at the beckoning of mr. lloyd george. i know of descendants of madame de brinvilliers in england who have helped to found the y.w.c.a.; and collateral offshoots from the charlotte corday stock who are sternly opposed to the assassination of statesmen-journalists. so, i have taken on myself the continuation of the story outlined twenty-three years ago by mr. shaw in its late victorian stage. _he_ had a prior claim to do so; just as he might have shown us the life--but not the letters, for she was illiterate--of catherine warren's mother, the frier of fish and letter of lodgings on tower hill in the 'forties and 'fifties of the last century; and of the young lieutenant warren of the tower garrison who lodged and cohabited with her at intervals between 1850 and 1854, when he went out to the crimea and there died of frost-bite and neglected wounds. mr. shaw has waived such claims, having, as vivie's grandmother would have said, "other fish to fry." but for this i should not have ventured to take up the tale, as i hold an author while he lives has a prescriptive right to his creations. i shall feel no bitterness in nirvana if, after my death, another continues the story of vivie or of her friends and collateral relations, under circumstances which i shall not live to see. in justice to mr. shaw i should state that the present book is entirely my own, and that though he has not renounced a polite interest in vivie he is in no way responsible for her career and behaviour. he may even be annoyed at both. h. h. johnston. contents chapter preface by the author i vivie and norie ii honoria and her friends iii david vavasour williams iv pontystrad v reading for the bar vi the rossiters vii honoria again viii the british church ix david is called to the bar x the shillito case xi david goes abroad xii vivie returns xiii the suffrage movement xiv militancy xv imprisonment xvi brussels and the war: 1914 xvii the germans in brussels: 1915-1916 xviii the bomb in portland place xix bertie adams xx after the armistice l'envoi mrs. warren's daughter chapter i vivie and norie the date when this story begins is a saturday afternoon in june, 1900, about 3 p.m. the scene is the western room of a suite of offices on the fifth floor of a house in chancery lane, the offices of _fraser and warren_, consultant actuaries and accountants. there is a long window facing west, the central part of which is open, affording a passage out on to a parapet. through this window, and still better from the parapet outside, may be seen the picturesque spires and turrets of the law courts, a glimpse here and there of the mellow, red-brick, white-windowed houses of new square, the tree-tops of lincoln's inn fields, and the hint beyond a steepled and chimneyed horizon of the wooded heights of highgate. all this outlook is flooded with the brilliant sunshine of june, scarcely dimmed by the city smoke and fumes. in the room itself there are on each of the tables vases of flowers and a bunch of dark red roses on the top of the many pigeon-holed bureau at which vivien warren is seated. the walls are mainly covered with book-shelves well filled with consultative works on many diverse subjects. there is another series of shelves crowded with neat, green, tin boxes containing the papers of clients. a dark green-and-purple portière partly conceals the entry into a washing place which is further fitted with a gas stove for cooking and cupboards for crockery and provisions. at the opposite end of the room is a door which opens into a small bedroom. the fireplace in the main room is fitted with the best and least smelly kind of gas stove obtainable in 1900. there are two square tables covered with piles of documents neatly tied with green tape and ranged round the central vase of flowers; a heavy, squat earthenware vase not easily knocked over; and there is a second bureau with pigeon-holes and a roll top, similar to the one at which vivien warren is seated. this is for the senior partner, honoria fraser. between the bureaus there is plenty of space for access to the long west window and consequently to the parapet which can be used like a balcony. two small arm-chairs in green leather on either side of the fireplace, two office chairs at the tables and a revolving chair at each bureau complete the furniture of the partners' room of _fraser and warren_ as you would have seen it twenty years ago. the rest of their offices consisted of a landing from which a lift and a staircase descended, a waiting-room for clients, pleasantly furnished, a room in which two female clerks worked, and off this a small room tenanted by an office boy. you may also add in imagination an excellent lavatory for the clerks, two telephones (one in the partners' room), hidden safes, wall-maps; and you must visualize everything as pleasing in colour--green, white, and purple--flooded with light; clean, tidy, and admirably adapted for business in the city. vivien warren, as already mentioned, was, as the curtain goes up, seated at her bureau, reading a letter. the letter was headed "camp hospital, colesberg, cape colony, may 2, 1900"; and ran thus:- dearest vivie,- here i am still, but my leg is mending fast. the enteric was the worse trouble. that is over and done with, though i am the colour of a pig-skin saddle. my leg won't let me frisk just yet, but otherwise i feel as strong as a horse. when i was bowled over three months ago and the enteric got hold of me, on top of the bullet through my thigh, i lost my self-control and asked the people here to cable to you to come and nurse me. it was silly perhaps--the nursing here is quite efficient--and if any one was to have come out on my account it ought to have been the poor old mater, who wanted to very much. but somehow i could only think of _you_. i wanted you more than i'd ever done before. i hoped somehow your heart might be touched and you might come out and nurse me, and then out of pity marry me. won't you do so? owing to my stiff leg i dare say i shall be invalided out of the army and get a small wound pension. and i've a project which will make lots of money--up in rhodesia--a tip i've had from a man in the know. i'm going to take up some land near salisbury. ripping country and climate and all that. it would suit you down to the ground. you could put all that warren business behind you, forget it all, drop the name, start a new career as mrs. frank gardner, and find an eternally devoted husband in the man that signs this letter. i've been out here long enough to be up to all the ropes, and i'd already made a bit of money in rhodesia before the war broke out and i got a commission. at any rate i've enough to start on as a married man, enough to give you a decent outfit and your passage out here and have a honeymoon before we start work on our future home. darling vivie! do think about it. you'd never regret it. i'm a very different frank to the silly ass you knew in the old haslemere days. now here's a five pound note to cover the cost of a full cable to say "yes," and when you'll be ready to start. when i get your answer--somehow i feel it'll _be_ "yes"--i'll send you a draft on a london bank to pay for a suitable trousseau and your passage from london to cape town, and _of course_ i'll come and meet you there, where we can be married. i shan't sleep properly till i get your "yes." your ever loving and always faithful frank. p.s. there's a poor fellow here in the same ward dying--i should say--of necrosis of the jaw--vavasour williams is his name or a part of his name. his father was at cambridge with my old man, and--isn't it rum?--he was a pupil of _praddy's_!! he mucked his school and 'varsity career, thought next he'd like to be an architect or a scene painter. my dad recommended praddy as a master. he worked in the praed studio, but got the chuck over some foolery. then as he couldn't face his poor old governor, he enlisted in the bechuanaland border police, came out to south africa and got let in for this show. the doctors and nurses give him about a month and he doesn't know it. he can't talk much owing to his jaw being tied up--usually he writes me messages, all about going home and being a good boy, turning over a new leaf, and so on. i suppose the last person you ever see nowadays is the revd. sam gardner? you know they howked him out of woodcote? he got "preferment" as he calls it, and a cure of souls at margate. rather rough on the dear old mater--bless her, _always_--she so liked the hindhead country. but if you run up against praddy you might let him know and he might get into touch with vavasour williams's people--twig?--f.g. vivie rose to her feet half-way through this letter and finished it standing by the window. she was tall--say, five feet eight; about twenty-five years of age; with a well-developed, athletic figure, set off by a smart, tailor-made gown of grey cloth. yet although she might be called a handsome woman she would easily have passed for a good-looking young man of twenty, had she been wearing male costume. her brown-gold hair was disposed of with the least ostentation possible and with no fluffiness. her eyebrows were too well furnished for femininity and nearly met when she frowned--a too frequent practice, as was the belligerent look from her steely grey eyes with their beautiful irish setting of long dark lashes. she had a straight nose and firm rounded chin, a rather determined look about the mouth--lower lip too much drawn in as if from perpetual self-repression. but all this severity disappeared when she smiled and showed her faultless teeth. the complexion was clear though a little tanned from deliberate exposure in athletics. altogether a woman that might have been described as "jolly good-looking," if it had not been that whenever any man looked at her something hostile and forbidding came into the countenance, and the eyebrows formed an angry bar of hazel-brown above the dark-lashed eyes. but her "young man" look won for her many a feminine friendship which she impatiently repelled; for sentimentality disgusted her. the door of the partners' room opened and in walked honoria fraser. she was probably three years older than vivie and likewise a well-favoured woman, a little more matronly in appearance, somewhat after the style of a married actress who really loves her husband and has preserved her own looks wonderfully, though no one would take her for less than twenty-eight. at the sight of her, vivie lost her frown and tossed the letter on to the bureau. honoria fraser had been lunching with friends in portland place. _honoria_: "what a swotter you are! i _thought_ i should find you here. i suppose the staff departed punctually at one? i've come back expressly from the michael rossiters to carry you off to them--or rather to kew. they're going to have tea with the thiselton-dyers and then revel in azaleas and roses. i shall go out and charter a hansom and we'll drive down ... it'll be some compensation for your having worked extra hard whilst i've been away.... "i met such a delightful man at the rossiters'!" (slightly flushing) "don't look at me so reproachfully! there _are_ delightful men--a few--in existence. this one has been wounded in south africa and he's so good-looking, though the back of his head is scarred and he'll always walk with a limp.... now then! why do you look so solemn? put on your hat..." _vivie_: "i look solemn because i'm just considering a proposal of marriage--or rather, the fewest words in which i can refuse it. i don't think i want to go to kew at all ... much sooner we had tea together, here, on the roof..." _norie_: "i suppose it's frank gardner again, as i see his handwriting on that envelope. well i'm sorry about kew--i should have enjoyed it..." _vivie_ (bitterly): "i expect it's that 'delightful man' that attracts you." _norie_: "nonsense! i'm vowed to virginity, like you are ... i really don't care if i never see major armstrong again ... though he certainly _is_ rather a darling ... very good-looking ... and, d'you know, he's almost a pro-boer, though the boers ambushed him.... says this war's a beastly mistake.... "well: i'll have tea here instead, if you like, and we can talk business, which we haven't done for a fortnight. i must get out of the way of paying visits in the country. they make one so discontented with the city afterwards. i've had a feeling lately i should like to have been a farmer.... too much of the work of the firm has been thrown on you.... but there's lots and lots i want to talk over. i abandon kew, willingly, and as to major armstrong.... however he can always find my address if he cares to..." _vivie_ (sits down in one of the arm chairs and norie takes the other): "oh don't pity me. i love hard work and work which interests me. and as to working for _you_, you know there's nothing i wouldn't..." _norie_: "oh stow that!... you've been a full-fledged partner for a year and ought to be getting callous or suspicious ... i _did_ take some money out of the petty cash yesterday. i must remember to put it down. i took quite a lot ... for theatre tickets ... and you may be suspecting bertie adams ... we can't call this an adamless eden, can we? i wonder why we keep an office boy and not an office girl? i suppose such things will soon be coming into being. we've women clerks and typewriteresses ... adams, i notice, is growing, and he has the trace of a moustache and is already devoted to you ... dog-like..." _vivie_: "he's still more devoted to cricket, fortunately; and as soon as rose and lilian had gone he was off too.... only, i fancy, he discards regent's park now in favour of hendon or herne hill..." _norie_: "now, about frank gardner..." _vivie_: "yes, that cablegram.... let's frame it and send it off as soon as we can; then get tea ready. talking of tea: i was just thinking before frank's letter came how much good you'd done me--in many other ways than setting me up in business." _norie_: "shut up!..." _vivie_: "how, when we first worked together, i used to think it necessary to imitate men by drinking an occasional whiskey and soda--though i loathe spirits--and smoking a cigar--ugh!--and how you drew me back to tea and a self-respecting womanliness--china tea, of course, and cigarettes. why _should_ we have wanted to be like men?... much better to be the new woman.... "as to frank's cablegram..." (goes to bureau, tries over several drafts of message, consults postal guide as to cable rates _per_ word, and reads aloud) ... "how's this? 'captain frank gardner camp hospital colesberg cape colony. sorry must say no best wishes recovery writing. vivie.' that'll cost just two pounds and out of the balance i shall buy a good parcel of books to send him, and some strawberries and cakes for our tea." (therewith she puts on hat carefully--for she is always very particular, in a young-gentlemanly way, about her appearance--goes out to send off cablegram from chancery lane post-office, buy strawberries and cakes from fleet street shops, and so back to the office by four o'clock. meantime norie is reading through some of the recent correspondence on the file.) _vivie_ (on her return): "pouf! it _was_ hot in fleet street! i'm sorry for poor frankie, because he seems so to have set his heart on marrying me. but i do hope he will take this answer as _final_." _norie_: "i suppose you are not refusing him for the same old reason--that vague suggestion that he might be your half-brother?" _vivie_: "oh _no_! besides i pretty well know for a fact he isn't, he simply couldn't be. i'm absolutely sure my father wasn't sam gardner, any more than george crofts was. i believe it was a young irish seminarist, some student for the priesthood whom my mother met in belgium the year before i was born. if i ever find out more i will tell you. _you_ haven't seen 'soapy sam,' the vicar of woodcote, or that beast, george crofts; but if you _had_, you'd be as sure as i am that neither of them was _my_ father--thank goodness! as to frank--yes--for a short time i _was_ fond of him--till i learnt about my mother's 'profession.' it was rather a silly sort of fondness. he was two years younger than i; i suppose my feeling for him was half motherly ... i neither encouraged him nor did i repel him. i think i was experimenting ... i rather wanted to know what it felt like to be kissed by a man. frank was a nice creature, so far as a man can be. but all those horrid revelations that broke up our summer stay at haslemere four years ago--when i ran away to you--gave me an utter disgust for marriage. and what a life mine would have been if i had married him then; or after he went out to south africa! _ghastly_! want of money would have made us hate one another and frank would have been sure to become patronizing. because i was without a father in the legitimate way he would have thought he was conferring a great honour on me by marrying me, and would probably have expected me to drudge for him while he idled his time away.... oh, when i think what a life i have led here, with you, full of interesting work and bright prospects, free from money anxieties--dearest, dearest norie--i can't thank you enough. no, i'm not going to be sentimental--the new woman is never that. i'm going to get the tea ready; and after we've had tea on the balcony we really must go into business matters. your being away so much the last fortnight, things have accumulated that i did not like to decide for myself..." _norie_ (speaking rather louder as vivie is now busy in the adjoining roomlet, boiling the kettle on the gas stove and preparing the tea): "yes. and i've got _lots_ to talk over with you. all sorts of plans have come into my head. i don't know whether i have been eating anything more than usually brain stimulating--everything has a physical basis--but i have come back from this scattered holiday full of new ideas." presently they are seated on camp-stools sipping tea, eating strawberries and cakes, under the striped sun-blind. _norie_ continues: "do you remember beryl clarges at newnham?" _vivie_: "yes--the pretty girl--short, curly hair, brown eyes, rather full lips, good at mathematics--hockey ... purposely shocked you by her outspokenness--well?" _norie_: "well, she's had a baby ... a month ago ... awful rumpus with her people ... father's dean clarges ... norwich or ely, i forget which ... they've put her in a nursing home in seymour street. mother wears a lace mantilla and cries softly. beryl went wrong, as they call it, with an architect." _vivie_: "pass your cup ... don't take _all_ the strawberries (_norie_: "sorry! absence of mind--i've left you three fat ones") architect? strange! i always thought all architects were like praddy--had no passions except for bricks and mortar and chiselled stone and twirligig iron grilles ... perhaps just a thrill over a nude statue. why, till you told me this i'd as soon have trusted my daughter--if i had one--with an architect as with a colonel of engineers--you know! the kind that believes in the identity of the ten lost tribes with the british and is a true protestant! poor beryl! but how? what? when? why?" _norie_: "i think it began at cambridge--the acquaintance did ... later, it developed into a passion. he had already one wife in sussex somewhere and four children. he took a flat for her in town--a studio--because berry had given up mathematics and was going in for sculpture; and there, whenever he could get away from storrington or some such place and from his city office, he used to visit beryl. this had been going on for three years. but last february she had to break it to her mother that she was six months gone. the other wife knows all about it but refuses to divorce the naughty architect, and at the same time has cut off supplies--what _cowards_ men are and how _little_ women stand by women! and then it's a poor deanery and beryl has five younger brothers that have got to be educated. her sculpture was little more than commissions executed for her architect's building and i expect that resource will now disappear ... i half think i shall bring her in here, when she is well again. she's got a very good head-piece and you know we are expanding our business ... she'd make a good house agent ... she writes sometimes for _country life_..." _vivie_: "ye-es.... but you can't provide for many more of our college-mates. any more gone wrong?" _norie_: "it depends how you qualify 'wrong.' i really don't see that it is 'wronger' for a young woman to yield to 'storgé' and have a baby out of wedlock than for a man to engender that baby. society doesn't damn the man, unless he is a cabinet minister or a cleric; but it does its best to ruin the woman ... unless she's an actress or a singer. if a woman likes to go through all the misery of pregnancy and the pangs of delivery on her own account and without being legally tied up with a man, why can't she? beryl, at any rate, is quite unashamed, and says she shall have as many children as her earnings support ... that it will be great fun choosing their sires--more variety in their types.... is _she_ the new woman, i wonder?" _vivie_: "well the whole thing bores me ... i suppose i am embittered and disgusted. i'm sick of all this sexual nonsense.... yes, after all, i approve of the marriage tie: it takes away the romance of love, and it's that romance which is usually so time-wasting and so dangerous. it conceals often a host of horrors ... but i'm a sort of neuter. all i want in life is hard work ... a cause to fight for.... revenge ... revenge on man. god! how i hate men; how i despise them! we can do anything they can if we train and educate. i have taken to your business because it is one of the crafty paths we can follow to creep into man's fastnesses of the law, the stock-market, the banks and actuarial work..." _norie_: "my dear! you have quite a platform manner already. i predict you will soon be addressing audiences of rebellious women.... but i am more the booker washington of my sex. i want women to work--even at quite humble things--before they insist on equal rights with man. at any rate i want to help them to make an honest livelihood without depending on some one man.... business seems to be good, eh? if the first half of this year is equalled by the second, i should think there would be a profit to be divided of quite a thousand pounds?" _vivie_: "quite. of course we are regular pirates. none of the actuarial or accountancy corporations will admit women, so we can't pass exams and call ourselves chartered actuaries or incorporated accountants. but if women clients choose to consult us there is no law to prevent them, or to make our giving advice illegal. so we advise and estimate and do accounts and calculate probabilities. then although we can't call ourselves solicitors we can--or at any rate we do--give legal advice. we can't figure on the stock exchange, but we can advise clients about their investments and buy and sell stock and real estate (by the bye i want you to give me your opinion on the tithe question, the liability on that kent fruit farm). we are consulted on contracts ... i'm going to start a women authors' branch, and perhaps a tourist agency. some day we will have a women's publishing business, we'll set up a women's printing press, a paper mill.... of course as you know i am working hard on law ... not only to understand men's roguery in every direction, but so that if necessary i can add pleading in the courts to some other woman's solicitor work. that's going to be my first struggle with man: to claim admittance to the bar.... if we can once breach that rampart the vote must inevitably follow. oh _how_ we have been dumb before our shearers! the rottenness of man's law.... the perjury, corruption, waste of time, special pleading that go on in our male courts of _in_justice, the verdicts of male juries!" _norie_: "just so. but can't you find a little time to be social? why be so morose? for instance, why not come and be introduced to michael rossiter? he's a dear--amazingly clever--a kind of prophet--your one confidant, stead, thinks a lot of him." _vivie_: "_dear_ norie--i can't. i swore two years ago i would drop society and run no risk of being found out as 'mrs. warren's daughter.' that beast george crofts revenged himself because i wouldn't marry him by letting it be known here and there that i _was_ the daughter of the 'notorious mrs. warren'; whereupon several of the people i liked--you remember?--dropped me--the burne-joneses, the lacrevys. or if it wasn't crofts some other swine did. but for the fact that it would upset our style as a firm i could change my name: call myself something quite different.... "d'you know, i've sometimes thought i'd cut my hair short and dress in men's clothes, and go out into the world as a man ... my voice is almost a tenor--_such_ a lark! i'd get admitted to the bar. but the nuisance about that would be the references. i'm an outlaw, you see, through no fault of mine.... i couldn't give _you_ as a reference, and i don't know any man who would be generous enough to take the risk of participating in the fraud.... unless it were praed--good old praddy. i'm sure it's been done now and again. they call judge fitzsimmons 'an old woman.' well, d'you know, i believe he _is_ ... a wise old woman." _norie_: "well: bide a wee, till our firm is doing a roaring business: i can pretend then to take in a male partner, p'raps. rose and lilian are very hard-working and we can't afford to lose them yet. if you appeared one morning dressed as a young man they might throw up their jobs and go elsewhere..." _vivie_: "you may be quite sure i won't let _you_ down. moreover i haven't the money for any vagaries yet, though i have an instinct that it is coming. you know those charles davis shares i bought at 5_s._ 3_d._? well, they rose to 29_s._ whilst you were away; so i sold out. we had three hundred, and that, less commissions, made about £350 profit; the boldest coup we have had yet. and all because i spotted that new find of emery powder in tripoli, saw it in a consular report.... "i want to be rich and therefore powerful, norie! then people will forget fast enough about my shameful parentage." _norie_: "how _is_ she? do you ever hear from or of her now?" _vivie_: "i haven't heard _from_ her for two years, since i left her letters unanswered. but i hear _of_ her every now and again. no. not through crofts. i suppose you know--if you take any interest in that wretch--that since he married the american quakeress he took his name off the _warren hotels company_ and sold out much of his interest. he is now living in great respectability, breeding race horses. they even say he has given up whiskey. he has got a son and has endowed six cots in a children's hospital. no. i think it must be _mother_ who has notices posted to me, probably through that scoundrel, bax strangeways ... generally in the _london argus_ and the _vie-de-paris_--cracking up the warren hotels in brussels, berlin, buda-pest and roquebrune. _what_ a comedy!... "there's my aunt liz at winchester--mrs. canon burstall--won't know me--i'm too compromising. but i'm sure her money-bags have been filled at one time--perhaps are still--out of the profits on mother's 'hotels.'..." _norie_: "i didn't remember your aunt was married ... or rather i suppose i did, but thought she was a widow, real or _soi-disant_..." _vivie_: "so she is, after four years of happy married life! my 'uncle' canon burstall--oh what a screaming joke the whole thing is!... i doubt if he was aware he had a niece.... don't you remember he was killed in the alps last autumn?..." _norie_: "i remember your going down to see your aunt after you broke off relations with your mother in--in--1897...?" _vivie_: "yes. i wanted to see how the land lay and not judge any one unfairly. besides i--i--didn't like being dependent entirely on you--at that time--for support: and praed was in italy. i knew that aunt liz, like mother, was illegitimate--and guessed she had once made her living in the higher walks of prostitution--she was a stockbroker's mistress at one time--. but she had married and settled down at winchester ... she met her canon--the alpine traveller ... in switzerland. i felt if she took no money from mother's 'houses,' i could perhaps make a home with her, or at any rate have _some_ kith and kin to go to. she had no children.... but--i must have told you all this years ago?--she almost pushed me out of her house for fear i should stay till the canon came in from the afternoon service; denied everything; threatened me as though i was a blackmailer; almost looked as if she could have killed me and buried me in the garden of the canonry.... "i've examined the business of the _warren hotels ltd._ since then, but it's a private company, and all its doings are so cleverly concealed.... aunt liz doesn't figure amongst the shareholders any more than crofts does. that horrid bax holds most of the shares now, and mother the rest.... yet aunt liz must be rich and she certainly didn't get it from the canon, who only left a net personality of under £4,000.... i read his will at somerset house.... she has had her portrait in the _queen_ because she gave a large subscription to the underpinning of winchester cathedral and the restoration of wolvesey as a clergy house.... mother must be very rich, i should judge, from certain indications. i expect _she_ will retire from the 'hotels,' some day, wipe out the past, and buy a new present with her money.... she'll have _her_ portrait in the _queen_ some day as a vice-president of the girls' friendly society!... and yet she's such a gambler and a rake that she _may_ get pinched over the white slave traffic.... i was on tenterhooks over that lewissohn case the other day, fearing every moment to see mother's name mixed up with it, or else an allusion to her 'hotels.' but i fancy she has been wise enough--indeed i should guess that aunt liz had long ago warned her to leave england alone as a recruiting ground and to collect her chambermaids, waitresses, musicians, typists from the continent only--austria, alsace, bohemia, belgium, italy, the rhineland, paris, russia, poland. knowing what we british people are, can't you almost predict the _bias_ of aunt liz's mind? how she would solace herself that her dividends were not derived from the prostitution of english girls but only of 'foreigners'?..." _norie_: "you seem to have studied the geography of the business pretty thoroughly!..." _vivie_ (bitterly): "yes. i have talked it over with stead from time to time. i believe he has only spared mother and the warren hotels out of consideration for me ... he wants me to change my surname and give myself a chance..." _norie_: "i see" (pausing). "of course it is rather an idea, as you refuse to disguise yourself by marriage. you'd change your name and then listen with equanimity to fulminations against the warren hotels. but there would be an awkwardness in the firm. we oughtn't to change our title just as we are getting a good clientèle.... i must think ... if only we could pretend you'd been left some property--but that sort of lie is soon found out!--and had to change your name to--to--to. oh well, we could soon think of some name beginning with a w--walters, waddilove--waddilove is a delicious name in cold weather, suggesting cotton-wool or a warm duvet--or wilson--or wilberforce. but i'm afraid the staff--rose mullet and lily steynes and the amorous bertie adams--would think it odd, put two and two together, and guess right. warren, after all, is such a common name. and we've got so used to our three helpers, we could hardly turn them off, and take on new people whom perhaps we couldn't trust.... we must think it over.... "now i must go back to queen anne's mansions and sit a little while with mummy. come and dine with us? there'll only be us three ... no horrid man to fall in love with you.... you needn't put on a low dress ... and we'll go to the dress circle at some play afterwards." _vivie_: "but those papers on my desk? i must have your opinion for or against..." _norie_: "all right. it's half-past five. i'll give them half an hour's study whilst you wash up the tea things and titivate. then we'll take a hansom to quansions: the underground is so grimy." chapter ii honoria and her friends the story of honoria fraser was something like this: partly guesswork, i admit. although i know her well i can only put her past together by deductions based on a few admitted facts, one or two letters and occasional unfinished sentences, interrupted by people coming in. is it not _always_ thus with our friends and acquaintances? i long to know all about them from their birth (including date and place of birth and parentage) onwards; what the father's profession was and why on earth he married the mother (after i saw the daguerreotype portrait), and how they became possessed of so much money, and why she went back to live with _her_ mother between the birth of her second child and the near advent of her third. but in how very few cases do we know their whole story, do we even care to know more than is sufficient for our purpose in issuing or accepting invitations? there are the dombeys--the gorings as they're now called, who live near us. i've seen the tombstone of lucilla smith in goring churchyard, but i don't know _for a fact_ that lord goring was the father of lucilla's son (who was killed in the war). i guess he was, from this and that, from what mrs. legg told me, and what i overheard at the sterns'. if he wasn't, then he has only himself to thank for the wrong assumption: i mean, from his goings-on. then again, the clementses, who live at the grange. i feel instinctively they are _nice_ people, but i haven't the least idea who _she_ was and how _he_ made his money, though from his acreage and his motors i am entitled to assume he has a large income. she seems to know a lot about spain; but i don't feel encouraged to ask her: "was your father in the wine trade? is _that_ why you know xeres so well?" clements himself has in his study an enlarged photograph of a handsome woman with a kind of mourning wreath round the frame--beautifully carved. is it the portrait of a former wife? or of a sister who committed suicide? or was it merely bought in venice for the sake of the carving? perhaps i shall know some day--if it matters. in a moment of expansion during the railway strike, mrs. clements will say: "_that_ was poor walter's first. she died of acute dyspepsia, poor thing, on their marriage tour, and was buried at venice. don't ever allude to it because he feels it so dreadfully." and my curiosity will have been rewarded for its long and patient restraint. clements' little finger on his left hand is mutilated. i have never asked why--a lawn-mowing machine? or a bite from some passionate mistress in a buried past? i note silently that he disapproves of palmistry-but about honoria fraser, to whom i was introduced by mr. george bernard shaw twenty years ago: she was born in 1872, as _who's who_ will tell you; also that she was the daughter and eldest child of a famous physician (sir meldrum fraser) who wrought some marvellous cures in the 'sixties, 'seventies and 'eighties, chiefly by dieting and psycho-therapy. (he got his knighthood in the first jubilee year for reducing to reasonable proportions the figure of good-hearted, thoroughly kindly, and much loved princess mary of oxford.) he--honoria's father--was married to a beautiful woman, a relation of bessie rayner parkes, with inherited advanced views on the rights and position of woman. lady fraser was, indeed, an early type of suffragist and also wrote some poetry which was far from bad. they had two children: honoria, born, as i say, in 1872; and john (john stuart mill fraser was his full name--too great a burden to be borne) four years later than honoria, who was devoted to him, idolized him, as did his mother and father. honoria went to bedford college and newnham; john to one of the two most famous of our public schools (i need not be more precise), with cambridge in view afterwards. but in the case of john a tragedy occurred. he had risen to be head of the school; statesmen with little affectation applauded him on speech days. he had been brilliant as a batsman, was a champion swimmer, and _facile princeps_ in the ineptitudes of the classics; and showed a dazzling originality in other studies scarcely within the school curriculum. further he was growing out of boy gawkiness into a handsome youth of an apolline mould, when, on the morning of his eighteenth birthday, he was found dead in his bed, with a bottle of cyanide of potassium on the bed-table to explain why. all else was wrapt in mystery ... at any rate it was a mystery i have no wish to lay bare. the death and the inquest verdict, "suicide while of unsound mind, due to overstudy," broke his father's heart and his mother's: in the metaphorical meaning of course, because the heart is an unemotional pump and it is the brain and the nerve centres that suffer from our emotions. sir meldrum fraser died a year after his son. he left a fortune of eighty thousand pounds. half of this went at once to honoria and the other half to the life-use of lady fraser with a reversion to her daughter. honoria after her father's death left cambridge and moved her mother from harley street to queen anne's mansions so that with her shattered nerves and loss of interest in life she might have no household worries, or at any rate nothing worse than remonstrating with the still-room maids on the twice-boiled water brought in for the making of tea; or with the culinary department over the monotonous character of the savouries or the tepid ice creams which dissolved so rapidly into fruit-juice when they were served after a house-dinner.[1] honoria herself, mistress of a clear two thousand pounds a year, and more in prospect, carried out plans formed while still at newnham after her brother's death. she, like vivien warren, her three-years-younger friend and college-mate, was a great mathematician--a thing i never could be and a status i am incapable of understanding; consequently one i view at first with the deepest respect. i am quite astonished when i meet a male or female mathematician and find they require food as i do, are less quick at adding up bridge scores, lose rather than win at goodwood, and write down the "down" train instead of the "up" in their memorabilia. but there it is. they have only to apply sines and co-sines, tangents and logarithms to a stock exchange quotation for me to grovel before their superior wisdom and consult them at every turn in life. [footnote 1: this, of course, was twenty, years ago.--h.h.j.] honoria had resolved to turn her great acquirements in algebra and the higher mathematics to practical purposes. being the ignoramus that i am--in this direction--i cannot say how it was to be done; but both she and vivie had grasped the possibilities which lay before exceptionally well-educated women on the stock exchange, in the provision markets, in the law, in insurance calculations, and generally in steering other and weaker women through the difficulties and pitfalls of our age; when in nine cases out of thirteen (honoria worked out the ratio) women of large or moderate means have only dishonest male proficients to guide them. moreover honoria's purpose was two-fold. she wished to help women in their business affairs, but she also wanted to find careers for women. she, like vivien warren, was a nascent suffragist--perhaps a born suffragist, a reasoned one; because the ferment had been in her mother, and her grandmother was a friend of lydia becker and a cousin of mrs. belloc. john's death had been a horrible numbing shock to honoria, and she felt hardly in her right mind for three months afterwards. then on reflection it left some tarnish on her family, even if the memory of the dear dead boy, the too brilliant boy, softened from the poignancy of utter disappointment into a tender sorrow and an infinite pity and forgiveness. but the tragedy turned her thoughts from marriage to some mission of well-doing. she determined to devote that proportion of her inheritance which would have been john's share to this end: the liberation and redemption of women. she was no "anti-man," like vivie. she liked men, if truth were told, a tiny wee bit more than women. but she wished in the moods that followed her brother's death in 1894 to be a mother by adoption, a refuge for the fallen, the bewildered, the unstrung. she helped young men back into the path of respectability and wage-earning as well as young women. she was even, when opportunity offered, a matchmaker. being heiress eventually to £4,000 a year (a large income in pre-war days) and of attractive appearance, she had no lack of suitors, even though she thought modern dancing inane, and had little skill at ball-games. i have indicated her appearance by some few phrases already; but to enable you to visualize her more definitely i might be more precise. she was a tall woman rather than large built, like the young juno when first wooed by jove. where she departed from the junonian type she turned towards venus rather than minerva; in spite of being a mathematician. you meet with her sisters in physical beauty among the americans of pennsylvania, where, to a stock mainly anglo-saxon, is added a delicious strain of gallic race; or you see her again among the cape dutch women who have had french huguenot great grandparents. it is perhaps rather impertinent continuing this analysis of her charm, seeing that she lives and flourishes more than ever, twenty years after the opening of my story; not very different in outward appearance at 48, as lady armstrong--for of course, as you guess already, she married major--afterwards sir petworth--armstrong--than she was at twenty-eight, the partner, friend and helper of vivien warren. being in comfortable circumstances, highly educated, handsome, attractive, with a mezzo-soprano voice of rare beauty and great skill as a piano-forte accompanyist, she had not only suitors who took her rejection without bitterness, but hosts of friends. she knew all the nice london people of her day: lady feenix, who in some ways resembled her, diana dombey, who did not _quite_ approve of her, being a little uncertain yet about welcoming the new woman, all the ritchies, married and unmarried, lady brownlow, the duchess of bedford (adeline), the michael fosters, most of the stracheys (she liked the ones i liked), the hubert parrys, the ripons (how she admired lady ripon, as who did not!), mrs. alfred lyttelton, miss lena ashwell, the bernard shaws, the wilfred meynells, the h.g. wellses, the sidney webbs; and--leaving uninstanced a number of other delightful, warm-blooded, pleasant-voiced, natural-mannered people--the rossiters. or at least, michael rossiter. for although you could tolerate for his sake mrs. rossiter, and even find her a source of quiet amusement, you could hardly say you liked her--not in the way you could say it of most of the men and women i have specified. michael rossiter, who comes into this story, ought really if there were a discriminating wide-awake, up-to-date providence--which there is not--to have met honoria when she was twenty. (at nineteen such a woman is still immature; and moreover until she was twenty, honoria had not mastered the binomial theorem.) had he married her at that period he would himself have been about twenty-seven which is quite soon enough for a great man of science to marry and procreate geniuses. but as a matter of fact, when he came down to cambridge in--? 1892--to deliver a course of vacation lectures on embryology, he was already two years married to linda bennet, an heiress, the daughter and niece (her parents died when she was young and she lived with an uncle and aunt) of very rich manufacturers at leeds. so, though his eye, quick to discern beauty, and his brain tentacles ready to detect intelligence combined with a lovely nature, soon singled out honoria fraser, amongst a host of less attractive girl-graduates, he had no more thought of falling in love with her than with a princess of the blood-royal. he might, long since, within a month of his marriage have found out his linda to be a pretty little simpleton with a brain incapable of taking in any more than it had learnt at a scarborough finishing school; but he was too instinctive a gentleman to indulge in any flirtation, any deviation whatever from mental or physical monogamy. for he remembered always that it was his wife's money which had enabled him to pursue his great researches without the heart-breaking delays, limitations and insufficiencies involved in government or royal society grants; and that linda had not only endowed him with all her worldly goods--all but those he had insisted in putting into settlement--but that she had given him all her heart and confidence as well. still, he liked honoria. she was eager to learn much else beyond the hard-grained muses of the square and cube; she was the daughter of a prosperous and boldly experimental physician, whose wife was a champion of women's rights. so he pressed honoria to come with her mother and make the acquaintance of himself and linda in portland place. why was michael rossiter wedded to linda bennet when he was no more than twenty-five, and she just past her coming of age? because fresh from edinburgh and cambridge and with a reputation for unusual intuition in biology and chemistry he had come to be science master at a great college in the north, and thus meeting linda at the philosophical institute of leeds had caused her to fall in love with him whilst he lectured on the cainozoic fauna of yorkshire. he was himself a northumbrian of borderland stock: something of the dane and angle, the pict and briton with a dash of the gypsy folk: a blend which makes the northumbrian people so much more productive of manly beauty, intellectual vivacity, bold originality than the slow-witted, bulky, crafty saxons of yorkshire or the under-sized, rugged-featured britons of lancashire. linda fell in love all in one evening with his fiery eyes, black beard, the northumbrian burr of his pronunciation, and the daring of his utterances, though she could scarcely grasp one of his hypotheses. her uncle and aunt being narrowly pietistic she was bored to death with the old testament, and rossiter's scarcely concealed contempt for the mosaic story of creation captured her intellect; while the physical attraction she felt was that which the tall, handsome, resolute brunet has for the blue-eyed fluffy little blonde. she openly made love to him over the tea and coffee served at the "soirée" which followed the lecture. her slow-witted guardian had no objection to offer; and there were not wanting go-betweens to urge on rossiter with stories of her wealth and the expanding value of her financial interests. he wanted to marry; he was touched by her ill-concealed passion, found her pretty and appealingly childlike. so, after a short wooing, he married her and her five thousand pounds a year, and settled down in park crescent, portland place, so as to be near the zoo and tudell's dissecting rooms, to have the royal botanic gardens within three minutes' walk, and the opportunity of turning a large studio in the rear of his house into a well-equipped chemical and dissecting laboratory. one of his close pursuits at that time was the analysis of the thyroid gland and its functions, its over or under development in british statesmen, dramatic authors and east end immigrants. chapter iii david vavasour williams it is in the spring of 1901. a fine warm evening, but at eight o'clock the dusk is already on the verge of darkness as honoria emerges from the lift at her chancery lane office (near the corner of carey street), puts her latch-key into the door of the partners' room, and finds herself confronting the silhouette of a young man against the western glow of the big window. _norie_ (inwardly rather frightened): "hullo! who are _you_ and what are you doing here?" _vivie_ (mimicking a considerate, cringing burglar): "sorry to startle you, lidy, but i don't mean no 'arm. i'll go quiet. me name's d.v. williams..." _norie_: "you absurd creature! but you shouldn't play such pranks on these respectable premises. you gave me a _horrid_ start, and i realized for the first time that i've got a heart. i really must sit down and pant." _vivie_: "i am sorry, dearest. i had not the slightest notion you would be letting yourself into the office at this hour--8 o'clock--and i was just returning from my crammers..." _norie_: "i came for those cranston papers. mother is ill. i may have to sit up with her after violet hunt goes, so i thought i would come here, fetch the bundle of papers and plans, and go through them in the silent watches of the night, _if_ mother sleeps. but do you mean to say you have already started this masquerade?" _vivie_: "i do. you see christabel pankhurst has been turned down as a barrister. they won't let her qualify for the bar, because she's a woman, so they certainly won't let _me_ with my pedigree; just as, merely because we are women, they won't let us become chartered actuaries or incorporated accountants. after we had that long talk last june i got a set of men's clothes together, a regular man's outfit. the suit doesn't fit over well but i am rectifying that by degrees. i went to a general outfitter in cornhill and told a cock-and-bull story--as it was an affair of ready cash they didn't stop to question me about it. i said something about a sea-faring brother, just my height, a trifle stouter in build--lost all his kit at sea--been in hospital--now in convalescent home--how i wanted to save him all the fatigue possible--wouldn't want more than reach-me-downs at present, etc., etc. they rather flummoxed me at first by offering a merchant service uniform, but somehow i got over that, though this serge suit has rather a sea-faring cut. i got so unnecessarily explanatory with the shopman that he began to pay me compliments, said my brother must be a good-looking young chap if he was at all like me. however, i got away with the things in a cab, and told the cab to drive to st. paul's station, and on the way re-directed him here. "last autumn i began practising at night-time after all our familiars had left these premises. purposely i did not tell you because i feared your greater caution and instinctive respectability might discourage me. otherwise, nobody's spotted me, so far. i'd intended breaking it to you any day now, because i've gone too far to draw back, for weal or woe. but either we have been rushed with business, or you've been anxious about lady fraser--how is she?" (norie interpolates "very poorly.") "so truly sorry!--i was generally just about to tell you when rose or lilian--tiresome things!--would begin most assiduously passing in and out with papers. even now i mustn't keep you, with your mother so ill..." _norie_ (looking at her wrist-watch): "violet has very kindly promised to stay with mother till ten.... i can give you an hour, though i must take a few minutes off that for the firm's business as i haven't been here much for three days..." (they talk business for twenty minutes, during which norie says: "it's really _rather_ odd, how those clothes change you! i feel vaguely compromised with a handsome young man bending over me, his cheek almost touching mine!"--and vivie retorts "oh, _don't_ be an ass!") _norie_: "so you really _are_ going to take the plunge?" _vivie_: "i really _am_. as soon as it suits your convenience, vivie warren will retire from your firm and go abroad. you must either replace her by beryl clarges or allow mr. vavasour williams" (honoria interpolates: "_ridiculous_ name! how did you think of it?") "to come and assist in the day-time or after office hours. you can say to the winds that he is vivie's first cousin, remarkably like her in some respects.... rose mullet is engaged to be married and is only--she told me yesterday with many blushes--staying on to oblige us. lilian steynes said the other day that if we were making any changes in the office, much as she liked her work here, her mother having died she thought it was her duty to go and live with her maternal aunt in the country. the aunt thinks she can get her a post as a brewery clerk at aylesbury, and she is longing to breed aylesbury ducks in her spare time.--there is bertie adams, it's true. there's something so staunch about him and he is so useful that he and praed and stead are the three exceptions i make in my general hatred of mankind..." _norie_: "he will be very much cut up at your going--or seeming to go." _vivie_: "just so. i think i shall write him a farewell note, saying it's only for a time: i mean, that i may return later on--dormant partnership--nothing really changed, don't you know? but that as rose and lilian are going, mrs.--what does she call herself, claridge?"--(norie interpolates: "yes, that was her idea: she doesn't want to blazon the name of clarges as the symbol of free love, 'cos of the dear old dean; yet claridge will not be too much of a surrender and is sure to invoke respectability, because of the hotel")--"mrs. claridge, then, is coming in my stead--he's to help her all he can--and my cousin, who is reading for the bar, will also look in when you are very busy. i shall, of course, see about rooms in one of the inns of court--the temple perhaps. i have been stealthily watching fig tree court. i _think_ i can get chambers there--a man is turning out next month--got a colonial appointment--i've put my new name down at the lodge and i shall have to rack my brains for references--you will do for one--or perhaps not--however that i can work out later. of course i won't take the final plunge till i have secured the rooms. meantime i will use my bedroom here but promise you i will be awfully prudent..." _norie_: "i couldn't possibly have beryl 'living in,' with a child hanging about the place; so i think if you _do_ go i shall turn your bedroom into an apartment which beryl and i can use for toilet purposes but where we can range out on book-shelves a whole lot of our books. just now they are most inconveniently stored away in boxes. it's rather tiresome about beryl. i believe she's going to have _another_ child. at any rate she says it may be four months before she can come to work here regularly. i asked her about it the other day, because if mother gets worse i may be hindered about coming to the office, and i didn't want you to get overworked,--so i said to beryl.... that reminds me, she referred to the coming child and added that its father was a policeman. quite a nice creature in his private life. of course she's only kidding. i expect it's the architect all the time. you know how she delighted in shocking us at newnham. i wish she hadn't this kink about her. p'raps i'm getting old-fashioned already--you used to call me 'the girondist.' but if the new woman _is_ to go on the loose and be unmoral like the rabbits, won't the cause suffer from middle-class opposition?" _vivie_: "perhaps. but it may gain instead the sympathies of the lower and the upper classes. why do you bother about beryl? i agree with you in disliking all this sexuality..." _norie_: "does one _ever_ quite know why one likes people? there is _something_ about beryl that gets over me; and she _is_ a worker. you know how she grappled with that norfolk estate business?" _vivie_: "well, it's fortunate she and i have not met since newnham days. you must tip her the story that i am going away for a time--abroad--and that a young--young, because i look a mere boy, dressed up in men's clothes--a young cousin of mine, learned in the law, is going to drop in occasionally and do some of the work..." _norie_: "i'm afraid i'm rather weak-willed. i _ought_ to stop this prank before it has gone too far, just as i ought to discourage beryl's babies. your schemes sound so stagey. off the stage you never take people in with such flimsy stories and weak disguises--you'll tie yourself up into knots and finally get sent to prison.... however.... i can't help being rather tickled by your idea. it's vilely unjust, men closing two-thirds of the respectable careers to women, to bachelor women above all..." (a pause, and the two women look out on a blue london dotted with lemon-coloured, straw-coloured, mauve-tinted lights, with one cold white radiance hanging over the invisible piccadilly circus)--"well, go ahead! follow your star! i can be confident of one thing, you won't do anything mean or disgraceful. deceiving man while his vile laws and restrictions remain in force is no crime. be prudent, so far as compromising our poor little firm here is concerned, because if you bring down my grey hairs with sorrow to the grave we shall lose a valuable source of income. besides: any public scandal just now in which i was mixed up might kill my mother. want any money?" _vivie_: "you generous darling! _never, never_ shall i forget your kindness and your trust in me. you have at any rate saved one soul alive." (honoria deprecates gratitude.) "no, i don't want money--yet. you made me take and bank £700 last january over that rio de palmas coup--heaps more than my share. altogether i've got about £1,000 on deposit at the c. and c. bank, the temple bar branch. i've many gruesome faults, but i _am_ thrifty. i think i can win through to the bar on that. of course, if afterwards briefs don't come in--" _norie_: "well, there'll always be the partnership which will go on unaltered. i shall pretend you are only away for a time and your share shall be regularly paid in to your bank. of course i shall meet mr. vavasour williams now and again and i can tell him things and consult with him. if we think beryl, after she is installed here as head clerk--of course i shan't make her a partner for _years_ and _years_--not at all if she remains flighty--if we think she is unsuspicious, and bertie adams likewise, and the new clerks and the housekeeper and her husband, there is no reason why you should not come here fairly often and put in as much work as you can on our business." _vivie_: "yes. of course i must be careful of one predicament. i have studied the regulations about being admitted to the english bar. they are very quaint and medieval or early georgian. you mayn't be a chartered accountant or actuary--the lord alone knows why! i suppose some lord chancellor was done in the eye in elizabeth's reign by an actuary and laid down that law. equally you mayn't be a clergyman. as to that we needn't distress ourselves. it's rather piteous about the prohibiting accountants, because as women we are not allowed to qualify in _any_ capacity as accountants or actuaries; and work here is only permissible by our not pretending to belong to any recognized body like the institute of actuaries. so that in coming to work for you i must not seem to be in any way doing the business of accountants or actuaries. indeed it might be awkward for my scheme if i was too openly associated with fraser and warren. "i already think of myself as williams--i shall pose of course as a welshman. my appearance _is_ rather welsh, don't you think? it's the irish blood that makes me look keltic--i'm sure my father was an irish student for the priesthood at louvain, and certain scraps of information i got out of mother make me believe that _her_ mother was a pretty welsh girl from cardiff, brought over to london town by some ship's captain and stranded there, on tower hill. "however, i have still the whole scheme to work out and when i'm ready to start on it--which will be very soon--i'll let you know. now, though i'd love to discuss all the other details, i mustn't forget your mother will be wanting you--i wish _i_ had a mother to tend--i wonder" (wistfully) "whether i was too hard on mine? "d'you mind posting these letters as you go out? i shall change back to vivie warren in a dressing gown, give myself a light supper, and then put in two hours studying latin and norman french. good night, dearest!" two months after this conversation vivie decided to pay a call on an old friend of her mother's, lewis maitland praed, if you want his full name, a well-known architect, and one of the few male friends of catherine warren who had not also been her lover. why, he never quite knew himself. when he first met her she was the boon companion, the mistress--more or less, and unattached--of a young barrister, a college friend of praed's. kate warren at that time called herself kitty vavasour; and on the strength of having done a turn or two on the music halls considered herself an actress with a right to a professional name. it was in this guise that the "revd." samuel gardner met her and had that six months' infatuation for her which afterwards caused him so much disquietude; though it preceded the taking of his ordination vows by quite a year, and his marriage to his wife--much too good for him--in 1874. [the revd. sam, you may remember, was the father of the scapegrace frank who nearly captured vivie's young affections and had written from south africa proposing marriage at the opening of this story.] kate vavasour in 1872 was an exceedingly pretty girl of nineteen or twenty; showily dressed, and quick with her tongue. she was good-natured and jolly, and though praed himself was the essence of refinement there was something about her reckless mirth and joy in life--the immense relief of having passed from the sordid life of a barmaid to this quasi-ladyhood--that enlisted his sympathies. though she was always somebody else's mistress until she developed her special talent as a manageress of high-class houses of accommodation, "private hotels" on the continent, chiefly frequented by english and american _roués_--praed kept an eye on her career, and occasionally rendered her, with some cynicism, unobtrusive friendly services in disentangling her affairs when complications threatened. he was an art student in those days of the 'seventies, possessed of about four hundred a year, beginning to go through the aesthetic phase, and not decided whether he would emerge a painter of pictures or an architect of grandiose or fantastic buildings. to his studio miss kitty vavasour or miss kate warren would often come and pose for the head and shoulders, or for some draped caryatid wanted for an ambitious porch in an imaginary millionaire's house in kensington palace gardens. when in 1897, vivie had learnt about her mother's "profession," she had flung off violently from all her mother's "friends," except "praddy." she even continued to call him by this nickname, long ago bestowed on him by her mother. at distant intervals she would pay him a visit at his house and studio near hans place; when honoria's advice and assistance did not meet the case of some grave perplexity. so one afternoon in june, 1901, she came to his little dwelling with its large studio, and asked to have a long talk to him, whilst his parlour-maid--he was still a bachelor--denied him to other callers. they had tea together and vivie plunged as quickly as possible into her problem. "you know, praddy dear, i want to be a barrister. but as a female they will never call me to the bar. so i'm going to send vivien warren off for a long absence abroad--the few who think about me will probably conclude that money has carried the day and that i've gone to help my mother in her business--and in her absence mr. vavasour williams will take up the running. david v. williams--don't interrupt me--will study for the bar, eat through his terms--six dinners a year, isn't it?--pass his examinations, and be called to the english bar in about three years from now. didn't you once have a pupil called vavasour williams?" _praed_: "what, david, the welsh boy? yes. his name reminded me of your mother in one of her stages. david vavasour williams. i took him on in--let me see? i think it was in 1895 or early 1896. but how did you hear about him?" _vivie_: "never mind, or never mind for the moment. tell me some more about him." _praed_: "well to sum him up briefly he was what school boys and subalterns would call 'a rotter.' not without an almost mordid cleverness; but the welsh strain in him which in the father turned to emotional religion--the father was vicar or rector of pontystrad--came out in the boy in unhealthy fancies. he had almost the talent of aubrey beardsley. but i didn't think he had a good influence over my other pupils, so before i planned that italian journey--on which you refused to accompany me--i advised him to leave my tuition--i wasn't modern enough, i said. i also advised him to make up his mind whether he wanted to be a sane architect--he despised questions of housemaids' closets and sanitation and lifts and hot-water supply--or a scene painter. i think he might have had a great career at drury lane over fairy palaces or millionaire dwellings. but i turned him out of my studio, though i put the fact less brutally before his father--said i should be absent a long while in italy and that i feared the boy was too undisciplined. afterwards i think he went into some south african police force..." _vivie_: "he did, and died last year in a south african hospital. had he--er--er--many relations, i mean did he come of well-known people?" _praed_: "i fancy not. his father was just a dreamy old welsh clergyman always seeing visions and believing himself a descendant of the druids, sam gardner told me; and his mother had either died long ago or had run away from her husband, i forget which. in a way, i'm sorry david's dead. he had a sort of weird talent and wild good looks. by the way, he wasn't altogether unlike _you_." _vivie_: "thank you for the double-edged compliment. however what you say is very interesting. well now, my idea is that david vavasour williams did _not_ die in a military hospital; he recovered and returned, firmly resolved to lead a new life.--is his father living by the bye? did he believe his son was dead?" _praed_: "couldn't tell you, i'm sure. i never took any further interest in him, and until you mentioned it--i don't know on whose authority--i didn't know he was dead. on the whole a good riddance for his people, i should say, especially if he died on the field of honour. but what lunatic idea has entered your mind with regard to this poor waster?" _vivie_: "why my idea, as i say, is that d.v.w. got cured of his necrosis of the jaw--i suppose it is not invariably deadly?--came home with a much improved morale, studied hard, and became a barrister, thinking it morally a superior calling to architecture and scene painting. in short, i shall be from this day forth vavasour williams, law-student! would it be safe, d'you think, in that capacity to go down and see his old father?" _praed_: "_vivie_! i _did_ think you were a sober-minded young woman who would steer clear of--of--crime: for this impersonation would be a punishable offence..." _vivie_: "_crime_? _what_ nonsense! i should consider i was justified in a court of equity if i burnt down or blew up the law courts or one of the inns or broke the windows of the chartered institute of actuaries or the incorporated law society. all these institutions and many others bar the way to honourable and lucrative careers for educated women, and a male parliament gives us no redress, and a male press laughs at us for our feeble attempts to claim common rights with men. instead of proceeding to such violence i am merely resorting to a very harmless guile in getting round the absurd restrictions imposed by the benchers of the inns of court, namely that all who claim a call to the bar should not be _accountants_, _actuaries_, _clergymen_ or _women_. i am going to give up the accountancy business--or rather, the law has never allowed either honoria or me to become chartered accountants, so there is nothing to give up. to avoid any misapprehension she is going to change the title on our note paper and brass plate to 'general inquiry agents.' that will be sufficiently non-committal. well then, as to sex disqualification, a few weeks hence i shall become david vavasour williams, and i presume he was a male? you don't have to pass a medical examination for the bar, do you?" _praed_: "really, vivie, you are _unnecessarily_ coarse..." _vivie_: "i don't care if i am, poor outlaw that i am! every avenue to an honest and ambitious career seems closed to me, either because i am a woman or--in women's careers--the few that there are--because i am kate warren's daughter. _i_ am not to blame for my mother's misdeeds, yet i am being punished for them. that beast of a friend of yours--that filthy swine, george crofts--set it about after i refused to marry him that i was 'mrs. warren's daughter,' and the few nice people i knew from cambridge days dropped me, all except honoria and her mother." _praed_: "well, _i_ haven't dropped you. _i'll_ always stick by you" (observes that vivie is trying to keep back her tears). "vivie--_darling_--what do you want me to do? why not marry me and spend half my income, take the shelter of my name--i'm an a.r.a. now--you needn't do more than keep house for me.... i'm rather a valetudinarian--dare say i shan't trouble you long--we could have a jolly good time before i went off with a heart attack--travel--study--write books together--" _vivie_ (recovering herself): "thanks, dear praddy; you are a brick and i really--in a way--have quite got to love you. except an office boy in chancery lane and w.t. stead, i don't know any other decent man. but i'm not going to marry any one. i'm going to become vavasour williams--the name is rotten, but you must take what you can get. williams is a quiet young man who only desires to be left alone to earn his living respectably at the bar, and see there if he cannot redress the balance in the favour of women. but there is something you _could_ do for me, and it is for that i came to see you to-day--by the bye, we have both let our tea grow cold, but _for goodness' sake_ don't order any more on my account, or else your parlour-maid will be coming in and out and will see that i've been crying and you look flushed. what i wanted to ask was this--it's really very simple--_if mr. vavasour williams, aged twenty-four, late in south africa, once your pupil in architecture_ or scene painting or whatever it was--_gives you as a reference to character, you are to say the best you can of him_. and, by the bye, he will be calling to see you very shortly and you could lend further verisimilitude to your story by renewing acquaintance with him. you will find him very much improved. in every way he will do you credit. and what is more, if you don't repel him, he will come and see you much oftener than his cousin--i'm not ashamed to adopt her as a cousin--vivie warren could have done. because vivie, with her deplorable parentage, had your good name to think of, and visited you very seldom; whereas there could be raised _no_ objection from your parlour-maid if mr. d.v. williams came rather often to chat with you and ask your advice. think it over, dear friend--good-bye." early in july, norie and vivie were standing at the open west window in their partners' room at the office, trying to get a little fresh air. the staff had just gone its several ways to the suburbs, glad to have three hours of daylight before it for cricket and tennis. confident therefore of not being overheard, vivie began: "i've got those rooms in fig tree court. i shall soon be ready to move my things in. i'll leave some of poor vivie warren's effects behind if you don't mind, in case she comes back some day. do you think you can rub along if i take my departure next week? i want to give myself a fortnight's bicycle holiday in wales--as d.v. williams--a kind of honeymoon with fate, before i settle down as a law student. after i come back i can devote much of the summer recess to our affairs, either openly or after office hours. you could then take a holiday, in august. you badly need one. what about beryl?" _norie_: "beryl is well over her accouchement and is confident of being able to start work here on august 1.... it's a boy this time. i haven't seen it, so i can't say whether it resembles a policeman more than an architect. besides babies up till the age of six months only resemble macrocephalic idiots.... i shall be _wary_ with beryl--haven't committed myself--ourselves to any engagement beyond six months. she's amazingly clever, but i should say quite heartless. two babies in three years, and both illegitimate--the real mrs. architect very much upset, no doubt, mr. architect getting wilder and wilder in his work through trying to maintain two establishments--they say he left out all the sanitation in sir peter robinson's new house and let the builders rush up the walls without damp courses--and it's killing her father, the dean. it's not as though she hid herself away, but she goes out so much! they are talking of turning her out of her club because of the things she says before the waitresses..." _vivie_: "what things?" _norie_: "why, about its being very healthy to have babies when you're between the ages of twenty and thirty; and how with this twilight sleep business she doesn't mind how often; that it's fifty times more interesting than breeding dogs and cats or guinea-pigs; and she's surprised more single women don't take it up. i think she must be détraquée.... i have a faint hope that by taking her in hand and interesting her in our work--which _entre nous deux_--is turning out to be very profitable--i may sober her and regularize her. no doubt in 1950 most women will talk as she does to-day, but the advance is too abrupt. it not only robs _her_ parents of all happiness, but it upsets _my_ mother. she now wrings her hands over her own past and fears that by working so strenuously for the emancipation of women she has assisted to breach the dam--can't you imagine the way the old cats of both sexes go on at her?--the dam which held up female virtue, and that society now will be drowned in a flood of free love..." _vivie_: "well! we'll give her a six months' trial here, and see if our mix-up of advice in law, banking, estate management, stock-and-share dealing, divorce, private enquiries, probate, etc., does not prove _much_ more interesting than an illicit connection with a hare-brained architect.... if she proves impossible you'll pack her off and vivie shall return and d.v. williams go abroad.... don't you think there is something that ought to win over providence in that happily chosen name? _d.v._ williams? and my mother once actually called herself 'vavasour.' "well, then, barring accidents and the unforeseen, it's agreed i go on my holiday next saturday, to return never no more--perhaps--?--" _norie_ (with a sigh): "yes!" _vivie_: "how's your mother?" _norie_: "oh, as to her, i'm glad to say '_much_ better.' when i can get away, after the new clerks and beryl are installed and everything is going smoothly, i shall take her to switzerland, to a deliciously quiet spot i know and nobody else knows up the göschenenthal. the continent won't be so hot for travelling if we don't start till the end of august..." _vivie:_ "_then_, dearest ... in case you don't come to the office any more this week, i'll say good-bye--for--for some time..." (they grip hands, they hesitate, then kiss each other on the cheek, a very rare gesture on either's part--and separate with tears in their eyes.) the following monday morning, bertie adams, combining in his adolescent person the functions of office boy, junior clerk, and general factotum, entered the outer office of fraser and warren and found this letter on his desk:- fraser and warren midland insurance chambers, general inquiry agents 88-90, chancery lane, w.c. july 12, 1901. dear bertie- i want to prepare you for something. if you had been an ordinary office boy, i should not have bothered about you or confided to you anything concerning the firm. but you are by now almost a clerk, and from the day i joined miss fraser in this business, you have helped me more than you know--helped me not only in my work, but to understand that there _can_ be good, true, decent-minded, trustworthy ... you won't like it if i say "boys" ... young men. i am going away for a considerable time, i cannot say how long--probably abroad. but miss fraser thinks i can still help in the work of her firm, so i remain a partner. a cousin of mine, mr. d.v. williams, may come in occasionally to help miss fraser. i shall ask him to keep an eye on you. miss rose mullet and miss steynes are likewise leaving the service of the firm. i dare say you know miss mullet is getting married and how miss steynes is going to live at aylesbury. two other ladies are coming in their place, and much of my own work will be undertaken by a mrs. claridge, whom you will shortly see. it is rather sad this change in what has been such a happy association of busy people, nobody treading on any one else's toes; but there it is! "the old order changeth, giving place to the new ... lest one good custom should corrupt the world"--you will read in the tennyson i gave you last christmas. let's hope it won't be when i return: "change and decay in all around i see" ... as the rather dismal hymn has it. sometimes change is a good thing. you serve a noble mistress in miss fraser and i am sure you realize the importance of her work. it may mean so much for women's careers in the next generation. i shan't quite lose touch with you. i dare say miss fraser, even if i am far away, will write to me from time to time and give me news of the office and tell me how you get on. don't be ashamed of being ambitious: keep up your studies. why don't you--but perhaps you do?--join evening classes at the polytechnic?--or at this new london school of economics which is close at hand? make up your mind to be lord chancellor some day ... even if it only carries you as far as the silk gown of a q.c. i suppose i ought now to write "k.c." a few years ago we all thought the state would go to pieces when victoria died. yet you see we are jogging along pretty well under king edward. in the same way, you will soon get so used to the new head clerk, mrs. claridge, that you will wonder what on earth you saw to admire in vivien warren. this letter came like a cricket ball between the eyes to bertie adams. his adored miss warren going away and no clear prospect of her return--her farewell almost like the last words on a death-bed.... he bowed his head over his folded arms on his office desk, and gave way to gruff sobs and the brimming over of tear and nose glands which is the grotesque accompaniment of human sorrow. he forgot for a while that he was a young man of nineteen with an unmistakable moustache and the status of a cricket eleven captain. he was quite the boy again and his feeling for vivien warren, which earlier he had hardly dared to characterize, out of his intense respect for her, became once more just filial affection. his good mother was a washerwoman-widow, in whom honoria fraser had interested herself in her harley street girlhood. bertie was the eldest of six, and his father had been a coal porter who broke his back tumbling down a cellar when a little "on." bertie--he now figured as mr. albert adams in the cricket lists--was a well-grown youth, rather blunt-featured, but with honest hazel eyes, fresh-coloured, shock-haired. vivie had once derided him for trying to woo his frontal hair into a flattened curl with much pomade ... he now only sleeked his curly hair with water. you might even have called him "common." he was of the type that went out to the war from 1914 to 1918, and won it, despite the many mistakes of our flurried strategicians: the type that so long as it lasts unspoilt will make england the predominant partner, and great britain the predominant nation; the type out of which are made the bluejacket and petty officer, the police sergeant, the engine driver, the railway guard, solicitor's clerk, merchant service mate, engineer, air-pilot, chauffeur, army non-commissioned officer, head gardener, head game-keeper, farm-bailiff, head printer; the trustworthy manservant, the commissionaire of a city office; and which in other avatars ran the british world on an average annual income of £150 before the war. when women of a similar educated lower middle class come into full equality with men in opportunity, they should marry the bertie adamses of their acquaintance and not the stockbrokers, butchers, drapers, bookies, professional cricketers or pugilists. they would then become the mothers of the salvation-generation of the british people which will found and rule utopia. however, bertie adams was quite unconscious of all these possibilities, and thought of himself modestly, rather cheaply. swallowing the fourth or fifth sob, he rose from his crouching over the desk, wiped his face with a wet towel, smoothed his hair, put straight his turn-over collar and smart tie, and went to his work with glowing eyes and cheeks; resolved to show miss warren that she had not thought too highly of him. nevertheless, when miss mullet arrived and giggled over the details of her trousseau and lily steynes discussed the advertisements of aylesbury ducks in the current _exchange and mart_, he was reserved and rather sarcastic with them both. he intimated later that he had long been aware of the coming displacements; but he said not a word of vivie's letter. chapter iv pontystrad on a morning in mid-july, 1901, mr. d.v. williams bicycled to paddington station from new square, lincoln's inn. the brown canvas case fitted to the frame of his male bicycle contained a change of clothes, a suit of paijamas, a safety razor, tooth-brush, hair-brush and comb. he himself was wearing a well-cut dark grey suit--norfolk jacket, knickerbockers and thick stockings. having had his bicycle labelled "swansea," he entered a first-class compartment of the south wales express. though not lavish on his expenditure he was travelling first because he still felt a little uneasy in the presence of men--mostly men of the rougher type. perhaps there was a second class in those days; there may be still. but i have a distinct impression that mr. vavasour williams, law student, travelled "first" on this occasion: for this was how he met a person of whom his friend, honoria fraser, had often spoken--michael rossiter. he did not of course--till after they had passed swindon--know the name of his travelling companion. five minutes before the train left paddington there entered his compartment of the corridor carriage a tall man with a short, curly black beard and nice eyes--eyes like agates in colour. there was a touch of grey about the temples, otherwise the head hair, when he changed from a hard felt hat to a soft travelling cap, showed as dark as the beard and moustache. his frame was strong, muscular and loosely built, and he had clever, nervous hands with fingers somewhat spatulate. his clothes did not much suggest the tourist--they seemed more like a too well-worn town morning suit of dark blue serge; as though he had left home in an absent-minded mood intent on some hurriedly conceived plan. he cast one or two quick glances at david; once, indeed, as they got out into full daylight, away from tunnels and high walls, letting his glance lengthen into a searching look. then he busied himself with a number of scientific periodicals he had brought to read in the train. impelled, he knew not why, to provoke conversation, david asked (quite needlessly), "this _is_ the south wales express, i mean the swansea train, is it not?" blackbeard was struck with the unusualness of the voice--a very pleasant one to come from the lips of a man--and replied: "it is; at least i got in under that impression as i am intending to go to swansea; but in any case the ticket inspector is sure to come along the corridor presently and we'll make sure then. we stop at swindon, i think, so if we've made a mistake we can rectify it there." then after a pause he resumed: "i think you said you were going to swansea? might i ask if you are bound on the same errand as i am? i mean, are you one of boyd dawkins's party to examine the new cave on the gower coast?" _d.v.w._: "oh no--i--i am going inland from swansea to--to have a bicycling tour. i'm going to a place on the river--i don't know how to pronounce it--at least i've forgotten. the river's name is spelt llwchwr." _blackbeard_: "you should change your mind and turn south--come and see these extraordinary caves. are you interested in palæontology?" (david hesitates) "what careless people call 'prehistoric animals' or 'prehistoric man.' they have been ridiculously misled by comic artists in _punch_ who imagine a few thousand years of prehistory would take us back to the cretaceous period; really four or five million years before man came into existence, when this country and most other lands swarmed with preposterous reptiles that had become extinct long before the age of mammals. however, i don't suppose this interests you. i only spoke because i thought you might be one of boyd dawkins's pupils ... or one of mine." _david_: "on the contrary, i am very, very much interested in the subject, but i am afraid it has lain rather outside my line of studies so far--p'raps i will turn south when i have seen something of the part of glamorgan i am going to. i'm really welsh in origin, but i know wales imperfectly because i left it when i was quite young" ("this'll be good practice," vivie's brain voice was saying to herself) ... "i've returned recently from south africa." _blackbeard_: "what were you doing there?" _david_: "i--i--was in the army ... at least in a police force ... i got wounded, had to go into hospital--necrosis of the jaw ... i came home when i got well..." _blackbeard_: _"necrosis of the jaw!_ that was a bad thing. but you seem to have got over it very well. i can't see any scar from where i am..." _david_: "oh no. it was only a _slight_ touch and i dare say i exaggerate ... i've left the army however and now i'm reading law..." blackbeard thinks at this point that he has gone far enough in cross-examination and returns to his periodicals and pamphlets. but there's something he likes--a wistfulness--in the young man's face, and he can't quite detach his mind to the presence of palæolithic man in south wales. at swindon they both get out--there was still lingering the practice of taking lunch there--have a hasty lunch together and more talk, and share a bottle of claret. on returning to their compartment, rossiter offers david a cigar but the young man prefers smoking a cigarette. by this time they have exchanged names. d.v.w. however is reticent about the south african war--says it was all too horrible for words, and should never have taken place and he can't bear to think about it and was knocked out quite early in the day. now all he asks is peace and quiet and the opportunity of studying law in london so that he may become some day a barrister. rossiter says--after more talk, "pity you're going in for the bar--we've too many lawyers already. you should take up science"--and as far as the severn tunnel discourses illuminatingly on biology, mineralogy, astronomy, chemistry as david-vivien had never heard them treated previously. in the severn tunnel the noise of the train silences both professor and listener, who willingly takes up the position of pupil. between newport and neath, david thinks he has never met any one so interesting. it has been his first real induction into the greatest of all books: the book of the earth itself. rossiter on his part feels indefinably attracted by this young expatriated welshman. david does not say much, but what he does contribute to the conversation shows him a quick thinker and a person of trained intelligence. yet somehow the professor of biology in the university of london--and many other things beside--f.r.s., f.z.s., f.l.s., gold medallist of this and that academy and university abroad--does not "see" him as a soldier or a non-commissioned officer in the british army: law-student is a more likely qualification. however as they near swansea, michael rossiter gives mr. d.v. williams his card (d.v.w. regrets he cannot reciprocate but says he has hardly settled down yet to any address) and--though as a rule he is taciturn in trains and cautious about making acquaintances--expresses the hope he will call at 1, park crescent some afternoon--"my wife and i are generally at home on thursdays"--when all are back in town for the autumn. they separate at swansea station. david spends the night at swansea, employing some of his time there by enquiring at the terminus hotel as to the roads that lead up the valley of the llwchwr, what sort of a place is pontystrad ("the bridge by the meadow"), whether any one knows the clergyman of that parish, mr.... er ... howel vaughan williams. the "boots" or one of the "bootses," it appears, comes from the neighbourhood of pontystrad and knows the reverend gentleman by sight--a nice old gentleman--has heard that he's aged much of late years since his son ran away and disappeared out in africa. his sight was getting bad, boots understood, and he could not see to do all the reading and writing he was once so great at. after a rather wakeful night, during which d.v. williams is more disturbed by his thoughts and schemes than by the continual noises of the trains passing into and out of swansea, he rises early and drafts a telegram:- revd. howel williams, vicarage, pontystrad, glamorgan. hope return home this evening. all is well. david. then pays his bill and tries to mount his bicycle the wrong way to the great amusement of the boots; then remembers the right way and rides off, with the confidence of one long accustomed to bicycling, through the crowded traffic of swansea in the direction of llwchwr. it was a very hot ride through a very lovely country, now largely spoilt by mining and metallurgy, along a road that was constantly climbing up steeply to descend abruptly. david of course could have travelled by rail to the pontyffynon station and thence have ridden back three miles to pontystrad. but he wished purposely to bicycle the whole way from swansea and take in with the eye the land of his fathers. he was postponing as long as possible the test of meeting his father, the father of the young n'eer-do-weel who had been lying for months in a south african field hospital the year before. he halted for a cup of tea at llandeilotalybont ... wales has many place names like this ... and being there not many miles from pontystrad was able to glean more recent and more circumstantial information about the man he proposed to greet as "father." at half-past six that evening, having perspired and dried, perspired and dried, strained a tendon and acquired a headache, he halted before the gate of the vicarage garden at pontystrad, having been followed thither to his secret annoyance by quite a troop of village boys of whom he had imprudently asked the way. as they talked welsh he could not tell what they were saying, but conjectured that his telegram had arrived and that he was expected. standing under the porch of the house was an old man with a long white beard like a druid in spectacles shading his eyes and expectant... a bicycle might prove an incumbrance in the ensuing interview, so david hastily propped his against a fuchsia hedge and hurried forward to meet the old man, who extended hands to envelop him, not trusting to his eyes. an old, rosy-cheeked woman in a sunbonnet came up behind the old man, shrieked out "master david!" and only waited with twitching fingers for her own onslaught till the father had first embraced his prodigal son. this was done at least three times, accompanied with tears, blessings, prayers, the uplifting of poor filmy eyes to a cloudless heaven--"diolch i dduw!"--ejaculations as to the wonder of it--"rhyfeddol yw yn eiholl ffyrdd"--god's providence--his ways are past finding out! "ni ellir olrain ei ragluniaeth!"--"my own dear boy! fy machgen annwyli!" then the old woman took her turn: "master david! eh, but you're changed, mun!"--then a lot of welsh exclamations, which until the welsh can agree to spell their tongue phonetically i shall not insert--"five years since you left us! eh, and i never thought to see you no more. some said you wass dead, others that you wass taken prisoner by the wild boars. but here you are, and welcome--indeed--" then master david between the embraces was scanned, a little more critically than by the purblind father, but with distinct approval. at last david stood apart in the stone-flagged hall of the vicarage. his abundant hair was rumpled, his face was stained by other people's tears, his collar, tie, dress disordered, and his heart touched. it was a rare experience in his twenty-four years of life--he guessed that should be his age--to find himself really taken on trust, really desired and loved. honoria's friendship was a pure and precious thing, but in its very purity carefully restrained. praddy's kindness, and the office boy's worship had both been gratifying to vivie's self-esteem, but both had to be kept at bay. somehow the love of a father and of an old nurse were of a different category to these other contacts. all these thoughts passed through david's brain in thirty seconds. he shook himself, straightened himself, smiled adequately, and tried to live up to the situation. "dear father! and dear ... nannie! (a bold but successful deduction). how sweet of you both--greeting me like this. i've come home a very different david to the one that left you--what was it? five--six years ago?--to go to mr. praed's studio. i've learnt a lot in the interval. but i'm so sick of the past, i don't want to talk about it more than i can help, and i've been in very queer health since i got ill--and--wounded--in--south africa. my memory has gone for many things--i'm afraid i've forgotten all my welsh, nannie, but it'll soon come back, that is, if i may stay here a bit." (exclamations from father and nurse: "this is your _home_, davy-bach!") "i'm not going to stay too long this time because i've got my living to earn in london.... "did you never hear anything about me from ... south africa ... or the war office--or--your old college chum, mr. gardner?" "i heard--my own dear boy--" said the revd. howel, again taking him in his arms in a renewed spasm of affection. "i heard you were wounded and very ill in the camp hospital at colesberg. it was a nursing sister, i think, who sent me the information. i wrote several times to the war office, my letters were acknowledged, that was all. then sam gardner wrote to me from margate and said his son had been in the same hospital with you. later on i saw in a bristol paper that this hospital--colesberg--had fallen into the hands of the boers and the cape insurgents. then i said to myself 'my poor boy's been taken prisoner' and as time went on, 'my poor boy's dead, or he would have written to me.'" here the revd. howel stopped to wipe his eyes and blow his nose. david touched through his armour of cynicism, said--nannie retiring to prepare the evening meal--"father dear, though i don't want to refer too often to the past, i behaved disgracefully some time ago and the colonies seemed my only chance of setting myself right. i did manage to get away from the boers, but i had not the courage to present myself before you till i had done something to regain your good opinion. i have got now good employment in london and i'm even reading up law. we will talk of that by and bye but i tell you now--from my heart--i am a different david to the one you knew, and you shall never regret taking me back." both father and son were crying now, for emotion especially in wales is catching. but the father laughed through his tears; and incoherently thanked god for the return of the prodigal--a fine upstanding lad--whole and sound. "no taint about _you_, davy, _i'll_ be bound. why your voice alone shows you've been a clean liver. it's music in my ears, and if i could see as well as i can hear i'd wager you're a handsome lad and have lost much of your foolishness. davy, lad" (lowering his voice) "you've no cause to be anxious about jenny. she--she--had a boy, but we got her married to a miner--i made it right with him. she has another child now, but they're being brought up together. we won't refer to it again. she lives twenty miles from here, at gower--and ... and ... there's an end of it.... "now you won't run away back to london till you're obliged? where's your luggage? at pontyffynon?" "no," said david, a little non-plussed at evidences of his dissolute past and this unexpected fatherhood assumed on his account. "i haven't more luggage than what is contained in my bicycle bag. but don't let that concern you. i'll go over to swansea one day or some nearer town and buy what may be necessary, and i'll stay with you all my holidays, tell you all my plans, and even after i go back to london i'll always come down here when i can get away. for the present i'm going simply to enjoy myself for the first time in my life. the last four years we'll look on as a horrid dream. what a paradise you live in." his eye ranged over the two-storeyed, soundly-built stone house facing south, with mountains behind and the western sun throwing shafts of warm yellow green over the lawn and the flower beds; over clumps of elms in the middle, southern distance, that might have been planted by the romans (who loved this part of wales). bees, butterflies and swallows were in the air; the distant lowing of kine, the scent of the roses, the clatter in the kitchen where nannie aided by another female servant was preparing supper, even the barking of a watch dog; aware that something unusual was going on, completed the impression of the blissful countryside. "what a paradise you live in! how _could_ i have left it?" "ay, dear lad; i doubt not it looks strange and new to you since you've been in south africa and london. but it'll soon seem homelike enough. and now you'll like to see your room, and have a wash before supper. tom, the gardener, shall take in your bicycle and give it a rub over. i've still got the old one here in the coach-house which you left behind. tom's new, since you left. he's not so clever with the bees as your old friend evan was, but he's a steadier lad. i fear me evan led you into some of your scrapes. the fault was partly mine. i shouldn't have let you run wild so much, but i was so wrapped up in my studies--well, well!" david was careful to play his part sufficiently to say when shown into his old bedroom, "just the same, father; scarcely a bit altered--but isn't the bed moved--to another place?" "you're right, my boy--ah! your memory can't be as bad as you pretend. yes, we moved it there, bridget and i, because the archdeacon came once to stay and complained of the draught from the window." "the deuce he did!" said david. "well, _i_ shan't complain of anything." his father left him and he then proceeded to lay out the small store of things he had brought in his bicycle bag, giving special prominence to the shaving tackle. he had just finished a summary toilet when there was a tap on the door, and, suppressing an exclamation of impatience--for he dearly wanted time and solitude for collected thought--he admitted bridget. "well, nannie," he said, "come for a gossip?" "yess. i can hardly bear to take my eyes off you, for you've changed, you _have_ changed. and yet, i don't know? you don't look much older than you wass when you went off to london to be an architect. your cheek--" (lifting her hand and stroking it, while david tried hard not to wince) "your cheek's as soft and smooth as it was then, as any young girl's. wherever you've been, the world has not treated you very bad. no one would have dreamt you'd been all the way to south africa to them wild boars. but some men wear wonderful well. i suppose your father giv' you a bit of a shock? he's much older looking; and he wassn't suffering, to speak of, from his sight when you went away. and now he can hardly see to read even with his new spectol. old doctor murgatroyd can't do nothing for him--advises him to go to see some bristol or london eye-doctor. but after you seemed to disappear in africa he had no heart for trying to get his sight back. he'd sit for hours doing nothing but think and talk, all about old welsh times, or bible times. of course he knows hiss services by heart; hiss only job wass with the lessons.... but you see, he'd often only have me and the girl and tom in church. there's a new preacher up at little bethel that's drawn all the village folk to hear him. but your father'll be a different man now--you see, he'll be like a boy again. and if you could stay long enough, you might take him to bristol--or clifton i think it wass--to see if they could do anything about his eyes.... "the past's the past and we aren't going to say no more about it, and now you've turned over a new leaf--somehow i _can't_ feel you're the same person--don't go worrying yourself about that slut jenny. _she's_ all right. after your baby was born at her mother's, she went into service at llanelly and there she met a miner who's at work on the new coal mine in gower. he wasn't a bad sort of chap and when he'd heard her story he said for a matter of twenty pound he'd marry her and take over her baby. so your father paid the twenty pounds, and if she'll only keep straight she'll be none the worse for what's happened. i always said it wass my fault. it wass the year i had to go away to my sister, and your father had to go to st. david's, and after all, if it hadn't 'a-been you, it 'd 'a-been young evan. why there's bin some girls in the village have had two and even three babies before they settled down and got married. now we must dish up supper. i've given you lots and lots of pancakes and the cream and honey you wass always so fond of--you bad boy--" she ventured a kiss on the smooth cheek of her nursling and heavily descended the stairs. david had a very bad night, because to please his old nurse he had eaten too many of her pancakes with cream and honey. in fact, he had at last to tip-toe down through a sleeping house cautiously to let himself out and relieve his feelings by pacing the verandah till the nausea passed off. after that he lay long awake trying to size up the situation. he got his thoughts at last into some such shape as this:-"it's clear i was a regular young rake before i was sent up to london to be praddy's pupil. apparently i seduced the housemaid or kitchenmaid--my father's establishment seems to consist of nannie who is housekeeper and cook, and a maid who does housework and helps in the kitchen--and this unfortunate girl who fell a prey to my solicitations--or more likely misled me--afterwards gave birth to a child attributed either to my fatherhood or the gardener's. but the matter has been hushed up by a payment of twenty pounds and the girl is now married and respectable and ought to give no further trouble. i suppose that was a climax of naughtiness on my part and the main reason why i was sent away. the two people who matter most have received me without doubt or question, but the one to be wary about is the old nurse, whose very affection makes her inconveniently inquisitive. _mem._ get up and lock my door, or else she may come in with hot water or something in the morning and take me by surprise. "the original david is evidently dead and well out of the way. there can be no harm in my taking his place, at any rate for a few years: it may give the old man new life and genuine happiness, for i shall play my part as a good son, and certainly shall cost him nothing. i'll begin by taking him to an oculist and finding out what is wrong with his eyes.... probably only cataract. it may be possible to effect a cure and he can then finish his book on the history of glamorganshire from earliest times. must remember, by the bye, that the welsh change most of the old _m's_ into _f's_ and that this country is called forganwg, with the _w_ pronounced like _oo_, and the _f_ like _v_. must learn some welsh. what a nuisance. but nothing is worth doing if it isn't done well. if i can keep this deception up this would be a jolly place to come to for occasional holidays, and i simply couldn't have a better reference to respectability, sex and station with the benchers of lincoln's inn than 'my father,' the revd. howel williams, vicar of pontystrad. they'll probably want a second or a third reference. can i rely on praddy? is it possible i might work up my acquaintance with that professor whom i met in the train? i'll see. perhaps i could attend classes of his if he lectures in london." then the plotting david fell asleep at last and woke to hear the loud tapping on his door at eight o'clock, of bridget, rather surprised to find the door locked, but entering (when he had garbed himself in his norfolk jacket and opened the door), with hot water for shaving and a cup of tea. it was a hot july morning, and while he dressed, the southern breeze came in through the open window scented by the roses and the lemon verbena growing against the wall. his father was pacing up and down the hall and the verandah restlessly awaiting him, fearing lest the whole episode of the day before might not have been one of his waking dreams. his failing sight made reading almost a torture and writing more a matter of feeling than visual perception. time therefore hung wearisomely on his hands; bridget was not a good reader, besides being too busy a housekeeper to have time for it. had david really returned to him? would he sometimes read aloud and sometimes write his letters, or even the finish of his history? too good to be true! but there was david coming down the stairs, greeting him with tender affection. "read and write for you, father? of course! but before i go back to london--and unfortunately i _must_ go back early in august--i'm going to take you to see an oculist--bristol or clifton perhaps--and get your sight restored." after breakfast, however, the father decided he must take david round the village, to see and be seen. david was not very anxious to go, but as the revd. howel looked disappointed he gave in. it had to be got over some time or other. so they first visited the church, a building in the form of a cross, with an imposing battlemented tower. here david asked to inspect the registers and found therein (while the old gentleman silently prayed or sat in mute thankfulness in a sunny corner)--the record of his father's marriage to mary vavasour twenty-six years before (mary was twenty-three and the revd. howel forty at the time) and of his own baptism two years afterwards. then issuing from the church, father and son walked through the village, the father pointing out the changes for better or worse that had taken place in four years, and not noticing the vagueness of his son's memories of either persons or features in the landscape. the village, like most welsh villages, was of white-washed cottages, slate-roofed, but it was embowered with that luxuriance of foliage and flowers which makes glamorganshire--out of sight of the coal-mining--seem an earthly paradise. every now and then the revd. howel would nudge his son and say: "that man who spoke was old goronwy, as big a scoundrel now as he was five years ago," or he would introduce david to a villager of whom he thought more favourably. if she were a young woman she generally smirked and looked sideways; if a man he grunted out a welsh greeting or only gave a nod of surly recognition. several professed fluent recognition but some said in welsh "he wasn't a bit like the mr. david _they_ had known." whereupon the revd. howel laughed and said: "wait till you have been out to south africa fighting for your king and country and see if _that_ doesn't change _you_!" the visit to the clifton oculist resulted in a great success. the oculist after two or three days' preparation in a nursing home performed the operation and advised david then to leave his father for a few days (promising if any unfavourable symptoms supervened he would telegraph) so that he might pass the time in sleep as much as possible, and with no mental stimulation. during this interval david transferred himself and his bicycle to swansea, and thence visited the gower caves where he ran up against rossiter once more and spent delightful hours being inducted into palæontology by rossiter and his companions. then back to--by contrast--boresome clifton (except for its zoological gardens). after another week his father was well enough to be escorted home. in another fortnight he might be able to use his eyes, and soon after that would be able to read and write--in moderation. but david could not wait to see his intervention crowned with complete success. he must keep faith with honoria who would be wanting a long holiday in switzerland; and their joint business must not suffer by his absence from london. there were, indeed, times when the peace and comfort and beauty of pontystrad got hold of him and he asked himself: "why not settle down here for the rest of his life, put aside other ambitions, attempt no more than this initial fraud, leave the hateful world wherein women had only three chances to men's seven." then there would arise once more fierce ambition, the resolve to avenge vivien warren for her handicaps, the desire to keep tryst with honoria and to enjoy more of rossiter's society. besides, he ran a constant risk of discovery under the affectionate but puzzled inspection of the old nurse. in her mind, residence amongst the "wild boars," service in an army, travel and adventure generally during an absence of five years, as well as emergence from adolescence into manhood, accounted for much change in physical appearance, but not sufficiently for the extraordinary change in _morale_: the contrast between the vicious, untidy, selfish, insolent boy that had gone off to london with ill-concealed glee in 1896 and this grave-mannered, polite, considerate, pleasant-voiced young man who had already managed to find good employment in london before he revealed himself anew to his delighted father. these doubts david read in nannie's mind. but he would not give them time and chance to become more precise and formulated. gradually she would become used to the seeming miracle. in the meantime he would return to london, and if his father's recovery was complete he would not revisit "home" till christmas. as soon as he was able to write, his father would forward him the copy of his birth-certificate, and he would likewise answer in the sense agreed upon any letters of reference or enquiry: would state the apprenticeship to architecture with praed a.r.a., and then the impulse to go out to south africa, the slight wound--david insisted it was slight, a fuss about nothing, because he had enquired about necrosis of the jaw and realized that even if he had recovered it would have left indisputable marks on face and throat. in fact there were so many complications involved in an escape from the boers, only to be justified under the code of honour prevailing in war time, that he would rather his father said little or nothing about south africa but left him to explain all that. a point of view readily grasped by the revd. howel, who to get such a son back would even have not thought too badly of desertion--and the negative letters of the war office said nothing of that. so early in september, after the most varied, anxious, successful six weeks in his life--so far--david vavasour williams returned to fig tree court, inner temple. chapter v reading for the bar it had been a hot, windless day in london, in early september. though summer was in full swing in the country without a hint of autumn, the foliage in the squares and gardens of the inns of court was already seared and a little shrivelled. the privet hedges were almost black green; and the mould in the dismal borders that they screened looked as though it had never known rain or hose water and as if it could no more grow bright-tinted flowers than the asbestos of a gas stove which it resembled in consistency and colour. it was now an evening, ending one of those days which are peculiarly disheartening to a londoner returned from a long stay in the depths of the country--a country which has hills and streams, ferny hollows, groups of birches, knolls surmounted with pines, meadows of lush, emerald-green grass, full-foliaged elms, twisted oaks, orchards hung with reddening apples, red winding lanes between unchecked hedges, blue mountains in the far distance, and the glimpse of a river or of ponds large enough to be called a mere or even a lake. the exhausted london to which david williams had returned a few days previously had lost a few thousands of its west-end and city population--just, in fact, most of its interesting if unlikable folk, its people who mattered, its insolent spoilt darlings whom you liked to recognize in the carlton atrium, in hyde park, in a box at the theatre: yet the frowsy, worthy millions were there all the same. the air of its then smelly streets was used up and had the ammoniac strench of the stable. it was a weary london. the london actors had not returned from cornwall and switzerland. provincial companies enjoyed--a little anxiously owing to uncertain receipts at the box office--a brief license on the boards of famous play-houses. the newspapers had exhausted the stunt of the silly season and were at their flattest and most yawn-provoking. the south african war had reached its dreariest stage.... bertie adams on this close september evening had out-stayed the other employés of _fraser and warren_ in their fifth floor office at no. 88-90 chancery lane. he had remained after office hours to do a little work, a little "self-improvement"; and he was just about to close the outer office and leave the key with the housekeeper, when the lift came surging up and out of it stepped a young man in a summer suit and a bowler hat who, to bertie's astonishment, not only dashed straight at the door of the partners' room, but opened its yale lock with a latch-key as though long accustomed to do so. "but, sir!..." exclaimed the junior clerk (his promotion to that rank had tacitly dated from vivie warren's departure). "it's all right," said the stranger. "i'm mr. david williams and i've come to draw up some notes for mrs. claridge. i dare say miss fraser has told you i should work in the office every now and then whilst my cousin--miss warren, you know--is away. you needn't wait, though you can close the outer office before you go; and, by the bye, you might fetch me _who's who_ for the present year." all this was said a little breathlessly. bertie brought the volume, then only half the size of its present bulk, because it lacked our new nobility and gave no heed to your favourite recreation. d.v. williams stood in the yellow light of the west window, reading a letter... "cousin? no! twin brother, perhaps; but had she one?..." mused bertie... and then, that never-to-be-forgotten voice ... "here's 'oo's oo--er--hoo's hoo, i mean.... miss..." he only added the last word as by some sub-conscious instinct. "_mister_ williams," said vivien-david-warren williams, facing him with resolute eyes. "be quite clear about that, adams; _david vavasour williams_, miss warren's cousin." "indeed i will be, miss ... mister ... er ... sir..." said the transfigured bertie (his brain voice saying over and over again in ecstasy ... "_i_ tumble to it! _i_ tumble to it!"). and then again "_indeed_ i will, mr. williams. i'm a bit stupidlike this evenin' ... readin' too much.... may i stay and help you, sir? i'm pretty quick on the typewriter, miss warren may have told you ... sir ... and i ain't--i mean--_i am not_--half bad with me shorthand.... you know--i mean, _she_ would know i'd joined them evenin' classes..." "thank you, adams; but if you have joined the evening classes you oughtn't to interrupt your attendance there. i can _quite_ manage here alone and you need not be afraid: i shall leave everything properly closed. you could give up the key of the outer office as you go out. you may often find me at work here after office hours, but that need not disturb you ... and i need hardly say, after all miss fraser and miss warren have told me about you, i rely on you to be at all times thoroughly discreet and not likely to discuss the work of this firm or my share in it with any one?"... "indeed you may ... mr. williams ... indeed you may.... oh! i'm so happy.... good-night ... sir!" and adams's heart was too full for attendance at a lecture on roman law. he went off instead to the play. he himself belonged now to the world of romance. he knew of things--and wild horses and red-hot tweezers should not tear the knowledge from him, or make him formulate his deductions--he knew of things as amazing, as prodigal of developments as anything in the problem play enacted beyond the pit and the stalls; he was the younger brother of herbert waring and the comrade of jessie joseph: at that moment deceiving the sleuth hounds of stage law by parading in her fiancé's evening dress and going to prison for his sake. beryl claridge had taken up much of vivie warren's work on the 1st of august in that year, while honoria fraser was touring in switzerland. miss mullet and miss steynes were replaced (steynes staying on a little later to initiate the new-comers) by two young women so commonplace yet such efficient machines that their names are not worth hunting up or inventing. if i have to refer to them i will call them miss a. and miss b. beryl claridge was closely scanned by bertie adams, and frequently compared in his mind with the absent and idealized vivie. he decided that although she was shrewd and clever and very good-looking, he did not like her. she smoked too many cigarettes for 1901. she had her curly hair "bobbed" (though the term was not invented then). she put up her feet too high and too often; so much so that the scandalized bertie saw she wore black knickerbockers and no petticoats under her smart "tailor-made." she snapped your head off, was short, sharp and insolent, joked too much with the spectacled women clerks (who became her willing slaves); then would ask bertie about his best girl and tell him he'd got jolly good teeth, a good biceps and quite a nice beginning of a moustache. but she was a worker: no doubt of that! of course, in the dead season there were not many clients to shock or to win over by her nonchalant manners, only a few women who required advice as to houses, stocks, and shares, law, or private enquiries as to the good faith of husbands or fiancés. such as found their way up in the lift were a little disappointed at seeing beryl in vivie's chair or at not being received by their old friend honoria fraser. but beryl was too good a business woman to put them off with any license of speech or manners. for the rest she spent august and early september in "mugging up" the firm's business. although deep down in her curious little heart, under all her affectation of hardness and insolent disdain of public or family opinion she firmly loved her architect and the children she had borne him, she desired quite as passionately to be self-supporting, to earn a sufficient income of her own, to be dependent on no one. she might have her passing caprices and her loose and flippant mode of talking, but she wasn't going to be a failure, a cadger, a parasite, a "fallen" woman. she fully realized that in england no woman _has_ fallen who is self-supporting, whose income meets her expenses and who pays her way. given those guarantees, all else that she does which is not actually criminal is eventually put down to mere eccentricity. so honoria's offer and honoria's business provided her with a most welcome opening. she realized the opportunities that lay before this woman's office for general inquiries, established in the closing years of the nineteenth century--this business that before woman's enfranchisement nibbled discreetly at the careers and the openings for profit-making hitherto rigidly reserved for man. she wasn't going to let honoria down. honoria, she realized, was in herself equivalent to many thousands of pounds in capital. her reputation was flawless. she was known to and esteemed by a host of women of the upper middle class. her cambridge reputation for learning, her eventual inheritance of eighty thousand pounds were unexpressed reasons for many a woman of good standing preferring to confide her affairs to the judgment of _fraser and warren_, in preference to dealing with male legal advisers, male land agents, men on the stock exchange, men in house property business. so beryl became in most respects a source of strength to honoria fraser, deprived for a time of the overt co-operation of her junior partner. beryl in the first few weeks of her stay evinced small interest in the departure of vivien warren and her reasons for going abroad. she had a scheme of her own in which her architect would take a prominent part, for providing women--authoresses, actresses, or the wives of the newly enriched--with week-end cottages; the desire for which was born with the twentieth century and fostered by the invention of motors and bicycles. cases before the firm for opinions on intricate legal problems beryl was advised to place before the consideration of one of honoria's friends, a law student, mr. d.v. williams, who would shortly be back from his holiday and who had agreed to look in at the office from time to time and go through such papers as were set aside for him to read. beryl had remarked--without any intention behind it--on seeing some of his notes initialled v.w. that it was rum he should have the same initials as that vivie girl whom she remembered at newnham ... who was "so silent and standoffish and easily shocked." but she noticed later that when mr. williams got to work his initials were really three and not two--d.v.w. one thing with the other: her departure from the office at the regular closing hour--five--so that she might see her babies before they were put to bed; williams's habit of coming to work after six; kept them from meeting till the october of 1901. when they did meet after honoria's return from switzerland, beryl scanned the law student critically; decided he was rather nice-looking but very pre-occupied; perhaps engaged to some girl whose parents objected; rather mysterious, _quand même_; she had heard some one say this mr. david williams was a cousin or something of vivie warren ... what if he were in love with vivie and she had gone away because she had some fad or other about not wanting to marry? well! all this could be looked into some other time, if it were worth bothering about at all. or could williams be spoony on honoria? after her money? he was much younger--evidently--but young men adored ripe women, and young girls idolized elderly soldiers. _c'était à voir_ (beryl ever since she had been to paris on a stolen honeymoon with the architect liked saying things to herself in french). towards the end of october, david received at fig tree court a letter from his father in glamorganshire. pontystrad vicarage, _october_ 20, 1901. my dear son,- the improvement in my sight continues. i can now read a little every day, by daylight, without pain or fatigue, and write letters. i feel i owe you a long one; but i shall write a portion each day and not try my eyes unduly. i am glad to know you are now settled down in chambers at fig tree court in the temple and have begun your studies for the bar. you could not have taken up a finer profession. what seems to me so wonderful is that you should be able to earn your living at the same time and be no charge on me. i accept your assurances that you need no support; but never forget, my dear son, that if you _do_, i am ready and willing to help. you sowed your wild oats--perhaps we both exaggerated the sins of the wild years--at any rate you have made a noble reparation. what a splendid school the colonies must be! what a difference between the david who left me five years ago for mr. praed's studio and the david who returned to me last summer! i can never be sufficiently thankful to almighty god for the change he has wrought in you! no lip religion, but a change of heart. i presume you explained everything to the colonial office after you got back to london and that you are now free to take up a civil career? the people out there never sent me any further information; but the other day one of my letters to you (written after i had received the sad news) returned to me, with the information that the hospital you were in had been captured by the boers and that you could not be traced. i enclose it. you can now finish up the story yourself and let the authorities know how you got away and returned home. the other day that impudent baggage jenny gorlais came and asked to see me ... she said her husband was out of work and refused to give her enough money to provide for all her children, that he had advised her to apply to _you_ for the maintenance of _your_ son! relying on what you had told me i sent for bridget and we both told her we had made every enquiry and now refused absolutely to believe in her stories of five years ago--that we were sure you were _not_ the father of her eldest child. bridget, for example, believed the postman was its father. jenny burst into tears, and as she did not persist in her claim my heart was moved, and i gave her ten shillings, but told her _pretty plainly_ that if she ever made such a claim again i should go to the police. you should have heard bridget defending you! _such_ a champion. if you want a witness to character for your references you should call _her_! she is loud in your praise. _october_ 22. there is one thing i want to tell you; and it is easier to write it than say it. your mother did not die when you were three years old--much worse: she left me--ran away with an engineer who was tracing out the branch railway. he seemed a nice young fellow and i had him often up at the vicarage, and _that_ was the way he repaid my hospitality! he wrote to me a year afterwards asking me to divorce her. as though a clergyman of the church of england could do such a thing! i had offered to take her back--not then--it would have been a mockery--but by putting advertisements into the south wales papers. but after her paramour's letter--which i did not answer--i never heard any more about her.... ["damn it all," said david to himself at this juncture of the letter--he was training himself to swear in a moderate, gentlemanly way--"damn it all! whatever i do, it seems i _cannot_ come from altogether respectable stock."...] you grew up therefore without a mother's care, though good bridget did her best. when you were a child i fear i rather neglected you. i was so disappointed and embittered that i sought consolation in the legends of our beloved country and in scriptural exegesis. you were rather a naughty boy at swansea grammar school and somewhat of a scamp at malvern college--well! we won't go over all that again. i quite understand your reticence about the past. once again i think the blame was mine as much as yours. i ought to have interested myself more in your pursuits and games ... what a pity, by the bye, that you seem to have lost your gift of drawing and painting! i do remember how at one time we were drawn together over the old welsh legends and the very clever drawings you made of national heroes and heroines--they seemed to come on you as quite a surprise when i took them out of the old portfolio. but about your mother--for it is necessary you should know all i can tell you in case you have to answer questions as to your parentage. your mother's name was, as you know, mary vavasour. it is a common name in south wales though it seems to be norman french. she came to our pontystrad school as a teacher in 1873. her father was something to do with mining at merthyr. i fell in love with her--she had a sweet face--and married her in 1874. you were born two years afterwards. bridget had been my housekeeper before i was married and i asked her to stay on lest your mother should be inexperienced at first in the domestic arts. they never got on well together and when mary had recovered from her confinement and seemed disposed to take up housekeeping i sent away poor bridget reluctantly and only took her back after your mother's flight. bridget was a second mother to you as you know, though i fear you never showed her much affection till these later days. _october_ 23. my eyes seem to be improving instead of getting tired with the new delights of reading and writing. i owe all this to you and to the clever oculist at clifton. dr. murgatroyd from pontyffynon looked in here the other day, to ask about your return. he seemed almost to grudge me my restored sight because i had got it from other people's advice. said _he_ could have advised an operation only he never believed my heart would stand it. when i told him they had mixed the anæsthetic with oxygen he became quite angry--and exclaimed against these new-fangled notions. but i must not use up my new found energy writing about him. i want to finish my letter in a business-like fashion so that you may know all that is necessary to be known about yourself and your position. you may have at any moment to answer questions before you get called to the bar, and with your defective memory--i am glad to hear things in the past are becoming clearer to you--i am sure with god's grace you will wholly recover soon from the effects of your wound and your illness--what was i writing? i meant to say that you ought to know the main facts about your family and your position. i was an only son. your grandfather was a prosperous farmer and auctioneer. you have distant cousins, vaughans and williamses, and some others living at shrewsbury named price. i have written to none of them about your return because they never evinced any interest in me or my concerns. your mother's people, her vavasour relations at cardiff--did not seem to me to be very respectable, though her father was a well-educated man for his position. he died--i heard--in a mine accident. i am not poorly off for a welsh clergyman. my mother--a price of ystrwy--wanted me to go into the church and prevailed on your grandfather to send me first to malvern and next to cambridge. it was at cambridge that i met your comrade's father--sam gardner, i mean. he was rather wild in his college days and to tell you the truth, i never cared to keep up with him much--he had such very rowdy friends. my mother died while i was at cambridge and in his later years your grandfather married again--his housekeeper--and rather muddled his affairs, because at one time he was quite well off. after i was ordained he purchased for me the advowson of this living. all that came to me from his estate, however, was a sum of about eleven thousand pounds. this used to bring me in about five hundred pounds a year, and in addition to that was the fluctuating two hundred and fifty pounds income from my benefice. i took about three thousand pounds out of my capital to pay the debts you ran up, to article you to mr. praed; and, i must admit, to get my "tales from taliessin" and "legends of the welsh saints" privately printed at cardiff. i am afraid i wasted much good money on the desire to see my cymraeg studies in print. well: there i am! with about eight or nine thousand pounds to leave. i have not altered my will--leaving it all to you, subject to an annuity of £50 a year to your faithful nannie. i was projecting an alteration in case of your death, when you most happily returned. i may live another ten years yet. you have put new life into me. one charge, however, i was going to have laid on you; while you were with me i could not bear to speak of these matters. if at any time after i'm gone you should come across your unhappy mother and find her in distressed circumstances, i bid you provide for her, but how much, i leave entirely to your judgment. meantime, here i am with an income of nearly £700 a year. i live very simply, as you see, but i give away a good deal in local charity. the people are getting better wages now; in any case they are usually most ungrateful. i feel i should be happier if i diverted some of this alms-giving to you. you must find this preparatory life very expensive. you must let me send you twenty-five pounds every half-year for pocket money. here is a cheque on the south wales bank for the first instalment. and remember, if you are in _any_ difficulty about your career that a little money can get over do not hesitate to apply to me. your loving father, howel vaughan williams. p.s. i have taken five days to write this but see how steady the handwriting is. it is a pleasure to me to look on my own handwriting again. and i feel i owe it all to you! i also forgot in the body of the letter to tell you one curious thing. you know we are here on the borders of an interesting vein of limestone which runs all round the coal beds. i dare say you remember as a boy of fifteen or so spraining your ankle in griffith's hole? well griffith's hole turns out to be the entrance into a wonderful cave in the limestone. hither came the other day a party of scientific men who think that majestic first chapter of genesis to be a babylonian legend! it appears they discovered or thought they discovered the remains of ancient man in griffith's hole. i invited them to tea at the vicarage and amongst them was a very learned gentleman quite as wise as but less aggressive than the others. he was known as "professor rossiter"; and commenting on the similarity of my name with that of a "very agreeable young gentleman" whom he had recently seen in gower, it turned out that you were an acquaintance of his. he thinks it a great pity that you are reading for the bar and wishes you had taken up science instead. at any rate he hopes you will go and see him in london one day--no. 1 park crescent. portland place. h. v. w. several times in reading this letter the tears stood in david's eyes. so much trust and kindness made him momentarily sorry at the double life he was leading. if it were possible to establish the death of the wastrel he was personating he would perhaps allow his "father" to live on in this new-found happiness; but if the real d.v.w. were alive some effort must be made to help him out of the slough--perhaps to bring him back. he would try to find out through frank gardner. some time before vivie warren had taken her departure, she had left behind in honoria fraser's temporary care a power of attorney duly executed in favour of david vavasour williams; and reciprocally d.v.w. had executed another in favour of vivien warren. both these documents lay securely in the little safe that david had had fitted into the wall of his sitting-room in fig tree court. also david had opened an account in his own name after he got back from wales, at the temple bar branch of the c. &. c. bank. into this he now paid the cheque for twenty-five pounds which his father had sent as pocket money. a few days afterwards, vivie warren reappeared--in spirit--and indited a letter to frank gardner's agents in cape town. she was careful to give no address at the head of the letter and to post it at victoria station. in it she said she was starting on a tour abroad, but asked him to do what he could to trace the boy who had lain so grievously ill in the hospital at colesberg. had he recovered after the boers had taken colesberg? as a rumour had reached her that he had, and had even returned to england. she wanted to know, and if they ever met again would tell him why. meanwhile if he got any news would he address it to _her_, care of honoria fraser, queen anne's mansions, st. james's park; as her own address would be quite uncertain for the present. or it would do quite as well if he wrote to praddy; but _not_ to his father, which might only needlessly agitate the old clergyman down in wales, whom vivie by an unexpected chance had come to know. the first result of this letter a year later was a statement of frank's belief, almost certainty, that his acquaintance of the hospital _had_ died and been buried while the boers held possession of colesberg; and that indeed was the utmost that was ever learnt about the end of the ill-fated son of howel vaughan williams and mary his wife, who were wedded in sunshine and with fair prospects of happiness in the early summer of 1874. the new-born david vavasour williams having by november settled all these details, having arranged to pay the very modest rent of fifty-five pounds for his three rooms at fig tree court, and twenty-five pounds a year to the housekeeper who was to "do" for him and another gentleman on the same floor--a gentleman who was most anxious to be chummy with the new tenant of the opposite chambers but whose advances were firmly though civilly kept at bay--having likewise passed his preliminary examination (since he could not avow that inside his clothes he was a third wrangler), having satisfied his two "godfathers" of the bar that he was a fit person to recommend to the benchers; having arranged to read with a barrister in chambers, and settled all other preliminaries of importance: decided that he would pay an afternoon call on the rossiters in portland place and see how the land lay there. already a strange exhilaration was spreading over david's mind. life was not twice but ten times more interesting than it had appeared to the prejudiced eyes of vivien warren. it was as though she--he--had passed through some magic door, gone through the looking-glass and was contemplating the same world as the one vivie had known for--shall we say fifteen?--years, but a world which viewed from a different standpoint was quite changed in proportions, in colour, in the conjunction of events. it was a world in which everything was made smooth and easy before the semblance of manhood. what a joy to be rid of skirts and petticoats! to be able to run after and leap on to an omnibus, to wear the same hat day after day just stuck on top of her curly head. not, perhaps, to change her clothes, between her uprising and her retirement to bed, unless she were going out to dine. no simpering. no need to ask favours. no compliments. it is true she felt awkward in the presence of women, not quite the same, even with honoria. but with men. what a difference! she felt she had never really known men before. at first the frank speech, the expletives, the smoking-room stories made her a little uncomfortable and occasionally called forth an irrepressible blush. but this was not to her disadvantage. it made her seem younger, and created a good impression on her tutors and acquaintances. "a nice modest boy, fresh from the country--pity to lead him astray--won't preserve his innocence long--" was the vaguely defined impression, contact with her--him, i mean--made on most decent male minds. many a lad comes up from the country to commence his career in london who knew far less than the unfortunate vivie had been compelled to know of the shady side of life; who is compelled to lead a somewhat retired life by straitness of means; whose determination towards probity and regularity of life is respected by the men of law among whom he finds himself. but david having decided--he did not quite know why--to pursue his acquaintance with professor rossiter; having written to ask if he might do so (as a matter of fact he frequently saw rossiter walking across the gardens of new square to go to the museum of the royal college of surgeons: he recollected him immediately but rossiter did not reciprocate, being absent-minded); and having received a card from "linda rossiter" to say they would be at home throughout the winter on thursdays, between 4 and 6: went on one of those thursdays and made definite progress with the great friendship of his life. chapter vi the rossiters the rossiters' house in park crescent was at the northern end of portland place, and its high-walled garden--the stables that were afterwards to become a garage--and michael rossiter's long, glass-roofed studio-laboratory--abutted on one of those quiet, deadly-respectable streets at the back that are called after devon or dorset place names. the house is now a good deal altered and differently numbered, a portion of it having been destroyed in one of the 1917 air-raids, when the marylebone road was strewn with its broken glass for twenty yards. but in the winter of 1901-2 and onwards till 1914 it was a noted centre of social intercourse between society and science. the rossiters were well enough off--he made quite two thousand a year out of his professorial work and his books, and her income which was £5,000 when she first married had risen to £9,000 after they had been married ten years; through the increase in value of leeds town property. mrs. rossiter had had two children, but were both dead, her facile tears were dried, she satisfied her maternal instinct by the keeping of three pug dogs which her husband secretly detested. she also had a scarlet-and-blue macaw and two cockatoos and a persian cat; but these last her husband liked or tolerated for their colour or their biological interest; only, as in the case of the dogs, he objected (though seldom angrily, out of consideration for his wife's feelings) to their being so messily and inopportunely fed. linda rossiter was liable to lose her pets as she had lost her two children by alternating days of forgetfulness with weeks of lavish over-attention. but as she readily gave way to tears on the least remonstrance, michael in the course of eleven years of married life remonstrated as little as possible. a clever, tactful parlour-maid and two good housemaids, a manservant who was devoted to the "professor" and a taxidermist who assisted him in his experiments did the rest in keeping the big house tolerably tidy and presentable. rossiter himself was too intent on the stars, the gases of decomposition, the hidden processes of life, miscegenation in star-fish, microbic diseases in man, beasts, birds and bees, the glands of the throat, the suprarenal capsules and the chemical origin of life to care much for æsthetics, for furniture and house decoration. he was the third son of an impoverished northumbrian squire who on his part cared only for the more barbarous field-sports, and when he could take his mind off them believed that at some time and place unspecified almighty god had dictated the english bible word for word, had established the english church and had scrupulously prescribed the functions and limitations of woman. his wife--michael rossiter's tenderly-loved mother--had died from a neglected prolapsus of the womb, and the old rambling house in northumberland situated in superb scenery, had in its furniture grown more and more hideous to the eye as early and mid-victorian fashions and ideals receded and modern taste shook itself free from what was tawdry, fluffy, stuffy, floppy, messy, cheaply imitative, fringed and tasselled and secretive. michael himself from sheer detestation of the surroundings under which he had grown to manhood favoured the uncovered, the naked wood or stone or slate, the bare floor, the wooden settee or cane-bottomed chair, the massive side-board, the bare mantelpiece and distempered wall. on the whole, their house in portland place satisfied tolerably well the advanced taste in domestic scenery of 1901. but your eye was caught at once by the additions made by mrs. rossiter. linda conceived it was her womanly mission to lighten the severity of michael's choice in furniture and decorations. she introduced rickety and expensive screens that were easily knocked over; photographs in frames which toppled at a breath; covers on every flat surface that could be covered--occasional tables, tops of grand pianos. if she did not put frills round piano legs, she placed tasselled poufs about the drawing-room that every short-sighted visitor fell over, and used large bows of slightly discoloured ribbon to mask unneeded brackets. in the reception rooms food-bestrewn parrot stands were left where they ought never to be seen; and there were gilt-wired parrot cages; baskets for the pugs lined with soiled shawls; absurd ornaments, china cats with exaggerated necks, alabaster figures of stereotyped female beauty and flowerpot stands of ornate bamboo. she loved portières, and she would fain have mitigated the bareness of the panelled or distempered walls; only that here her husband was firm. she unconsciously mocked the few well-chosen, well-placed pictures on the walls (which she itched to cover with a "flock" paper) by placing in the same room on bamboo easels that matched the be-ribboned flower-stands pastel, crayon, or _gouache_ studies of the worst possible taste. michael's library alone was free from her improvements, though it was sometimes littered with her work-bags or her work. she had long ago developed the dreadful mistake that it "helped" michael at his work if she brought hers (perfectly futile as a rule) there too. "i just sit silently in his room, my dear, and stitch or knit something for poor people in marrybone--i'm told you mayn't say mary-le-bone. i feel it _helps_ michael to know i'm there, but of course i don't interrupt him at his _work_." as a matter of fact she did, confoundedly. but fortunately she soon grew sleepy or restless. she would yawn, as she believed "prettily," but certainly noisily; or she would wonder "how time was going," and of course her twenty-guinea watch never went, or if it was going was seldom within one hour of the actual time. or she would sneeze six times in succession--little cat-like sneezes that were infinitely disturbing to a brain on the point of grasping the solution of a problem. throughout the winter months she had a little cough. oh no, you needn't think i'm preparing the way for decease through phthisis--it was one of those "kiffy" coughs due in the main to acidity--too many sweet things in her diet, too little exercise. she _thought_ she coughed with the greatest discretion but to the jarred nerves of her husband a few hearty bellows or an asthmatic wheeze would have been preferable to the fidgety, marmoset-like sounds that came from under a lace handkerchief. sometimes he would raise his eyes to speak sharply; but at the sight of the mild gaze that met his, the perfect belief that she was a soothing presence in this room of hard thinking and close writing--this superb room with its unrivalled library that he owed to the use of her wealth, his angry look would soften and he would return smile for smile. linda though a trifle fretful on occasion, especially with servants, a little petulant and huffy with a sense of her own dignity and importance as a rich woman, was completely happy in her marriage. she had never regretted it for one hour, never swerved from the conviction that she and michael were a perfect match--he, tall, stalwart, black-haired and strong; she "petite"--she loved the french adjective ever since it had been applied to her at scarborough by a sycophantic governess--petite--she would repeat, blonde, plump, or better still "potelée" (the governess had later suggested, when she came to tea and hoped to be asked to stay) _potelée_, blue-eyed and pink-cheeked. dresden china and all the stale similes applied to a type of little woman of whom the modern world has grown intolerant. it was therefore into this _milieu_ that david found himself introduced one thursday at the end of november, 1901. he had walked the short distance from great portland street station. it was a fine day with a red sunset, and a lemon-coloured, thin moon-crescent above the sunset. the trees and bushes of park crescent were a background of dull blue haze. the surface of the broad roads was dry and polished, so his neat, patent-leather boots would still be fit for drawing-room carpets. a footman in a very plain livery--here michael was firm--opened the massive door. david passed between some statuary of too frank a style for linda's modest taste and was taken over by a butler of severe aspect who announced him into the great drawing-room as mr. david williams. he recognized rossiter at once, standing up with a tea-cup and saucer, and presumed that a fluffy, much be-furbelowed little lady at the main tea-table was mrs. rossiter, since she wore no hat. there was besides a rather alarming concourse of men and women of the world as he kept his eyes firmly fixed on mrs. rossiter for his immediate goal. rossiter met him half-way, shook hands cordially and introduced him to his wife who bowed with one of her "sweet" looks. for the moment david did not interest her. she was much more interested in trying to give an impression of profundity to lady feenix who was commenting on the professor's discoveries of the strange properties of the thyroid gland. a few introductions were effected--lady towcester, lady flower, miss knipper-totes, lady dombey, mr. lacrevy, professor ray lankester, mr. and mrs. gosse--and naturally for the most part david only half caught their names while they, without masking their indifference, closed their ears to his ("some student or other from his classes, i suppose--rather nicely dressed, rather too good-looking for a young man"); and rossiter, who had been interrupted first by mrs. rossiter asking him to observe that lady dombey had nothing on her plate, and secondly by david's entrance, resumed his discourse. goodness knew that he didn't _want_ to discourse on these occasions, but society expected it of him. there were quite twenty--twenty-two--people present and most of them--all the women--wanted to go away and say four hours afterwards: "we were (i was) at the rossiters this afternoon, and the professor was fascinating" ("great," "profoundly interesting," "shocking, my dear," "scandalous," "disturbing," "illuminating," "more-than-usuallyenthralling-only-she-_would_-keep-interrupting-why-_is_-she-such-a-fool?") according to the idiosyncrasy of the diner-out. "he talked to us about the thyroid gland--i don't believe poor bob's got one, between ourselves--and how if you enlarged it or reduced it you'd adjust people's characters to suit the needs of society; and all about chimpanzi's blood--i believe he _vivisects_ half through the night in that studio behind the house--being the same as ours; and then ray lankester and chalmers mitchell argued about the cæca--cæcums, you know--something to do with appendicitis--of the mammalia, and altogether we had a high old time--i _always_ learn something on their thursdays." well: rossiter resumed his description of an experiment he was making--quite an everyday one, of course, for there were at least three men present to whom he wasn't going to give away clues prematurely. an experiment on the motor biallaxis of dormice. [mrs. rossiter had six months previously bought a dormouse in a cage at a bazaar, and after idolizing it for a week had forgotten all about it. her husband had rescued it half starved; his assistant had fed it up in the laboratory, and they had tried a few experiments on it with painless drugs with astonishing results.] the recital really was interesting and entirely outside the priggishness of science, but it was marred in consecutiveness and simplicity by mrs. rossiter's interruptions. "michael dear, lady dombey's cup!" or: "mike, could you cut that cake and hand it round?" or, if she didn't interrupt her husband she started stories and side-issues of her own in a voice that was quite distinctly heard, about a new stitch in crochet she had seen in the _queen_, or her inspection of the east marrybone soup kitchen. however when all had taken as much tea and cakes and _marrons glacés_ as they cared for--david was so shy that he had only one cup of tea and one piece of tea-cake--the large group broke up into five smaller ones. the few gradually converged, and dropping all nonsense discussed biology like good 'uns, david listening eager-eyed and enthralled at the marvels just beginning to peep out of the dissecting and vivisecting rooms and chemical laboratories in the opening years of the twentieth century. then one by one they all departed; but as david was going too rossiter detained him by a kindly pressure on the arm--a contact which sent a half-pleasant, half-disagreeable thrill through his nerves. "don't hurry away unless you really _are_ pressed for time. i want to show you some of my specimens and the place where i work." david followed him--after taking his leave of mrs. rossiter who accepted his polite sentences--a little stammered--with a slightly pompous acquiescence--followed him to the library and then through a curtained door down some steps into a great studio-laboratory, provided (behind screens) with washing places, and full of mysteries, with cupboards and shelves and further rooms beyond and a smell of chloride of lime combined with alcoholic preservatives and undefined chemicals. after a tour round this domain in which david was only slightly interested--for lack of the right education and imagination--so far he--or--she had only the mind of a mathematician--rossiter led him back into the library, drew out chairs, indicated cigarettes--even whiskey and soda if he wanted it--david declined--and then began to say what was at the back of his mind:-"we met first in the train, the south wales express, you remember? i fancy you told me then that you had been in south africa, in this bungled war, and had been either wounded or ill in some way. in fact you went so far as to say you had had 'necrosis of the jaw,' a thing i politely doubted because whatever it was it has left no perceptible scar. of course it's damned impertinent of me to cross-examine you at all, or to ask _why_ you went to and why you left south africa. but i don't mind confessing you inspire me with a good deal of interest. "now the other day--as you know--i made the acquaintance of your father in wales--at pontystrad. i told him i had shown a young fellow some of those gower caves and how his name was--like your father's, 'williams.' of course we soon came to an understanding. then your father spoke of you in _high_ praise. what a delightful nature was yours, how considerate and kind you were--don't blush, though i admit it becomes you--well you can pretty well guess how he went on. but what interested me particularly was his next admission: how different you were as a lad--rather more than the ordinary wild oats--eh? and how completely an absence in south africa had changed you. you must forgive my cheek in dissecting your character like this. my excuse is that you yourself had rather vaguely referred to some wound or blood poisoning or operation, on the jaw or the throat. not to beat about the bush any more, the idea came into my mind that _if_ in some way the knife or the enemy's bullet had interfered with your thyroid gland--twig what i mean? i mean, that if your old man has not been exaggerating and that the difference between the naughty boy whom he sent up to london in--what was it? 1896?--and the perfectly behaved, good sort of chap that you are _now_ is no more than what usually happens when young men lose their cubbishness, _why_--_why_--do you take me?--i ask myself whether the change had come about through some interference with the thyroid gland. do you understand? and i thought, seeing how intensely interesting this research has become, you might have told me more about it. just what _did_ happen to you; where you were wounded, who attended to you, what operation was performed on the throat--only the rum thing is there seems to be no scar--well: now _you_ help me out, that is unless you feel more inclined to say, 'what the _hell_ does it matter to _you_?'"... david by this time has grown scarlet with embarrassment and confusion. but he endeavoured to meet the situation. "my character _has_ changed during the last five years, and especially so since i came back from south africa. but i am quite sure it was not due to any operation, on the throat or anywhere else. i really don't know _why_ i told you that silly falsehood in the train--about necrosis of the jaw. the fact is that when i was in hospital--at--colesberg, a friend of mine in the same ward used--to chaff me--and say i was going to have necrosis. i had got knocked over one day--by--the--wind of a shell and thought i was done for, but it really was next to nothing. p'raps i had a dose of fever on top. at any rate they kept me in hospital, and one morning the doctors disappeared and the boers marched in and when i got well enough i managed to escape and get away to--er--cape town and so returned--with some money--my friend frank gardner lent me." (at this stage the sick-at-heart vivie was saying to herself, "_what_ an account i'm laying up for frank to honour when he comes back--if he _does_ come back.") "i don't know _why_ i tell you all this, except that i ought never to have misled you at the start. but _if_ you are a kind and good man"--david's voice broke here--"you will forget all about it and not upset my father, i can _assure_ you i haven't done _anything_ really wrong. i haven't deserted--some day--perhaps--i can tell you all about it. but at present all that south african episode is just a horrid dream--i was more sinned against than sinning" (tears were rather in the voice at this stage). "i want to forget all about it--and settle down and vex my father no more. i want to read for the bar--a soldier's life is the very _opposite_ to what i should choose if i were a free agent. but you will trust me, won't you? you will believe me when i say i've done _nothing_ wrong, nothing that you, if you knew all the facts, would call wrong...?" speech here trailed off into emotion. despite the severest self-restraint the bosom rose and fell. a few tears trickled down the smooth cheeks--it was an ingratiating boy on the verge of manhood that rossiter saw before him. he hastened to say: "my _dear_ chap! don't say another word, unless you like to blackguard me for my impertinence in putting these questions. i _quite_ understand. we'll consider the whole thing erased from our memories. go on studying for the bar with all your might, if you must take up so barren a profession and won't become my pupil in biology--great openings, i can tell you, coming now in that direction." (a pause.) "but if it's of any interest to you, just come here as often as you like in your spare time--either to tea with mrs. rossiter or to see me at work on my experiments. i've taken a great liking to you, if you'll allow me to say so. i think there's good stuff in you. a young man reading for the bar in london is none the worse for a few friends. he must often feel pretty lonely on a sunday, for example. and he may also--now i'm going to be impertinent and paternal again--he may also pick up undesirable acquaintances, male--and female. don't you get feeling lonely, with your home far away in wales. consider yourself free of this place at any rate, and my wife and i can introduce you to some other people you might like to know. i might introduce you to mark stansfield the q.c. do you know any one in london, by the bye?" "oh yes," said david, smiling with all but one tear dried on a still coloured cheek. "i know honoria fraser--i know mr. praed the architect--" "the a.r.a.? of course; you or your father said you had been his pupil. h'm. praed. yes, i visualize him. rather a dilettante--whimsical--i didn't like what i heard of him at one time. however it's no affair of mine. and honoria fraser! she's simply one of the best women i know. it's curious she wasn't here--at least i didn't see her--this afternoon. she's a friend of my wife's. i knew her when she was at newnham. she had a great friend--what was it? violet? no, vera? vivien--yes that was it, _vivien_ warren. of course! why that business she started for women in the city somewhere is called _fraser and warren_. she was always wanting to bring this vivien warren here. said she had such a pretty colouring. i own i rather like to see a pretty woman. but she didn't come" (pulls at his pipe and thrusts another cigarette on david). "went abroad. seemed rather morose. some one who came with honoria said she had a bad mother, and honoria very rightly shut him up. by the bye, _where_ and _how_ did you come to meet honoria first?" (david was on the point of saying--he was so unstrung--"why we were at newnham together." then resolved to tell another whopper--indeed i am told there is a fascination in certain circumstances about lying--and replied): "vivien warren was my cousin. she was a vavasour on her mother's side--from south wales--and my mother was a vavasour too--" and as the disguised vivie said this, some inkling came into her mind that there _was_ a real relationship between catharine warren _née_ vavasour and the mary vavasour who was david's mother. a spasm of joy flashed through her at the possibility of her story being in some slight degree true. "i see," said rossiter, satisfied, and feeling now that the interview had lasted long enough and that there would be just time to glance at his assistant's afternoon work before he dressed for dinner.... "well, old chap. good-bye for the present. come often and see us and look upon me--i must be fifteen years older than you are--what, _twenty-four_? impossible! you don't look a day older than twenty--in fact, if you hadn't told me you'd been in south africa--however as i was saying, look on me as _in loco parentis_ while you _are_ in london. i'll show you the way out into the hall. shall they call you a cab? no? you're quite right. it's a splendid night for january. where do you live? here, write it down in my address book.... '7 fig tree court, temple'--what a jolly address! are there fig trees in the temple ... still? p'raps descended from cuttings or layers the poor templars brought from the holy land." david returned to fig tree court and his studies of criminology. but his body and mind thrilled with the experiences of the afternoon; and the musty records in works of repellent binding and close, unsympathetic print of nineteenth century forgery, poisoning, assaults-on-the-person, and cruelty-to-children cases for once failed to hold his close attention. he sat all through the evening after a supper of bread and cheese and ginger beer in his snug, small room, furnished principally with well-filled book-shelves. the room had a glowing fire and a green-shaded reading lamp. he sat staring beyond his law books at visions, waking dreams that came and went. the dangers of exposure that opened before him were in these dreams, but there were other mind-pictures that filled his life with a glow of colour. how different from the drab horizons that encircled poor vivie warren less than a year ago! poor vivie, whom even fitzjohn's avenue at hampstead had rejected, who had long since been dropped--no doubt on account of rumours concerning her mother--by the few acquaintances she had made at cambridge, who had parents living in south kensington, bayswater, and bloomsbury. here was portland place receiving her in her guise as david williams with open arms. men and women looked at her kindly, interestedly, and she could look back at them without that protective frown. at night she could walk about the town, go to the theatre, stroll along the embankment and attract no man's offensive attentions. she could enter where she liked for a meal, a cup of tea, frequent the museum of the royal college of surgeons when she would without waiting for a "ladies" day; stop to look at a street fight, cause no sour looks if she entered a smoking compartment on the train, mingle with the man-world unquestioned, unhindered, unnoticed, exciting at most a pleasant off-hand camaraderie due to her youth and good looks. should she go on with the bold adventure? a thousand times yes! david should break no law in vivie's code of honour, do real wrong to no one; but vivie should see the life best worth living in london from a man's standpoint. david however must be armed at every point and have his course clearly marked out before his contemplation. he must steep himself in the geography of south africa--why not get rossiter to propose him as a fellow of the royal geographical society? that _would_ be a lark because they wouldn't admit women as members: they had refused honoria fraser. david must read up--somewhere--the history of the south african war as far as it went. he had better find out something about the bechuanaland police force; how as a member of such a force he could have drifted as far south as the vicinity of colesberg; how thereabouts he could have got sick enough--he certainly would say nothing more about a wound--to have been put into hospital. he must find out how he could have escaped from the boers and come back to england without getting into difficulties with the military or the colonial office or whoever had any kind of control over the members of the bechuanaland border police.... but the whole south african episode had better be dropped. rossiter, after his appeal, would set himself to forget and ignore it. it must be damped down in the poor old father's mind as of relative unimportance--after all, his father was a recluse who did not have many visitors ... by the bye, he must remember to write on the morrow and explain why he could not come down for christmas or the new year ... would promise a good long visit in the easter holidays instead--must remember that resolution to learn up some welsh. what a nuisance it was that you couldn't buy anywhere in london or in south wales any book about modern conversation in welsh. the sort of welsh you learnt in the old-fashioned books, which were all that could be got, was biblical language--some one had told david that if you went into smithfield market in the early morning you might meet the welsh farmers and stock-drivers who had come up from wales during the night and who held forth in the cymric tongue over their beasts. but probably their language was such as would shock nannie.... supposing frank gardner did come to england? in that case it might be safer to confide in frank. he was harum-scarum, but he was chivalrous and he pitied vivie. besides he was a prime appreciator of a lark. should she even tell rossiter? no, of _course_ not. that was just one of the advantages of being "david." as "david" she could form a sincere and inspiring friendship with rossiter which would be utterly beyond her reach as "vivie." how pale beside the comradeship of honoria now appeared the hand-grips, the hearty male free-masonry of a man like rossiter. how ungrateful however even to make such an admission to herself.... at present the only people who knew of her prank and guessed or knew her purpose were honoria and bertie adams. honoria! what a noble woman, what a true friend. somehow, now she was david, she saw honoria in a different light. poor norie! she too had her wistful leanings, her sorrows and disappointments. what a good thing it would be if her mother decided to die--of course she would, could, never say any such thing to norie--to die and set free honoria to marry major petworth armstrong! she felt norie still hankered after him, but perhaps kept him at bay partly because of her mother's molluscous clingings--no! she wouldn't even sneer at lady fraser. lady fraser had been one of the early champions of woman's rights. very likely it was a dread of vivie's sneers and disappointment that had mainly kept back norie from accepting major armstrong's advances. well, when next they met she--vivie--or better still david--would set that right. chapter vii honoria again 7, fig tree court, temple. _march_ 20, 1902. dear honoria,- i am going down to spend easter with my people in south wales. before i leave i should so very much like a long talk with you where we can talk freely and undisturbed. that is impossible at the office for a hundred reasons, especially now that beryl claridge has taken to working early in her new-found zeal, while bertie adams deems it his duty to stay late. i am--really, truly--grieved to hear that your mother is so ill again. i would not ask to meet her--even if she was well enough to receive people--because she does not know me and when one is as ill as she is, the introduction to a stranger is a horrid jar. but if you _could_ fit in say an hour's detachment from her side--is it "bed-side" or is she able to get up?--and could receive me in your own sitting-room, why then we could have that full and free talk i should like on your affairs and on mine and on the joint affairs of _fraser and warren_. yours sincerely, d. v. w. dear david,- come by all means. the wish for a talk is fully reciprocated on my side. mother generally tries to sleep in the afternoon between three and six, and a nurse is then with her. yours sincerely, h. f. "mr. david williams wishes to see you, miss," said a waiter, meeting honoria on a thursday afternoon, as she was emerging into their tiny hall from her mother's room. "show him up, please.... ah _there_ you are, _david_. we must both talk rather low as mother is easily waked. come into my study; fortunately it is at the other end of the flat." * * * * * they reach the study, and honoria closes the door softly but firmly behind them. "we never do kiss as a rule, having long ago given up such a messy form of greeting; but certainly we wouldn't under these circumstances lest we could be seen from the opposite windows and thought to be 'engaged'; but though i may seem a little frigid in greeting you, it is only because of the clothes you are wearing'--you understand, don't you--?" "quite, dearest. we cannot be too careful. besides we long ago agreed to be modern and sanitary in our manners." "won't you smoke?" "well, perhaps it would be more restful," said david, "more manly; but as a matter of fact of late i have been rather 'off' smoking. it is very wasteful, and as far as i am concerned it never produced much effect--either way--on the nerves. still, it gives one a nice manly flavour. i always liked the smell of a smoking-room.... and your mother: how is she?" "very bad, i fear. the doctor tells me she can't last much longer, and hypocritical as the phrase sounds i couldn't wish her to, unless these pains can be mitigated, and this dreadful distress in breathing.... i wonder if some day _i_ shall be like that, and if behind my back a daughter will be saying she couldn't wish me to live much longer, unless, etc. i shall miss her _frightfully_, if she does die.... armstrong has been more than kind. he has got a woman's heart for tenderness. he thinks every day of some fresh palliative until the doctors quite dislike him. fortunately his kindness gives mother a fleeting gleam of pleasure. she wants me to marry him--i don't know, i'm sure.... whilst she's so bad i don't feel i could take any interest in love-making--and i suppose we _should_ make love in a perfunctory way--we're all of us so bound by conventions. we try to feel dismal at funerals, when often the weather is radiant and the ride down to brookwood most exhilarating. and love-making is supposed to go with marriage ... heigh-ho! what should you say if i _did_ marry--major armstrong...? did you ever hear of such a ridiculous name as petworth? i should have to call him 'pet' and every one would think i had gone sentimental in middle age. how _can_ parents be so unthinking about christian names? he can't see the thing as i do; it is almost the only subject on which he is 'huffy.' _you_ are the other, about which more anon. he says the petworth property meant _everything_ to the armstrongs, to _his_ branch of the armstrongs. but for that, they might have been any other kind of armstrong--it always kept him straight at school and in the army, he says, to remember he was an armstrong of petworth. they have held that poor little property (_i_ call it) alongside the egmonts and the leconfields for three hundred years, though they've been miserably poor. his second name is james--petworth james armstrong. but he loathes being called 'jimmy.' "of course, dear, i've no illusions. i'm not bad to look at--indeed i sometimes quite admire my figure when i see myself after my bath in the cheval glass--but i'm pretty well sure that one of the factors in pet's admiration for me was my income. mother, it seems, has a little of her own, from one of her aunts, and if the poor darling is taken--though it is simply horrid considering that _if_--only that she has talked so freely to army--i think i like 'army' far better than 'pet'--well i mean she's been trying to tell him ever since he first came to call that when she is gone i shall have, all told, in my own right, five thousand a year. so i took the first opportunity of letting _him_ know that two thousand a year of that would be held in reserve for the work of the firm and for the woman's cause generally.... look here, i won't babble on much longer.... i know you're dying to make _me_ confidences.... we'll ring for tea to be sent in here, and whilst the waiter is coming and going--don't they take _such_ a time about it, when they're _de trop_?--we'll talk of ordinary things that can be shouted from the _house tops_. "i haven't been to the office for three days. does everything seem to be going on all right?" _david_: "quite all right. bertie adams tries dumbly to express in his eyes his determination to see the firm and me through all our troubles and adventures. i wish i could convey a discreet hint to him not to be so _blatantly_ discreet. if there were a sherlock holmes about the place he would spot at once that adams and i shared a secret.... but about beryl--" (enter waiter....) _honoria_ (to waiter): "oh--er--tea for two please. remember it must be china and the still-room maids _must_ see that the water has been fresh-boiled. and buttered toast--or if you've got muffins...? you have? well, then muffins; and of course jam and cake. and--would you mind--you always try, i know--bringing the things in very quietly--here--? because lady fraser is so easily waked..." (the swiss waiter goes out, firmly convinced that honoria's anxiety for her lady mother is really due to the desire that the mother should not interrupt a flirtation and a clandestine tea.) _honoria_: "well, about beryl?" _david_: "beryl, i should say, is going to become a great woman of business. but for that, and--i think--a curious streak of fidelity to her vacillating architect ('how happy could i be with either,' don't you know, _he_ seems to feel--just now they say he is living steadily at storrington with his wife no. 1, who is ill, poor thing) ... but for that and this, i think beryl would enjoy a flirtation with me. she can't quite make me out, and my unwavering severity of manner. her cross-questioning sometimes is maddening--or it might become so, but that with both of us--you and me--retiring so much into the background she has to lead such a strenuous life and see one after the other the more important clients. of course--here's the tea..." (brief interval during which the waiter does much unnecessary laying out of the tea until honoria says: "don't let me keep you. i know you are busy at this time. i will ring if we want anything.") david continues: "of course i come in for my share of the work after six. on one point beryl is firm; she doesn't mind coming at nine or at eight or at half-past seven in the morning, but she _must_ be back in chelsea by half-past five to see her babies, wash them and put them to bed. she has a tiny little house, she tells me, near trafalgar square, and fortunately she's got an excellent and devoted nurse, one of those rare treasures that questions nothing and is only interested in the business in hand. she and a cook-general make up the establishment. before mrs. architect no. 1 became ill, mr. architect used to visit her there pretty regularly, and is assumed to be mr. claridge.... well: to finish up about beryl: i think you--we--can trust her. she may be odd in her notions of morality, but in finance or business she's as honest--as--a man." "my dear vivie--i mean david--what a strange thing for _you_ to say! i suppose it is part of your make-up--goes with the clothes and that turn-over collar, and the little safety pin through the tie--?" _david_: "no, i said it deliberately. men are mostly hateful things, but i think in business they're more dependable than women--think more about telling a lie or letting any one down. the point for you to seize on is this--if you haven't noticed it already: that beryl has become an uncommonly good business woman. and what's more, my dear, you've improved _her_ just as you improved _me_" (honoria deprecates this with a gesture, as she sits looking into the fire). "beryl's talk is getting ever so much less reckless. and she takes jolly good care not to scandalize a client. she finds adams--she tells me--so severe at the least jest or personality that she only talks to him now on business matters, and finds him a great stand-by; and the other day she told miss a.--as you call the senior clerk--she ought to be ashamed of herself, bringing in a copy of the _vie parisienne_. the way she settled mrs. gordon's affairs--you remember, no. 3875 you catalogued the case--was masterly; and mrs. g. has insisted on paying 5 per cent. commission on the recovered property. and it was beryl who found out that leakage in the 'variegated tea rooms' statement of accounts. i hadn't spotted it. no. i think we needn't be anxious about beryl, especially whilst i am in wales and you are giving yourself up--as you ought to do--to your mother. but it's coming to _this_, honoria--" (enter waiter. david says "oh, damn," half audibly. waiter is confirmed in his suspicions, but as he likes honoria immensely resolves to say nothing about them in the steward's room. she is such a kind young lady. he explains he has come to take the tea things away, and honoria replies "capital idea! now, david, you'll be able to have the whole table for your accounts!").... "it's coming to _this_, honoria," says david, clearing his throat, "that you will soon be wanting not to be bothered any more with the affairs of _fraser and warren_, and after i really get into the law business i too shall require to detach myself. let us therefore be thankful that beryl is shaping so well. i rather think this summer you will have to get more office accommodation and give her some more responsible women to help her.... _now_ finish what you were saying about major armstrong." _honoria_: "of _course_ i shall marry him some day. i suppose i felt that the day after i first met him. but it amuses me to be under no illusion. i am sure this is what happened two years ago--or whenever it was he came back wounded from your favourite haunt, south africa. michael rossiter--who likes 'army' enormously--i think they were at school or college together--said to linda, his wife: 'here's armstrong. one of the best. wants to marry. wife must have a little money, otherwise he'll have to go on letting petworth manor. and here's honoria fraser, one of the finest women i've ever met. getting a little long in the tooth--or will be soon. let's bring 'em together and make a match of it.' "so we are each convoked for a luncheon, with a projected adjournment to kew--which _you_ spoilt--and there it is. but joking apart, 'army' is a dear and i am sure by now he wants me even more than my money--and i certainly want him. i'm rising thirty and i long for children and don't want 'em to come to me too late in life." _david_: "you said he didn't like _me_..." _honoria_: "oh that was half nonsense. when we all met last sunday at the rossiters he became very jealous and suspicious. asked who was that whipper-snapper--i said you neither whipped nor snapped, especially if kindly treated. he said then who was that madonna young man--a phrase it appears he'd picked up from lord cromer, who used to apply it to every new arrival from the foreign office--armstrong was once his military secretary. i was surprised to hear he thought you womanish--i spoke of your fencing, riding,--was just going to add 'hockey,' and 'croquet': then remembered they might be thought feminine pastimes, so referred to your swimming. military men always respect a good swimmer; i fancy because many of them funk the water.... i was just going on to explain that you were a cousin of a great friend of mine and helped me in my business, when a commissionaire came from quansions in a hansom to say that mother was feeling very bad again. 'army' and i went back in the hansom, but i was crying a little and being a gentleman he did not press his suit..." enter lady fraser's nurse on tiptoe. says in a very hushed voice "major armstrong has called, miss fraser. he came to ask about lady fraser. i said if anything she was a bit better and had had a good sleep. he then asked if he might see you." _honoria_: "certainly. would you mind showing him in here? it will save my ringing for the waiter." enter major armstrong. at the sight of david he flushes and looks fierce. _honoria_: "so glad you've come, dear major. i hear mother has had a good nap. i must go to her presently. you know david vavasour williams?--davy! you really _must_ leave out your second name! it gets so fatiguing having to say it every time i introduce you." armstrong bows stiffly and david, standing with one well-shaped foot in a neat boot on the curb of the fireplace, looks up and returns the bow. _honoria_: "this won't do. you are two of my dearest friends, and yet you hardly greet one another. i always determined from the age of fifteen onwards i would never pass my life as men and women in a novel do--letting misunderstandings creep on and on where fifty words might settle them. _army!_ you've often asked me to marry you--or at least so i've understood your broken sentences. i never refused you in so many words. now i say distinctly 'yes'--if you'll have me. only, you know quite well i can't actually marry you whilst mother lies so ill..." major armstrong, very red in the face, in a mixture of exultation, sympathy and annoyance that the affairs of his heart are being discussed before a whipper-snapper stranger--says: "_honoria!_ do you _mean_ it? oh..." _honoria_: "of course i mean it! and if i drew back you could now have a breach-of-promise-of-marriage action, with david as an important witness. d.v.w.--who by the bye is a cousin of my _greatest friend_--my friend for life, whether you like her--as you ought to do--or not--vivie warren.... david is reading for the bar; and besides being your witness to what i have just said, might--if you deferred your action long enough--be your counsel.... now look here," (with a catch in the voice) "you two dear things. my nerves are all to bits.... i haven't slept properly for nights and nights. david, dear, if you _must_ talk any more business before you go down to wales, you must come and see me to-morrow.... darling mother! i can't _bear_ the thought you may not live to see my happiness." (david discreetly withdraws without a formal good-bye, and as he goes out and the firelight flickers up, sees armstrong take honoria in his arms.) chapter viii the british church david had read hard all through hilary term with mr. stansfield of the inner temple; he had passed examinations brilliantly; he had solved knotty problems in the legal line for _fraser and warren_, and as already related he had begun to go out into society. indeed, starting from the rossiters' thursdays and praed's studio suppers, he was being taken up by persons of influence who were pleased to find him witty, possessed of a charming voice, of quiet but unassailable manners. opinions differed as to his good looks. some women proclaimed him as adorable, rather sphynx-like, you know, but quite fascinating with his well-marked eye-brows, his dark and curly lashes, the rich warm tints of his complexion, the unfathomable grey eyes and short upper lip with the down of adolescence upon it. other women without assigning any reason admitted he did not produce any effect on their sensibility--they disliked law students, they said, even if they were of a literary turn; they also disliked curates and shopwalkers and sidesmen ... and sunday-school teachers. give them _manly_ men; avowed soldiers and sailors, riders to hounds, sportsmen, big game hunters, game-keepers, chauffeurs--the chauffeur was becoming a new factor in society, bernard shaw's "superman"--prize-fighters, meat-salesmen--then you knew where you were. similarly men were divided in their judgment of him. some liked him very much, they couldn't quite say why. others spoke of him contemptuously, like major armstrong had done. this was due partly to certain women being inclined to run after him--and therefore to jealousy on behalf of the professional lady-killer of the military species--and partly to a vague feeling that he was enigmatic--sphynx-like, as some women said. he was too silent sometimes, especially if the conversation amongst men tended towards racy stories; he was sarcastic and nimble-witted when he did speak. and he was not easily bullied. if he encountered an insolent person, he gave full effect to his five feet eight inches, the look from his grey eyes was unwavering as though he tacitly accepted the challenge, there was an invisible rapier hanging from his left hip, a poise of the body which expressed dauntless courage. honoria's stories of his skill in fencing, riding, swimming, ball-games, helped him here. they were perfectly true or sufficiently true--_mutatis mutandis_--and when put to the test stood the test. david indeed found it well during this first season in town to hire a hack and ride a little in the park--it only added one way and another about fifty pounds to his outlay and impressed certain of the benchers who were beginning to turn an eye on him. one elderly judge--also a park rider--developed an almost inconvenient interest in him; asked him to dinner, introduced him to his daughters, and wanted to know a deal too much as to his position and prospects. on the whole, it was a distinct relief from a public position, from this increasing number of town acquaintances, this broader and broader track strewn with cunning pitfalls, to lock up his rooms and go off to wales for the easter holidays. easter was late that year--or it has to be for the purpose of my story--and david was fortunate in the weather and the temperature. if west glamorganshire had looked richly, grandiosely beautiful in full summer, it had an exquisite, if quite different charm in early spring, in april. the great trees were spangled with emerald leaf-buds; the cherries, tame and wild, the black-thorn, the plums and pears in orchards and on old, old, grey walls, were in full blossom of virgin white. the apple trees in course of time showed pink buds. the gardens were full of wall-flowers--the inhabited country smelt of wall-flowers--purple flags, narcissi, hyacinths. the woodland was exquisitely strewn with primroses. in the glades rose innumerable spears of purple half-opened bluebells; the eye ranged over an anemone-dotted sward in this direction; over clusters of smalt-blue dog violets in another. ladies'-smocks and cowslips made every meadow delicious; and the banks of the lowland streams were gorgeously gilded with king-cups. the mountains on fine days were blue and purple in the far distance; pale green and grey in the foreground. under the april showers and sun-shafts they became tragic, enchanted, horrific, paradisiac. even the mining towns were bearable--in the spring sunshine. if man had left no effort untried to pile hideosity on hideosity, flat ugliness on nauseous squalor, he had not been able to affect the arch of the heavens in its lucid blue, all smokes and vapours driven away by the spring winds; he had not been able to neutralize the vast views visible from the miners' sordid, one-storeyed dwellings, the panorama of hill and plain, of glistening water, towering peaks, and larch forests of emerald green amid the blue-scotch pines and the black-green yews. david in previous letters, looking into his father's budget, had shown him he could afford to keep a pony and a pony cart. this therefore was waiting for him at the little station with the gardener to drive. but in a week, david, already a good horseman, had learnt to drive under the gardener's teaching, and then was able to take his delighted father out for whole-day trips to revel in the beauties of the scenery. they would have with them a wicker basket containing an ample lunch prepared by the generous hands of bridget. they would stop at some spot on a mountain pass; tether the pony, sit on a plaid shawl thrown over a boulder, and feast their eyes on green mountain-shoulders reared against the pale blue sky; or gaze across ravines not unworthy of switzerland. or they would put up pony and cart at some village inn, explore old battlemented churches and churchyards with seventeenth and eighteenth century headstones, so far more tasteful and seemly than the hideous death memorials of the nineteenth century. and ever and again the old father, looking more and more like a druid, would recite that charming spring song, the 104th psalm; or fragments of welsh poetry sounding very good in welsh--as no doubt greek poetry does in properly pronounced greek, but being singularly bald and vague in its references to earth, sea, sky and flora when translated into plain english. david expressed some such opinions which rather scandalized his father who had grown up in the conventional school of unbounded, unreasoning reverence for the hebrew, greek and keltic classics. from that they passed to the great problems, the undeterminable problems of the universe; the awful littleness of men--mere lice, perhaps, on the scurfy body of a shrinking, dying planet of a fifth-rate sun, one of a billion other suns. the revd. howel like most of the christian clergy of all times of course never looked at the midnight sky or gave any thought to the terrors and mysteries of astronomy, a science so modern, in fact, that it only came into real existence two or three hundred years ago; and is even now only taken seriously by about ten thousand people in europe and america. where, in this measureless universe--which indeed might only be one of several universes--was god to be found? a god that had been upset by the dietary of a small desert tribe, who fussed over burnt sacrifices and the fat of rams at one time; at another objected to censuses; at another and a later date wanted a human sacrifice to placate his wrath; or who had washed out the world's fauna and flora in a flood which had left no geological evidence to attest its having taken place. "did you ever think about the dinosaurs, father?" said david at the end of some such tirade--an outburst of free-thinking which in earlier years might have upset that father to wrath and angry protest, but which now for some reason only left him dazed and absent-minded. (it was the colonies that had done it, he thought, and the studio talk of that dilettante architect. by and bye, david would distinguish himself at the bar, marry and settle down, and resume the orthodox outlook of the english--or as he liked to call it--the british church.) "the dinosaurs, my boy? no. what were they?" _david_: "the real dragons, the dragons of the prime, that swarmed over england and wales and scotland, and europe, asia, and north america--and i dare say africa too. one of the most stupendous facts of what you call 'creation,' though perhaps only one amongst many skin diseases that have afflicted the planet--well the dinosaurs went on developing and evolving and perfecting--so rossiter says--for three million years or so--then they were scrap-heaped. what a waste of creative energy!..." _father_: "ah it's rossiter who puts all these ideas into your head, is it?" _david_ (flushing); "oh dear no! i used to think about them at (is about to say 'newnham,' but substitutes 'malvern')--at malvern--" _father_ (drily): "i'm glad to hear you thought about something--serious--at any rate--then, in the midst of your scrapes and truancies--but go on, dear boy. it's a delight to me to hear you speak. it reminds me--i mean your voice does--of your poor mother. you know i loved her very tenderly, david, and though it is all past and done with i believe i should forgive her _now_, if she only came back to me. i'm sometimes _so_ lonely, boy. i wish you'd marry and settle down here--there's lots of room for you--some nice girl--and give me grandchildren before i die. but i suppose i must be patient and wait first for your call to the bar. what a dreary long time it all takes! why can't they, with one so clever, shorten the term of probation? or why wait for that to marry? i could give you an allowance. as soon as you were called you could then follow the south wales circuit--well, go on about your dinosaurs. i seem to remember professor owen invented them--but _he_ never wavered in his faith and was the great opponent of that rash man, darwin. oh, _i_ remember now the old controversies--what a stalwart was the bishop of winchester! they couldn't bear him at their scientific meetings--there was one at bath, if i recollect right, and he put them all to the right-about. what about your dinosaurs? i'm not denying their existence; it's only the estimates of time that are so ridiculous. god made them and destroyed them in the great flood, of which their fossil remains are the evidence--" david however would desist from pursuing such futile arguments; feel surprised, indeed, at his own outbreaks, except that he hated insincerity. however new and disturbing to his father were these flashes of the new learning, in his outward conduct he was orthodox and extremely well-behaved. the spiritual exercises of the revd. howel had become jejune, and limited very much by his failing sight. the recovery after the operation had come too late in life to bring about any expansion of public or private devotions. family prayers were reduced to the recital from memory of an exhortation, a confession, and an absolution, followed by the lord's prayer and a benediction. services in the church were limited to morning and evening prayers, with communion on the first sunday in the month, and a sermon following morning prayer. there was no one to play the organ if the schoolmistress failed to turn up--as she often did. david however scrupulously turned the normal congregation of five--bridget, the maid of the time-being, the gardener-groom, the sexton, and a baker-church-warden--into six by his unvarying attendance. in the course of half his stay the rumour of his being present and of his good looks and great spiritual improvement attracted quite a considerable congregation, chiefly of young women and a few sheepish youths; so that his father was at one and the same time exhilarated and embarrassed. was this to be a church revival? if so, he readily pardoned david his theories on the dinosaurs and his doubts as to the unvarying evidence of divine wisdom in the story of creation. if any other consideration than a deep affection for this dear old man and repentance for his unwise ebullitions of free thought had guided david in the matter it was an utter detestation of the services and the influence of the calvinist chapel in the village, the little bethel, presided over by pastor prytherch, a fanatical blacksmith, who alternated spells of secret drunkenness and episodes of animalism by orgies of self-abasement, during which he--in half-confessing his own lapses--attributed freely and unrebukedly the same vices to the male half of his overflowing congregation. these out-pourings--"pechadur truenus wyf i! arglwydd madden i mi!"--extempore prayers, psalms chanted with a swaying of the body, hymns sung uproariously, scripture read with an accompaniment of groans, hysteric laughter, and interjections of assent, and a rambling discourse--lasting fully an hour, were in the welsh language; and david on his three or four visits--and it can be imagined what a sensation _they_ caused! the vicar's son--himself perhaps about to confess his sins!--understood very little of the subject matter, save from the extravagant gestures of the participants. but he soon made up his mind that religion for religion, that expressed by the english--"well, father, you are right--the 'british'"--church in wales was many hundred times superior in reasonableness and stability to the negroid ebullitions of the calvinists. as a matter of fact they were scarcely more followers of the reformer calvin than they were of ignatius loyola; it was just a symptomatic outbreak of some prehistoric iberian, silurian form of worship, something deeply planted in the soil of wales, something far older than druidism, something contemporary with the beliefs of neolithic days. eighteen years ago, much of wales was as enslaved by whiskey as are still keltic scotland, keltiberian ireland, lancashire, london and wicked little kent. it was only saved from going under completely by decennial religious revivals, which for three months or so were followed by total abstinence and a fierce-eyed continence. just about this time--during david's extended spring holiday in wales (he had brought many law books down with him to read)--there had begun one of the newspaper-made-famous revivals. it was led by a young prophet--a football half-back or whatever they are called, though i, who prefer thoroughness, would, if i played football, offer up the whole of my back to bear the brunt--who saw visions of teutonically-conceived angels with wings, who heard "voices," was in constant communication with the redeemer of mankind and on familiar terms with god, had a lovely tenor voice and moved emotional men and hysterical, love-sick women to tears, even to bellowings by his prayers and songs. he had for some weeks been confined in publicity to half-contemptuous paragraphs in the south wales press. then the _daily chronicle_ took him up. their well-known, emotional-article writer, mr. sigsbee, saw "copy" in him, and--to do him justice (for there i agreed with him)--a chance to pierce the armour of the hand-in-glove-with-government distillers, so went down to wales to write him up. for three weeks he became more interesting than a cabinet minister. indeed cabinet ministers or those who aspired to become such at the next turn of the wheel truckled to him. some were afraid he might become a small messiah and lead wales into open revolt; others that he might smash the whiskey trade and impair the revenue. mr. lloyd george going to address a pro-boer meeting at aberystwith (was it?) encountered him at a railway junction, attended by a court of ex-footballers and reformed roysterers, and said in the hearing of a reporter "i must fight with the sword of the flesh; but you fight with the sword of the spirit"--whatever that may have meant--and i do not pretend to complete accuracy of remembrance--i only know i felt very angry with the whole movement at the time, because it delayed indefinitely the _daily chronicle's_ review of my new book. well this evan--in all such movements an evan is inevitable--evan gwyllim jones--with the black eyes, abundant black hair, beautiful features (he was a handsome lad) and glorious voice, addressed meetings in the open air and in every available building of four walls. thousands withdrew their names from foot-ballery, nigh on two millions must have taken the pledge--and not merely an anti-whiskey pledge but a fierce renunciation of the most diluted alcohol as well; and approximately two hundred and fifty thousand confessed their sins of unchastity and swore to be reborn galahads for the rest of their lives. it was a spiritual spring-cleaning, as drastic and as overdone as are the domestic upheavals known by that name. but it did a vast deal of good, all the same, to south wales; and though it was a seventh wave, the tide of temperance, thrift, cleanliness, bodily and spiritual, has risen to a higher level of average in the beautiful romantic principality ever since. evan gwyllim jones, however, overdid it. he had to retire from the world to a home--some said even to a mental hospital. six months afterwards he emerged, cured of his "voices," much plumper, and--perhaps--poor soul--shorn of some of his illusions and ideals; but he married a grocer's widow of cardiff, and the _daily chronicle_ mentioned him no more. the infection of his meetings however penetrated to the agricultural district in which pontystrad was situated. five villages went completely off their heads. the blacksmith-pastor had to be put under temporary restraint. quite decent-looking, unsuspected folk confessed to far worse sins than they had ever committed. there arose an aristocracy of outcasts. three inns where little worse than bad beer was sold were gutted, respectable farmers' wives drank eau-de-cologne instead of spirits, several over-due marriages took place, there were a number of premature births, and the membership of the football clubs was disastrously reduced. such excitement was generated that little work was done, and the illegitimate birth rate of west glamorganshire--always high--for the opening months of 1903 became even higher. david was enlisted by the employers of labour, the farmers, chemical works, mining and smelting-works managers, squires, and postmasters to restore order. he preached against the revivalists. not with any lack of sympathy, any apology for the real ills which they denounced. he spoke with emphasis against the loosening of morality, recommended early marriage, and above all _education_; denounced the consumption of alcohol so strenuously and convincedly that then and there as he spoke he resolved himself henceforth to abstain from anything stronger than lager beer or the lighter french and german wines. but he threw cold water resolutely on the fantastical nonsense that accompanied these emotional outbursts of so-called religion; invited his hearers to study--at any rate elementarily--astronomy and biology; did not run down football but advised a moderate interest only being taken in such futile sports; recommended volunteering and an acquaintance with rifles as far preferable, seeing that we always stood in danger of a european war or of a drastic revival of insolent conservatism. then he made his appeal to the women. he spoke of the dangers of this hysteria; the need there was for level-headed house-keeping women in our councils; how they should first qualify for and then demand the suffrage, having already attained the civic vote. (here some of the employers of labour disapproved, plucked at his arm or hem of his reefer jacket, and one squire lumbered off the platform.) but he held on, warming with a theme that hitherto had hardly interested him. his speeches were above the heads of his peasant audiences; but they were a more sensitive harp to play on than the average anglo-saxon audience. many women wept, only decorously, as he outlined their influence in a reformed village, a purified principality. the men applauded frantically because, despite some prudent reserves, there seemed to be a promise of revolt in his suggestions. david felt the electric thrill of the orator in harmony with his audience; who for that reason will strive for further triumphs, more resounding perorations. he introduced scraps of welsh--all his auto-intoxicated brain could remember (how physically true was that taunt of dizzy's--"inebriated with the exuberance of his own verbosity!"). and the delighted audience shouted back "you're the man we want! into parliament you shall go, davy-bach" and much else. so david restored the five villages to sobriety in life and faith, yet left them with a new enthusiasm kindled. before he departed on his return to london and the grind of his profession, he had effected another change. because he had spoken as he had spoken and touched the hearts of emotional people, they came trickling back to his father's church, to the "british" church, as david now called it. little bethel was empty, and the pastor-blacksmith not yet out of the asylum at swansea. the revd. howel williams trod on air. his sermons became terribly long and involved, but that was no drawback in the minds of his welsh auditory; though it made his son swear inwardly and reconciled him to the approaching return to fig tree court. the old druid felt inspired to convince the hundred people present that the church they had returned to _was_ the church of their fathers, not only back to roman times, when glamorganshire was basking in an italian civilization, but further still. he showed how the druids were rather to be described as ante-christian than anti--with an _i_; and played ponderously on this quip. in druidism, he observed--i am sure i cannot think why, but it was his hobby--you had a remarkable foreshadowing of christianity; the idea of the human sacrifice, the atonement, the communion of saints, the mystic vine, which he clumsily identified with the mistletoe, and what not else. he read portions of his privately-published _tales of taliessin_. in short such happiness radiated from his pink-cheeked face and recovered eyes that david regretted in no wise his own lapses into conventional, stereotyped religion. the church of britain might be stiff and stomachered, as the offspring of elizabeth, but it was stately, it was respectable--as outwardly was the great virgin queen--and it was easy to live with. only he counselled his father to do two things: never to preach for more than half-an-hour--even if it meant keeping a small american clock going inside the pulpit-ledge; and to obtain a curate, so that the new enthusiasm might not cool and his father verging on seventy, might not overstrain himself. he pointed out that by letting off most of the glebe land and pretermitting david's "pocket-money" he might secure a young and energetic welsh-speaking curate, the remainder of whose living-wage would--he felt sure--be found out of the diocesan funds of st. david's bishopric. the revd. howel let him have his way (this was after david had returned to fig tree court) and by the following june a stalwart young curate was lodged in the village and took over the bulk of the progressive church work from the fumbling hands of the dear old vicar. he was a thoroughly good sort, this curate, troubled by no possible doubts whatever, a fervent tee-totaller, a half-back or whole back--i forget which--at football, a good boxer, and an unwearied organizer. little bethel was sold and eventually turned into a seed-merchant's repository and drying-room. the curate in course of time married the squire's daughter and i dare say long afterwards succeeded the revd. howel vaughan williams when the latter died--but that date is still far ahead of my story. at any rate--isn't it _droll_ how these things come about?--david's action in this matter, undertaken he hardly knew why--did much to fetter mr. lloyd george's subsequent attempts to disestablish the british church in wales. what did bridget think of all this, of the spiritual evolution of her nursling, of his identity with the vicious, shifty, idle youth whose uncanny gift of design seemed to have been completely lost after his stay in south africa? david vavasour williams had left home to the relief of his father and the whole village, if even to the half-pitying regret of his old nurse, in 1896. he had spent a year or more in mr. praed's studio studying to be an architect or a scene painter. then somehow or other he did not get on with mr. praed and he enlisted impulsively in a south african police force (in the army, it seemed to bridget). he had somehow become involved in a war with a south african people, called by bridget "the wild boars"; he is wounded or ill in hospital; is little heard of, almost presumed dead. throughout all these five years he scarcely ever writes to his forgiving father; maintains latterly a sulky silence. then, suddenly in the summer of 1901, returns; preceded only by a telegram but apparently vouched for by this mr. praed; and announces himself as having forgotten his welsh and most of the events of his youth, but having acquired a changed heart, and an anxiety to make up for past ill-behaviour by a present good conduct which seems almost miraculous. well: miracles were easily believed in by bridget. perhaps his father's prayers had been answered. providence sometimes meted out an overwhelming boon to really good people. david was certainly a vavasour, if there was nothing williamsy about his looks.... his mother, in mrs. bridget evanwy's private opinion, had been a hussy.... was david his father's son? hadn't she once caught mrs. howel williams kissing a young stranger behind a holly bush and wasn't that why bridget had really been sent away? she had returned to take charge of the pretty, motherless little boy when she herself was a widow disappointed of children, and the child was only three. would she ever turn against her nursling now, above all, when he was showing himself such a son to his old father? not she. he might be who and what he would. he was giving another ten years of renewed life to the dear old druid and the continuance of a comfortable home to his old nannie. they talked a great deal up at little bethel of a "change of heart." perhaps such things really took place, though bridget evanwy from a shrewd appraisement of the welsh nature doubted it. she would like to, but couldn't quite believe that an angel from heaven had taken possession of david's body and come here to play a divine part; because david sometimes talked so strangely--seemed not only to doubt the existence of a heavenly host, but even of something beyond, so awful in bridget's mind that she hardly liked to define it in words, though in her own welsh tongue it was so earthily styled "the big man." however, at all costs, she would stand by david ... and without quite knowing why, she decided that on all future visits she herself would "do out" his room, would attend to him exclusively. the "girl" was a chatterer, albeit she looked upon mr. david with eyes of awe and a most respectful admiration, while david on his part scarcely bestowed on her a glance. chapter ix david is called to the bar 1902 was the year of king edward's break-down in health but of his ultimate coronation; it was the year in which mr. arthur balfour became premier; it was the year in which motors became really well-known, familiar objects in the london streets, and hansoms (i think) had to adopt taximeter clocks on the eve of their displacement by taxi-cabs. it was likewise the year in which the south african war was finally wound up and the star of joseph chamberlain paled to its setting, and mrs. pankhurst and her daughter christabel founded the women's social and political union at manchester. in 1903, the fiscal controversy absorbed much of public attention, the war office was once more reformed, women's skirts still swept the pavement and encumbered the ball-room, a peeress wrote to the _times_ to complain of modern manners, surrey beat something-or-other at the oval, and modern cricket was voted dull. in 1904, the russo-japanese war was concluded, and _fraser and warren_ received a year's notice from the midland insurance co. that they must vacate their premises on the fifth floor of nos. 88-90 chancery lane. the business of _f. and w._ had grown so considerable that, as the affairs of the midland insurance co. had slackened, it became intolerable to hear the lift going up and down to the fifth floor all through the day. the housekeeper also thought it odd that a well-dressed young gentleman should steal in and up, day after day, after office hours to work apparently alone in _fraser and warren's_ partners' room. _fraser and warren_ over the hand of its junior partner, mrs. claridge, accepted the notice. their business had quite overgrown these inconveniently situated offices and a move to the west end was projected. mrs. claridge's scheme for week-end cottages had been enormously successful and had put much money not only into the coffers of _fraser and warren_ but into the banking account of that clever architect, francis brimley storrington. [i find i made an absurd mistake earlier in this book in charging the too amorous architect with a home at "storrington." his home really was in a midland garden city which he had designed, but his name--a not uncommon one--was storrington.] in the autumn of 1902, poor lady fraser died. in january, 1903, honoria married the impatient colonel armstrong. in january, 1904, she had her first baby--a boy. at the close of 1904 beryl claridge made proposals to honoria fraser relative to a change in the constitution of _fraser and warren_. honoria was to have an interest still as a sleeping partner in the concern and some voice in its management and policy. but she was to take no active share of the office work and "warren" was to pass out of it altogether. beryl pointed out it was rather a farce when the middle partner--she herself had been made the junior partner a year before--was perpetually and mysteriously absent, year after year, engaged seemingly on work of her own abroad. her architect semi-husband moreover, who if not in the firm was doing an increasing share of its business, wanted to know _more_ about vivien warren. "was she or was she not the daughter of the 'notorious' mrs. warren; because if so..." he took of course a highly virtuous line. like so many other people he compounded for the sins he was inclined to by being severe towards the misdoings of others. _his_ case--he would say to beryl when they were together at chelsea--was _sui generis_, quite exceptional, they were really in a way perfectly good people--_tout savoir c'est tout pardonner, etc._; whereas the _things_ that were _said_ about mrs. warren!... and though vivien was nothing nearer sin than being her daughter, still if it were known or known more widely that _she_ was the warren in _fraser and warren_, why the wives of the wealthier clergy, for example, and a number of quakeresses would withdraw their affairs from the firm's management. whereas if only his little berry could become the boss, _he_ knew where to get "big money" to put behind the firm's dealings. the idea was all right; an association for the special management on thoroughly honest lines of women's affairs. they'd better get rid of that hulking young clerk, bertie adams, and staff the entire concern with capable women. he himself would always remain in the background, giving them ideas from time to time, and if any were taken up merely being paid his fees and commissions. david vavasour williams, privately consulted by norie, put forward no objection. he disliked beryl and was increasingly shy of his rather clandestine work on the fifth floor of the midland insurance chambers; besides, if and when he were called to the bar, he would have to cease all connection with _fraser and warren_. the consent of vivie was obtained through the power of attorney she had left behind. a new deed of partnership was drawn up. honoria insisted that vivien warren must be bought out for three thousand pounds, which amount was put temporarily to the banking account of david vavasour williams; she herself received another three thousand and a small percentage of the future profits and a share in the direction of affairs of the women's co-operative association (_fraser and claridge_) so long as she left a capital of five thousand pounds at their disposal. so in 1905 david with three thousand pounds purchased an annuity of £210 a year for vivien warren. that investment would save vivie from becoming at any time penniless and dependent, and consequently would subserve the same purpose for her cousin and agent, david v. williams. going to the c. and c. bank, temple bar branch, to take stock of vivie's affairs, he found a thousand pounds had been paid in to her current account. ascertaining the name of the payee to be l.m. praed, he hurried off at the first opportunity to praed's studio. praed was entertaining a large party of young men and women to tea and the exhibition of some wild futurist drawings and a few rather striking designs for stage scenery and book covers. david had perforce to keep his questions bottled up and take part in the rather vapid conversation that was going on between young men with _glabre_ faces and high-pitched voices and women with rather wild eyes. [it struck david about this time that women were getting a little out of hand, strained, over-inclined to laugh mirthless laughter, greedy for sensuality, sensation, sincerity, sweetmeats. something. even if they satisfied some fleeting passion or jealousy by marrying, they soon wanted to be de-married, separated, divorced, to don male costume, to go on the amateur stage and act salome parts on sunday afternoons that most ladies of the real stage had refused; while the men that went about with them in these troops from restaurant to restaurant, studio to studio, music hall to café chantant, brighton to monte carlo, sandown to goodwood, were shifty, too well-dressed, too near neutrality in sex, without defined professions, known by nicknames only, spend-thrifts, spongers, bankrupts, and collectors of needless bric-à-brac.] however this mob at last quitted praddy's premises and he and david were left alone. praed yawned, and almost intentionally knocked over an easel with a semi-obscene drawing on it of a sphynx with swelling breasts embracing a lean young man against his will. _david_: "praddy! why do you tolerate such people and why prostitute your studio to such unwholesome art?" _praed_: "my dear david! this is _indeed_ satan rebuking sin. why there are three designs here--one i've just knocked over--beastly, wasn't it?--that _you _ left with me when you went off at a tangent to south africa.... really, we ought to have _some_ continuity you know.... "but i agree with you.... i'm sick of the whole business of this nouvel art and l'art nouveau, about aubrey beardsley and the disgusting 'nineties generally--but what _will_ you? if miss vivie warren had condescended to accept me as a husband she might have brought a wholesome atmosphere into my life and swept away all this ... inspired me perhaps with some final ambition for the little that remains of my stock of energy.... heigh-ho! well: what is the quarrel now? the life i lead, the people who come here?" _david_: "no. i hardly came about that; though dear old praddy, i wish i had time to look after you ... perhaps later.... no: what i came to ask was: what _did_ you mean the other day by paying in a thousand pounds to vivie warren's account at her bank? she's not in want of money so far as i know, and you can't be so very rich, even though you design three millionaire's houses a year. who gave you the money to pay in to my--to vivie's account?" _praed_: "well, when vivie herself comes to ask me, p'raps i'll tell; but i can't see how it concerns _you_. why not stop and dine--à l'imprévu, but i dare say my housekeeper can rake something together or it may not be too late to send out for a paté. we can then talk of other things. when are you going to get your call?" _david_: "sorry, dear old chap, but i can't stay to dinner. i'm not going anywhere else but i've got some papers i _must_ study before i go to bed. but i'll stop another half-hour at any rate. don't ring for lights or turn up the electric lamps. i would sooner sit in the dark studio and put my question. who has given me that thousand pounds?" _praed_: "that's _my_ business: _i_ haven't! i shan't give or lend vivie a penny till she consents to marry me. as to the rest, take it and be thankful. you're not certain to get any more and i happen to know it had what you would call a 'clean origin.'" _david_: "you mean it didn't come from those 'hotels'?" _praed_: "well, at any rate not directly. don't be a romantic ass, a tiresome fool, and give me any trouble about it. a certain person i imagine must have heard that _fraser and warren_ had been wound up and couldn't bear the thought of your being hard up in consequence ... doesn't know you got a share of the purchase-money..." * * * * * david decided at any rate for the present to accept the addition to his capital--you can perhaps push principle _too_ far; or, once you plunge into affairs, you cease to be quite so high-souled. at any rate nothing in david's middle-class mind was so horrible as penury and the impotence that comes with it. how many months or years would lie ahead of him before fees could be gained and a professional income be earned? besides he wanted to take bertie adams into his service as a clerk. a barrister must have a clerk, and david in his peculiar circumstances could only engage one acquainted more or less with his secret. so bertie adams fulfilled the ambition he had cherished for three years--he felt all along it was coming true. and when david was called to the bar--which he was with all the stately ceremonial of a call night at the inner temple in the easter term of 1905, more elbow room was acquired at fig tree court, and bertie adams was installed there as clerk to mr. david vavasour williams, who had residential chambers on the third floor, and a fair-sized office and small private room on the second floor. bertie's mother had "washed" for both honoria and vivie in their respective dwellings for years, and for david after he came to live at fig tree court. a substantial douceur to the "housekeeper" had facilitated this, for in the part of the temple where lies fig tree court the residents do not call their ministrants "laundresses," but "housekeepers." curiously enough the accounts were always tendered to the absent vivie warren, but mrs. adams noted no discrepancy in their being paid by her son or in an unmarried lady living in the temple under the name of david williams. installed as clerk and advised by his employer to court one of the fair daughters of the housekeeper (mrs. laidly) with a view to marriage and settling down in premises hard-by, bertie adams (who like david had spent his time well between 1901 and 1905 and was now an accomplished and serviceable barrister's clerk) soon set to work to chum up with other clerks in this clerical hive and get for his master small briefs, small chances for defending undefended cases in which hapless women were concerned. but before we deal with the career of david at the bar, which of course did not properly commence--even as a brilliant junior--till the early months of 1906, let us glance at the way in which he had passed the intervening space of time between his return from wales in may, 1902, and the spending of his long vacation of 1905 as an esquire by the common law of england called to the bar, and entitled to wear a becoming grey wig and gown. he had begun in 1900 by studying latin, norman french--so greatly drawn on in law terms--and english history. in the summer of 1901, by one of those subterfuges winked at then, he had obtained two rooms, sublet to him by a member of the inn, in fig tree court, inner temple. in the autumn of that year, having made sure of his parentage and his finance, he had approached the necessary authorities with a view to his being admitted a member of the inner temple, which meant filling up a form of declaration that he, david vavasour williams, of pontystrad, glamorgan, a british subject, aged twenty-four, son of the revd. howel vaughan williams, clerk in holy orders, of pontystrad in the county of glamorgan, was desirous of being admitted a student of the honourable society of the inner temple for the purpose of being called to the bar or of practising under the bar; and that he would not either directly or indirectly apply for or take out any certificate to practise directly or indirectly as a pleader, conveyancer or draftsman in equity without the special permission of the masters of the bench of the said honourable society of the inner temple. further, david declared with less assurance but perhaps within the four corners of the bare truth that he had not acted directly or indirectly in the capacity of a solicitor, attorney-at-law, writer to the signet or in about thirteen other specified legal positions; that he was not a chartered, incorporated or professional accountant ("a good job we changed the device of the firm," he thought), a land agent, a surveyor, patent agent, consulting engineer, or even as a clerk to any such officer. which made him rather shivery about what he _had_ been doing for _fraser and warren_, but there was little risk that any one would find out--and finally he declared that he was not in trade or an undischarged bankrupt. the next and most difficult step was to obtain two separate certificates from two separate barristers each of five years' standing, to the effect that he was what he stated himself to be. this required much thinking out, and was one of the reasons why he did not go down as promised and spend his christmas and new year with his father. instead he wrote to pontystrad explaining how important it was he should get admitted as a student in time to commence work in hilary term. did his father know any such luminary of the law or any two such luminaries? his father regretted that he only knew of one such barrister of over five years' standing: the distinguished son of an old cambridge chum. to him he wrote, venturing to recall himself, the more eagerly since this son of an old friend was himself a welshman and already distinguished by his having entered parliament, served with the welsh party, written a book on welsh history, and married a lady of considerable wealth. next david applied to rossiter with the result--as we have seen--that he got an introduction to mr. stansfield. so he obtained from mr. price and mr. stansfield the two certificates to the effect that "david vavasour williams has been introduced to me by letter of introduction from the revd. howel williams" (or "professor michael rossiter, f.r.s.") "and has been seen by me; and that i, mark stansfield, barrister-at-law, king's counsel" (or "john price, barrister-at-law, member of parliament") "believe the said david vavasour williams to be a gentleman of respectability and a proper person to be admitted a student of the honourable society of the inner temple with a view to being called to the bar." copies of the letters of introduction accompanied the two certificates. these of course were not obtained without several visits to the unsuspicious guarantors; or at least one to mr. price in paper buildings, for whom it was enough that david claimed to be welsh and showed a very keen interest in the welsh tongue and its indo-german affinities, and three or four to mr. mark stansfield, k.c., one of the nicest, kindliest and most learned persons david had ever met, whom he grieved deeply at deceiving. stansfield had a high opinion of rossiter. the fact that he recommended david was quite sufficient to secure his "guarantee." but apart from that, he felt himself greatly drawn towards this rather shy, grave, nice-looking young fellow with the steady eyes and the keen intelligence. he had him to dine and to lunch; drew him out--as far as david thought it prudent to go--and was surprised david had never been to a university ("only to malvern--and then i studied with an architect in london--who? mr. praed, a.r.a.--but then i travelled for a bit, and after that i felt more than ever i wanted to go in for the bar"--said david, with a charming smile which lit up his young face ordinarily so staid). stansfield consented that david should come and read with him, and in many ways facilitated his progress so materially and so kindly that more than once the compunctious young welshman thought of discarding the impersonation; and might have done so had not this most estimable stansfield died of pneumonia in the last year of david's studenthood. of course the preliminary examination was easily and quickly passed. david translated his bit of caesar's commentaries, answered brilliantly the questions about alfred the great, the anglo-norman kings, the constitutions of clarendon, magna charta and mortmain, henry the eighth and the reformation, the civil war and protectorate of cromwell, the bill of rights and the holy alliance. he paid his fees and his "caution" money; he ate the requisite six dinners--or more, as he found them excellent and convenient--in each term, attended all the lectures that interested him, and passed the subsidiary examinations on them with fair or even high credit; and finally got through his "call-to-the-bar" examination with tolerable success; at any rate he passed. a friend of the deceased stansfield--whose death was always one of the scars in vivie's memory--introduced him to one of the masters of the bench who signed his "call" papers. he once more made a declaration to the effect that he was not a person in holy orders, that he was not a solicitor, attorney-at-law, writer to the signet, etc., etc., a chartered, incorporated or professional accountant; and again that if called to the bar, he would never become a member of the abhorred professions over and over again enumerated; and was duly warned that without special permission of the masters of the bench of the inner temple he might not practise "under the bar"--whatever that may mean (i dare say it is some low-down procedure, only allowed in times of scarcity). then after having his name "screened" for twelve days in all the halls of the four inns, and going in fear and trembling that some one might turn up and object, he finally received his call to the bar on april 22 (if april 22 in that year was on a sunday, then on the following monday) and was "called" at the term dinner where he took wine with the masters. he remembered seeing present at the great table on the dais, besides the usual red-faced generals and whiskered admirals, simpering statesmen, and his dearly loved friend, michael rossiter--representing science,--a more sinister face. this was the well-known philanthropist and race-horse breeder, sir george crofts, bart., m.p. for a norfolk borough. their eyes met, curiously interlocked for a moment. sir george wondered to himself where the dooce he had seen that, type of face before, those grey eyes with the dark lashes. "gad! he reminds me of kitty warren! well, i'll be damned" (he was eventually) "i wonder whether the old gal had a son as well as that spitfire vivie?!" michael whispered a word or two to one of the masters, and david was presently summoned to attend the benchers and their distinguished guests in the inner chamber to which they withdrew for wine and dessert. rossiter made room for him, and he had to drink a glass of port with the benchers. every one was very gracious. rossiter said: "i was a sort of godfather to him, don't you know. david! you must do me credit and make haste to take silk and become a judge." crofts moved from where he sat next to a bishop. ("damn it all! i like bein' respectable, but why _will_ they always put me next a bishop or an archdeacon? it spoils all my best stories.") he came over--dragging his chair--to rossiter and said "i say! will you introduce me to our young friend here?" he was duly introduced. "h'm, williams? _that_ doesn't tell me much. but somehow your face reminds me awfully of--of--some one i used to know. j'ever have a sister?" "no," said david. crofts, he noticed, had aged very much in the intervening eight years. he must now be no more than--58? but he had become very stout and obviously suffered from blood pressure without knowing it. he moved away a little, and david heard him talking to a master about lady crofts, who had come up to london for the season and how they were both very anxious about his boy--"yes, he had two children, a boy and a girl, bless 'em--the boy had been ill with measles and wasn't makin' quite the quick recovery they expected. what an anxiety children were, weren't they? though we wouldn't be without 'em, would we?" the bencher assented out of civility, though as a matter of fact he was an old bachelor and detested children or anything younger than twenty-one. david after his call was presented with a bill to pay of £99. 10_s._ his father hearing of this, insisted on sending him a cheque for £150 out of his savings, adding he should be deeply hurt if it was not accepted and no more said about it. how soon was david coming down to see south wales once more gloriously clothed with spring? [much of this review of the years between 1901 and 1905, many of these sweet remembrances are being taken from vivie's brain as she lies on a hard bed in 1913, musing over the past days when, despite occasional frights and anxieties, she was transcendently happy. oh "sorrow's crown of sorrow, the remembering happier days!" she recalled the articles she used to write from the common room or library of the inn; how well they were received and paid for by the editors of daily and weekly journals; what a lark they were, when for instance she would raise a debate in the _saturday review_: "should women be admitted to the bar?" or an appeal in the _daily news_ to do away with the disabilities of women. how poor stansfield, before he died, said he had never met any young fellow with a tenderer heart for women, and advised him to marry whilst he still had youth and fire. she remembered david's social success at the great houses in the west end. how he might have gone out into society and shone more, much more, only he had to consider prudence and expense; the curious women who fell in love with him, and whom he had gently, tactfully to keep at arm's length. she remembered the eager discussions in the temple debating society, or at the "moots" of gray's inn, her successes there as an orator and a close reasoner; how boy students formed ardent friendships for her and prophesied her future success in parliament, would have her promise to take them into the cabinet which david was to form when an electorate swept him into power and sent the antiquated old rotters of that day into the limbo of deserved occlusion. she saw and heard once more the amused delight of honoria armstrong over her success, and the latent jealousy of the uxorious colonel armstrong if she came too often to see honoria in sloane street: and she remembered--oh god! _how_ she remembered--the close association in those three priceless years with her "godfather" michael rossiter; rossiter who shaped her mind--it would never take a different turn--who was patient with her stupidity and petulance; an elder brother, a robust yet tactful chaffer; a banisher of too much sensibility, a constant encouragement to effort and success. rossiter, she knew, with her woman's instinct, was innocently in love with her, but believed all the time he was satisfying his craving for a son to train, a disciple who might succeed him: for he still believed that david when he had been called to the bar and had flirted awhile with themis, would yet turn his great and growing abilities to the service of science. and mrs. rossiter in those times: vivie smiled at the thought of her undefined jealousy. she was anxious to be civil to a young man of whom michael thought so highly. she sympathized with his regret that they had no children, but why could he not take up with one of her cousin bennet's boys from manchester, or sophy's son from northallerton, or one of his own brother's or sister's children? how on earth did he become acquainted with this young man from south wales? but she was determined not to be separated in any way from her husband, and so she sat with them as often and as long as she could in the library. the studio-laboratory she could not stand with its horrid smell of chemicals; she also dreaded vaguely that vivisection went on there--michael of course had a license, though he was far too tender-hearted to torture sentient creatures. still he did odd things with frogs and rats and goats and monkeys; and her dread was that she might one day burst in on one of these sacrifices to science and see a transformed michael, blood-stained, wielding a knife and dangerous if interrupted in his pursuit of a discovery. but as the long talks and conferences of the two friends--really not so far separated in age as one of them thought--generally took place in the library, she assisted at a large proportion of them. rossiter would not have had it otherwise, though to david she was at times excessively irksome. her husband had long viewed her as a lay figure on these occasions. he rarely replied to her flat remarks, her inconsequent platitudes, her yawns and quite transparent signals that it was time for the visitor to go. sometimes david took her hints and left: he had no business to make himself a bore to any one. sometimes however michael at last roused to consciousness of the fretful little presence would say "what? sweety? _you_ still up. trot off to bed, my poppet, or you'll lose the roses in your cheeks." the roses in mrs. rossiter's cheeks at that time were beginning to be a trifle eczematous and of a fixed quality. nevertheless, though she tossed her head a little as she took up her "work" and swished out of the great heavy door--which david opened--she was pleased to think that michael cared for her complexion and was solicitous about her rest. and vivie's eyes swam a little as she thought about the death of mark stansfield, and the genuine tears that flowed down the cheeks of his pupils when they learnt one raw february morning from the housekeeper of his chambers that he had died at daybreak. "a better man never lived" they agreed. and they were right. and she smiled again as she thought of some amongst those pupils, the young dogs of those days, the lovers of actresses of the minor order--ballet girls, it might have been; of the larks that went on sometimes within and without the staid precincts of the temple. harmless larks they were; but such as she had to withdraw from discreetly. she played lawn tennis with them, she fenced surprisingly well; but she had refused to join the "devil's own"--the inns of court volunteers, for prudent reasons; and though it had leaked out that she was a good swimmer--that tiresome impulsive honoria had spread it abroad--she resolutely declined to give proofs of her prowess in swimming baths. her associates were not so young as the undergraduates she had met in newnham days: they were an average ten years older. their language at times made david blush, but they had more discretion and reserve than the university student, and they respected his desire to withdraw himself into himself occasionally, and to abstain from their noisier amusements without questioning his camaraderie. at this point in her smiling reminiscences, the wardress clanged open the door and slammed down a mug of cocoa and a slab of brown bread; and rapped out some orders in such a martinet utterance that they were difficult to understand. (don't be alarmed! she isn't about to be executed for having deceived the benchers of the inner temple in 1905; she is only in prison for a suffragist offence).] i can't wind up this chapter somehow without more or less finishing the story of beryl claridge. she has been a source of anxiety to my wife--who has read these chapters one by one as they left my typewriter. "was it wise to bring her in?" "well, but my dear, she was rather a common type of the new woman in the early nineteen hundreds." "yes--but--" of course the latent anxiety was that she might end up respectably. and so she did. in 1906, the first mrs. storrington died at ware (ware was where the architect husband had his legitimate home). she had long been ill, increasingly ill of some terrible form of anæmia which had followed the birth of her fourth child. she slowly faded away, poor thing; and about the time david was returning from a triumphant christmas and new year at pontystrad--the curate and his young wife had made a most delightful partie carrée and david had kissed the very slightly protesting bridget under the native mistletoe--mrs. storrington breathed her last, while her faithless yet long forgiven francis knelt by her bedside in agonies of unavailing grief. well: she died and was buried, and her four children, ranging from nine to sixteen, sobbed very much and mourned for darling mummie without the slightest suspicion ("'twas better so," she had always thought) that dad had poisoned her wells of happiness ever since he took up with that minx at cambridge in the very year in which long-legged claribel was born. a few months after the poor lady was consigned (under a really lovely cenotaph designed by her husband) to ware churchyard--no, it was to ware cemetery; dad introduced them all to a very sprightly and good-looking widow, mrs. claridge, who had also been bereaved years ago and left with two perfect ducks of children, four and five years old, to whom claribel took instinctively (the elder ones sniffed a little, disliking "kids"). then about christmas time, 1906, dad told them that mrs. claridge was going to make him happy by coming to tend his motherless children; was going to be his wife. francis, the eldest, stomped about the garden at ware and swore he would go back to rugby during the holidays; elspeth, the gaunt girl of fourteen and agnes, a dreamy and endearing child, cried themselves to sleep in each other's arms. claribel, however, quite approved. and whether they liked it or not, in january, 1907, the marriage took place--at the registrar's--and beryl came to live for a short time at ware, bringing ducksome margery and adorable podge. in less than a month beryl had won over all her step-children, except francis, who held out till easter, but was reduced to allegiance by the hampers she sent to him at rugby--; in three months they had all moved to a much sweller house on the chelsea embankment. father--beryl voted "dad" a little lower-middle class--father had somehow become connected with some great business establishment of which mother was the head. together they were making pots of money. francis would go to sandhurst, elspeth to a finishing school in paris (her ambition), and the others would spend the fine months of the year rollicking with margery and podge on the sussex coast. in 1907, also, they became aware that their new mother was not alone in the world. a stately lady whose eyes seemed once to have done a deal of weeping (they were destined alas! to do much more, for three of her gallant, handsome sons were killed in the war, and _that_ finally killed the poor old dean of thetford), who wore a graceful spanish mantilla of black lace when in draughty places, came to see them after they had moved to garden corner on the chelsea embankment. she turned out to be the mother of mrs. beryl and was quite inclined to be their grandmother as well as margery's and podge's. but her husband the dean was--it appeared--too great an invalid to come up to town. the second mrs. storrington, who was a woman of boundless energy, could work all day with secretaries, and could dance all night, gave brilliant parties in the season at her large chelsea house. but she never invited to them mr. david vavasour williams, that rising young barrister who had become so famous as a pleader of the causes of friendless women. chapter x the shillito case in the autumn of 1905, increase among women of the idea of full citizenship made rapid strides. there was a feeling in the air that balfour must soon resign or go to the country, that a liberal ministry would succeed to power, and that being liberal it could scarcely, in reason or with any logic, refuse to enlarge the franchise to the advantage of the female half of the community. these idealizers of the liberal party, which had really definitely ceased to be liberal in 1894, had a rude awakening. annie kenney and christabel pankhurst dared to act as if they were men, and asked sir edward grey at his manchester meeting in october, 1905, if a liberal administration would give votes to women, should it be placed in power at the next election. answer they had none, from the platform; but the male audience rose in their hundreds, struck these audacious hussies in the face, scratched and slapped them (this was the rôle of the boys), and hustled them out into the street, bleeding and dishevelled. here for attempting to explain the causes of their expulsion they were arrested by the police, and the following morning were sent to prison, having declined to pay the fines illegally imposed on them. this incident made a great impression on the newspaper-reading public, because at that time the press boycott on the woman suffrage movement had not set in. it gave david much to think about, and he found honoria fraser and several of his men and women friends had joined the woman suffrage movement and were determined that the new liberal government should not shirk the issue; an issue on which many members of parliament had been returned as acquiescent in the principle. on that account they had received the whole-hearted support of many, women owing allegiance to the liberal party. at first of course the new government was too busy in allotting the loaves and fishes of office and in handing out the peerages, baronetcies, knighthoods, governorships, private secretaryships, and promotions among the civil servants which had--not to put too fine a point on it--been purchased by large and small contributions to the party chest. [such a procedure seems to be inseparable from our present party system. in this respect the conservatives are no better than the liberals; and it is always possible that in a different way the labour party when it comes into power will be similarly inclined to reward those who have furnished the sinews of war. the house of commons in the last act which revised the conditions of elections of members of parliament was careful to leave open many avenues along which money might attain to the heart of things.] but at length all such matters were settled, and the cabinet was free to face the steady demand of the women leaders of the suffrage movement; a demand that at any rate _some_ measure of enfranchisement should be granted to the women of the british isles without delay. we all know how this demand was received by the leading men of the liberal party and by the more prominent liberals among their supporters in the house; with evasions, silences, sneers, angry refusals, hasty promises given to-day (when ministers were frightened) and broken to-morrow; with a whole series of discreditable tongue-in-the-cheek tricks of parliamentary procedure; till at last the onlooker must have wondered at and felt grateful for our british phlegm; surprised that so little actual harm was done (except to the bodies of the suffragists), that no home secretary or police inspector or magistrate, no flippant talker-out of would-be-serious franchise bills was assassinated, trounced, tarred and feathered, kidnapped, nose-tweaked, or even mud-bespattered. (i am reproducing here the growing comprehension of the problem as it shaped in vivie's mind, under the hat and waistcoat of david williams.) honoria, faithful to her old resolve, continued to devote the greater part of the two thousand a year she had set aside for the woman's cause to financing the new suffrage movement; and incidentally she brought grist to david's mill by recommending him as counsel to many women in distress, arrested suffragists. in 1906, 1907 and 1908 he made himself increasingly famous by his pleadings in court on behalf of women who with dauntless courage and at the cost of much bodily pain and even at the risk of death had forcibly called attention to this grave defect in the british polity, the withholding of the ordinary rights of tax-paying citizens from adult women. where the suffragist was poor he asked no fee, or a small fee was paid by some suffragist association. but he gained much renown over his advocacy; he became quite a well-known personality outside as well as inside the law courts and police-stations by 1908. his pleadings were sometimes so moving, so passionate that--_teste_ mrs. pankhurst--"burly policemen in court had tears trickling down their faces" as he described the courage, the flawless private lives, the selfless devotion to a noble cause of these women agitating for the rights of their sex--rich and poor, old and young. juries flinched from the verdict which some bitter-faced judge enjoined; magistrates swerved from executing the secret orders of the home office; policemen--again--for they are most of them decent fellows--resigned their positions in the force, sooner than carry out the draconian policy of the home secretary. but of course concurrently he lost many a friend and friendship in the inns of court. there were even growls that he should be disbarred--after this espousal of the suffrage cause had been made manifest for three years. he might have been, but that he had other compeers, below and above his abilities and position; advocates like lord robert brinsley, the famous son of the marquis of wiltshire. if williams was to be disbarred, why they would have to take the same course with a brinsley who also defended women law-breakers, fighting for their constitutional rights. and of course such a procedure as _that_ was unthinkable. yet where a brinsley sailed unhampered, undangered over these troubled waters, poor david often came near to crashing on the rocks. "to hear the fellow talk," said one angry k.c. in the library at the inner temple, "you'd think he was a woman himself!" "egad" said his brother k.c.--yes, he really _did_ say "egad," the oath still lingers in the inns of court--"egad, he looks like one. no hair on his face and i'll lay he doesn't shave." there were of course other briefs he held, for payment or for love of justice; young women who had killed their babies (as to these he was far from sentimental; he only defended where the woman had any claim to sympathy or mitigation of the unreal death sentence); breach of promise actions where the woman had been grossly wronged; affiliation cases in high life--or the nearest to high life that makes a claim on the man for his fatherhood. he was a deadly prosecutor in cases where women had been robbed by their male trustees, or injured in any other way wherein, in those days, the woman was at a disadvantage and the marriage laws were unjust. one way and another, with the zealous aid and business-like care of his interests by his clerk, albert adams, david must have earned between 1906 and the autumn of 1908, an average three hundred a year. as he paid adams £150 a year and allowed him certain perquisites, and lived within his own fixed income (from his annuity and investments) of £290 a year, this meant a profit of about £500. this was raised at a leap to £1,500 by the fees and the special gift he received for defending lady shillito. the "shillito case," an indictment for murder, was tried at the winter assize of the north-eastern circuit, january or february, 1909. i dare say you have forgotten all about it now: lady shillito changed her name, married again (eventually), and was lost in the crowd--she may even, eleven years afterwards, be reading this novel at the riper age of forty and be startled out of her well-fed apathy by the revival of acute memories. there have been not a few similar cases before and since of comparatively young, beautiful women murdering their elderly, objectionable husbands in a clever cattish way, and of course getting off through lack of evidence or with a short term of imprisonment. (they were always treated in prison far more tenderly than were suffragettes, and the average wardress adored them and obtained for them many little alleviations of their lot before the home secretary gave way and released them.) nowadays the war and the pressing necessities of life, the coal famine, the milk famine, the railway strikes have robbed such cases of all or nearly all their interest. i could quite believe that women in similar circumstances continue to murder their elderly husbands, and the doctors and coroners and relations on "his" side tacitly agree not to raise a fuss in the presence of much graver subjects of apprehension. i can also understand why these beautiful-women-elderly-husband cases scarcely starred our island story prior to the 'fifties of the last century. it was only when chemical analysis had approached its present standard of perfection that the presence of the more subtle poisons could be detected in the stomach and intestines, and that the young and beautiful wife could be charged with and found guilty of the deed by the damning evidence of an analytical chemist. it was rossiter who secured for david the conduct of lady shillito's defence. arbella[1] shillito was his second cousin, a rossiter by birth, and would fain have married michael herself, only that he was not at that time thinking of marriage, and when his thoughts turned that way--the very day after, as it were--he met linda bennet and her thousands a year. but he retained a half humorous liking for this handsome young woman. [footnote 1: an old northumbrian variant of arabella.] arbella, disappointed over michael--though she was a mere slip of a girl at the time--next decided that she must marry money. when she was twenty-one she met grimthorpe shillito, an immensely rich man of newcastle-on-tyne, whose foundries poured out big guns and many other things made of iron and steel combined with acids and brains. grimthorpe was a curious-looking person, even at forty; in appearance a mixture of julius caesar, several unpleasant-featured doges of venice, and voltaire in middle age. his looks were not entirely his fault and doubtless acquired for him, in his moral character, a worse definition than he deserved. he had travelled much in his pursuit of metallurgy and chemistry; at forty he saw rising before him the prospect of a peerage, due either for his extraordinary discoveries and inventions in our use of steel, or easily purchasable out of his immense wealth. what is the good of a peerage if it ends with your life? he was not without his vanities, though one of the most cynical men of his cynical period. he arrived therefore at the decision that he would marry some young and buxom creature of decent birth and fit in appearance to be a peeress, and decided on arbella rossiter. after a gulp or two and several _moues_ behind his back, she accepted him. a brilliant marriage ceremony followed, conducted by a bishop and an archdeacon. and then arbella was carried off to live in a bluebeard's castle he possessed on the northumbrian coast. in the three years following her marriage she gave him two boys, with which he was content, especially as his own health began to fail a little just then. at the end of four years of marriage with this cynical, italianate tyrant, arbella got very sick of him and thought more and more tenderly of a certain subaltern in the cavalry whom she had once declined to marry on £500 a year. this subaltern had returned from the south african war, a colonel and still extremely good-looking. they had met again at a garden party and fallen once more deeply in love. if only her tiresome old borgia would die--was the thought that came too often into the mind of arbella, now entering the "thirties" of life, and with the least possible misgiving of her colonel's constancy if she became presently "_un peu trop mûre_." she noticed at this time that grimthorpe shillito went on several occasions to london to consult a specialist. he complained of indigestion, was rather thin, and balder than ever, and difficult to please in his food and appetite. this was her opportunity. she would have said, had she been convicted, that he had driven her to it by his cruelties: that's as may be.--she consulted the family doctor who attended to the household of bluebeard's castle; suggested that sir grimthorpe (they had just knighted him) might be the better for a strychnine tonic; she had read somewhere that strychnine did wonders for middle-aged men who had led rather a rackety life in their early manhood. the family doctor who disliked her and suspected her, as you or i wouldn't have done, but doctors think of everything, feigned to agree; and supplied her with little phials of _aqua distillata_ flavoured with quinine. he himself was puzzled over sir grimthorpe's condition but was a little offended at not being personally consulted. the fact was that sir g. had a very poor opinion of his abilities in diagnosis and being naturally secretive and generally cussed, preferred consulting a london specialist. he wasn't then sir grimthorpe, the specialist wasn't very certain that it _was_ cancer on the liver, and amid his multitude of consulters did not, unless aroused, remember very clearly the case of a mr. shillito from somewhere up in the north. but shillito pondered gravely over the specialist's carefully guarded phrases about "growths, possibly malign, but at the same time--difficult to be sure quite so soon--perhaps harmless, might of course be merely severe suppressed jaundice." when the pains began--he hated the idea of operations, and knew that any operation on the liver only at best staved off the dread, inevitable end for a year or a few months--when the pains began, he had grown utterly tired of life; so he compounded a subtle poison--he was a great chemist and had--only his wife knew not of this--a cabinet which contained a variety of mineral, vegetable, and acid poisons; and kept the draught in a secret locker in his bedroom. meantime arbella, who after all was human, was tortured at the sight of his tortures. she felt she must end it, or her nerves would give way. she trebled, she quintupled the dose of _aqua distillata_ embittered with quinine. one night when the night nurse was sleeping ("resting her eyes," she called it) the wretched man stole from his bed to the night nursery and kissed both his boys. he then swiftly took the phial from its hiding place and drank the contents and died in one ghastly minute. when the night nurse awoke he was crisped in a horrible _rigor_. on the night table was the phial with the remains of the draught. she had noticed in the last day or two lady shillito fussing a good deal about the sick man, pressing on him doses of a colourless medicine. _what if she had stolen in while the nurse was asleep and placed a finally fatal draught by the bedside?_ from that she proceeded to argue (when she had leisure to think it out) that she _hadn't_ been to sleep, had merely been resting her eyes. and she was now sure that whilst she had closed those orbs she had heard--as indeed she had, only it was sir grimthorpe himself--some one stealing into the room. she communicated her suspicions to the doctor. the latter knew his patient had not died of anything he had prescribed, but concluded that lady shillito, wishing to be through with the business, had prepared a fulminating dose obtained elsewhere; and insisted on autopsy with a colleague, to whom he more than hinted his suspicions. together they found the strychnine they were looking for--not very much, but the proportion that was combined by shillito with less traceable drugs to make the death process more rapid--and quite overlooked the signs of cancer in the liver. the outcome was that lady shillito at the inquest found herself "in a very unpleasant position" and was placed under arrest, and later charged with the murder of her husband. believing herself guilty she summoned all her resolution to her aid, admitted nothing, appealed to michael rossiter and others for advice. thus david was drawn into the business. [but this doesn't sound very credible, you will say. "if the husband felt he could not face the agony of death by cancer, why didn't he leave a note saying so, and every one would have understood and been quite 'nice' about it?" i really can't say. perhaps he wished to leave trouble for her behind him; perhaps he divined the reason why she thought a day nurse unnecessary, and insisted on giving him his day medicines with her own fair hands. perhaps he hoped for an open verdict. perhaps he wasn't quite right in his mind. i have told you the story as i remember it and my memory is not perfect. personally i've always been a bit sorry for grimthorpe. it is quite possible that all those hints as to his "queerness" were invented by his wife to excuse herself. i only know that science benefited greatly from his researches, and that he bequeathed some priceless collections to both branches of the british museum. some one once told me he had a heart somewhere and had loved intensely a sister much younger than himself and had only begun to be "queer" and secretive and bald after her premature death. i think also that in the last year of his life he was greatly embittered at not getting the expected peerage; after the trouble and disagreeableness he had gone through to obtain heirs for this distinction this poor little attempt at immortality which it is in the power of a prime minister to bestow.] the grand jury returned a true bill against lady shillito. david had been studying the case from the morrow of the inquest, that is as soon as rossiter had learnt of the coming trouble. the latter though he regarded cousin arbella as a rather amusing minx, an interesting type in modern psychology (though really her type is as old as--say--the hallstadt period) had no wish to see her convicted of murder. furthermore he was getting so increasingly interested in this clever david williams that he would have liked to make his fortune by helping him to a sensational success as a pleader, to one of those cases which if successfully conducted mark out a path to the bench. so he insisted that david williams be briefed for the defence, and well fee'ed, in order that he might be able to devote all his time to the investigation of the mystery. david had an uphill task. he went down to the north in november, 1908, conferred with lady shillito's solicitors, and at great length with the curiously calm, ironly-resolved lady shillito herself. the evidence was too much against her for him to prevent her being committed for trial and lodged in reasonably comfortable quarters in newcastle jail, or for the grand jury to find no true bill of indictment. but between these stages in the process and the actual trial for murder in february, 1909, david worked hard and accumulated conclusive evidence (with rossiter's help) to prove his client's innocence of the deed of which she believed herself guilty. to punish her as she deserved he allowed her to think herself guilty till his defence of her began. the prospect of a death on the gallows did not perturb lady shillito in the least. she was perfectly certain that if found guilty her beauty and station in life would avail to have the death penalty commuted to a term of imprisonment which she would spend in the infirmary. still, that would ruin her life pretty conclusively. she would issue from prison a broken woman, whom in spite of her wealth--if she retained any--no impossibly-faithful colonel would marry at the age of forty-five or fifty. so she followed the opening hours of the trial with a dry mouth. with the help of rossiter and of many and minute researches david got on the track of the consultation in harley street, the warning given of the possible cancer. he found in sir grimthorpe's laboratory sufficient strychnine to kill an army. he was privately informed by the family doctor (who didn't want to press matters to a tragedy) that although he fully believed arbella capable of the deed, she certainly had--so far as the doctor's prescriptions were concerned--obtained nothing from him which could have killed her husband, even if she had centupled the dose. lady shillito appeared in the dock dressed as much as possible like mary, queen of scots on her trial; and was attended by a hospital nurse with restoratives and carminatives. the jury retired for a quarter of an hour only, and returned a verdict of _not guilty_. the court was rent with applause, and the judge commented very severely on such a breach of decorum, apparently unknown to him in previous annals of our courts of justice. lady shillito fainted and the nurse fussed, and the judge in his private room sent for mr. williams and complimented him handsomely on his magnificent conduct of the case. "of course she _meant_ to poison him; but i quite agree with the jury, she didn't. he saved her the trouble. now i suppose she'll marry again. well! i pity her next husband. come and have lunch with me." and in the course of the meal, his ludship spoke warmly to mr. williams of the bright prospects that lay before him if he would drop those foolish suffragette cases. david returned to london with rossiter and remained silent all the way. his companion believed him to be very tired, and refrained from provoking conversation, but surrounded him with a quiet, fatherly care. arrived at king's cross rossiter said: "don't go on to your chambers. my motor's here. it can take your luggage on with mine to portland place. you can have a wash and a rest and a talk when you're rested; and after we've dined and talked the motor shall come round and take you back to fig tree court." mrs. rossiter was there to greet them, and whilst david went to wash and rest and prepare himself for dinner, she chirrupped over her big husband, and asked endless and sometimes pointless questions about the trial and the verdict. "did michael believe she really _had_ done it? she, for one, could believe anything about a woman who obviously dyed her hair and improved her eyebrows. (of course michael said he didn't, or the questions, as to why, how, when might have gone on for hours). was mr. williams's defence of arbella so very wonderful as the evening papers said? why could he not have gone straight home and rested _there_? it would have been so much nicer to have had mike all to herself on his return, and not have this tiresome, melancholy young man spending the evening with them ... really _some_ people had _no_ tact ... could _not_ see they were _de trop_. why didn't mr. williams marry some nice girl and make a home for himself? not well enough off? rubbish! she had known plenty young couples marry and live very happily on two hundred and fifty a year, and mr. williams must surely be earning that? and if he must always be dining out and spending the evening with other people, why did he not make himself more 'general?' not _always_ be absorbed in her husband. of course she understood that while arbella's fate hung in the balance they had to study the case together and have long confabulations over poisons in the lab'rat'ry...!" (this last detestable word was a great worry to mrs. rossiter. sometimes she succeeded in suppressing as many vowels as possible; at others she felt impelled to give them fuller values and call it "labóratorry.") and so on, for an hour or so till dinner was announced. david sat silent all through this meal, under mrs. rossiter's mixture of mirthless badinage: "we shall have you now proposing to lady shillito after saving her life! i expect her husband won't have altered his will as she didn't poison him, and she must have had quite thirty thousand pounds settled on her.... they do say however she's a great _flirt_..." indiscreet questions: "how much will you make out of this case? you don't know? i thought barristers had all that marked on their briefs? and didn't she give you 'refreshers,' as they call them, from time to time? what was it like seeing her in prison? was she handcuffed? or chained? what did she wear when she was tried?" and inconsequent remarks: "i remember my mamma--she died when i was only fourteen--used to dream she was being tried for murder. it distressed her very much because, as she said, she couldn't have hurt a fly. what do _you_ dream about, mr. williams? some pretty young lady, i'll be bound. i dream about such _funny_ things, but i nearly always forget what they were just as i am going to tell michael. but i did remember one dream just before michael went down to newcastle to join you ... was it about mermaids? no. it was about _you_--wasn't that funny? and you seemed to be dressed as a mermaid--no, i suppose it must have been a mer_man_--and you were trying to follow michael up the rocks by walking on your tail; and it seemed to hurt you awfully. of course i know what it all came from. michael had wanted me to read hans andersen's fairy stories--don't you think they're pretty? i do; but sometimes they are about rather silly things, skewers and lucifer matches ... and i had spent the afternoon at the zoo. michael's a fellow, of course, and i use his ticket and always feel quite at home there ... and at the zoo that day i had seen one of the sea-lions trying to walk on his tail.... oh, _how_ i laughed! but what made me associate the sea-lion with you and mermaids, i cannot say, but then as poor papa used to say, 'dreams are funny things'..." david's replies were hardly audible, and to his hostess's pressing entreaties that he would try this dish or not pass that, he did not answer at all. he felt, indeed, as though the muscles of his throat would not let him swallow and if he opened his mouth wide enough to utter a consecutive speech he would burst out crying. a great desire--almost unknown to vivie hitherto--seized him to get away to some lonely spot and cry and cry, give full vent to some unprecedented fit of hysteria. he could not look at rossiter though he knew that michael's eyes were resting on his face, because if he attempted to reply to the earnest gaze by a reassuring smile, the lips would tremble and the tears would fall. at last when the dessert was reached and the servants--_do_ they never feel telepathically at such moments that some one person seated at the table, crumbling bread, wishes them miles away and loathes their quiet ministrations?--the servants had withdrawn for a brief respite till they reappeared with coffee, david rose to his feet and stammered out something about not being well--would they order the motor and let him go? and as he spoke, and tried to speak in a level, "society" voice, his aching eyes saw the electric lamps, the glinting silver, mrs. rossiter's pink, foolish face and crisp little flaxen curls, rossiter's bearded countenance with its honest, concerned look all waltzing round and round in a dizzying whirl. he made the usual vain clutches at unreal supports, and fainted into rossiter's arms. the latter carried him with little effort into the cool library and laid him down on a couch. mrs. rossiter followed, full of exclamations, vain questions, and suggestions of inapplicable or unsuitable remedies. rossiter paid little heed to her, and proceeded to remove david's collar and tie and open his shirt front in order to place a hand over the heart. suddenly he looked up and round on his wife, and said with a peremptoriness which admitted of no questioning: "go and see that one of the spare bedrooms is got ready, a fire lit, and so on. get this done _quickly_, and meantime leave him to me. i have got restoratives here close at hand." mrs. rossiter awed into silence summoned the housemaid and parlour-maid and hindered them as much as possible in the task of getting a room ready. meantime the sub-conscious david sighed a great deal and presently wept a great deal in convulsive sobs, and then opened his eyes and saw the tourbillon of whirling elements settling down into rossiter's grave, handsome face--yes, but a gravity somehow interpenetrated by love, a love not ashamed to show itself--bending over him with great concern. the secret had been guessed, was known; and as they held each other with their eyes as though the world were well lost in this discovery, their lips met in one kiss, and for a minute vivie's arms were round michael's neck, for just one unforgettable moment, a moment she felt she would cheerfully have died to have lived through. they were soon unlaced, for sharp little high-heeled footsteps on the tiled passage and the clinketing of trinkets announced the return of mrs. rossiter. vivie became david once more, but left behind her the glad tears of relief that were coursing down david's cheeks. mrs. rossiter thought this was a very odd way for a barrister to celebrate his winning a great case at the criminal courts, and turned away in delicacy from the spectacle of a dishevelled and obviously lachrymose young man with one arm dangling and the other thrown negligently over the back of the leather couch. "mr. williams's room is ready, michael," she said primly. "all right, dear; thank you. i will help williams up to bed and have his luggage sent up. he will be quite well to-morrow if he can get to sleep. you needn't bother any more, dearie. go into the drawing-room and i will join you there presently." rossiter gave the rather shuddery, shivery, teeth-clacking david an arm till he saw him into the bedroom and resting on the bedroom sofa. then he drew up a chair and said in low but distinct tones:-"look here. i know you want to make me an explanation. well! it can wait. a little more of this strain and you'll be having brain fever. sleep if you can, and eat all the breakfast linda sends you up in the morning. get up at eleven to-morrow and if you are fit then to drive out in my motor, return to your chambers. when you have calmed down to a normal pulse, write to me all you want to say. no one shall read it but me ... i'll burn it afterwards or send it back to you under seal. but at the present time, it may be easier for both of us if our communications are only written and not spoken. we have both been tried rather high; and both of us are human, however high-principled. if you write, register the letter.... good-night..." this that follows is probably what vivie wrote to michael. he burnt the long letter when he had finished reading it though he made excerpts in a pocket-book. but i can more or less correctly surmise how she would put her case; how she typed it herself in the solitude of two evenings; how, indeed, her nervous break-down was made the reason for fending off all clients and denying herself to all callers. "i am not david vavasour williams. i am vivien warren, the daughter of a woman who runs a series of disreputable private hotels on the continent. i had no avowed father, nor had my mother, who likewise was illegitimate. she was probably the daughter of a lieutenant warren who was killed in the crimea, and _her_ mother's name was vavasour. my grandmother was probably--i can only deal with probabilities and possibilities in this undocumented past--a welsh woman of cardiff, and i should not be surprised if i were a sort of cousin of the man i am personating. "he was the ne'er-do-weel, only son of a welsh vicar, a pupil of praed's, who went out to south africa and died or was killed in the war. "you have met my adopted father. he fully believes i am the bad son, the prodigal son, returned and reformed. he has grown to love me so much that it really seems to have put new life into him. i have helped him to get his affairs straight, and i think i may say he has gained by this substitution of one son for another, even though the new son is a daughter! i have taken none of his money, other than small sums he has thrust on me. i have some money of my own, earned in honoria's firm, for i was the 'warren' of her 'fraser and warren.' she has known my secret all along, hasn't quite approved, but was overborne by me in my resolve to show what a woman--in disguise, it may be--could do at the bar. "michael! i started out twelve years ago--and the dreadful thing is i am now _thirty-four_ in true truth! to conquer man, and a man has conquered me! i wanted to show that woman could compete with man in all careers, and especially in the law. so she can--have i not shown it by what i have done? but it is a drawn battle. i have realized that if some men are bad--rotten--others, like you--are supremely good. i love you as i never thought i could love any one. i cannot trust myself to write down how much i love you: it would read shamefully and be too much a surrender of my first principle of self-respect. "i am going to throw up the whole d.v.w. business. it has put us in a false relation which was exasperating me and puzzling you. moreover the disguise was wearing very thin. only those two loyal souls, honoria fraser and albert adams, were cognizant of the secret, but it was being guessed at and almost guessed right, in certain quarters. professional jealousy was on my track. i never fainted before in my life--so far as i can remember--but i might have done so elsewhere than in your dear house, after the strain of such an effort as i made to save that worthless woman--she was your cousin, which is why i fought for her so hard--how often is not justice deflected by love! i might, somewhere else, when over-strained have had a fit of hysterics; and my disguise would have been penetrated by eyes less merciful than yours. then would have come exposure and its consequences--damaging to you (_i_ should not have mattered), to my poor old 'father' down in wales--whom i sincerely love--to praddy, to honoria.... "let me be thankful to get off so easily! _somme toute_, i have had a glorious time, have seen the world from the man's point of view--and i can assure you that from his point of view it is a jolly place to live in--_he_ can walk up and down the strand and receive no insult. "well now, to relieve your anxieties, i will tell you, that after a brief visit to south wales to recuperate from the exertions of that trial, mr. david williams the famous young barrister at the criminal bar will go abroad to investigate the white slave traffic. miss vivien warren privately believes--and hopes--that the horrors of this traffic in british womanhood are greatly exaggerated. the lot in life of many of these young women is so bad in their native land that they cannot make it worse by going abroad, no matter in what avowed career. but mr. david williams takes rather a higher line and is resolved in any case to get at the truth. miss warren, nathless, has her misgivings anent her old mamma, and would like to know what that old lady is doing at the present time, and whether she is past reform. miss warren even has her moments of doubt as to the flawless perfection of her own life: whether the path of duty in 1897 did not rather lie in the direction of a serious attempt to be a daughter to her wayward mother and reclaim her then, instead of going off at a tangent as the mannish type of new woman, to whom applicable mathematics are everything and human affections very little. i suppose the truth, the commonplace truth is, that rather late in life, vivien warren has fallen in love in the old-fashioned way--how nature mocks at us!--and now sees things somewhat differently. at any rate, david and vivie, fused into one personality, are going abroad for a protracted period ... going out of your life, my dearest, for it is better so. linda has every right to you and science is a jealous mistress. moreover poor, outcast vivie has her own bitter pride. she is resolved to show that a woman _can_ cultivate strength of character and an unflinching sobriety of conduct, even when born of such doubtful stock as mine, even when devoid of all religious faith. i know you love me, i glory in the knowledge, but i know that you likewise are more strongly bound by principles of right conduct because like myself you have no sham theology.... "michael! _why_ are we tortured like this? why mayn't we love where we please? is this discipline necessary to the improvement of the race? i only know that if we sinned against these human laws and conventions, your great career in science--and again, why in science? lightness in love does not seem to affect the career of orchestral conductors, actors, singers, play-wrights and house painters--why weren't you one of these, and not a high priest of the only real religion? i only know also that if i fell, so many people would have the satisfaction of saying: 'there! _what_ did i say? what's bred in the bone comes out in the flesh. _that's_ how the woman's movement's goin' to end, you take my word for it! they'll get a man somewhere, somehow, and then they'll clear out of it.' "i think i said before--i meant to say, at any rate, so as to ease your mind: i'm all right as regards financial matters. i have a life annuity and some useful savings. i shall give bertie adams a year's salary; and if you feel, dear friend, you _must_ put forth your hand to help me, help _him_ instead to get another position. he has a wife and a young family, and for his class is just about as good a chap as i have ever met--this is 'david' speaking! if you can do nothing you may be sure vivie will, even if she has to borrow unclean money from her wicked old mother to keep bertie adams from financial anxiety and his pretty young wife and the child they are so proud of.... "i must finish this gigantic letter somewhere, though i'm not going to stop writing to you. i couldn't--i should lose all hold on life if i did. for the purpose of correspondence and finishing up things, i shall be 'david williams' for some time longer. you know his address in wales? pontystrad vicarage, pontyffynon, glamorgan, if you've forgotten it. he'll be there till april, and then begin his foreign tour and write to you at intervals from the continent. as to vivie, i think she won't return to life and activity till the autumn and _then_ she'll make things hum. she'll throw all the energy of frustrated love into the woman's cause, and get 'em the vote somehow...!" early in the genesis of the book. i appointed a jury of matrons to judge each chapter before it went to the press, and to decide whether it was suited to the restrictions of the circulating library, and whether it would cause real distress or perturbation to three persons whom we chose as representative readers of decent fiction: admiral broadbent, lady percy mountjoye, and old mrs. bridges (mrs. bridges was said to have had a heart attack after reading the gay-dombeys--i did not wish her to have another). this jury of broad-minded women of the world decided that rossiter's reply to vivie's very long epistle should not see the light. he himself would probably--had he known we were discussing his affairs--have been thankful for this decision; because twelve hours after he had written it he was heartily ashamed of his momentary lapse from high principles, ashamed that the woman in the case should have shown herself truer metal. he resolved, so far as our poor human resolves are worth anything, to remain inflexibly true to his devoted linda and to his career in biological science. he knew too well that if he were caught in adultery it would be all over with the great theories he was working to establish. the royal society would condemn them. besides, so fine a resolve as vivie's, to live on the heights must be respected. at the same time, it is certain that for the next three months he muddled his experiments, confused his arguments, lost his temper with a colleague on the council of the zoological society, kicked the pugs--even caused the most unbearable two of them to be poisoned by his assistant--and lied in attributing their deaths to other causes. he promised the weeping linda a pom instead; he said "hell!" when the macaw interrupted them with raucous screams. he let pass all sorts of misprints in his article on the ductless glands for the _encyclopaedia scotica_, he was always losing the thread of his discourse in his lectures at the london institution and university college; and he spent too much of his valuable time writing hugely long letters on all sorts of subjects to david williams. david--or vivie--replied much more laconically. in the first place he--she--had had her say in the one big outpouring from which i have quoted so freely; in the second she did not wish to stoke up these fires lest they should become volcanic and break up a happy home and a great career. she wrote once saying: "if ever you were in trouble of any kind; if linda should die before me, for example, i would come back to you from the ends of the earth and even if i were legitimately married to the prince of monaco; come back and serve you as a drudge, as a butt for your wit, as a sick nurse. but meantime, michael, you must play the game." and so after this three months' frenzy was past, he did. it was not always easy. linda's devotion was touching. she perceived--though she hardly liked admitting it--that her husband missed the society of "that" mr. williams, in whom she, for one, never could see anything particularly striking, and who was now travelling abroad on a quest it would be indelicate to particularize, and one that in _her_ opinion should have been taken up by a far older man, the father of a grown-up family. she strove to replace williams as an intelligent companion in the library and even in the laboratory. she gave up works of charity and espionage in marylebone and many of her trips into society, to sit more often with the dear professor, and was a little distressed by his groans which seemed to be quite unprovoked by her remarks or her actions. however as the months went by, rossiter buckled down more to his work, and mrs. rossiter noticed that he engaged a new assistant at £300 a year to take charge of his enormous correspondence. mr. bertie adams seemed a nice young man, though also afflicted at times with something that gave melancholy to his gaze. but he had a good little wife who came to make a home for him in marylebone. mrs. rossiter being a kindly woman went to call on her and was entirely taken up with their one child whom she frequently asked to tea and found much more interesting than the new pom. "but it's got such a funny name, michael; i mean funny for their station in life. it's a girl and they call it 'vivvy,' which is short for vivien. i told mrs. adams she must have been reading tennyson's _idylls of the king_; but she said 'no, she wasn't much of a reader: adams was, and it was some lady's name in a story that had stuck in his head, and that as her mother's name was susan and his was jane, she hadn't minded.'" chapter xi david goes abroad david williams had an enthusiastic greeting when he went home to pontystrad for the easter of 1909. it was an early easter that year, whether you like it or not; it suits my story better so, because then david can turn up in brussels at the end of april, and yet have attended to a host of necessary things before his departure on a long absence. he first of all devoted himself to making the old vicar happy for a few weeks in a rather blustery, showery march-april. his father was full of wonderment and exultation over the honourable publicity his barrister son had attained. "you'll be a judge, davy; at any rate a k.c., before i'm dead! but marry, boy, _marry_. _that's_ what you must do now. marry and give me grandchildren." the burly curate privately thought david a bit morbid in his passionate devotion to the woman's cause, and this white slave traffic all rot. he had worked sufficiently in the bad towns of the south welsh coast and had had an initiation into the lower-living parts of birmingham and london to be skeptical about the existence of these poor, deluded virgins, lured from their humble respectable homes and thrust by shakespearean procuresses, bawds, and bullies into an impure life. if they went to these places abroad it was probably with the hope of greater gains, better food, and stricter medical attention. however, he kept most of these thoughts to himself and his wife, the squire's daughter; who as she somehow thought david _ought_ to have married _her_, was a little bit sentimental about him and considered he was a galahad. old nannie remained as usual wistfully puzzled, half fearing the explanation of the enigma if it ever came. returned to london and fig tree court--which he was soon vacating--david obtained through his and her bankers a passport for himself and another for miss vivien warren, thirty-four, british subject, and so forth, travelling on the continent, a lady of independent means. he re-arranged all david's and vivie's money matters, stored such of vivie's property and his own as was indispensable at honoria armstrong's house in kensington, and left a box containing a complete man's outfit in charge of bertie adams; bade farewell as "david williams" and "uncle david" to honoria and her two babies, and to the still unkindly-looking colonel armstrong (who very much resented the "uncle" business, which was perhaps why honoria out of a wholesome _taquinage_ kept it up); and called in for a farewell chat with dear old praddy--beginning to look a bit shaky and rather too much bossed by his parlour-maid. honoria had said as he departed "do try to run up against vivie somewhere abroad and tell her i shan't be happy till she returns and takes up her abode among us once more. 'army' is _longing_ to know her." ('army' didn't look it.) "now pettums! wave handikins to uncle david. he's goin' broadies. 'army' dear, would you ask them to whistle for a taxi? i know david doesn't want to walk all the way back to the temple in those lovely button boots." praed told him all he wanted to know about the localities of the warren private hotels; most of all, that at which vivie's mother resided in the rue royale, brussels. so at this establishment a well but plainly dressed english lady, scarcely looking her age (thirty-four) turned up one morning, and sent in a card to the lady-proprietress, mme. varennes. this card was closely scanned by a heavy-featured flemish girl who took it upstairs to an _appartement_ on the first floor. she read: _miss vivien warren_ and vaguely noted the resemblance of the two names varennes and warren, and the fact that the establishment in which she earned a lucrative wage was one of the "warren" hotels. with very short delay, vivie was invited to ascend in a lift to the first floor and was shown in to a gorgeously furnished bedroom which, through an open door, gave a glimpse of an attractive boudoir or sitting-room beyond, and beyond that again the plane trees of a great boulevard breaking into delicate green leaf. a woman of painted middle age in a _descente de lit_ that in its opulence matched the hangings and furniture of the room, had been reclining on a sofa, drinking chocolate and reading a newspaper. she rose shakily to her feet, when the door closed behind vivie, tottered forward to meet her, and exclaimed rather theatrically "my _daughter_ ... come back to me ... after all these years!" (a few tears ran down the rouged cheeks). "steady on, mother," said vivie, propping her up, and feeling oh! so clean and pure and fresh and wholesome by contrast with this worn-out woman of pleasure. "lie down again on your sofa, go on with your _petit déjeuner_--which is surely rather late? there were signs and appetizing smells of the larger meal being imminent as i passed through the hotel. now just lie down until you want to dress--if you like, i'll help you dress" (swallowing hard to choke down a little shudder of repulsion). "i'm not in any hurry. i've come to brussels to go into matters thoroughly. for the present, i am staying at the hotel grimaud." mrs. warren was convulsively sobbing and ruining the complexion she had just made up, before she changed out of her _descente de lit_: "why not stop here, dearie? don't laugh! there's _lots_ that do and never suspect for one minute it ain't like any other hotel; though from all i see and hear, _all_ hotels are pretty much the same now-a-days, whether they're called by my name or not. of course a man might find out pretty quick, but not a woman who wasn't in the business herself. why we actually _encourage_ decent women to come here when we ain't pressed for room. they give the place a better tone, don't you know. there's two clergyman's sisters come here most autumns and stop and stop and don't notice anything. they come in here and chat with me, and once they said they liked foreign gentlemen better than their own fellow-countrymen: 'their manners are so _affable_.' why it was partly through people like that, that i got to hear every now and then what _you_ was up to. oh, i wasn't taken in long by that david williams business. praddy didn't give you away--to speak of, when i sent you that thousand pounds--lord, i was glad you kept it! but what fixed me was your portrait in the _daily mirror_ a couple of years ago as 'the brilliant young advocate, mr. david vavasour williams.' somehow the 'vavasour' seemed to fit in all right, though what you wanted with my--ahem--maiden name, with what was pore mother's _reel_ name, before she lived with your grandfather--well as i say, i soon saw through the whole bag o' tricks--but _what_ a lark! beat anythink _i_ ever did. what have you done with your duds? gone back to bein' vivie once more?--" _vivie_: "i'll tell you all about it in good time. but i would rather not stay here all the same. i've found a quiet hotel near the station. i will come and see you if you can make it easy for me; but what i should very much prefer, if you can only get away from this horrid place, is that you should come and see _me_. why shouldn't you give yourself a fortnight's holiday and go off with me to louvain ... or to spa ... or some other quiet place where we can talk over everything to our heart's content?" _mrs. warren_: "not a bad idea. do me a lot of good. i was feeling awfully down, vivie, when you came. i wasn't altogether taken aback at your coming, dearie, 'cos praddy had given me a kind of a hint you might turn up. but somehow, though everything goes well in business--we seldom had so busy a time as during this last humanitarian congress of the powers--all the diplomats came here--mostly the old ones, the old and respectable--oh we _all_ like respectability--yet i never 'ad such low spirits. my gals used to come in here and find me cryin' as often as not.... 'comment, madame,' they used to say, 'pourquoi pleurez vous? tout va si bien! _quelle_ clientele, et pas chiche'--i suppose you understand french? however about this trip to the country, look on it as _settled_. i'll pack up now and away we go in the afternoon. and not to any of your measly hotels or village inns. why i've got me _own_ country place and me _own_ auto. villa de beau-séjour, a mile or so beyond the lovely beech woods of tervueren. ain't so far from louvain, so's i can send you on there one day--ah! there's some one you'd like to see in louvain, if i mistake not! you always was one for findin' out things, and maybe i'll tell you more, now you've come back to me, than what i'd a done with you standing up so stiff and proud and me unfit to take up the hem of your skirt.... how i do ramble. suppose it's old age comin' on" (shudders). "about this villa de beau-séjour ... it was once a farm house, and even now it's the farm where i get me eggs and milk and butter an' the fruit and vegetables for this hotel. _he_ gave it to me--you know whom i mean by '_he_'? ... don't do to talk too loud in a place like this.... they say he's pretty bad just now, not likely to live much longer. i was his mistress once, years ago--at least i was more a confidante than anything else. _how_ he used to laugh at my stories! 'que tu es une drôlesse,' he used to say. i never used to mince matters and we were none the worse for that. bless you, he wasn't as bad as they painted him, 'long of all this fuss about the blacks. as i say, he gave me the villa de beau-séjour, and used to say if i behaved myself he might some day make me 'baronne de beau-séjour.' how'd you have liked that, eh? sort of morganatic queen? i lay i'd have put some good management into the runnin' of those places. aïe! how they used to swindle 'im, and he believing himself always such a sharp man of business! when that vaughan hussy..." _vivie_: "very well. we'll go to villa beau-séjour. but don't give me too many of your reminiscences or i may leave you after all and go back to england. whilst i'm with you, you must give up rouge and patchouli and the kind of conversation that goes with them. i'm out here trying to do my duty and duty is always unpleasant. i don't want to be a kill-joy, but don't give me more of that side of your character than you can help. it--it makes me sick, mother..." [mrs. warren--or madame varennes--whimpers a little, but soon cheers up, rings the bell for her maid preparatory to dressing and being the business woman over her preparations for departure. she notes the address of vivie's hotel and promises to call for her there in the _auto_ at three o'clock. vivie leaves her, descends the richly carpeted stairs--the lift is worked by an odiously pretty, little, plump soubrette dressed as a page boy--and goes out into the street. several lounging men stare hard at her, but decide she is too english, too plainly dressed, and a little too old to neddle with. this last consideration is apparent to vivie's intelligence and she muses on it with a wistful little smile, half humour, half regret. she will at her leisure write a whole description of the scene to michael.] those who come after us will never realize how delightful was foreign travel before the war, before that war which installed damnable dora in power in all the countries of europe, especially france, belgium, switzerland, italy, and holland. they will not conceive it possible that the getting of a passport (as a mere means of rapidly establishing one's identity at bank or post-office) was a simple transaction done through a banker or a tourist agency, the enclosing of stamps and the payment of a shilling or two; that there was no question of _visas_ entailing endless humiliation and back-breaking delays, waiting about in ante-rooms and empty apartments of squalid, desolating ugliness situate always in the most odious parts of a town. but the foreign offices of europe were agreed on one topic, and this was that having got their feet back on the necks of the people, their serfs of the glebe should not, save under circumstances hateful, fatiguing, unhealthy and humiliating, travel through the lands that once were beautiful and bountiful and are so no longer. so: vivie, never having consciously been abroad before (though she was later to learn she had actually been born in brussels), began to experience all the delights of travel in a foreign land. she woke up the next morning to the country pleasures of villa beau-séjour, a preposterous chateau-villa it might be, but attached to a charming flemish farm; with cows and pigs, geese and ducks, plump poultry and white pigeons, with clumps of poplars and copses of hawthorns and wild cherry trees which joined the little domain on to the splendid forest of tervueren. there were the friendly, super-intelligent big dogs, like bastard st. bernards or mastiffs in breed, that drew the little carts which carried the produce of the farm to the markets or to brussels. there were cheery flemish farm servants and buxom dairy or poultry women, their wives; none of them particularly aware that there was anything discreditable about madame varennes. they may have vaguely remembered she had once lived under high protection, but that, if anything, added to her prestige in their eyes. she was an english lady who for purposes of business and may be of _la haute politique_ chose to live in belgium. she was a kind mistress and a generous _patronne_. vivie as her daughter was assured of their respect, and by her polite behaviour won their liking as well. "you know, viv, old girl," said mrs. warren one day, "if you played your cards all right, this pretty place might be yours after i'd gone. why don't yer pick up a decent husband somewhere and drop all this foolishness about the suffragettes? he needn't know too much about me, d'yer see? and if you looked at things sensible-like, you'd come in for a pot of money some day; and whilst i lived i'd make you a good allowance--" "it's no use, dear mother"--involuntarily she said "dear": her heart was hungry for affection, wales was rapidly passing out of her sphere, david's business must soon be wound up in that quarter and where else had she to go? "so long as you keep on with those hotels i can't touch a penny. i oughtn't to have kept that thousand, only praddy assured me it was 'clean' money." _mrs. w._: "so it was. i won it at monte. i don't often gamble now, i hate losing money. but we'd had a splendid season at roquebrune and i sat down one day at the tables, a bit reckless-like. seemed as if i couldn't lose. when i got up and left i had won thirty thousand francs. so i says to myself: 'this shall go to my little girl: i'll send it through praddy and he'll pay it into her bank. then i shan't feel anxious about her.'" "mother! what a strange creature you are! such a mixture of good and bad--for i suppose it _is_ bad, i feel somehow it _is_ bad, trafficking in women's bodies, as they put it sensationally. towards me you have always been compact of kindness; you took every precaution to have me brought up well, out of knowledge of any impurity; and well and modernly educated. you left me quite free to marry whom i liked ... but ... but ... you stuck to this horrible career..." "well, vivie. i did. but did you make any great effort to turn me from it? besides, _is_ it horrible? i won't promise much for berlin and buda-pest or even vienna, because i haven't been in those directions for ever so long, and the germans are reg'lar getting out of hand, they are, working up for something. i dessay if you looked in at the warren hotels in those places you might find lots to say against 'em. but you couldn't say the places i supervise here and at roquebrune are so bad? _i_ won't stop your looking into 'em. the girls are treated right down well. looked after if they fall sick and given every encouragement to marry well. i even call those two places--i've giv' up me paris house this ten years--i even call them my 'marriage markets.' ah! an' i've given in my time not a few _dots_ to decent girls that had found a good husband _dans la clientèle_. why they're no more than what you might call hotels a bit larkier than what other hotels are. i've never in all my twenty years of brussels management had a row with the police.... and as to all this rot about the white slave traffic that you seem so excited about ... well i'm not saying there's nothin' in it.... antwerp, hamburg, rotterdam--you'd hear some funny stories there ... but only if you went as david williams in your man's kit--my! what a wheeze that's bin!... and from all they tell me, that place in south america--buenos aires, is a reg'lar hell. but ... god bless my soul ... there's nothin' to fuss about here. our young ladies would take on like anything if you forced them to go away from my care. it's gettin' near the time when we close our roquebrune establishment for the summer, an' the girls'll all be goin' back to their homes in the mountains and fattenin' up on new milk; still if you go there before the middle of may you'll see things pretty much as they are in the season; and what's more you'll see plenty of perfectly respectable people stoppin' there. of course the prices are high. but look at the luxury! what that wicked bax used to call 'all the home comforts.' he liked 'is joke. i hear he's settlin' down at home with his old dutch. she's bin awful good to him, i must say. _i_ couldn't stand 'im long. i don't often lose me temper but i did with him, after he got licked by paul dombey, and i threw an inkpot at his head and ain't seen him for a matter of thirteen or fourteen year. he sold out all his shares in the warren hotels when he came a cropper." "well, mother, i'll have a look round. i'm truly glad you're quit of the german and austrian horrors, though you must bear the blame for having organized them in the first place. i will presently put on david williams's clothes and see what i _can_ see of them. but if you want me to be a daughter to you, you'll take the first and the readiest opportunity of removing your name from these--_ach_!--these legacies of the nineteenth century. you'll wind up the warren hotels' company, and as to the two houses you've got here and at roquebrune, you'll turn them now into decent places where no indecency is tolerated." _mrs. warren_: "i'll think it over and i don't say as i won't give in to you. i'm tired of a rackety life and i'm proud of you and ... and ... (cries) ... ashamed of meself ... ashamed whenever i look at you. though i've never bin what i call _bad_. i've helped many a lame dog over a stile.... that's partly how you came into existence--almost the only time i've ever been in love--many years ago--why, girl, you must be--getting on for thirty-five--let me see ... (muses). yes, it was in the winter of '73-74. i'd bin at ostende with a young barrister from london ... him i told you about once, who used to write plays, and we came on to brussels because he had some business with the belgian government. he left me pretty much to myself just then, though quite open-handed, don't you know.... one day i was walking through one of the poorer streets where the people was very flemish, and i stood looking up at an old doorway--dunno' why--s'pose i thought it picturesque--reminded me of praddy's drawin's. and an old woman comes up and says in french, 'madame est anglaise?' in those days i couldn't hardly speak a word o' french, but i said 'oui.' then she wants me to come upstairs but i thought it was some trap. however as far as i could make out there was a young irishman there, she said, lying very sick of a fever and seemingly had no friends. "well: i took down the address and the next day i came there with the concierge of the hotel where we were staying, and under his protection we went upstairs. my! it was a beastly place--and your poor father--for he _was_ your father--was tossing about and raving, with burning cheeks and huge eyes, just like yours. well! i had plenty of money just then, so with the help of that concierge we found a decent lodging--they wasn't so partic'lar then about infection or they didn't think typhoid infectious--i took him there in an ambulance, engaged a nurse, and in a fortnight he was recovering. he turned out to be a seminarist--i think they called it--from ireland who was going to be trained for the priesthood at louvain--lots of irish used to come there in those days. and somehow a fit of naughtiness had overcome him--he was only twenty--and he thought he'd like to see a bit of the world. so he'd sloped from his college and had a bit of a spree at brussels and ostende. then he was took with this fever-"his name was fergus o'conor and he always said he was descended from the real old irish kings, and he was some kind of a fenian. i mean he used to go on something terrible against the english, and say he would never rest till they were drove out of ireland. when he got well again he was that handsome--well i've never seen any one like him, unless it's you. i expect when you dress up as david williams you're the image of what he was when i fell in love with him. "and i did. and when me barrister friend--mr. fitzsimmons--teased me about it, and wanted me--he having finished his business--to return with him to london i refused. bein' a bit free with me speech in those days i dessay i said 'go to hell.' but he only laughed and left me fifty pounds. "well, i lived with this young student for a matter of six months. a lovely time we had, till he began gettin' melancholy--matter of no money partly. he tried bein' a journalist. "then the church got him back. there came about a reg'lar change in him, and just at the time when _you_ was comin' along. he woke up one night in a cold sweat and said he was eternally damned. 'nonsense,' i says, 'it's them crayfish; you ought never to eat that bisque soup...' "but he meant it. he went back to louvain--where i'm goin' to take you in a day or two--and i suppose they made him do all sorts of penances before they gave him absolution. but he stuck to it. in due time he became a priest and entered one of them religious houses. they think a lot of him at louvain. i've seen him once or twice but i can't bear to meet his eyes--they're somethin' like yours--make me feel a reg'lar jezebel. and as to you? well, when he left me i hadn't got much money left; so, before i begged a passage back to england, i called in at the very hotel where you found me the other day, and where me an' my barrister friend had been stayin'. i'd got to know the proprietress a little--real kind-'earted woman she was. she said to me 'see here. you stop with me and help me in the bureau and have your baby. i'll look after you. and when you can get about again, stop on and help me in my business. i reckon you're the type of woman i've bin looking out for this long while.' and that's how the first of the warren hotels was started and that's where you were born ... in october, eighteen--seventy--five--" (vivie gave a little shudder, but her mother's thoughts were so intent on the past that she did not perceive it.) _mrs. warren_: "dj'ever see yer aunt liz?" vivie told her of the grim experiences already touched on in chapter i. _mrs. warren_: "well she dropped _me_--_com_pletely--from the time she married that canon. and i respected her. she was comfortably off, her past was dead and done with. d'yer think _i_ wanted to bother 'er? not i. it depends so much on the way you was born and brought up. if liz had been the child of a respectable married couple that could give her a good start in life, 'probability is she'd have run straight from the first. dunno about me. i was always a bit larky. and yet d'you know, i think if yer father hadn't been a sort of young god, with his head in the skies, and no reg'lar income, if he'd a married me and been kind to me ... i should have been an honest woman all the rest of me life.... "what do _you_ feel about morality? you don't seem to have much faith in religion, yet you've always taken a high line--and somehow i'm glad you have--about things that never seemed to me to matter much. we're given these passions and desires--and my! don't it hurt, falling in love!--and then the clergy, though they're awful humbugs, tells us we must deny our cravings..." _vivie_: "in the main the clergy are right in what they preach though they give the wrong reasons. we must try to regulate our passions or they will master us, stifle what is really good in us. my solution of this problem which i am so sick of discussing.... but let's finish with it while we are about it--my solution is that the state and the community should do their utmost to encourage, subsidize, reward early marriages; and at the same time facilitate in a reasonable degree divorce. apply both these remedies and you would go far to wipe out prostitution, which i think perfectly horrible--i--i should like to penalize it. perhaps it is the irish ascetic in my constitution. a good many early marriages might be failures. well then, at the end of ten years these should be dissolvable, with proper provision made for the children. i think many a couple if they knew that after a time and without scandal their partnership could be dissolved wouldn't, when the time came, want it. while on the other hand if you made the tie not everlastingly binding, young people--especially if they hadn't to trouble about means--would get married without hesitation or delay. i should not only encourage that, but i should give every woman a heavy bonus for bringing a living child into the world.... now let's talk of something else. when are you going to take me to louvain?" * * * * * they went to louvain a few days later and vivie's newly awakened senses for the beautiful in art revelled in the glorious architecture, so much of which was afterwards wrecked in the war. walking beneath the planes in a narrow street between monastic buildings, they descried a gaunt, stately figure of a father superior of some great order. "there!" said mrs. warren; "that's him, that's your father." they quickened their pace and were presently alongside him. he flashed his great, grey eagle eyes for a contemptuous second on the face of mrs. warren, who was all of a tremble and could not meet the gaze. vivie, he scarcely glanced at as he strode towards a doorway which engulfed him, though the eyes she had inherited would have met his unflinchingly. * * * * * david williams duly visited antwerp, rotterdam, hamburg, berlin, vienna, and buda-pest. much of what he saw disgusted, even revolted, him, but he found few of his fellow-countrywomen held captive and crying to be delivered from a life of infamy. on his return to england in the autumn of 1909, he published the results of his observations; but they had very little effect on continental public opinion. however mrs. warren in due course turned her two establishments into hotels that gradually acquired a well-founded character of propriety and were in time included amongst those recommended to quiet, studious people by first class tourist agencies. their names were changed respectively from hotel leopold ii to hotel edouard-sept, from the homestead, roquebrune, to hotel du royaume-uni. mrs. warren or mme. varennes retired completely from the management, but arranged to retain for her own use the magnificently furnished _appartement_ on the first floor of the hotel edouard-sept at brussels, where vivie had seen her in the late spring of 1909. she still continued to receive a certain income from these two admirably managed hostelries. constrained by vivie she bestowed large donations on charitable and educational institutions affecting the welfare of women and established a fund of ten thousand pounds for the promotion of woman suffrage in great britain, which fund was to be at vivie's disposal. but even with these sacrifices to _bienséance_ she remained a lady of considerable fortune. she resisted however all invitations to make her home in england. "no, dear; i've got used to foreign ways. i hate my own people; they're such damned hypocrites; and the cooking don't suit my taste, accustomed to the best." but she gave up brandy except as a very occasional _chasse_ after the postprandial coffee. she no longer dyed her hair and used very little rouge and no scent but lavender. her hair turned a warm white colour, and dressed à la pompadour made her look what she probably was at heart--quite a decent sort. chapter xii vivie returns honoria armstrong, faithful in friendship and purpose as few people are (though she abated never a whit her love for her dear, fierce, blue-eyed, bristly-moustached, battle-scarred, bullying husband) prepared for vivie's return in the autumn of 1909 by securing for her occupancy a nice little one-storeyed house in a kensington back street; one of those houses--i doubt not, now tenanted by millionaires who don't want a large household, just a roof over their heads--that remain over from the early nineteenth century, when kensington was emerging from a country village into villadom. the broad, quiet road, named after our late dear queen, has nothing but these detached or semi-detached little _cottages ornés_, one-storeyed villas with a studio behind, or two-storeyed components of "terraces," for about a quarter of a mile; and just before the war, building speculators were wont to pace its pavements with a hungry gaze directed to left and right buying up in imagination all this wasted space, pulling down these pretty stucco nests, and building in their place castles of flats, high into the air. i don't suppose this district will escape much longer the destruction of its graceful flowering trees and vivid gardens, its air of an opulent village; it will match with the rest of kensingtonia in huge, handsome buildings and be much sought after by the people who devote their lives--till they commit suicide--to illicit love and the victory balls at the albert hall. but in 1909--would that we were all back in 1909!--it was as nice a part of london as a busy, energetic, sober-living spinster, in the movement, yet liking home retirement and lilac-scented privacy--could desire to inhabit, at the absurd rental of fifty pounds a year, with comparatively low rates, and the need for only one hard-working, self-respecting suffragette maid, with the monthly assistance of a charwoman of advanced views. there vivie took up her abode in november of the year indicated. honoria lived not far away, next door but one to the parrys in kensington square. she--vivie--was aware that colonel armstrong did not altogether like her, couldn't "place" her, felt she wasn't "one of us," and therefore despite honoria's many invitations to run in and out and not to mind dear old "army" who was _always_ like that at first, just as their chow was--she exercised considerable discretion about her frequentation of the armstrong household, though she generally attended honoria's suffrage meetings, held whenever the colonel was called away to aldershot or hythe. honoria by this time--the close of 1909--was the mother of four lovely, healthy, happy children. she would give birth to a fifth the following june (1910), and then perhaps she would stop. she often said about this time--touching wood as she did so--"could any woman be happier?" she was so happy that she believed in god, went sometimes to st. mary abbott's or st. paul's, knightsbridge--the music was so jolly--and gave largely to cheerful charities as well as to the suffrage cause. she would in the approach to christmas, 1909, look round and survey her happiness: could any one have a more satisfactory husband? of course he was a man and had silly mannish prejudices, but then without them he would not be so lovable. her children--two boys and two girls--could you find greater darlings if you spent a week among the well-bred childern playing round the round pond? such _natural_ children with really original remarks and untrained ideas; not artificial peter pans who wistfully didn't want to grow up; not slavish little mimics of the children's stories in vogue, pretending to play at red indians--when every one knew that red indians nowadays dressed like all the other citizens of the united states and canada and sat in congress and cultivated political "pulls" or sold patent medicines; or who said "good hunting" and other mowgli shibboleths to mystified relations from the mid-nineteenth century country towns; nor children who teased the cat or interfered with the cook or stole jam or did anything else that was obsolete; or decried sullivan's music in favour of debussy's or of scarlatini's 17th century _tiraliras_; or wore spectacles and had to have their front teeth in gold clamps. just clear-eyed, good-tempered, good-looking, roguish and spontaneously natural and reasonably self-willed children, who adored their parents and did not openly mock at the elishas that called on them. then there were honoria's friends. i gave a sort of list of them in chapter ii--which i am told has caused considerable offence, not by what was put _in_ but to those who were left out. but they needn't mind: if the protesters were nice people according to my standard, you may be sure honoria knew them. but of all her friends none was dearer and closer--save her husband--than vivie warren--pal of pals, brave comrade of the unflinching eyes. and somehow vivie (since she fell in love with michael rossiter) was ten times dearer than she had been before: she was more understanding; she had a brighter eye, a much greater sense of humour; she was tenderer; she liked children as she never had done in bygone years, and was soon adopted by the four children in kensington square as "aunt vivie" (they also--the two elder ones--had a vague remembrance of an uncle david who had brought them toys and sweetmeats in a dim past). aunt vivie and mummie used to get up the most amusing suffrage meetings in the long, narrow garden behind the house; or they combined forces with lady maud parry, and spoke in lilting contralto or mezzo-soprano (with the compliant tenor or baritone of here and there a captive man) across the two gardens. or somehow they commandeered the square garden on the pretext of a vast garden party, at which every one talked and laughed at once over their suffrage views. yes: honoria was happy then, as indeed she had been during most of her life, except when her brother died and her mother died. what did she lack for happiness? nothing that this world can give in the opening twentieth century ... not even a very good pianola or a motor. i feel somehow it was almost unfair (in my rage at the inequality of treatment meted out by the powers beyond). shall not general sir petworth armstrong die in the great débacle of the world-wide war? i shall see, later. and yet i feel that this nucleus of pure happiness housed in kensington square--or at petworth manor--was to the little world that revolved round the armstrongs like a good radiator in a cold house. it warmed many a chilly nature into fructification; it healed many a scar, it brightened many a humble life, like that of bertie adams's hard-working, washerwoman mother, or the game-keeper's crippled child at petworth or the newest, suburbanest little employé of _fraser and claridge's_ huge establishment in the brompton road. it pulled straight the wayward life of some young subaltern, about to come a cropper, but who after a talk or two with that jolly mrs. armstrong took quite a different course and made a decent marriage. it conjoined with many of the social activities for good of one who might have been her twin sister--suzanne feenix--only that suzanne was twenty years older and perhaps an inch or two shorter. dear woman! my remembrance flashes a kiss to your astral cheek--which in reality i should never have dared to salute, so great was my awe of colonel armstrong's muscles--as, at any reasonable time before or after the birth of your last child in june, 1910, you stand in the hall of your sunny, eighteenth century house, with the gold and green glint of the kensington garden behind you: saying with your glad eyes and bonny mouth "come to our suffrage party? _such_ a lark! we've got mrs. pankhurst here and the police daren't raid us; they're so afraid of 'army.' of course he's away, but he knows _perfectly well_ what i'm doing. he's _quite_ given in. now michael, you show sir harry and lady johnston to the front seats..." (i looked round for the rather gloomy presence of michael rossiter, but it was his little golden-haired god-son she meant.) you shall have your general back safe from the wars, with a wound that gives only honour, a reasonable number of well-earned decorations, and a reputation for rather better strategy than aldershot generally produces; and he shall live out his wholesome life alongside yours, still dispensing happiness, even under a labour government: till, as burton used to wind up his arabian nights love stories, "there came to them the destroyer of delight and the sunderer of societies." honoria acted towards the suffrage movement somewhat as in older-fashioned days of second empire laxity well-to-do people evaded military service under conscription by paying a substitute to take their place in the fighting line. on account of her husband, and the children she had just had or was going to have, she did not throw herself into the physical struggle; but she still continued out of her brother's ear-marked money to subsidize the cause. rather regretfully, she looked on from a motor, a balcony, a front window or the safe plinth of some huge statue, whilst her comrades, with less to risk physically and socially, matched their strength of will, their trained muscles, their agility, astuteness and feminine charm (seldom without some effect) against the brute force and imperturbability of the police. the struggle waxed hot and fierce in the early months of 1910. vivie held herself somewhat in the background also, not wishing to strike publicly and effectively until she was sure for what principle she endangered her life and liberty. nevertheless she became a resource of rising importance to the suffrage cause. she was known to have had a clever barrister cousin who for some reasons best known to himself had of late kept in the background--ill-health, said some; an unfortunate love affair, said another. but his pamphlet on the white slave traffic on the continent showed that he was still at work. vivie was thought to be fully equal in her knowledge of the law to her cousin, though not allowed to qualify for the bar. case after case was referred to her with the hope that if she could not solve it, she might submit it to her cousin's judgment. in this way, excellent legal advice was forthcoming which drove the home office officials from one quandary to another. but vivie in the spring of 1910, looking back on nearly twelve months of womanly life (save for david's summer of continental travel) decided that she didn't like being a woman, so far as woman was dressed in 1910 and for three or four hundred years previously. as "david" this had been more or less her costume: an undershirt (two, in very cold weather), a pair of pants coming down to the ankle, and well-fitting woollen socks on the feet. a shirt, sometimes in day-time all of one piece with its turn-over collar; at worst with a separate collar and a tie passed through it. braces that really braced and held up the nether garment of trousers; a waistcoat buttoning fairly high up (no pneumonia blouse)--two waistcoats if she liked, or a dandy slip buttoned innocently inside the single vest to suggest the white lie of a second inner vest. over the waistcoat a coat or jacket. on the head a hat which fitted the head in thirty seconds (allowing for david's shock of hair). lace-up or button boots, with perhaps at most six buttons; gloves with one button; spats--if david wanted to be very dressy--with three buttons. on top of all this a warm, easily-fitting overcoat or a mackintosh. if you were really dressing to kill (as a man) it might take half an hour; if merely to go about your business and not be specially remarked for foppishness, twenty minutes. to divest yourself of all this and get into paijamas and so to bed: ten minutes. but when vivie returned to herself and went about the world of 1909-1910, and merely wished to pass as an inconspicuous, modest woman she had to spend _hours_ in dressing and undressing, and this is what she had to wear and waste so much of her time in adjusting and removing:-next the skin, merino combinations, unwieldy garments requiring a contortionist's education to put on without entangling your front and hind limbs. the "combies" were specially buttoned with an infinitude of small, scarcely visible buttons, which always wanted sewing on and replacing, and were peevish about remaining in the button hole. often, too, the "combies" (i really can't keep writing the full name) had to be tied here and there with little white ribbons which preferred getting into a knot (no wonder the average woman has a temper!). when the "combies" went to the wash, all these ribbonlets had to be taken out, specially washed, specially ironed, and ingeniously threaded back into position. next to the combinations, proceeding outwards, came the corset, a most serious affair. this exceedingly expensive instrument of torture was compounded chiefly of silk (which easily frayed) and whale-bone. many good women of the middle class have gone to their graves for three hundred years believing that almighty god had specially created toothless whales of the family _balænidæ_ solely for the purpose of providing women with the only possible ingredient for a corset; and for three hundred years, brave seamen of the dutch, british and basque nations had gone to a watery grave to procure for women this indispensable aid to correct clothing. but these filaments of horny palatal processes are unamiable. though sheathed in silk or cotton, they, after the violent movements of a suffragette or a charwoman, break through the restraining sheath and run into the body under the fifth rib, or press forward on to the thigh. which is why you often see a woman's face in an omnibus express severe pain and her lips utter the exclamation "aïe, aïe." then this confounded corset had to be laced with pink ribbons at the back and in front and both lacings demanded unusual suppleness of arms and sense of touch in finger-tips; and when the corset went to the wash the ribbons had to be drawn out, washed, ironed, and threaded again. from the front of the corset hung two elastic suspenders as yet awaiting their prey. but first must be drawn on the silk or stockinette knickerbockers which in the 1910 woman replaced the piteously laughable drawers of the victorian period. then the suspenders clutched the rims of the stockings with an arrangement of nickel and rubber which no _man_ would have tolerated for its inefficiency but would have thrown back in the face of the shopman and have been charged with assault. in times of stress, at public meetings the suspenders would release the stockings from their hold, and the latter roll about the ankles of the embarrassed pleader for woman's rights ("who would be free, themselves must strike the blow," and first of all throttle the modiste, thought vivie). then there was the camisole that concealed the corset and had to be "pinned" in with safety pins. the knickerbockers might not seek the aid of braces; but they must be kept up by an elastic band. over the camisole, in 1910, came a blouse, pernickety and shiftless about its waist fastening; and finally a hobble skirt, chiefly kept up by safety pins, and so cut below as to hamper free movement of the limbs as much as possible. day-boots often had as many as twenty-one buttons--and, mind you, not _sham_, buttons, as i used to think, out of swagger; but every button demanded entrance into a practicable button hole. or the boots themselves were mere shoes with many buttoned spats drawn over them. all the boots had high heels and the woman walked so as to put a severe strain on her arched instep in order that she might bring on by degrees "flat foot" for surgical treatment. who shall describe the hats of 1910?--and before and since--in all but the very poorest women? they were enormous; and so were the hat-boxes; and they could only be held on to the head by running hatpins through wisps of hair. i will not portray the evening dresses that it sometimes takes a kindly husband an hour to fasten, with "press-buttons" and hooks and eyes; and poor vivie had no husband and depended on her suffragette maid because at all costs she mustn't look dowdy or the woman's cause might suffer at mrs. pethick lawrence's receptions. as to night gear: of course vivie being a free agent slept in david's paijamas. she had long ago cut the gordian knots of her be-ribboned, girdled night gowns in favour of the indian garment. but can you wonder after this true recital of the simplest forms of a decent woman's costume in 1909-1910 and even now (a recital drawn from a paper on _woman's dress_ delivered by david on one of the last occasions in which he appeared at the debating society of the inner temple--and checked by my jury of matrons)--can you wonder that vivie took very hardly to giving up a man's life in the clothes of david williams? how she vowed to herself--fruitlessly, because now she is one of the best-dressed women in town (in a quiet way)--that she would one day enfranchise women in their costume as in their citizenship? this will never be done until the modistes of paris, in some great popular uprising, are strangled and burnt on the place de la concorde. at the 1910 (january) election, michael rossiter had been returned as m.p. for one of the midland universities. his science had certainly suffered from his suppressed love for vivie, a passion which secretly tortured him, yet for which he dared ask no respite. he thought it was about time that _real_ men of science entered parliament to check the utter mismanagement of public affairs which had been going on since 1900. he proposed to himself to make a succession of brilliant speeches (he really was an admirable and fluent lecturer) on anthropology, chemistry--chemistry ought to appeal, even to city men because it made such a lot of money--ethnology, hygiene, geography, economic botany, regional zoology, germ diseases, agriculture, etc., etc.; _and_ the absolute necessity of giving woman the same electoral privileges as man. he was always well inclined that way, but after he realized that david was vivie he became almost an embittered suffragist. the speaker took care that he had little scope for his anthropology, economic botany, chemistry, hygiene, etc., on votes of supply: but he got in some nasty blows in the woman's cause, and in fact was so strangely rancorous that ministers looked at him evilly and arranged that he was not placed on the committee of the conciliation bill; that amusing farce with which the liberal ministry sought in 1910 to stave off the suffrage dilemma. rossiter and vivie seldom met except at public receptions. every now and again he came to suffrage meetings when she was going to speak; and how well she spoke then! how real it all seemed to her! how handsome she looked (even at 36) and how near she was to tears and a breakdown; while his eyes burned; and when he got home poor little linda was in despair over her poor distraught michael, who could find no happiness or contentment in ten thousand a year, great fame as the chief inventor of the ductless glands, and the man who had issued a taxonomic classification of the _bovidae_ which even satisfied _me_. what a cruel force is love! or is the cruelty in human disciplinary laws? here were two persons eminently suited to be mates, calculated while still in the prime of life to procreate offspring that would be a credit to the nation, who asked for nothing more in life than to lie in each other's arms--after which no doubt they would have arisen and performed the most wonderful feats in inductive science or in embroidery or mathematics. and they were inwardly raging, losing their appetites, sleeping very badly yet eschewing drugs, pursuing will-of-the-wisps in politics, wasting the best years of their lives ... from a sense of duty, that sense of duty which has made the nordic white man the dominant race on the earth. "we suffer individually but we gain collectively," rossiter said to himself. in may, 1910, king edward died, and all these gladiators, male and female, willingly declared a truce in the suffrage battle, to obtain a much needed rest in the weary conflict. as soon as political activities were resumed, the conciliation bill by the energies of the liberal whips was talked out (wasn't it?). at any rate it came to nothing for that session. vivie took this as a decision. she openly declared that the vote never would be given by the house of commons or house of lords until it was wrung from the legislature by a complete dislocation of public affairs, the nearest approach to a revolution women could bring about without rifles and cannon. meantime she refused to be duped by ministers or by amiable go-betweens. she resolved instead, perhaps for the last time, to resume the clothes and status of david williams, go down to wales, and stay with her father who was dying by slow degrees. the letters which the curate had written from time to time to d.v. williams, esq., care of michael rossiter, esq., f.r.s., and usually forwarded on by bertie adams, had told david how much the revd. howel williams had failed since the cold spring of 1909, and how in the colder spring of 1910 he had once or twice narrowly survived influenza. in july, 1910, he was dying of heart failure. nevertheless the return of david, his well-beloved, brought to him a flicker of renewed life, a little pink in the cheeks, and some garrulity. he could hardly bear his darling son out of his sight, except for the narrowest margin of necessary sleep; and often david slept sitting up in an arm-chair in the vicar's bedroom. the revd. howel said nothing more about grandchildren; often--with a finer sense--spoke to him not as though he were a son, but as a beloved daughter. at last he died in his sleep one night, holding david's hand, looking so ineffably happy that the impostor inwardly gloried in his imposture as in one of the best deeds of his chequered life. * * * * * the will, of course, had not been changed, and david inherited all his "father's" property. out of it he settled £500 on the miner's--or rather jenny's--son who probably _was_ the offspring of the real david williams's boyish amour. he provided a handsome annuity for poor, shaken, old nannie; and the rest of the money after paying all expenses he laid out on the endowment of a village hall for games and study, social meetings and political discussions, together with provision for an annual stipend of a hundred pounds for the vicar or curate of the parish who should run this hall: which was to be a lasting memorial to the reverend howel vaughan williams, so learned in the lore of wales. having settled all these matters to his satisfaction, and certainly to that of the revd. cadwalladr jones (who succeeded as vicar of pontystrad by a wise nudging and monetary pressure on the part of the late vicar's son), david returned to london at the close of 1910, took off his clothes and shed his personality. it was bruited that he had gone abroad to nurse a health that was seriously impaired through his incredible exertions over the shillito case. he left his cousin vivie free to espouse the suffrage cause, even unto the extremest militancy. chapter xiii the suffrage movement the conciliation bill which was intended to give the parliamentary vote to a little over one million women had passed its second reading on july 12, 1910, by a majority of 110 votes; in spite of the bitter opposition of the premier, the chancellor of the exchequer, the home secretary, the president of the board of trade, and the secretary for the colonies. the premier's arguments against it were, firstly, that "women were women"--this of course was a deplorable fact--and that "the balance of power might fall into their hands without the physical force necessary to impose their decisions, etc., etc."; and finally "that in force lay the ultimate appeal" (rather a dangerous incitement to the sincere militants). the chancellor of the exchequer took up a more subtle attitude than the undisguised, grumpy hostility of his leader. his arguments at the time reminded me of an episode in east africa thirty years ago. a certain independent chief tolerated the presence on his territory of a plucky band of missionary pioneers. he did not care about christianity but he liked the trade goods the missionaries brought to purchase food and pay for labour in the erection of a station. these trade goods they kept in a storehouse made of wattle and daub. but this temporary building was not proof against cunning attempts at burglary on the part of the natives. the missionaries at length went to the chief (who was clothed shamelessly in the stolen calicoes) and sought redress. "all right," said the potentate, who kept a fretful realm in awe, "_but_ you have no proof it _is_ my people who break in and steal. you just catch one in the act, and _then_ you'll see what i'll do." so the oxford and cambridge athletic missionaries sat up night after night under some camouflage and at last their patience was rewarded by the capture of a naked, oily-skinned negro who emerged from a tunnel he had dug under the store-foundations. then they bore him off to the yao chieftain. "_now_ we know where we are," said the chief. "you've proved your complaint. we'll have him burnt to death, after lunch, in the market place. i presume you've brought a lunch-basket?" "oh no!" said the horrified propagandists: "we don't want such a penalty as _that_..." "very good" said the chief, "then we'll behead him..." "no! no!" "crucify him?"--"no! no!"--"peg him down over a driver ants' nest?" "no! no!" "then, if you don't want _any_ rational punishment, he shall go free." and free he went. in the same way the chancellor of the exchequer of those days was so hard to please over suffrage measures that none brought forward was democratic enough, far-reaching and overwhelming enough to secure his adhesion. he was therefore forced to torpedo the conciliation bill, to snatch away the half-loaf that was better than no bread at all. he spoke and voted against these tentative measures of feminine enfranchisement, with tongue in cheek, no doubt, and hand linked in that of lulu grandcourt whose opposition to any vote being given to woman and whole attitude towards the sex was so bitter that he had to be reminded by lord aloysius brinsley (who like his brother robert was a convinced suffragist) that after all he, lulu grandcourt, had deigned to be born of a woman, had even--maybe--been spanked by one. the speaker had hinted on the occasion of the second reading of the concilition bill and at a later raising of the same question that there might arise all sorts of obstacles to wreck the woman's franchise measure in committee; obstacles that apparently need not be taken into account as dangerous to any measure affecting male interests. therefore many of the m.p.'s timorously voted for the second reading of the conciliation bill in order to stand well with their constituencies, yet looked to the premier to trip it up by some adroit use of parliamentary jiu-jitsu. they were not disappointed in their ideal politician. the bill after it had passed its second reading by a large majority was referred to a committee of the whole house, which seemingly is fatal to any measure that seeks to become law. so the stale summer of 1910 wore itself away in recriminations, hopings against probability that the newer types of liberal statesmen were honest men, keepers of promises, not merely--as vivie said in one of the many speeches that got her into trouble--"bridge-players, first and foremost, golf-players when they couldn't play bridge, or speculators on the stock exchange, champagne drinkers; and prone to eat at their lucullus banquets, public and private, till they sometimes fainted with indigestion." my! but she was bitter in her hyde park speeches and at her albert hall meetings against this band of mock-liberals who had seized the impulse of the country towards reform which had grown up under the chamberlain era to instal themselves in power with the financial backing of great americo-german-jewish internationalists, who in those early years of the twentieth century were ready to stake their dollars on the free trade british empire if they might guide its policy. [very likely if they had obtained the complete guidance they sought for they might have staved off this ruinous war by telling germany bluntly she must keep her hands off france and belgium; they might also have seen to it that the war office _was_ reformed and the british army ready to fulfil lord haldane's promises; for there is no doubt they had ability even if they despised the instruments they worked with.] but as i say, vivie was a bitter and most effective speaker. she inflamed to action many a warm-hearted person like myself, like rossiter (who got into trouble--though it was hushed up--in 1910-1911 for slapping the face of a secretary of state who spoke slightingly of the women suffragists and their motives). yet i seem to be stranded now, with a few others, in my pre-war enthusiasm over the woman's cause, or, later, my horror at the german treatment of belgium. where are the snows of yester-year; where is the animosity which in the years between the burking of the conciliation bill and the spring of 1914 grew up between the disinterested reformers who wanted woman enfranchised and the liberal ministers who fought so doggedly, so unscrupulously, against such a rational completion of representative government? the other day i glanced at a newspaper and saw that sir michael and lady rossiter had been dining at the ritz with the grandcourts, princess belasco, sir abel batterby, the great police surgeon, knighted for his skill and discretion in forcible feeding, and the george bounderbys (g.b. was the venomous private secretary of a former chancellor of the exchequer and put him up to most of his anti-suffrage dodges); and meeting vivien rossiter soon afterwards i said, "how _could_ you?" "how could i what?" "dine with the people you once hated." "oh i don't know, it's all past and done with; we've got the vote and somehow after those years in brussels i seem to have no hates and few loves left"--however this is anticipating. i only insert this protest because i may seem to be expressing a bitterness the protagonists have ceased to feel, a triumph at the victory of their cause which produces in them merely a yawn. where is mrs. pankhurst? somehow one thought she would never rest till she was in the cabinet. and christabel? and annie kenney? married perchance to some permanent under secretary of state and viewing "direct action" with growing disapproval. and the pethick lawrences? some one told me the other day that they'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be forcibly fed. but in november, 1910, we all--we that were whole-hearted reformers, true liberals, not wolves in sheep's clothing, took very much to heart what happened on the 18th of that month, when the prime minister of the time announced that the conference between the house of lords and the house of commons on the veto question having broken down he had advised his majesty to dissolve parliament. this meant that the conciliation bill was _finally_ done for; while the declaration of the prime minister as to the future programme of the liberal party, if it was returned to power, excluded any mention of a woman's enfranchisement bill. on black friday, november 18th, vivie was present at the meeting in caxton hall when mrs. pankhurst explained the position to the suffragist women assembled there. her blood was fired by the recital of their wrongs and she was prominent among the four hundred and fifty volunteers who came forward to accompany mrs. pankhurst, dr. garret anderson and susan knipper-totes (the two last, infirm old ladies) when they proposed to march to the houses of parliament to exercise their right of presenting a petition. the women proceeded to parliament square in small groups so as to keep within the letter of the law. some like vivie carried banners with pitiful devices--"where there's a bill there's a way," "women's will beats asquith's skill," and so on.... she wished she had given more direct attention to these mottoes, but much of this procedure had been got up on impulse and little preparation made. it was near to four o'clock on a fine november afternoon when the four hundred and fifty women began their movement towards parliament square. a red sun was sinking behind the house of lords, the blue of the misty buildings and street openings was enhanced by the lemon yellow lights of the newly-lit lamps. the avenues converging on the houses of parliament were choked with people, and vehicles had to be diverted from the streets. the men in the watching crowd covered the pavements and island "refuges," leaving the roadways to the little groups of struggling women, and the large force--a thousand or more--of opposing police. it was said at the time that the government of the day, realizing by their action or inaction in the house of commons they had provoked this movement of mrs. pankhurst's, had prepared the policy with which to meet it. as on the eve of a general election it might be awkward if they made many arrests of women--perchance liberal women--on their way to the house to present a petition or escort a deputation, the police should be instructed instead to repel the suffragists by force, to give them a taste of that "frightfulness" which became afterwards so familiar a weapon in the prussian armoury. some said also that the government looked to the crowd which was allowed to form unchecked on the pavements, the crowd of rough men and boys--costers from lambeth, longshore men from the barges on the unembanked westminster riverside, errand boys, soldiers, sailors, clerks returning home, warehousemen, the tag-rag and bob-tail generally of london when a row is brewing--looked to this crowd to catch fire from the brutality of the police (uniformed and in plain clothes) and really give the women clamouring for the vote "what for"; teach them a lesson as to what the roused male can do when the female passes the limits of domestic license. a few deaths might result (and did), and many injuries, but the treatment they received would make such an impression on mrs. pankhurst's followers that they would at last realize the futility of measuring their puny force against the muscle of man. force, as the premier had just said, must be the decisive factor. but unfortunately for these calculations the large male crowd took quite a different line. the day had gone by when men and boys were wont to cry to some expounding suffragette: "go home and mind yer biby." dimly these toilers and moilers, these loafers and wasters now understood that women of a courage rarely matched in man were fighting for the cause of all ill-governed, mal-administered, swindled, exploited people of either sex. the mass of men, _in_ the mass, is chivalrous. it admires pluck, patience, and persistency. so the crowd instead of aiding the police to knock sense into the women began to take sides with the buffeted, brutalized and bleeding suffragettes. fortunately before the real fighting began, and no doubt as a stroke of policy on the part of some police inspector, mrs. pankhurst convoying the two frail old ladies--dr. garret anderson and susan knipper-totes--champions of the vote when woman suffrage was outside practical politics--had reached the steps of the strangers' entrance to the house of commons. from this point of 'vantage a few of the older leaders of the deputation were able to witness the four or five hours' struggle in and around parliament square, the abbey, parliament street, great george street which made black friday one of the note-worthy days in british history--though, _more nostro_, it will be long before it is inserted in school books. here, while something like panic signalized the legislative chamber and cabinet ministers scurried in and out like flurried rabbits and finally took refuge in their private rooms--here was fought out the decisive battle between physical and moral force over the suffrage question. the women were so _exaltées_ that they were ready to face death for their cause. the police were so exasperated that they saw red and some went mad with sex mania. it was a horrible spectacle in detail. men with foam on their moustaches were gripping women by the breasts, tearing open their clothing, and proceeding to rabid indecencies. or, if not sex-mad, they twisted their arms, turned back their thumbs to dislocation, rained blows with fists on pale faces, covering them with blood. they tore out golden hair or thin grey locks with equal disregard. mounted police were summoned to overawe the crowd, which by this time whether suffragist and female, or neutral, non-committal and male, was giving the police on foot a very nasty time. the four hundred and fifty women of the original impulse had increased to several thousand. dusk had long since deepened into a night lit up with arc lamps and the golden radiance of great gas-lamp clusters. flares were lighted to enable the police to see better what they were doing and who were their assailants. but the women showed complete indifference to the horses; and the horses with that exquisite forbearance that the horse can show to the distraught human, did their utmost not to trample on small feet and outspread hands. here and there humanity asserted itself. one policeman--helmetless, his fair, blond face scratched and bleeding--had in berserkr rage felled a young woman in the semi-darkness. he bore his senseless victim into the shelter of some nook or cloister and turned on her his bull's eye lantern. she was a beautiful creature, in private life a waitress at a tea shop. her hat was gone and her hair streamed over her drooping face and slender shoulders. the policeman overcome with remorse exclaimed--mentioning the home secretary's name "---be damned; this ain't the job for a decent man." the suffragette revived under his care. he escorted her home, resigned from the police force, married her and i believe has lived happily ever afterwards, if he was not killed in the war. vivie had struggled for about two hours to reach the precincts of the house, with or without her banner. probably without, because she had freely used its staff as a weapon of defence, and her former skill in fencing stood her in good stead. but at last she was gripped by two constables, one of them an oldish man and the other a plain-clothes policeman, whom several spectators had singled out for his pleasure in needless brutalities. these men proceeded to give her "punishment," and involuntarily she shrieked with mingled agony of pain and outraged sex-revolt. a man who had paused irresolutely on the kerb of a street refuge came to her aid. he dealt the grey-haired constable a blow that sent him reeling and then seized the plain-clothes man by his coat collar. a struggle ensued which ended in the intervener being flung with such violence on the kerb stone that he was temporarily stunned. presently he found himself being dragged along with his heels dangling, while vivie, described in language which my jury of matrons will not allow me to repeat, was being propelled alongside him, her clothes nearly torn off her, to some police station where they were placed under arrest. as soon as they had recovered breath and complete consciousness, had wiped the blood from cut heads, noses, and lips, they looked hard at each other. "thank you _so_ much," said vivie, "it _was_ good of you." "that's enough," said her defender, "it wanted the voice to make me sure; but somehow i thought all along it _was_ vivie. don't you know me? frank gardner!" while waiting for the formalities to be concluded and their transference to cells in which they were to pass the night, frank told vivie briefly that he had returned from rhodesia a prosperous man on a brief holiday leaving his wife and children to await his return. hearing there was likely to be an unusual row that evening over the suffrage question he had sauntered down from the strand to see what was going on and had been haunted by the conviction that he would meet vivie in the middle of the conflict. but when he rushed to her defence his action was instinctive, the impulse of any red-blooded man to defend a woman that was being brutally maltreated. the next morning they were haled before the magistrate. michael rossiter was in court as a spectator, feverishly anxious to pay vivie's fine or to find bail, or in all and every way to come to her relief. he seemed rather mystified at the sight of frank gardner arraigned with her. but presently the prosecuting counsel for the chief commissioner of police arrived and told the astonished magistrate it was the wish of the home secretary that the prisoners in the dock should all be discharged, vivie and frank gardner among them. at any rate no evidence would be tendered by the prosecution. so they were released, as also was each fresh batch of prisoners brought in after them. vivie went in a cab to her house in the victoria road; frank back to his hotel. both had promised to foregather at rossiter's house in portland place at lunch. hitherto vivie had refrained from entering no. 1 park crescent. she had not seen it or mrs. rossiter since david's attack of faintness and hysteria in february, 1909, nearly two years ago. why she went now she scarcely knew, logically. it was unwise to renew relations too closely with rossiter, who showed his solicitude for her far too plainly in his face. the introduction to linda rossiter in her female form would be embarrassing and would doubtless set that good lady questioning and speculating. yet she felt she must see rossiter--writing was always dangerous and inadequate--and reason with him; beg him not to spoil his own chances in life for her, not lose his head in politics and personal animosities on her behalf, as he seemed likely to do. already people were speaking of him as a parallel to ----, and ----, and ---(you can fill the blanks for yourself with the names of great men of science who have become ineffective, quarrelsome, isolated members of parliament); saying it was a great loss to science and no gain to the legislature. as to frank gardner, she was equally eager for a long explanatory talk with him. except that her life had inured her to surprises and unexpected meetings, it was sufficiently amazing that frank and she, who had not seen each other or touched hands for thirteen years, should meet thus in a dangerous scuffle in a dense struggling crowd outside the houses of parliament. she must so arrange matters after lunch that frank should not prevent her hour's talk with rossiter, yet should have the long explanation he himself deserved. an idea. she would telephone to praddy and invite herself and frank to tea at his studio after she had left the rossiters. mrs. rossiter was used to unexpected guests at lunch. people on terms of familiarity dropped in, or the professor detained some colleague or pupil and made him sit down to the meal which was always prepared and seated for four. therefore she was not particularly taken aback when her husband appeared at five minutes to one in the little drawing-room and after requesting that the macaw and the cockatoo might be removed for the nonce to a back room--as they made sustained conversation impossible, announced that he expected momently--ah! there was the bell--two persons whose acquaintance he was sure linda would like to make. one was captain frank gardner, who owned a big ranch in rhodesia, and--er--the other--oh no! no relation--was miss warren.... "what, one of the warrens of huddersfield? well, i never! and where did you pick her up? strange she shouldn't have written to me she was coming up to town! i could--" "no, this is a miss vivien warren--" "vivien? how curious, why that is the name of the adams's little girl--" "a miss vivien warren," went on rossiter patiently--"a well-known suffragist who--" "oh michael! _not_ a suffragette!" wailed mrs. rossiter, imagining vitriol was about to be thrown over the surviving pug and damage done generally to the furniture--but at this moment the butler announced: "captain frank gardner and miss warren." gardner was well enough, a lean soldierly-looking man, brown with the african sun, with pleasant twinkling blue eyes, a thick moustache and curly hair, just a little thin on the top. his face was rather scarred with african adventure and did not show much special trace of his last night's tussle with the police. there was a cut at the back of his head where he had fallen on the kerb stone but that was neatly plastered, and you do not turn your back much on a hostess, at any rate on first introduction. but vivie had obviously been in the wars. she had--frankly--a black eye, a cut and swollen lip, and her ordinarily well-shaped nose was a trifle swollen and reddened. but her eyes likewise were twinkling, though the bruised one was bloodshot. "i'm sorry, mrs. rossiter, to be introduced to you like this. i don't know _what_ you will think of me. it's the first time i've been in a really bad row.... we were trying to get to the house of commons, but the police interfered and gave us the full privileges of a man as regards their fists. captain gardner here--who is an old friend of mine--intervened, or i'm afraid i shouldn't have got off as cheaply as i did. and your husband kindly came to the police court to testify to our good character, and then invited us to lunch." _mrs. rossiter_: "why how your voice reminds me of some one who used to come here a good deal at one time--a mr. david williams. i suppose he isn't any relation?" _vivie_ (while frank gardner looks a little astonished): "oh--my cousin. i knew you knew him. he has often talked to me about you. i'll tell you about david by and bye, frank." at this interchange of christian names mrs. rossiter thinks she understands the situation: they are engaged, have been since last night's rescue. but what _extraordinary_ people the dear professor _does_ pick up! have _they_ got ductless glands, she wonders? rossiter who has been fidgeting through this dialogue considers that lunch is ready, so they proceed to the small dining-room, "the breakfast-room." mrs. rossiter was always very proud of having a _small_ drawing-room (otherwise, "me boudwor") and a _small_ dining-room. it prepared the way for greater magnificence at big parties and also enabled one to be cosier with a few friends. at luncheon: _mrs. rossiter_ to _frank gardner_, archly: "i suppose you've come home to be married?" _frank_: "oh no! i'm not a bigamist, i've got a wife already and four children, and jolly glad i shall be to get back to 'em. i can't stand much of the english climate, after getting so used to south african sunshine. no. i came on a business trip to england, leaving my old dear out at the farm near salisbury, with the kids--we've got a nice english governess who helps her to look after 'em. a year or two hence i hope to bring 'em over to see the old country and we may have to put the eldest to school: children run wild so in south africa. as to miss warren, she's an old friend of mine and a very dear one. i hadn't seen her for--for--thirteen years, when the sound of her voice--she's got one of those voices you never forget--the sound of her voice came up out of that beastly crowd of gladiators yesterday, and i found her being hammered by two policemen. i pretty well laid one out, though i hadn't used my fists for a matter of ten years. then i got knocked over myself, i passed a night in a police cell feeling pretty sick and positively maddened at not being able to ask any questions. then at last morning came, i had a wash and brush up--the police after all aren't bad chaps, and most of 'em seemed jolly well ashamed of last night's doin's--then i met vivie in court and your husband too. he took me on trust and i'm awfully grateful to him. i've got a dear old mater down in kent--margate, don't you know--my dad's still alive, vivie!--and she'd have been awfully cut up at hearing her son had been spending the night in a police cell and was goin' to be fined for rioting, only fortunately the home secretary said we weren't to be punished.... but professor rossiter's coming on the scene was a grand thing. besides being an m.p., i needn't tell _you_, mrs. rossiter, he has a world-wide reputation. oh, we read your books, sir, out in south africa, _i_ can tell you--well--er--and here we are--and i'm monopolizing the conversation." vivie sat opposite her old lover, and near to the man who loved her now with such ill-concealed passion that his hand trembled for her very proximity. she felt strangely elated, strangely gay, at times inclined to laugh as she caught sight of her bruised and puffy face in an opposite mirror, yet happy in the knowledge that notwithstanding the thirteen years of separation, her repeated rejection of his early love, her battered appearance, frank still felt tenderly towards her, still remembered the timbre of her voice. her mouth was too sore and swollen to make eating very pleasant. she trifled with her food but she felt young and full of gay adventure. mrs. rossiter a little overwhelmed with all the information gardner had poured out, a little irritated also at the dancing light in vivie's eyes, turned her questionings on her. _mrs. rossiter_: "i suppose you are the miss warren who speaks so much. i often see your name in the papers, especially in _votes for women_ that the professor takes in. isn't it funny that a man should care so much about women getting the vote? i'm sure _i_ don't want it. i'm _quite_ content to exercise _my_ influence through _him_, especially now he's in parliament. but then i have my home to look after, and i'm _much_ too busy to go out and about and mix myself up in politics. i'm quite content to leave all that to the menfolk." _vivie_: "quite so. in your position no doubt i should do the same; but you see i haven't any menfolk. there is my mother, but she prefers to live abroad, and as she is comfortably off she can employ servants to look after her." (this hint of wealth a little reassured mrs. rossiter, who believed most suffragettes to be adventuresses.) "so, as i have no ties i prefer to give myself up to the service of women in general. when they have the vote and other privileges of men, then of course i can attend to my private interests and pursuits--mathematical calculations, insurance risks--" _mrs. rossiter_: "it is _extraordinary_ how like your voice is to your cousin's. if i shut my eyes i could think he was back again. not," (she added hastily) "that he has not, no doubt, _plenty_ to do abroad. do you ever see him now? why does he not marry and settle down? one never hears of him now as a barrister. but then he used to _feel_ his cases too much. the last time he was here he fainted and had to stay here all night. "and yet he had won his case and got his--what do you say? client? off--i dare say you remember it? she was my husband's cousin though we hardly liked to say so at the time: it is so unpleasant having a murder in the family. fortunately she was let off; i mean, the jury said 'not guilty,' though personally i--however that is neither here nor there, and since then she's married colonel kesteven--won't you have some pheasant? no? i remember your cousin used to have a very poor appetite, especially when one of his cases was on. _how_ he used--excuse my saying so--how he used to tire poor michael--mr. rossiter! talk, talk, talk! in the evenings, and i knew the professor had his lectures to prepare, but hints were thrown away on mr. david." rossiter broke in: "now what would you like to do in the afternoon, miss warren? and gardner? you, by the bye, have the first claim on our hospitality. you have just arrived from africa and the only thing we have done for you, so far, is to drag you into a disgraceful row." _frank_: "well, _i_ should like a glimpse of the zoo. i'm quite willing to pay my shilling and give no more trouble, but if vivie is going there too we could all walk up together. after that i'm going to revisit an old acquaintance of mine and vivie's, praed the architect--lives somewhere in chelsea if i remember right--" _vivie_: "in hans place. i don't particularly want to go to the zoo. i look so odd i might over-excite the monkeys. i think i should like to try a restful visit to the royal botanic. i'm so fond of their collection of weird succulent plants--things that look like stones and suddenly produce superb flowers." _mrs. rossiter_: "we belong to the botanic as well as to the zoo. _i_ could take you there after lunch." _rossiter_: "you forget, dearie, you've got to open that bazaar in marylebone town hall--" _linda_: "oh, have i? to be sure. but it's lady goring that does the opening, i'm _much_ too nervous. still i promised to come. would miss warren care to come with me?" _vivie_: "i should have liked to awfully: i love bazaars; but just at this moment i'm thinking more of those succulent plants ... and my battered face." _rossiter_: "i'll make up your minds for you. we'll _all_ drive to the zoo in linda's motor. gardner shall look at the animals and then find his way to hans place. i'll escort miss warren to the botanic, and then come on and pick you up, linda, at the town hall." that statement seemed to satisfy every one, so after coffee and a glance round the laboratory and the last experiments, they proceeded to the zoo, with at least an hour's daylight at their disposal. rossiter and vivie were at last alone within the charmed circle of the botanic gardens. they made their way slowly to the great palm house and thence up twisty iron steps to a nook like a tree refuge in new guinea, among palm boles and extravagant aroid growths. "now michael," said vivie--despite her bruised face she looked very elegant in her grey costume, grey hat, and grey suède gloves, and he had to exercise great self-restraint, remember that he was known by sight to most of the gardeners and to the ubiquitous secretary, in order to refrain from crushing her to his side: "now michael: i want a serious talk to you, a talk which will last for another eighteen months--which is about the time that has elapsed since we had our last--you're _not_ keeping the pact we made." "what was that?" "why you promised me that your--your--love--no! i won't misuse that word--your friendship for me should not spoil your life, your career, or make linda unhappy. yet it is doing all three. you've lived in a continual agitation since you got into parliament, and now you'll be involved in more electioneering in order to be returned once more. meantime your science has come to a dead stop. and it's so far more important for us than getting the vote. all this franchise agitation is on a much lower plane. it amuses and interests me. it keeps me from thinking too much about you. besides, i am naturally rather combative; i secretly enjoy these rough-and-tumbles with constituted authority. i also really _do_ think it is a _beastly_ shame, this preference shown for man, in most of the careers and in the franchise. but don't you worry _yourself_ unduly about it. if i really thought that you cared so much about me that it was turning you away from _our_ religion, scientific research, i'd go over to brussels to my mother and stay there. i really would; and i really will if you don't stop following me about from meeting to meeting and going mad over the suffrage question in the house. is it true that you struck a cabinet minister the other day? mr. ----?" _rossiter_: "yes, it's true, and he asked for it. if i am unreasonable what are _they_? ----, ----, _and_ ----? why have they such a bitter feeling against your sex? have they had no mothers, no sweethearts, no sisters, no wives? if i'd never met you i should still have been a suffragist. i think i _was_ one, as a boy, watching what my mother suffered from my father, and how he collared all her money--i suppose it was before the married woman's property act--and grudged her any for her dress, her little comforts, her books, or even for proper medical advice. and to hear these liberal cabinet ministers--_liberal_, mind you--talk about women, often with the filthy phrases of the street--well: he got a smack on the jaw and decided to treat the incident as a trifling one ... his private secretary patched it up somehow, but i expressed no regret.... "well, darling, i'll try to do as you wish. i'll try to shut you out of my thoughts and return to my experiments, when i'm not on platforms or in the house. i think i shall get in again--it's a mere matter of money, and thanks to linda that isn't wanting. i'm not going to withdraw from politics, you bet, however disenchanted i may be. it's because the decent, honest, educated men withdraw that legislation and administration are left to the case-hardened rogues ... and the uneducated ... and the cranks. but don't make things _too_ hard for me. keep out of prison ... keep off hunger strikes--if you're going to be man-handled by the police--ah! _why_ wasn't _i_ there, instead of in the house? gardner had all the luck.... i was glad to hear he was married." _vivie_: "oh you needn't be jealous of poor frank. and he'll soon be back in south africa. you needn't be jealous of _any_ one. i'm all yours--in spirit--for all time. now we must be going: it's getting dusk and we should be irretrievably ruined if we were locked up in this dilapidated old palm house. besides, i'm to meet frank at praddy's studio in order to tell him the history of the last thirteen years." as they walked away: "you know, michael, i'm still hoping we may be friends without being lovers. i wonder whether linda would get to like me?" at praed's studio. lewis maitland praed is looking older. he must be now--november, 1910--about fifty-eight or fifty-nine. but he has still a certain elegance, the look of a lesser leighton about him. frank has been there already for half an hour, and the tea-table has been, so to speak, deflowered. vivie accepts a cup, a muffin, and a marron glacé. then says, "now, dear praddy, summon your mistress, _dons l'honnête sens du mot_, and have this tea-table cleared so that we can have a hugely long and uninterrupted talk. i have got to give frank a summary of all that i've done in the past thirteen years. meanwhile frank, as your record, i feel convinced, is so blameless and normal that it could be told before any parlour-maid, you start off whilst she is taking away the tea, fiddling with the stove, and prolonging to the uttermost her services to a master who has become her slave." the parlour-maid enters, and casts more than one searching glance at vivie's bruised features, but performs her duties in a workmanlike manner. _frank_: "my story? oh well, it's a happy one on the whole--very happy. soon as the war was over, i got busy in rhodesia and pitched on a perfect site for a stock and fruit farm. the b.s.a. co. was good to me because i'd known cecil rhodes and dr. jim; and by nineteen four i was going well, they'd made me a magistrate, and some of my mining shares had turned out trumps. then westlock came out as governor general, and lady enid had brought out with her a jolly nice girl as governess to her children. she was the daughter of a parson in hertfordshire near the brinsley estates. well, i won't say--bein' the soul of truth--that i fell in love with her--straight away--because i don't think i ever fell deep in love--straight away--with any girl but you, vivie. but i did feel, as it was hopeless askin' you to marry me, here was the wife i wanted. she was good enough to accept me and the westlocks were awfully kind and made everything easy. lady enid's a perfect brick--and, by the bye, she's a great suffragist too. well: we were married at pretoria in 1904, and now we've got four children; a sturdy young frank, a golupshous vivie--oh, i told muriel everything, she's the sort of woman you can--and the other two are called bertha after my mother and charlotte after mrs. bernard shaw. i sent you, vivie--a newspaper with the announcement of my marriage--dj'ever get it?" _vivie_: "never. but i was undergoing a sea-change of my own, just then, which i will tell you all about presently." _frank_: "well then. i came back to england on a hurried visit. you remember, praddy? but you were away in italy and i couldn't find vivie anywhere. i called round at where your office was--fraser and warren--where we parted in 1897--and there was no more fraser and warren. nobody knew anything about what had become of you. p'raps i might have found out, but i got a bit huffy, thought you might have written me a line about my marriage. i did write to miss fraser, but the letter was returned from the dead letter office," (_vivie_: "she married colonel armstrong.") "well, there it is! by some devilish lucky chance i had no sooner got to london from southhampton, day before yesterday, than some one told me all about the expected row between the suffragettes and the police. thought i'd go and see for myself what this meant. no idea before how far the thing had gone, or what brutes the police could be. had a sort of notion, don't know why, that dear old viv would be in it, up to the neck. got mixed up in the crowd and helped a woman or two out of it. lady feenix--they said it was--picked up some and took 'em into her motor. and then i heard a cry which could only be in vivie's voice--dear old viv--(leans forward with shining eyes to press her hand) and ... there we are. how're the bruises?" _vivie_: "oh, they ache rather, but it is such _joy_ to have such friends as you and praddy and michael rossiter, that i don't mind _what_ i go through..." _frank_: "but i say, viv, about this rossiter man. he seems awfully gone on you...?" _vivie_ (flushing in the firelight): "does he? it's only friendship. i really don't see them often but he came to my assistance once at a critical time. and now that praddy's all-powerful parlour-maid's definitely left us, i will tell you _my_ story." so she does, between five and half-past six, almost without interruption from the spell-bound frank--who says it licks any novel he ever read, and she ought to turn it into a novel--with a happy ending--or from praed who is at times a little somnolent. then at half-past six, the practical frank says: "look here, you chaps, i could go on listening till midnight, but what's the matter with a bit of dinner? i dare say praddy's parlour-maid might turn sour if we asked her at a moment's notice to find dinner for three. why not come out and dine with me at the hans crescent hotel? close by. i'll get a quiet table and we can finish our talk there. to-morrow i must go down to margate to see the dear old mater, and it may be a week before i'm up again." they adjourn to the hostelry mentioned. over coffee and cigarettes, vivie makes this appeal to frank: "now frank, you know all my story. tell me first, what really became of the real david williams, the young man you met in the hospital and wrote to me about?" _frank_: "'pon my life i don't know. i never heard one word about him after i got clear of the hospital myself. you know it fell into boer hands during that rising in cape colony. i expect the 'real' david williams, as you call him, died from neglected wounds or typhoid--or recovered and took to drink, or went up country and got knocked on the head by the natives for interfering with their women--good riddance of bad rubbish, i expect. what do you want me to do? i'll swear to anything in reason." _vivie_: "i want you to do this. run down one day before you go back to africa, to south wales, to pontystrad--it's not far from swansea--and call at the vicarage on the pretext that you've come to enquire about david vavasour williams whom you once knew in south africa. it'll give verisimilitude to my stories. they'll probably say they haven't seen him for ever so long, but that you can hear of him through professor rossiter. i dare say it's a silly idea of mine, but what i fear sometimes--is that if the fact comes out that _i_ was david williams, some vaughan or price or other williams may call the old man's will in question and get it put into chancery, get the money taken away from poor old bridget evanwy and the village hall which i've endowed. that's all. if it wasn't that i've disposed of my supposed father's money in the way i think he would have liked best, i shouldn't care a hang if they found out the trick i'd played on the benchers. d'you see?" _frank_: "i see." the next day vivie wisely spent in bed, healing her wounds and resting her limbs which after the mental excitement was over ached horribly. honoria came round and listened, applauded, pitied, laughed and concurred. but she was well enough on the following tuesday after black friday to attend another meeting of the w.s.p.u. at caxton hall, to hear one more ambiguous, tricky, many-ways-to-be-interpreted promise of the then prime minister. mrs. pankhurst pointing out the vagueness of these assurances announced her intention then and there of going round to downing street to ask for a more definite wording. vivie and many others followed this dauntless lady. their visit was unexpected, the police force was small and the suffragettes had two of the cabinet ministers at their mercy. they contented themselves by shaking, hustling, frightening but not otherwise injuring their victims before the latter were rescued and put into taxi-cabs. chapter xiv militancy the lilacs, victoria road, s.w. _december_ 31, 1910. dear michael,- i'm so glad you got returned all right by your university. i feared very much your championship of the woman's cause might have told against you. but these newer universities are more liberal-minded. i am keeping my promise to tell you of any important move i am making. so this is to inform you, _in very strict confidence_, of my latest dodge. for the effective organization of my particular branch of the w.s.p.u. activities, i must have an office. "the lilacs" is far too small, and besides i shrink from having my little home raided or too much visited even by confederates. i learned the other day that the old fraser and warren offices on the top floor of 88-90 chancery lane were vacant. the midland insurance co. that occupied nearly all the building has cleared out and the block is to be given over to a multitude of small undertakings. well: i secured our old rooms! simply splendid, with the two safes that honoria, untold ages ago, fitted into the walls, and hid so cleverly that if there is no treachery it would be hard for the police to find them and raid them. the midland insurance co. did not behave well to fraser and warren, so beryl storrington, when she was clearing out said nothing about the safes, which were not noticed by the company. honoria kept the keys and now hands them over to me. the w.s.p.u. has taken--also under an alias--other offices on the same side of the way, at no. 94, top storey. we find we can, by using the fire escape, pass over the intervening roofs and reach the parapet outside the "partners' room" at the 88-90 building. i shall once again make use of the little room next the partners' office as a bedroom or rather, "tiring" room, where i can if necessary effect changes of costume. i have taken the new offices in the name of mr. michaelis[1] for a special reason; and with some modifications of david's costume i have appeared in person to assume possession of them. i generally enter no. 94 dressed as vivie warren. all this may sound very silly to you, like playing at conspiracy. but these precautions seem to be necessary. the government is beginning to take suffragism seriously, and a whole department at new scotland yard has been organized to cope with our activities. [footnote 1: michaelis, i believe, was a greek merchant dealing with sponges, emery powder, coral, and other products of the mediterranean shores whose acquaintance vivie had originally made when interested in the shares of that levantine house, charles davis and co. of ionian birth he had become a naturalized british subject, but having grown wealthy had decided to transfer himself to athens and enter political life. he had consented amusedly to vivie's adoption of his name for her new tenancy and had given her an old passport, which you could do in the days that knew not dora--she resembling him somewhat in appearance. he was aware of her suffragist activities and guessed she might want it occasionally for eluding the police on trips abroad.--h.h.j.] one reason i have in writing this letter--a letter i hope you will burn after you have read and noted its contents--is to ask you to lend me for a while the services of bertie adams as clerk. of course i shall insist on paying his salary whilst i employ him, and indemnifying him for anything he may suffer in my service--that of the w.s.p.u. i am fairly well off for money now. besides the funds the w.s.p.u. places at my disposal, i have the interest on mother's ten thousand pounds, and she would give me more if i asked for it. she has quite taken to the idea of spending her ill-gotten gains on the enfranchisement of women! (i am going over to see her for a week or so, when it is not quite so cold.) what business am i going specially to undertake in mr. michaelis's office on the top storey of 88-90? i will tell you. scotland yard is getting busy about us, the suffragists, trying to find out all it can that is detrimental to our personal characters, our upbringing, our progeniture, our businesses and our relations; whether we had a forger in the family, whether i am the daughter of the "notorious" mrs. warren, whether mrs. canon burstall is really my aunt and whether she couldn't be brought to use her private influence on me to keep me quiet, in case it came out that kate warren was her sister, and that she led kate into that way of life wherein she earned her shameful livelihood. i have had one or two covert hints from aunt liz promising to open up relations _if_ only i'll behave myself! scotland yard has already had the sorry triumph of causing one or two of our most prominent workers to retire from the ranks because they were not properly married or had been married after the eldest child was born; or had once "been in trouble," over some peccadillo, or had had a son or a sister who though now upright and prosperous had once been in the clutches of the law. now my idea is to turn the tables on all this. i myself am impeccable in a real court of equity. my avatar as david williams was by way of being a superb adventure. i only retired from the harmless imposture lest i might compromise you, and you are so far gone in politics now that the revelation--if it came about--that you were deceived by me and by my "father"--would do you no harm. for a number of reasons i know pretty well that the benchers would not make themselves ridiculous by having the story of my successful entry into their citadel told in open court. i have in fact, through a devious channel, received the assurance that if i do not resume this character (of d.v.w.) nothing more will be said. what, then, have i to fear? my mother _s'est bien rangée_. she leads a life of the most respectable. if they challenge her, she can counter with some of the most piquant scandals of the last thirty years. my own careful study of criminology and the assiduous searchings of albert adams in the same direction; my mother's anecdotes of the lives of statesmen, police-magistrates, prosecuting counsel, judges, press-editors--many of whom have enjoyed her hospitality abroad--have given me numerous hints in what direction to pursue my researches. consequently the office of mr. michaelis will be the criminal investigation department of the w.s.p.u. i feel instinctively i am touching pitch and that you will disapprove ... but if we are to fight with clean hands, _que messieurs les assassins commencent_! if scotland yards drops slander and infamous suggestions as a weapon we will let our poisoned arrows rust in the armoury. how _beastly_ all this is! _why_ do they drive us to these extremes? i know already enough to blast the characters of several among our public men. yet i know in so doing i should wreck the life-happiness of faithful wives, believing sisters or daughters, or bright-faced children. perhaps i won't, when it comes to the pinch. but somehow, i think, if they guess i have this knowledge in my possession, they will leave david williams and kate warren alone. sometimes, d'you know, i wake up in the middle of the night at the lilacs or in my reconstituted bedroom at 88-90, and wish i were quit of all this suffrage business, all this vain struggle against predominant man--and away with you on a pacific island. then i realize that we should have large cockroaches and innumerable sand fleas in our new home, that we should have broken linda's heart, have set back the suffrage cause as much as parnell's adultery postponed home rule; and above all that i am already thirty-five and shall soon be thirty-six and that it wouldn't be very long before you in comfort-loving middle age sighed for the well-ordered life of no. 1, park crescent, portland place! on the whole, i think the most rational line i can take is to continue resolutely this struggle for the vote. with the vote must come the opening of parliament to women. i'm not too old to aspire to be some day secretary of state for home affairs. because the general post office has already become interested in my correspondence, and because this is really a "pivotal" letter i am not trusting it to the post but am calling with it at no. 1 and handing it personally to your butler. i look to you to destroy it when you have read its contents--if you go to that length. yours, vivie. rossiter read this letter an hour or so after it had been delivered, frowned a good deal, made notes in one of his memorandum books; then tore the sheets of typewriting into four and placed them on the fire. having satisfied himself that the flames had caught them, he went up with a sullen face to dress for dinner: linda was giving a new year's eve dinner to friends and relations and he had to play the part of host with assumed heartiness. in the perversity of fate, one piece of the typewritten letter escaped the burning except along the edge. a puff of air from the chimney or the opened door, as linda entered the room, lifted it off the cinders and deposited it on the hearth. linda had dressed early for the party, had felt a little hurt at the locked door of michael's dressing-room, and had come with some vague intention into his study, to see perhaps if the fire was burning brightly: because to avoid unnecessary journies upstairs they would receive their guests to-night in the study and thence pass to the dining-room. but the fire had gone sulky, as fires do sometimes even with well-behaved chimneys and first-class coal. she noted the charred portion of paper lying untidily on the hearth, with typewriting on its upper surface. picking it up she read inside the scorched margin: ria kept the keys and now them over to me. w.s.p.u. has taken--also under an alias--other of same side of the way, at no. 94, top storey. we using the fire-escape, pass over the intervening r reach the parapet outside the "partners' room" at the ding. i shall once again make use of the little room tners' office as a bedroom or rather "tiring" room, w if necessary effect changes of costume. i have tak ces in the name of mr. michaelis for a special reas ome modifications of david's costume i have appeared in p ssume possession of them. i generally enter no. 94 dressed a warren. all this may sound very silly to you, like pla "warren!" that name stood out clear. did it mean the suffragette, vivien warren, who had sometimes been here, and in whose adventures her husband seemed so unbecomingly interested? one of the great ladies who were anti-suffragists and had already decoyed mrs. rossiter within their drawing-rooms had referred with great disapproval to miss warren as the daughter of a most notorious woman whom their husbands wouldn't hear mentioned because of her shocking past. and david, david of course must be that tiresome david williams, supposed to be a cousin of vivien warren, but really seeming in these allusions to be a disguise in which this bold female deceived people. and "mr. michaelis?" could that be her own michael? the shameless baggage! she choked at the thought. was it a conspiracy into which they were luring her husband, already rather compromised as a man of science by his enthusiasm for the suffrage cause? people used to speak of michael almost with awe, he was so clever, he made such wonderful discoveries. now, since he had become a politician he had many enemies, and several ladies of high title referred to him contemptuously even in her hearing and cut _her_ without compunction, though she had ten thousand a year. she felt all the same a profound conviction that michael was the most honourable of men. yet why all this mystery? the w.s.p.u.? those letters stood for some more than usually malignant suffrage society. she had seen the letters often in "votes for women."... her musings here were stayed by the sound of her husband's steps in the passage. hastily she thrust the half sheet of charred paper into her corsage and brushed off the fragments of the burnt edges from her laces; then turned and affected to be tidying the writing table as michael came in. _rossiter_: "linda! surely not putting my papers in order--or rather disorder? i thought you were far too intimate with my likes and dislikes to do that!... why, what's the matter?" _linda_: "oh nothing. i was only seeing if they had made up your fire. i--i--haven't touched anything." (rossiter looked anxiously at the grate, but was relieved to see nothing but burnt, shrivelled squares of paper. he poked the fire fiercely and at any rate demolished the remains of vivie's letter.) _rossiter_: "yes: it isn't very cheerful. they must brighten it while we are at dinner; though as we shall go to the drawing-room afterwards we shan't need a huge fire here. there! it looks better after that poke. i threw some papers on it to start a flame just before i went up to dress.... why dearie! what cold hands and what flushed cheeks!"... _linda_: "oh michael! you'll always love me, won't you? i--i know i'm not clever, not half clever enough for you. but i _do_ try to help you all i can. i--i--" (sobs.) _rossiter_ (really distressed): "_of course_ i love you! what silly notion have you got into your head?" (he asks himself anxiously "surely all that letter was burnt before she came in?") "come! pull yourself together. be worthy of that dress. it is such a beauty." _linda_: "i thought you'd like it. i remembered your saying that blue always became me." (dabs at her eyes with a small lace handkerchief.) loud double knocks begin to sound. dinner guests are soon announced. linda and michael receive them heartily. rossiter--as many a public man does and has to do--shoves his vain regrets, remorse, anxiety, weary longing for the unattainable--somewhere to the back of his brain, where these feelings will not revive till he lies awake at three in the morning; and prepares to entertain half-a-dozen hearty men and buxom women who are easily impressed by a little spoon-fed science. linda is soon distracted from the scrap of paper in her bosom and gives all her attention to her cousins and grown-up school friends from bradford and northallerton who are delighted to see the new year in amid the gaieties of london. but before she rings for her maid and undresses that night, she locks the burnt fragment in a secret drawer of her desk. the ministry which was returned to power in december, 1910, had to plan during the first half of 1911 to keep the suffragists becalmed with promises and prevent their making any public protest which might mar the coronation festivities. so various conciliation bills were allowed to be read to the house of commons and to reach second readings at which they were passed with huge majorities. then they came to nothingness by being referred to a committee of the whole house. still a hope of some solution was dangled before the oft-deluded women, who could hardly believe that british ministers of state would be such breakers of promises and tellers of falsehoods. in november, 1911, there being no reason for further dissembling, the government made the announcement that it was contemplating a manhood suffrage bill, which would override altogether the petty question as to whether a proportion of women should or should not enjoy the franchise. this new electoral measure was to be designed for men only, but--the government opined--it might be susceptible of amendment so as to admit women likewise. [probably the government had satisfied itself beforehand that, acting on some unwritten code of parliamentary procedure, the speaker would rule out such an amendment as unconstitutional. at any rate, this is what he did in 1913.] the wrath of the oft-deluded women flamed out with immediate resentment when the purport of this trick was discerned. led by mrs. pethick lawrence a band of more than a thousand women and men (and some of the presumed men were, like vivie, women in men's clothes, as it enabled them to move about with more agility and also to escape identification) entered whitehall and parliament street armed with hammers and stones. they broke all the windows they could in the fronts of the government offices and at the residences of ministers of state. vivie found herself shadowed everywhere by bertie adams though she had given him no orders to join the crowd, indeed had begged him to mind his own business and go home. "this _is_ my business," he had said curtly, and for once masterfully, and she gave way. though vivie for her own reasons carried no hammer or stone and as one of the principal organizers of the militant movement had been requested by the inner council of the w.s.p.u. to keep out of prison as long as possible, she could not help cheering on the boldest and bravest in the mild violence of their protest. to the angry police she seemed merely an impertinent young man, hardly worth arresting when they could barely master the two hundred and twenty-three arch offenders with glass-breaking weapons in their hands. so a constable contented himself with marching on her feet with all his weight and thrusting his elbows violently into her breast. she well-nigh fainted with the pain; in fact would have fallen in the crowd but for the interposition of adams who carried her out of it to the corner of parliament street, where he pounced on one of the many taxis that crawled about the outskirts of the shouting, swaying crowd, sure of a fare from either police or escaping suffragists. feeling certain that some policeman had not left the disguised vivie entirely unobserved--indeed bertie had half thought he caught the words above the din: "that's david williams, that is," he told the taxi man to drive along the embankment to the temple. by the time they had reached the nearest access on that side of fountain court, vivie was sufficiently recovered from her semi-swoon to get out, and leaning heavily on bertie's arm, limp slowly through the intricacies of the temple and out into fleet street by sergeant's inn. then with fresh efforts and further halts they made their way to 94, chancery lane. some one was sitting up here with one electric light on, ready for any development connected with w.s.p.u. work that night. to her--fortunately it was a woman--bertie handed over his stricken chief, and then made his way home to his little house in marylebone and a questioning and not too satisfied wife. the suffragette in charge of the top storey at 94 knew something, fortunately, of first aid, was deft of hands and full of sympathy. vivie's--or mr. michaelis's--lace-up boots were carefully removed and the poor crushed and bleeding toes washed with warm water. the collar was taken off and the shirt unbuttoned revealing a terrible bruise on the sternum where the policeman's elbow had struck her--better however there, though it had nearly broken the breastbone, than on either side, as such a blow might have given rise to cancer. as it was, vivie when she coughed spat blood. a cup of hot bovril and an hour's rest on a long chair and she was ready, supremely anxious indeed, to try the last adventure: an excursion across the roofs and up and down fire-escapes on to the parapet of her own especial dwelling, the old offices of fraser and warren at no. 88-90. the great window of the partners' room opened to her manipulations--it had been carefully left unbolted before her departure for caxton hall; and aided cautiously and cleverly by her suffragette helper, vivie at last found herself--or mr. michaelis did--in the snug little bedroom that knew her chiefly in her male form. here she was destined to lie up for several weeks till the feet and the chest were healed and sound again. hither by the normal entrance came a woman suffragette surgeon to heal, and vivie's woman clerk to act as secretary; whilst adams typed away in the outer office on mr. michaelis's business or went on long and mysterious errands. hither also came the little maid from the lilacs, bringing needed changes of clothes, letters, and messages from honoria. a stout young man with a fresh colour went up in the lift at no. 94 to the flat or office of "algernon mainwaring," and then skipped along the winding way between the chimney stacks and up and down short iron ladders till he too reached the parapet, entered through the opened casement, and revealed himself as a great w.s.p.u. leader, costumed like vivie as a male, but in reality a buxom young woman only waiting for the vote to be won to espouse her young man--shop steward--and begin a large family of children. from this leader, vivie received humbly the strictest injunctions to engage in no more disabling work for the present, to keep out of police clutches and the risk of going to prison or of attracting too much police attention at 88-90 chancery lane. "you are our brain-centre at present. our offices for show and for raiding by the police have been at clifford's inn and are now in lincoln's inn. but the really precious information we possess is ... well, you know where it is: walls may have ears ... your time for public testimony hasn't come yet ... we'll let you know fast enough when it has and _you_ won't flinch, _i'm_ quite sure..." as a matter of fact, though vivie's intelligence and inventiveness, her knowledge of criminal law, of lawyers and of city business, her wide education, her command of french (improved by the frequent trips to brussels--where indeed she deposited securely in her mother's keeping some of the funds and the more remarkable documents of the suffrage cause) and her possession of monetary supplies were not to be despised: as a figure-head, she was of doubtful value. there was always that mother in the background. if vivie was in court for a suffrage offence of a grave character the prosecuting counsel would be sure to rake up the "notorious mrs. warren" and drag in the white slave traffic, to bewilder a jury and throw discredit on the militant side of the suffrage cause. of course if the true story of vivie were fully known, she would rise triumphant from such a recital.... still ... throw plenty of mud and some of it will stick.... and what _was_ her full, true story? even in the pure passion of the fight for liberty among these young and middle-aged women, the tongue of scandal occasionally wagged in moments of lassitude, discouragement, undeception. at such times some weaker sister with a vulgar mind, or a mind with vulgar streaks in it, might hint at the great interest taken in vivie by a distinguished man of science who had become an m.p. and a raging suffragist. or indecorum would be hinted in the relations between this enigmatic woman, so prone seemingly to don male costume, and the burly clerk who attended her so faithfully and had brought her home on the night of mrs. pethick lawrence's spirited raid. so much so, that vivie with a sigh, as soon as she attained convalescence was fain to send for bertie and tell him with unanswerable decision that he must return to his work with rossiter and thither she would send from time to time special instructions if he could help her business in any way. this was done in january, 1912. vivie's feet were now healed and the woman surgeon was satisfied that she could walk on them without displacing the reset bones. the slight fracture in the breastbone had repaired itself by one of nature's magic processes. so one day our battered heroine doffed the invalid garments of michaelis and donned those of any well-dressed woman of 1912, including a thick veil. thus attired she passed from the parapet to the fire-escape (recalling the agony these gymnastics had caused her the previous november), and from the fire-escape to the roof of no. 92 (continuous with the roof of 94), and past the chimney stacks, into the top storey of 94, and so on down to the street, where a taxi was waiting to convey her to the lilacs. (the w.s.p.u., by the bye, to bluff scotland yard had added to the name of "algernon mainwaring, 5th floor," the qualification of "hygienic corset-maker," as an explanation--possibly--of why so many women found their way to the top storey of no. 94.) arrived at the lilacs, vivie took up for a brief spell the life of an ordinary young woman of the well-to-do middle class, seriously interested in the suffrage question but non-militant. she attended several of honoria's or mrs. fawcett's suffrage parties or public meetings and occasionally spoke and spoke well. she also went over to brussels twice in 1912 to keep in touch with her mother. mrs. warren had had one or two slight warnings that a life of pleasure saps the strongest constitution.[1] she lived now mainly at her farm, the villa beau-séjour, and only occasionally occupied her _appartement_ in the rue royale. she must have been about fifty-nine in the spring of 1912, and was beginning to "soigner son salut," that is to say to take stock of her past life, apologize for it to herself and see how she could atone reasonably for what she had done wrong. a decade or two earlier she would have turned to religion, inevitably to that most attractive and logical form, the religion expounded by the holy roman catholic and apostolic church. she would have confessed her past, slightly or very considerably _gazée_, to some indulgent confessor, have been pardoned, and have presented a handsome sum to an ecclesiastical charity or work of piety. but she had survived into a skeptical age and she had conceived an immense respect for her clever daughter. vivie should be her spiritual director; and vivie's idea put before her at their reconciliation three years previously had seemed the most practical way of making amends to woman for having made money in the past out of the economic and physiological weakness of women. she had fined herself ten thousand pounds then; and out of her remaining capital of fifty or sixty thousand (all willed with what else she possessed to her daughter) she would pay over more if vivie demanded it as further reparation. still, she found the frequentation of churches soothing and gave much and often to the mildly beseeching little sisters of the poor when they made their rounds in town or suburbs. [footnote 1: or so the observers say who haven't had a life of pleasure.] "what do you think about religion, viv old girl?" she said one day in the eastertide of 1912, when vivie was spending a delicious fortnight at villa beau-séjour. "personally," said vivie, "i hate all religions, so far as i have had time to study them. they bind up with undisputed ethics more or less preposterous theories concerning life and death, the properties of matter, man, god, the universe, the laws of nature, the food we should eat, the relations of the sexes, the quality of the weekly day of rest. gradually they push indisputable ethics on one side and are ready to apply torture, death, or social ostracism to the support of these preposterous theories and explanations of god and man. such theories"--went on vivie, though her mother's attention had wandered to some escaped poultry that were scratching disastrously in seed beds--"such theories and explanations, mark you--_do_ listen, mother, since you asked the question..." "i'm listenin', dearie, but you talk like a book and i don't know what some of your words mean--what's ethics?" "well 'ethics' means er--er--'morality'; it comes from a greek word meaning 'character.'..." _mrs. warren_: "you talk like a book--" _vivie_: "i do sometimes, when i remember something i've read. but now i've lost my thread.... what i meant to finish up with was something like this 'such theories and explanations were formulated several hundred, or more than two thousand years ago, in times when man's knowledge of himself, of his surroundings, of the earth and the universe was almost non-existent, yet they are preserved to our times as sacred revelations, though they are not superior to the fancies and fetish rites of a savage.' there! all that answer is quoted from professor rossiter's little book (_home university library_, "the growth of the human mind")." _mrs. warren_: "rossiter! is that the man you're sweet on?" _vivie_: "don't put it so coarsely. there is a great friendship between us. we belong to a later generation than you. a man and a woman can be friends now without becoming lovers." _mrs. warren_: "go _on_! don't humbug me. men and women's the same as when i was young. i'm sorry, all the same, dear girl. there are you, growin' middle-aged and not married to some good-'earted chap as 'd give you three-four children i could pet in me old age. wodjer want to go fallin' in love with some chap as 'as got a wife already? _i_ know your principles. there's iron in yer blood, same as there is in that proud priest, your father. i know you'd break your 'eart sooner 'n have a good time with the professor. my! it seems to me love's as bad as religion for bringin' about sorrer!" _vivie_: "if you mean that it is answerable for the same intense happiness and even more intense _un_happiness, i suppose you're right. i'm _miserable_, mother, and it's some relief to me to say so. if i could become honourably the wife of michael rossiter i'm afraid i should let suffrage have the go-by. but as i can't, why this struggle for the vote is the only thing that keeps me going. i shall fight for it for another ten years, and by that time certain physiological changes may have taken place in me, and my feelings towards rossiter will have calmed down." (here mrs. warren proceeded to call out rather disharmoniously in flemish to the poultry woman, and asked why the something-or-other she let the houdans spoil the seed beds.) _mrs. warren_ resuming: "well it's clear you're your father's daughter. 'e'd 'ave gone on--_did_ go on--in just such a way. 'im and me were jolly well suited to one another. i'd got to reg'lar love 'im. i'd 'a bin a true wife to him, and 'ave worked my fingers to the bone for 'im, and you bet i'd 'ave made a livin' somehow. and he'd have written some jolly good books and 'ave made lots of money. but no! this beastly religion comes in with its scare of hell fire and back 'e goes to the priests and 'is prayers and 'is penances. the last ten years or so 'e's bin filled up with pride. 'is passions 'ave died down and 'e thinks 'imself an awful swell as the head of his order. and they do say as 'e's got 'is fingers in several pies and is a reg'lar old conspirator, working up the irish to do something against england. yer know since i've made my peace with you.... _ain't_ it a rum go, by the bye? ten or twenty years ago it'd 'a bin 'my peace with god.' i dunno nothin' about god--can't see 'im at the end of a telescope, anyways. but i _can_ see you, vivie, and there's no one livin' i respect more" (speaks with real feeling).... "well, as i was sayin', since i'd set myself right with you and wound up the business of the hotels i ain't so easy cowed by 'is looks as i used to be. so every now and then it amuses me to run over in my auto to louvain and stroll about there and watch 'im as 'e comes out for 'is promenade, pretendin' to be readin' a breviary or some holy book. i know it riles 'im.... "well, but for high principles, 'e and i might 'a bin as 'appy as 'appy and 'ad a large family. and there was nothin' to stop 'im a-marryin' me, if that was all he wanted to feel comfortable about it. but jus' see. he's had a life that seems to me downright sterile, and i--well, i ain't been _really_ happy till we made it up three years ago" (leans over, and kisses vivie a little timorously). "now there's you, burning yourself out 'cos your high principles won't let you go for once in a way on the spree with this rossiter--s'posin' 'e's game, of course.... you've too much pride to throw yourself at his head. but if he loves you as bad as you loves 'im, why don't you ask him" (instinctively the old ministress of love speaks here) "ask 'im to take you over to paris for a trip? i'll lay 'e 'as to go over now'n again to the sorbonne or one of them scientific institutes. _she'd_ never come to 'ear of it. an' after one or two such honeymoons you'd soon get tired of 'im, specially now you're gettin' on a bit in years, and may be you'd settle down quietly after that. or if you ain't reg'lar set on _'im_, why not giv' up this suffrage business and live a bit with me here? there's plenty of upstanding, decent, belgian men in good positions as'd like to have an english wife. _they_ wouldn't look too shy at my money..." _vivie_: "get thee behind me, satan! mother, you oughtn't to make such propositions. don't you understand, we must all have a religion somewhere. some principle to which we sacrifice ourselves. rossiter would be horrified if he could hear you. his mistress is science, besides which he is really devoted to his wife and would do nothing that could hurt her. you don't know england, it's clear. supposing for one moment i could consent--and i couldn't--we should be found out to a certainty, and then michael's career would be ruined. "my religion, though i sometimes weary of it and sneer at it, is women's rights: women must have precisely the same rights as men, no disqualification whatever based merely on their being women. did you read those disgusting letters in the _times_ by the surgeon, the midwifery man, sir wrigsby blane? declaring that the demand for the vote was based on immorality, and pretending that once a month, till they were fifty, and for several years _after_ they were fifty, women were not responsible for their actions, because of what he vaguely called 'physiological processes.' what poisonous rubbish! you know as well as i do that in most cases it makes little or no difference; and if it does, what about men? aren't _they_ at certain times not their normal selves? when they're full up with wine or beer or whiskey, when they're courting, when they're pursuing some illicit love, when after fifty they get a little odd in their ways through this, that and the other internal trouble or change of function? what's true of the one sex is equally true of the other. most men and women between twenty and sixty jolly well know what they want, and generally they want something reasonable. we don't legislate for the freaks, the unbalanced, the abnormal; or if we do restrict the vote in those cases, let's restrict it for males as well as females--but don't you see at the same time what a text i should furnish to this malign creature if i ran away to paris with michael, and made the slightest false step ... even though it had no bearing on the main argument?..." at this juncture vivie, whose obsession leads her more and more to address every one as a public meeting--is interrupted by the smiling _bonne à tout faire_ who announces that _le déjeuner de madame est servi_, and the two women gathering up books and shawls go in to the gay little _saile-à-manger_ of the villa beau-séjour. on vivie's return to london, after her easter holiday, she threw herself with added zest into the suffrage struggle. the fortnight of good feeding, of quiet nights and lazy days under her mother's roof had done her much good. she was not quite so thin, the dark circles under her grey eyes had vanished, and she found not only in herself but even in the most middle-aged of her associates a delightful spirit of tomboyishness in their swelling revolt against the liberal leaders. it was specially during the remainder of 1912 that vivie noted the enormous good which the suffrage movement had done and was doing to british women. it was producing a splendid camaraderie between high and low. heroines like lady constance lytton mingled as sister with equally heroic charwomen, factory girls, typewriteresses, waitresses and hospital nurses. women doctors of science, music, and medicine came down into the streets and did the bravest actions to present their rights before a public that now began to take them seriously. debutantes, no longer quivering with fright at entering the royal presence, modestly but audibly called their sovereign's attention to the injustice of mr. asquith's attitude towards women, while princesses of the blood royal had difficulty in not applauding. many a tame cat had left the fire-side and the skirts of an inane old mother (who had plenty of people to look after her selfish wants) and emerged, dazed at first, into a world that was unknown to her. such had thrown away their crochet hooks, their tatting-shuttles and fashion articles, their church almanacs, and girl's own library books, and read and talked of social, sexual, and industrial problems that have got to be faced and solved. colour came into their cheeks, assurance into their faded manners, sense and sensibility into their talk; and whatever happened afterwards they were never crammed back again into the prison of victorian spinsterhood. they learnt rough cooking, skilled confectionery, typewriting, bicycling, jiu-jitsu perhaps. "the maidens came, they talked, they sang, they read; till she not fair began to gather light, and she that was became her former beauty treble" sang in prophecy, sixty years before, the greatest of poets and the poet-prophet of woman's emancipation. many a woman has directly owed the lengthened, happier, usefuller life that became hers from 1910-1911-1912 onwards to the suffrage movement for the liberation of women. the crises of 1912 moreover were not so acute as bitterly to envenom the struggle in the way that happened during the two following years. there was always some hope that the ministry might permit the passing of an amendment to the franchise bill which would in some degree affirm the principle of female suffrage. it is true that a certain liveliness was maintained by the suffragettes. the w.s.p.u. dared not relax in its militancy lest ministers should think the struggle waning and woman already tiring of her claims. the vaunted manhood suffrage bill had been introduced by an anti-woman-suffrage quaker minister and its second reading been proposed by an equally anti-feminist secretary of state--this was in june-july, 1912; and no member of the cabinet had risen to say a word in favour of the women's claims. still, something might be done in committee, in the autumn session--if there were one--or in the following year. there was a simmering in the suffragist ranks rather than any alarming explosion. in march, before vivie went to brussels, mrs. pankhurst had carried out a window-smashing raid on bond street and regent street and the clubs of piccadilly, during which among the two hundred and nineteen arrests there were brought to light as "revolutionaries" two elderly women surgeons of great distinction and one female doctor of music. in revenge the police had raided the w.s.p.u. offices at clifford's inn, an event long foreseen and provided against in the neighbouring chancery lane. the irish nationalist party had shown its marked hostility to the enfranchisement of women in any irish parliament and so a few impulsive irish women had thrown things at nationalist m.p.'s without hurting them. mr. lansbury had spoken the plain truth to the prime minister in the house of commons and had been denied access to that chamber where truth is so seldom welcome. in july the slumbering movement towards resisting the payment of taxes by vote-less women woke up into real activity, and there were many ludicrous and pathetic scenes organized often by vivie and bertie adams at which household effects were sold and bought in by friends to satisfy the claims of a tax-collector. in the autumn vivie and others of the w.s.p.u. organized great pilgrimages--the marches of the brown women--from scotland, wales, devon and norfolk to london, to some goal in downing street or whitehall, some door-step which already had every inch of its space covered by policemen's boots. these were among the pleasantest of the manifestations and excited great good humour in the populace of town and country. they were extended picnics of ten days or a fortnight. the steady tramp of sixteen to twenty miles a day did the women good; the food _en route_ was abundant and eaten with tremendous appetite. the pilgrims on arrival in london were a justification in physical fitness of woman's claim to equal privileges with man. vivie after her easter holiday took an increasingly active part in these manifestations of usually good-humoured insurrection. as vivien warren she was not much known to the authorities or to the populace but she soon became so owing to her striking appearance, telling voice and gift of oratory. all the arts she had learnt as david williams she displayed now in pleading the woman's cause at the albert hall, at manchester, in edinburgh and glasgow. countess feenix took her up, invited her to dinner parties where she found herself placed next to statesmen in office, who at first morose and nervous--expecting every moment a personal assault--gradually thawed when they found her a good conversationalist, a clever woman of the world, becomingly dressed. after all, she had been a third wrangler at cambridge, almost a guarantee that her subsequent life could not be irregular, according to a man's standard in england of what an unmarried woman's life should be. she deprecated the violence of the militants in this phase. but she was protean. much of her work, the lawless part of it, was organized in the shape and dress of mr. michaelis. some of her letters to the press were signed edgar mckenna, albert birrell, andrew asquith, edgmont harcourt, felicia ward, millicent curzon, judith pease, edith spenser-churchhill, marianne chamberlain, or emily burns; and affected to be pleas for the granting of the suffrage emanating from the revolting sons or daughters, aunts, sisters or wives of great statesmen, prominent for their opposition to the women's cause. the w.s.p.u. had plenty of funds and it did not cost much getting visiting cards engraved with such names and supplied with the home address of the great personage whom it was intended to annoy. one such card as an evidence of good faith would be attached to the plausibly-worded letter. the _times_ was seldom taken in, but great success often attended these audacious deceptions, especially in the important organs of the provincial press. editors and sub-editors seldom took the trouble and the time to hunt through _who's who_, or a peerage to identify the writer of the letter claiming the vote for women. no real combination of names was given, thus forgery was avoided; but the public and the unsuspecting editor were left with the impression that the premier's, colonial secretary's, home secretary's, board of trade president's, or prominent anti-suffragist woman's son, daughter, brother, sister, wife or mother-in-law did not at all agree with the anti-feminist opinions of its father, mother, brother or husband. if the politician were foolish enough to answer and protest, he was generally at a disadvantage; the public thought it a good joke and no one (in the provinces) believed his disclaimers. vivie generally heckled ministers on the stump and parliamentary candidates dressed as a woman of the lower middle class. it would have been unwise to do so in man's guise, in case there should be a rough-and-tumble afterwards and her sex be discovered. although in order to avoid premature arrest she did not herself take part in those most ingenious--and from the view of endurance, heroic--stow-aways of women interrupters in the roofs, attics, inaccessible organ lofts or music galleries of public halls, she organized many of these surprises beforehand. it was vivie to whom the brilliant idea came of once baffling the police in the rearrest of either mrs. pankhurst or annie kenney. knowing when the police would come to the building where one or other of these ladies was to make her sensational re-appearance, she had previously secreted there forty other women who were dressed and veiled precisely similarly to the fugitive from justice. thus, when the force of constables claimed admittance, forty-one women, virtually indistinguishable one from the other, ran out into the street, and the bewildered minions of the law were left lifting their helmets to scratch puzzled heads and admitting "the wimmen were a bit too much for us, this time, they were." in her bedroom at 88-90 she kept an equipment of theatrical disguises; very natural-looking moustaches which could be easily applied and which remained firmly adhering save under the application of the right solvent; pairs of tinted spectacles; wigs of credible appearance; different styles of suiting, different types of women's dress. she sometimes sat in trains as a handsome, impressive matron of fifty-five, with a pompadour confection and a tortoiseshell _face-à-main_, conversing with ministers of state or permanent officials on their way to their country seats, and saying "_horrid_ creatures!" if any one referred to the activities of the suffragettes. thus disguised she elicited considerable information sometimes, though she might really be on her way to organize the break-up of the statesman's public meeting, the enquiry into discreditable circumstances which might compel his withdrawal from public life, or merely the burning down of his shooting box. this life had its risks and perils, but it agreed with her health. it was exciting and took her mind off rossiter. rossiter for his part experienced a slackening in the tension of his mind during the same year 1912. he was touched by his wife's faint suspicion of his alienated affection and by her dogged determination to be sufficient to him as a companion and a helper; and a little ashamed at his middle-aged--he was forty-seven--infatuation for a woman who was herself well on in the thirties. there were times when a rift came in the cloud of his passion for vivie, when he looked out dispassionately on the prospect of the rest of his life--he could hope at most for twenty more years of mental and bodily activity and energy. was this all too brief period to be filled up with a senile renewal of sexual longing! he felt ashamed of the thoughts that had occupied so much of his mind since he had laid david williams on the couch of his library, to find it was vivie warren whose arms were round his neck. he was not sorry this love for a woman he could not possess had sent him into parliament. he was beginning to enjoy himself there. he had found himself, had lost that craven fear of the speaker that paralyzes most new members. he knew when to speak and when to be silent; and when he spoke unsuspected gifts of biting sarcasm, clever characterization, convincing scorn of the uneducated minister type came to his aid. his tongue played round his victims, unequipped as they were with his vast experience of reality, vaguely discursive, on the surface as are most lawyers, at a loss for similes and tropes as are most men of business, or dull of wits as are most of the fine flowers of the public schools, stultified with the classics and scripture history. he knew that unless there was some radical change of government he could not be a minister; but he cared little for that. he was rich--thanks to his wife--he was recovering his influence and his european and american reputation as a great discoverer, a deep thinker. he enjoyed pulverizing the ministry over their suffrage insincerities and displaying his contempt of the politician elected only for his money influence in borough, county, or in the subscription lists of the chief whip. though his pulses still beat a little quicker when he held vivie's hand in his at some reception of lady feenix's or a dinner party at the gorings--vivie as the child of a "fallen" woman had a prescriptive right of entrance to diana's circle--he had not the slightest intention of running away with her, of nipping his career in two, just as he might be scaling the last heights to the citadel of fame: either as a politician of the new type, the type of high education, or as one of the giants of inductive science. besides in 1912, if i mistake not, dr. smith-woodward and mr. charles dawson made that discovery of the remains of an ape-like man in the gravels of mid-sussex; and the hounds of anthropology went off on a new scent at full cry, rossiter foremost in the pack. mrs. rossiter in the same year allowed herself more and more to be tempted into anti-suffrage discussions at the houses of peers or of strong-minded, influential ladies who were on the easiest terms with peers and potentates. she still resented the line her husband had taken in politics and believed it to be chiefly due to an inexplicable interest in vivien warren who she began to feel was the same person as "david williams." if she could only master the "anti" arguments--they sounded so convincing from the lips of miss violet markham or mrs. humphry ward or some suave king's counsel with the remnants of mutton-chop whiskers--if she could wean michael away from that disturbing nonsense--he could assign "militancy" as the justification of his change of mind...! all that was asked by authority, so far as she could interpret hints from great ladies, was neutrality, the return of professor rossiter to the paths of pure science in which area no one disputed his eminence. _then_ he might receive that knighthood that was long overdue; better still his next lot of discoveries in anatomy might bring him the peerage he richly deserved and which her wealth would support. he could then rest on his oars, cease his more or less nasty investigations; they could take a place in the country and move from this much too large house which lay almost outside the limits of society's london to a really well-appointed flat in westminster and have a thoroughly enjoyable old age. honoria in these times did not see so much of vivie as before. her warrior husband spent a good deal of 1912 at home as he had a hounslow command. he had come to realize--some spiteful person had told him--who vivie's mother had been, and told honoria in accents of finality that the "aunt vivie" nonsense must be dropped and vivie must not come to the house. at the most, if she _must_ meet her friend of college days--oh, he was quite willing to believe in her personal propriety, though there were odd stories in circulation about her dressing as a man and doing some very rum things for the w.s.p.u.--still if she _must_ see her, it would have to be in public places or at her friends, at lady feenix's, if she liked. no. he wasn't attacking the cause of suffrage. women could have the vote and welcome so far as he was concerned: they couldn't be greater fools than the men, and they were probably less corrupt. he himself never remembered voting in his life, so honoria was no worse off than her husband. but he drew the line in his children's friends at the daughter of a.... here honoria to avoid hearing something she could not forgive put her plump hand over his bristly mouth. he kissed it and somehow she couldn't take the high tone she had at first intended. she simply said "she would see about it" and met the difficulty by giving up her suffrage parties for a bit and attending lady maud's instead; where you met not only poor vivie, but--had she been in london and guaranteed reformed and _rangée_--you might have met vivie's mother; as well as the duchess of dulborough--american, and intensely suffrage--the charwoman from little francis street, the bookseller's wife, the "mother of the maids" from derry and toms; and that very clever chemist who had mended juliet duff's nose when she fell on the ice at princes'--they would both be there. honoria said nothing to vivie and vivie said nothing to honoria about the inhibition, but together with her irrational jealousy of _eoanthropos dawsoni_ and irritation at the growing contentedness with things as they were on the part of rossiter, it made her a trifle more reckless in her militancy. and praddy? how did he fare in these times? praed felt himself increasingly out of the picture. he was not far gone in the sixties, sixty-one, perhaps at most. but out of the movement. in his prime the people of his set--the cultivated upper middle class, with a few recruits from the peerage--cared only about art in some shape or form--recondite music, the themes of which were never obvious enough to be hummed, the androgyne poetry of the 'nineties, morbidities from the yellow book, and scarlet sins that you disclaimed for yourself, to avoid unpleasantness with the criminal investigation department, but freely attributed to people who were not in the room; the drawings of aubrey beardsley and successors in audacity and ugly indecency who left beardsley a mere disciple of raphael tuck; also architecture which ignored the housemaid's sink, the box-room and the fire-escape. the people who still came to his studio because he had the reputation of being a wit and the husband of his parlour-maid (whom to her indignation they called queen cophetua) cared not a straw about art in any shape or form. the women wanted the vote--few of them knew why--the men wanted to be aviators, motorists beating the record in speed on french trial trips, or apaches in their relations with the female sex or prize-fighters--jimmy wilde had displaced oscar, to the advantage of humanity, even praddy agreed. to praed however vivie took the bitterness, the disillusions which came over her at intervals: "i feel, praddy, i'm getting older and i seem to be at a loose end. d'you know i'm on the verge of thirty-seven--and i have no definite career? i'm rather tired of being a well-meaning adventuress." "then why," praddy would reply, "don't you go and live with your mother?" "ugh! i couldn't stand for long that life in belgium or elsewhere abroad. they seem miles behind us, with all our faults. mother only seems to think now of good things to eat and a course of the waters at spa in september to neutralize the over-eating of the other eleven months. there is no political career for women on the continent." "then why not marry and have children? that is a career in itself. look at honoria, how happy she is." "yes--but there is only one man i could love, and he's married already." "pooh! nonsense. there are as many good fish in the sea as ever came out of it. if you won't do as beryl did--by the bye isn't she a swell in these days! and _strict_ with her daughters! she won't let 'em come here, i'm told, because of some silly story some one set abroad about me! and that humbug, francis brimley storrington--by the bye he's an a.r.a. now and scarcely has enough talent to design a dog kennel, yet they've given him the job of the new stables at buckingham palace. well if you won't share some one else's husband, pick out a good man for yourself. there must be plenty going--some retired prize-fighter. they seem all the rage just now, and are supposed to be awfully gentlemanly out of the ring." "don't be perverse. you know exactly how i feel. i'm wasting the prime of my life. i see no clear course marked out before me. sometimes i think i would like to explore central africa or get up a woman's expedition to the south pole. life has seemed so flat since i gave up being david williams. then i lived in a perpetual thrill, always on my guard. i tire every now and then of my monkey tricks, and the praise of all these women leaves me cold. i wish i were as simple minded as most of them are. to them the vote seems the beginning of the millennium. they seem to forget that after we've _got_ the vote we shall have another fight to be admitted as members to the house. you may be sure the men will stand out another fifty years over _that_ surrender. i alternate in my moods between the reckless fury of an anarchist and the lassitude of lord rosebery. to think that i was once so elated and conceited about being a third wrangler...!" with the closing months of 1912, however, there was a greater tenseness, a sharpening of the struggle which once more roused vivie to keen interest. when she returned from an autumn visit to villa beau-séjour she found there had been a split between the "peths" and the "panks." the girondist section of the women suffragists had separated from those who could see no practical policy to win the vote but a regime of terrorism--mild terrorism, it is true--somewhat that of the curate in _the private secretary_ who at last told his persecutors he should _really have to give them a good hard knock_. the peths drew back before the pankish programme (mild as this would seem, to us of bolshevik days and of irish insurrection). _votes for women_ returned to the control of the pethick lawrences, and the pankhurst party to which vivie belonged were to start a new press organ, _the suffragette_. the panks, it seemed, had a more acute fore-knowledge than the peths. the latter had felt they were forcing an open door; that the liberal ministry would eventually squeeze a measure of female suffrage into the long-discussed franchise bill; and that too much militancy was disgusting the general public with the woman's cause. the former declared all along that women were going to be done in the eye, because all the militancy hitherto had got very little in man's way, had only excited smiles, and shoulder-shrugs. ministers of the crown in 1912 had compared the hoydenish booby-traps and bloodless skirmishes of the suffragettes with the grim fighting, the murders, burnings, mob-rule of the 1830's, when men were agitating for reform; or the mutilation of cattle, the assassinations, dynamite outrages, gun-powder plots, bombs and boycotting of the long drawn-out irish agitation for home rule. an agitation which was now resulting in the placing on the statute book of a home rule bill, while another equally deadly agitation--in promise--was being worked up by sir edward carson, the duke of this and the marquis of that, and a very rising politician, mr. f.e. smith, to defeat the operation of home rule for ireland. in short, if one might believe the second-rate ministers who were not repudiated by their superiors in rank, the vote for women could only be wrung from the reluctance of the tyrant man, _if_ the women made life unbearable for the male section of the community. it was a dangerous suggestion to make, or would have proved so, had these sneering politicians been provoking men to claim their constitutional rights: bloodshed would almost certainly have followed. but the leaders of the militant women ordered (and were obeyed) that no attacks on life should be part of the woman's militant programme. property might be destroyed, especially such as did not impoverish the poor; but there were to be no railway accidents, no sinking of ships, no violent deeds dangerous to life. at the height and greatest bitterness of militancy no statesman's life was in danger. the only recklessness about life was in the militant women. they risked and sometimes lost their lives in carrying out their protests. they invented the hunger strike (the prospect of which as an inevitable episode ahead of her, filled vivie with tremulous dread) to balk the executive of its idea of turning the prisons of england into bastilles for locking up these clamant women who had become better lawyers than the men who tried them. but think what the hunger strike and its concomitant, forcible feeding, meant in the way of pain and danger to the life of the victim. the government were afraid (unless you were an utterly unknown man or woman of the lower classes) of letting you die in prison; so to force them to release you, you had first to refuse for four days all food--the heroic added all drink. then to prevent your death--and being human you, the prisoner, must have hoped they were keeping a good look-out on your growing weakness--the prison doctor must intervene with his forcible feeding. this was a form of torture the inquisition would have been sorry to have overlooked, and one no doubt that the bolsheviks have practised with great glee. the patient was strapped to a chair or couch or had his--usually her--limbs held down by warders (wardresses) and nurses. a steel or a wooden gag was then inserted, often with such roughness as to chip or break the teeth, and through the forced-open mouth a tube was pushed down the throat, sometimes far enough to hurt the stomach. this produced an apoplectic condition of choking and nausea, and as the stomach filled up with liquid food the retching nearly killed the patient. the windpipe became involved. food entered the lungs--the tongue was cut and bruised (think what a mere pimple on the tongue means to some of us: it keeps _me_ awake half the night)--the lips were torn. worse still--requiring really a pathological essay to which i am not equal--was feeding by slender pipes through the nose. the far simpler and painless process _per rectum_ was debarred because it might have constituted an indecent assault. was ever ministry in a greater dilemma? it was too old-fashioned, too antiquely educated to realize the spirit of its age, the pass at which we had arrived of conceding to women the same rights as to men. women were ready to die for these rights (not to kill others in order to attain them). yet for fear of wounding the national sentimentality they must not be allowed to die; they must not be saved from suicide by any action savouring of indecency; so they must be tortured as prisoners hardly were in the worst days of the inquisition or at the worst-conducted public school of the victorian era. but vivie's gradually rising wrath was to be brought by degrees to boiling-point through the spring of 1913, and to explode at last over an incident more tragic than any one of the five or six hundred cases of forcible feeding. early in 1913, the speaker intimated that any insertion of a woman suffrage amendment into the manhood franchise bill would be inconsistent with some unwritten code of parliamentary procedure of which apparently he was the sole guardian and interpreter. ministers who had probably prepared this _coup_ months before went about expressing hypocritical laments at the eccentricities of our constitution; and the franchise act was abandoned. a little later, frightened at the renewal of arson in town and country, at interferences with their week-end golf courses, at the destruction of mails in the letter-boxes, and the slashing of old masters at the national gallery (purchased at about five times their intrinsic value by a minister who would not have spent one penny of national money to encourage native art), the cabinet let it be known that a way would be found presently to give woman suffrage a clear run. a private member would be allowed to bring in a bill for conferring the franchise on women, and the opinion of the house would be sought on its merits independently of party issues. the government whips would be withdrawn and members of the government be left free to vote as they pleased. it was a fair deduction, however, from what was said at that time and later, that the strongest possible pressure--arguments _ad hominem_ and in a sense _ad pecuniam_--was brought to bear on liberals and on irish nationalists to vote against the bill. had the second reading been carried, the government would have resigned and a home rule bill for ireland have been once more postponed. the rejection of mr. dickinson's measure by a majority of forty-seven convinced the militants that pharaoh had once more hardened his heart; and the hopelessness of the woman's cause at that juncture inspired one woman with a resolution to give her life as a protest in the manner most calculated to impress the male mind of the british public. chapter xv imprisonment prior to the derby day of 1913, vivie had heard of emily wilding davison as a northumbrian woman, distantly related to the rossiters and also to the lady shillito she had once defended. she came from morpeth in northumberland and had had a very distinguished university career at oxford and in london, of which latter university she was a b.a. the theme of the electoral enfranchisement of women had gradually possessed her mind to the exclusion of all other subjects; she became in fact a fanatic in the cause and a predestined martyr to it. in 1909 she had received her first sentence of imprisonment for making a constitutional protest, and to escape forcible feeding had barricaded her cell. the visiting committee had driven her from this position by directing the warders to turn a hose pipe on her and knock her senseless with a douche of cold water; for which irregularity they were afterwards fined and mulcted in costs. two years later, for another suffragist offence (setting fire to a pillar box after giving warning of her intention) she went to prison for six months. here the tortures of forcible feeding so overcame her reason--it was alleged--that she flung herself from an upper gallery, believing she would be smashed on the pavement below and that her death under such circumstances might call attention to the agony of forcible feeding and the reckless disregard of consequences which now inspired educated women who were resolved to obtain the enfranchisement of their sex. but an iron wire grating eight feet below broke her fall and only cut her face and hands. the accident or attempted suicide, however, procured the shortening of her sentence. vivie and she often met in the early months of 1913, and on the first day of june she confided to a few of the w.s.p.u. her intention of making at epsom a public protest against public indifference to the cause of the woman's franchise. this protest was to be made in the most striking manner possible at the supreme moment of the derby race on the 4th of june. probably no one to whom she mentioned the matter thought she contemplated offering up her own life; at most they must have imagined some speech from the grand stand, some address to royalty thrown into the royal pavilion, some waving of a suffrage flag or early-morning placarding of the bookies' stands. vivie however had been turning her thoughts to horse-racing as a field of activity. she was amused and interested at the effect that had been produced in ministerial circles by her interference with the game of golf. if now something was done by the militants seriously to impede the greatest of the sports, the national form of gambling, the protected form of swindling, the main interest in life of the working-class, of half the peerage, all the beerage, the chief lure of the newspapers between october and july, and the preoccupation of princes, she might awaken the male mind in a very effectual way to the need for settling the suffrage question. so she determined also to see the running of the derby, as a preliminary to deciding on a plan of campaign. she had become hardened to pushing and scrouging, so that the struggle to get a seat in one of the fifty or sixty race trains leaving waterloo or victoria left her comparatively calm. she was dressed as a young man and had no clothing impediments, and as a young man she was better able to travel down with racing rascality. in that guise she did not attract too much attention. rough play may have been in the mind of the card-playing, spirit-drinking scoundrels that occupied the other seats in the compartment, but vivie in her man's dress created a certain amount of suspicion and caution. "look's like a 'tec,'" one man whispered to another. so the card-playing was not thrust on her as a round-about form of plunder, and the stories told were more those derived from the spicy columns of the sporting papers, in words of double meaning, than the outspoken, stable obscenity characteristic of the race-course rabble. vivie arriving early managed to secure a fairly good seat on the grand stand, to which she could have recourse when the crowd on the race course became too repulsive or too dangerous. she wished as much as possible to see all aspects of the premier race meeting. indeed, meeting a friend of lady feenix's, a good-natured young peer who halted irresolute between four worlds--the philosophic, the political, the philanthropic, and the sporting, she introduced herself as "david williams"--hoping no bencher was within hearing--said "dare say you remember me? lady feenix's? been much abroad lately--really feel quite strange on an english race course," and persuaded him to take her round before the great people of the day were all assembled. she was shown the royal pavilion being got ready for the king and queen, the weighing room of the jockeys, the paddock and temporary stables of the horses that were to race that day. here was a celebrated actress in a magnificent lace dress and a superb hat, walking up and down on the sun-burnt, trodden turf, in a devil of a temper. her horse--for with her lovers' money she kept a racing stable--had been scratched for the race--i really can't tell you why, not having been able to study all the _minutiæ_ of racing. [talking of that, _how_ annoying it is--or was--when one cared about things of great moment, to take up an evening newspaper's last edition and read in large type "official scratchings," with a silly algebraic formula underneath about horses being withdrawn from some race, when you thought it was a bear fight in the cabinet.] vivie gathered from her guide that to-day would be rather a special derby, because it did not often happen that a king-emperor was there to see a horse from his own racing stables running in the classic race. then, thanking the pleasant soldier-peer for his information, vivie (david williams) left him to his duties as equerry and member of the jockey-club and entered the dense crowd on either side of the race course. it reminded her just slightly of frith's derby day. there were the gypsies, the jugglers, the acrobats, the costers with their provision barrows; the grooms and stable hands; the beggars and obvious pick-pockets; the low-down harlots--the high-up ones were already entering the seats of the grand stand or sitting on the four-in-hand coaches or in the open landaulettes and silent knights. but evidently the professional betting men were a new growth since the mid-nineteenth century. they were just beginning to assemble, wiping their mouths from the oozings of the last potation; some, the aristocrats of their calling, like sporting peers in dress and appearance; others like knock-about actors on the music-hall stage. the generality were remarkably similar to ordinary city men or to the hansom-cab drivers of twenty years ago. in the very front of the crowd on the grand stand side, leaning with her elbows on the wooden rail, she descried emily davison. vivie edged and sidled through the crowd and touched her on the shoulder. emily looked up with a start, surprised at seeing the friendly face of a young man, till she recognized vivie by her voice. "dear emily," said vivie, "you look so tired. aren't you over-trying your strength? i don't know what you have in hand, but why not postpone your action till you are quite strong again?" "i shall never be stronger than i am to-day and it can't be postponed, cost me what it will," was the reply, while the sad eyes looked away across the course. "well," said vivie, "i wanted you to know that i was close by, prepared to back you up if need be. and there are others of our union about the place. that young man over there talking to the policeman is really a---k---though she is supposed to be in prison. mrs. tuke is somewhere about, mrs. despard is on the grand stand, and blanche smith is selling _the suffragette_." "thank you," said miss davison, turning round for an instant, and pressing vivie's hand, "good-bye. i hope what i am going to do will be effectual." vivie did not like to prolong the talk in case it should attract attention. individual action was encouraged under the w.s.p.u., and when a member wished to do something on her own, her comrades did not fuss with advice. so vivie returned to the grand stand. presently there was the stir occasioned by the arrival of the royal personages. vivie noted with a little dismay that while she was wearing a homburg hat all the men near her wore the black and glistening topper which has become--or had, for the tyranny of custom has lifted a little since the war--the conventional head-gear in which to approach both god and the king. there was a great raising of these glistening hats, there were grave bows or smiling acknowledgments from the pavilion. then every one sat down and the second event was run. still emily wilding davison made no sign. vivie could just descry her, still in the front of the crowd, still gazing out over the course, pressed by the crowd against the broad white rail. * * * * * the race of the day had begun. the row of snickering, plunging, rearing, and curvetting horses had dissolved, as in a kaleidoscope, into a bunch, and a pear-shaped formation with two or three horses streaming ahead as the stem of the pear. then the stem became separated from the pear-shaped mass by its superior speed, and again this vertical line of horses formed up once more horizontally, leaving the mass still farther behind. then the horses seen from the grand stand disappeared--and after a minute reappeared--three, four, five--and the bunch of them, swerving round tattenham corner and thundering down the incline towards the winning post.... the king's horse seemed to be leading, another few seconds would have brought it or one of its rivals past the winning post, when ... a slender figure, a woman, darted with equal swiftness from the barrier to the middle of the course, leapt to the neck of the king's horse, and in an instant, the horse was down, kneeling on a crumpled woman, and the jockey was flying through the air to descend on hands and knees practically unhurt. the other horses rushed by, miraculously avoiding the prostrate figures. some horse passed the winning post, a head in front of some other, but no one seemed to care. the race was fouled. vivie noted thirty seconds--approximately--of amazed, horrified silence. then a roar of mingled anger, horror, enquiry went up from the crowd of many thousands. "it's the suffragettes" shouted some one. and up to then vivie had not thought of connecting this unprecedented act with the purposed protest of emily wilding davison. she sprang to her feet, and shouting to all who might have tried to stop her "i'm a friend of the lady. i am a doctor"--she didn't care what lie she told--she was soon authoritatively pushing through the ring of police constables who like warrior ants had surrounded the victims of the protest--the shivering, trembling horse, now on its legs, the pitifully crushed, unconscious woman--her hat hanging to the tresses of her hair by a dislodged hat-pin, her thin face stained with blood from surface punctures. the jockey was being carried from the course, still unconscious, but not badly hurt. a great surgeon happening to be at epsom race course on a friend's drag, had hurried to offer his services. he was examining the unconscious woman and striving very gently to straighten and disentangle her crooked body. presently there was a respectful stir in the privileged ring, and vivie was conscious by the raising of hats that the king stood amongst them looking down on the woman who had offered up her life before his eyes to enforce the woman's appeal. he put his enquiries and offered his suggestions in a low voice, but vivie withdrew, less with the fear that her right to be there and her connection with the tragedy might be questioned, as from some instinctive modesty. the occasion was too momentous for the presence of a supernumerary. emily wilding davison should have her audience of her sovereign without spectators. returning with a blanched face to the seething crowd, and presently to the grand stand, vivie's mood altered from awe to anger. the "bookies" were beside themselves with fury. she noted the more frequent of the nouns and adjectives they applied to the dying woman for having spoilt the derby of 1913, but although she went to the trouble, in framing her indictment of the turf, of writing down these phrases, my jury of matrons opposes itself to their appearance here, though i am all for realism and completeness of statement. after conversing briefly and in a lowered voice with such suffragettes as gathered round her, so that this one could carry the news to town and that one his to communicate with miss davison's relations, vivie--recklessly calling herself to any police questioner, "david williams" and eliciting "yes, sir, i have seen you once or twice in the courts," reached once more the grand stand with its knots of shocked, puzzled, indignant, cynical, consternated men and women. most of them spoke in low tones; but one--a blond jew of middle age--was raving in uncontrolled anger, careless of what he said or of who heard him. he was short of stature with protruding bloodshot eyes, an undulating nose, slightly prognathous muzzle and full lips, and a harsh red moustache which enhanced the prognathism. his silk hat tilted back showed a great bald forehead, in which angry, bluish veins stood out like swollen earth worms. "those suffragettes!" he was shouting or rather shrieking in a nasal whine, "if i had _my_ way, i'd lay 'em out along the course and have 'em ---by ----. the ----'s!" the shocked auditory around him drew away. vivie gathered he was mr. ---well, perhaps i had better not give his name,[1] even in a disguised form. he had had a chequered career in south america--mexico oil, peruvian rubber, buenos aires railways, and a corner in argentine beef--but had become exceedingly rich, a fortune perhaps of twenty millions. he had given five times more than any other aspirant in benefactions to charities and to the party chest of the dominant party, but the authorities dared not reward him with a baronetcy because of the stories of his early life which had to be fought out in libel cases with baxendale strangeways and others. but he had won through these libel cases, and now devoted his vast wealth to improving our breed of horses by racing at newmarket, epsom, doncaster, gatwick, sandown and brighton. racing had, in fact, become to him what auction bridge was to the society gamblers of those days, only instead of losing and winning tens and hundreds of pounds, his fluctuations in gains and losses were in thousands, generally with a summing up on the right side of the annual account. but whether on the turf, at the billiard table, or in the stock market he was or had become a bad loser. he lost his temper at the same time. on this occasion miss davison's suicide or martyrdom would leave him perhaps on the wrong side in making up his day's book to the extent of fifteen hundred pounds. viewed in the right proportion it would be equivalent to our--you and me--having given a florin to a newspaper boy as the train was moving, instead of a penny. but no doubt her unfortunate impulse had spoiled the day for him in other ways, upset schemes that were bound up with the winning of the king's horse. yet his outburst and the shocking language he applied to the suffrage movement made history: for they fixed on him vivie's attention when she was looking out for some one or something on whom to avenge the loss of a comrade. [footnote 1: he died in 1917. my jury of matrons has excised his phrases.] she forthwith set out for london and wrote up the dossier of mr. ----. in the secret list of buildings which were to be destroyed by fire or bombs, with as little risk as possible to human or animal life, she noted down the racing stables, trainers' houses and palaces of mr. ---at newmarket, epsom, the devil's dyke, and the neighbourhood of doncaster. rossiter and vivie met for the first time for a year at emily davison's funeral. rossiter had been profoundly moved at her self-sacrifice; she was moreover a northumbrian and a distant kinswoman. perhaps, also, he felt that he had of late been a little lukewarm over the suffrage agitation. his motor-brougham, containing with himself the very unwilling mrs. rossiter, followed in the procession of six thousand persons which escorted the coffin across london from victoria station to king's cross. a halt was made outside a church in bloomsbury where a funeral service was read. mrs. rossiter thought the whole thing profoundly improper. in the first place the young woman had committed suicide, which of itself was a crime and disentitled you to christian burial; in the second she had died in a way greatly to inconvenience persons in the highest society; in the third she had always understood that racing was a perfectly proper pastime for gentlemen; and in the fourth this incident, touching michael through his relationship with the deceased, would bring him again in contact with that vivie warren--_there_ she was and there was _he_, in close converse--and make a knighthood from a nearly relenting government well-nigh impossible. rossiter, after the service, had begged vivie to come back to tea with them in park crescent and give mrs. rossiter and himself a full account of what took place at epsom. vivie had declined. she had not even spoken to the angry little woman, who had refused to attend the service and had sat fuming all through the half hour in her electric brougham, wishing she had the courage and determination to order the chauffeur to turn round and run her home, leaving the professor to follow in a taxi. but perhaps if she did that, he would go off somewhere with that warren woman. michael presently re-entered the carriage and in silence they returned to portland place. the next day his wife meeting one of her anti-suffrage friends said: "er--supposing--er--you had got to know something about these dreadful militant women, something which might help the police, yet didn't want to get _too_ much mixed up with it yourself, and _certainly_ not bring your husband into it--the professor _thoroughly_ disapproves of militancy, even though he may have foolish ideas about the vote--er--what would you do?" "well, what is it?" "it's part of a letter." "well, i should just send it to the criminal investigation department, new scotland yard, and tell them under what circumstances it came into your possession. you needn't even give your name or address. they'll soon know whether it's any use or not." so mrs. rossiter took from her desk that scrap of partly burnt paper with the typewritten words on it which she had picked out of the grate two and a half years before, and posted it to the criminal investigation department, with the intimation that this fragment had come into the possession of the sender some time ago, and seemed to refer to a militant suffragist who called herself "vivie warren" or "david williams," and perhaps it might be of some assistance to the authorities in tracking down these dangerous women who now stuck at nothing. she posted the letter with her own hands in the north west district. park crescent, portland place, she always reflected, was still in the _western_ district, though it lay perilously near the north west border line, beyond which lady jeune had once written, no one in society thought of living. this was a dictum that at one time had occasioned mrs. rossiter considerable perturbation. it was alarming to think that by crossing the marylebone road or migrating to cambridge terrace you had passed out of society. it took the police a deuce of a time--two months--to make use effectively of the information contained in mrs. rossiter's scrap of burnt paper; though the statement of their anonymous correspondent that vivie warren and david williams were probably the same person helped to locate mr. michaelis's office. it was soon ascertained that miss vivien warren, well known as a sort of society speaker on suffrage, lived at the lilacs in victoria road, kensington. but when a plain-clothes policeman called at victoria road he was only told by the suffragette caretaker (whose mother now usually lived with her to console her for her mistress's frequent absences) that miss warren was away just then, had recently been much away from home, probably abroad where her mother lived. (here the enquirer registered a mental note: miss warren has a mother living abroad: could it be _the_ mrs. warren?). polite and respectful calls on lady feenix, lady maud parry, and mrs. armstrong--vivie's known associates--elicted no information, till on leaving the last-named lady's house in kensington square the detective heard colonel armstrong come in from the garden and call out "ho-no-ria." "'--ria," he said to himself, "'-ria kept the keys, and now--' honoria. what was her name before she married colonel armstrong?--why--" he soon found out--"fraser." "wasn't there once a firm, _fraser and warren_, which set up to be some new dodge for establishing women in a city career?--accountancy? stockbroking? where did _fraser and warren_ have their office? fifth floor of midland insurance office in chancery lane. what was that building now called? no. 88-90." done. these two sentences run over a period of--what did i say? two months?--in their deductions and guesses and consultation of out-of-date telephone directories. but on one day in september, 1913, two plain-clothes policemen made their way up to the fifth floor of 88-90 chancery lane and found the outer door of mr. michaelis's office locked and a notice board on it saying "absent till monday." not deterred by this, they forced open the door--to the thrilling interest of a spectacled typewriteress, who had no business on that landing at all, but she usually made assignations there with the lift man. and on the writing table in the outer office they found a note addressed to miss annie kenney, which said inside: "dear annie. if you should chance to look in between your many imprisonments and find me out, you will know i am away on the firm's business, livening up the racing establishments of the right honble sir -------, bart. bart. no one knows anything about this at no. 94." (this note was purely unnecessary--a bit of swagger perhaps, lest miss kenney should think vivie never did anything dangerous, but only planned dangerous escapades for others. like the long letter of vivie to michael rossiter, written on the last day of december, 1910, which he had imperfectly destroyed, it was a reminder of that all-too-true saying: "litera scripta manet.") if the outer door of michaelis's office was locked how could miss kenney be expected to call and find this note awaiting her? why, _here_ came in the "no. 94" of the scrap of paper. there was an over-the-roofs communication between the block of 88-90 and house no. 94. the policemen in fact found that the large casement of the partners' room was only pulled to, so that it was easily opened from the outside. from the parapet they passed to the fire-escapes and through the labyrinth of chimney stacks to a similar window leading into the top storey of 94, the office of mr. algernon mainwaring, hygienic corset-maker. this office at the time of their unexpected entry was fairly full of suffragettes planning all sorts of direful things. so the plain-clothes policemen had a rare haul that day and certainly had mrs. rossiter to thank for rising to be inspectors and receiving some modest order of later days. it was about the worst blow the w.s.p.u. had; before the outbreak of war turned suddenly the revolting women into the stanchest patriots and the right hands of muddling ministers. for in addition to many a rich find in no. 94 and a dozen captives caught red-handed in making mock of the authorities, the plain-clothes policemen made themselves thoroughly at home in mr. michaelis's quarters till the following monday. and when in the fore-noon of that day, mr. michaelis entered his rooms, puzzled and perturbed at finding the outer door ajar, he was promptly arrested on a multiform charge of arson ... and on being conveyed to a police station and searched he was found to be miss vivien warren. at intervals in the summer and early autumn of 1913 the male section of the public had been horrified and scandalized at the destruction going on in racing establishments, particularly those of sir george crofts and of a well-known south american millionaire, whose distinguished services to british commerce and immense donations to hospitals and homes would probably be rewarded by a grateful government. if these outrages were not stopped, horse-racing and race-horse breeding must come to a stand-still; and we leave our readers to realize what _that_ would mean! there would be no horses for the plough or the gig, or the artillery gun-carriage; no--er--fox-hunting, and without fox-hunting and steeple-chasing and point-to-point races you could have no cavalry and without cavalry you could have no army. if we neglected blood stock we would deal the farmer a deadly blow, we should--er-you know the sort of argument? reduced to its essentials it is simply this:--that a few rich people are fond of gambling and fond of the excitement that is concentrated in the few minutes of the horse race. some others, not so rich, believe that by combining horse-racing with a certain amount of cunning and bold cheating they can make a great deal of money. a few speculators have invested funds in spaces of open turf, and turn these spaces into race courses. having no alternative, no safer method of gambling offered them, and being as fond of gambling as other peoples of the world, the men of the labouring classes and a few of their women, the publicans and their frequenters, army officers, farmers, and women of uncertain virtue stake their money on horses they have never seen, who may not even exist, and thus keep the industry going. and the chevaliers of this "industry," the go-betweens, the parasites of this sport, are the twelve thousand professional book-makers and racing touts. somehow the turf has during the last hundred years, together with its allies the distillers and brewers, the licensed victuallers and the press that is supported by these agencies, acquired such a hold over the government departments, the labour party, the conservative party, and liberal politicians who are descended from county families, that it has more interest with those who govern us than the church, the nonconformist conscience, the county palatine of lancaster or any other body of corporate opinion. so that when in september, 1913, representatives of the turf (and no doubt of the trade unions) went to the home secretary in reference to the burning and bombing of racing stables, trainers' houses, grand stands and the residences of racing potentates, and said "look here! this has got to stop," the home secretary and the cabinet knew they were up against no ordinary crisis. at the same time sir edward carson, the marquis of londonderry, the duke of abercorn, mr. f.e. smith and nearly a third of the colonels in the british army of ulster descent were actively organizing armed resistance to any measure of home rule; while keltiberian ireland was setting up the irish volunteers to start a home rule insurrection. you can therefore imagine for yourselves the mental irritability of members of the liberal cabinet in the autumn of the sinister year 1913. i have been told that there were days at the house of commons during the autumn session of that year when the leading ministers would just shut themselves up in their private rooms and scream on end for a quarter of an hour.... of course an exaggeration, a sorry jest. in retrospect one feels almost sorry for them: the great war must have come almost as a relief. not one of them was what you would call a bad man. some of them suffered over forcible feeding and the cat and mouse act as acutely as does the loving father or mother who says to the recently spanked child, "you _know_, dear, it hurts _me_ almost as much as it hurts _you_." if one met them out at dinner parties, or in an express train which they could not stop by pulling the communication cord, and sympathized with their dilemma, they would ask plaintively _what_ they could do. they could not yield to violence and anarchy; yet they could not let women die in prison. of course the answer was this, but it was one they waved aside: "dissolve parliament and go to the country on the one question of votes for women. if the country returns a great majority favourable to that concession, you must bring in a bill for eliminating the sex distinction in the suffrage. if on the other hand, the country votes against the reform, then you must leave it to the women to make a male electorate change its mind. and meantime if men and women, to enforce some principle, rioted and were sent to prison for it, and then started to abstain from food and drink, why they must please themselves and die if they wanted to." but this was just what the liberal ministry of those days would not do; at all costs they must stick to office, emoluments, patronage, the bestowal of honours, and the control of foreign policy. they clung to power, in fact, at all costs; even inconsistency with the bedrock principle of liberalism: no taxation without representation. it was decided in the innermost arcana of the home office that an example should be made of vivie. they had evidently in her got hold of something far more dangerous than a pankhurst or a pethick lawrence, a constance lytton or an emily davison. the very probable story--though the benchers were loth to take it up--that she had actually in man's garb passed for the bar and pleaded successfully before juries, appalled some of the lawyer-ministers by its revolutionary audacity. they might not be able to punish her on that count or on several others of the misdemeanours imputed to her; but they had got her, for sure, on arson; and on the arson not of suburban churches, which occurred sometimes at peckham or in the suburbs of birmingham and made people laugh a little in the trains coming up to town and say there were far too many churches, seemed to them; _but_ the burning down of racing establishments. _that_ was bolshevism, indeed, they would have said, had they been able to project their minds five years ahead. being only in 1913 they called vivie by the enfeebled term of anarchist, the word applied by _punch_ to mr. john burns in 1888 for wishing to address the public in trafalgar square. so it was arranged that vivie's trial should take place in october at the old bailey and that a judge should try her who was quite certain he had never stayed at a warren hotel; who would be careful to keep great names out of court; and restrain counsel from dragging anything in to the simple and provable charge of arson which might give miss warren a chance to say something those beastly newspapers would get hold of. i am not going to give you the full story of vivie's trial. i have got so much else to say about her, before i can leave her in a quiet backwater of middle age, that this must be a story which has gaps to be filled up by the reader's imagination. you can, besides, read for yourself elsewhere--for this is a thinly veiled chronicle of real events--how she was charged, and how the magistrate refused bail though it was offered in large amounts by rossiter and praed, the latter with mrs. warren's purse behind him. how she was first lodged in brixton prison and at length appeared in the dock at the old bailey before a court that might have been set for a cinematograph. there was a judge with a full-bottomed wig, a scarlet and ermine vesture, there was a jury of prosperous shopkeepers, retired half pay officers, a hotelkeeper or two, a journalist, an architect, and a builder. a very celebrated king's counsel prosecuted--the cabinet thus said to the racing world "we've done _all_ we can"--and vivie defended herself with the aid of a clever solicitor whom bertie adams had found for her. from the very moment of her arrest, bertie adams had refused--even though they took away his salary--to think of anything but vivie's trial and how she might issue from it triumphant. he must have lost a stone in weight. he was ready to give evidence himself, though he was really quite unconcerned with the offences for which vivie was on trial; prepared to swear to anything; to swear he arranged the conflagrations; that miss warren had really been in london when witness had seen her purchasing explosives at newmarket (both stories were equally untrue). bertie adams only asked to be allowed to perjure himself to the tune of five years' penal servitude if that would set vivie free. yet at a word or a look from her he became manageable. the attorney general of course began something like this. "i am very anxious to impress on you," he said, addressing the jury, "that from the moment we begin to deal with the facts of this case, all questions of whether a woman is entitled to the parliamentary franchise, whether she should have the same right of franchise as a man are matters which in no sense are involved in the trial of this issue. all you have to decide is whether the prisoner in the dock committed or procured and assisted others to commit the very serious acts of arson of which she is accused..." nevertheless he or the hounds he kept in leash, the lesser counsel, sought subtly to prejudice the jury's mind against vivie by dragging in her parentage and the eccentricities of her own career. as thus:-_counsel for the prosecution_: "we have in you the mainspring of this rebellious movement..." _vivie_: "have you?" _counsel_: "are you not the daughter of the notorious mrs. warren?" _vivie_: "my mother's name certainly is warren. for what is she notorious?" _counsel_: "well--er--for being associated abroad with--er--a certain type of hotel synonymous with a disorderly house--" _vivie_: "indeed? have you tried them? my mother has managed the hotels of an english company abroad till she retired altogether from the management some years ago. it was a company in which sir george crofts--" _judge_, interposing: "we need not go into that--i think the counsel for the prosecution is not entitled to ask such questions." _counsel_: "i submit, me lud, that it is germane to my case that the prisoner's upbringing might have--" _vivie_: "i am quite willing to give you all the information i possess as to my upbringing. my mother who has resided mainly at brussels for many years preferred that i should be educated in england. i was placed at well-known boarding schools till i was old enough to enter newnham. i passed as a third wrangler at cambridge and then joined the firm of fraser and warren. as you seem so interested in my relations, i might inform you that i have not many. my mother's sister, mrs. burstall, the widow of canon burstall, resides at winchester; my grandfather, lieutenant warren, was killed in the crimea--or more likely died of neglected wounds owing to the shamefully misconducted, man-conducted army medical service of those days. my mother in early days was better known as miss kate vavasour. she was the intimate friend of a celebrated barrister who--" _judge_, intervening: "we have had enough of this discursive evidence which really does not bear on the case at all. i must ask the prosecuting counsel to keep to the point and not waste the time of the court." _prosecuting counsel_ (who has meantime received three or four energetic notes from his leader, begging him to remember his instructions and not to be an ass): "very good m'lud." (to vivie) "do you know mr. david vavasour williams, a barrister?" _vivie_: "i have heard of him." _counsel_: "have you spoken of him as your cousin?" _vivie_: "i may have done. he is closely related to me." _counsel_: "i put it to you that _you_ are david williams, or at any rate that you have posed as being that person." _judge_, interposing with a weary air: "_who_ is david williams?" _counsel_: "well--er--a member of the bar--well known in the criminal courts--shillito case--" _judge_: "really? i had not heard of him. proceed." _counsel_ (to vivie): "you heard my questions?" _vivie_: "i have never posed as being other than what i am, a woman much interested in claiming the parliamentary franchise for women; and i do not see what these questions have to do with my indictment, which is a charge of arson. you introduce all manner of irrelevant matter--" _counsel_: "you decline to answer my questions?" (vivie turns her head away.) _judge_, to counsel: "i do not quite see the bearing of your enquiries." _counsel_: "why, me lud, it is common talk that prisoner is the well-known barrister, david vavasour williams; that in this disguise and as a pretended man she passed the necessary examinations and was called to the bar, and--" _judge_: "but what bearing has this on the present charge, which is one of arson?" _counsel_: "i was endeavouring by my examination to show that the prisoner has often and successfully passed as a man, and that the evidence of witnesses who affirmed that they only saw _a young man_ at or near the scene of these incendiary fires, that a young man, supposed to have set the stables alight, once dashed in and rescued two horses which had been overlooked, might well have been the prisoner who is alleged to have committed most of these crimes in man's apparel--" _judge_: "i see." (to vivie) "are you david vavasour williams?" _vivie_: "obviously not, my lord. my name is vivien warren and my sex is feminine." _judge_, to counsel: "well, proceed with your examination--" (but here the leader of the prosecution takes up the rôle and brushes his junior on one side). vivie of course was convicted. the case was plain from the start, as to her guilt in having organized and carried out the destruction of several great racing establishments or buildings connected with racing. there had been no loss of life, but great damage to property--perhaps two or three hundred thousand pounds, and a serious interruption in the racing fixtures of the late summer and early autumn. the jury took note that on one occasion the prisoner in the guise of a young man had personally carried out the rescue of two endangered horses; and added a faintly-worded recommendation to mercy, seeing that the incentive to the crimes was political passion. but the judge put this on one side. in passing sentence he said: "it is my duty, vivien warren, to inflict what in my opinion is a suitable and adequate sentence for the crime of which you have been most properly convicted. i must point out to you that whatever may have been your motives, your deeds have been truly wicked because they have exposed hard-working people who had done you no wrong to the danger of being burnt, maimed or killed, or at the least to the loss of employment. you have destroyed property of great value belonging to persons in no way concerned with the granting or withholding of the rights you claim for women. in addition, you have for some time past been luring other people--young men and young women--to the committal of crime as your assistants or associates. i cannot regard your case as having any political justification or standing, or as being susceptible of any mitigation by the recommendation of the jury. the least sentence i can pass upon you is a sentence of three years' penal servitude." vivie took the blow without flinching and merely bowed to the judge. there was the usual "sensation in court." women's voices were heard saying "shame!" "shame!" "three cheers for vivie warren," and a slightly ironical "three cheers for david whatyoumay-callem williams." the judge uttered the usual unavailing threats of prison for those who profaned the majesty of the court; honoria, rossiter, praed (in tears), bertie adams, looking white and ill, all the noted suffragists who were out of prison for the time being and could obtain admittance to the court, crowded round vivie before the wardresses led her away from the dock, assuring her they would move heaven and earth, first to get the sentence mitigated, and secondly to have her removed to the first division. but on both points the government proved adamant. an interview between rossiter and the home secretary nearly ended in a personal assault. all the officials concerned refused to see honoria, who almost had a serious quarrel with her husband, the latter averring that vivien warren had only got what she asked for. vivien was therefore taken to holloway to serve her sentence as a common felon. "didn't she hunger-strike to force the authorities to accord her better prison treatment?" she did. but she was very soon, and with extra business-like brutality, forcibly fed; and that and the previous starvation made her so ill that she spent weeks in hospital. here it was very plainly hinted to her that between hunger-striking and forcible feeding she might very soon die; and that in her case the government were prepared to stand the racket. moreover she heard by some intended channel about this time that scores of imprisoned suffragists were hunger-striking to secure her better treatment and were endangering if not their lives at any rate their future health and validity. so she conveyed them an earnest message--and was granted facilities to do so--imploring them to do nothing more on her account; adding that she was resolved to go through with her imprisonment; it might teach her valuable lessons. the governor of the prison fortunately was a humane and reasonable man--unlike some of the home office or scotland yard officials. he read the newspapers and reviews of the day and was aware who vivie warren was. he probably made no unfair difference in her case from any other, but so far as he could mould and bend the prison discipline and rules it was his practice not to use a razor for stone-chipping or a cold-chisel for shaving. he therefore put vivie to tasks co-ordinated with her ability and the deftness of her hands--such as book-binding. she had of course to wear prison dress--a thing of no importance in her eyes--and her cell was like all the cells in that and other british prisons previous to the newest reforms--dark, rather damp, cruelly cold in winter, and disagreeable in smell; badly ventilated and oppressively ugly. but it was at any rate clean. she had not the cockroaches, bugs, fleas and lice that the earliest suffragists of 1908 had to complain of. five years of outspoken protests on the part of educated, delicate-minded women had wrought great reforms in our prisons--the need for which till then was not apparent to the perceptions of visiting magistrates. the food was better, the wardresses were less harsh, the chaplains a little more endurable, though still the worst feature in the prison personnel, with their unreasoning bibliolatry, their contemptuous patronage, their lack of christian pity--christ had never spoken to _them_, vivie often thought--their snobbishness. the chaplain of her imprisonment became quite chummy when he learnt that she had been a third wrangler at cambridge, knew lady feenix, and had lived in kensington prior to committing the offences for which she was imprisoned. however this helped to alleviate her dreary seclusion from the world as he occasionally dropped fragments of news as to what was going on outside, and he got her books through the prison library that were not evangelical pap. one day when she had been in prison two months she had a great surprise--a visit from her mother. strictly speaking this was only to last fifteen minutes, but the wardress who had conceived a liking for her intimated that she wouldn't look too closely at her watch. honoria came too--with mrs. warren--but after kissing her friend and leaving some beautiful flowers (which the wardress took away at once with pretended sternness and brought back in a vase after the visitors had left) honoria with glistening eyes and a smile that was all tremulous sweetness, intimated that mrs. warren had so much to say that she, honoria, was not going to stay more than that _one_ minute. mrs. warren had indeed so much to impart in the precious half hour that it was one long gabbled monologue. "when i heard you'd got into trouble, my darling, i _was_ put about. some'ow i'd never thought of your being pinched and acshally sent to prison. it was in the belgian papers, and a german friend of mine--oh! quite proper i assure you! he's a secretary of their legation at brussels and ages ago he used to be one of my clients when the hotel had a different name. well, he was full of it. 'madam,' 'e said, 'your english women are splendid. they're going to bring about a revolt, you'll see, and that, an' your ulster movement 'll give you a lot of trouble next year.' "well: i wrote at once to praddy, givin' him an order on my london agents, 'case he should want cash for your defence. i offered to come over meself, but he replied that for the present i'd better keep away. soon as i heard you was sent to prison i come over and went straight to praddy. my! he _was_ good. he made me put up with him, knowin' i wanted to live quiet and keep away from the old set. 'there's my parlour-maid,' 'e says, 'sort of housekeeper to me--good sort too, but wants a bit of yumourin.' you'll fix it up with her,' he says. and i jolly soon did. i give her to begin with a good tip, an' i said: 'look 'ere, my gal--she's forty-five i should think--every one's in trouble _some_ time or other in their lives, and _i'm_ in trouble now, if you like. and the day's come,' i said, 'when all women ought to stick by one another.' 'pears she's always had the highest opinion of you; very different, you was, from _some_ of 'er master's friends. i says 'right-o; then _now_ we know where we are.' "praddy soon got into touch with the authorities, but for some reason they wouldn't pass on a letter or let me come and see you, till to-day. but here i am, and here i'm goin' to stay--with praddy--till they lets you out. i'm told that if you be'ave yourself they'll let me send you a passel of food, once a week. think of that! my! won't i find some goodies, and paté de foie gras. i'll come here once a month, as often as they'll let me, till i gets you out. 'n after that, we'll leave this 'orrid, 'yprocritical old country and live 'appily at my villa, or travel a bit. fortunately i've plenty of money. bein' over here i've bin rearranging my investments a bit. fact is, i 'ad a bit of a scare this autumn. they say in belgium, war is comin'. talkin' to this same german--he's always pumpin' me about the suffragettes so i occasionally put a question or so to 'im, 'e knowing 'what's, what' in the money market--'e says to me just before i come over, 'what's your english proverb, madame varennes, about 'avin' all your eggs in one basket? is all your money in english and belgian securities?' i says 'chiefly belgian and german and austrian, and some i've giv' to me daughter to do as she likes with.' 'well' 'e says, 'friend speakin' to friend, you've giv' me several good tips this autumn,' he says. 'now i'll give you one in return. sell out your austrian investments--there's goin' to be a big war in the balkans next year and as like as not _we_ shall be here in belgium. sell out most of yer belgian stock and put all your money into german funds. they'll be safe there, come what may.' i thanked 'im; but i haven't quite done what he suggested. i'm takin' all my money out of austrian things and all but ten thousand out of belgian funds. i'm leavin' my german stock as it was, but i'm puttin' forty thousand pounds--i've got sixty thousand altogether--all yours some day--into canadian pacifics and royal mail--people 'll always want steamships--and new zealand five per cents. i don't like the look of things in old england nor yet on the continent. now me time's up. keep up your heart, old girl; it'll soon be over, specially if you don't play the fool and rile the prison people or start that silly hunger strike and ruin your digestion. g--good-bye; and g-god b-bless you, my darlin'" added mrs. warren relapsing into tears and the conventional prayer, of common humanity, which always hopes there _may_ be a pitiful deity, somewhere in cosmos. going out into the corridor, she attempted to press a sovereign into the wardress's hard palm. the latter indignantly repudiated the gift and said if mrs. warren tried on such a thing again, her visits would be stopped. but her indignation was very brief. she was carrying honoria's flowers at the time, and as she put them on the slab in vivie's cell, she remarked that say what you liked, there was nothing to come up to a mother, give her a mother rather than a man any day. on other occasions bertie adams came with mrs. warren; even professor rossiter, who also went to see vivie's mother at praed's, and conceived a whimsical liking for the unrepentant, outspoken old lady. vivie's health gradually recovered from the effects of the forcible feeding; the prison fare, supplemented by the weekly parcels, suited her digestion; the peace of the prison life and the regular work at interesting trades soothed her nerves. she enjoyed the respite from the worries of her complicated toilettes, the perplexity of what to wear and how to wear it; in short, she was finding a spell of prison life quite bearable, except for the cold and the attentions of the chaplain. she gathered from the fortnightly letter which her industry and good conduct allowed her to receive, and to answer, that unwearied efforts were being made by her friends outside to shorten her sentence. mrs. warren through bertie adams had found out the cases where jockeys and stable lads had lost their effects in the fires or explosions which had followed vivie's visits to their employers' premises, and had made good their losses. as to their employers, they had all been heavily insured, and recovered the value of their buildings; and as to the insurance companies _they_ had all been so enriched by mr. lloyd george's legislation that the one-or-two hundred thousand pounds they had lost, through vivie's revenge for the seemingly-fruitless death of emily wilding davison, was a bagatelle not worth bothering about. but all attempts to get the home office to reconsider miss warren's case or to shorten her imprisonment (except by the abridgment that could be earned in the prison itself) were unavailing. so long as the cabinet held vivie under lock and key, the suffrage movement--they foolishly believed--was hamstrung. so the months went by, and vivie almost lost count of time and almost became content to wait. till war was declared on august 4th, 1914. a few days afterwards followed the amnesty to suffragist prisoners. from this the home office strove at first to exclude vivien warren on the plea that her crime was an ordinary crime and admitted of no political justification; but at this the wrath of rossiter and the indignation of the w.s.p.u. became so alarming that the agitated secretary of state--not at all sure how we were going to come out of the war--gave way, and an order was signed for vivie's release on the 11th of august; on the understanding that she would immediately proceed abroad; an understanding to which she would not subscribe but which in her slowly-formed hatred of the british government she resolved to carry out. mrs. warren, assured by praed and rossiter that vivie's release was a mere matter of a few days, had left for brussels on the 5th of august. if--as was then hoped--the french and belgian armies would suffice to keep the germans at bay on the frontier of belgium, she would prefer to resume her life there in the villa de beau-séjour. if however belgium was going to be invaded it was better she should secure her property as far as possible, transfer her funds, and make her way somehow to a safe part of france. vivie would join her as soon as she could leave the prison. chapter xvi brussels and the war: 1914 the lilacs in victoria road had been disposed of--through honoria--as soon as possible, after the sentence of three years' imprisonment had been pronounced on vivie; and the faithful suffragette maid had passed into honoria's employ at petworth, a fact that was not fully understood by colonel armstrong until he had become general armstrong and perfectly indifferent to the suffrage agitation which had by that time attained its end. so when vivie had come out of prison and had promised to write to all the wardresses and to meet them some day on non-professional ground; had found rossiter waiting for her in his motor and honoria in hers; had thanked them both for their never-to-be-forgotten kindness, and had insisted on walking away in her rather creased and rumpled clothes of the previous year with bertie adams; she sought the hospitality of praddy at hans place. the parlour-maid received her sumptuously, and praddy's eyes watered with senile tears. but vivie would have no melancholy. "oh praddy! if you only knew. it's worth going to prison to know the joy of coming out of it! i'm so happy at thinking this is my last day in england for ever so long. when the war is over, i think i shall settle in switzerland with mother--or perhaps all three of us--you with us, i mean--in italy. we'll only come back here when the women have got the vote. now to-night you shall take me to the theatre--or rather i'll take _you_. i've thought it all out beforehand, and bertie adams has secured the seats. it's _the chocolate soldier_ at the adelphi, the only war piece they had ready; there are two stalls for us and bertie and his wife are going to the dress circle. my cook's ticket is taken for brussels and i leave to-morrow by the ostende route." "to-morrow" was the 12th of august, and dora was not yet in being to interpose every possible obstacle in the way of the civilian traveller. down to the battle of the marne in september, 1914, very little difficulty was made about crossing the channel, especially off the main dover-calais route. so in the radiant noon of that august day vivie looked her last on the brown-white promontories, cliffs and grey castle of dover, scarcely troubling about any anticipations one way or the other, and certainly having no prevision she would not recross the channel for four years and four months, and not see dover again for five or six years. british war vessels were off the port and inside it. but there was not much excitement or crowding on the ostende steamer or any of those sensational precautions against being torpedoed or mined, which soon afterwards oppressed the spirits of cross-channel passengers. vessels arriving from belgium were full of passengers of the superior refugee class, american and british tourists, or wealthy people who though they preferred living abroad had begun to think that the continent just now was not very healthy and england the securest refuge for those who wished to be comfortable. vivie being a good sailor and economical by nature, never thought of securing a cabin for the four or five hours' sea-journey. she sat on the upper deck with her scanty luggage round her. a nice-looking young man who had a cabin the door of which he locked, was walking up and down on the level deck and scrutinizing her discreetly. and when at last they worked their way backwards into ostende--the harbour was full of vessels, chiefly mine-dredgers and torpedo boats--she noticed the obsequiousness of the steamer people and how he left the ship before any one else. she followed soon afterwards, having little encumbrances in the way of luggage; but she observed that he just showed a glimpse of some paper and was allowed to walk straight through the douane with unexamined luggage, and so, on to the brussels train. but she herself had little difficulty. she put her hand luggage--she had no other--into a first-class compartment, and having an hour and a half to wait walked out to look at ostende. summer tourists were still there; the casino was full of people, the shops were doing an active trade; the restaurants were crowded with english, americans, belgians taking tea, chocolate, or liqueurs at little tables and creating a babel of talk. newspapers were being sold everywhere by ragamuffin boys who shouted their head-lines in french, flemish, and quite understandable english. a fort or two at liége had fallen, but it was of no consequence. general léman could hold out indefinitely, and the mere fact that german soldiers had entered the town of liége counted for nothing. belgium had virtually won the war by holding up the immense german army. france was overrunning alsace, russia was invading east prussia and also sending uncountable thousands of soldiers, via archangel, to england, whence they were being despatched to calais for the relief of belgium. "it looks," thought vivie, after glancing at the _indépendance belge_, "as though belgium were going to be extremely interesting during the next few weeks; i may be privileged to witness--from a safe distance--another waterloo." then she returned to the train which in her absence had been so crowded with soldiers and civilian passengers that she had great difficulty in finding her place and seating herself. the young man whom she had seen pacing the deck of the steamer approached her and said: "there is more room in my compartment; in fact i have selfishly got one all to myself. won't you share it?" she thanked him and moved in there with her suit case and rugs. when the train had started and she had parried one or two polite enquiries as to place and ventilation, she said: "i think i ought to tell you who i am, in case you would not like to be seen speaking to me--i imagine you are in diplomacy, as i noticed you went through with a red passport.--i am vivien warren, just out of prison, and an outlaw, more or less." "'the outlaws of to-day are the in-laws of to-morrow,' as the english barrister said when he married the boer general's daughter. i have thought i recognized you. i have heard you speak at lady maud's and also at lady feenix's suffrage parties. my name is hawk. i suppose you've been in prison for some suffrage offence? so has my aunt, for the matter of that." _vivie_: "yes, but in her case they only sentenced her to the first division; whereas _i_ have been doing nine months' hard." _hawk_: "what was your crime?" _vivie_: "i admit nothing, it is always wisest. but i was accused of burning down mr. ----'s racing stables--and other things..." _hawk_: "_that_ beast. well, i suppose it was very wrong. can't quite make up my mind about militancy, one way or the other. but here we are up against the biggest war in history, and such peccadilloes as yours sink into insignificance. by the bye, my aunt was amnestied and so i suppose were you?" _vivie_: "yes, but not so handsomely. i was requested to go away from england for a time, so here i am, about to join my mother in brussels--or in a little country place near brussels." _hawk_: "well, i've been secretary of legation there. i'm just going back to--to--well i'm just going back." at bruges they were told that the train would not leave for ghent and brussels for another two hours--some mobilization delay; so hawk proposed they should go and see the memlings and then have some dinner. "don't you think they're perfectly wonderful?"--_àpropos_ of the pictures in the hospital of st. jean. _vivie_: "it depends on what you mean by 'wonderful.' if you admire the fidelity of the reproduction in colour and texture of the flemish costumes of the fifteenth century, i agree with you. it is also interesting to see the revelations of their domestic architecture and furniture of that time, and the types of domestic dog, cow and horse. but if you admire them as being true pictures of life in palestine in the time of christ, or in the rhineland of the fifth century, then i think they--like most old masters--are perfectly rotten. and have you ever remarked another thing about all paintings prior to the seventeenth century: how _plain_, how _ugly_ all the people are? you never see a single good-looking man or woman. do let's go and have that dinner you spoke of. i've got a prison appetite." at ghent another delay and a few uneasy rumours. the court was said to be removing from brussels and establishing itself at antwerp. the train at last drew into the main station at brussels half an hour after midnight. vivie's mother was nowhere to be seen. she had evidently gone back to the villa beau-séjour while she could. it was too late for any tram in the direction of tervueren. there were no taxis owing to the drivers being called up. leaving most of her luggage at the cloak-room--it took her about three-quarters of an hour even to approach the receiving counter--vivie walked across to the _palace hotel_ and asked the night porter to get her a room. but every room was occupied, they said--americans, british, wealthy war refugees from southern belgium, military officers of the allies. the only concession made to her--for the porter could hold out little hope of any neighbouring hotel having an empty room--was to allow her to sit and sleep in one of the comfortable basket chairs in the long atrium. at six o'clock a compassionate waiter who knew the name of mrs. warren gave her daughter some coffee and milk and a _brioche_. at seven she managed to get her luggage taken to one of the trams at the corner of the boulevard du jardin botanique. the train service to tervueren was suspended--and at the porte de namur she would be transferred to the no. 45 tram which would take her out to tervueren. even at an early hour brussels seemed crowded and as the tram passed along the handsome boulevards the shops were being opened and tourists were on their way to waterloo in brakes. every one seemed to think in mid-august, 1914, that germany was destined to receive her _coup-de-grâce_ on the field of waterloo. it would be so appropriate. and no one--at any rate of those who spoke their thoughts aloud--seemed to consider that brussels was menaced. leaving her luggage at the tram terminus, vivie sped on foot through forest roads, where the dew still glistened, to the villa beau-séjour. mrs. warren was not yet dressed, but was rapturous in her greeting. her chauffeur had been called up, so the auto could not go out, but a farm cart would be sent for the luggage. "i believe, mother, i'm going to enjoy myself enormously," said vivie as she sat in the verandah in the morning sunshine, making a delicious _petit déjeuner_ out of fresh rolls, the butter of the farm, a few slices of sausage, and a big cup of frothing chocolate topped with whipped cream. the scene that spread before her was idyllic, from a bucolic point of view. the beech woods of tervueren shut out any horizon of town activity; black and white cows were being driven out to pasture, a flock of geese with necks raised vertically waggled sedately along their own chosen path, a little disturbed and querulous over the arrival of a stranger; turkey hens and their half-grown poults and a swelling, strutting turkey cock, a peacock that had already lost nearly all his tail and therefore declined combat with the turkey and was, moreover, an isolated bachelor; guinea-fowls scratching and running about alternately; and plump cocks and hens of mixed breed covered most of the ground in the adjacent farm yard and the turf of an apple orchard, where the fruit was already reddening under the august sun. pigeons circled against the sky with the distinct musical notes struck out by their wings, or cooed and cooed round the dove cots. the dairy women of the farm laughed and sang and called out to one another in flemish and wallon rough chaff about their men-folk who were called to the colours. there was nothing suggestive here of any coming tragedy. this was the morning of the 13th of august. for three more days vivie lived deliriously, isolated from the world. she took new books to the shade of the forest, and a rug on which she could repose, and read there with avidity, read also all the newspapers her mother had brought over from england, tried to master the events which had so rapidly and irresistibly plunged europe into war. were the germans to blame, she asked herself? of course they were, technically, in invading belgium and in forcing this war on france. but were they not being surrounded by a hostile alliance? was not this hostility on the part of servia towards austria stimulated by russia in order to forestal the central powers by a russian occupation of constantinople? why should the russian empire be allowed to stretch for nine millions of square miles over half asia, much of persia, and now claim to control the balkan peninsula and asia minor? if england might claim a large section of persia as her sphere of influence, and egypt likewise and a fourth part of africa, much of arabia, and cyprus in the mediterranean, why might not germany and austria expect to have their little spheres of influence in the balkans, in asia minor, in mesopotamia? we had helped france to morocco and italy to tripoli; why should we bother about servia? it might be unkind, but then were we not unkind towards her father's country, ireland? were we very tender towards national independence in egypt, in persia? yet this brutal invasion of france, this unprovoked attack on liège were ugly things. france had shown no disposition to egg servia on against austria, and sir edward grey in the last days of june--she now learnt for the first time, for she had seen no newspapers in prison, where it is part of the dehumanizing policy of the home office to prevent their entry, or the dissemination of any information about current events--sir edward grey had clearly shown great britain did not approve of servian intrigues in bosnia. well: let the best man win. germany was just as likely to give the vote to her women as was britain. the germans were first in music and in science. she for her part didn't wish to become a german subject, but once the war was over she would willingly naturalize herself belgian or swiss. and the war must soon be over. europe as a whole could not allow this devastation of resources. america would intervene. already the germans realized their gigantic blunder in starting the attack. their men were said to be--she read--much less brave than people had expected. the mighty german armies had been held up for ten days by a puny belgian force and the forts of liège and namur. there would presently be an armistice and germany would have to make peace with perhaps the cession to france of metz as a _solatium_, while germany was given a little bit more of africa, and austria got nothing.... meantime the villa beau-séjour seemed after holloway prison a paradise upon earth. why quarrel with her fate? why not drop politics and take up philosophy? she felt herself capable of writing a universal history which would be far truer if more cynical than any previous attempt to show civilized man the route he had followed and the martyrdom he had undergone. on the 17th of august she took the tram into brussels. it seemed however as if it would never get there, and when she reached the porte de namur she was too impatient to wait for the connection. she could not find any gendarme, but at a superior-looking flower-shop she obtained the address of the british legation. she asked at the lodge for mr. hawk; but there was only a belgian coachman in charge, and he told her the minister and his staff had followed the court to antwerp. mr. hawk had only left that morning. "what a nuisance," said vivie to herself. "i might have found out from him whether there is any truth in the rumours that are flying about tervueren." these rumours were to the effect that the germans had captured all the forts of liège and their brave defender, general léman; that they were in namur and were advancing on louvain. "i wonder what we had better do?" pondered vivie. in her bewilderment she took the bold step of calling at the hotel de ville, gave her name and nationality, and asked the advice of the municipal employé who saw her as to what course she and her mother had better pursue: leave tervueren and seek a lodging in brussels; or retreat as far as ghent or bruges or even holland? the clerk reassured her. the germans had certainly occupied the south-east of belgium, but dared not push as far to the west and north as brussels. they risked otherwise being nipped between the belgian army of antwerp and the british force marching on mons.... he directed her attention to the last _communiqué_ of the ministry of war: "la situation n'a jamais été meilleure. bruxelles, à l'abri d'un coup de main, est défendue par vingt mille gardes civiques armés d'un excellent fusil," etc. vivie returned therefore a trifle reassured. at the same time she and her mother spent some hours in packing up and posting valuable securities to london, via ostende, in packing for deposit in the strong rooms of a brussels bank mrs. warren's jewellery and plate. the tram service from tervueren had ceased to run. so they induced a neighbour to drive them into brussels in a chaise: a slow and wearisome journey under a broiling sun. arrived in brussels they found the town in consternation. placarded on the walls was a notice signed by the burgomaster--the celebrated adolphe max--informing the bruxellois that in spite of the resistances of the belgian army it was to be feared the enemy might soon be in occupation of brussels. in such an event he adjured the citizens to avoid all panic, to give no legitimate cause of offence to the germans, to renounce any idea of resorting to arms! the germans on their part were bound by the laws of war to respect private property, the lives of non-combatants, the honour of women, and the exercise of religion. vivie and her mother found the banks closed and likewise the railway station. they now had but one thought: to get back as quickly as possible to villa beau-séjour, and fortunately for their dry-mouthed impatience their farmer friend was of the same mind. along the tervueren road they met numbers of peasant refugees in carts and on foot, driving cattle, geese or pigs towards the capital; urging on the tugging dogs with small carts and barrows loaded with personal effects, trade-goods, farm produce, or crying children. all of them had a distraught, haggard appearance and were constantly looking behind them. from the east, indeed, came the distant sounds of explosions and intermittent rifle firing. mrs. warren was blanched with fear, her cheeks a dull peach colour. she questioned the people in french and flemish, but they only answered vaguely in raucous voices: "les allemands!" "de duitscher." one old woman, however, had flung herself down by the roadside, while her patient dog lay between the shafts of the little cart till she should be pleased to go on. she was more communicative and told mrs. warren a tale too horrible to be believed, about husband, son, son-in-law all killed, daughter violated and killed too, cottage in flames, livestock driven off. recovering from her exhaustion she rose and shook herself. "i've no business to be here. i should be with _them_. i was just packing this cart for the market when it happened. why did i go away? oh for shame! i'll go back--to _them_..." and forthwith she turned the dog round and trudged the same way they were going. at last they came opposite the courtyard of the villa and saw the lawn and gravel sweep full of helmeted soldiers in green-grey uniform, their bodies hung with equipment--bags, great-coats, rolled-up blankets, trench spades, cartridge bandoliers. vivie jumped down quickly, said to her mother in a low firm voice: "leave everything to me. say as little as possible." then to the farmer: "nous vous remercions infiniment. vous aurez mille choses à faire chez vous, je n'en doute. nous réglerons notre compte tout-à l'heure.... pour le moment, adieu." she clutched the handbags of valuables, slung them somehow on her left arm, while with her other she piloted the nearly swooning mrs. warren into the court. they were at once stopped by a non-commissioned officer who asked them in abrupt, scarcely understandable german what they wanted. vivie guessing his meaning said in english--she scarcely knew any german: "this is our house. we have been absent in brussels. we want to see the officer in command." the soldier knew no english, but likewise guessed at their meaning. he ordered them to wait where they were. presently he came out of the villa and said the herr oberst would see them. vivie led her mother into the gay little hall--how pleasant and cool it had looked in the early morning! it was now full of surly-looking soldiers. without hesitating she took a chair from one soldier and placed her mother in it. "you rest there a moment, dearest, while i go in and see the officer in command." the corporal she had first spoken with beckoned her into the pretty sitting-room at the back where they had had their early breakfast that morning. here she saw seated at a table consulting plans of brussels and other papers a tall, handsome man of early middle age, who might indeed have passed for a young man, had he not looked very tired and care-worn and exhibited a bald patch at the back of his head, rendered the more apparent because the brown-gold curls round it were dank with perspiration. he rose to his feet, clicked his heels together and saluted. "an english young lady, i am told, rather ... a ... surprise ... on ... the ... outskirts ... of brussels..." (his english was excellent, if rather staccato and spaced.) "it ... is ... not ... usual ... for ... englishwomen ... to ... be owners ... of chateaux ... in belgium. but i ... hear ... it ... is ... your mother ... who is the owner ... from long time, and you are her daughter newly arrived from england? nicht wahr? sie verstehen nicht deutsch, gnädiges fraulein?" "no," said vivie, "i don't speak much german, and fortunately you speak such perfect english that it is not necessary." "i have stayed some time in england," was the reply; "i was once military attaché in london. both your voice and your face seem--what should one say? familiar to me. are you of london?" "yes, i suppose i may say i am a londoner, though i believe i was born in brussels. but i don't want to beat about the bush: there is so much to be said and explained, and all this time i am very anxious about my mother. she is in the hall outside--feels a little faint i think with shock--might she--might i?"-"but my dear miss--?" "miss warren--" "my dear miss warren, of course. we are enemies--pour le moment--but we germans are not monsters. ("what about those peasants' stories?" said vivie to herself.) your lady mother must come in here and take that fauteuil. then we can talk better at our ease." vivie got up and brought her mother in. "now you shall tell me everything--is it not so? better to be quite frank. à la guerre comme à la guerre. first, you are english?" "yes. my mother is mrs. warren, i am her daughter, vivien warren. my mother has lived many years in belgium, though also in other places, in germany, austria and france. of late, however, she has lived entirely here. this place belongs to her." "and you?" "i? i have just been released from prison in london, holloway prison..." "my dear young lady! you are surely joking--what do you say? you pull my leg? but no; i see! you have been suffragette. aha! _i_ understand you are _the_ miss warren, the miss warren who make the english government afraid, nicht wahr? you set fire to houses of parliament..." _vivie_ (interrupting): "no, no! only to some racing stables..." _oberst_: "i understand. but you are rebel?" _vivie_: "i hate the present british government--the most hypocritical, the most..." _oberst_: "but we are in agreement, you and i! this is splendid. but now we must be praktisch. we are at war, though we hope here for a peaceful occupation of belgium. you will see how the flämisch--ah, you say the fleming?--the flemish part of belgium will receive us with such pleasure. it is only with the wälsch, the wallon part we disagree.... but there is so much for me to do--we must talk of all these things some other time. let us begin our business. i must first introduce myself. i am oberst gottlieb von giesselin of the saxon army. (he rose, clicked heels, bowed, and sat down.) i see you have three heavy bags you look at often. what is it?" _vivie_ (taking courage): "it is my mother's jewellery and some plate. she fears--" _von g._: "i understand! we have a dr-r-eadful reputation, we poor germans! the french stuff you up with lies. but we are better than you think. you shall take them in two--three days to brussels when things are quiet, and put them in some bank. here i fear i must stay. i must intrude myself on your hospitality. but better for you perhaps if i stay here at present. i will put a few of my men in your--your--buildings. most of them shall go with their officers to tervueren for billet." (turning to mrs. warren.) "madam, you must cheer up. i foresee your daughter and i will be great friends. let us now look through the rooms and see what disposition we can make. i think i will have to take this room for my writing, for my work. i see you have telephone here. _gut_!" leaving mrs. warren still seated, but a little less stertorous in breathing, a little reassured, vivie and oberst von giesselin then went over the villa, apportioning the rooms. the colonel and his orderly would be lodged in two of the bedrooms. vivie and her mother would share mrs. warren's large bedroom and retain the salon for their exclusive occupation. they would use the dining-room in common with their guest. vivie looking out of the windows occasionally, as they passed from room to room, saw the remainder of the soldiery strolling off to be lodged at their nearest neighbour's, the farmer who had driven them in to brussels that morning. there were perhaps thirty, accompanying a young lieutenant. how would he find room for them, poor man? they were more fortunate in being asked only to lodge six or seven in addition to the colonel's orderly and soldier-clerk. before sunset, the villa beau-séjour was clear of soldiers, except the few that had gone to the barn and the outhouses. the morning room had been fitted up with a typewriter at which the military clerk sat tapping. the colonel's personal luggage had been placed in his bedroom. a soldier was even sweeping up all traces of the invasion of armed men and making everything tidy. it all seemed like a horrid dream that was going to end up happily after all. presently vivie would wake up completely and there would even be no oberst, no orderly; only the peaceful life of the farm that was going on yesterday. here a sound of angry voices interrupted her musings. the cows returning by themselves from the pasture were being intercepted by soldiers who were trying to secure them. vivie in her indignation ran out and ordered the soldiers off, in english. to her surprise they obeyed silently, but as they sauntered away to their quarters she was saddened at seeing them carrying the bodies of most of the turkeys and fowls and even the corpse of the poor tailless peacock. they had waited for sundown to rob the hen-roosts. very much disillusioned she ran to the morning room and burst in on the colonel's dictation to his clerk. "excuse me, but if you don't keep your soldiers in better order you will have very little to eat whilst you are here. they are killing and carrying off all our poultry." the colonel flushed a little at the peremptory way in which she spoke, but without replying went out and shouted a lot of orders in german. his orderly summoned soldiers from the barn and together they drove the cows into the cow-sheds. all the flemish servants having disappeared in a panic, the germans had to milk the cows that evening; and vivie, assisted by the orderly, cooked the evening meal in the kitchen. he was, like his colonel, a saxon, a pleasant-featured, domesticated man, who explained civilly in the thuringian dialect--though to vivie there could be no discrimination between varieties of high german--that the sachsen folk were "eines gütes leute" and that all would go smoothly in time. nevertheless the next morning when she could take stock she found nearly all the poultry except the pigeons had disappeared; and most of the apples, ripe and unripe, had vanished from the orchard trees. the female servants of the farm, however, came back; and finding no violence was offered took up their work again. two days afterwards, von giesselin sent vivie into brussels in his motor, with his orderly to escort her, so that she might deposit her valuables at a bank. she found brussels, suburbs and city alike, swarming with grey-uniformed soldiers, most of whom looked tired and despondent. those who were on the march, thinking vivie must be the wife of some german officer of high rank, struck up a dismal chant from dry throats with a refrain of "gloria, viktoria, hoch! deutschland, hoch!" at the bank the belgian officials received her with deference. apart from being the daughter of the well-to-do mrs. warren, she was english, and seemed to impose respect even on the germans. they took over her valuables, made out a receipt, and cashed a fairly large cheque in ready money. vivie then ventured to ask the bank clerk who had seen to her business if he had any news. looking cautiously round, he said the rumours going through the town were that the queen of holland, enraged that her prince consort should have facilitated the crossing of limburg by german armies, had shot him dead with a revolver; that the crown prince of germany, despairing of a successful end of the war, had committed suicide at his father's feet; that the american consul general in brussels--to whom, by the bye, vivie ought to report herself and her mother, in order to come under his protection--had notified general sixt von arnim, commanding the army in brussels, that, _unless he vacated the belgian capital immediately_, england would bombard hamburg and the united states would declare war on the kaiser. alluring stories like these flitted through despairing brussels during the first two months of german occupation, though vivie, in her solitude at tervueren, seldom heard them. after her business at the bank she walked about the town. no one took any notice of her or annoyed her in any way. the restaurants seemed crowded with belgians as well as germans, and the belgians did not seem to have lost their appetites. the palace hotel had become a german officers' club. on all the public buildings the german imperial flag hung alongside the belgian. only a few of the trams were running. yet you could still buy, without much difficulty at the kiosques, belgian and even french and british newspapers. from these she gathered that the german forces were in imminent peril between the belgian antwerp army on the north and the british army advancing from the south; and that in the plains of alsace the french had given the first public exhibition of the new "turpin" explosive. the results had been _foudroyant_ ... and simple. complete regiments of german soldiers had been destroyed in _one minute_. it seemed curious, she thought, that with such an arm as this the french command did not at once come irresistibly to the rescue of brussels.... however, it was four o'clock, and there was her friend the enemy's automobile drawn up outside the bank, awaiting her. she got in, and the soldier chauffeur whirled her away to the villa beau-séjour, beyond tervueren. on her return she found her mother prostrate with bad news. their nearest neighbour, farmer oudekens who had driven them into brussels the preceding day had been executed in his own orchard only an hour ago. it seemed that the lieutenant in charge of the soldiers billeted there had disappeared in the night, leaving his uniform and watch and chain behind him. the farmer's story was that in the night the lieutenant had appeared in his room with a revolver and had threatened to shoot him unless he produced a suit of civilian clothes. thus coerced he had given him his eldest son's sunday clothes left behind when the said son went off to join the belgian army. the lieutenant, grateful for the assistance, had given him as a present his watch and chain. on the other hand the german non-commissioned officers insisted their lieutenant had been made away with in the night. the farmer's allegation that he had deserted (as in fact he had) only enhanced his crime. the finding of the court after a very summary trial was "guilty," and despite the frantic appeals of the wife, reinforced later on by mrs. warren, the farmer had been taken out and shot. the evening meal consequently was one of strained relations. colonel von giesselin came to supper punctually and was very spruce in appearance. but he was gravely polite and uncommunicative. and after dessert the two ladies asked permission to retire. they lay long awake afterwards, debating in whispers what terror might be in store for them. mrs. warren cried a good deal and lamented futilely her indolent languor of a few days previously. _why_ had she not, while there was yet time, cleared out of brussels, gone to holland, and thence regained england with vivie, and from england the south of france? vivie, more stoical, pointed out it was no use crying over lost opportunities. here they were, and they must sharpen their wits to get away at the first opportunity. perhaps the american consul might help them? the next morning, however, their guest, who had insensibly turned host, told vivie the tram service to brussels, like the train service, was suspended indefinitely, and that he feared they must resign themselves to staying where they were. under his protection they had nothing to fear. he was sorry the soldiers had helped themselves so freely to the livestock; but everything had now settled down. henceforth they would be sure of something to eat, as he himself had got to be fed. and all he asked of them was their agreeable society. two months went by of this strange life. two months, in which vivie only saw german newspapers--which she read with the aid of von giesselin. their contents filled her with despair. they made very little of the marne rebuff, much of the capture of antwerp and ostende, and the occupation of all belgium (as they put it). vivie noted that the german emperor's heart had bled for the punishment inflicted on louvain. (she wondered how that strange personality, her father, had fared in the destruction of monastic buildings.) but she had then no true idea of what had taken place, and the far-reaching harm this crime had done to the german reputation. she noted that the german press expressed disappointment that the cause of germany, the crusade against albion, had received no support from the irish nationalists, or from the "revolting" women, the suffragettes, who had been so cruelly maltreated by the administration of asquith and sir grey. this point was discussed by the colonel, but vivie found herself speaking as a patriot. how _could_ the germans expect british women to turn against their own country in its hour of danger? "then you would not," said von giesselin, "consent to write some letters to your friends, if i said i could have them sent safely to their destination?--only letters," he added hastily, seeing her nostrils quiver and a look come into her eyes--"to ask your suffrage friends to bring pressure to bear on their government to bring this d-r-r-eadful war to a just peace. that is all we ask." but vivie said "with all her own private grudge against the present ministry she felt _au fond_ she was _british_; she must range herself in time of war with her own people." mrs. warren went much farther. she was not very voluble nowadays. the german occupation of her villa had given her a mental and physical shock from which she never recovered. she often sat quite silent and rather huddled at meal times and looked the old woman now. in such a conversation as this she roused herself and her voice took an aggressive tone. "my daughter write to her friends to ask them to obstruct the government at such a time as this? _never!_ i'd disown her if she did, i'd repudiate her! she may have had her own turn-up with 'em. i was quite with her there. but that, so to speak, was only a domestic quarrel. we're british all through, and don't you forget it--sir--(she added deprecatingly): british _all through_ and we're goin' to beat germany yet, _you'll_ see. the british navy never _has_ been licked nor won't be, this time." colonel von giesselin did not insist. he seemed depressed himself at times, and far from elated at the victories announced in his own newspapers. he would in the dreary autumn evenings show them the photographs of his wife--a sweet-looking woman--and his two solid-looking, handsome children, and talk with rapture of his home life. why, indeed, was there this war! his heart like his emperor's bled for these unhappy belgians. but it was all due to the macchiavellian policy of "sir grey and asquiss." if germany had not felt herself surrounded and barred from all future expansion of trade and influence she would not have felt forced to attack france and invade belgium. why, see! all the time they were talking, barbarous russia, egged on by england, was ravaging east prussia! then, in other moods, he would lament the war and the policy of prussia. how he had loved england in the days when he was military attaché there. he had once wanted to marry an englishwoman, a miss fraser, a so handsome daughter of a court physician. "why, that must have been honoria, my former partner," said vivie, finding an intense joy in this link of memory. and she told much of her history to the sentimental colonel, who was conceiving for her a sincere friendship and camaraderie. they opened up other veins of memory, talked of lady feenix, of the musical parties at the parrys, of emily daymond's playing, of this, that and the other hostess, of such-and-such an actress or singer. the colonel of course was often absent all day on military duties. he advised vivie strongly on such occasions not to go far from mrs. warren's little domain. "i am obliged to remind you, dear young lady, that you and your mother are my prisoners in a sense. many bad things are going on--things we cannot help in war--outside this quiet place..." in november, however, there was a change of scene, which in many ways came to vivie and her mother with a sense of great relief. colonel von giesselin told them one morning he had been appointed secretary to the german governor of brussels, and must reside in the town not far from the rue de la loi. he proposed that the ladies should move into brussels likewise; in fact he delicately insisted on it. their pleasant relations could thus continue--perhaps--who knows?--to the end of this war, "to that peace which will make us friends once more?" it would in any case be most unsafe if, without his protection, they continued to reside at this secluded farm, on the edge of the great woods. in fact it could not be thought of, and another officer was coming here in his place with a considerable suite. eventually compensation would be paid to mrs. warren for any damage done to her property. the two women readily agreed. in the curtailment of their movements and the absence of normal means of communication their life at villa beau-séjour was belying its name. their supply of money was coming to an end; attempts must be made to regularize that position by drawing on mrs. warren's german investments and the capital she still had in belgian stock--if that were negotiable at all. where should they go? mrs. warren still had some lien on the hotel édouard-sept (the name, out of deference to the germans, had been changed to hotel impérial). with the influence of the government secretary behind her she might turn out some of its occupants and regain the use of the old "appartement." this would accommodate vivie too. and there was no reason why their friend should not place his own lodging and office at the same hotel, which was situated conveniently on the rue royale not far from the governor's residence in the rue de la loi. so this plan was carried out. and in december, 1914, mrs. warren had some brief flicker of happiness once more, and even vivie felt the nightmare had lifted a little. it was life again. residence at the villa beau-séjour had almost seemed an entombment of the living. here, in the heart of brussels, at any rate, you got some news every day, even if much of it was false. the food supply was more certain, there were 700,000 people all about you. true, the streets were very badly lit at night and fuel was scarce and dear. but you were in contact with people. in january, vivie tried to get into touch with the american legation, not only to send news of their condition to england but to ascertain whether permission might not be obtained for them to leave belgium for holland. but this last plea was said by the american representative to be unsustainable. for various reasons, the german government would not permit it, and he was afraid neither vivie nor her mother would get enough backing from the british authorities to strengthen the american demand. she must stop on in brussels till the war came to an end. "but how are we to live?" asked vivie, with a catch in her throat. "our supply of belgian money is coming to an end. my mother has considerable funds invested in england. these she can't touch. she has other sums in german securities, but soon after the war they stopped sending her the interest on the plea that she was an 'enemy.' as to the money we have in belgium, the bank in brussels can tell me nothing. what are we to do?" the rather cold-mannered american diplomatist--it was one of the secretaries of legation and he knew all about mrs. warren's past, and regarded vivie as an outlaw--said he would try to communicate with her friends in england and see if through the american relief organization, funds could be transmitted for their maintenance. she gave him the addresses of rossiter, praed, and her mother's london bankers. vivie now tried to settle down to a life of usefulness. to increase their resources she gave lessons in english to belgians and even to german officers. she offered herself to various groups of belgian ladies who had taken up such charities as the germans permitted. she also asked to be taken on as a red cross helper. but in all these directions she had many snubs to meet and little encouragement. scandal had been busy with her name--the unhappy reputation of her mother, the peculiar circumstances under which she had left england, the two or three months shut up at tervueren with colonel von giesselin, and the very protection he now accorded her and her mother at the hotel impérial. she felt herself looked upon almost as a pariah, except among the poor of brussels in the quartier des marolles. here she was only regarded as a kind englishwoman, unwearied in her efforts to alleviate suffering, mental and bodily. and meantime, silence, a wall of silence as regarded england--england which she was beginning to look upon as the paradise from which she had been chased. not a word had come through from rossiter, from honoria, bertie adams, or any of her suffrage friends. i can supply briefly what she did not know. rossiter at the very outbreak of war had offered his services as one deeply versed in anatomy and in physiology to the army medical service, and especially to a great person at the war office; but had been told quite cavalierly that they had no need of him. as he persisted, he had been asked--in the hope that it might get rid of him--to go over to the united states in company with a writer of comic stories, a retired actor and a music-hall singer, and lecture on the causes of the war in the hope of bringing america in. this he had declined to do, and being rich and happening to know personally general armstrong (honoria's husband) he had been allowed to accompany him to the vicinity of the front and there put his theories of grafting flesh and bone to the test; with the ultimate results that his work became of enormous beneficial importance and he was given rank in the r.a.m.c. honoria, racked with anxiety about her dear "army," and very sad as to vivie's disappearance, slaved at war work as much as her children's demands on her permitted; or even put her children on one side to help the sick and wounded. vivie's suffrage friends forgot she had ever existed and turned their attention to propaganda, to recruiting for the voluntary army which our ministers still hoped might suffice to win the war, to the making of munitions, or aeroplane parts, to land work and to any other work which might help their country in its need. and bertie adams? when he realized that his beloved and revered miss warren was shut off from escape in belgium, could not be heard of, could not be got at and rescued, he went nearly off his nut.... he reviewed during a succession of sleepless nights what course he might best pursue. his age was about thirty-two. he might of course enlist in the army. but though very patriotic, his allegiance lay first at the feet of vivie warren. if he entered the army, he might be sent anywhere but to the belgian frontier; and even if he got near belgium he could not dart off to rescue vivie without becoming a deserter. so he came speedily to the conclusion that the most promising career he could adopt, having regard to his position in life and lack of resources, was to volunteer for foreign service under the y.m.c.a., and express the strongest possible wish to be employed as near belgium as was practicable. so that by the end of september, 1914, bertie was serving out cocoa and biscuits, writing paper and cigarettes, hot coffee and sausages and cups of bovril to exhausted or resting soldiers in the huts of the y.m.c.a., near ypres. alternating with these services, he was, like other y.m.c.a. men in the same district and at the same time, acting as stretcher bearer to bring in the wounded, as amateur chaplain with the dying, as amateur surgeon with the wounded, as secretary to some distraught officer in high command whose clerks had all been killed; and in any other capacity if called upon. but always with the stedfast hope and purpose that he might somehow reach and rescue vivie warren. chapter xvii the germans in brussels: 1915-1916 in the early spring of 1915, vivie, anxious not to see her mother in utter penury, and despairing of any effective assistance from the americans (very much prejudiced against her for the reasons already mentioned), took her mother's german and belgian securities of a face value amounting to about £18,000 and sold them at her belgian bank for a hundred thousand francs (£4,000) in belgian or german bank notes. she consulted no one, except her mother. who was there to consult? she did not like to confide too much to colonel von giesselin, a little too prone in any case to "protect" them. but as she argued with mrs. warren, what else were they to do in their cruel situation? if the allies were eventually victorious, mrs. warren could return to england. there at least she had in safe investments £40,000, ample for the remainder of their lives. if germany lost the war, the german securities nominally worth two hundred thousand marks might become simply waste paper; even now they were only computed by the bank at a purchase value of about one fifth what they had stood at before the war. if germany were victorious or agreed to a compromise peace, her mother's shares in belgian companies might be unsaleable. better to secure now a lump sum of four thousand pounds in bank notes that would be legal currency, at any rate as long as the german occupation lasted. and as one never knew what might happen, it was safer still to have all this money (equivalent to a hundred thousand francs), in their own keeping. they could live even in war time, on such a sum as this for four, perhaps five years, as they would be very economical and vivie would try to earn all she could by teaching. it was useless to hope they would be able to return to villa beau-séjour so long as the german occupation lasted, or during that time receive a penny in compensation for the sequestration of the property. the notes for the hundred thousand francs therefore were carefully concealed in mrs. warren's bedroom at the hotel impérial and vivie for a few months afterwards felt slightly easier in her mind as to the immediate future; for, as a further resource, there were also the jewels and plate at the bank. they dared hope for nothing from villa beau-séjour. von giesselin, after more entreaty than vivie cared to make, had allowed them with a special pass and his orderly as escort to go in a military motor to the villa in the month of april in order that they might bring away the rest of their clothes and personal effects of an easily transportable nature. but the visit was a heart-breaking disappointment. their reception was surly; the place was little else than a barrack of disorderly soldiers and insolent officers. any search for clothes or books was a mockery. nothing was to be found in the chests of drawers that belonged to them; only stale food and unnameable horrors or military equipment articles. the garden was trampled out of recognition. there had been a beautiful vine in the greenhouse. it was still there, but the first foliage of spring hung withered and russet coloured. the soldiers, grinning when vivie noticed this, pointed to the base of the far spreading branches. it had been sawn through, and much of the glass of the greenhouse deliberately smashed. on their way back, mrs. warren, who was constantly in tears, descried waiting by the side of the road the widow of their farmer-neighbour, madame oudekens. she asked the orderly that they might stop and greet her. she approached. mrs. warren got out of the car so that she might more privately talk to her in flemish. since her husband's execution, the woman said, she had had to become the mistress of the sergeant-major who resided with her as the only means, seemingly, of saving her one remaining young son from exile in germany and her daughters from unbearably brutal treatment; though she added, "as to their virtue, _that_ has long since vanished; all i ask is that they be not half-killed whenever the soldiers get drunk. oh madame! if you could only say a word to that colonel with whom you are living?" mrs. warren dared not translate this last sentence to vivie, for fear her daughter forced her at all costs to leave the hotel impérial. where, if she did, were they to go? the winter of 1914 had witnessed an appalling degree of frightfulness in eastern belgium, the wallon or french-speaking part of the country more especially. the germans seemed to bear a special grudge against this region, regarding it as doggedly opposed to absorption into a greater germany; whereas they hoped the flemish half of the country would receive them as fellow teutons and even as deliverers from their former french oppressors. thousands of old men and youths, of women and children in the provinces south of the meuse had been shot in cold blood; village after village had been burnt. scenes of nearly equal horror had taken place between brussels and antwerp, especially around malines. von bissing's arrival as governor general was soon signalized by those dreaded red placards on the walls of brussels, announcing the verdicts of courts-martial, the condemnation to death of men and women who had contravened some military regulation. yet in spite of this, life went on in brussels once more--by von bissing's stern command--as though the country were not under the heel of the invader. the theatres opened their doors; the cinemas had continuous performances; there was grand opera; there were exhibitions of toys, or pictures, and charitable bazaars. ten days after the fall of antwerp _char-à-bancs_ packed with belgians drove out of brussels to visit the scenes of the battles and those shattered forts, so fatuously deemed impregnable, so feeble in their resistance to german artillery. vivie, even had she wished to do so, could not have joined the sight-seers. as the subjects of an enemy power she and her mother had had early in january to register themselves at the kommandantur and were there warned that without a special passport they might not pass beyond the limits of brussels and its suburbs. except in the matter of the farewell visit to the farm at tervueren, vivie was reluctant to ask for any such favour from von giesselin, though she was curious to see the condition of louvain and to ascertain whether her father still inhabited the monastic house of his order--she had an idea that he was away in germany in connection with his schemes for raising the irish against the british government. von giesselin however was becoming sentimentally inclined towards her and she saw no more of him than was necessary to maintain polite relations. frau von giesselin, for various reasons of health or children, could not join him at brussels as so many german wives had done with other of the high functionaries (to the great embitterment of brussels society); and there were times when von giesselin's protestations of his loneliness alarmed her. the king of saxony had paid a visit to brussels in the late autumn of 1914 and had invited this colonel of his army to a fastuous banquet given at the palace hotel. the king--whom the still defiant brussels press, especially that unkillable _la libre belgique_, reminded ironically of his domestic infelicity, by enquiring whether he had brought signor toselli to conduct his orchestra--was gratified that a subject of his should be performing the important duties of secretary to the brussels government, and his notice of von giesselin gave the latter considerable prestige, for a time; an influence which he certainly exercised as far as he was able in softening the edicts and the intolerable desire to annoy and exasperate on the part of the prussian governors of province and kingdom. he even interceded at times for unfortunate british or french subjects, stranded in brussels, and sometimes asked vivie about fellow-countrymen who sought this intervention. this caused her complicated annoyances. seeing there was some hope in interesting her in their cases, these english governesses, tutors, clerks, tailors' assistants and cutters, music-hall singers, grooms appealed to vivie to support their petitions. they paid her or her mother a kind of base court, on the tacit assumption that she--vivie--had placed colonel von giesselin under special obligations. if in rare instances, out of sheer pity, she took up a case and von giesselin granted the petition or had it done in a higher quarter, his action was clearly a personal favour to her; and the very petitioners went away, with the ingratitude common in such cases, and spread the news of vivie's privileged position at the hotel impérial. it was not surprising therefore that in the small circles of influential british or american people in brussels she was viewed with suspicion or contempt. she supported this odious position at the hotel impérial as long as possible, in the hope that colonel von giesselin when he had realized the impossibility of using herself or her mother in any kind of intrigue against the british government would do what the american consul general professed himself unable or unwilling to do: obtain for them passports to proceed to holland. von giesselin, from december, 1914, took up among other duties that of press censor and officer in charge of publicity. after the occupation of brussels and the fall of antwerp, the "patriotic" belgian press had withdrawn itself to france and england or had stopped publication. its newspapers had been invited to continue their functions as organs of news-distribution and public opinion, but of course under the german censorate and martial law. as one editor said to a polite german official: "if i were to continue the publication of my paper under such conditions, my staff and i would all be shot in a week." but the large towns of belgium could not be left without a press. public opinion must be guided, and might very well be guided in a direction favourable to german policy. the german government had already introduced the german hour into belgian time, the german coinage, the german police system, and german music; but it had no intention, seemingly, of forcing the german speech on the old dominions of the house of burgundy. on the contrary, in their tenure of belgium or of north-east france, the germans seemed desirous of showing how well they wrote the french language, how ready they were under a german regime to give it a new literature. whether or not they enlisted a few recreants, or made use of alsatians or lorrainers to help them, it is never-the-less remarkable how free as a rule their written and printed french was from mistakes or german idioms; though their spoken french always remained alsatian. it suffered from that extraordinary misplacement and exchange in the upper and lower consonants which has distinguished the german people--that nation of great philologists--since the death of the roman empire. german officers still said "barton, die fous brie," instead of "pardon, je vous prie" (if they were polite), but they were quite able to contribute _articles de fond_ to a pretended national belgian press. besides there was a sufficiency of belgian "sans-patries" ready to come to their assistance: belgian nationals of german-jewish or dutch-jewish descent, who in the present generation had become catholic christians as it ranged them with the best people. they were worthy and wealthy belgian citizens, but presumably would not have deeply regretted a change in the political destinies of belgium, provided international finance was not adversely affected. there were also a few belgian socialists--a few, but enough--who took posts under the german provisional government, on the plea that until you could be purely socialistic it did not matter under what flag you drew your salary. von giesselin was most benevolently intentioned, in reality a kind-hearted man, a sentimentalist. not quite prepared to go to the stake himself in place of any other victim of prussian cruelty, but ready to make some effort to soften hardships and reduce sentences. (there were others like him--saxon, thuringian, hanoverian, württembergisch--or the german occupation of belgium might have ended in a vast sicilian vespers, a boiling-over of a maddened people reckless at last of whether they died or not, so long as they slew their oppressors.) he hoped through the pieces played at the theatres and through his censored, subsidized press to bring the belgians round to a reasonable frame of mind, to a toleration of existence under the german empire. but his efforts brought down on him the unsparing ridicule of the parisian-minded bruxellois. they were prompt to detect his attempts to modify the text of french operettas so that these, while delighting the lovers of light music, need not at the same time excite a military spirit or convey the least allusion of an impertinent or contemptuous kind towards the central powers. thus the couplets "dans le service de l'autriche le militaire n'est pas riche" were changed to "dans le service de la suisse le militaire n'est pas riche." these passionate lines of a political exile: "a l'étranger un pacte impie vendait mon sang, liait ma foi, mais à present, o ma patrie je pourrai done mourir pour toi!" were rendered harmless as "a l'étranger, en réverie chaque jour je pleurais sur toi mais à present, o ma patrie je penserai sans cesse à toi!" the pleasure he took in recasting this doggerel--calling in vivie to help him as presumably a good scholar in french--got on her nerves, and she was hard put to it to keep her temper. sometimes he proposed that she should take a hand, even become a salaried subordinate; compose articles for his subsidized paper, "_l'ami de l'ordre_" (nicknamed "l'ami de l'ordure" by the belgians), "_la belgique_," "_le bruxellois_," "_vers la paix_." he would allow her a very free hand, so long as she did not attack the germans or their allies or put in any false news about military or naval successes of the foes of central europe. she might, for instance, dilate on the cruel manner in which the woman suffragists had been persecuted in england; give a description of forcible feeding or of police ferocity on black friday. vivie declined any such propositions. "i have told you already, and often," she said, "i am deeply grateful for all you have done for my mother and me. we might have been in a far more uncomfortable position but for your kindness. but i cannot in any way associate myself with the german policy here. i cannot pretend for a moment to condone what you do in this country. if i were a belgian woman i should probably have been shot long ago for assassinating some prussian official--i can hardly see von bissing pass in his automobile, as it is, without wishing i had a bomb. but there it is. it is no business of mine. as i can't get away, as you won't let us go out of the country--switzerland, holland--and as i don't want to go mad by brooding, find something for me to do that will occupy my thoughts: and yet not implicate me with the germans. can't i go and help every day in your hospitals? if you'll continue your kindness to mother--and believe me"--she broke off--"i _do_ appreciate what you have done for us. i shall _never_ forget i have met _one true german gentleman_--if you'll continue to be as kind as before, you will simply give instructions that mother is in no way disturbed or annoyed. there are germans staying here who are odious beyond belief. if they meet my mother outside her room they ask her insulting questions--whether she can give them the addresses of--of--light women ... you know the sort of thing. i have always been outspoken with you. all i ask is that mother shall be allowed to stay in her own room while i am out, and have her meals served there. but the hotel people are beginning to make a fuss about the trouble, the lack of waiters. a word from you--and then if my mind was at ease about her i could go out and do some good with the poor people. they are getting very restive in the marolles quarter--the shocking bad bread, the lack of fuel--most of all i should like to help in the hospitals. my own countrywomen will not have me in theirs. they suspect me of being a spy in german pay. besides, your von bissing has ordered now that all belgian, british, and french wounded shall be taken to the german red cross. well: if you want to be kind, give me an introduction there. surely it would be bare humanity on your part to let an englishwoman be with some of those poor lads who are sorely wounded, dying perhaps"--she broke down--"the other day i followed two of the motor ambulances along the boulevard d'anspach. blood dripped from them as they passed, and i could hear some english boy trying to sing 'tipperary--'" "my _tear_ miss warren--i will try to do all that you want--you will not do _anything i_ want, but never mind. i will show you that germans can be generous. i will speak about your mother. i am sorry that there are bad-mannered germans in the hotel. there are some--what-you-call 'bounders'--among us, as there are with you. it is to be regretted. as to our red cross hospitals, i know of a person who can make things easy for you. i will write a letter to my cousin--like me she is a saxon and comes from leipzig--minna von stachelberg. she is but a few months widow, widow of a saxon officer, graf von stachelberg who was killed at namur. oh! it was very sad; they were but six months married. afterwards she came here to work in our red cross--i think now she is in charge of a ward..." so vivie found a few months' reprieve from acute sorrow and bitter humiliation. gräfin von stachelberg was as kind in her way as her cousin the colonel, but much less sentimental. in fact she was of that type of new german woman, taken all too little into account by our press at the time of the war. there were many like her of the upper middle class, the professorial class, the lesser nobility to be found not only in leipzig but in berlin, hamburg, frankfort, halle, bonn, münchen, hannover, bremen, jena, stuttgart, cologne--nice to look at, extremely modern in education and good manners, tasteful in dress, speaking english marvellously well, highly accomplished in music or with some other art, advocates of the enfranchisement of women. the war came just too soon. had heaven struck down that epilept emperor and a few of his ministers, had time been given for the new german woman to assert herself in politics, there would have been no invasion of belgium, no maltreatment of servia. germany would have ranged herself with the western powers and western culture. minna von stachelberg read her cousin's note and received the worn and anxious-looking vivie like a sister ... like a comrade, she said, in the war for the vote ... "which we will resume, my dear, as soon as this dreadful man's war is over, only we won't fight with the same weapons." but though kind, she was not gushing and she soon told vivie that in nursing she was a novice and had much to learn. she introduced her to the german and belgian surgeons, and then put her to a series of entirely menial tasks from which she was to work her way up by degrees. but if any english soldier were there and wanted sympathy, she should be called in to his ward ... from that interview vivie returned almost happy. in the hot summer months she would sometimes be allowed to accompany red cross surgeons and nurses to the station, when convoys of wounded were expected, if there was likelihood that british soldiers would be amongst them. these would cheer up at the sound of her pleasant voice speaking their tongue. yet she would witness on such occasions incongruous incidents of german brutality. once there came out of the train an english and a french soldier, great friends evidently. they were only slightly wounded and the english soldier stretched his limbs cautiously to relieve himself of cramp. at that moment a german soldier on leave came up and spat in his face. the frenchman felled the german with a resounding box on the ear. alarums! excursions! a german officer rushed up to enquire while the frenchman was struggling with two colossal german military policemen and the englishman was striving to free him. vivie explained to the officer what had occurred. he bowed and saluted: seized the soldier-spitter by the collar and kicked him so frightfully that vivie had to implore him to cease. moreover the red placards of von bissing were of increasing frequency. as a rule vivie only heard what other people said of them, and that wasn't very much, for german spies were everywhere, inviting you to follow them to the dreaded kommandantur in the rue de la loi--a scene of as much in the way of horror and mental anguish as the conciergerie of paris in the days of the red terror. but some cheek-blanching rumour she had heard on a certain monday in october caused her to look next day on her way home at a fresh red placard which had been posted up in a public place. the daylight had almost faded, but there was a gas lamp which made the notice legible. it ran: condamnations par jugement du 9 octobre, 1915, le tribunal de campagne a prononcé les condamnations suivantes pour trahison commise pendant l'état de guerre (pour avoir fait passer des recrues à l'ennemi): 1° philippe baucq, architecte à bruxelles; 2° louise thuliez, professeur à lille; 3° edith cavell, directrice d'un institut médical à bruxelles; 4° louis severin, pharmacien à bruxelles; 5° comtesse jeanne de belleville, à montignies. à la peine de mort * * * * * vivie then went on to read with eyes that could hardly take in the words a list of other names of men and women condemned to long terms of hard labour for the same offence--assisting young belgians to leave the belgium that was under german occupation. and further, the information that of the five condemned to death, _philip bauck_ and _edith cavell_ had already been _executed_. * * * * * the monsters! oh that von bissing. how gladly she would die if she might first have the pleasure of killing him! that pompous old man of seventy-one with the blotched face, who had issued orders that wherever he passed in his magnificent motor he was to be saluted with eastern servility, who boasted of his "tender heart," so that he issued placards about this time punishing severely all who split the tongues of finches to make them sing better. edith cavell--she did not pause to consider the fate of patriotic belgian women--but edith cavell, directress of a nursing home in brussels, known far and wide for her goodness of heart. she had held aloof from vivie, but was that to be wondered at when there was so much to make her suspect--living, seemingly, under the protection of a german official? but the very german nurses and doctors at the red cross hospital had spoken of her having given free treatment in her home to germans who needed immediate operations, and for whom there was no room in the military hospitals--and for such a trivial offence as _that_--and to kill her before there could be any appeal for reconsideration or clemency. oh _what_ a nation! she would tend their sick and wounded no more. she hurried on up the ascent of the boulevard of the botanic garden on her way to the rue royale. she burst into von giesselin's office. he was not there. a clerk looking at her rather closely said that the herr oberst was packing, was going away. vivie scarcely took in the meaning of his german phrases. she waited there, her eyes ablaze, feeling she must tell her former friend and protector what she thought of his people before she renounced any further relations with him. presently he entered, his usually rather florid face pale with intense sorrow or worry, his manner preoccupied. she burst out: "_have_ you seen the red placard they have just put up?" "what about?" he said wearily. "the assassination by your government of edith cavell, a crime for which england--yes, and america--will _never_ forgive you.... from this moment i--" "but have you not heard what has happened to _me_? i am _dismissed_ from my post as secretary, i am ordered to rejoin my regiment in lorraine--it is very sad about your miss cavell. i knew nothing of it till this morning when i received my own dismissal--and _oh_ my dear miss, i fear we shall never meet again." "why are they sending you away?" asked vivie drily, compelled to interest herself in his affairs since they so closely affected her own and her mother's. "because of this," said von giesselin, nearly in tears, pulling from a small portfolio a press cutting. "do you remember a fortnight ago i told you some one, some belgian had written a beautiful poem and sent it to me for one of our newspapers? i showed it to you at the time and you said--you said 'it was well enough, but it did not seem to have much point.'" vivie did remember having glanced very perfunctorily at some effusion in typewriting which had seemed unobjectionable piffle. she hadn't cared two straws whether he accepted it or not, only did not want to be too markedly indifferent. now she took it up and still read it through uncomprehendingly, her thoughts absent with the fate of miss cavell. "well! what is all the fuss about? i still see nothing in it. it is just simply the ordinary sentimental flip-flap that a french versifier can turn out by the yard." "it is _far_ worse than that! it is a horrible--what the french call 'acrostiche,' a deadly insult to our people. and i never saw it, the editor never saw it, and you, even, never guessed its real meaning![1] the original, as you say, was in typewriting, and at the bottom was the name and address of a very well-known homme de lettres: and the words: 'offert à la rédaction de l'ami de l'ordre.' he say now, _never never_ did he send it. it was a forgery. when we came to understand what it meant all the blame fall on me. i am sent back to the army--i shall be killed before verdun, so good-bye dear miss--we have been good friends. oh this war: this d-r-r-eadful war--it has spoilt everything. now we can never be friends with england again." [footnote 1: i have obtained a copy and give it here as it had an almost historical importance in the events of the german occupation. but the reader must interpret its meaning for himself. la guerre ma soeur, vous souvient-il qu'aux jours de notre enfance, en lisant les hauts fails de l'histoire de france, remplis d'admiration pour nos frères gaulois, des généraux fameux nous vantions les exploits? en nos âmes d'enfants, les seuls noms des victoires prenaient un sens mystique evocateur de gloires; on ne rêvait qu'assauts et combats; a nos yeux un général vainqueur etait l'égal des dieux. rien ne semblait ternir l'éclat de ces conquétes. les batailles prenaient des allures de fêtes et nous ne songions pas qu'aux hurrahs triomphants se mêlaient les sanglots des mères, des enfants. ah! nous la connaissons, hélas, l'horrible guerre: le fléau qui punit les crimes de la terre, le mot qui fait trembler les mères à genoux et qui seme le deuil et la mort parmi nous! mais ou sqnt les lauriers que réserve l'histoire a celui qui demain forcera la victoire? nul ne les cueillira: les lauriers sont flétris seul un cypres s'élève aux torubes de nos fils.] he gave way to much emotion. vivie, though still dazed with the reverberating horror of edith cavell's execution, tried to regain her mind balance and thank him for the kindness he had shown them. but it was now necessary to see her mother who might also be undergoing a shock. as she walked up to their bedroom she reflected that the departure of von giesselin would have to be followed by their own exile to some other lodging. they would share in his disgrace. the next morning in fact the belgian manager of the hotel with many regrets gave them a month's warning. the hotel would be required for some undefined need of the german government and he had been told no one could be lodged there who was not furnished with a permit from the kommandantur. for three weeks vivie sought in vain for rooms. every suitable place was either full or else for reasons not given they were refused. she was reduced to eating humble pie, to writing once more to gräfin von stachelberg and imparting the dilemma in which they were placed. did this kind lady know where a lodging could be obtained? she herself could put up with any discomfort, but her mother was ill. if she could help them, vivie would humbly beg her pardon for her angry letter of three weeks ago and resume her hospital work. minna von stachelberg made haste to reply that there were some things better not discussed in writing: if vivie could come and see her at six one evening, when she had a slight remission from work-vivie went. out of hearing, gräfin von stachelberg--who, however, to facilitate intercourse, begged vivie to call her "minna,"--"we may all be dead, my dear, before long of blood-poisoning, bombs from your aeroplanes, a rising against us in the marolles quarter--" said very plainly what she thought of edith cavell's execution. "it makes me think of talleyrand--was it not?--who said 'it is a blunder; worse than a crime' ... these terrible old generals, they know nothing of the world outside germany." as to her cousin, gottlieb von giesselin--"really dear, if in this time of horrors one _dare_ laugh at anything, i feel--oh it is too funny, but also, too 'schokking,' as we suppose all english women say. yet of course i am sad about him, because he is a good, kind man, and i know his wife will be very very unhappy when she hears--and it means he will die, for certain. he must risk his life to--to--regain his position, and he will be shot before verdun in one of those dreadful assaults." then she told vivie where she might find rooms, where at any rate she could use her name as a reference. also: "stay away at present and look after your mother. when she is quite comfortably settled, come back and work with me--here--it is at any rate the only way in which you can see and help your countrymen." one day in november when their notice at the hotel was nearly expired, vivie proposed an expedition to her mother. they would walk slowly--because mrs. warren now got easily out of breath--up to the jardin bontanique; vivie would leave her there in the palm house. it was warm; it was little frequented; there were seats and the belgians in charge knew mrs. warren of old time. vivie would then go on along the inner boulevards by tram and look at some rooms recommended by minna von stachelberg in the quartier st. gilles. mrs. warren did as she was told. vivie left her seated in one of the long series of glass houses overlooking brussels from a terrace, wherein are assembled many glories of the tropics: palms, dracaenas, yuccas, aloes, tree-ferns, cycads, screw-pines, and bananas: promising to be back in an hour's time. somehow as she sat there it seemed to mrs. warren it was going for her to be the last hour of fully conscious life--fully conscious and yet a curious mingling in it of the past and present. she had sat here in the middle of the 'seventies with vivie's father, the young irish seminarist, her lover for six months. he had a vague interest in botany, and during his convalescence after his typhoid fever, when she was still his nurse, not yet his mistress, she used to bring him here to rest and to enjoy the aspect of these ferns and palms. what a strange variety of men she had known. some she had loved, more or less; some she had exploited frankly. some--like george crofts and baxendale strangeways--she had feared, though in her manner she had tried to conceal her dread of their violence. well! she had taken a lot of money off the rich, but she had never plundered the poor. her greatest conquest--and that when she was a woman of forty--was the monarch of this very country which now lay crushed under the kaiser's heel. for a few months he had taken a whimsical liking to her handsome face, well-preserved figure, and amusing cockney talk. but he had employed her rather as the mistress of his menus plaisirs, as his recruiting agent. he had rewarded her handsomely. now it was all in the dust: her beautiful villa beau-séjour a befouled barrack for german soldiers. she herself a homeless woman, repudiated by the respectable british and americans more or less interned in this unhappy city. not much more than a year ago she had been one of the most respected persons in brussels, with a large income derived from safe investments. now all she had for certain was something over three thousand pounds in bank notes that might turn out next month to be worthless paper. and was she certain even of them? had vivie before they left the hotel remembered to put some, at least, of this precious sum on her person? suppose, whilst they were out, looking for a fresh dwelling place, the hotel servants or the police raided her bedroom and found the little hoard of notes? this imagined danger made her want to cry. they were so friendless now, she in particular felt so completely deserted. had she deserved this punishment by fate? was there after all a god who minded much about the sex foolishnesses and punished you for irregularities--for having lovers in your youth, for selling your virtue and inducing other women to sell theirs? was she going to die soon and was there a hereafter?' she burst out crying in an abandonment of grief. an elderly gardener who had been snipping and sweeping in the next house came up and vaguely recognized her as a well-known bruxelloise, a good-natured lady, a foreigner who, strange to say, spoke flemish. "ach," he said, looking out where he thought lay the source of her tears, at the dim view of beautiful brussels through the steamy glass, "onze arme, oude brüssel." mrs. warren wept unrestrainedly. "madame is ill?" he enquired. mrs. warren nodded--she felt indeed very ill and giddy. he left her and returned shortly with a small glass of schnapps. "if madame is faint--?" she sipped the cordial and presently felt better. then they talked of old times. madame had kept the hotel leopold ii in the rue royale? ah, _now_ he placed her. a _superb_ establishment, always well-spoken of. her self-respect returned a little. "yes," she said, "never a complaint! i looked after those girls like a mother, indeed i did. many a one married well from there." the gardener corroborated her statement, and added that her _clientèle_ had been of the most chic. he had a private florist's business of his own and he had been privileged often to send bouquets to the pensionnaires of madame. but madame was not alone surely in these sad times. had he not seen her come here with a handsome english lady who was said to have been--to have been--fortunately--_au mieux_ with one of the german officials? "_that_ was my daughter," mrs. warren informed him with pride.... "she is a lady who has taken a high degree at an english university. she has been an important person in the english feminist movement. when this dreadful war is over, i and my daughter will--" at this juncture vivie entered. "_mother_, i hope you haven't missed me, haven't been unwell?" she said, looking rather questioningly at the little glass of schnapps, only half of which had been drunk. "well yes, dear, i have. _terrible_ low spirits and all swimmy-like. thought i was going to faint. but this man here has been so kind "--her tears flowed afresh--"we've bin talking of old times; he used to know me before--" _vivie_: "quite so. but i think, dear, we had better be going back. i want to talk to you about the new rooms i've seen. are you equal to walking? if not perhaps this kind man would try to get us a cab...?" but mrs. warren said it was no distance, only round the corner, and she could well walk. when they got back she would go and lie down. vivie, reading her mother's thoughts, pressed a five-franc note into the gardener's not reluctant palm, and they regained the rue royale. but just as they were passing through the revolving door of the hotel impérial, a german who had been installed as manager came up with two soldiers and said explosively: "heraus! foutez-nous le camp! aout you go! don't show your face here again!" "but," said vivie, "our notice doesn't expire till the end of this week...!" "das macht nichts. the rooms are wanted and i won't have you on the premises. off you go, or these soldiers shall take you both round to the kommandantur." "but our luggage? _surely_ you will let me go up to our room and pack it--and take it away? we..." "your luggage has been packed and is in the corridor. if you send round for it, it shall be delivered to your messenger. but you are not to stop on the premises another minute. you understand?" he almost shrieked. "but--" for answer, the soldiers took them by the shoulders and whirled them through the revolving door on to the pavement, where a crowd began to collect, as it does in peace or war if you cough twice or sneeze three times in brussels. "englische hure! englische küpplerin," shouted the soldiers as they retreated and locked the revolving door. mrs. warren turned purple and swayed. vivie caught her round the waist with her strong arm.... thus was mrs. warren ejected from the once homely inn which she had converted by her energy, management and capital into the second most magnificent hostelry of brussels; thus was vivie expelled from the place of her birth.... hearing the shouting and seeing the crowd a belgian gendarme came up. to him vivie said, "si vous êtes chrétien et pas allemand--" "prenez garde, madame," he said warningly--"vous m'aiderez à porter ma mère à quelqu' endroit ou elle peut se remettre..." he assisted her to carry the inert old woman across the street and a short distance along the opposite pavement. here, there was a pleasant, modest-looking tea-shop with the name of walcker over the front, and embedded in the plate glass were the words "tea rooms." these of course dated from long before the war, when the best chinese tea was only four francs the demi-kilo and the fashion for afternoon tea had become established in brussels. vivie and her mother had often entered walcker's shop in happier days for a cup of tea and delicious forms of home-made pastry. besides the cakes, which in pre-war times were of an excellence rarely equalled, they had been drawn to the pleasant-looking serving woman. she was so english in appearance, though she only spoke french and flemish. behind the shop was a cosy little room where the more intimate clients were served with tea; a room with a look-out into a little square of garden. thither mrs. warren was carried or supported. she regained consciousness slightly as she was placed on a chair, opened her eyes, and said "thank you, my dears." then her head fell over to one side and she was dead--seemingly.... the _agent de police_ went away to fetch a doctor and to disperse the crowd of _ketjes_[1] and loafers which had transferred itself from the hotel to the tea-shop. the shop woman, who was one of those angels of kindness that turn up unexpectedly in the paths of unhappy people, called in a stout serving wench from the kitchen, and the three of them carried mrs. warren out of the inner tea-room into the back premises and a spare bedroom. here she was laid on the bed, partially undressed and all available and likely restoratives applied. [footnote 1: street urchins of brussels. how they harassed the germans and maddened them by mimicking their military manoeuvres!] the doctor when he came pronounced her dead, thought it was probably an effusion of blood on the brain but couldn't be certain till he had made an autopsy. "what _am_ i to do?" said vivie thinking aloud.... "why, stay here till all the formalities are over and you can find rooms elsewhere," said mme. trouessart, the owner-servant of the tea-shop. "i have another spare room. for the moment my locataires are gone. i know you both very well by sight, you were clients of ours in the happy days before the war. madame votre mère was, i think, the gérante of the hotel édouard-sept when i first came to manage here. since then, you have often drunk my tea. je me nomme 'trouessart' c'est le nom de mon mari qui est ... qui est--vous pouvez diviner où il est, où est à present tout belge loyal qui peut servir. le nom walcker? c'était le nom de nom père, et de plus est, c'était un nom anglais transformé un peu en flamand. mon arrière-grand-père etait soldat anglais. il se battait à waterloo. for me, i spik no english--or ver' leetle." she went on to explain, whilst the doctors occupied themselves with their gruesome task, and vivie was being persuaded to take some nourishment, that her great grandfather had been a soldier servant who had married a belgian woman and settled down on the site of this very shop a hundred years ago. he and his wife had even then made a specialty of tea for english tourists. she, his great grand-daughter, had after her marriage to monsieur trouessart carried on the business under the old name--walker, made to look flemish as walcker. vivie when left alone suddenly thought of the money question. she remembered then that before going out to look for rooms she had transferred half the notes from their hiding-place to an inner pocket. they were still there. but what about her luggage and her mother's, and the remainder of the money? in her distress she wrote to gräfin von stachelberg. minna came over from her hospital at half past six in the evening. by that time the doctor had given the necessary certificate of the cause of death, and an undertaker had come on the scene to make his preparations. minna went over to the hotel impérial with vivie. appearing in her red cross uniform, she was admitted, announced herself as the gräfin von stachelberg, and demanded to know what justification the manager could offer for his extraordinary brutality towards these english ladies, the result of which had been the death of the elder lady. the manager replied that inasmuch as the all highest himself was to arrive that very evening to take up his abode at the hotel impérial, the hotel premises had been requisitioned, etc., etc. he still refused absolutely to allow vivie to proceed to her room and look for her money. she might perhaps be allowed to do so when the emperor was gone. as to her luggage he would have it sent over to the tea-shop. (the money, it might be noted, she never recovered. there were many things also missing from her mother's trunks and no satisfaction was ever obtained.) so there was vivie, one dismal, rainy november evening in 1915; homeless, her mother lying dead in a room of this tea-shop, and in her own pocket only a matter of thirty thousand francs to provide for her till the war was over. a thousand pounds in fluctuating value was all that was left of a nominal twenty thousand of the year before. but the financial aspect of the case for the time being did not concern her. the death of her mother had been a stunning shock, and when she crossed over to the hotel--what irony, by the bye, to think she had been born there thirty-nine years ago, in the old inn that had preceded the twice rebuilt hotel!--when she crossed the street with minna, it had been with blazing, tearless eyes and the desire to take the hotel manager and his minions by the coat collar, fling _them_ into the street, and assert her right to go up to her room. but now her violence was spent and she was a broken, weeping woman as she sat all night by the bedside of her dead mother, holding the cold hand, imprinting kisses on the dead face which was now that of a saintly person with nothing of the reprobate in its lineaments. * * * * * the burial for various reasons had to take place in the cemetery of st. josse-ten-noode, near the shuddery national shooting range where edith cavell and numerous belgian patriots had recently been executed. minna von stachelberg left her hospital, with some one else in charge, and insisted on accompanying vivie to the interment. this might have been purely "laïc"; not on account of any harsh dislike to the religious ceremony on vivie's part; only due to the fact that she knew no priest or pastor. but there appeared at the grave-side to make a very suitable and touching discourse and to utter one or two heartfelt prayers, a belgian baptist minister, a relation of mme. trouessart. waterloo left many curious things behind it. not only a tea-shop or two; but a nonconformist nucleus, that intermarried, as sergeant walker or walcker had done, with belgian women and left descendants who in the third generation--and by inherent vigour, thrift, matrimony and conversion--had built up quite a numerous congregation, which even grew large enough and rich enough to maintain a mission of its own in congoland. kind mme. trouessart (née walcker), distressed and unusually moved at the sad circumstances of mrs. warren's death, had called in her uncle the baptist pastor (who also in some unexplained way seemed to hold a brief for the salvation army). he prayed silently by the death-bed which, under the circumstances, was more tactful than open intercession. he helped greatly over all the formalities of the funeral, and he took upon himself the arrangement of the ceremony, so that everything was done decorously, and certainly to the satisfaction of the belgians, who attended. such people would be large-minded in religion--you might be protestant, if you were not catholic, or you might be jewish; but a funeral without some outward sign of faith and hope would have puzzled and distressed them. to vivie's great surprise, there was a considerable attendance at the ceremony. she had expected no more than the company of minna--an unprofessing but real christian, if ever there were one, and the equally christian if equally hedonist mme. trouessart. but there came in addition quite a number of shopkeepers from the rue royale, the rues de schaerbeek, du marais, de lione, and de l'association, with whom mrs. warren had dealt in years gone by. "c'etait une dame _très_ convenable," said one purveyor, and the others agreed. "elle me paya écus sonnants," said another, "et toujours sans marchander." there was even present a more distinguished acquaintance of the past: a long-retired commissaire de police of the quartier in which mrs. warren's hotel was situated. he appeared in the tightly-buttoned frock-coat of civil life, with a minute disc of some civic decoration in his button hole, and an incredibly tall chimney-pot hat. he came to render his _respectueux hommages_ to the maîtresse-femme who had conducted her business within the four corners of the law, "sans avoir maille à partir avec la police des moeurs." mrs. warren at least died with the reputation of one who promptly paid her bills; and the whole _assistance_, as it walked slowly back to brussels, recalled many a deed of kindness and jovial charity on the part of the dead englishwoman. * * * * * vivie, on sizing up her affairs, got monsieur walcker, the baptist pasteur, to convey a letter to the american consulate general. walcker was used to such missions as these, of which the german government was more or less cognizant. the germans, among their many contradictory features, had a great respect for religion, a great tolerance as to its forms. they not only appreciated the difference between jews and christians, catholics and lutherans, but between the church of england and the various free churches of britain and america. the many people whom they sentenced to death must all have their appropriate religious consolation before facing the firing party. catholics, lutherans and calvinists were all provided for; there was a church of england chaplain for the avowed anglicans; but what was to be done for the free churches and nonconformist sects of the anglo-saxons? they were not represented by any captive pastor; so in default this much respected monsieur walcker, the belgian baptist, was called in to minister to the nonconformist mind in its last agony. he therefore held a quasi-official position and was often entrusted with missions which would have been dealt with punitorily on the part of any one else. consequently he was able to deliver vivie's communication to the american consul-general with some probability of its being sent on. it contained no further appeal to american intervention than this: that the consul-general would try to convey to england the news of her mother's death to such-and-such solicitors, and to lewis maitland praed a.r.a. in hans place. she went to the brussels bank a fortnight after her mother's death whilst still availing herself of the hospitality of madame trouessart: to withdraw the jewellery and plate which she had deposited there on her mother's account. but there she found herself confronted with the red tape of the latin which is more formidable, even, than that of the land of dora at the present day. these deposited articles were held on the order of mrs. warren; they could not be given up till her will was proved and letters of administration had been granted. so _that_ small resource in funds was withheld, at any rate till some time after peace had been declared. however she had a thousand pounds (in notes) between her and penury, and the friendship of minna von stachelberg. she would resume her evening lessons in english--madame trouessart had found her several pupils--and she would lodge--as they kindly invited her to do--with the baptist pastor and his wife in the rue haute. and she would help minna at the hospital, and hope to be rewarded with the opportunity of bringing comfort and consolation to the wounded british prisoners. thus, with no unbearable misery, she passed the year 1916. there were short commons in the way of food, and the cold was sometimes cruel. but madame walcker was a wonderful cook and could make soup from a sausage skewer, and heaped _édredons_ on vivie's bed. vivie sighed a little over the blue placards which announced endless german victories by land and sea; and she gasped over the dreadful red placards with their lists of victims sentenced to death by the military courts. she ground her teeth over the announcement of gabrielle petit's condemnation, and behind the shut door of minna's small sitting-room--and she only shut the door not to compromise minna--she raved over the judicial murder of this belgian heroine, who was shot, as was edith cavell, for nothing more than assisting young belgians to escape from german-occupied belgium. she witnessed the air-raids of the allies, when only comforting papers were dropped on brussels city, but bombs on the german aerodromes outside; and she also saw the germans turn their guns from the aeroplanes--which soared high out of their reach or skimmed below range--on to thickly-inhabited streets of the poorer quarters, to teach them to cheer the air-craft of the allies! she beheld--or she was told of--many acts of rapine, considered cruelty and unreasoning ferocity on the part of german officials or soldiers; yet saw or heard of acts and episodes of unlooked-for kindness, forbearance and sympathy from the same hated people. von giesselin, after all, was a not uncommon type; and as to minna von stachelberg, she was a saint of the new religion, the service of man. chapter xviii the bomb in portland place mrs. rossiter said to herself in 1915 that she had scarcely known a happy day, or even hour, since the war began. in the first place michael had again shown violence of temper with ministers of state over the release from prison of "that" miss warren--"a convict doing a sentence of hard labour." and then, when he had got her released, and gone himself with their beautiful new motor--whatever _could_ the chauffeur have thought?--to meet her at the prison gates, _there_ he was, afterwards, worrying himself over the war: not content as she was, as most of her friends were, as the newspapers were, to leave it all to lord kitchener and mr. asquith, sir edward grey, and even mr. lloyd george--though the latter had made some rather foolish and exaggerated speeches about alcohol. michael, if he went on like this, would _never_ get his knighthood! then when michael had at last, thanks to general armstrong, found his right place and was accomplishing marvels--the papers said--as a "mender of the maimed"--here was she left alone in portland place with hardly any one to speak to, and all her acquaintances--she now realized they were scarcely her friends--too much occupied with war work to spend an afternoon in discussing nothing very important over a sumptuous tea, still served by a butler and footman. presently, too, the butler left to join the professor in france and the footman enlisted, and the tea had to be served by a _distraite_ parlour-maid, with her eye on a munitions factory--so that she might be "in it"--and her heart in the keeping of the footman, who, since he had gone into khaki, was irresistible. mrs. rossiter of course said, in 1914, that she would take up war work. she subscribed most handsomely to the soldiers' and sailors' families' association, to the red cross, to the prince of wales's fund (one of the unsolved war-time mysteries ... what's become of it?), to the cigarette fund, the 1914 christmas plum pudding fund, the blue cross, the purple cross, the green cross funds; to the outstandingly good work at st. dunstan's and at petersham--(i am glad she gave a hundred pounds each to _them_); and to the french, belgian, russian, italian, serbian, portuguese and japanese flag days and to our own day; besides enriching a number of semi-fraudulent war charities which had alluring titles. but if, from paying handsomely to all these praise-worthy endeavours to mitigate the horrors of war, she proceeded to render personal service, she became the despair of the paid organizers and business-like workers. she couldn't add and she couldn't subtract or divide with any certainty of a correct result; she couldn't spell the more difficult words or remember the right letters to put after distinguished persons' names when she addressed envelopes in her large, childish handwriting; she couldn't be trusted to make enquiries or to detect fraudulent appeals. she lost receipts and never grasped the importance of vouchers; she forgot to fill up counterfoils, or if reminded filled them up "from memory" so that they didn't tally; she signed her name, if there was any choice of blank spaces, in quite the wrong place. so, invariably, tactful secretaries or assistant secretaries were told off to explain to her--ever so nicely--that "she was no business woman" (this, to the daughter of wholesale manufacturers, sounded rather flattering), and that though she was invaluable as a "name," as a patroness, or one of eighteen vice presidents, she was of no use whatever as a worker. she had no country house to place at the disposal of the government as a convalescent home. michael after a few experiments forbade her offering any hospitality at no. 1 park crescent to invalid officers. such as were entrusted to her in the spring of 1915 soon found that she was--as they phrased it--"a pompous little, middle-class fool," wielding no authority. they larked in the laboratory with red cross nurses, broke specimens, and did very unkind and noisy things ... besides smoking in both the large _and_ the small dining-rooms. so, after the summer of 1915, she lived very much alone, except that she had the adams children from marylebone to spend the day with her occasionally. poor mrs. adams, though a valiant worker, was very downcast and unhappy. she confided to mrs. rossiter that although she dearly loved her bert--"and a better husband i defy you to find"--he never seemed all hers. "always so wrapped up in that miss warren or 'er cousin the barrister." and no sooner had war broken out than off he was to france, as a kind of missionary, she believed--the young men's christian something or other; "though before the war he didn't seem particular stuck on religion, and it was all she could do to get him sometimes to church on a sunday morning. oh yes: she got 'er money all right; and she couldn't say too much of mr. and mrs. rossiter's kindness. there was bert, not doin' a stroke of work for the professor, and yet his pay going on all the same. indeed she was putting money by, because bert was kep' out there, and all found." however his two pretty children were some consolation to mrs. rossiter, whom they considered as a very grand lady and one that was lavishly kind. mrs. rossiter tried sometimes in 1915 having working parties in her house or in the studio; and if she could attract workers gave them such elaborate lunches and plethoric teas that very little work was done, especially as she herself loved a long, aimless gossip about the royal family or whether lord kitchener had ever _really_ been in love. or she tried, since she was a poor worker herself--her only jersey and muffler were really finished by her maid--reading aloud to the knitters or stitchers, preferably from the works of miss charlotte yonge or some similar novelist of a later date. but that was found to be too disturbing to their sense of the ludicrous. for she read very stiltedly, with a strange exotic accent for the love passages or the death scenes. as lady victoria freebooter said, she would have been _priceless_ at a music-hall matinée which was raising funds for war charities, if only she could have been induced to read passages from miss yonge in _that_ voice for a quarter of an hour. even the queen would have had to laugh. but as that could not be brought off, it was decided that working parties at her house led to too much giddiness from suppressed giggles or torpor from too much food. so she relapsed once more into loneliness. unfortunately air-raids were now becoming events of occasional fright and anxiety in london, and this deterred cousin sophie from darlington, cousin matty from leeds, joseph's wife from northallerton or old, married schoolfellows from other northern or midland towns coming to partake of her fastuous hospitality. also, they all seemed to be busy, either over their absent husbands' business, or their sons', or because they were plunged in war work themselves. "and really, in these times, i couldn't stand linda for more than five minutes," one of them said. as to the air-raids, she was not greatly alarmed at them. of course it was very uncomfortable having london so dark at night, but then she only went out in the afternoon, and never in the evening. and the germans seemed to be content and discriminating enough not to bomb what she called "the resi_den_tial" parts of london. the nearest to portland place of their attentions was hampstead or bloomsbury. "we are protected, my dear, by the open spaces of regent's park. they wouldn't like to waste their bombs on poor me!" however her maid didn't altogether like the off chance of the germans or our air-craft guns making a mistake and trespassing on the residential parts of london, so she persuaded her mistress to spend part of the winter of 1915-16 at bournemouth. here she was not happy and far lonelier even than in london. she did not like to send all that way for the adams children, she had a parlour suite all to herself at the hotel, and was timid about making acquaintances outside, since everybody now-a-days wanted you to subscribe to something, and it was so disagreeable having to say "no." she was not a great walker so she could not enjoy the talbot woods; the sea made her feel sad, remembering that michael was the other side and the submarines increasingly active: in short, air-raids or no air-raids, she returned home in march, and her maid, who had been with her ten years, gave her warning. but then she had an inspiration! she engaged mrs. albert adams to take her place, and although the parlour-maid at this took offence and cut the painter of domestic service, went off to the munitions till sergeant frederick summers should get leave to come home and marry her; and they were obliged to engage another parlour-maid in her place at double the wages: mrs. rossiter had done a very wise thing. "bert" had been home for three weeks in the preceding february, and the recently bereaved mrs. adams had united her tears with mrs. rossiter's on the misery of the war which separated attached husbands and wives. it now alleviated the sorrows of both that they should be together as mistress and maid. the cook--a most important factor--had always liked bertie and adored his "sweet, pretty little children." "if you'll let 'em sleep in the spare room on the fourth floor, next their mother, and play in the day-time in the servants' 'all, they'll be no manner of difficulty _nor_ bother to me and the maids. we shall love to 'ave 'em, the darlin's. and they'll serve to cheer you up a bit ma'am till the professor comes back." mrs. adams was a very capable person who hated dust and grime. the big house wanted some such intervention, as since the butler's departure it had become rather slovenly, save in the portions occupied by mrs. rossiter. charwomen were got in, and spring cleanings on a gigantic scale took place, so that when rossiter did return he thought it had never looked so nice, or his linda been so cheery and companionable. but before this happy confirmation of her wisdom in engaging nance adams as maid and factotum, mrs. rossiter had several waves of doubt and distress to breast. there was the suffrage question. once converted by mrs. humphry ward, miss violet markham, sir almroth wright--whose _prénom_ she could not pronounce--the late lord cromer, and the impressive lord curzon, to the perils of the woman's vote, mrs. rossiter was hard to move from her uncompromising opposition to the enfranchisement of her sex. some adroit champion of the wrong had employed the argument that _once_ women got the vote, _the divorce laws would be greatly enlarged_. this would be part of the scheme of the wild women to get themselves all married; that and _the legalisation of polygamy_ which would follow the vote _as surely as the night the day_. linda had an undefined terror that her michael might take advantage of such licentiousness to depose her, like the empress josephine was put aside in favour of a child-producing rival; or if polygamy came into force, that miss warren might lawfully share the professor's affections. she was therefore greatly perturbed in the course of 1916 at the sudden throwing up of the sponge by the anti-suffragists. however, there it was. the long struggle drew to a victorious close. example as well as precept pointed to what women could do and were worth; sound arguments followed the inconveniences of militancy, and the men were convinced. or rather, the men in the mass and the fighting, working men had for some time been convinced, but the great statesmen who had so obstinately opposed the measures were now weakening at the knees before the results of their own mismanagement in the conduct of the war. a further perplexity and anxiety for mrs. rossiter arose over the german spy mania. she had been to one of lady towcester's afternoon parties "to keep up our spirits." lady towcester collected for at least six different charities and funds, and mrs. rossiter was a generous subscriber to all six. touching the wood of the central tea-table, she had remarked to lady victoria and lady helen freebooter how fortunate they (who lived within the prescribed area defined by lady jeune) had been in so far escaping air-raids. "but don't you know why?" said lady victoria. mrs. rossiter didn't. "because in manchester square, in cavendish--grosvenor--hanover squares, in portland place--a few doors off your own house--in harley street and wigmore street: there are special friends of the kaiser living. they _may_ call themselves by english names, they may even be ex-cabinet-ministers; but they are working for the kaiser, all the same. and _he_ wouldn't be such a fool as to have them bombed, would he?" "especially as it is well known that there _is a wireless installation_ on a house in portland place which communicates with a similar installation in the harz mountains," added lady helen. this was a half-reassuring, half-terrifying statement. it was comfortable to know that you lived under the kaiser's wing--mrs. rossiter hoped the aim of the aeronauts was accurate, and their knowledge of london topography good. at the same time it was alarming to feel that you might be involved in that final blow up of the villains which must bring such scoundreldom to a close. but if lady vera and lady helen knew all this for a fact, why not tell the police? "what would be the good? they'd deny everything and we should only be sued for libel." however to form some conception of how english home life was undermined with plots, she was advised to go and see mr. dennis eadie in _the man that stayed at home_. she did, taking mrs. adams with her to the dress circle for a matinée. both were very much impressed, and on their return expected the fireplaces to open all of a piece and reveal german spies with masked faces and pistols, standing in the chimney. at last these and other nightmares were dispelled by the arrival of rossiter on leave of absence in the autumn of 1916. he had the rank of colonel in the r.a.m.c., and wore the khaki uniform--mrs. rossiter proudly thought--of a general. he had shaved off his beard and trimmed his moustache and looked particularly soldierly. the butler who came with him though not precisely a soldier but a sort of n.c.o. in a medical corps, also looked quite martial, and had so much to say for himself that mrs. rossiter felt he could never become a butler again. but he did all the same, and a most efficient one though a little breezy in manner. linda now entered on an aftermath of matrimonial happiness. rossiter was to take quite a long leave so that he could pursue the most important researches in curative surgery--bone grafting and the like; not only in his own laboratory but at the college of surgeons and the zoological gardens prosectorium. with only occasional week-ends at home he had been away from london since september, 1914; had known great hardships, the life of the trenches and the bomb-proof shelter, stewed tea and bad tinned milk, rum and water, bully beef, plum and apple jam, good bread, it is true, but shocking margarine for butter. he had slept for weeks together on an old sofa more or less dressed, kept warm by his great-coat and two army blankets of woven porcupine quills (seemingly) the ends of which tickled his nose and scratched his face. he had been very cold and sweatingly hot, furiously hungry with no meal to satisfy his healthy appetite, madly thirsty and no long drink attainable; unable to sleep for three nights at a time owing to the noise of the bombardment; surfeited with horrible smells; sickened with butchery; shocked at his own failures to retrieve life, yet encouraged by an isolated victory, here and there, over death and disablement. so the never-before-appreciated comfort of his park crescent home filled him with intense gratitude to linda. had he known, he owed some of his acknowledgment to mrs. adams; who had worked both hard and tactfully in her undefined position of lady's-maid-housekeeper-companion. but naturally he didn't know, though he praised his wife warmly for her charity of soul in taking pity on the poor little woman and her two children. he could only give the slightest news about bertie, but said he was a sort of jack-of-all-trades for the y.m.c.a. as to vivie--"that miss warren"--he answered his wife's questions neither with the glowering taciturnity nor suspicious loquacity of former times. "miss warren? vivie? i fancy she's still at brussels, but there is no chance of finding out. there is a story that her mother is dead. p'raps now they'll let her come away. she must be jolly well sick of brussels by now. when i last heard of adams he was still hoping to get into touch with her. i hope he won't take any risks. she's a clever woman and i dare say can take care of herself. i hope we shall all meet again when the war is over." he seemed very pleased to hear of the new conciliation bill, the general agreement all round on the suffrage question and the enlargement of the electorate. he had always told linda it was bound to come. "and after it has come, dearie, you mark my words: things will go on pretty much as before." but his real, intense, absorbing interest lay in the new experiments he was about to make in bone grafting and cartilage replacing, and the functions of the pituitary body and the interstitial glands. to carry these out adequately the zoological society had accumulated troops of monkeys and baboons. at a certain depôt in camden town dogs were kept for his purposes. and the vaults and upper floors of the royal college of surgeons were at rossiter's disposal, with professor keith to co-operate. never had his house in portland place--to be accurate the park crescent end thereof--seemed so conveniently situated, or its studio-laboratory so well designed. "air-raids? pooh! just about one chance in a million we should be struck. besides: can't think of that, when so much is at stake. that's a fine phrase, 'menders of the maimed.' just what we want to be! no more artificial limbs if we can help you to grow your own new legs and arms--perhaps. at any rate, mend up those that are a hopeless mash. grand work! only bright thing in the war. now dear, are you ready with that lymph?" and she was. never had linda been so happy. she overcame her disgust at the sight of blood, at monkeys, dogs, and humans under anæsthetics, at yellow fat, gleaming sinew, and blood-stained bone. she was careful as a washer-up. the services of mrs. adams were enlisted, and she was more deft even than her mistress; and the butler, who was by this time a regular hospital dresser, greatly admired her pretty arms when they were bared to the elbow, and her flushed cheeks when she took a humble part in some tantalizing adjustment. "i'm some use to you after all," linda would say when they retired from the studio for a rest and she made the tea. "some _use_? i should think so!" said rossiter (whether truly or not). and he reproached himself that twenty years ago he had not trained and developed her to help him in his work, to be a real companion in his studies. he was really fond of her through the winter of 1916. and so jovial and lover-like, so boyish in his fun, so like the typical tommy home from the trenches. when he was overjoyed at the success of some uncovered and peeped-at experiment, he would sing, "when _i_ get me civvies on again, an' it's home sweet home once more"; and ask for the ideal cottage "with rowses round the door--and a nice warm bottle in me nice warm bed, an' a nice soft pillow for me nice soft 'ead..." mrs. rossiter began to think there was a good side to the war, after all. it made some men more conscious of their home comforts and less exigent for intellectuality in their home companions. they went out very little into society. rossiter held that war-time parties were scandalous. he poohpoohed the idea that immodest dancing with frisky matrons or abandoned spinsters was necessary to restore the shell-shocked nerves of temporary captains, locally-ranked majors, or the recently-joined subaltern. he was far too busy for twaddly tea-fights and carping at hard-worked generals who were doing their best and a good best too. he and linda did dine occasionally with honoria, but the latter felt she could not let herself go about vivie in the presence of mrs. rossiter and seemed a little cold in manner. ordinarily, after working hard all day while the daylight lasted they much preferred an evening of complete solitude. rossiter's new robustness of taste included love of a gramophone. money being no consideration with them, they acquired a tip-top one with superlative records; not so much the baaing, bellowing and shrieking of fashionable singers, but orchestral performances, heart-melting duets between violin and piano (_what_ human voice ever came up to a good violin or violoncello?), racy comic songs, inspiriting two steps, xylophone symphonies, and dreamy, sensuous waltzes. this gramophone linda learnt to work; and while michael read voraciously the works of hunter, hugh owen thomas, stromeyer, duchenne, goodsir, wolff, and redfern on bones, muscles, ligaments, tendons, cartilage, periosteum and osteogenesis--or, more often, keith's compact and lucid analysis of their experiments and conclusions--linda let loose in the scented air of a log fire these varied melodies which attuned the mind to extraordinary perceptibility. the little adamses were allowed to steal in and listen, on condition they never uttered a word to break the spell of colonel rossiter's thoughts. i think also rossiter felt his wife had been unjustly snubbed by the great ladies and the off-hand, harum-scarum young war-workers; so he flatly declined to have any of them messing around his studio or initiated into his research work. it was intimated that the rossiter thursday afternoons of long ago would not be resumed until after the peace. linda therefore derived much consolation and satisfaction for past injuries to her pride when lady vera--or victoria--freebooter called one day just before christmas and said "oh--er--mother's let our house till february and thinks we'd better--i mean the marrybone guild of war-workers--meet at _your_ house instead"; and she, linda, had the opportunity of replying: "oh, i'm sorry, _but_ it's quite impossible. the professor--i mean, colonel rossiter--and i are so _very_ busy ... we are seeing _no_ one just now. indeed we've enlisted all the servants to help the colonel in his work, so i can't even offer you a cup of tea.... i must _rush_ back at once.... you'll excuse me?" "that rossiter woman is quite off her head with grandeur," said lady vera to lady helen. "i expect uncle algy has let out that her husband is in the new year's honours." and so he was. but uncle algy, though he might have babbled to his nieces, had not written a word to the rossiters. so they just enjoyed christmas--too much, they thought, more than any christmas before--in the simple satisfaction of being colonel and mrs. rossiter, all in all to each other, but rendered additionally happy by making those about them happy. the little adamses staggered under their presents and had a christmas tree to which they were allowed to ask their two grannies--mrs. laidly from fig tree court and mrs. adams from the kilburn laundry--and numerous little friends from marylebone, who had been washed and curled and crimped and adjured not to disgrace their parents, _or_ father--in the trenches--would be told "as sure as i stand here." (the little adamses were also warned that if they _ever_ again were heard calling mrs. rossiter "gran'ma," they'd--but the threat was too awful to be uttered, especially as their mother at this time was always on the verge of tears, either at getting no news of bert or at the unforgettable kindness of bert's employer.) mrs. rossiter, quite unaware that she was soon to be a dame, gave christmas entertainments at st. dunstan's, at the marylebone workhouse, and to all the wounded soldiers in the parish. and on december 31, 1916, michael received a note from the prime minister to say that his majesty, in recognition of his exceptional services in curative surgery at the front, had been pleased to bestow on him a knight commandership of the bath. "so that, linda, you can call yourself lady rossiter, and you will have to get some new cards printed for both of us." linda didn't feel quite that ecstasy over her title that she had expected in her day-dreams. she was getting a little frightened at her happiness. generations of puritan forefathers and mothers had left some influence of calvinism on her mentality. she was brought up to believe in a jealous god, whose providence when you felt too happy on earth just landed you in some unexpected disaster to fit you for the kingdom of heaven--a kingdom which all healthy human beings shrink from entering with the terror of the unknown and a certain homeliness of disposition which is humbly content with this cosy planet and a corporeal existence. however it was very nice to leave cards of calling on lady towcester--even though she was out of town on account of air-raids--and on others, inscribed: "lady rossiter, colonel sir michael rossiter, sir michael and lady rossiter;" and to see printed foolscap envelopes for michael arrive from the war office and lie on the hall table, addressed: colonel sir michael rossiter k.c.b. etc., etc., etc., etc. and later on, in january or february, for some very good reason, sir michael and lady rossiter were received in audience by the king and queen at buckingham palace. the king had already watched sir michael at work in his laboratory just behind the french front; so they two, as linda timidly glanced at them, had no lack of subjects for conversation. but the queen! linda had thought she could _never_ have talked to a queen without swooning, and indeed had arrived primed with much sal volatile. yet there, as in some realistic dream, she was led on to talk about her war charities and sir michael's experiments without trembling, and found herself able to listen with intelligence to the queen's practical suggestions about war work and the application of relief funds in crowded districts. "_we actually compared notes!_" said a flushed and triumphant linda to her michael, as they drove away through the blue twilight of st. james's park. and so far from being puffed up by this, people said they had always thought lady rossiter was kind, but they really before had never imagined there was so much in her. she was even allowed to preside as vice president, in the absence of lady towcester; and got through it quite creditably--kind hearts being more than coronets--and made a little speech to which cook and nance adams called out "hear, _hear_!" and roused quite a hearty response. of course it was an awful wrench when michael had to return to france. but he would be back in the autumn, and meantime she must remember she was a soldier's wife. so the summer was got through with cheerfulness, especially as she was now treated with much more regard in the different committees whereof she was vice president. on these committees she met honoria armstrong, and the longing to renew the old friendship and talk about michael's superlative qualities to one who had long known them, took her over to kensington square, impulsively. honoria perceived the need instinctively. the coldness engendered by linda's silly anti-suffragism disappeared. they both talked by the hour together of their respective husbands and their outstanding virtues and charming weaknesses. the armstrong children took to calling her aunt linda--michael and petworth, after all, were brothers-in-arms and friends from youth. lady rossiter was delighted, and lavished presents on them, till honoria reminded her it was war-time and extravagance in all things was reprehensible, even in british-made toys. they discussed the vote, soon to be theirs, and how it should be exercised. from that--by some instinct--honoria passed on to a talk about vivien warren ... a selective talk. she said nothing about david williams, but enlarged on vivie's absolute "straightness," especially towards other women; her business capacities, her restoration of her mother to the ranks of the respectable; till at last it seemed as though the burning down of racing stables was a meritorious act ... "ridding england of an evil that good might come." and there was poor vivie, locked up in brussels, if indeed she were still living. linda felt shocked at her own treachery to the woman's cause in having betrayed that poor, well-meaning miss warren to the police. never could she confess this to lady armstrong (sir petworth had just been knighted for a great success in battle), tell her about the fragment of letter she had forwarded anonymously to scotland yard. perhaps she might some day tell michael, when he returned. in any case she would say at the next opportunity that as soon as miss warren reappeared in england, he might ask her to the house as often as he liked--even to stay with them if she were in want of a home. she said as much to michael when he came back in september, 1917, to make some further investigations into bone grafting. he seemed genuinely pleased at her broad-mindedness, and said it would indeed be delightful when the war was over--and it _surely_ must be over soon--now mr. lloyd george and clemenceau and president wilson had taken it in hand--it would indeed be delightful to form a circle of close friends who had all been interested in the woman's movement. as to vivie ... if she were not dead ... he should advise her to go in for parliament. he had had no news of her since ever so long; what was worse, he had now very great misgivings about bertie adams. during the autumn of 1916 he had disappeared in the direction of la bassée. there were stories of his having joined some american relief expedition at lille--a most dangerous thing to do; insensate, if it were not a mad attempt to get through to brussels in disguise to rescue miss warren. no one in the y.m.c.a. believed for a moment that he had done anything dishonourable. most likely he had been killed--as so many y.m.c.a. people were just then, assisting to bring in the wounded or going up to the trenches with supplies. mrs. adams had better be prepared, cautiously, for a bereavement. rossiter himself was very sad about it. he had missed bertie's services much these last three years. he had never known a better worker--turn his hand to anything--such a good indexer, for example. linda wondered whether _she_ could do any indexing? three years ago michael would have replied: "_you?_ nonsense, my dear. you'd only make a muddle of it. much better stick to your housekeeping" (which as a matter of fact was done in those days by cook, butler and parlour-maid). but now he said, thoughtfully: "well--i don't know--perhaps you might. there's no reason you shouldn't try." and linda began trying. but she also worked regularly in the laboratory now, calling it at his suggestion the lab, and stumbling no more over the word. she wore a neat overall with tight sleeves and her hair plainly dressed under a little white, pleated cap. she never now caught anything with her sleeve and switched it off the table; she never let anything drop, and was a most judicious duster and wiper-up. rossiter in this autumn of 1917 was extremely interested in certain crucial experiments he was making with spiculum in sponge-cells; with scleroblasts, "mason-cells," osteoblasts, and "consciousness" in bone-cells. most of the glass jars in which these experiments were going on (those of the sponges in sea-water) required daylight for their progress. there was no place for their storage more suitable than that portion of his studio-laboratory which was above ground; and the situation of his house in regard to air attacks, bombs, shrapnel seemed to him far more favourable than the upper rooms at the college of surgeons. that great building was often endangered because of its proximity to the strand and fleet street; and the strand and fleet street, being regarded by the germans as arteries of empire, were frequently attacked by german air-craft. but in rossiter's studio there was an under-ground annex as continuation of the house cellars; and the household was instructed that if, in rossiter's absence, official warnings of an air-raid were given, certain jars were to be lifted carefully off the shelves and brought either into the library or taken down below in case, through shrapnel or through the vibration of neighbouring explosions, the glass of the studio roof was broken. one day in october, 1917, the german air fleet made a determined attack on london. it was intended this time to belie the stories of the heart of the western district being exempted from punishment because lady so-and-so lived there and had lent her house in east anglia to the empress and her children in 1912, or because sir somebody-else was really an arch spy of the germans and had to go on residing in london. so the aeroplanes this time began distributing their explosives very carefully over the residential area between regent's park and pall mall, the tottenham court road and selfridge's. lady rossiter in her overall was disturbed at her indexing by the clamour of an approaching daylight raid; by the maroons, the clanging of bells, the hooters, the gunfire; and finally by the not very distant sounds of exploding bombs. she called and rang for the servants, and then rushed from the library into the studio to commence removing the more important of the jars to a place of greater safety. she had seized two of them, one under each arm, and was making for the library door, when there came the most awful crash she had ever heard, and resounding bangs which seemed to echo indefinitely in her ears.... rossiter was working in the prosectorium at the zoo when the daylight air-raid began. it seemed to be coming across the middle of london; so, hastily doffing his overall, he left the gardens and walked rapidly towards portland place. he had hardly got past the fountain presented by sir jamsetjee jeejeebhoy in wasted benevolence, than he heard the deafening report of the bomb which had wrecked his studio, reduced it to a tangle of iron girders and stanchions, strewn its floor with brick rubble and thick dust, and left his wife a human wreck, lying unconscious with a broken spine, surrounded by splinters of glass, broken jars, porcelain trays, and nasty-looking fragments of sponge and vertebrate anatomy. with an almost paralyzing premonition of disaster he ran as quickly as possible towards park crescent. the marylebone road was strewn with glass, and a policeman--every one else had taken shelter--was ringing and knocking at his front door to ascertain the damage and possible loss of life. michael let both of them in with his latch-key. in the hall the butler was lying prone, stunned by a small statue which had been flung at him by the capricious violence of the explosion. all the mirrors were shivered and most of the pictures were down. at the entrance to the library cook was standing, all of a tremble. the two little adamses rushed up to him: "oh sir michael! mummie is dead and gran'ma is awfully hurted." but mummie--mrs. adams--was not dead; neither was the expensive parlour-maid. both had fainted or been stunned by the explosion on their way to help their mistress. both lay inanimate on the library floor. the library glass door was shivered to dangerous jagged splinters, but the iron framework--"curse it"--remained a tangled, maddening obstacle to his further progress. he could see through the splinters of thick glass something that looked like linda, lying on her back--and--something that looked like blood. the policeman who followed him was strong and adroit. together they detached the glass splinters and wrenched open the framework, with space enough, at any rate, to pass through without the rending of clothes into the studio. linda rossiter was regaining consciousness for just a few more minutes of sentient life. she was aware there had been a dreadful accident to some one; perhaps to herself. but she fully believed she had first of all saved the precious jars. no doubt they had put her to bed, and as there was something warm (her blood, poor thing) round her body, they must have packed her with hot water bottles. some idea of michael's no doubt. how _kind_ he was! she would soon get right, with him to look after her. she opened her eyes to meet his, as he bent over her, and said with the ghost of an arch smile: "i--have been--of some use--to you, haven't--i? ... (then the voice faltered and trailed away) ... i ... saved--your--specimens--" chapter xix bertie adams one day, early in april, 1917, vivie was standing in a corridor of the hôpital de st. pierre talking to minna von stachelberg. she had just come from the railway station, where in common with the few british and americans who remained in brussels she had been to take a respectful and grateful farewell of the american minister and his wife, who were leaving belgium for holland, prior to the american declaration of war. american diplomacy had done little for her or her mother, but it had been the shield, the salvation, the only hope of belgium. moreover, the break-off of diplomatic relations initiated the certain hope of a happier future. american intervention in the war _must_ lead to peace and freedom. germany _must_ now be beaten and belgium set free. so she had contributed her mite to the fund which purchased spring flowers--hothouse-grown, for this april was a villainous prolongation of winter--with which to strew the approach to the station and fill the reserve compartment of the train. as vivie was nearing the end of her description--and minna was hoping it _was_ the end, as she wanted to get back to her patients--two german policemen marched up to vivie, clicked their heels, saluted, and said in german, "mademoiselle varennes, nicht wahr? be good enough to accompany us to the kommandantur." at this dread summons, vivie turned pale, and minna dismayed began to ask questions. the polizei answered that they had none to give.... might she accompany her friend? she might not. then followed a ride in a military motor, with the two silent policemen. they arrived outside the kommandantur.... more clanking, clicking, and gruff conversation in german. she got out, in response to a tight pressure on her arm, a grip in fact, and accompanied her grim guide through halls and corridors, and at last entered a severely furnished office, a kind of magistrate's court, and was confronted with--bertie adams! a whiskered, bearded, moustached, shabbily dressed (in a quasi-military uniform) bertie adams: lean, and hollow-eyed, but with the love-light in his eyes. he turned on her such a look of dog-like fealty, of happy recognition that although, by instinct and for his safety, she was about to deny all knowledge of him, she could not force her eyes or tongue to tell the lie. "oh miss, oh my dear miss warren! _how_ i have hungered and thirsted for a sight of you all these months and years! to see you once more is worth all and more i've gone through to get here. they may shoot me now, if they've got the heart--not that i've done anything to deserve it--i've simply had one object in view: to come here and help you." he looked around as if instinctively to claim the sympathy of the policemen. to say he met with none would be to make them out more inhuman than they were. but as all this speech was in english they understood but little of what he had said. they guessed he loved the woman to whom he spake, but he may have been pleading with her not to give him away, to palliate his acts of espionage. vivie replied: "_dear_ bertie! you can't be gladder to see me than i am you. i greet you with all my heart. but you must be aware that in coming here like this you--" her words stuck in her throat--she knew not what to say lest she might incriminate him farther-a police officer broke in on her embarrassment and said in german: "es ist genug--you recognize him, madame? he was arrested this morning at the hotel impérial, enquiring for you. meantime, you also are under arrest. please follow that officer." "may i communicate with my friends?" said vivie, with a dry tongue in a dry mouth. "who are your friends?" "gräfin von stachelberg, at the hôpital de st. pierre; le pasteur walcker, rue haute, 33--" "i will let them know that you are arrested on a charge of high treason--in league with an english spy," he hissed. then vivie was pushed out of the room and bertie was seized by two policemen-they did not meet again for three days. it was a saturday, and a police agent came into the improvised cell where vivie was confined--who had never taken off her clothes since her arrest and had passed three days of such mental distress as she had never known, unable to sleep on the bug-infested pallet, unable to eat a morsel of the filthy food--and invited her to follow him. "by the grace of the military governor of the prison of saint-gilles"--he said this in french as she understood german imperfectly--"you are permitted to proceed there to take farewell of your english friend, the prisoner a-dams, who has been condemned to death." bertie had been tried by court-martial in the senate, on the friday. he followed all the proceedings in a dazed condition. everything was carried on in german, but the parts that most concerned him were grotesquely translated by a ferocious-looking interpreter, who likewise turned bertie's stupid, involved, self-condemnatory answers into german--no doubt very incorrectly. bertie however protested, over and over again, that miss warren knew _nothing_ of his projects, and that his only object in posing as an american and travelling with false passports was to rescue miss warren from brussels and enable her to pass into holland, "or get out of the country _some_ 'ow." as to the emperor, and taking his life--"why lor' bless you, _i_ don't want to take _any one's_ life. i 'ate war, more than ever after all i've seen of it. upon my honour, gentlemen, all i want is miss warren." here one member of the court made a facetious remark in german to a colleague who sniggered, while, with his insolent light blue eyes, he surveyed bertie's honest, earnest face, thin and hollowed with privations and fatigue.... he was perfunctorily defended by a languid belgian barrister, tired of the invidious rôle of mechanical pleading for the lives of prisoners, especially where, as in this case, they were foredoomed, and eloquence was waste of breath, and even got you disliked by the impatient ogres, thirsty for the blood of an english man or woman.... "du reste," he said to a colleague, "agissait-il d'un belge, mon cher, tu sais que l'on se sentirait forcé à risquer le déplaisir de ces ogres: tandis que, pour un pauvre bougre d'anglais...? et qu'ont-ils fait pour nous, les anglais? nous avons tâché de leur boucher le trou à liège--et--il--nous--ont--abandonné. enfin--allons boire un coup--" verdict: as translated by the ferocious interpreter:-"ze court faind you geeltee. you are condemned to dess, and you will be shot on monday." in the prison of saint-gilles--as i believe elsewhere in belgium--though there might be a military governor in control who was a german, the general direction remained in the hands of the belgian staff which was there when the german occupation began. these belgian directors and their subordinates were as kind and humane to the prisoners under their charge as the germans were the reverse. everything was done at saint-gilles to alleviate the mental agony of the condemned-to-death. the german courts tried to prolong and enhance the agony as much as possible, by sentencing the prisoners three days, six days, a week before the time of execution (though for fear of a reprieve this sentence was not immediately published) and letting them know that they had just so many days or hours to live: consequently most of them wasted away in prison with mind-agony, inability to sleep or eat; and even opiates or soporifics administered surreptitiously by the belgian prison doctors were but slight alleviations. bertie when first placed in his cell at saint-gilles asked for pen, ink, and paper. they were supplied to him. he was allowed to keep on the electric light all night, and he distracted his mind--with some dreadful intervals of horror at his fate--by trying to set forth on paper for vivie to read an explanation and an account of his adventures. he intended to wind up with an appeal for his wife and children. vivie never quite knew how bertie had managed to cross the war zone from france into belgium, and reach brussels without being arrested. when they met in prison they had so little time to discuss such details, in face of the one awful fact that he was there, and was in all probability going to die in two days. but from this incomplete, tear-stained scribble that he left behind and from the answers he gave to her few questions, she gathered that the story of his quest was something like this:-he had planned an attempt to reach her in brussels or wherever she might be, from the autumn of 1914 onwards. the most practicable way of doing so seemed to be to pass as an american engaged in belgian relief work, in the distribution of food. direct attempts to be enrolled for such work proved fruitless, only caused suspicion; so he lay low. in course of time he made the acquaintance of one of those american agents of mr. hoover--a tousle-haired, hatless, happy-go-lucky, lawless individual, who made mock of laws, rules, precedents, and regulations. he concealed under a dry, taciturn, unemotional manner an intense hatred of the germans. but he was either himself of enormous wealth or he had access to unlimited national funds. he spent money like water to carry out his relief work and was lavishly generous to german soldiers or civilians if thereby he might save time and set aside impediments. he took a strong liking to bertie, though he showed it little outwardly. the latter probably in his naïveté and directness unveiled his full purpose to this gum-chewing, grey-eyed american. when the news of mrs. warren's death had reached bertie through a circuitous course--praed-honoria-rossiter--he had modified his scheme and at the same time had become still more ardent about carrying it into execution. in fact he felt that mrs. warren's death was opportune, as with her still living and impossible to include in a flight, vivie would probably have refused to come away. therefore in the summer of 1916, he asked his american friend to obtain two american passports, one for himself and one for "his wife, mrs. violet adams." mr. praed had sent him a credit for five hundred pounds in case he could get it conveyed to vivie. bertie turned the credit into american bank notes. this money would help him to reach brussels and once there, if vivie would consent to pass as his wife, he might convey her out of belgium into holland, as two americans working under the relief committee. it had been excessively difficult and dangerous crossing the war zone and getting into occupied belgium. there was some hint in his talk of an alsatian spy who helped him at this stage, one of those "sanspatries" who spied impartially for both sides and sold any one they could sell (fortunately after the armistice most of these judases were caught and shot). the spy had probably at first blackmailed him when he was in belgium--which is why of the five hundred pounds in dollar notes there only remained about a third in his possession when he reached brussels--and then denounced him to the authorities, for a reward. but his main misfortune lay in the long delay before he reached brussels. during that time, the entire american diplomatic and consular staff was leaving belgium; and the emperor was arriving more or less secretly in brussels (it was said in the hope that a personal talk with brand whitlock might stave off the american declaration of war). bertie on his arrival dared not to go to the american legation for fear of being found out and disavowed. so he had asked his way in very "english" french, and wearing the semi-military uniform of an american relief officer--to the hotel "edward-sett," where he supposed vivie would be or could be heard of. when he reached the hotel impérial and asked for "miss warren," he had been at once arrested. indeed probably his steps had been followed all the way from the railway station to the door of the hotel by a plain-clothes german policeman. the germans were convinced just then that many englishmen and some american cranks were out to assassinate the kaiser. they took bertie's appearance at the door of the hotel impérial as a proof of his intention. they considered him to have been caught red-handed, especially as he had a revolver concealed on his person and was obviously travelling with false passports. "ah, bertie," said vivie, when they first met in his cell at saint-gilles prison. "if _only_ i had not led you into this! i am mad with myself..." "are you, miss? but 'oo could 'a foreseen this war would come along! we thought all we 'ad to fight was the police and the 'ome office to get the vote. and _then_, you'd 'a bin able to come out into the open and practise as a barrister--and me, again, as your clerk. it was our damned government that made you go abroad and get locked up 'ere. and once i realized you couldn't get away, thinks i to meself, _i'll_ find a way..." it was here that vivie began questioning him as to how he had reached brussels from the war zone; and as, towards the end of his story--some of which he said she would find he had written down in case they wouldn't let him see her--the reference to the emperor came in, she sprang up and tried the door of the cell. it was fastened without, but a face covered the small, square opening through which prisoners were watched; and a rough voice asked her what she wanted. it was the german police agent or spy, who, perched on a stool outside, next this small window, was there to listen to all they said. as they naturally spoke in english and the rough creature only knew "god-dam," and a few unrepeatable words, he was not much the wiser for his vigil. "i want--i _must_ see the director," said vivie. presently the director came. "oh, sir," said vivie, "give me paper and an envelope, i _implore_ you. there is pen and ink here and i will write a letter to the emperor, a petition. i will tell him briefly the true story of this poor young man; and _then_, if you will only forward it he may grant a reprieve." the director said he would do his best. after all, you never knew; and the kaiser, though he said he hated them always, had a greater regard for the english than for any other nation. as he glanced from vivie and her face of agonized appeal to the steadfast gaze which bertie fixed on her, as on some fairy godmother, his own eyes filled with tears--as indeed they did many, many times over the tragic scenes of the german terror. another request. could vivie see or communicate with gräfin von stachelberg?--with pasteur walcker? here the police agent intervened--"nothing of the kind! you're not going to hold a salon here. far too many concessions already. much more fuss and trouble, and i shall take you back to the kommandantur and report. write your letter to the all highest, who may deign to receive it. as to pastor walcker, he shall come to-morrow, sunday, to prepare the englishman for his death, on monday--" vivie wrote her letter--probably in very incoherent language. it was handed to the german police agent. he smiled sardonically as he took it in his horny hand with its dirty broken nails. the governor general disliked these appeals to the all highest. indeed, in most cases executions that were intended to take place were only announced at the same time as the condemnation, to obviate the worry of these appeals. besides, he knew the emperor had left that morning for charleville, after having bestowed several decorations on the police officials who told him they had just frustrated an english plot for his assassination. vivie and bertie were at length alone, for the police agent was bored, couldn't understand their talk, and gave himself an afternoon off. in this prison of saint-gilles, the cells were in many ways superior to those of english prisons. they were well lit through a long window, not so high up but that by standing on a chair you could look out on the prison garden. through this window the rays of the sun could penetrate into and light up the cell. there was no unpleasant smell--one of the horrors of holloway. the floor was a polished parquet. the bed was comfortable. there was a table, even a book-shelf. the toilet arrangements were in no way repulsive or obvious. vivie insisted on bertie lying down on the bed; she would sit on the chair by his side. he must be so exhausted.... "and what about _you_, miss? i'll lay you ain't slept these last three nights. _what_ a mess i've made of the 'ole thing!" "bertie! _why_ did you do this? _why_ did you risk your life to come here; _oh why, oh why_?" wailed vivie. "because i loved you, because i've always loved you, better'n any one else on earth--since i was a boy of fourteen and you spoke so kind to me and encouraged me to get on and improve myself; and giv' me books, and encouraged me about me cricket. i suppose i'm going to die, so i ain't got any shame about tellin' you all this. though if i thought i was goin' to live, i'd cut my tongue out sooner'n offend you--oh,"--he gave a kind of groan--"when the news come about mrs. warren bein' dead an' you p'raps without money and at the mercy of these germans ... well!--all i wonder at is i didn't steal an airyplane, and come in that. i tell you i had to exercise great self-control to stay week after week fiddling with the food distribution and pretendin' to be an american.... "well! there it is! we must all die sooner or later. it's a wonder i ain't dead already. i've bin in some tight places since i come out for the y.m.c.a.... "and talkin' about the y.m.c.a., miss, i do _beg_ of you, if you get out of this--an' i'm sure you will--they'll never kill _you_," said bertie adoringly, looking up at the grave, beautiful face that bent over him--"i do _beg_ of you to make matters right with the y.m.c.a. i ain't taken away one penny of their money--i served 'em faithfully up to the last day before i saw my chance of hooking it across the lines--they must think me dead--and so must poor nance, my wife. for i haven't dared to write to any one since i've bin in belgium. but i did send her a line 'fore i started, sayin', 'don't be surprised if you get no letter from me for some time. i'll turn up all right, you bet your boots--' "that may 'ave kept 'er 'opin'. an' soon you'll be able to let 'er know. who can say? _i_ dunno! but peace, you'd think, must come soon--seems like our poor old world is comin' to an end, don't it? _what_ times we've 'ad--if you don't mind me puttin' it like that! i remember when i had to be awful careful always to say 'sir' to you, and 'mr. david' or 'mr. williams'"--and a roguish look, a gleam of merriment came into bertie's eyes, and he laughed a laugh that was half sob. "if you was to write your life, no one 'ud believe it, miss. it licks any novel i ever read--and i've read a tidy few, looking after the y.m.c.a. libraries.... "my! but you was wonderful as a pleader in the courts! i used sometimes to reg'lar cry when i heard you takin' up the case of some poor girl as 'ad bin deserted by 'er feller, and killed 'er baby. 'tricks of the trade,' says some other barrister's clerk, sneerin' because you wasn't 'is boss. an' then i'd punch 'is 'ead.... an' i don't reckon myself a soft-'earted feller as a rule.... reklect that shillito case--?" "_don't_, bertie! _don't_ say such things in praise of me. i'm not _worth_ such love. i'm just an arrogant, vain, quarrelsome woman.... look how many people i've deceived, what little good i've really done in the world--" "rub--bish! you done good wherever you went ... to my pore mother--wonder, by the bye, what _she_ thinks and 'ow _she's_ gettin' on? sons are awful ungrateful and forgettin'. what with you--and nance--and the little 'uns, i ain't scarcely give a thought to poor mother. but you'll let her know, won't you, miss?... "think 'ow good you was to your old father down in wales, 'im as you called your father--an' 'oo's to say 'e wasn't? you never know.... miss warren! what a pity it is you never married. there's lots was sweet on you, i'll bet. yet i remember i used to 'ate the idea of your doin' so, and was glad you dressed up as a man, an' took 'em all in.... i may tell you all, miss, now i'm goin' to die, day after to-morrow. my poor nance! she see there was some one that always occupied my mind, and she used to get jealous-like, at times. but never did i let on it was you. why i wouldn't even 'av said it to myself--i respected you more than--than--" and bertie, at a loss for a parallel, ceased speaking for a time, and gulped down the sobs that were mastering him. then, after this pause--"i haven't a word to say against nance. no one could 'a bin a better wife. i know, miss, if you get away from here you'll look after her and my kids? i ain't bin much of a father to 'em lately. p'raps this is a punishment for neglecting my home duties--as they used to say to you when you was suffragin'." he gave a bitter laugh--"two such _nice_ kids.... i ain't seen 'em since last february twelve-month ... more'n a year ago ... i got a bit of leave then.... there's little vivie--the one we called after you.... she's growin' up so pretty ... and bert! 'e'll be a bigger and a better man than me, some day. 'e's started in life with better chances. i 'ope 'e'll be a cricketer. there's no game comes up to cricket, in my opinion..." at this juncture, the belgian directeur of the jail opened the door and asked vivie to follow him, telling bertie she would return in the afternoon. at the same time, a warder escorting two good conduct prisoners who did the food distribution proceeded to place quite an appetizing meal in bertie's cell. "dear miss," said the directeur in french, "you are so wise, i know, you will do what i wish...?" (vivie bowed.) "i shall not send you back to the kommandantur. i will take that on myself. but i must regard you while here as my prisoner"--he smiled sadly--"come with me. i will give you a nice cell where you shall eat and sleep, and--yes--and my wife shall come and see you..." in the evening of that day, vivie was led back to bertie's cell. there she found kind pasteur walcker. in some way he had heard of bertie's condemnation--perhaps seen it posted up on a red placard--and in his quiet assumption that whatever he did was right, had not waited for an official summons but had presented himself at the prison of saint-gilles and asked to see the directeur. he constituted himself bertie's spiritual director from that time onwards.... he spoke very little english but he was there more to sympathize than to preach-"ce n'est pas, chère mamselle que je suis venu le troubler sur les questions de réligion. j'ai voulu le rassurer--et vous aussi--que j'ai déjà mis en train tous les precédés possibles, et que je connais, pour obtenir sa grace.... but," he went on, "i have spoken to the prison doctor and begged him meantime to give the poor young man an injection or a dose of something to make him sleep a little while..." then he withdrew. the daylight turned pink and faded to grey whilst vivie sat by the bed holding the left hand of the sleeping man. exhausted with emotion, she dropped off to sleep herself, slid off the chair on to the parquet, laid her head on the angle of his pillow and slept likewise.... the electric light suddenly shone out from a globe in the angle of the wall which served two cells. she awoke; bertie awoke. he was still happy in some opiate dream and his eyes in his haggard face looked at her with a sleepy, happy affection. loth to awaken him to reality she kissed him on the cheek and withdrew from the cell--for the directeur, out of delicacy, had withdrawn and left the door ajar. she rejoined him in the corridor and he led her to her own quarters for the night; where, worn out with sorrow and fatigue, she undressed and slept dreamlessly. but the hour of the awakening on that wintry sunday morning! it was snowing intermittently and the sky, seen from the high window, was lead-coloured. owing to the scarcity of fuel, the cell was unwarmed. she dressed hurriedly, feeling still untidy and dishevelled when she had finished. her breakfast, and with it a little packet of white powder from the prison doctor, to be taken with the breakfast. she swallowed it. if it were poison sent by the german government, what matter? but it was in reality some drug which took the edge off sorrow. bertie had evidently been given a similar dose. they spent the morning and the afternoon of that sunday together, almost happily. with intervals of dreamy silence, they talked of old times. neither would have been surprised had the cell walls dissolved as in a transformation scene and they had been able to step out into the fountain court of the temple or into the cheerful traffic of chancery lane. when however she returned to his cell after her evening meal, his mood had changed; the effect of the drug had passed. he had moods of despair and wild crying. no response had come, no answer to vivie's appeal, no result from monsieur walcker's activities. bertie reproached himself for cowardice ... then the doctor came in. "an injection in the arm? so! he will sleep now till morning. espérons toujours! et vous, ma pauvre mademoiselle. vous êtes excédée. permettez que je vous fasse la meme piqure?" but she thanked him and said she wanted all her wits about her, though she promised "se maîtriser"--to keep calm. what a night! her ears had a sense of hearing that was preternaturally acute. the most distant step in the corridors was audible. was it a reprieve? one such sound multiplied itself into the footsteps of two men walking, coming ever nearer--nearer--nearer till they stopped outside her cell door. with a clank it was opened. she sprang up. fortunately she had not undressed. "you've brought a reprieve?" she gasped. but the directeur and monsieur walcker only stood with downcast faces. "it will soon be morning," the directeur said. "there is no hope of a reprieve. he is to be executed at seven at the tir national. all we have secured for you is permission to accompany him to the end. but if you think _that_ too painful, too great a strain, i would suggest that you--" "nothing could overstrain me," said vivie, "or rather i don't care if anything kills me. i will go with him and stay with him, till the very last moment, stay with him till he is buried if you permit!" she made some hasty toilette, more because she wanted to look a fit companion for him, and not a wretched derelict. they summoned her, proffering a cup of acorn coffee, which she waved aside. the bitter cold air of the snowy april morning braced her. she entered the shuttered, armoured prison taxi in which bertie and a soldier were placed already. bertie had his arms tied, but not too painfully. he was shivering with the cold, but as he said, "_not_ afraid, miss. it'll come out allright, some'ow. that mr. walcker, 'e done me a lot of good. at any rate i'll show how an englishman can die. 'sides 'e says reprieves sometimes comes at the last moment. they takes a pleasure in tantalizin' you. and the doctor put somethin' in me cup of coffee, sort of keeps me spirits up." but for vivie, that drive was an unforgettable agony. they went through suburbs where the roads had been unrepaired or torn up by shrapnel. the snow lay in places so thickly that it nearly stopped the motor. still, it came to an end at last. the door on one side was wrenched open; she was pulled out rather unceremoniously; then, the pinioned bertie, who was handed over to a guard; and the soldier escort after him, who took his place promptly by his side. vivie had just time to note the ugly red-brick exterior of the main building of the tir national. it reminded her vaguely of some hastily-constructed exhibition at earl's court or olympia. then she was pushed inside a swinging door, into a freezing corridor; where the prison directeur and monsieur walcker were standing--irresolute, weeping.... "where is bertie?" she asked. "he is being prepared for the shooting party," they answered. "it will soon be over ... dear dear lady ... try to be calm--" "i will be as calm as you like," she said, "i will behave with the utmost correctitude or whatever you call it, if you--if they--the soldiers--the officer--will let me see him--as you promised--up to the last, the very last. but by god--if there _is_ a god--if you or they prevent me, i'll--" inexplicably, sheer mind-force prevailed, without the need for formulating the threat the poor grief-maddened woman might have uttered--she moved unresisted to a swing door which opened on to a kind of verandah. here was drawn up the firing party, and in front of them, fifteen feet away on snow-sodden, trampled grass, stood bertie. he caught sight of vivie passing in, behind the firing party, and standing beyond them at the verandah rail. he straightened himself; ducked his head aside from the handkerchief with which they were going to bandage his eyes, and shouted "take away your blasted handkerchief! _i_ ain't afraid o' the guns. if you'll let me look at her, i'll stand as quiet as quiet." the officer in command of the firing party shrugged his shoulders. the soldier escort desisted from his attempts to blindfold the englishman and stood aside, out of range. bertie fixed his glowing eyes on the woman he had loved from his youth up, the rifles rang out with a reverberating bellow, and he fell out of her sight, screened by the soldiers, a crumpled body over which they threw a sheet. what happened then to vivie? i suppose you expect the time-worn trick of the weary novelist, anxious to put his pen down and go to his tea: "then she seemed swallowed up in a cloud of blackness and knew no more"--till it was convenient to the narrator to begin a fresh chapter. but with me it must be the relentless truth and nothing but the truth, in all its aspects. vivie was deafened, nearly stunned by the frightful noise of the volley in a confined space. next, she was being unceremoniously pushed out of the verandah, into the corridor, and so out into the snow-covered space in front of the brick building; whilst the officer was examining the dead body of the fallen man, ready to give the _coup-de-grâce_, if he were not dead. but he was. vivie was next conscious that she had the most dreadful, blinding headache she had ever known, and with it felt an irresistible nausea. the prison directeur was taking her hand and saying: "mademoiselle: it is my duty to inform you that you are no longer under arrest. you are free to return to your lodging." minna von stachelberg had come from somewhere and was taking her right arm, to lead her brussels-ward; and pasteur walcker was ranging himself alongside to be her escort. unable to reply to any of them, she strode forward by herself to where under the snow lay an ill-kept grass plot, and there was violently sick. the anæsthetics and soporifics of the last two days were having their usual aftermath. after that came on a shuddering faintness and a rigor of shivers, under which her teeth clacked. some doctor came forward with a little brandy. she put the glass to her lips, then pushed it aside, took pasteur walcker's proffered arm, and walked towards the tram terminus. then they were in the tram, going towards the heart of brussels. how commonplace! fat frowsy market women got in--or got out--with their baskets; clerks entered with portfolios--don't they call them "serviettes"?--under their arms; german policemen, belgian gendarmes, german soldiers, a priest with his breviary came and went as though this monday morning were like any other. vivie walked quite firmly and staidly from the tram halt to the walckers' house in the rue haute. there she was met by madame walcker, who at a sign from her husband took her upstairs, silently undressed her and put her to bed with a hot water bottle and a cup of some hot drink which tasted a little of coffee. after that vivie passed three days of great sickness and nausea, a furred tongue, and positively no appetite. finally she arose a week after the execution and looked at herself in the mirror. she was terribly haggard, she looked at least fifty-five--"they must have taken me for his mother or his aunt; never for his sweetheart," she commented bitterly to herself. and her brown-gold hair was now distinctly a cinder grey. the next day she went back to work at the hospital. to minna, she said: "i can _never, never, never_ forget your kindness and sympathy. 'sister' seems an insufficient name to call you by. whatever happens, unless you cast me off, we shall be friends.... i dare say i even owe my life to you, if it is worth anything. but it is. i want to live--now--i want to live to be revenged. i want to live to help bertie's"--her voice still shook over the name--"bertie's wife and children. i expect but for you i should have been tried already in the senate for complicity with ... bertie ... and found guilty and shot..." _minna_: "i won't go so far as to say you are right. but i certainly _was_ alarmed about you, when you were arrested. of course i knew nothing--_nothing_--about that poor young man till just before his execution when pastor walcker came to me. even then i could do nothing, and i understood so badly what had happened. but about you: i said to myself, if i do not do _something_, you can perhaps be sentenced to imprisonment ... and i _did_ bestir myself, you can bet!" (minna liked to show she knew a slangy phrase or two.) "so i telegraphed to the emperor, i besieged von bissing at the ministère des sciences et des arts; wrote to him, telegraphed to him, telephoned to him, sat in his anterooms, neglected my hospital work entirely from friday to monday-"i expect as a matter of fact they found nothing in that poor young's man's papers to implicate you. they just wanted--the brutes--to give you a good fright ... and i dare say ... such is the military mind--even wished you to see him shot. "by the bye, i suppose you have heard that von bissing is very ill? dying, perhaps--" _vivie_: "i _hope_ so. i am _so_ glad. i hope it's a painful illness and that he'll die and find there really _is_ a hell, and an uncommonly hot one!" it must not be supposed from the frequent quotations from countess von stachelberg's condemnations of german cruelties that she was an unpatriotic woman, repudiating, apostatizing from her own country. on the contrary: she held--mistakenly or not--that germany had been the victim of secret diplomacy, had been encircled by a ring fence of enemies, refused the economic guarantees she required, and the colonial expansion she desired. minna disliked the slavs, did not believe in them, save as musicians, singers, painters, dancers, and actors. she believed germany had a great civilizing, culture-spreading mission in south-east europe; and that the germs of this war lay in the policy of chamberlain, the protectionism of the united states, the revengeful spirit and colonial selfishness of france. but she shuddered over the german cruelties in belgium and france. the horrors of war were a revelation to her and she was henceforth a pacifist before all things. "_your_ old statesmen and _our_ old or middle-aged generals, my dear, are alike to blame. but you and i know where the _real_ mischief lies. we are mis-ruled by an all-man government. _i_, certainly, don't want the other extreme, an all-woman government. what we want, and must have, is a man-and-woman--a married--government. _then_ we shall settle our differences without going to war." vivie agreed with her, cordially. she--vivie--i really ought to begin calling her "vivien": she is forty-one by now--in resuming her duties at the hôpital de st. pierre found no repugnance in tending wounded german soldiers--the officers she did shrink from--she realized that the soldiers were but the slaves of the officer class, of kaiserdom. her reward for this degree of christianity was to have a batch of wounded english boys or men to look after. she saw again bertie adams in many of them, especially in the sergeants and corporals. they, in turn, thought her a very handsome, stately lady, but rather maudlin at times. "so easy to set 'er off a-cryin' as though 'er 'eart would break, poor thing.... and i says 'why ma'am, the pain's _nuthin_', nuthin' to what it use ter be.' 'spec' she lost some son in the war. wonder 'ow she came to be 'ere? ain't the germans afraid of 'er!"... they were. the mental agony she had been through had etherialized her face, added to its look of age and gravity, but imparted likewise a sort of "awfulness." she exhaled an aura of righteous authority. she had been through the furnace, and foolishness and petulance had been burnt out of her ... though, thank goodness, she retained some sense of humour. she had probably never been so handsome from the painter's point of view, though one could not imagine a young man falling in love with her now. her personality was first definitely noted by the bruxellois the day that von bissing's funeral cortège passed through the streets of brussels on its way to germany. vivien warren was sufficiently restored to health then to stand on the steps of some monument and cry "vive la belgique! à bas les tyrans!" the policemen and the spies looked another way and affected deafness. they had orders not to arrest her unless she actually resorted to firearms or other lethal weapons. it was said that her appeal for bertie adams did reach the emperor, two days too late; that he pished and pshawed over von bissing's cruel precipitancy. "englishmen," he muttered to his entourage, "don't assassinate. the irish do. but _how_ i'm going to make peace with england, _i_ don't know...!" (his hell on earth must have been that few people admired the english character more than he did, and yet, unprovoked, he had blundered into war with england.) however, though it was too late to save "this lunatic adams," he gave orders that vivie was to be let alone. he even, through gräfin von stachelberg, transmitted to her his regrets that she and her mother had been treated so cavalierly at the hotel impérial. it was not through any orders of his. so: vivie became quite a power in brussels during that last anxious year and a half of waiting, between may, 1917, and november, 1918. german soldiers, still limping from their wounds, saluted her in the street, remembering her kindness in hospital, and the letters she unweariedly wrote at their dictation to their wives and families--for she had become quite a scholar in german. the scanty remains of the british colony and the great ladies among the patriotic belgians now realized how false were the stories that had circulated about her in the first year of the war; and extended to her their friendship. and the spanish minister who had taken the place of the american as protector of british subjects, invited her to all the fêtes he gave for belgian charities and red cross funds. through his legation she endeavoured to send information to the y.m.c.a. and to bertie's widow that albert adams of the y.m.c.a. "had died in brussels from the consequences of the war." i dare say in the autumn of 1917, if vivien warren had applied through the spanish minister for a passport to leave belgium for some neutral country, it would have been accorded to her: the german authorities would have been thankful to see her no more. she reminded them of one of the cruellest acts of their administration. but she preferred to stay for the historical revenge of seeing the germans driven out of belgium, and belgian independence restored. and she could not go lest bertie's grave should be forgotten. in common with edith cavell, gabrielle petit, philippe bauck, and the other forty or fifty victims of von bissing's "terror," he had been buried in the grassy slopes of the amphitheatre of the rifle range, near where he had been executed. every sunday, wet or fine, vivien went there with fresh flowers. she had marked the actual grave with a small wooden cross bearing his name, till the time should come when she could have his remains transferred to english soil. one day, as she was leaving the hospital in the autumn of 1917, a shabby man pushed into her hand a soiled, way-worn copy of the _times_, a fortnight old. "three francs," he whispered. she paid him. it was no uncommon thing for her or one of her english or belgian acquaintances to buy the _times_ or some other english daily at a price ranging from one franc to ten, and then pass it round the friendly circle of subscribers who apportioned the cost. on this occasion she opened her _times_ in the tram, going home, and glanced at its columns. in any one but "mees varennes" in these days of 1917, 1918, this would have been a punishable offence; but in her case no spy or policeman noted the infringement of regulations about the enemy press. on one of the pages she read the account of a bad air-raid on portland place, and a reference--with a short obituary notice elsewhere--to the death of one of the victims of the german bombs. this was "linda, lady rossiter, the dearly loved wife of sir michael rossiter, whose discoveries in the way of bone grafting and other forms of curative surgery had been among the outstanding achievements in etc., etc." "dear me!" said vivien to herself, as the tram coursed on beyond her usual stopping place and the conductor obstinately looked the other way, "i'm glad she lived to be _lady_ rossiter. it must have given her such pleasure. poor thing! and to think the knowledge that he's a widower hardly stirs my pulses one extra beat. and how i _loved_ that man, seven years, six years, five years ago! hullo! where am i? miles from the rue haute! conducteur! arrêtez, s'il vous plaît." chapter xx after the armistice the bruxellois felt very disheartened in the closing months of 1917. the russian revolution had brought about the collapse of russia as an enemy of germany; and the germans were enabled to transport most of their troops on the russian frontier to the west and to the italian frontier. italy had lost half venetia and enormous quantities of guns in the breach of her defences at caporetto. it seemed indeed at any moment, when the ice and snow of that dreadful winter of 1917-18 melted, as though italy would share the fate of rumania. though the british army had had a grand success with their tanks, they had, ere 1917 ended, lost nearly all the ground gained round cambrai. besides, the submarine menace was imperilling the british food supplies and connections with america. as to the united states: was their intervention going to be more than money loans and supplies of material? would they really supply the fighting men, the one thing at this crisis necessary to defeat germany? belgium had been divided administratively into two distinct portions, north and south of the meuse. north of the meuse she was to be a dutch-speaking country either part of germany eventually, or given to holland to compensate her for her very benevolent neutrality towards germany during the war. a handful of flemish adventurers appeared at brussels to form the council of flanders, and sickened the bruxellois by their lavish praise of the german administration and servile concurrence with all german measures. the events of the spring of 1918 accentuated the despair in the belgian capital. when the germans broke through the defences of the new lines which ran through picardy and champagne, reached the vicinity of amiens, retook soissons, and recrossed the marne, it seemed as though belgian independence had been lost; the utmost she could hope for would be the self-government of a german province. but vivie was not among the pessimists. she discerned a smouldering discontent among the german soldiers, even when germany seemed near to a sweeping victory over france and britain. the brutality of the soldiers, their deliberate, nasty dirtiness during the first two years of the war seemed due rather to their officers' orders than to an anti-human disposition of their own. many of the soldiers in belgium, in brussels, turned round--so to speak--and conceived a horror of what they had done, of what they had been told to do. men who on the instigation of their officers--and these last, especially the prussians, seemed fiends incarnate--had offered violence to young belgian women, ended by offering to marry them, even showed themselves kind husbands, only too willing to become domesticated, groaning at having to leave their temporary homes and return to the terrible fighting on the yser or in france. there were, for example, the soldiers stationed at the villa beau-séjour and at the oudekens' farm. vivie had a growing desire to find out what had happened to her mother's property. one day, late in february, 1918, when there was a premature breath and feeling of spring in the air, she called on her friend--as he had become--the directeur of the prison of saint-gilles, and asked him--since she herself could not deign to ask any favour or concession of the german authorities--to obtain for her a permit to proceed to tervueren, the railway service between brussels and that place having been reopened. she walked over--with what reminiscences the roads and paths were filled--to the villa, and showing her pass was received, not uncivilly, by the sergeant-major in charge. fortunately the officers had all gone, voting it very dull, with brussels so near and yet so far. after their departure the sergeant-major and his reduced guard of men had begun to make the place more homelike. the usual german thrift had shown itself. they had reassembled the remains of mrs. warren's herd of cows. these had calves and were giving milk. there were once more the beginnings of a poultry yard. the rooms had been cleaned at any rate of their unspeakable filth, though the dilapidations and the ruined furniture made tears of vexation stand in vivie's eyes. however she kept her temper and told the sergeant that it was _her_ property now; that she intended to reclaim it at the end of the war, and that if he saw to it that the place was handed back to her with no further damage, she would take care that he was duly rewarded; and as an instalment she gave him a good tip. he replied with a laugh and a shrug "that may well come about." ("das könnte wohl geschehen.") he had already heard of the engländerin whom the kommandantur was afraid to touch, and opened his heart to her; even offering to prepare her a little meal in her own _salle à manger_. with what strange sensations she sat down to it. the sergeant as he brought in the _oeufs au plat_ said the soldiers were already sick of the war. most wanted to go back to germany, but a few were so much in love with belgium that they hoped they might be allowed to settle down there; especially those who spoke platt-deutsch, to whom flemish came so easy. from villa beau-séjour, vivien warren passed on to the oudekens' farm, wondering what she would see--some fresh horror? but on the contrary, mme. oudekens looked years younger; indeed when vivien first stood outside the house door, she had heard really hearty laughter coming from the orchard where the farmer's widow was pinning up clothes to dry. yet it was here that the woman's husband had been shot and buried, as the result of a field-court's sentence. but when she answered vivien's questions, after plying her with innumerable enquiries, she admitted with a blush that heinrich, the german sergeant, with whom she had first cohabited by constraint, had recently married her at the mairie, though the curé had refused to perform the religious service. heinrich was now invariably kind and worked hard on the farm. he hoped by diligently supplying the officers' messes in brussels with poultry and vegetables that he and his assistants--two corporals--might be overlooked and not sent back into the fighting ranks. as to her daughters, after a few months of promiscuity--a terrible time that mme. oudekens wanted to forget--they had been assigned to the two corporals as their exclusive property. they were both of them about to become mothers, and if no one interfered, as soon as this accursed war was over their men would marry them. "but," said vivie, "suppose your husband and these corporals are married already, in germany?" "qu'est-ce-que ça fait?" said mme. oudekens. "c'est si loin." by making these little concessions she had already saved her youngest son from deportation to germany. the enormous demands for food in brussels, which in 1918 had a floating population of over a million and where the germans were turning large dogs into pemmican, had tripled the value of all productive farms so near the capital as those round tervueren, especially now the railway service was reopened. many of the peasants were making huge fortunes in complicity with some german soldier-partner. in brussels itself, soldiers often sided with the people against the odious "polizei," the intolerable german spies and police agents. conflicts would sometimes occur in the trams and the streets when the german police endeavoured to arrest citizens for reading the _times_ or _la libre belgique_, or for saying disrespectful things about the emperor. the tremendous rush of the german offensive onward to the marne, somme, and ypres salient in march-june, 1918, was received by the shifting garrison of brussels with little enthusiasm. would it not tend to prolong the war? the german advance into france was spectacular, but it was paid for by an appalling death-roll. the hospitals at brussels were filled to overflowing with wounded and dying men. the austrians who were brought from the italian front to replenish the depleted battalions, quarrelled openly with the prussians, and in some cases had to be surrounded in a barrack square and shot down. the first real check to the german army in its second march on paris--that which followed its crossing of the marne near dormans--was prophetically greeted by the bruxellois as the turning of the tide. the emperor had gone thither from the hotel impérial in order to witness and follow the culminating march on paris. but foch now struck with his reserves, and the head of the tortoise was nipped off. the driving back of the germans over the marne coincided with the belgian national fête of july 21. not since 1914 had this fête been openly observed. but on this day in 1918, the german police made no protest when a huge crowd celebrated the fête day in every church and every street. vivien herself, smiling and laughing as she had not done since bertie's death, attended the service in sainte-gudule and joined in singing _la brabançonne_ in place of _te deum, laudamus_. in the streets and houses of brussels every piano, every gramophone was enrolled to play the _marseillaise_, _vers l'avenir_, and _la brabançonne_, the belgian national anthem (uninspiring words and dreary tune). from this date onwards--july 21--the german _débacle_ proceeded, with scarcely one day's intermission, with never a german regain of lost ground. when the americans had retaken st. mihiel on september 14, then did belgians boldly predict that their king would be back in brussels by christmas. but their prophecies were outstripped by events. already, in the beginning of october, the accredited german press in belgium was adjuring the belgians not to be impatient, but to let them evacuate belgium quietly. at the end of october, minna von stachelberg told vivien that she and the other units of the german red cross had received instructions to leave and hand over their charges to the belgian doctors and nurses. the two women took an affectionate farewell of each other, vowing they would meet again--somewhere--when the war was over. british wounded now began to cease coming into brussels, so vivie was free to attend to her own affairs. enormous quantities of german plunder were streaming out of belgium by train, by motor, in military lorries, in carts and waggons. nearly all this belonged to the officers, and the already-rebellious soldiers broke out in protestations. "why should they who had done all the fighting have none of the loot?" so they won over the belgian engine-drivers--delighted to see this quarrel between the hyenas--and held up the trains in the suburban stations north of brussels. there were pitched battles which ended always in the soldiers' victory. the soldiers then would hold auctions and markets of the plunder captured in the trains and lorries. they were in a hurry to get a little money to take back with them to germany. vivie, who had laid her plans now as to what to do after the german evacuation of brussels, attended these auctions. she was nearly always civilly treated, because so many german soldiers had known her as a friend in hospital and told other soldiers. at one such sale she bought a serviceable motor-car for 750 francs; at another drums of petrol. she had provided herself with funds by going to her mother's bank and reopening the question of the deposited jewels and plate. now that the victory of the allies seemed certain, the bank manager was more inclined to make things easy for her. he had the jewels and plate valued--roughly--at £3,000; and although he would not surrender them till the will could be proved and she could show letters of administration, he consented on behalf of the bank to make her a loan of 30,000 francs. on november 10th, a german soldier who followed vivien about with humble fidelity since she had cured him of a bad whitlow--and also because, as he said, it was a joy to speak english once more--for he had been a waiter at the savoy hotel--came to her in the boulevard d'anspach and said "the red flag, lady, he fly from kommandantur. with us i think it is kaput." this was what vivien had been waiting for. asking the man to follow her, she first stopped outside a shop of military equipment, and after a brief inspection of its goods entered and purchased a short, not too flexible riding-whip, with a heavy handle. then as the trams were densely crowded, she walked at a rapid pace--glancing round ever and again to see that her german soldier was following--up the boulevard du jardin botanique and along the rue royale until she came to the hotel impérial. here she halted for a minute to have the soldier close behind her; then gave the revolving door a turn and found herself and him in the marble hall once built for mrs. warren's florid taste. "call the manager," she said--trying not to pant--to two belgian servants who came up, a porter and a lift man. the manager--he who had ejected her and her mother in 1915--was fortunately a little while in appearing. he was really packing up with energy so as to depart with all the plunder he could transport before the way of escape was closed. this little delay enabled vivien to get her breath and resume an impressive calm. "well: what you want?" the manager said insolently, recollecting her. "this first," she said, seizing him suddenly by his coat collar. "i want--to--give--you--the--soundest--thrashing you have ever had..." and before he could offer any effective resistance she had lashed him well with the riding _cravache_ about the shoulders, hands, back and face. he wrenched himself free and crouched ready for a counter attack. but the belgian servants intervened and tripped him up; and the german soldier--the ex-waiter from the savoy--said that madame was by nature so kind that there must be some good reason for this chastisement. "there is," she replied, now she had got her breath and was inwardly feeling ashamed at her resort to such violent methods. "three years ago, this creature turned my mother and myself out of this hotel with such violence that my mother died of it a few minutes afterwards. he stole our money and much of our property. i have inherited from my mother, to whom this hotel once belonged, a right over certain rooms which she used to occupy. i resume that right from to-day. i shall go to them now. as to this wretch, throw him out on to the pavement. he can afterwards send for his luggage, and what really is his he shall have." her orders were executed. she then sent a message to mme. walcker and to the kind tea-shop woman, mme. trouessart, close by, explaining what she had done and why. "i shall take control of this hotel in the name of the belgian company that owns it, a company in which, through my mother, i possess shares. i shall stay here till responsible persons take it over and i shall resume possession of the _appartement_ that belonged to my mother." meantime, would madame trouessart engage a few stout wenches to eke out the scanty hotel staff, most of which being german had already commenced its flight back to the fatherland with all the plunder it could carry off. the soldier-ex-hotel-waiter was provisionally engaged to remain, as long as the belgian government allowed him, and three stalwart british soldiers, until the day before prisoners-of-war, were enlisted in her service and armed with revolvers to repel any ordinary act of brigandage. by the end of november she had the hotel édouard-sept--with the old name restored--running smoothly and ready for the new guests--british, french officers and civilians who would follow the king of the belgians on his return to his capital. the re-established belgian authorities soon put her into possession of the villa beau-séjour. the german sergeant-major here had kept faith with her, and in return for handing over everything intact, including the herd of cows, received a _douceur_ which amply rewarded him for this belated honesty before he, too, set his face towards germany with the rest of the evacuating army. the motor-car she had bought enabled her to fetch supplies of food from farm to hotel and to perform many little services to belgians who were returning to their old homes. madame trouessart, not as yet having any stock of tea with which to reopen her tea-shop to the first incoming of curious tourists, agreed to live with miss warren at the hotel and act as her deputy, if affairs took her away from brussels. it was at the hotel édouard-sept, the place where she had been born, that rossiter met her when he arrived in brussels after the armistice. she felt a little tremulous when his card was sent up to her, and kept him waiting quite five minutes while she saw that her hair was tidy and estimated before the glass the extent to which it had gone grey. she had let it grow of late years--the days of david williams and mr. michaelis seemed very remote--and spent some time and consideration in arranging it. her costume was workmanlike and that of an hotel manageress in the morning; yet distinctly set off her figure and suited her character of an able-bodied, intellectual woman. * * * * * "vivie!" "michael!" "my _dear_! you're handsomer than ever!" "michael! your khaki uniform becomes you; and i'm _so_ glad you've got rid of that beard. _now_ we can see your well-shaped chin. but still: we mustn't stand here, paying one another compliments, though this meeting is _too_ wonderful: i never thought i should see you again. let's come to realities. i suppose the real heart-felt question at the back of your mind is: _can_ i let you have a room? i can, but not a bath-room suite; they're all taken..." _michael_: "nonsense! i'm going to be put up at the palace hotel. jenkins--you remember the butler of old time?--jenkins, and my batman, a refined brigand, a polished robber, have already been there and commandeered something.... "no. i came here, firstly to find out if you were living; secondly to ask you to marry me" ... (a pause) ... "and thirdly to find out what happened to bertie adams. a message came through the spanish legation here, a year and a half ago, to the effect that he had died at brussels from the consequences of the war. however, unless you can tell me at once this is all a mistake, we can go into his affairs later. my first question is--oh! bother all this cackle.... _will_ you marry me?" _vivie_: "dear, brave bertie, whom i shall everlastingly mourn, was shot here in brussels by the abominable germans, as a spy, on april 8th, 1917. he was of course no more a spy than you are or i am. the poor devoted fool--i rage still, because i shall never be worth such folly, such selfless devotion--got into belgium with false passports--american: in the hope of rescuing me. he came and enquired here--my last address in his remembrance--and came by sheer bad luck just as the kaiser was about to arrive. they jumped to the conclusion that--" _rossiter_: "_awfully, cruelly_ sad. but you can give me the details of it later on. you must have a long, long story of your own to tell which ought to be of poignant interest. but ... will you marry me? i suppose you know dear linda died--was killed by a bomb in a german air-raid last year--october, 1917. i really felt _heart-broken_ about it, but i know now i am only doing what she would have wished. she came at last to talk about you _quite_ differently, _quite_ understanding--" _vivie_: "that's what all widowers say. they always declare the dead wife begged them to marry again, and even designated her successor. poor linda! yes, i read an account of it in a copy of the _times_; but i couldn't of course communicate with you to say how _truly, truly_ sorry i was. i am glad to know she spoke nicely of me. did she really? or have you only made it up?" _michael_: "_of course_ i haven't. she really did. do you know, she and i quite altered after the war began? she lost all her old silliness and inefficiency--or at any rate only retained enough of the old childishness to make her endearing. and i really grew to love her. i quite forgot you. yes: i admit it.... "but somehow, after she was dead the old feeling for you came back ... and without any disloyalty to linda. i felt in a way--i know it is an absurd thing for a man of science to say, for we have still no proof--i felt somehow as though she lived still. that's why i don't want to get rid of the park crescent house. her presence seems to linger there. but i also knew--instinctively--that she would like us to come together.... she..." _waiter_ (knocking at door and slightly opening it): "madame! le général tompkins veut vous voir. il ajoute qu'il n'est pas habitué à attendre. il y a aussi m'sieur émile vandervelde, qui arrive instamment et qui n'a pas d'installation..." _rossiter_: "damn! let me go and settle with 'em. tompkins! i never heard such cheek--" _vivien_: "not at all. you forget i am manageress." (to waiter) "entrez done! dîtes au général que je serai à sa disposition dans trois minutes; et montrez-lui ce que nous avons en fait de chambres. tous les appartements avec bain sont pris. casez m'sieur vandervelde quelque part. du reste, je descendrai."... (waiter goes out) ... "michael! it is impossible to have a sentimental conversation here, and at this hour--eleven o'clock on a busy morning. if you want an answer to your second question, now you've seen me, meet me outside the palm house of the jardin botanique, at 3 p.m. i'll get off somehow for an hour just then. don't forget! it's close by here--along the rue royale. be absolutely punctual, or else i shall think that having _seen_ me, seen how changed i am, you have altered your mind. i shall _quite_ understand; only i _may_ come back at five minutes past three and accept general tompkins. acquaintances ripen quickly in brussels." * * * * * in the palm house--or rather one of its many compartments; 3.5 p.m., on a beautiful afternoon in early december. the sun is sinking over outspread brussels in a pink and yellow haze radiating from the good-humoured-looking, orange orb. there are no other visitors to the palm house, at any rate not to this compartment, except the superintending gardener--the same that cheered the last hours of mrs. warren. he recognizes vivien and salutes her gravely. seeing that she is accompanied by a gentleman in khaki he discreetly withdraws out of hearing and tidies up a tree fern. vivien and michael seat themselves on two green iron chairs under the fronds and in front of grey stems. _vivie_: "this is a favourite place of mine for assignations. i can't think why it is so little appreciated by young brussels. these palm houses are much more beautiful than anything at kew; they are in the heart of brussels, over which, as you see, you have a wonderful view. it was much more frequented when the germans were here. with all their brutality they did not injure this unequalled collection of tropical plants. they made the palm house an allowance of coal and coke in winter while we poor human beings went without. i used often to come in here on a winter's day to get warm and to forget my sorrows.... "look at that superb raphia--_what_ fronds! and that phoenix spinosa--and that aralia--" _rossiter_: "bother the aralia. i haven't come here for a botany lesson. besides, it isn't an aralia; it's a gomphocarpus.... vivie! _will_ you marry me?" _vivie_: "my dear michael: i was forty-three last october." _michael_: "i was _fifty-three_ last november, the day the armistice was signed. but i feel more like thirty-three. life in camp has quite rejuvenated me..." _vivie_ (continuing): ... "and my hair is cinder grey--an unfortunate transition colour. and if the gardener were not looking i should say: 'feel my elbows ... dreadfully bony! and my face has become..." she turns her face towards him. he sees tears trembling on the lower lashes of her grey eyes, but something has come into the features, some irradiation of love--is it the light of the sunset?--which imparts a tender youthfulness to the curvature of cheek, lips and chin. her face, indeed, might be of any age: it held the undying beauty of a goddess, in whom knowledge has sweetened to tenderness and divinity has dissolved in a need for compassion; and the youthful assurance of a happy woman whose wish at last is won.... for a minute she looks at him without finishing her sentence. then she sits up straighter and says explicitly: "yes, i will." * * * * * the gardener managed an occasional peep at them, sitting hand in hand. he wished the idyll to last as long as the clear daylight, but the hour for closing was four o'clock--"il n'y avait pas à nier." either they were husband and wife, reunited, after years of war-severance; or they were mature lovers, and probably of the most respectable. in either case, the necessary hint that ecstasies must transfer themselves at sunset from the glass houses of the jardin botanique to the outer air was best conveyed on this occasion by a discreet gift of flowers. accordingly he went on to where exotic lilies were blooming, picked a few blossoms, returned, came with soft padding steps up to vivie, offered them with a bow and "mes félicitations _sincères_, madame." vivie laughed and took the lilies; rossiter of course gave him a ten-franc note. and they sauntered slowly back to the hotel. l'envoi i am reproached by such art critics as deign to notice my pictures with "finishing my foregrounds over much,"--filling them with superabundant detail, making the primroses more important than the snow-peaks. and by my publishers with forgetting the price of paper and the cost of printing. my jury of matrons thinks i don't know where to leave off and that i might very well close this book on the answer that mrs. warren's daughter gave to sir michael rossiter's proposal of marriage in the palm house at brussels. "the reader," they say, "can very well fill in the rest of the story for himself or herself. it is hardly likely that vivie will cry off at the last moment, or michael reconsider the plunge into a second marriage. why therefore waste print and paper and our eyesight in describing the marriage ceremony, the inevitable visit to honoria, and what vivie did with the property she inherited from her mother?" no doubt they are all right. yet i am distrustful of my readers' judgment and imagination. i feel both want guiding, and i doubt their knowledge of the world and goodness of heart being equal to mine, except in rare cases. so i throw out these indications to influence the sequels they may plan to this story. i think that michael and vivie were married at the british legation in brussels between christmas and the new year of 1918-1919; before that legation was erected into an embassy; and that the marriage officer was kind, genial mr. hawk when he returned to brussels from the hague and proceeded to get the legation into working order. i am sure mr. hawk entered into the spirit of the thing and gave an informal breakfast afterwards in the rue de spa to which mons. and mme. walcker, mons. and mme. trouessart, and the directeur of the prison of saint-gilles and his wife were invited. i think the head gardener of the jardin botanique who had charge of the tropical houses cribbed from the collections some of the most magnificent blooms, and presented them to vivie on the morning of her marriage; and that afterwards she laid the bouquet on her mother's newly finished tomb in the cemetery of st. josse-ten-noode, where, the weather being singularly mild for the time of year, the flowers lasted fresh and blooming for several days. i am sure she and michael then crossed the road and passed on to the building of the tir national; entered it and stood for a moment in the verandah from which vivie had seen bertie adams executed; and passed on over the tussocky grass to the graves of bertie adams and edith cavell, where they did silent homage to the dead. i believe a few days afterwards they visited the senate where the victims of von bissing's "terror" had been tried, browbeaten, insulted, mocked. and the functionary who showed them over this superb national palace is certain to have included in his exposition the once splendid carpets which the german officers prior to their evacuation of the senate--all but the legislative chamber of which was used as a barracks for rough soldiery--had sprayed and barred, streaked and splodged with printing ink. he would also have pointed out the three-hundred-year-old tapestries they had ripped from the walls and the historical portraits they had slashed, and would again have emphasized the fact that in all these senseless devastations the officers were far worse than the men. also i am certain that michael and vivie made a pilgrimage to the prison of saint-gilles, and stood silently in the cell where bertie adams and vivie had spent those terrible days of suspense and despair between april 6 and april 8, 1917; and that when they entered that other compartment of the prison where edith cavell had passed her last days before her execution, they listened with sympathetic reverence to the recital by the directeur of verses from "l'hymne d'édith cavell"--as it is now called--no other than the sad old poem of human sorrow, _abide with me_; and that they appreciated to the full the warmth of belgian feeling which has turned the cell of edith cavell into a chapelle ardente in perpetuity. i think they returned to england in january, 1919, so that michael might get back quickly to his work of mending the maimed, now transferred to english hospitals; and so that vivie--always a practical woman--should prove her mother's will, secure her heritage and have it in hand as a fund from which to promote all the happiness she could. i doubt whether she will give much of it to "causes" rather than cases and to politics in preference to persons. i think she was awfully disgusted when she was back in the england of to-day not to find mrs. fawcett prime ministress and first lady of the treasury, annie kenney at the board of trade and christabel pankhurst running the ministry of health. it was disheartening after the long struggle for the woman's vote and the equality of the sexes in opportunity to find the same old men-muddlers in charge of all public affairs and departments of state, and the only woman on the benches of the house of commons a millionaire peeress never before identified with the struggle for the woman's cause. however i think her disenchantment did not diminish the rapture at finding herself once more in the intimacy of honoria armstrong. sir petworth, when he ran over on leave from the army of occupation, thought her enormously improved, though he had the tact not to say so. he frankly made the _amende honorable_ for his suspicions and churlishness of the past, and himself--i think--insisted on his frank and friendly children calling her "aunt vivie." i am equally sure that vivie was not long in london before she appeared at dear old praddy's studio, beautifully gowned and looking years younger than forty-three; and i shouldn't wonder but that her presence once more in his circle will give his frame a fillip so that he may cheat death over a few more annual outbreaks of influenza. i am convinced that he has left all his money, after providing a handsome annuity for the parlour-maid, to vivie, knowing that in her hands, far more--and far more quickly than in those that direct princely and public charities--will his funds reach the students and the poverty-stricken artists whom he wants to benefit. i think that after spending the first five months of 1919 in london, getting no. 1 park crescent tidy again and fully repaired (because michael wished to pursue more thoroughly than ever his biological researches), vivie and michael went off to spend their real honeymoon in the occupied territory of the rhineland, in that never-to-be forgotten june, memorable for its splendid sunshine and the beauty of its flowers and foliage. i think they did this expressly (under the guise of a visit to general armstrong), so that vivie and minna von stachelberg--now minna schultz--might foregather at bonn. minna had married again, an officer of no family but of means and of fine physique whom she had nursed in brussels. his left arm had been shattered, but the skill of the belgian surgeons and her devoted nursing had saved it from being amputated. she had wished however to have him examined by some great exponent of curative surgery at bonn university, and the conjunction of the celebrated sir michael rossiter--who in his discussions of anatomy with the bonn professors forgot there had ever been a war between britain and germany--was most opportune. i think however that sir michael said this was all humbug on minna's part, and that all she wanted--her husband, major schultz, looking the picture of health--was to meet once more her well-beloved vivie. at any rate i am sure they met in the rhineland in a propitious month when you could be out of doors all day and all night; and that minna said some time or other how happy she was in her second marriage, and that however heartily she disliked militarism and condemned war, soldiers made the nicest husbands. i think before she and vivie parted to go their several ways, they determined to work for the building up of an anglo-german reconciliation, and for the advocacy in both countries of a man-and-woman government. i think, nevertheless, that vivie being a sound business woman and possessing a strong sense of justice on the lines of an eye for an eye, will claim at least five thousand pounds from the german government for the devastations and thefts at the villa beau-séjour; and that having got it and having disposed of her mother's jewellery and plate for £3,500, she will present the villa beau-séjour property and an endowment of £8,000 to the town of brussels, as an educational orphanage for the children of belgian soldiers who have died in the war, where they may receive a practical education in agriculture and poultry farming. i fancy she gave a thousand pounds to pasteur walcker's congo mission; and transferred to mme. trouessart all her shares in and rights over the hotel édouard-sept. i also picture to myself the rossiters having a motor tour of pure pleasure and delight of the eyes in south wales in september, 1919. i imagine their going to pontystrad and surprising the vicar and vicaress and puzzling them by purposely-diffuse stories of vivie's cousin the late david vavasour williams, intended to convey the idea, without telling unnecessary fibs, that david died abroad during the war, but that vivie in his memory and that of his dear old father intends to continue a strong personal interest in the village hall and its educational aims. i also picture vivie going alone to mrs. evanwy's rose-entwined cottage. the old lady is now rather shaky and does not walk far from her little garden with its box bower and garden seat. i can foreshadow vivie dispelling some of the mystery about david williams and being embraced by the old nannie with warm affection and the hearty assurances that she had guessed the secret from the very first but had been so drawn to the false david williams and so sure of his honest purposes that nothing would have induced her to undeceive the old vicar. i can even imagine the old lady ere--years hence--paralysis strikes her down--telling vivie so much gossip about the welsh vavasours that vivie becomes positively certain her mother came from that stock and that she really was first cousin to the boy she personated for the laudable purpose of showing how well a woman could practise at the bar. i like to think also that by the present year of grace--1920--the rossiters will have become convinced that no. 1 park crescent, even with the zoo and the royal botanic gardens close by and the ornamental garden of regent's park in between, does not satisfy all their needs and ambitions: that they will have resolved even before this year began--to supplement it by a home in the country for week-ends, for summer visits, and finally for rest in their old age. that for this purpose they will acquire some ideal grange or priory, or ample farmstead near petworth and the armstrongs' home, over against the south downs, and near the river rother; that it shall be in no mere suburb of petworth but in a stately little village with its own character and history going back to roman times and a church with a saxon body and a norman chancel. and that in the ideal churchyard of this enviable church with ancient yews and 18th century tomb-stones, and old, old benches in the sunshine for the grandfathers and loafers of the village to sit on and smoke of a sabbath morning, a place shall be found for the bones of bertie adams; reverently brought over from the grassy amphitheatre of the tir national to repose in this churchyard of west sussex which looks out over one of the finest cricket pitches in the county. if, then, there is any lien between the mouldering fragments of our bodies and the inexplicable personality which has been generated in the living brain, the former office boy of _fraser and warren_ will know that he is always present in the memory of vivien rossiter, that she has placed the few physical fragments still representing him in such a setting as would have delighted his honest, simple nature in his lifetime. he would also know that his children are now hers and her husband's; that his nance very rightly married the excellent butler, jenkins, with whom he had discussed many a cricket score; and that love, after all, is stronger than death. the end the wife of sir isaac harman by h. g. wells new york the macmillan company 1914 all rights reserved copyright, 1914, by h. g. wells. set up and electrotyped. published september, 1914. contents chapter page i. introduces lady harman 1 ii. the personality of sir isaac 30 iii. lady harman at home 51 iv. the beginnings of lady harman 83 v. the world according to sir isaac 98 vi. the adventurous afternoon 143 vii. lady harman learns about herself 198 viii. sir isaac as petruchio 231 ix. mr. brumley is troubled by difficult ideas 287 x. lady harman comes out 343 xi. the last crisis 427 xii. love and a serious lady 496 the wife of sir isaac harman chapter the first introduces lady harman §1 the motor-car entered a little white gate, came to a porch under a thick wig of jasmine, and stopped. the chauffeur indicated by a movement of the head that this at last was it. a tall young woman with a big soft mouth, great masses of blue-black hair on either side of a broad, low forehead, and eyes of so dark a brown you might have thought them black, drooped forward and surveyed the house with a mixture of keen appreciation and that gentle apprehension which is the shadow of desire in unassuming natures.... the little house with the white-framed windows looked at her with a sleepy wakefulness from under its blinds, and made no sign. beyond the corner was a glimpse of lawn, a rank of delphiniums, and the sound of a wheel-barrow. "clarence!" the lady called again. clarence, with an air of exceeding his duties, decided to hear, descended slowly, and came to the door. "very likely--if you were to look for a bell, clarence...." clarence regarded the porch with a hostile air, made no secret that he thought it a fool of a porch, seemed on the point of disobedience, and submitted. his gestures suggested a belief that he would next be asked to boil eggs or do the boots. he found a bell and rang it with the needless violence of a man who has no special knowledge of ringing bells. how was _he_ to know? he was a chauffeur. the bell did not so much ring as explode and swamp the place. sounds of ringing came from all the windows, and even out of the chimneys. it seemed as if once set ringing that bell would never cease.... clarence went to the bonnet of his machine, and presented his stooping back in a defensive manner against anyone who might come out. he wasn't a footman, anyhow. he'd rung that bell all right, and now he must see to his engine. "he's rung so _loud!_" said the lady weakly--apparently to god. the door behind the neat white pillars opened, and a little red-nosed woman, in a cap she had evidently put on without a proper glass, appeared. she surveyed the car and its occupant with disfavour over her also very oblique spectacles. the lady waved a pink paper to her, a house-agent's order to view. "is this black strands?" she shouted. the little woman advanced slowly with her eyes fixed malevolently on the pink paper. she seemed to be stalking it. "this is black strands?" repeated the tall lady. "i should be so sorry if i disturbed you--if it isn't; ringing the bell like that--and all. you can't think----" "this is black _strand_," said the little old woman with a note of deep reproach, and suddenly ceased to look over her glasses and looked through them. she looked no kindlier through them, and her eye seemed much larger. she was now regarding the lady in the car, though with a sustained alertness towards the pink paper. "i suppose," she said, "you've come to see over the place?" "if it doesn't disturb anyone; if it is quite convenient----" "mr. brumley is _hout_," said the little old woman. "and if you got an order to view, you got an order to view." "if you think i might." the lady stood up in the car, a tall and graceful figure of doubt and desire and glossy black fur. "i'm sure it looks a very charming house." "it's _clean_," said the little old woman, "from top to toe. look as you may." "i'm sure it is," said the tall lady, and put aside her great fur coat from her lithe, slender, red-clad body. (she was permitted by a sudden civility of clarence's to descend.) "why! the windows," she said, pausing on the step, "are like crystal." "these very 'ands," said the little old woman, and glanced up at the windows the lady had praised. the little old woman's initial sternness wrinkled and softened as the skin of a windfall does after a day or so upon the ground. she half turned in the doorway and made a sudden vergerlike gesture. "we enter," she said, "by the 'all.... them's mr. brumley's 'ats and sticks. every 'at or cap 'as a stick, and every stick 'as a 'at _or_ cap, and on the 'all table is the gloves corresponding. on the right is the door leading to the kitching, on the left is the large droring-room which mr. brumley 'as took as 'is study." her voice fell to lowlier things. "the other door beyond is a small lavatory 'aving a basing for washing 'ands." "it's a perfectly delightful hall," said the lady. "so low and wide-looking. and everything so bright--and lovely. those long, italian pictures! and how charming that broad outlook upon the garden beyond!" "you'll think it charminger when you see the garding," said the little old woman. "it was mrs. brumley's especial delight. much of it--with 'er own 'ands." "we now enter the droring-room," she proceeded, and flinging open the door to the right was received with an indistinct cry suggestive of the words, "oh, _damn_ it!" the stout medium-sized gentleman in an artistic green-grey norfolk suit, from whom the cry proceeded, was kneeling on the floor close to the wide-open window, and he was engaged in lacing up a boot. he had a round, ruddy, rather handsome, amiable face with a sort of bang of brown hair coming over one temple, and a large silk bow under his chin and a little towards one ear, such as artists and artistic men of letters affect. his profile was regular and fine, his eyes expressive, his mouth, a very passable mouth. his features expressed at first only the naïve horror of a shy man unveiled. intelligent appreciation supervened. there was a crowded moment of rapid mutual inspection. the lady's attitude was that of the enthusiastic house-explorer arrested in full flight, falling swiftly towards apology and retreat. (it was a frightfully attractive room, too, full of the brightest colour, and with a big white cast of a statue--a venus!--in the window.) she backed over the threshold again. "i thought you was out by that window, sir," said the little old woman intimately, and was nearly shutting the door between them and all the beginnings of this story. but the voice of the gentleman arrested and wedged open the closing door. "i----are you looking at the house?" he said. "i say! just a moment, mrs. rabbit." he came down the length of the room with a slight flicking noise due to the scandalized excitement of his abandoned laces. the lady was reminded of her not so very distant schooldays, when it would have been considered a suitable answer to such a question as his to reply, "no, i am walking down piccadilly on my hands." but instead she waved that pink paper again. "the agents," she said. "recommended--specially. so sorry if i intrude. i ought, i know, to have written first; but i came on an impulse." by this time the gentleman in the artistic tie, who had also the artistic eye for such matters, had discovered that the lady was young, delightfully slender, either pretty or beautiful, he could scarcely tell which, and very, very well dressed. "i am glad," he said, with remarkable decision, "that i was not out. _i_ will show you the house." "'ow _can_ you, sir?" intervened the little old woman. "oh! show a house! why not?" "the kitchings--you don't understand the range, sir--it's beyond you. and upstairs. you can't show a lady upstairs." the gentleman reflected upon these difficulties. "well, i'm going to show her all i can show her anyhow. and after that, mrs. rabbit, you shall come in. you needn't wait." "i'm thinking," said mrs. rabbit, folding stiff little arms and regarding him sternly. "you won't be much good after tea, you know, if you don't get your afternoon's exercise." "rendez-vous in the kitchen, mrs. rabbit," said mr. brumley, firmly, and mrs. rabbit after a moment of mute struggle disappeared discontentedly. "i do not want to be the least bit a bother," said the lady. "i'm intruding, i know, without the least bit of notice. i _do_ hope i'm not disturbing you----" she seemed to make an effort to stop at that, and failed and added--"the least bit. do please tell me if i am." "not at all," said mr. brumley. "i hate my afternoon's walk as a prisoner hates the treadmill." "she's such a nice old creature." "she's been a mother--and several aunts--to us ever since my wife died. she was the first servant we ever had." "all this house," he explained to his visitor's questioning eyes, "was my wife's creation. it was a little featureless agent's house on the edge of these pine-woods. she saw something in the shape of the rooms--and that central hall. we've enlarged it of course. twice. this was two rooms, that is why there is a step down in the centre." "that window and window-seat----" "that was her addition," said mr. brumley. "all this room is--replete--with her personality." he hesitated, and explained further. "when we prepared this house--we expected to be better off--than we subsequently became--and she could let herself go. much is from holland and italy." "and that beautiful old writing-desk with the little single rose in a glass!" "she put it there. she even in a sense put the flower there. it is renewed of course. by mrs. rabbit. she trained mrs. rabbit." he sighed slightly, apparently at some thought of mrs. rabbit. "you--you write----" the lady stopped, and then diverted a question that she perhaps considered too blunt, "there?" "largely. i am--a sort of author. perhaps you know my books. not very important books--but people sometimes read them." the rose-pink of the lady's cheek deepened by a shade. within her pretty head, her mind rushed to and fro saying "brumley? brumley?" then she had a saving gleam. "are you _george_ brumley?" she asked,--"_the_ george brumley?" "my name _is_ george brumley," he said, with a proud modesty. "perhaps you know my little euphemia books? they are still the most read." the lady made a faint, dishonest assent-like noise; and her rose-pink deepened another shade. but her interlocutor was not watching her very closely just then. "euphemia was my wife," he said, "at least, my wife gave her to me--a kind of exhalation. _this_"--his voice fell with a genuine respect for literary associations--"was euphemia's home." "i still," he continued, "go on. i go on writing about euphemia. i have to. in this house. with my tradition.... but it is becoming painful--painful. curiously more painful now than at the beginning. and i want to go. i want at last to make a break. that is why i am letting or selling the house.... there will be no more euphemia." his voice fell to silence. the lady surveyed the long low clear room so cleverly prepared for life, with its white wall, its dutch clock, its dutch dresser, its pretty seats about the open fireplace, its cleverly placed bureau, its sun-trap at the garden end; she could feel the rich intention of living in its every arrangement and a sense of uncertainty in things struck home to her. she seemed to see a woman, a woman like herself--only very, very much cleverer--flitting about the room and making it. and then this woman had vanished--nowhither. leaving this gentleman--sadly left--in the care of mrs. rabbit. "and she is dead?" she said with a softness in her dark eyes and a fall in her voice that was quite natural and very pretty. "she died," said mr. brumley, "three years and a half ago." he reflected. "almost exactly." he paused and she filled the pause with feeling. he became suddenly very brave and brisk and businesslike. he led the way back into the hall and made explanations. "it is not so much a hall as a hall living-room. we use that end, except when we go out upon the verandah beyond, as our dining-room. the door to the right is the kitchen." the lady's attention was caught again by the bright long eventful pictures that had already pleased her. "they are copies of two of carpaccio's st. george series in venice," he said. "we bought them together there. but no doubt you've seen the originals. in a little old place with a custodian and rather dark. one of those corners--so full of that delightful out-of-the-wayishness which is so characteristic, i think, of venice. i don't know if you found that in venice?" "i've never been abroad," said the lady. "never. i should love to go. i suppose you and your wife went--ever so much." he had a transitory wonder that so fine a lady should be untravelled, but his eagerness to display his backgrounds prevented him thinking that out at the time. "two or three times," he said, "before our little boy came to us. and always returning with something for this place. look!" he went on, stepped across an exquisite little brick court to a lawn of soft emerald and turning back upon the house. "that dellia robbia placque we lugged all the way back from florence with us, and that stone bird-bath is from siena." "how bright it is!" murmured the lady after a brief still appreciation. "delightfully bright. as though it would shine even if the sun didn't." and she abandoned herself to the rapture of seeing a house and garden that were for once better even than the agent's superlatives. and within her grasp if she chose--within her grasp. she made the garden melodious with soft appreciative sounds. she had a small voice for her size but quite a charming one, a little live bird of a voice, bright and sweet. it was a clear unruffled afternoon; even the unseen wheel-barrow had very sensibly ceased to creak and seemed to be somewhere listening.... only one trivial matter marred their easy explorations;--his boots remained unlaced. no propitious moment came when he could stoop and lace them. he was not a dexterous man with eyelets, and stooping made him grunt and his head swim. he hoped these trailing imperfections went unmarked. he tried subtly to lead this charming lady about and at the same time walk a little behind her. she on her part could not determine whether he would be displeased or not if she noticed this slight embarrassment and asked him to set it right. they were quite long leather laces and they flew about with a sturdy negligence of anything but their own offensive contentment, like a gross man who whistles a vulgar tune as he goes round some ancient church; flick, flock, they went, and flip, flap, enjoying themselves, and sometimes he trod on one and halted in his steps, and sometimes for a moment she felt her foot tether him. but man is the adaptable animal and presently they both became more used to these inconveniences and more mechanical in their efforts to avoid them. they treated those laces then exactly as nice people would treat that gross man; a minimum of polite attention and all the rest pointedly directed away from him.... the garden was full of things that people dream about doing in their gardens and mostly never do. there was a rose garden all blooming in chorus, and with pillar-roses and arches that were not so much growths as overflowing cornucopias of roses, and a neat orchard with shapely trees white-painted to their exact middles, a stone wall bearing clematis and a clothes-line so gay with mr. brumley's blue and white flannel shirts that it seemed an essential part of the design. and then there was a great border of herbaceous perennials backed by delphiniums and monkshood already in flower and budding hollyhocks rising to their duty; a border that reared its blaze of colour against a hill-slope dark with pines. there was no hedge whatever to this delightful garden. it seemed to go straight into the pine-woods; only an invisible netting marked its limits and fended off the industrious curiosity of the rabbits. "this strip of wood is ours right up to the crest," he said, "and from the crest one has a view. one has two views. if you would care----?" the lady made it clear that she was there to see all she could. she radiated her appetite to see. he carried a fur stole for her over his arm and flicked the way up the hill. flip, flap, flop. she followed demurely. "this is the only view i care to show you now," he said at the crest. "there was a better one beyond there. but--it has been defiled.... those hills! i knew you would like them. the space of it! and ... yet----. this view--lacks the shining ponds. there are wonderful distant ponds. after all i must show you the other! but you see there is the high-road, and the high-road has produced an abomination. along here we go. now. don't look down please." his gesture covered the foreground. "look right over the nearer things into the distance. there!" the lady regarded the wide view with serene appreciation. "i don't see," she said, "that it's in any way ruined. it's perfect." "you don't see! ah! you look right over. you look high. i wish i could too. but that screaming board! i wish the man's crusts would choke him." and indeed quite close at hand, where the road curved about below them, the statement that staminal bread, the true staff of life, was sold only by the international bread shops, was flung out with a vigour of yellow and prussian blue that made the landscape tame. his finger directed her questioning eye. "_oh!_" said the lady suddenly, as one who is convicted of a stupidity and coloured slightly. "in the morning of course it is worse. the sun comes directly on to it. then really and truly it blots out everything." the lady stood quite silent for a little time, with her eyes on the distant ponds. then he perceived that she was blushing. she turned to her interlocutor as a puzzled pupil might turn to a teacher. "it really is very good bread," she said. "they make it----oh! most carefully. with the germ in. and one has to tell people." her point of view surprised him. he had expected nothing but a docile sympathy. "but to tell people _here_!" he said. "yes, i suppose one oughtn't to tell them here." "man does not live by bread alone." she gave the faintest assent. "this is the work of one pushful, shoving creature, a man named harman. imagine him! imagine what he must be! don't you feel his soul defiling us?--this summit of a stupendous pile of--dough, thinking of nothing but his miserable monstrous profits, seeing nothing in the delight of life, the beauty of the world but something that attracts attention, draws eyes, something that gives him his horrible opportunity of getting ahead of all his poor little competitors and inserting--_this!_ it's the quintessence of all that is wrong with the world;--squalid, shameless huckstering!" he flew off at a tangent. "four or five years ago they made this landscape disease,--a knight!" he looked at her for a sympathetic indignation, and then suddenly something snapped in his brain and he understood. there wasn't an instant between absolute innocence and absolute knowledge. "you see," she said as responsive as though he had cried out sharply at the horror in his mind, "sir isaac is my husband. naturally ... i ought to have given you my name to begin with. it was silly...." mr. brumley gave one wild glance at the board, but indeed there was not a word to be said in its mitigation. it was the crude advertisement of a crude pretentious thing crudely sold. "my dear lady!" he said in his largest style, "i am desolated! but i have said it! it isn't a pretty board." a memory of epithets pricked him. "you must forgive--a certain touch of--rhetoric." he turned about as if to dismiss the board altogether, but she remained with her brows very faintly knit, surveying the cause of his offence. "it isn't a _pretty_ board," she said. "i've wondered at times.... it isn't." "i implore you to forget that outbreak--mere petulance--because, i suppose, of a peculiar liking for that particular view. there are--associations----" "i've wondered lately," she continued, holding on to her own thoughts, "what people _did_ think of them. and it's curious--to hear----" for a moment neither spoke, she surveyed the board and he the tall ease of her pose. and he was thinking she must surely be the most beautiful woman he had ever encountered. the whole country might be covered with boards if it gave us such women as this. he felt the urgent need of some phrase, to pull the situation out of this pit into which it had fallen. he was a little unready, his faculties all as it were neglecting his needs and crowding to the windows to stare, and meanwhile she spoke again, with something of the frankness of one who thinks aloud. "you see," she said, "one _doesn't_ hear. one thinks perhaps----and there it is. when one marries very young one is apt to take so much for granted. and afterwards----" she was wonderfully expressive in her inexpressiveness, he thought, but found as yet no saving phrase. her thought continued to drop from her. "one sees them so much that at last one doesn't see them." she turned away to survey the little house again; it was visible in bright strips between the red-scarred pine stems. she looked at it chin up, with a still approval--but she was the slenderest loveliness, and with such a dignity!--and she spoke at length as though the board had never existed. "it's like a little piece of another world; so bright and so--perfect." there was the phantom of a sigh in her voice. "i think you'll be charmed by our rockery," he said. "it was one of our particular efforts. every time we two went abroad we came back with something, stonecrop or alpine or some little bulb from the wayside." "how can you leave it!" he was leaving it because it bored him to death. but so intricate is the human mind that it was with perfect sincerity he answered: "it will be a tremendous wrench.... i have to go." "and you've written most of your books here and lived here!" the note of sympathy in her voice gave him a sudden suspicion that she imagined his departure due to poverty. now to be poor as an author is to be unpopular, and he valued his popularity--with the better sort of people. he hastened to explain. "i have to go, because here, you see, here, neither for me nor my little son, is it life. it's a place of memories, a place of accomplished beauty. my son already breaks away,--a preparatory school at margate. healthier, better, for us to break altogether i feel, wrench though it may. it's full for us at least--a new tenant would be different of course--but for _us_ it's full of associations we can't alter, can't for the life of us change. nothing you see goes on. and life you know _is_ change--change and going on." he paused impressively on his generalization. "but you will want----you will want to hand it over to--to sympathetic people of course. people," she faltered, "who will understand." mr. brumley took an immense stride--conversationally. "i am certain there is no one i would more readily see in that house than yourself," he said. "but----" she protested. "and besides, you don't know me!" "one knows some things at once, and i am as sure you would--understand--as if i had known you twenty years. it may seem absurd to you, but when i looked up just now and saw you for the first time, i thought--this, this is the tenant. this is her house.... not a doubt. that is why i did not go for my walk--came round with you." "you really think you would like us to have that house?" she said. "_still?_" "no one better," said mr. brumley. "after the board?" "after a hundred boards, i let the house to you...." "my husband of course will be the tenant," reflected lady harman. she seemed to brighten again by an effort: "i have always wanted something like this, that wasn't gorgeous, that wasn't mean. i can't _make_ things. it isn't every one--can _make_ a place...." §2 mr. brumley found their subsequent conversation the fullest realization of his extremest hopes. behind his amiable speeches, which soon grew altogether easy and confident again, a hundred imps of vanity were patting his back for the intuition, the swift decision that had abandoned his walk so promptly. in some extraordinary way the incident of the board became impossible; it hadn't happened, he felt, or it had happened differently. anyhow there was no time to think that over now. he guided the lady to the two little greenhouses, made her note the opening glow of the great autumnal border and brought her to the rock garden. she stooped and loved and almost kissed the soft healthy cushions of pampered saxifrage: she appreciated the cleverness of the moss-bed--where there were droseras; she knelt to the gentians; she had a kindly word for that bank-holiday corner where london pride still belatedly rejoiced; she cried out at the delicate iceland poppies that thrust up between the stones of the rough pavement; and so in the most amiable accord they came to the raised seat in the heart of it all, and sat down and took in the whole effect of the place, and backing of woods, the lush borders, the neat lawn, the still neater orchard, the pergola, the nearer delicacies among the stones, and the gable, the shining white rough-cast of the walls, the casement windows, the projecting upper story, the carefully sought-out old tiles of the roof. and everything bathed in that caressing sunshine which does not scorch nor burn but gilds and warms deliciously, that summer sunshine which only northward islands know. recovering from his first astonishment and his first misadventure, mr. brumley was soon himself again, talkative, interesting, subtly and gently aggressive. for once one may use a hackneyed phrase without the slightest exaggeration; he was charmed... he was one of those very natural-minded men with active imaginations who find women the most interesting things in a full and interesting universe. he was an entirely good man and almost professionally on the side of goodness, his pen was a pillar of the home and he was hostile and even actively hostile to all those influences that would undermine and change--anything; but he did find women attractive. he watched them and thought about them, he loved to be with them, he would take great pains to please and interest them, and his mind was frequently dreaming quite actively of them, of championing them, saying wonderful and impressive things to them, having great friendships with them, adoring them and being adored by them. at times he had to ride this interest on the curb. at times the vigour of its urgencies made him inconsistent and secretive.... comparatively his own sex was a matter of indifference to him. indeed he was a very normal man. even such abstractions as goodness and justice had rich feminine figures in his mind, and when he sat down to write criticism at his desk, that pretty little slut of a delphic sibyl presided over his activities. so that it was a cultivated as well as an attentive eye that studied the movements of lady harman and an experienced ear that weighed the words and cadences of her entirely inadequate and extremely expressive share in their conversation. he had enjoyed the social advantages of a popular and presentable man of letters, and he had met a variety of ladies; but he had never yet met anyone at all like lady harman. she was pretty and quite young and fresh; he doubted if she was as much as four-and-twenty; she was as simple-mannered as though she was ever so much younger than that, and dignified as though she was ever so much older; and she had a sort of lustre of wealth about her----. one met it sometimes in young richly married jewesses, but though she was very dark she wasn't at all of that type; he was inclined to think she must be welsh. this manifest spending of great lots of money on the richest, finest and fluffiest things was the only aspect of her that sustained the parvenu idea; and it wasn't in any way carried out by her manners, which were as modest and silent and inaggressive as the very best can be. personally he liked opulence, he responded to countless-guinea furs.... soon there was a neat little history in his mind that was reasonably near the truth, of a hard-up professional family, fatherless perhaps, of a mercenary marriage at seventeen or so--and this.... and while mr. brumley's observant and speculative faculties were thus active, his voice was busily engaged. with the accumulated artistry of years he was developing his pose. he did it almost subconsciously. he flung out hint and impulsive confidence and casual statement with the careless assurance of the accustomed performer, until by nearly imperceptible degrees that finished picture of the two young lovers, happy, artistic, a little bohemian and one of them doomed to die, making their home together in an atmosphere of sunny gaiety, came into being in her mind.... "it must have been beautiful to have begun life like that," she said in a voice that was a sigh, and it flashed joyfully across mr. brumley's mind that this wonderful person could envy his euphemia. "yes," he said, "at least we had our spring." "to be together," said the lady, "and--so beautifully poor...." there is a phase in every relationship when one must generalize if one is to go further. a certain practice in this kind of talk with ladies blunted the finer sensibilities of mr. brumley. at any rate he was able to produce this sentence without a qualm. "life," he said, "is sometimes a very extraordinary thing." lady harman reflected upon this statement and then responded with an air of remembered moments: "isn't it." "one loses the most precious things," said mr. brumley, "and one loses them and it seems as though one couldn't go on. and one goes on." "and one finds oneself," said lady harman, "without all sorts of precious things----" and she stopped, transparently realizing that she was saying too much. "there is a sort of vitality about life," said mr. brumley, and stopped as if on the verge of profundities. "i suppose one hopes," said lady harman. "and one doesn't think. and things happen." "things happen," assented mr. brumley. for a little while their minds rested upon this thought, as chasing butterflies might rest together on a flower. "and so i am going to leave this," mr. brumley resumed. "i am going up there to london for a time with my boy. then perhaps we may travel-germany, italy, perhaps-in his holidays. it is beginning again, i feel with him. but then even we two must drift apart. i can't deny him a public school sooner or later. his own road...." "it will be lonely for you," sympathized the lady. "i have my work," said mr. brumley with a sort of valiant sadness. "yes, i suppose your work----" she left an eloquent gap. "there, of course, one's fortunate," said mr. brumley. "i wish," said lady harman, with a sudden frankness and a little quickening of her colour, "that i had some work. something--that was my own." "but you have----there are social duties. there must be all sorts of things." "there are--all sorts of things. i suppose i'm ungrateful. i have my children." "you have children, lady harman!" "i've _four_." he was really astonished, "your _own_?" she turned her fawn's eyes on his with a sudden wonder at his meaning. "my own!" she said with the faintest tinge of astonished laughter in her voice. "what else could they be?" "i thought----i thought you might have step-children." "oh! of course! no! i'm their mother;--all four of them. they're mine as far as that goes. anyhow." and her eye questioned him again for his intentions. but his thought ran along its own path. "you see," he said, "there is something about you--so freshly beginning life. so like--spring." "you thought i was too young! i'm nearly six-and-twenty! but all the same,--though they're mine,--_still_----why shouldn't a woman have work in the world, mr. brumley? in spite of all that." "but surely--that's the most beautiful work in the world that anyone could possibly have." lady harman reflected. she seemed to hesitate on the verge of some answer and not to say it. "you see," she said, "it may have been different with you.... when one has a lot of nurses, and not very much authority." she coloured deeply and broke back from the impending revelations. "no," she said, "i would like some work of my own." §3 at this point their conversation was interrupted by the lady's chauffeur in a manner that struck mr. brumley as extraordinary, but which the tall lady evidently regarded as the most natural thing in the world. mr. clarence appeared walking across the lawn towards them, surveying the charms of as obviously a charming garden as one could have, with the disdain and hostility natural to a chauffeur. he did not so much touch his cap as indicate that it was within reach, and that he could if he pleased touch it. "it's time you were going, my lady," he said. "sir isaac will be coming back by the five-twelve, and there'll be a nice to-do if you ain't at home and me at the station and everything in order again." manifestly an abnormal expedition. "must we start at once, clarence?" asked the lady consulting a bracelet watch. "you surely won't take two hours----" "i can give you fifteen minutes more, my lady," said clarence, "provided i may let her out and take my corners just exactly in my own way." "and i must give you tea," said mr. brumley, rising to his feet. "and there is the kitchen." "and upstairs! i'm afraid, clarence, for this occasion only you must--what is it?--let her out." "and no 'oh clarence!' my lady?" she ignored that. "i'll tell mrs. rabbit at once," said mr. brumley, and started to run and trod in some complicated way on one of his loose laces and was precipitated down the rockery steps. "oh!" cried the lady. "mind!" and clasped her hands. he made a sound exactly like the word "damnation" as he fell, but he didn't so much get up as bounce up, apparently in the brightest of tempers, and laughed, held out two earthy hands for sympathy with a mock rueful grimace, and went on, earthy-green at the knees and a little more carefully towards the house. clarence, having halted to drink deep satisfaction from this disaster, made his way along a nearly parallel path towards the kitchen, leaving his lady to follow as she chose to the house. "_you'll_ take a cup of tea?" called mr. brumley. "oh! _i'll_ take a cup all right," said clarence in the kindly voice of one who addresses an amusing inferior.... mrs. rabbit had already got the tea-things out upon the cane table in the pretty verandah, and took it ill that she should be supposed not to have thought of these preparations. mr. brumley disappeared for a few minutes into the house. he returned with a conscious relief on his face, clean hands, brushed knees, and his boots securely laced. he found lady harman already pouring out tea. "you see," she said, to excuse this pleasant enterprise on her part, "my husband has to be met at the station with the car.... and of course he has no idea----" she left what it was of which sir isaac had no idea to the groping speculations of mr. brumley. §4 that evening mr. brumley was quite unable to work. his mind was full of this beautiful dark lady who had come so unexpectedly into his world. perhaps there are such things as premonitions. at any rate he had an altogether disproportionate sense of the significance of the afternoon's adventure,--which after all was a very small adventure indeed. a mere talk. his mind refused to leave her, her black furry slenderness, her dark trustful eyes, the sweet firmness of her perfect lips, her appealing simplicity that was yet somehow compatible with the completest self-possession. he went over the incident of the board again and again, scraping his memory for any lurking crumb of detail as a starving man might scrape an insufficient plate. her dignity, her gracious frank forgiveness; no queen alive in these days could have touched her.... but it wasn't a mere elaborate admiration. there was something about her, about the quality of their meeting. most people know that sort of intimation. this person, it says, so fine, so brave, so distant still in so many splendid and impressive qualities, is yet in ways as yet undefined and unexplored, subtly and abundantly--for _you_. it was that made all her novelty and distinction and high quality and beauty so dominating among mr. brumley's thoughts. without that his interest might have been almost entirely--academic. but there was woven all through her the hints of an imaginable alliance, with _us_, with the things that are brumley, with all that makes beautiful little cottages and resents advertisements in lovely places, with us as against something over there lurking behind that board, something else, something out of which she came. he vaguely adumbrated what it was out of which she came. a closed narrow life--with horrid vast enviable quantities of money. a life, could one use the word _vulgar_?--so that carpaccio, della robbia, old furniture, a garden unostentatiously perfect, and the atmosphere of _belles-lettres_, seemed things of another more desirable world. (she had never been abroad.) a world, too, that would be so willing, so happy to enfold her, furs, funds, freshness--everything. and all this was somehow animated by the stirring warmth in the june weather, for spring raised the sap in mr. brumley as well as in his trees, had been a restless time for him all his life. this spring particularly had sensitized him, and now a light had shone. he was so unable to work that for twenty minutes he sat over a pleasant little essay on shakespear's garden that by means of a concordance and his natural aptitude he was writing for the book of the national shakespear theatre, without adding a single fancy to its elegant playfulness. then he decided he needed his afternoon's walk after all, and he took cap and stick and went out, and presently found himself surveying that yellow and blue board and seeing it from an entirely new point of view.... it seemed to him that he hadn't made the best use of his conversational opportunities, and for a time this troubled him.... toward the twilight he was walking along the path that runs through the heather along the edge of the rusty dark ironstone lake opposite the pine-woods. he spoke his thoughts aloud to the discreet bat that flitted about him. "i wonder," he said, "whether i shall ever set eyes on her again...." in the small hours when he ought to have been fast asleep he decided she would certainly take the house, and that he would see her again quite a number of times. a long tangle of unavoidable detail for discussion might be improvised by an ingenious man. and the rest of that waking interval passed in such inventions, which became more and more vague and magnificent and familiar as mr. brumley lapsed into slumber again.... next day the garden essay was still neglected, and he wrote a pretty vague little song about an earthly mourner and a fresh presence that set him thinking of the story of persephone and how she passed in the springtime up from the shadows again, blessing as she passed.... he pulled himself together about midday, cycled over to gorshott for lunch at the clubhouse and a round with horace toomer in the afternoon, re-read the poem after tea, decided it was poor, tore it up and got himself down to his little fantasy about shakespear's garden for a good two hours before supper. it was a sketch of that fortunate poet (whose definitive immortality is now being assured by an influential committee) walking round his stratford garden with his daughter, quoting himself copiously with an accuracy and inappropriateness that reflected more credit upon his heart than upon his head, and saying in addition many distinctively brumley things. when mrs. rabbit, with a solicitude acquired from the late mrs. brumley, asked him how he had got on with his work--the sight of verse on his paper had made her anxious--he could answer quite truthfully, "like a house afire." chapter the second the personality of sir isaac §1 it is to be remarked that two facts, usually esteemed as supremely important in the life of a woman, do not seem to have affected mr. brumley's state of mind nearly so much as quite trivial personal details about lady harman. the first of these facts was the existence of the lady's four children, and the second, sir isaac. mr. brumley did not think very much of either of these two facts; if he had they would have spoilt the portrait in his mind; and when he did think of them it was chiefly to think how remarkably little they were necessary to that picture's completeness. he spent some little time however trying to recall exactly what it was she had said about her children. he couldn't now succeed in reproducing her words, if indeed it had been by anything so explicit as words that she had conveyed to him that she didn't feel her children were altogether hers. "incidental results of the collapse of her girlhood," tried mr. brumley, "when she married harman." expensive nurses, governesses--the best that money without prestige or training could buy. and then probably a mother-in-law. and as for harman----? there mr. brumley's mind desisted for sheer lack of material. given this lady and that board and his general impression of harman's refreshment and confectionery activity--the data were insufficient. a commonplace man no doubt, a tradesman, energetic perhaps and certainly a little brassy, successful by the chances of that economic revolution which everywhere replaces the isolated shop by the syndicated enterprise, irrationally conceited about it; a man perhaps ultimately to be pitied--with this young goddess finding herself.... mr. brumley's mind sat down comfortably to the more congenial theme of a young goddess finding herself, and it was only very gradually in the course of several days that the personality of sir isaac began to assume its proper importance in the scheme of his imaginings. §2 in the afternoon as he went round the links with horace toomer he got some definite lights upon sir isaac. his mind was so full of lady harman that he couldn't but talk of her visit. "i've a possible tenant for my cottage," he said as he and toomer, full of the sunny contentment of english gentlemen who had played a proper game in a proper manner, strolled back towards the clubhouse. "that man harman." "not the international stores and staminal bread man." "yes. odd. considering my hatred of his board." "he ought to pay--anyhow," said toomer. "they say he has a pretty wife and keeps her shut up." "she came," said brumley, neglecting to add the trifling fact that she had come alone. "pretty?" "charming, i thought." "he's jealous of her. someone was saying that the chauffeur has orders not to take her into london--only for trips in the country. they live in a big ugly house i'm told on putney hill. did she in any way _look_--as though----?" "not in the least. if she isn't an absolutely straight young woman i've never set eyes on one." "_he_," said toomer, "is a disgusting creature." "morally?" "no, but--generally. spends his life ruining little tradesmen, for the fun of the thing. he's three parts an invalid with some obscure kidney disease. sometimes he spends whole days in bed, drinking contrexéville water and planning the bankruptcy of decent men.... so the party made a knight of him." "a party must have funds, toomer." "he didn't pay nearly enough. blapton is an idiot with the honours. when it isn't mrs. blapton. what can you expect when -------" (but here toomer became libellous.) toomer was an interesting type. he had a disagreeable disposition profoundly modified by a public school and university training. two antagonistic forces made him. he was the spirit of scurrility incarnate, that was, as people say, innate; and by virtue of those moulding forces he was doing his best to be an english gentleman. that mysterious impulse which compels the young male to make objectionable imputations against seemly lives and to write rare inelegant words upon clean and decent things burnt almost intolerably within him, and equally powerful now was the gross craving he had acquired for personal association with all that is prominent, all that is successful, all that is of good report. he had found his resultant in the censorious defence of established things. he conducted the _british critic_, attacking with a merciless energy all that was new, all that was critical, all those fresh and noble tentatives that admit of unsavoury interpretations, and when the urgent yahoo in him carried him below the pretentious dignity of his accustomed organ he would squirt out his bitterness in a little sham facetious bookstall volume with a bright cover and quaint woodcuts, in which just as many prominent people as possible were mentioned by name and a sauce of general absurdity could be employed to cover and, if need be, excuse particular libels. so he managed to relieve himself and get along. harman was just on the border-line of the class he considered himself free to revile. harman was an outsider and aggressive and new, one of mrs. blapton's knights, and of no particular weight in society; so far he was fair game; but he was not so new as he had been, he was almost through with the running of the toomer gauntlet, he had a tremendous lot of money and it was with a modified vehemence that the distinguished journalist and humourist expatiated on his offensiveness to mr. brumley. he talked in a gentle, rather weary voice, that came through a moustache like a fringe of light tobacco. "personally i've little against the man. a wife too young for him and jealously guarded, but that's all to his credit. nowadays. if it wasn't for his blatancy in his business.... and the knighthood.... i suppose he can't resist taking anything he can get. bread made by wholesale and distributed like a newspaper can't, i feel, be the same thing as the loaf of your honest old-fashioned baker--each loaf made with individual attention--out of wholesome english flour--hand-ground--with a personal touch for each customer. still, everything drifts on to these hugger-mugger large enterprises; chicago spreads over the world. one thing goes after another, tobacco, tea, bacon, drugs, bookselling. decent homes destroyed right and left. not harman's affair, i suppose. the girls in his london tea-shops have of course to supplement their wages by prostitution--probably don't object to that nowadays considering the novels we have. and his effect on the landscape----until they stopped him he was trying very hard to get shakespear's cliff at dover. he did for a time have the toad rock at tunbridge. still"--something like a sigh escaped from toomer,--"his private life appears to be almost as blameless as anybody's can be.... thanks no doubt to his defective health. i made the most careful enquiries when his knighthood was first discussed. someone has to. before his marriage he seems to have lived at home with his mother. at highbury. very quietly and inexpensively." "then he's not the conventional vulgarian?" "much more of the rockefeller type. bad health, great concentration, organizing power.... applied of course to a narrower range of business.... i'm glad i'm not a small confectioner in a town he wants to take up." "he's--hard?" "merciless. hasn't the beginnings of an idea of fair play.... none at all.... no human give or take.... are you going to have tea here, or are you walking back now?" §3 it was fully a week before mr. brumley heard anything more of lady harman. he began to fear that this shining furry presence would glorify black strand no more. then came a telegram that filled him with the liveliest anticipations. it was worded: "coming see cottage saturday afternoon harman...." on saturday morning mr. brumley dressed with an apparent ease and unusual care.... he worked rather discursively before lunch. his mind was busy picking up the ends of their previous conversation and going on with them to all sorts of bright knots, bows and elegant cats' cradling. he planned openings that might give her tempting opportunities of confidences if she wished to confide, and artless remarks and questions that would make for self-betrayal if she didn't. and he thought of her, he thought of her imaginatively, this secluded rare thing so happily come to him, who was so young, so frank and fresh and so unhappily married (he was sure) to a husband at least happily mortal. yes, dear reader, even on that opening morning mr. brumley's imagination, trained very largely upon victorian literature and _belles-lettres_, leapt forward to the very ending of this story.... we, of course, do nothing of the sort, our lot is to follow a more pedestrian route.... he lapsed into a vague series of meditations, slower perhaps but essentially similar, after his temperate palatable lunch. he was apprised of the arrival of his visitor by the sudden indignant yaup followed by the general subdued uproar of a motor-car outside the front door, even before clarence, this time amazingly prompt, assaulted the bell. then the whole house was like that poem by edgar allan poe, one magnificent texture of clangour. at the first toot of the horn mr. brumley had moved swiftly into the bay, and screened partly by the life-size venus of milo that stood in the bay window, and partly by the artistic curtains, surveyed the glittering vehicle. he was first aware of a vast fur coat enclosing a lean grey-headed obstinate-looking man with a diabetic complexion who was fumbling with the door of the car and preventing clarence's assistance. mr. brumley was able to remark that the gentleman's nose projected to a sharpened point, and that his thin-lipped mouth was all awry and had a kind of habitual compression, the while that his eyes sought eagerly for the other occupant of the car. she was unaccountably invisible. could it be that that hood really concealed her? could it be?... the white-faced gentleman descended, relieved himself tediously of the vast fur coat, handed it to clarence and turned to the house. reverentially clarence placed the coat within the automobile and closed the door. still the protesting mind of mr. brumley refused to believe!... he heard the house-door open and mrs. rabbit in colloquy with a flat masculine voice. he heard his own name demanded and conceded. then a silence, not the faintest suggestion of a feminine rustle, and then the sound of mrs. rabbit at the door-handle. conviction stormed the last fastness of the disappointed author's mind. "oh _damn_!" he shouted with extreme fervour. he had never imagined it was possible that sir isaac could come alone. §4 but the house had to be let, and it had to be let to sir isaac harman. in another moment an amiable though distinguished man of letters was in the hall interviewing the great _entrepreneur_. the latter gentleman was perhaps three inches shorter than mr. brumley, his hair was grey-shot brown, his face clean-shaven, his features had a thin irregularity, and he was dressed in a neat brown suit with a necktie very exactly matching it. "sir isaac harman?" said mr. brumley with a note of gratification. "that's it," said sir isaac. he appeared to be nervous and a little out of breath. "come," he said, "just to look over it. just to see it. probably too small, but if it doesn't put you out----" he blew out the skin of his face about his mouth a little. "delighted to see you anyhow," said mr. brumley, filling the world of unspoken things with singularly lurid curses. "this. nice little hall,--very," said sir isaac. "pretty, that bit at the end. many rooms are there?" mr. brumley answered inexactly and meditated a desperate resignation of the whole job to mrs. rabbit. then he made an effort and began to explain. "that clock," said sir isaac interrupting in the dining-room, "is a fake." mr. brumley made silent interrogations. "been there myself," said sir isaac. "they sell those brass fittings in ho'bun." they went upstairs together. when mr. brumley wasn't explaining or pointing out, sir isaac made a kind of whistling between his clenched teeth. "this bathroom wants refitting anyhow," he said abruptly. "i daresay lady harman would like that room with the bay--but it's all--small. it's really quite pretty; you've done it cleverly, but--the size of it! i'd have to throw out a wing. and that you know might spoil the style. that roof,--a gardener's cottage?... i thought it might be. what's this other thing here? old barn. empty? that might expand a bit. couldn't do only just this anyhow." he walked in front of mr. brumley downstairs and still emitting that faint whistle led the way into the garden. he seemed to regard mr. brumley merely as a source of answers to his questions, and a seller in process of preparation for an offer. it was clear he meant to make an offer. "it's not the house i should buy if i was alone in this," he said, "but lady harman's taken a fancy somehow. and it might be adapted...." from first to last mr. brumley never said a single word about euphemia and the young matrimony and all the other memories this house enshrined. he felt instinctively that it would not affect sir isaac one way or the other. he tried simply to seem indifferent to whether sir isaac bought the place or not. he tried to make it appear almost as if houses like this often happened to him, and interested him only in the most incidental manner. they had their proper price, he tried to convey, which of course no gentleman would underbid. in the exquisite garden sir isaac said: "one might make a very pretty little garden of this--if one opened it out a bit." and of the sunken rock-garden: "that might be dangerous of a dark night." "i suppose," he said, indicating the hill of pines behind, "one could buy or lease some of that. if one wanted to throw it into the place and open out more. "from my point of view," he said, "it isn't a house. it's----" he sought in his mind for an expression--"a cottage ornay." this history declines to record either what mr. brumley said or what he did not say. sir isaac surveyed the house thoughtfully for some moments from the turf edging of the great herbaceous border. "how far," he asked, "is it from the nearest railway station?..." mr. brumley gave details. "four miles. and an infrequent service? nothing in any way suburban? better to motor into guildford and get the express. h'm.... and what sort of people do we get about here?" mr. brumley sketched. "mildly horsey. that's not bad. no officers about?... nothing nearer than aldershot.... that's eleven miles, is it? h'm. i suppose there aren't any _literary_ people about here, musicians or that kind of thing, no advanced people of that sort?" "not when i've gone," said mr. brumley, with the faintest flavour of humour. sir isaac stared at him for a moment with eyes vacantly thoughtful. "it mightn't be so bad," said sir isaac, and whistled a little between his teeth. mr. brumley was suddenly minded to take his visitor to see the view and the effect of his board upon it. but he spoke merely of the view and left sir isaac to discover the board or not as he thought fit. as they ascended among the trees, the visitor was manifestly seized by some strange emotion, his face became very white, he gasped and blew for breath, he felt for his face with a nervous hand. "four thousand," he said suddenly. "an outside price." "a minimum," said mr. brumley, with a slight quickening of the pulse. "you won't get three eight," gasped sir isaac. "not a business man, but my agent tells me----" panted mr. brumley. "three eight," said sir isaac. "we're just coming to the view," said mr. brumley. "just coming to the view." "practically got to rebuild the house," said sir isaac. "there!" said mr. brumley, and waved an arm widely. sir isaac regarded the prospect with a dissatisfied face. his pallor had given place to a shiny, flushed appearance, his nose, his ears, and his cheeks were pink. he blew his face out, and seemed to be studying the landscape for defects. "this might be built over at any time," he complained. mr. brumley was reassuring. for a brief interval sir isaac's eyes explored the countryside vaguely, then his expression seemed to concentrate and run together to a point. "h'm," he said. "that board," he remarked, "quite wrong there." "_well!_" said mr. brumley, too surprised for coherent speech. "quite," said sir isaac harman. "don't you see what's the matter?" mr. brumley refrained from an eloquent response. "they ought to be," sir isaac went on, "white and a sort of green. like the county council notices on hampstead heath. so as to blend.... you see, an ad. that hits too hard is worse than no ad. at all. it leaves a dislike.... advertisements ought to blend. it ought to seem as though all this view were saying it. not just that board. now suppose we had a shade of very light brown, a kind of light khaki----" he turned a speculative eye on mr. brumley as if he sought for the effect of this latter suggestion on him. "if the whole board was invisible----" said mr. brumley. sir isaac considered it. "just the letters showing," he said. "no,--that would be going too far in the other direction." he made a faint sucking noise with his lips and teeth as he surveyed the landscape and weighed this important matter.... "queer how one gets ideas," he said at last, turning away. "it was my wife told me about that board." he stopped to survey the house from the exact point of view his wife had taken nine days before. "i wouldn't give this place a second thought," said sir isaac, "if it wasn't for lady harman." he confided. "_she_ wants a week-end cottage. but _i_ don't see why it _should_ be a week-end cottage. i don't see why it shouldn't be made into a nice little country house. compact, of course. by using up that barn." he inhaled three bars of a tune. "london," he explained, "doesn't suit lady harman." "health?" asked mr. brumley, all alert. "it isn't her health exactly," sir isaac dropped out. "you see--she's a young woman. she gets ideas." "you know," he continued, "i'd like to have a look at that barn again. if we develop that--and a sort of corridor across where the shrubs are--and ran out offices...." §5 mr. brumley's mind was still vigorously struggling with the flaming implications of sir isaac's remark that lady harman "got ideas," and sir isaac was gently whistling his way towards an offer of three thousand nine hundred when they came down out of the pines into the path along the edge of the herbaceous border. and then mr. brumley became aware of an effect away between the white-stemmed trees towards the house as if the cambridge boat-race crew was indulging in a vigorous scrimmage. drawing nearer this resolved itself into the fluent contours of lady beach-mandarin, dressed in sky-blue and with a black summer straw hat larger than ever and trimmed effusively with marguerites. "here," said sir isaac, "can't i get off? you've got a friend." "you must have some tea," said mr. brumley, who wanted to suggest that they should agree to sir isaac's figure of three thousand eight hundred, but not as pounds but guineas. it seemed to him a suggestion that might prove insidiously attractive. "it's a charming lady, my friend lady beach-mandarin. she'll be delighted----" "i don't think i can," said sir isaac. "not in the habit--social occasions." his face expressed a panic terror of this gallant full-rigged lady ahead of them. "but you see now," said mr. brumley, with a detaining grip, "it's unavoidable." and the next moment sir isaac was mumbling his appreciations of the introduction. i must admit that lady beach-mandarin was almost as much to meet as one can meet in a single human being, a broad abundant billowing personality with a taste for brims, streamers, pennants, panniers, loose sleeves, sweeping gestures, top notes and the like that made her altogether less like a woman than an occasion of public rejoicing. even her large blue eyes projected, her chin and brows and nose all seemed racing up to the front of her as if excited by the clarion notes of her abundant voice, and the pinkness of her complexion was as exuberant as her manners. exuberance--it was her word. she had evidently been a big, bouncing, bright gaminesque girl at fifteen, and very amusing and very much admired; she had liked the rôle and she had not so much grown older as suffered enlargement--a very considerable enlargement. "ah!" she cried, "and so i've caught you at home, mr. brumley! and, poor dear, you're at my mercy." and she shook both his hands with both of hers. that was before mr. brumley introduced sir isaac, a thing he did so soon as he could get one of his hands loose and wave a surviving digit or so at that gentleman. "you see, sir isaac," she said, taking him in, in the most generous way; "i and mr. brumley are old friends. we knew each other of yore. we have our jokes." sir isaac seemed to feel the need of speech but got no further than a useful all-round noise. "and one of them is that when i want him to do the least little thing for me he hides away! always. by a sort of instinct. it's such a small thing, sir isaac." sir isaac was understood to say vaguely that they always did. but he had become very indistinct. "aren't i always at your service?" protested mr. brumley with a responsive playfulness. "and i don't even know what it is you want." lady beach-mandarin, addressing herself exclusively to sir isaac, began a tale of a shakespear bazaar she was holding in an adjacent village, and how she knew mr. brumley (naughty man) meant to refuse to give her autographed copies of his littlest book for the book stall she was organizing. mr. brumley confuted her gaily and generously. so discoursing they made their way to the verandah where lady harman had so lately "poured." sir isaac was borne along upon the lady's stream of words in a state of mulish reluctance, nodding, saying "of course" and similar phrases, and wishing he was out of it all with an extreme manifestness. he drank his tea with unmistakable discomfort, and twice inserted into the conversation an entirely irrelevant remark that he had to be going. but lady beach-mandarin had her purposes with him and crushed these quivering tentatives. lady beach-mandarin had of course like everybody else at that time her own independent movement in the great national effort to create an official british theatre upon the basis of william shakespear, and she saw in the as yet unenlisted resources of sir isaac strong possibilities of reinforcement of her own particular contribution to the great work. he was manifestly shy and sulky and disposed to bolt at the earliest possible moment, and so she set herself now with a swift and concentrated combination of fascination and urgency to commit him to participations. she flattered and cajoled and bribed. she was convinced that even to be called upon by lady beach-mandarin is no light privilege for these new commercial people, and so she made no secret of her intention of decorating the hall of his large but undistinguished house in putney, with her redeeming pasteboard. she appealed to the instances of venice and florence to show that "such men as you, sir isaac," who control commerce and industry, have always been the guardians and patrons of art. and who more worthy of patronage than william shakespear? also she said that men of such enormous wealth as his owed something to their national tradition. "you have to pay your footing, sir isaac," she said with impressive vagueness. "putting it in round figures," said sir isaac, suddenly and with a white gleam of animosity in his face, the animosity of a trapped animal at the sight of its captors, "what does coming on your committee mean, lady beach-mandarin?" "it's your name we want," said the lady, "but i'm sure you'd not be ungenerous. the tribute success owes the arts." "a hundred?" he threw out,--his ears red. "guineas," breathed lady beach-mandarin with a lofty sweetness of consent. he stood up hastily as if to escape further exaction, and the lady rose too. "and you'll let me call on lady harman," she said, honestly doing her part in the bargain. "can't keep the car waiting," was what brumley could distinguish in his reply. "i expect you have a perfectly splendid car, sir isaac," said lady beach-mandarin, drawing him out. "quite the modernest thing." sir isaac replied with the reluctance of an income tax return that it was a forty-five rolls royce, good of course but nothing amazing. "we must see it," she said, and turned his retreat into a procession. she admired the car, she admired the colour of the car, she admired the lamps of the car and the door of the car and the little fittings of the car. she admired the horn. she admired the twist of the horn. she admired clarence and the uniform of clarence and she admired and coveted the great fur coat that he held ready for his employer. (but if she had it, she said, she would wear the splendid fur outside to show every little bit of it.) and when the car at last moved forward and tooted--she admired the note--and vanished softly and swiftly through the gates, she was left in the porch with mr. brumley still by sheer inertia admiring and envying. she admired sir isaac's car number z 900. (such an easy one to remember!) then she stopped abruptly, as one might discover that the water in the bathroom was running to waste and turn it off. she had a cynicism as exuberant as the rest of her. "well," she said, with a contented sigh and an entire flattening of her tone, "i laid it on pretty thick that time.... i wonder if he'll send me that hundred guineas or whether i shall have to remind him of it...." her manner changed again to that of a gigantic gamin. "i mean to have that money," she said with bright determination and round eyes.... she reflected and other thoughts came to her. "plutocracy," she said, "_is_ perfectly detestable, don't you think so, mr. brumley?" ... and then, "i can't _imagine_ how a man who deals in bread and confectionery can manage to go about so completely half-baked." "he's a very remarkable type," said mr. brumley. he became urgent: "i do hope, dear lady beach-mandarin, you will contrive to call on lady harman. she is--in relation to _that_--quite the most interesting woman i have seen." §6 presently as they paced the croquet lawn together, the preoccupation of mr. brumley's mind drew their conversation back to lady harman. "i wish," he repeated, "you would go and see these people. she's not at all what you might infer from him." "what could one infer about a wife from a man like that? except that she'd have a lot to put up with." "you know,--she's a beautiful person, tall, slender, dark...." lady beach-mandarin turned her full blue eye upon him. "_now!_" she said archly. "i'm interested in the incongruity." lady beach-mandarin's reply was silent and singular. she compressed her lips very tightly, fixed her eye firmly on mr. brumley's, lifted her finger to the level of her left eyelash, and then shook it at him very deliberately five times. then with a little sigh and a sudden and complete restoration of manner she remarked that never in any year before had she seen peonies quite so splendid. "i've a peculiar sympathy with peonies," she said. "they're so exactly my style." chapter the third lady harman at home §1 exactly three weeks after that first encounter between lady beach-mandarin and sir isaac harman, mr. brumley found himself one of a luncheon party at that lady's house in temperley square and talking very freely and indiscreetly about the harmans. lady beach-mandarin always had her luncheons in a family way at a large round table so that nobody could get out of her range, and she insisted upon conversation being general, except for her mother who was impenetrably deaf and the swiss governess of her only daughter phyllis who was incomprehensible in any european tongue. the mother was incalculably old and had been a friend of victor hugo and alfred de musset; she maintained an intermittent monologue about the private lives of those great figures; nobody paid the slightest attention to her but one felt she enriched the table with an undertow of literary associations. a small dark stealthy butler and a convulsive boy with hair (apparently) taking the place of eyes waited. on this occasion lady beach-mandarin had gathered together two cousins, maiden ladies from perth, wearing valiant hats, toomer the wit and censor, and miss sharsper the novelist (whom toomer detested), a gentleman named roper whom she had invited under a misapprehension that he was the arctic roper, and mr. brumley. she had tried mr. roper with questions about penguins, seals, cold and darkness, icebergs and glaciers, captain scott, doctor cook and the shape of the earth, and all in vain, and feeling at last that something was wrong, she demanded abruptly whether mr. brumley had sold his house. "i'm selling it," said mr. brumley, "by almost imperceptible degrees." "he haggles?" "haggles and higgles. he higgles passionately. he goes white and breaks into a cold perspiration. he wants me now to include the gardener's tools--in whatever price we agree upon." "a rich man like that ought to be easy and generous," said lady beach-mandarin. "then he wouldn't be a rich man like that," said mr. toomer. "but doesn't it distress you highly, mr. brumley," one of the perth ladies asked, "to be leaving euphemia's home to strangers? the man may go altering it." "that--that weighs with me very much," said mr. brumley, recalled to his professions. "there--i put my trust in lady harman." "you've seen her again?" asked lady beach-mandarin. "yes. she came with him--a few days ago. that couple interests me more and more. so little akin." "there's eighteen years between them," said toomer. "it's one of those cases," began mr. brumley with a note of scientific detachment, "where one is really tempted to be ultra-feminist. it's clear, he uses every advantage. he's her owner, her keeper, her obstinate insensitive little tyrant.... and yet there's a sort of effect, as though nothing was decided.... as if she was only just growing up." "they've been married six or seven years," said toomer. "she was just eighteen." "they went over the house together and whenever she spoke he contradicted her with a sort of vicious playfulness. tried to poke clumsy fun at her. called her 'lady harman.' only it was quite evident that what she said stuck in his mind.... very queer--interesting people." "i wouldn't have anyone allowed to marry until they were five-and-twenty," said lady beach-mandarin. "sweet seventeen sometimes contrives to be very marriageable," said the gentleman named roper. "sweet seventeen must contrive to wait," said lady beach-mandarin. "sweet fourteen has to--and when i was fourteen--i was ardent! there's no earthly objection to a little harmless flirtation of course. it's the marrying." "you'd conduce to romance," said miss sharsper, "anyhow. eighteen won't bear restriction and everyone would begin by eloping--illegally." "i'd put them back," said lady beach-mandarin. "oh! remorselessly." mr. roper, who was more and more manifestly not the arctic one, remarked that she would "give the girls no end of an adolescence...." mr. brumley did not attend very closely to the subsequent conversation. his mind had gone back to black strand and the second visit that lady harman, this time under her natural and proper protection, had paid him. a little thread from the old lady's discourse drifted by him. she had scented marriage in the air and she was saying, "of course they ought to have let victor hugo marry over and over again. he would have made it all so beautiful. he could throw a splendour over--over almost anything." mr. brumley sank out of attention altogether. it was so difficult to express his sense of lady harman as a captive, enclosed but unsubdued. she had been as open and shining as a celandine flower in the sunshine on that first invasion, but on the second it had been like overcast weather and her starry petals had been shut and still. she hadn't been in the least subdued or effaced, but closed, inaccessible to conversational bees, that astonishing honey of trust and easy friendship had been hidden in a dignified impenetrable reserve. she had had the effect of being not so much specially shut against mr. brumley as habitually shut against her husband, as a protection against his continual clumsy mental interferences. and once when sir isaac had made a sudden allusion to price mr. brumley had glanced at her and met her eyes.... "of course," he said, coming up to the conversational surface again, "a woman like that is bound to fight her way out." "queen mary!" cried miss sharsper. "fight her way out!" "queen mary!" said mr. brumley, "no!--lady harman." "_i_ was talking of queen mary," said miss sharsper. "and mr. brumley was thinking of lady harman!" cried lady beach-mandarin. "well," said mr. brumley, "i confess i do think about her. she seems to me to be so typical in many ways of--of everything that is weak in the feminine position. as a type--yes, she's perfect." "i've never seen this lady," said miss sharsper. "is she beautiful?" "i've not seen her myself yet," said lady beach-mandarin. "she's mr. brumley's particular discovery." "you haven't called?" he asked with a faint reproach. "but i've been going to--oh! tremendously. and you revive all my curiosity. why shouldn't some of us this very afternoon----?" she caught at her own passing idea and held it. "let's go," she cried. "let's visit the wife of this ogre, the last of the women in captivity. we'll take the big car and make a party and call _en masse_." mr. toomer protested he had no morbid curiosities. "but you, susan?" miss sharsper declared she would _love_ to come. wasn't it her business to study out-of-the-way types? mr. roper produced a knowing sort of engagement--"i'm provided for already, lady beach-mandarin," he said, and the cousins from perth had to do some shopping. "then we three will be the expedition," said the hostess. "and afterwards if we survive we'll tell you our adventures. it's a house on putney hill, isn't it, where this christian maiden, so to speak, is held captive? i've had her in my mind, but i've always intended to call with agatha alimony; she's so inspiring to down-trodden women." "not exactly down-trodden," said mr. brumley, "not down-trodden. that's what's so curious about it." "and what shall we do when we get there?" cried lady beach-mandarin. "i feel we ought to do something more than call. can't we carry her off right away, mr. brumley? i want to go right in to her and say 'look here! i'm on your side. your husband's a tyrant. i'm help and rescue. i'm all that a woman ought to be--fine and large. come out from under that unworthy man's heel!'" "suppose she isn't at all the sort of person you seem to think she is," said miss sharsper. "and suppose she came!" "suppose she didn't," reflected mr. roper. "i seem to see your flight," said mr. toomer. "and the newspaper placards and head-lines. 'lady beach-mandarin elopes with the wife of an eminent confectioner. she is stopped at the landing stage by the staff of the dover branch establishment. recapture of the fugitive after a hot struggle. brumley, the eminent _littérateur_, stunned by a spent bun....'" "we're all talking great nonsense," said lady beach-mandarin. "but anyhow we'll make our call. and _i_ know!--i'll make her accept an invitation to lunch without him." "if she won't?" threw out mr. roper. "i _will_," said lady beach-mandarin with roguish determination. "and if i can't----" "not ask him too!" protested mr. brumley. "why not get her to come to your social friends meeting," said miss sharsper. §2 when mr. brumley found himself fairly launched upon this expedition he had the grace to feel compunction. the harmans, he perceived, had inadvertently made him the confidant of their domestic discords and to betray them to these others savoured after all of treachery. and besides much as he had craved to see lady harman again, he now realized he didn't in the least want to see her in association with the exuberant volubility of lady beach-mandarin and the hard professional observation, so remarkably like the ferrule of an umbrella being poked with a noiseless persistence into one's eye, of miss sharsper. and as he thought these afterthoughts lady beach-mandarin's chauffeur darted and dodged and threaded his way with an alacrity that was almost distressing to putney. they ran over the ghost of swinburne, at the foot of putney hill,--or perhaps it was only the rhythm of the engine changed for a moment, and in a couple of minutes more they were outside the harman residence. "here we are!" said lady beach-mandarin, more capaciously gaminesque than ever. "we've done it now." mr. brumley had an impression of a big house in the distended stately-homes-of-england style and very necessarily and abundantly covered by creepers and then he was assisting the ladies to descend and the three of them were waiting clustered in the ample victorian doorway. for some little interval there came no answer to the bell mr. brumley had rung, but all three of them had a sense of hurried, furtive and noiseless readjustments in progress behind the big and bossy oak door. then it opened and a very large egg-shaped butler with sandy whiskers appeared and looked down himself at them. there was something paternal about this man, his professional deference was touched by the sense of ultimate responsibility. he seemed to consider for a moment whether he should permit lady harman to be in, before he conceded that she was. they were ushered through a hall that resembled most of the halls in the world, it was dominated by a handsome oak staircase and scarcely gave miss sharsper a point, and then across a creation of the victorian architect, a massive kind of conservatory with classical touches--there was an impluvium in the centre and there were arches hung with manifestly costly syrian rugs, into a large apartment looking through four french windows upon a verandah and a large floriferous garden. at a sideways glance it seemed a very pleasant garden indeed. the room itself was like the rooms of so many prosperous people nowadays; it had an effect of being sedulously and yet irrelevantly over-furnished. it had none of the large vulgarity that mr. brumley would have considered proper to a wealthy caterer, but it confessed a compilation of "pieces" very carefully authenticated. some of them were rather splendid "pieces"; three big bureaus burly and brassy dominated it; there was a queen anne cabinet, some exquisite coloured engravings, an ormolu mirror and a couple of large french vases that set miss sharsper, who had a keen eye for this traffic, confusedly cataloguing. and a little incongruously in the midst of this exhibit, stood lady harman, as if she was trying to conceal the fact that she too was a visitor, in a creamy white dress and dark and defensive and yet entirely unabashed. the great butler gave his large vague impression of lady beach-mandarin's name, and stood aside and withdrew. "i've heard so much of you," said lady beach-mandarin advancing with hand upraised. "i had to call. mr. brumley----" "lady beach-mandarin met sir isaac at black strand," mr. brumley intervened to explain. miss sharsper was as it were introduced by default. "my vividest anticipations outdone," said lady beach-mandarin, squeezing lady harman's fingers with enthusiasm. "and what a charming garden you have, and what a delightful situation! such air! and on the very verge of london, high, on this delightful _literary_ hill, and ready at any moment to swoop in that enviable great car of yours. i suppose you come a great deal into london, lady harman?" "no," reflected lady harman, "not very much." she seemed to weigh the accuracy of this very carefully. "no," she added in confirmation. "but you should, you ought to; it's your duty. you've no right to hide away from us. i was telling sir isaac. we look to him, we look to you. you've no right to bury your talents away from us; you who are rich and young and brilliant and beautiful----" "but if i go on i shall begin to flatter you," said lady beach-mandarin with a delicious smile. "i've begun upon sir isaac already. i've made him promise a hundred guineas and his name to the shakespear dinners society,--nothing he didn't mention eaten (_you_ know) and all the profits to the national movement--and i want your name too. i know you'll let us have your name too. grant me that, and i'll subside into the ordinariest of callers." "but surely; isn't his name enough?" asked lady harman. "without yours, it's only half a name!" cried lady beach-mandarin. "if it were a _business_ thing----! different of course. but on my list, i'm like dear old queen victoria you know, the wives must come too." "in that case," hesitated lady harman.... "but really i think sir isaac----" she stopped. and then mr. brumley had a psychic experience. it seemed to him as he stood observing lady harman with an entirely unnecessary and unpremeditated intentness, that for the briefest interval her attention flashed over lady beach-mandarin's shoulder to the end verandah window; and following her glance, he saw--and then he did not see--the arrested figure, the white face of sir isaac, bearing an expression in which anger and horror were extraordinarily intermingled. if it was sir isaac he dodged back with amazing dexterity; if it was a phantom of the living it vanished with an air of doing that. without came the sound of a flower-pot upset and a faint expletive. mr. brumley looked very quickly at lady beach-mandarin, who was entirely unconscious of anything but her own uncoiling and enveloping eloquence, and as quickly at miss sharsper. but miss sharsper was examining a blackish bureau through her glasses as though she were looking for birthmarks and meant if she could find one to claim the piece as her own long-lost connection. with a mild but gratifying sense of exclusive complicity mr. brumley reverted to lady harman's entire self-possession. "but, dear lady harman, it's entirely unnecessary you should consult him,--entirely," lady beach-mandarin was saying. "i'm sure," said mr. brumley with a sense that somehow he had to intervene, "that sir isaac would not possibly object. i'm sure that if lady harman consults him----" the sandy-whiskered butler appeared hovering. "shall i place the tea-things in the garden, me lady?" he asked, in the tone of one who knows the answer. "oh _please_ in the garden!" cried lady beach-mandarin. "please! and how delightful to _have_ a garden, a london garden, in which one _can_ have tea. without being smothered in blacks. the south-west wind. the dear _english_ wind. all your blacks come to _us_, you know." she led the way upon the verandah. "such a wonderful garden! the space, the breadth! why! you must have acres!" she surveyed the garden--comprehensively; her eye rested for a moment on a distant patch of black that ducked suddenly into a group of lilacs. "is dear sir isaac at home?" she asked. "he's very uncertain," said lady harman, with a quiet readiness that pleased mr. brumley. "yes, snagsby, please, under the big cypress. and tell my mother and sister." lady beach-mandarin having paused a moment or so upon the verandah admiring the garden as a whole, now prepared to go into details. she gathered her ample skirts together and advanced into the midst of the large lawn, with very much of the effect of a fleet of captive balloons dragging their anchors. mr. brumley followed, as it were in attendance upon her and lady harman. miss sharsper, after one last hasty glance at the room, rather like the last hasty glance of a still unprepared schoolboy at his book, came behind with her powers of observation strainingly alert. mr. brumley was aware of a brief mute struggle between the two ladies of title. it was clear that lady harman would have had them go to the left, to where down a vista of pillar roses a single large specimen cypress sounded a faint but recognizable italian note, and he did his loyal best to support her, but lady beach-mandarin's attraction to that distant clump of lilac on the right was equally great and much more powerful. she flowed, a great and audible tide of socially influential womanhood, across the green spaces of the garden, and drew the others with her. and it seemed to mr. brumley--not that he believed his eyes--that beyond those lilacs something ran out, something black that crouched close to the ground and went very swiftly. it flashed like an arrow across a further space of flower-bed, dropped to the ground, became two agitatedly receding boot soles and was gone. had it ever been? he glanced at lady harman, but she was looking back with the naïve anxiety of a hostess to her cypress,--at lady beach-mandarin, but she was proliferating compliments and decorative scrolls and flourishes like the engraved frontispiece to a seventeenth-century book. "i know i'm inordinately curious," said lady beach-mandarin, "but gardens are my joy. i want to go into every corner of this. peep into everything. and i feel somehow"--and here she urged a smile on lady harman's attention--"that i shan't begin to know _you_, until i know all your environment." she turned the flank of the lilacs as she said these words and advanced in echelon with a stately swiftness upon the laurels beyond. lady harman said there was nothing beyond but sycamores and the fence, but lady beach-mandarin would press on through a narrow path that pierced the laurel hedge, in order, she said, that she might turn back and get the whole effect of the grounds. and so it was they discovered the mushroom shed. "a mushroom shed!" cried lady beach-mandarin. "and if we look in--shall we see hosts and regiments of mushrooms? i must--i must." "i _think_ it is locked," said lady harman. mr. brumley darted forward; tried the door and turned quickly. "it's locked," he said and barred lady beach-mandarin's advance. "and besides," said lady harman, "there's no mushrooms there. they won't come up. it's one of my husband's--annoyances." lady beach-mandarin had turned round and now surveyed the house. "what a splendid idea," she cried, "that wistaria! all mixed with the laburnum. i don't think i have ever seen such a charming combination of blossoms!" the whole movement of the party swept about and faced cypress-ward. away there the sandy-whiskered butler and a footman and basket chairs and a tea-table, with a shining white cloth, and two ladies were now grouping themselves.... but the mind of mr. brumley gave little heed to these things. his mind was full of a wonder, and the wonder was this, that the mushroom shed had behaved like a living thing. the door of the mushroom shed was not locked and in that matter he had told a lie. the door of the mushroom shed had been unlocked quite recently and the key and padlock had been dropped upon the ground. and when he had tried to open the mushroom shed it had first of all yielded to his hand and then it had closed again with great strength--exactly as a living mussel will behave if one takes it unawares. but in addition to this passionate contraction the mushroom shed had sworn in a hoarse whisper and breathed hard, which is more than your mussel can do.... §3 mr. brumley's interest in lady harman was to be almost too crowded by detail before that impulsive call was over. superposed upon the mystery of the mushroom shed was the vivid illumination of lady harman by her mother and sister. they had an effect of having reluctantly become her social inferiors for her own good; the mother--her name he learnt was mrs. sawbridge--had all lady harman's tall slenderness, but otherwise resembled her only in the poise of her neck and an occasional gesture; she was fair and with a kind of ignoble and premeditated refinement in her speech and manner. she was dressed with the restraint of a prolonged and attenuated widowhood, in a rich and complicatedly quiet dress of mauve and grey. she was obviously a transitory visitor and not so much taking the opulence about her and particularly the great butler for granted as pointedly and persistently ignoring it in an effort to seem to take it for granted. the sister, on the other hand, had lady harman's pale darkness but none of her fineness of line. she missed altogether that quality of fineness. her darkness was done with a quite perceptible heaviness, her dignity passed into solidity and her profile was, with an entire want of hesitation, handsome. she was evidently the elder by a space of some years and she was dressed with severity in grey. these two ladies seemed to mr. brumley to offer a certain resistance of spirit to the effusion of lady beach-mandarin, rather as two small anchored vessels might resist the onset of a great and foaming tide, but after a time it was clear they admired her greatly. his attention was, however, a little distracted from them by the fact that he was the sole representative of the more serviceable sex among five women and so in duty bound to stand by lady harman and assist with various handings and offerings. the tea equipage was silver and not only magnificent but, as certain quick movements of miss sharsper's eyes and nose at its appearance betrayed, very genuine and old. lady beach-mandarin having praised the house and garden all over again to mrs. sawbridge, and having praised the cypress and envied the tea things, resumed her efforts to secure the immediate establishment of permanent social relations with lady harman. she reverted to the question of the shakespear dinners society and now with a kind of large skilfulness involved mrs. sawbridge in her appeal. "won't _you_ come on our committee?" said lady beach-mandarin. mrs. sawbridge gave a pinched smile and said she was only staying in london for quite a little time, and when pressed admitted that there seemed no need whatever for consulting sir isaac upon so obviously foregone a conclusion as lady harman's public adhesion to the great movement. "i shall put his hundred guineas down to sir isaac and lady harman," said lady beach-mandarin with an air of conclusion, "and now i want to know, dear lady harman, whether we can't have _you_ on our committee of administration. we want--just one other woman to complete us." lady harman could only parry with doubts of her ability. "you ought to go on, ella," said miss sawbridge suddenly, speaking for the first time and in a manner richly suggestive of great principles at stake. "ella," thought the curious mind of mr. brumley. "and is that eleanor now or ellen or--is there any other name that gives one ella? simply ella?" "but what should i have to do?" fenced lady harman, resisting but obviously attracted. lady beach-mandarin invented a lengthy paraphrase for prompt acquiescences. "i shall be chairwoman," she crowned it with. "i can so easily _see you through_ as they say." "ella doesn't go out half enough," said miss sawbridge suddenly to miss sharsper, who was regarding her with furtive intensity--as if she was surreptitiously counting her features. miss sharsper caught in mid observation started and collected her mind. "one ought to go out," she said. "certainly." "and independently," said miss sawbridge, with meaning. "oh independently!" assented miss sharsper. it was evident she would now have to watch her chance and begin counting all over again from the beginning. mr. brumley had an impression that mrs. sawbridge had said something quite confidential in his ear. he turned perplexed. "such charming weather," the lady repeated in the tone of one who doesn't wish so pleasant a little secret to be too generally discussed. "never known a better summer," agreed mr. brumley. and then all these minor eddies were submerged in lady beach-mandarin's advance towards her next step, an invitation to lunch. "there," said she, "i'm not victorian. i always separate husbands and wives--by at least a week. you must come alone." it was clear to mr. brumley that lady harman wanted to come alone--and was going to accept, and equally clear that she and her mother and sister regarded this as a very daring thing to do. and when that was settled lady beach-mandarin went on to the altogether easier topic of her social friends, a society of smart and influential women; who devoted a certain fragment of time every week to befriending respectable girls employed in london, in a briskly amiable manner, having them to special teas, having them to special evenings with special light refreshments, knowing their names as far as possible and asking about their relations, and generally making them feel that society was being very frank and amiable to them and had an eye on them and meant them well, and was better for them than socialism and radicalism and revolutionary ideas. to this also lady harman it seemed was to come. it had an effect to mr. brumley's imagination as if the painted scene of that lady's life was suddenly bursting out into open doors--everywhere. "many of them are _quite_ lady-like," echoed mrs. sawbridge suddenly, picking up the whole thing instantly and speaking over her tea cup in that quasi-confidential tone of hers to mr. brumley. "of course they are mostly quite dreadfully sweated," said lady beach-mandarin. "especially in the confectionery----" she thought of her position in time. "in the inferior class of confectioners' establishments," she said and then hurried on to: "of course when you come to lunch,--agatha alimony. i'm most anxious for you and her to meet." "is that _the_ agatha alimony?" asked miss sawbridge abruptly. "the one and only," said lady beach-mandarin, flashing a smile at her. "and what a marvel she is! i do so want you to know her, lady harman. she'd be a revelation to you...." everything had gone wonderfully so far. "and now," said lady beach-mandarin, thrusting forward a face of almost exaggerated motherliness and with an unwonted tenderness suffusing her voice, "show me the chicks." there was a brief interrogative pause. "your chicks," expanded lady beach-mandarin, on the verge of crooning. "your _little_ chicks." "_oh!_" cried lady harman understanding. "the children." "lucky woman!" cried lady beach-mandarin. "yes." "one hasn't begun to be friends," she added, "until one has seen--them...." "so _true_," mrs. sawbridge confided to mr. brumley with a look that almost languished.... "certainly," said mr. brumley, "rather." he was a little distraught because he had just seen sir isaac step forward in a crouching attitude from beyond the edge of the lilacs, peer at the tea-table with a serpent-like intentness and then dart back convulsively into cover.... if lady beach-mandarin saw him mr. brumley felt that anything might happen. §4 lady beach-mandarin always let herself go about children. it would be unjust to the general richness of lady beach-mandarin to say that she excelled herself on this occasion. on all occasions lady beach-mandarin excelled herself. but never had mr. brumley noted quite so vividly lady beach-mandarin's habitual self-surpassingness. she helped him, he felt, to understand better those stories of great waves that sweep in from the ocean and swamp islands and devastate whole littorals. she poured into the harman nursery and filled every corner of it. she rose to unprecedented heights therein. it seemed to him at moments that they ought to make marks on the walls, like the marks one sees on the houses in the lower valley of the main to record the more memorable floods. "the dears!" she cried: "the _little_ things!" before the nursery door was fairly opened. (there should have been a line for that at once on the jamb just below the lintel.) the nursery revealed itself as a large airy white and green apartment entirely free from old furniture and done rather in the style of an æsthetically designed hospital, with a tremendously humorous decorative frieze of cocks and puppies and very bright-coloured prints on the walls. the dwarfish furniture was specially designed in green-stained wood and the floor was of cork carpet diversified by white furry rugs. the hospital quality was enhanced by the uniformed and disciplined appearance of the middle-aged and reliable head nurse and her subdued but intelligent subordinate. three sturdy little girls, with a year step between each of them, stood up to receive lady beach-mandarin's invasion; an indeterminate baby sprawled regardless of its dignity on a rug. "aah!" cried lady beach-mandarin, advancing in open order. "come and be hugged, you dears! come and be hugged!" before she knelt down and enveloped their shrinking little persons mr. brumley was able to observe that they were pretty little things, but not the beautiful children he could have imagined from lady harman. peeping through their infantile delicacy, hints all too manifest of sir isaac's characteristically pointed nose gave mr. brumley a peculiar--a eugenic, qualm. he glanced at lady harman and she was standing over the ecstasies of her tremendous visitor, polite, attentive--with an entirely unemotional speculation in her eyes. miss sawbridge, stirred by the great waves of violent philoprogenitive enthusiasm that circled out from lady beach-mandarin, had caught up the baby and was hugging it and addressing it in terms of humorous rapture, and the nurse and her assistant were keeping respectful but wary eyes upon the handling of their four charges. miss sharsper was taking in the children's characteristics with a quick expertness. mrs. sawbridge stood a little in the background and caught mr. brumley's eye and proffered a smile of sympathetic tolerance. mr. brumley was moved by a ridiculous impulse, which he just succeeded in suppressing, to say to mrs. sawbridge, "yes, i admit it looks very well. but the essential point, you know, is that it isn't so...." that it wasn't so, indeed, entirely dominated his impression of that nursery. there was lady beach-mandarin winning lady harman's heart by every rule of the game, rejoicing effusively in those crowning triumphs of a woman's being, there was miss sawbridge vociferous in support and mrs. sawbridge almost offering to join hands in rapturous benediction, and there was lady harman wearing her laurels, not indeed with indifference but with a curious detachment. one might imagine her genuinely anxious to understand why lady beach-mandarin was in such a stupendous ebullition. one might have supposed her a mere cold-hearted intellectual if it wasn't that something in her warm beauty absolutely forbade any such interpretation. there came to mr. brumley again a thought that had occurred to him first when sir isaac and lady harman had come together to black strand, which was that life had happened to this woman before she was ready for it, that her mind some years after her body was now coming to womanhood, was teeming with curiosity about all she had hitherto accepted, about sir isaac, about her children and all her circumstances.... there was a recapitulation of the invitations, a renewed offering of outlooks and vistas and agatha alimony. "you'll not forget," insisted lady beach-mandarin. "you'll not afterwards throw us over." "no," said lady harman, with that soft determination of hers. "i'll certainly come." "i'm so sorry, so very sorry, not to have seen sir isaac," lady beach-mandarin insisted. the raid had accomplished its every object and was drifting doorward. for a moment lady beach-mandarin desisted from lady harman and threw her whole being into an eddying effort to submerge the already subjugated mrs. sawbridge. miss sawbridge was behind up the oak staircase explaining sir isaac's interest in furniture-buying to miss sharsper. mr. brumley had his one moment with lady harman. "i gather," he said, and abandoned that sentence. "i hope," he said, "that you will have my little house down there. i like to think of _you_--walking in my garden." "i shall love that garden," she said. "but i shall feel unworthy." "there are a hundred little things i want to tell you--about it." then all the others seemed to come into focus again, and with a quick mutual understanding--mr. brumley was certain of its mutuality--they said no more to one another. he was entirely satisfied he had said enough. he had conveyed just everything that was needed to excuse and explain and justify his presence in that company.... upon a big table in the hall he noticed that a silk hat and an umbrella had appeared since their arrival. he glanced at miss sharsper but she was keenly occupied with the table legs. he began to breathe freely again when the partings were over and he could get back into the automobile. "toot," said the horn and he made a last grave salutation to the slender white figure on the steps. the great butler stood at the side of the entrance and a step or so below her, with the air of a man who has completed a difficult task. a small attentive valet hovered out of the shadows behind. §5 (a fragment of the conversation in lady beach-mandarin's returning automobile may be recorded in a parenthesis here. "but did you see sir isaac?" she cried, abruptly. "sir isaac?" defended the startled mr. brumley. "where?" "he was dodging about in the garden all the time." "dodging about the garden!... i saw a sort of gardener----" "i'm sure i saw him," said lady beach-mandarin. "positive. he hid away in the mushroom shed. the one you found locked." "but my _dear_ lady beach-mandarin!" protested mr. brumley with the air of one who listens to preposterous suggestions. "what can make you think----?" "oh i _know_ i saw him," said lady beach-mandarin. "i know. he seemed all over the place. like a boy scout. didn't you see him too, susan?" miss sharsper was roused from deep preoccupation. "what, dear?" she asked. "see sir isaac?" "sir isaac?" "dodging about the garden when we went through it." the novelist reflected. "i didn't notice," she said. "i was busy observing things.") §6 lady beach-mandarin's car passed through the open gates and was swallowed up in the dusty stream of traffic down putney hill; the great butler withdrew, the little manservant vanished, mrs. sawbridge and her elder daughter had hovered and now receded from the back of the hall; lady harman remained standing thoughtfully in the large bulwer-lyttonesque doorway of her house. her face expressed a vague expectation. she waited to be addressed from behind. then she became aware of the figure of her husband standing before her. he had come out of the laurels in front. his pale face was livid with anger, his hair dishevelled, there was garden mould and greenness upon his knees and upon his extended hands. she was startled out of her quiet defensiveness. "why, isaac!" she cried. "where have you been?" it enraged him further to be asked so obviously unnecessary a question. he forgot his knightly chivalry. "what the devil do you mean," he cried, "by chasing me all round the garden?" "chasing you? all round the garden?" "you heard me breaking my shins on that infernal flower-pot you put for me, and out you shot with all your pack of old women and chased me round the garden. what do you mean by it?" "i didn't think you were in the garden." "any fool could have told i was in the garden. any fool might have known i was in the garden. if i wasn't in the garden, then where the devil was i? eh? where else could i be? of course i was in the garden, and what you wanted was to hunt me down and make a fool of me. and look at me! look, i say! look at my hands!" lady harman regarded the lord of her being and hesitated before she answered. she knew what she had to say would enrage him, but she had come to a point in their relationship when a husband's good temper is no longer a supreme consideration. "you've had plenty of time to wash them," she said. "yes," he shouted. "and instead i kept 'em to show you. i stayed out here to see the last of that crew for fear i might run against 'em in the house. of all the infernal old women----" his lips were providentially deprived of speech. he conveyed his inability to express his estimate of lady beach-mandarin by a gesture of despair. "if--if anyone calls and i am at home i have to receive them," said lady harman, after a moment's deliberation. "receiving them's one thing. making a fool of yourself----" his voice was rising. "isaac," said lady harman, leaning forward and then in a low penetrating whisper, "_snagsby!_" (it was the name of the great butler.) "_damn_ snagsby!" hissed sir isaac, but dropping his voice and drawing near to her. what his voice lost in height it gained in intensity. "what i say is this, ella, you oughtn't to have brought that old woman out into the garden at all----" "she insisted on coming." "you ought to have snubbed her. you ought to have done--anything. how the devil was i to get away, once she was through the verandah? there i was! _bagged!_" "you could have come forward." "what! and meet _her_!" "_i_ had to meet her." sir isaac felt that his rage was being frittered away upon details. "if you hadn't gone fooling about looking at houses," he said, and now he stood very close to her and spoke with a confidential intensity, "you wouldn't have got that holy terror on our track, see? and now--here we are!" he walked past her into the hall, and the little manservant suddenly materialised in the middle of the space and came forward to brush him obsequiously. lady harman regarded that proceeding for some moments in a preoccupied manner and then passed slowly into the classical conservatory. she felt that in view of her engagements the discussion of lady beach-mandarin was only just beginning. §7 she reopened it herself in the long drawing-room into which they both drifted after sir isaac had washed the mould from his hands. she went to a french window, gathered courage, it seemed, by a brief contemplation of the garden, and turned with a little effort. "i don't agree," she said, "with you about lady beach-mandarin." sir isaac appeared surprised. he had assumed the incident was closed. "_how?_" he asked compactly. "i don't agree," said lady harman. "she seems friendly and jolly." "she's a holy terror," said sir isaac. "i've seen her twice, lady harman." "a call of that kind," his wife went on, "--when there are cards left and so on--has to be returned." "you won't," said sir isaac. lady harman took a blind-tassel in her hand,--she felt she had to hold on to something. "in any case," she said, "i should have to do that." "in any case?" she nodded. "it would be ridiculous not to. we----it is why we know so few people--because we don't return calls...." sir isaac paused before answering. "we don't _want_ to know a lot of people," he said. "and, besides----why! anybody could make us go running about all over london calling on them, by just coming and calling on us. no sense in it. she's come and she's gone, and there's an end of it." "no," said lady harman, gripping her tassel more firmly. "i shall have to return that call." "i tell you, you won't." "it isn't only a call," said lady harman. "you see, i promised to go there to lunch." "lunch!" "and to go to a meeting with her." "go to a meeting!" "--of a society called the social friends. and something else. oh! to go to the committee meetings of her shakespear dinners movement." "i've heard of that." "she said you supported it--or else of course...." sir isaac restrained himself with difficulty. "well," he said at last, "you'd better write and tell her you can't do any of these things; that's all." he thrust his hands into his trousers pockets and walked to the french window next to the one in which she stood, with an air of having settled this business completely, and being now free for the tranquil contemplation of horticulture. but lady harman had still something to say. "i am going to _all_ these things," she said. "i said i would, and i will." he didn't seem immediately to hear her. he made the little noise with his teeth that was habitual to him. then he came towards her. "this is your infernal sister," he said. lady harman reflected. "no," she decided. "it's myself." "i might have known when we asked her here," said sir isaac with an habitual disregard of her judgments that was beginning to irritate her more and more. "you can't take on all these people. they're not the sort of people we want to know." "i want to know them," said lady harman. "i don't." "i find them interesting," lady harman said. "and i've promised." "well you oughtn't to have promised without consulting me." her reply was the material of much subsequent reflection on the part of sir isaac. there was something in her manner.... "you see, isaac," she said, "you kept so out of the way...." in the pause that followed her words, mrs. sawbridge appeared from the garden smiling with a determined amiability, and bearing a great bunch of the best roses (which sir isaac hated to have picked) in her hands. chapter the fourth the beginnings of lady harman §1 lady harman had been married when she was just eighteen. mrs. sawbridge was the widow of a solicitor who had been killed in a railway collision while his affairs, as she put it, were unsettled; and she had brought up her two daughters in a villa at penge upon very little money, in a state of genteel protest. ellen was the younger. she had been a sturdy dark-eyed doll-dragging little thing and had then shot up very rapidly. she had gone to a boarding-school at wimbledon because mrs. sawbridge thought the penge day-school had made georgina opiniated and unladylike, besides developing her muscular system to an unrefined degree. the wimbledon school was on less progressive lines, and anyhow ellen grew taller and more feminine than her sister and by seventeen was already womanly, dignified and intensely admired by a number of schoolmates and a large circle of their cousins and brothers. she was generally very good and only now and then broke out with a venturesome enterprise that hurt nobody. she got out of a skylight, for example, and perambulated the roof in the moonshine to see how it felt and did one or two other little things of a similar kind. otherwise her conduct was admirable and her temper in those days was always contagiously good. that attractiveness which mr. brumley felt, was already very manifest, and a little hindered her in the attainment of other distinctions. most of her lessons were done for her by willing slaves, and they were happy slaves because she abounded in rewarding kindnesses; but on the other hand the study of english literature and music was almost forced upon her by the zeal of the two visiting professors of these subjects. and at seventeen, which is the age when girls most despise the boyishness of young men, she met sir isaac and filled him with an invincible covetousness.... §2 the school at wimbledon was a large, hushed, faded place presided over by a lady of hidden motives and great exterior calm named miss beeton clavier. she was handsome without any improper attractiveness, an associate in arts of st. andrew's university and a cousin of mr. blenker of the _old country gazette_. she was assisted by several resident mistresses and two very carefully married visiting masters for music and shakespear, and playground and shrubbery and tennis-lawn were all quite effectively hidden from the high-road. the curriculum included latin grammar--nobody ever got to the reading of books in that formidable tongue--french by an english lady who had been in france, hanoverian german by an irascible native, the more seemly aspects of english history and literature, arithmetic, algebra, political economy and drawing. there was no hockey played within the precincts, science was taught without the clumsy apparatus or objectionable diagrams that are now so common, and stress was laid upon the carriage of the young ladies and the iniquity of speaking in raised voices. miss beeton clavier deprecated the modern "craze for examinations," and released from such pressure her staff did not so much give courses of lessons as circle in a thorough-looking and patient manner about their subjects. this turn-spit quality was reflected in the school idiom; one did not learn algebra or latin or so-forth, one _did_ algebra, one was _put into_ latin.... the girls went through this system of exercises and occupations, evasively and as it were _sotto voce_, making friends, making enemies, making love to one another, following instincts that urged them to find out something about life--in spite of the most earnest discouragement.... none of them believed for a moment that the school was preparing them for life. most of them regarded it as a long inexplicable passage of blank, grey occupations through which they had to pass. beyond was the sunshine. ellen gathered what came to her. she realized a certain beauty in music in spite of the biographies of great musicians, the technical enthusiasms and the general professionalism of her teacher; the literature master directed her attention to memoirs and through these she caught gleams of understanding when the characters of history did for brief intervals cease to be rigidly dignified and institutional like miss beeton clavier and became human--like schoolfellows. and one little spectacled mistress, who wore art dresses and adorned her class-room with flowers, took a great fancy to her, talked to her with much vagueness and emotion of high aims, and lent her with an impressive furtiveness the works of emerson and shelley and a pamphlet by bernard shaw. it was a little difficult to understand what these writers were driving at, they were so dreadfully clever, but it was clear they reflected criticism upon the silences of her mother and the rigidities of miss beeton clavier. in that suppressed and evasive life beneath the outer forms and procedures of school and home, there came glimmerings of something that seemed charged with the promise of holding everything together, the key, religion. she was attracted to religion, much more attracted than she would confess even to herself, but every circumstance in her training dissuaded her from a free approach. her mother treated religion with a reverence that was almost indistinguishable from huffiness. she never named the deity and she did not like the mention of his name: she threw a spell of indelicacy over religious topics that ellen never thoroughly cast off. she put god among objectionable topics--albeit a sublime one. miss beeton clavier sustained this remarkable suggestion. when she read prayers in school she did so with the balanced impartiality of one who offers no comment. she seemed pained as she read and finished with a sigh. whatever she intended to convey, she conveyed that even if the divinity was not all he should be, if, indeed, he was a person almost primitive, having neither the restraint nor the self-obliteration of a refined gentlewoman, no word of it should ever pass her lips. and so ellen as a girl never let her mind go quite easily into this reconciling core of life, and talked of it only very rarely and shyly with a few chosen coevals. it wasn't very profitable talk. they had a guilty feeling, they laughed a little uneasily, they displayed a fatal proclivity to stab the swelling gravity of their souls with some forced and silly jest and so tumble back to ground again before they rose too high.... yet great possibilities of faith and devotion stirred already in the girl's heart. she thought little of god by day, but had a strange sense of him in the starlight; never under the moonlight--that was in no sense divine--but in the stirring darkness of the stars. and it is remarkable that after a course of astronomical enlightenment by a visiting master and descriptions of masses and distances, incredible aching distances, then even more than ever she seemed to feel god among the stars.... a fatal accident to a schoolfellow turned her mind for a time to the dark stillnesses of death. the accident happened away in wales during the summer holidays; she saw nothing of it, she only knew of its consequence. hitherto she had assumed it was the function of girls to grow up and go out from the grey intermediate state of school work into freedoms and realities beyond. death happened, she was aware, to young people, but not she had thought to the people one knew. this termination came with a shock. the girl was no great personal loss to ellen, they had belonged to different sets and classes, but the conception of her as lying very very still for ever was a haunting one. ellen felt she did not want to be still for evermore in a confined space, with life and sunshine going on all about her and above her, and it quickened her growing appetite for living to think that she might presently have to be like that. how stifled one would feel! it couldn't be like that. she began to speculate about that future life upon which religion insists so much and communicates so little. was it perhaps in other planets, under those wonderful, many-mooned, silver-banded skies? she perceived more and more a kind of absurdity in the existence all about her. was all this world a mere make-believe, and would miss beeton clavier and every one about her presently cast aside a veil? manifestly there was a veil. she had a very natural disposition to doubt whether the actual circumstances of her life were real. her mother for instance was so lacking in blood and fire, so very like the stiff paper wrapping of something else. but if these things were not real, what was real? what might she not presently do? what might she not presently be? perhaps death had something to do with that. was death perhaps no more than the flinging off of grotesque outer garments by the newly arrived guests at the feast of living? she had that feeling that there might be a feast of living. these preoccupations were a jealously guarded secret, but they gave her a quality of slight detachment that added a dreaming dignity to her dark tall charm. there were moments of fine, deep excitement that somehow linked themselves in her mind with these thoughts as being set over against the things of every day. these too were moments quite different and separate in quality from delight, from the keen appreciation of flowers or sunshine or little vividly living things. daylight seemed to blind her to them, as they blinded her to starshine. they too had a quality of reference to things large and remote, distances, unknown mysteries of light and matter, the thought of mountains, cool white wildernesses and driving snowstorms, or great periods of time. such were the luminous transfigurations that would come to her at the evening service in church. the school used to sit in the gallery over against the organist, and for a year and more ellen had the place at the corner from which she could look down the hazy candle-lit vista of the nave and see the congregation as ranks and ranks of dim faces and vaguely apprehended clothes, ranks that rose with a peculiar deep and spacious rustle to sing, and sang with a massiveness of effect she knew in no other music. certain hymns in particular seemed to bear her up and carry her into another larger, more wonderful world: "heart's abode, celestial salem" for example, a world of luminous spiritualized sensuousness. of such a quality she thought the heavenly city must surely be, away there and away. but this persuasion differed from those other mystical intimations in its detachment from any sense of the divinity. and remarkably mixed up with it and yet not belonging to it, antagonistic and kindred like a silver dagger stuck through a mystically illuminated parchment, was the angelic figure of a tall fair boy in a surplice who stood out amidst the choir below and sang, it seemed to her, alone. she herself on these occasions of exaltation would be far too deeply moved to sing. she was inundated by a swimming sense of boundaries nearly transcended, as though she was upon the threshold of a different life altogether, the real enduring life, and as though if she could only maintain herself long enough in this shimmering exaltation she would get right over; things would happen, things that would draw her into that music and magic and prevent her ever returning to everyday life again. there one would walk through music between great candles under eternal stars, hand-in-hand with a tall white figure. but nothing ever did happen to make her cross that boundary; the hymn ceased, the "amen" died away, as if a curtain fell. the congregation subsided. reluctantly she would sink back into her seat.... but all through the sermon, to which she never gave the slightest attention, her mind would feel mute and stilled, and she used to come out of church silent and preoccupied, returning unwillingly to the commonplaces of life.... §3 ellen met sir isaac--in the days before he was sir isaac--at the house of a school friend with whom she was staying at hythe, and afterwards her mother and sister came down and joined her for a fortnight at a folkstone boarding house. mr. harman had caught a chill while inspecting his north wales branches and had come down with his mother to recuperate. he and his mother occupied a suite of rooms in the most imposing hotel upon the leas. ellen's friend's people were partners in a big flour firm and had a pleasant new æsthetic white and green house of rough-cast and slates in the pretty country beyond the hythe golf links, and ellen's friend's father was deeply anxious to develop amiable arrangements with mr. harman. there was much tennis, much croquet, much cycling to the hythe sea-wall and bathing from little tents and sitting about in the sunshine, and mr. harman had his first automobile with him--they were still something of a novelty in those days--and was urgent to take picnic parties to large lonely places on the downs. there were only two young men in that circle, one was engaged to ellen's friend's sister, and the other was bound to a young woman remote in italy; neither was strikingly attractive and both regarded harman with that awe tempered by undignified furtive derision which wealth and business capacity so often inspire in the young male. at first he was quiet and simply looked at her, as it seemed any one might look, then she perceived he looked at her intently and continuously, and was persistently close to her and seemed always to be trying to do things to please her and attract her attention. and then from the general behaviour of the women about her, her mother and mrs. harman and her friend's mother and her friend's sister, rather than from any one specific thing they said, it grew upon her consciousness that this important and fabulously wealthy person, who was also it seemed to her so modest and quiet and touchingly benevolent, was in love with her. "your daughter," said mrs. harman repeatedly to mrs. sawbridge, "is charming, perfectly charming." "she's _such_ a child," said mrs. sawbridge repeatedly in reply. and she told ellen's friend's mother apropos of ellen's friend's engagement that she wanted all her daughters to marry for love, she didn't care what the man had so long as they loved each other, and meanwhile she took the utmost care that isaac had undisputed access to the girl, was watchfully ready to fend off anyone else, made her take everything he offered and praised him quietly and steadily to her. she pointed out how modest and unassuming he was, in spite of the fact that he was "controlling an immense business" and in his own particular trade "a perfect napoleon." "for all one sees to the contrary he might be just a private gentleman. and he feeds thousands and thousands of people...." "sooner or later," said mrs. harman, "i suppose isaac will marry. he's been such a good son to me that i shall feel it dreadfully, and yet, you know, i wish i could see him settled. then _i_ shall settle--in a little house of my own somewhere. just a little place. i don't believe in coming too much between son and daughter-in-law...." harman's natural avidity was tempered by a proper modesty. he thought ellen so lovely and so infinitely desirable--and indeed she was--that it seemed incredible to him that he could ever get her. and yet he had got most of the things in life he had really and urgently wanted. his doubts gave his love-making an eager, lavish and pathetic delicacy. he watched her minutely in an agony of appreciation. he felt ready to give or promise anything. she was greatly flattered by his devotion and she liked the surprises and presents he heaped upon her extremely. also she was sorry for him beyond measure. in the deep recesses of her heart was an oleographic ideal of a large brave young man with blue eyes, a wave in his fair hair, a wonderful tenor voice and--she could not help it, she tried to look away and not think of it--a broad chest. with him she intended to climb mountains. so clearly she could not marry mr. harman. and because of that she tried to be very kind indeed to him, and when he faltered that she could not possibly care for him, she reassured him so vaguely as to fill him with wild gusts of hope and herself with a sense of pledges. he told her one day between two sets of tennis--which he played with a certain tricky skill--that he felt that the very highest happiness he could ever attain would be to die at her feet. presently her pity and her sense of responsibility had become so large and deep that the dream hero with the blue eyes was largely overlaid and hidden by them. then, at first a little indirectly and then urgently and with a voice upon the edge of tears, harman implored her to marry him. she had never before in the whole course of her life seen a grown-up person on the very verge of tears. she felt that the release of such deep fountains as that must be averted at any cost. she felt that for a mere schoolgirl like herself, a backward schoolgirl who had never really mastered quadratics, to cause these immense and tragic distresses was abominable. she was sure her former headmistress would disapprove very highly of her. "i will make you a queen," said harman, "i will give all my life to your happiness." she believed he would. she refused him for the second time but with a weakening certainty in a little white summer-house that gave a glimpse of the sea between green and wooded hills. she sat and stared at the sea after he had left her, through a mist of tears; so pitiful did he seem. he had beaten his poor fists on the stone table and then caught up her hand, kissed it and rushed out.... she had not dreamt that love could hurt like that. and all that night--that is to say for a full hour before her wet eyelashes closed in slumber--she was sleepless with remorse for the misery she was causing him. the third time when he said with suicidal conviction that he could not live without her, she burst into tears of pity and yielded. and instantly, amazingly, with the famished swiftness of a springing panther he caught her body into his arms and kissed her on the lips.... §4 they were married with every circumstance of splendour, with very expensive music, and portraits in the illustrated newspapers and a great glitter of favours and carriages. the bridegroom was most thoughtful and generous about the sawbridge side of the preparations. only one thing was a little perplexing. in spite of his impassioned impatience he delayed the wedding. full of dark hints and a portentous secret, he delayed the wedding for twenty-five whole days in order that it should follow immediately upon the publication of the birthday honours list. and then they understood. "you will be lady harman," he exulted; "_lady_ harman. i would have given double.... i have had to back the _old country gazette_ and i don't care a rap. i'd have done anything. i'd have bought the rotten thing outright.... lady harman!" he remained loverlike until the very eve of their marriage. then suddenly it seemed to her that all the people she cared for in the world were pushing her away from them towards him, giving her up, handing her over. he became--possessive. his abjection changed to pride. she perceived that she was going to be left tremendously alone with him, with an effect, as if she had stepped off a terrace on to what she believed to be land and had abruptly descended into very deep water.... and while she was still feeling quite surprised by everything and extremely doubtful whether she wanted to go any further with this business, which was manifestly far more serious, out of all proportion more serious, than anything that had ever happened to her before--and _unpleasant_, abounding indeed in crumpling indignities and horrible nervous stresses, it dawned upon her that she was presently to be that strange, grown-up and preoccupied thing, a mother, and that girlhood and youth and vigorous games, mountains and swimming and running and leaping were over for her as far as she could see for ever.... both the prospective grandmothers became wonderfully kind and helpful and intimate, preparing with gusto and an agreeable sense of delegated responsibility for the child that was to give them all the pride of maternity again and none of its inconveniences. chapter the fifth the world according to sir isaac §1 her marriage had carried ellen out of the narrow world of home and school into another that had seemed at first vastly larger, if only on account of its freedom from the perpetual achievement of small economies. hitherto the urgent necessity of these had filled life with irksome precautions and clipped the wings of every dream. this new life into which sir isaac led her by the hand promised not only that release but more light, more colour, more movement, more people. there was to be at any rate so much in the way of rewards and compensation for her pity of him. she found the establishment at putney ready for her. sir isaac had not consulted her about it, it had been his secret, he had prepared it for her with meticulous care as a surprise. they returned from a honeymoon in skye in which the attentions of sir isaac and the comforts of a first-class hotel had obscured a marvellous background of sombre mountain and wide stretches of shining sea. sir isaac had been very fond and insistent and inseparable, and she was doing her best to conceal a strange distressful jangling of her nerves which she now feared might presently dispose her to scream. sir isaac had been goodness itself, but how she craved now for solitude! she was under the impression now that they were going to his mother's house in highbury. then she thought he would have to go away to business for part of the day at any rate, and she could creep into some corner and begin to think of all that had happened to her in these short summer months. they were met at euston by his motor-car. "_home_," said sir isaac, with a little gleam of excitement, when the more immediate luggage was aboard. as they hummed through the west-end afternoon ellen became aware that he was whistling through his teeth. it was his invariable indication of mental activity, and her attention came drifting back from her idle contemplation of the shoppers and strollers of piccadilly to link this already alarming symptom with the perplexing fact that they were manifestly travelling west. "but this," she said presently, "is knightsbridge." "goes to kensington," he replied with attempted indifference. "but your mother doesn't live this way." "_we_ do," said sir isaac, shining at every point of his face. "but," she halted. "isaac!--where are we going?" "home," he said. "you've not taken a house?" "bought it." "but,--it won't be ready!" "i've seen to that." "servants!" she cried in dismay. "that's all right." his face broke into an excited smile. his little eyes danced and shone. "everything," he said. "but the servants!" she said. "you'll see," he said. "there's a butler--and everything." "a butler!" he could now no longer restrain himself. "i was weeks," he said, "getting it ready. weeks and weeks.... it's a house.... i'd had my eye on it before ever i met you. it's a real _good_ house, elly...." the fortunate girl-wife went on through brompton to walham green with a stunned feeling. so women have felt in tumbrils. a nightmare of butlers, a galaxy of possible butlers, filled her soul. no one was quite so big and formidable as snagsby, towering up to receive her, upon the steps of the home her husband was so amazingly giving her. the reader has already been privileged to see something of this house in the company of lady beach-mandarin. at the top of the steps stood mrs. crumble, the new and highly recommended cook-housekeeper in her best black silk flounced and expanded, and behind her peeped several neat maids in caps and aprons. a little valet-like under-butler appeared and tried to balance snagsby by hovering two steps above him on the opposite side of the victorian mediæval porch. assisted officiously by snagsby and amidst the deferential unhelpful gestures of the under-butler, sir isaac handed his wife out of the car. "everything all right, snagsby?" he asked brusquely if a little breathless. "everything in order, sir isaac." "and here;--this is her ladyship." "i 'ope her ladyship 'ad a pleasent journey to 'er new 'ome. i'm sure if i may presume, sir isaac, we shall all be very glad to serve her ladyship." (like all well-trained english servants, snagsby always dropped as many h's as he could when conversing with his superiors. he did this as a mark of respect and to prevent social confusion, just as he was always careful to wear a slightly misfitting dress coat and fold his trousers so that they creased at the sides and had a wide flat effect in front.) lady harman bowed a little shyly to his good wishes and was then led up to mrs. crumble, in a stiff black silk, who curtseyed with a submissive amiability to her new mistress. "i'm sure, me lady," she said. "i'm sure----" there was a little pause. "here they are, you see, right and ready," said sir isaac, and then with an inspiration, "got any tea for us, snagsby?" snagsby addressing his mistress inquired if he should serve tea in the garden or the drawing-room, and sir isaac decided for the garden. "there's another hall beyond this," he said, and took his wife's arm, leaving mrs. crumble still bowing amiably before the hall table. and every time she bowed she rustled richly.... "it's quite a big garden," said sir isaac. §2 and so the woman who had been a girl three weeks ago, this tall, dark-eyed, slightly perplexed and very young-looking lady, was introduced to the home that had been made for her. she went about it with an alarmed sense of strange responsibilities, not in the least feeling that anything was being given to her. and sir isaac led her from point to point full of the pride and joy of new possession--for it was his first own house as well as hers--rejoicing over it and exacting gratitude. "it's all right, isn't it?" he asked looking up at her. "it's wonderful. i'd no idea." "see," he said, indicating a great brass bowl of perennial sunflowers on the landing, "your favourite flower!" "my favourite flower?" "you said it was--in that book. perennial sunflower." she was perplexed and then remembered. she understood now why he had said downstairs, when she had glanced at a big photographic enlargement of a portrait of doctor barnardo, "your favourite hero in real life." he had brought her at hythe one day a popular victorian device, a confession album, in which she had had to write down on a neat rose-tinted page, her favourite author, her favourite flower, her favourite colour, her favourite hero in real life, her "pet aversion," and quite a number of such particulars of her subjective existence. she had filled this page in a haphazard manner late one night, and she was disconcerted to find how thoroughly her careless replies had come home to roost. she had put down "pink" as her favourite colour because the page she was writing upon suggested it, and the paper of the room was pale pink, the curtains strong pink with a pattern of paler pink and tied with large pink bows, and the lamp shades, the bedspread, the pillow-cases, the carpet, the chairs, the very crockery--everything but the omnipresent perennial sunflowers--was pink. confronted with this realization, she understood that pink was the least agreeable of all possible hues for a bedroom. she perceived she had to live now in a chromatic range between rather underdone mutton and salmon. she had said that her favourite musical composers were bach and beethoven; she really meant it, and a bust of beethoven materialized that statement, but she had made doctor barnardo her favourite hero in real life because his name also began with a b and she had heard someone say somewhere that he was a very good man. the predominance of george eliot's pensive rather than delightful countenance in her bedroom and the array of all that lady's works in a lusciously tooled pink leather, was due to her equally reckless choice of a favourite author. she had said too that nelson was her favourite historical character, but sir isaac with a delicate jealousy had preferred to have this heroic but regrettably immoral personality represented in his home only by an engraving of the battle of copenhagen.... she stood surveying this room, and her husband watched her eagerly. she was, he felt, impressed at last!... certainly she had never seen such a bedroom in her life. by comparison even with the largest of the hotel apartments they had occupied it was vast; it had writing-tables and a dainty bookcase and a blushing sofa, and dressing-tables and a bureau and a rose-red screen and three large windows. her thoughts went back to the narrow little bedroom at penge with which she had hitherto been so entirely content. her own few little books, a photograph or so,--they'd never dare to come here, even if she dared to bring them. "here," said sir isaac, flinging open a white door, "is your dressing-room." she was chiefly aware of a huge white bath standing on a marble slab under a window of crinkled pink-stained glass, and of a wide space of tiled floor with white fur rugs. "and here," he said, opening a panel that was covered by wall paper, "is _my_ door." "yes," he said to the question in her eyes, "that's my room. you got this one--for your own. it's how people do now. people of our position.... there's no lock." he shut the door slowly again and surveyed the splendours he had made with infinite satisfaction. "all right?" he said, "isn't it?"... he turned to the pearl for which the casket was made, and slipped an arm about her waist. his arm tightened. "got a kiss for me, elly?" he whispered. at this moment, a gong almost worthy of snagsby summoned them to tea. it came booming in to them with a vast officious arrogance that brooked no denial. it made one understand the imperatives of the last trump, albeit with a greater dignity.... there was a little awkward pause. "i'm so dirty and trainy," she said, disengaging herself from his arm. "and we ought to go to tea." §3 the same exceptional aptitude of sir isaac for detailed administration that had relieved his wife from the need of furnishing and arranging a home, made the birth of her children and the organization of her nursery an almost detached affair for her. sir isaac went about in a preoccupied way, whistling between his teeth and planning with expert advice the equipment of an ideal nursery, and her mother and his mother became as it were voluminous clouds of uncommunicative wisdom and precaution. in addition the conversation of miss crump, the extremely skilled and costly nurse, who arrived a full advent before the child, fresh from the birth of a viscount, did much to generalize whatever had remained individual of this thing that was happening. with so much intelligence focussed, there seemed to lady harman no particular reason why she should not do her best to think as little as possible about the impending affair, which meant for her, she now understood quite clearly, more and more discomfort culminating in an agony. the summer promised to be warm, and sir isaac took a furnished house for the great event in the hills behind torquay. the maternal instinct is not a magic thing, it has to be evoked and developed, and i decline to believe it is indicative of any peculiar unwomanliness in lady harman that when at last she beheld her newly-born daughter in the hands of the experts, she moaned druggishly, "oh! please take it away. oh! take it--away. anywhere--anywhere." it was very red and wrinkled and aged-looking and, except when it opened its mouth to cry, extraordinarily like its father. this resemblance disappeared--along with a crop of darkish red hair--in the course of a day or two, but it left a lurking dislike to its proximity in her mind long after it had become an entirely infantile and engaging baby. §4 those early years of their marriage were the happiest period of sir isaac's life. he seemed to have everything that man could desire. he was still only just forty at his marriage; he had made for himself a position altogether dominant in the world of confectionery and popular refreshment, he had won a title, he had a home after his own heart, a beautiful young wife, and presently delightful children in his own image, and it was only after some years of contentment and serenity and with a certain incredulity that he discovered that something in his wife, something almost in the nature of discontent with her lot, was undermining and threatening all the comfort and beauty of his life. sir isaac was one of those men whom modern england delights to honour, a man of unpretentious acquisitiveness, devoted to business and distracted by no æsthetic or intellectual interests. he was the only son of his mother, the widow of a bankrupt steam-miller, and he had been a delicate child to rear. he left mr. gambard's college at ealing after passing the second-class examination of the college of preceptors at the age of sixteen, to go into a tea-office as clerk without a salary, a post he presently abandoned for a clerkship in the office of a large refreshment catering firm. he attracted the attention of his employers by suggesting various administrative economies, and he was already drawing a salary of two hundred and fifty pounds a year when he was twenty-one. many young men would have rested satisfied with so rapid an advancement, and would have devoted themselves to the amusements that are now considered so permissible to youth, but young harman was made of sterner stuff, and it only spurred him to further efforts. he contrived to save a considerable proportion of his salary for some years, and at the age of twenty-seven he started, in association with a firm of flour millers, the international bread and cake stores, which spread rapidly over the country. they were not in any sense of the word "international," but in a search for inflated and inflating adjectives this word attracted him most, and the success of the enterprise justified his choice. originally conceived as a syndicated system of baker's shops running a specially gritty and nutritious line of bread, the staminal bread, in addition to the ordinary descriptions, it rapidly developed a catering side, and in a little time there were few centres of clerkly employment in london or the midlands where an international could not be found supplying the midday scone or poached egg, washed down by a cup of tea, or coffee, or lemonade. it meant hard work for isaac harman. it drew lines on his cheeks, sharpened his always rather pointed nose to an extreme efficiency, greyed his hair, and gave an acquired firmness to his rather retreating mouth. all his time was given to the details of this development; always he was inspecting premises, selecting and dismissing managers, making codes of rules and fines for his growing army of employees, organizing and reorganizing his central offices and his central bakeries, hunting up cheaper and cheaper supplies of eggs and flour, and milk and ham, devising advertisements and agency developments. he had something of an artist's passion in these things; he went about, a little bent and peaky, calculating and planning and hissing through his teeth, and feeling not only that he was getting on, but that he was getting on in the most exemplary way. manifestly, anybody in his line of business who wanted to be leisurely, or to be generous, who possessed any broader interests than the shop, who troubled to think about the nation or the race or any of the deeper mysteries of life, was bound to go down before him. he dealt privately with every appetite--until his marriage no human being could have suspected him of any appetite but business--he disposed of every distracting impulse with unobtrusive decision; and even his political inclination towards radicalism sprang chiefly from an irritation with the legal advantages of landlordism natural to a man who is frequently leasing shops. at school sir isaac had not been a particularly prominent figure; his disposition at cricket to block and to bowl "sneaks" and "twisters" under-arm had raised his average rather than his reputation; he had evaded fights and dramatic situations, and protected himself upon occasions of unavoidable violence by punching with his white knuckles held in a peculiar and vicious manner. he had always been a little insensitive to those graces of style, in action if not in art, which appeal so strongly to the commoner sort of english mind; he played first for safety, and that assured, for the uttermost advantage. these tendencies became more marked with maturity. when he took up tennis for his health's sake he developed at once an ungracious service that had to be killed like vermin; he developed an instinct for the deadest ball available, and his returns close up to the net were like assassinations. indeed, he was inherently incapable of any vision beyond the express prohibitions and permissions of the rules of the games he played, or beyond the laws and institutions under which he lived. his idea of generosity was the undocumented and unqualified purchase of a person by payments made in the form of a gift. and this being the quality of sir isaac's mind, it followed that his interpretations of the relationship of marriage were simple and strict. a woman, he knew, had to be wooed to be won, but when she was won, she was won. he did not understand wooing after that was settled. there was the bargain and her surrender. he on his side had to keep her, dress her, be kind to her, give her the appearances of pride and authority, and in return he had his rights and his privileges and undefined powers of control. that you know, by the existing rules, is the reality of marriage where there are no settlements and no private property of the wife's. that is to say, it is the reality of marriage in ninety-nine cases out of the hundred. and it would have shocked sir isaac extremely, and as a matter of fact it did shock him, for any one to suggest the slightest revision of so entirely advantageous an arrangement. he was confident of his good intentions, and resolved to the best of his ability to make his wife the happiest of living creatures, subject only to reasonable acquiescences and general good behaviour. never before had he cared for anything so much as he did for her--not even for the international bread and cake stores. he gloated upon her. she distracted him from business. he resolved from the outset to surround her with every luxury and permit her no desire that he had not already anticipated. even her mother and georgina, whom he thought extremely unnecessary persons, were frequent visitors to his house. his solicitude for her was so great that she found it difficult even to see her doctor except in his presence. and he bought her a pearl necklace that cost six hundred pounds. he was, in fact, one of those complete husbands who grow rare in these decadent days. the social circle to which sir isaac introduced his wife was not a very extensive one. the business misadventures of his father had naturally deprived his mother of most of her friends; he had made only acquaintances at school, and his subsequent concentration upon business had permitted very few intimacies. renewed prosperity had produced a certain revival of cousins, but mrs. harman, established in a pleasant house at highbury, had received their attentions with a well-merited stiffness. his chief associates were his various business allies, and these and their wives and families formed the nucleus of the new world to which ellen was gradually and temperately introduced. there were a few local callers, but putney is now too deeply merged with london for this practice of the countryside to have any great effect upon a new-comer's visiting circle. perhaps mr. charterson might claim to be sir isaac's chief friend at the time of that gentleman's marriage. transactions in sugar had brought them together originally. he was sir isaac's best man, and the new knight entertained a feeling of something very like admiration for him. moreover, mr. charterson had very large ears, more particularly was the left one large, extraordinarily large and projecting upper teeth, which he sought vainly to hide beneath an extravagant moustache, and a harsh voice, characteristics that did much to allay the anxieties natural to a newly married man. mr. charterson was moreover adequately married to a large, attentive, enterprising, swarthy wife, and possessed a splendid house in belgravia. not quite so self-made as sir isaac, he was still sufficiently self-made to take a very keen interest in his own social advancement and in social advancement generally, and it was through him that sir isaac's attention had been first directed to those developing relations with politics that arise as a business grows to greatness. "i'm for parliament," said charterson. "sugar's in politics, and i'm after it. you'd better come too, harman. those chaps up there, they'll play jiggery-pokery with sugar if we aren't careful. and it won't be only sugar, harman!" pressed to expand this latter sentence, he pointed out to his friend that "any amount of interfering with employment" was in the air--"any amount." "and besides," said mr. charterson, "men like us have a stake in the country, harman. we're getting biggish people. we ought to do our share. i don't see the fun of leaving everything to the landlords and the lawyers. men of our sort have got to make ourselves felt. we want a business government. of course--one pays. so long as i get a voice in calling the tune i don't mind paying the piper a bit. there's going to be a lot of interference with trade. all this social legislation. and there's what you were saying the other day about these leases...." "i'm not much of a talker," said harman. "i don't see myself gassing in the house." "oh! i don't mean going into parliament," said charterson. "that's for some of us, perhaps.... but come into the party, make yourself felt." under charterson's stimulation it was that harman joined the national liberal club, and presently went on to the climax, and through him he came to know something of that inner traffic of arrangements and bargains which does so much to keep a great historical party together and maintain its vitality. for a time he was largely overshadowed by the sturdy radicalism of charterson, but presently as he understood this interesting game better, he embarked upon a line of his own. charterson wanted a seat, and presently got it; his maiden speech on the sugar bounties won a compliment from mr. evesham; and harman, who would have piloted a monoplane sooner than address the house, decided to be one of those silent influences that work outside our national assembly. he came to the help of an embarrassed liberal weekly, and then, in a fleet street crisis, undertook the larger share of backing the _old country gazette_, that important social and intellectual party organ. his knighthood followed almost automatically. such political developments introduced a second element into the intermittent social relations of the harman household. before his knighthood and marriage sir isaac had participated in various public banquets and private parties and little dinners in the vaults of the house and elsewhere, arising out of his political intentions, and with the appearance of a lady harman there came a certain urgency on the part of those who maintain in a state of hectic dullness the social activities of the great liberal party. horatio blenker, sir isaac's editor, showed a disposition to be socially very helpful, and after mrs. blenker had called in a state of worldly instructiveness, there was a little dinner at the blenkers' to introduce young lady harman to the great political world. it was the first dinner-party of her life, and she found it dazzling rather than really agreeable. she felt very slender and young and rather unclothed about the arms and neck, in spite of the six hundred pound pearl necklace that had been given to her just as she stood before the mirror in her white-and-gold dinner dress ready to start. she had to look down at that dress ever and again and at her shining arms to remind herself that she wasn't still in schoolgirl clothes, and it seemed to her there was not another woman in the room who was not fairly entitled to send her off to bed at any moment. she had been a little nervous about the details of the dinner, but there was nothing strange or difficult but caviare, and in that case she waited for some one else to begin. the chartersons were there, which was very reassuring, and the abundant flowers on the table were a sort of protection. the man on her right was very nice, gently voluble, and evidently quite deaf, so that she had merely to make kind respectful faces at him. he talked to her most of the time, and described the peasant costumes in marken and walcheren. and mr. blenker, with a fine appreciation of sir isaac's watchful temperament and his own magnetism, spoke to her three times and never looked at her once all through the entertainment. a few weeks later they went to dinner at the chartersons', and then she gave a dinner, which was arranged very skilfully by sir isaac and snagsby and the cook-housekeeper, with a little outside help, and then came a big party reception at lady barleypound's, a multitudinous miscellaneous assembly in which the obviously wealthy rubbed shoulders with the obviously virtuous and the not quite so obviously clever. it was a great orgy of standing about and seeing the various blenkers and the cramptons and the weston massinghays and the daytons and mrs. millingham with her quivering lorgnette and her last tame genius and lewis, and indeed all the tapirs and tadpoles of liberalism, being tremendously active and influential and important throughout the evening. the house struck ellen as being very splendid, the great staircase particularly so, and never before had she seen a great multitude of people in evening dress. lady barleypound in the golden parlour at the head of the stairs shook hands automatically, lest it would seem in some amiable dream, mrs. blapton and a daughter rustled across the gathering in a hasty vindictive manner and vanished, and a number of handsome, glittering, dark-eyed, splendidly dressed women kept together in groups and were tremendously but occultly amused. the various blenkers seemed everywhere, horatio in particular with his large fluent person and his luminous tenor was like a shop-walker taking customers to the departments: one felt he was weaving all these immiscibles together into one great wise liberal purpose, and that he deserved quite wonderful things from the party; he even introduced five or six people to lady harman, looking sternly over her head and restraining his charm as he did so on account of sir isaac's feelings. the people he brought up to her were not very interesting people, she thought, but then that was perhaps due to her own dreadful ignorance of politics. lady harman ceased even to dip into the vortex of london society after march, and in june she went with her mother and a skilled nurse to that beautiful furnished house sir isaac had found near torquay, in preparation for the birth of their first little daughter. §5 it seemed to her husband that it was both unreasonable and ungrateful of her to become a tearful young woman after their union, and for a phase of some months she certainly was a tearful young woman, but his mother made it clear to him that this was quite a correct and permissible phase for her, as she was, and so he expressed his impatience with temperance, and presently she was able to pull herself together and begin to readjust herself to a universe that had seemed for a time almost too shattered for endurance. she resumed the process of growing up that her marriage had for a time so vividly interrupted, and if her schooldays were truncated and the college phase omitted, she had at any rate a very considerable amount of fundamental experience to replace these now customary completions. three little girls she brought into the world in the first three years of her married life, then after a brief interval of indifferent health she had a fourth girl baby of a physique quite obviously inferior to its predecessors, and then, after--and perhaps as a consequence of--much whispered conversation of the two mothers-in-law, protests and tactful explanation on the part of the elderly and trustworthy family doctor and remarks of an extraordinary breadth (and made at table too, almost before the door had closed on snagsby!) from ellen's elder sister, there came a less reproductive phase.... but by that time lady harman had acquired the habit of reading and the habit of thinking over what she read, and from that it is an easy step to thinking over oneself and the circumstances of one's own life. the one thing trains for the other. now the chief circumstance in the life of lady harman was sir isaac. indeed as she grew to a clear consciousness of herself and her position, it seemed to her he was not so much a circumstance as a circumvallation. there wasn't a direction in which she could turn without immediately running up against him. he had taken possession of her extremely. and from her first resignation to this as an inevitable fact she had come, she hardly knew how, to a renewed disposition to regard this large and various universe beyond him and outside of him, with something of the same slight adventurousness she had felt before he so comprehensively happened to her. after her first phase of despair she had really done her best to honour the bargain she had rather unwittingly made and to love and to devote herself and be a loyal and happy wife to this clutching, hard-breathing little man who had got her, and it was the insatiable excesses of his demands quite as much as any outer influence that made her realize the impossibility of such a concentration. his was a supremely acquisitive and possessive character, so that he insulted her utmost subjugations by an obtrusive suspicion and jealousy, he was jealous of her childish worship of her dead father, jealous of her disposition to go to church, jealous of the poet wordsworth because she liked to read his sonnets, jealous because she loved great music, jealous when she wanted to go out; if she seemed passionless and she seemed more and more passionless he was jealous, and the slightest gleam of any warmth of temperament filled him with a vile and furious dread of dishonouring possibilities. and the utmost resolution to believe in him could not hide from her for ever the fact that his love manifested itself almost wholly as a parade of ownership and a desire, without kindliness, without any self-forgetfulness. all his devotion, his self-abjection, had been the mere qualms of a craving, the flush of eager courtship. do as she would to overcome these realizations, forces within her stronger than herself, primordial forces with the welfare of all life in their keeping, cried out upon the meanness of his face, the ugly pointed nose and the thin compressed lips, the weak neck, the clammy hands, the ungainly nervous gestures, the tuneless whistling between the clenched teeth. he would not let her forget a single detail. whenever she tried to look at any created thing, he thrust himself, like one of his own open-air advertisements, athwart the attraction. as she grew up to an achieved womanhood--and it was even a physical growing-up, for she added more than an inch of stature after her marriage--her life became more and more consciously like a fencing match in which her vision flashed over his head and under his arms and this side of him and that, while with a toiling industry he fought to intercept it. and from the complete acceptance of her matrimonial submission, she passed on by almost insensible degrees towards a conception of her life as a struggle, that seemed at first entirely lonely and unsupported, to exist--_against_ him. in every novel as in every picture there must be an immense simplification, and so i tell the story of lady harman's changing attitude without any of those tangled leapings-forward or harkings-back, those moods and counter moods and relapses which made up the necessary course of her mind. but sometimes she was here and sometimes she was there, sometimes quite back to the beginning an obedient, scrupulously loyal and up-looking young wife, sometimes a wife concealing the humiliation of an unhappy choice in a spurious satisfaction and affection. and mixed up with widening spaces of criticism and dissatisfaction and hostility there were, you must understand, moments of real liking for this outrageous little man and streaks of an absurd maternal tenderness for him. they had been too close together to avoid that. she had a woman's affection of ownership too, and disliked to see him despised or bettered or untidy; even those ridiculous muddy hands had given her a twinge of solicitude.... and all the while she was trying to see the universe also, the great background of their two little lives, and to think what it might mean for her over and above their too obliterating relationship. §6 it would be like counting the bacteria of an infection to trace how ideas of insubordination came drifting into sir isaac's paradise. the epidemic is in the air. there is no tempter nowadays, no definitive apple. the disturbing force has grown subtler, blows in now like a draught, creeps and gathers like the dust,--a disseminated serpent. sir isaac brought home his young, beautiful and rather crumpled and astonished eve and by all his standards he was entitled to be happy ever afterwards. he knew of one danger, but against that he was very watchful. never once for six long years did she have a private duologue with another male. but mudie and sir jesse boot sent parcels to the house unchecked, the newspaper drifted in not even censored: the nurses who guided ellen through the essential incidents of a feminine career talked of something called a "movement." and there was georgina.... the thing they wanted they called the vote, but that demand so hollow, so eyeless, had all the terrifying effect of a mask. behind that mask was a formless invincible discontent with the lot of womanhood. it wanted,--it was not clear what it wanted, but whatever it wanted, all the domestic instincts of mankind were against admitting there was anything it could want. that remarkable agitation had already worked up to the thunderous pitch, there had been demonstrations at public meetings, scenes in the ladies' gallery and something like rioting in parliament square before ever it occurred to sir isaac that this was a disturbance that touched his home. he had supposed suffragettes were ladies of all too certain an age with red noses and spectacles and a masculine style of costume, who wished to be hugged by policemen. he said as much rather knowingly and wickedly to charterson. he could not understand any woman not coveting the privileges of lady harman. and then one day while georgina and her mother were visiting them, as he was looking over the letters at the breakfast table according to his custom before giving them out, he discovered two identical newspaper packets addressed to his wife and his sister-in-law, and upon them were these words printed very plainly, "votes for women." "good lord!" he cried. "what's this? it oughtn't to be allowed." and he pitched the papers at the wastepaper basket under the sideboard. "i'll thank you," said georgina, "not to throw away our _votes for women_. we subscribe to that." "eh?" cried sir isaac. "we're subscribers. snagsby, just give us those papers." (a difficult moment for snagsby.) he picked up the papers and looked at sir isaac. "put 'em down there," said sir isaac, waving to the sideboard and then in an ensuing silence handed two letters of no importance to his mother-in-law. his face was pale and he was breathless. snagsby with an obvious tactfulness retired. sir isaac watched the door close. his remark pointedly ignored georgina. "what you been thinking about, elly," he asked, "subscribing to _that_ thing?" "i wanted to read it." "but you don't hold with all that rubbish----" "_rubbish!_" said georgina, helping herself to marmalade. "well, rot then, if you like," said sir isaac, unamiably and panting. with that as snagsby afterwards put it--for the battle raged so fiercely as to go on even when he presently returned to the room--"the fat was in the fire." the harman breakfast-table was caught up into the great controversy with heat and fury like a tree that is overtaken by a forest fire. it burnt for weeks, and smouldered still when the first white heats had abated. i will not record the arguments of either side, they were abominably bad and you have heard them all time after time; i do not think that whatever side you have taken in this matter you would find much to please you in sir isaac's goadings or georgina's repartees. sir isaac would ask if women were prepared to go as soldiers and georgina would enquire how many years of service he had done or horrify her mother by manifest allusion to the agonies and dangers of maternity,--things like that. it gave a new interest to breakfast for snagsby; and the peculiarly lady-like qualities of mrs. sawbridge, a gift for silent, pallid stiffness, a disposition, tactful but unsuccessful, to "change the subject," an air of being about to leave the room in disdain, had never shone with such baleful splendour. our interest here is rather with the effect of these remarkable disputes, which echoed in sir isaac's private talk long after georgina had gone again, upon lady harman. he could not leave this topic of feminine emancipation alone, once it had been set going, and though ellen would always preface her remarks by, "of course georgina goes too far," he worried her slowly into a series of definite insurgent positions. sir isaac's attacks on georgina certainly brought out a good deal of absurdity in her positions, and georgina at times left sir isaac without a leg to stand on, and the net result of their disputes as of most human controversies was not conviction for the hearer but release. her mind escaped between them, and went exploring for itself through the great gaps they had made in the simple obedient assumptions of her girlhood. that question originally put in paradise, "why shouldn't we?" came into her mind and stayed there. it is a question that marks a definite stage in the departure from innocence. things that had seemed opaque and immutable appeared translucent and questionable. she began to read more and more in order to learn things and get a light upon things, and less and less to pass the time. ideas came to her that seemed at first strange altogether and then grotesquely justifiable and then crept to a sort of acceptance by familiarity. and a disturbing intermittent sense of a general responsibility increased and increased in her. you will understand this sense of responsibility which was growing up in lady harman's mind if you have felt it yourself, but if you have not then you may find it a little difficult to understand. you see it comes, when it comes at all, out of a phase of disillusionment. all children, i suppose, begin by taking for granted the rightness of things in general, the soundness of accepted standards, and many people are at least so happy that they never really grow out of this assumption. they go to the grave with an unbroken confidence that somewhere behind all the immediate injustices and disorders of life, behind the antics of politics, the rigidities of institutions, the pressure of custom and the vagaries of law, there is wisdom and purpose and adequate provision, they never lose that faith in the human household they acquired amongst the directed securities of home. but for more of us and more there comes a dissolution of these assurances; there comes illumination as the day comes into a candle-lit uncurtained room. the warm lights that once rounded off our world so completely are betrayed for what they are, smoky and guttering candles. beyond what once seemed a casket of dutiful security is now a limitless and indifferent universe. ours is the wisdom or there is no wisdom; ours is the decision or there is no decision. that burthen is upon each of us in the measure of our capacity. the talent has been given us and we may not bury it. §7 and as we reckon up the disturbing influences that were stirring lady harman out of that life of acquiescences to which women are perhaps even more naturally disposed than men, we may pick out the conversation of susan burnet as something a little apart from the others, as something with a peculiar barbed pointedness of its own that was yet in other respects very representative of a multitude of nudges and nips and pricks and indications that life was giving lady harman's awaking mind. susan burnet was a woman who came to renovate and generally do up the putney curtains and furniture and loose covers every spring; she was mrs. crumble's discovery, she was sturdy and short and she had open blue eyes and an engaging simplicity of manner that attracted lady harman from the outset. she was stuck away in one of the spare bedrooms and there she was available for any one, so long, she explained, as they didn't fluster her when she was cutting out, with a flow of conversation that not even a mouth full of pins seemed to interrupt. and lady harman would go and watch susan burnet by the hour together and think what an enviably independent young woman she was, and listen with interest and something between horror and admiration to the various impressions of life she had gathered during a hardy and adventurous career. their early conversations were about susan burnet's business and the general condition of things in that world of upholsterers' young women in which susan had lived until she perceived the possibilities of a "connexion," and set up for herself. and the condition of things in that world, as susan described it, brought home to lady harman just how sheltered and limited her own upbringing had been. "it isn't right," said susan, "the way they send girls out with fellers into empty houses. naturally the men get persecuting them. they don't seem hardly able to help it, some of them, and i will say this for them, that a lot of the girls go more than half way with them, leading them on. still there's a sort of man won't leave you alone. one i used to be sent out with and a married man too he was, oh!--he used to give me a time. why i've bit his hands before now, bit hard, before he'd leave go of me. it's my opinion the married men are worse than the single. bolder they are. i pushed him over a scuttle once and he hit his head against a bookcase. i was fair frightened of him. 'you little devil,' he says; 'i'll be even with you yet....' oh! i've been called worse things than that.... of course a respectable girl gets through with it, but it's trying and to some it's a sort of temptation...." "i should have thought," reflected lady harman, "you could have told someone." "it's queer," said susan; "but it never seemed to me the sort of thing a girl ought to go telling. it's a kind of private thing. and besides, it isn't exactly easy to tell.... i suppose the firm didn't want to be worried by complaints and disputes about that sort of thing. and it isn't always easy to say just which of the two is to blame." "but how old are the girls they send out?" asked lady harman. "some's as young as seventeen or eighteen. it all depends on the sort of work that's wanted to be done...." "of course a lot of them have to marry...." this lurid little picture of vivid happenings in unoccupied houses and particularly of the prim, industrious, capable susan burnet, biting aggressive wrists, stuck in lady harman's imagination. she seemed to be looking into hitherto unsuspected pits of simple and violent living just beneath her feet. susan told some upholsteress love tales, real love tales, with a warmth and honesty of passion in them that seemed at once dreadful and fine to lady harman's underfed imagination. under encouragement susan expanded the picture, beyond these mere glimpses of workshop and piece-work and furtive lust. it appeared that she was practically the head of her family; there was a mother who had specialized in ill-health, a sister of defective ability who stayed at home, a brother in south africa who was very good and sent home money, and three younger sisters growing up. and father,--she evaded the subject of father at first. then presently lady harman had some glimpses of an earlier phase in susan burnet's life "before any of us were earning money." father appeared as a kindly, ineffectual, insolvent figure struggling to conduct a baker's and confectioner's business in walthamstow, mother was already specializing, there were various brothers and sisters being born and dying. "how many were there of you altogether?" asked lady harman. "thirteen there was. father always used to laugh and say he'd had a fair baker's dozen. there was luke to begin with----" susan began to count on her fingers and recite braces of scriptural names. she could only make up her tale to twelve. she became perplexed. then she remembered. "of course!" she cried: "there was nicodemus. he was still-born. i _always_ forget nicodemus, poor little chap! but he came--was it sixth or seventh?--seventh after anna." she gave some glimpses of her father and then there was a collapse of which she fought shy. lady harman was too delicate to press her to talk of that. but one day in the afternoon susan's tongue ran. she was telling how first she went to work before she was twelve. "but i thought the board schools----" said lady harman. "i had to go before the committee," said susan. "i had to go before the committee and ask to be let go to work. there they was, sitting round a table in a great big room, and they was as kind as anything, one old gentleman with a great white beard, he was as kind as could be. 'don't you be frightened, my dear,' he says. 'you tell us why you want to go out working.' 'well,' i says, '_somebody's_ got to earn something,' and that made them laugh in a sort of fatherly way, and after that there wasn't any difficulty. you see it was after father's inquest, and everybody was disposed to be kind to us. 'pity they can't all go instead of this educational tommy rot,' the old gentleman says. 'you learn to work, my dear'--and i did...." she paused. "father's inquest?" said lady harman. susan seemed to brace herself to the occasion. "father," she said, "was drowned. i know--i hadn't told you that before. he was drowned in the lea. it's always been a distress and humiliation to us there had to be an inquest. and they threw out things.... it's why we moved to haggerston. it's the worst that ever happened to us in all our lives. far worse. worse than having the things sold or the children with scarlet fever and having to burn everything.... i don't like to talk about it. i can't help it but i don't.... "i don't know why i talk to you as i do, lady harman, but i don't seem to mind talking to you. i don't suppose i've opened my mouth to anyone about it, not for years--except to one dear friend i've got--her who persuaded me to be a church member. but what i've always said and what i will always say is this, that i don't believe any evil of father, i don't believe, i won't ever believe he took his life. i won't even believe he was in drink. i don't know how he got in the river, but i'm certain it wasn't so. he was a weak man, was father, i've never denied he was a weak man. but a harder working man than he was never lived. he worried, anyone would have worried seeing the worries he had. the shop wasn't paying as it was; often we never tasted meat for weeks together, and then there came one of these internationals, giving overweight and underselling...." "one of these internationals?" "yes, i don't suppose you've ever heard of them. they're in the poorer neighbourhoods chiefly. they sell teas and things mostly now but they began as bakers' shops and what they did was to come into a place and undersell until all the old shops were ruined and shut up. that was what they tried to do and father hadn't no more chance amongst them than a mouse in a trap.... it was just like being run over. all the trade that stayed with us after a bit was bad debts. you can't blame people i suppose for going where they get more and pay less, and it wasn't till we'd all gone right away to haggerston that they altered things and put the prices up again. of course father lost heart and all that. he didn't know what to do, he'd sunk all he had in the shop; he just sat and moped about. really,--he was pitiful. he wasn't able to sleep; he used to get up at nights and go about downstairs. mother says she found him once sweeping out the bakehouse at two o'clock in the morning. he got it into his head that getting up like that would help him. but i don't believe and i won't believe he wouldn't have seen it through if he could. not to my dying day will i believe that...." lady harman reflected. "but couldn't he have got work again--as a baker?" "it's hard after you've had a shop. you see all the younger men've come on. they know the new ways. and a man who's had a shop and failed, he's lost heart. and these stores setting up make everything drivinger. they do things a different way. they make it harder for everyone." both lady harman and susan burnet reflected in silence for a few seconds upon the international stores. the sewing woman was the first to speak. "things like that," she said, "didn't ought to be. one shop didn't ought to be allowed to set out to ruin another. it isn't fair trading, it's a sort of murder. it oughtn't to be allowed. how was father to know?..." "there's got to be competition," said lady harman. "i don't call that competition," said susan burnet. "but,--i suppose they give people cheaper bread." "they do for a time. then when they've killed you they do what they like.... luke--he's one of those who'll say anything--well, he used to say it was a regular monopoly. but it's hard on people who've set out to live honest and respectable and bring up a family plain and decent to be pushed out of the way like that." "i suppose it is," said lady harman. "what was father to _do_?" said susan, and turned to sir isaac's armchair from which this discourse had distracted her. and then suddenly, in a voice thick with rage, she burst out: "and then alice must needs go and take their money. that's what sticks in _my_ throat." still on her knees she faced about to lady harman. "alice goes into one of their ho'burn branches as a waitress, do what i could to prevent her. it makes one mad to think of it. time after time i've said to her, 'alice,' i've said, 'sooner than touch their dirty money i'd starve in the street.' and she goes! she says it's all nonsense of me to bear a spite. laughs at me! 'alice,' i told her, 'it's a wonder the spirit of poor father don't rise up against you.' and she laughs. calls that bearing a spite.... of course she was little when it happened. she can't remember, not as i remember...." lady harman reflected for a time. "i suppose you don't know," she began, addressing susan's industrious back; "you don't know who--who owns these international stores?" "i suppose it's some company," said susan. "i don't see that it lets them off--being in a company." §8 we have done much in the last few years to destroy the severe limitations of victorian delicacy, and all of us, from princesses and prime-ministers' wives downward, talk of topics that would have been considered quite gravely improper in the nineteenth century. nevertheless, some topics have, if anything, become more indelicate than they were, and this is especially true of the discussion of income, of any discussion that tends, however remotely, to inquire, who is it at the base of everything who really pays in blood and muscle and involuntary submissions for _your_ freedom and magnificence? this, indeed, is almost the ultimate surviving indecency. so that it was with considerable private shame and discomfort that lady harman pursued even in her privacy the train of thought that susan burnet had set going. it had been conveyed into her mind long ago, and it had settled down there and grown into a sort of security, that the international bread and cake stores were a very important contribution to progress, and that sir isaac, outside the gates of his home, was a very useful and beneficial personage, and richly meriting a baronetcy. she hadn't particularly analyzed this persuasion, but she supposed him engaged in a kind of daily repetition, but upon modern scientific lines, of the miracle of the loaves and fishes, feeding a great multitude that would otherwise have gone hungry. she knew, too, from the advertisements that flowered about her path through life, that this bread in question was exceptionally clean and hygienic; whole front pages of the _daily messenger_, headed the "fauna of small bakehouses," and adorned with a bordering of _blatta orientalis_, the common cockroach, had taught her that, and she knew that sir isaac's passion for purity had also led to the _old country gazette's_ spirited and successful campaign for a non-party measure securing additional bakehouse regulation and inspection. and her impression had been that the growing and developing refreshment side of the concern was almost a public charity; sir isaac gave, he said, a larger, heavier scone, a bigger pat of butter, a more elegant teapot, ham more finely cut and less questionable pork-pies than any other system of syndicated tea-shops. she supposed that whenever he sat late at night going over schemes and papers, or when he went off for days together to cardiff or glasgow or dublin, or such-like centres, or when he became preoccupied at dinner and whistled thoughtfully through his teeth, he was planning to increase the amount or diminish the cost of tea and cocoa-drenched farinaceous food in the stomachs of that section of our national adolescence which goes out daily into the streets of our great cities to be fed. and she knew his vans and catering were indispensable to the british army upon its manoeuvres.... now the smashing up of the burnet family by the international stores was disagreeably not in the picture of these suppositions. and the remarkable thing is that this one little tragedy wouldn't for a moment allow itself to be regarded as an exceptional accident in an otherwise fair vast development. it remained obstinately a specimen--of the other side of the great syndication. it was just as if she had been doubting subconsciously all along.... in the silence of the night she lay awake and tried to make herself believe that the burnet case was just a unique overlooked disaster, that it needed only to come to sir isaac's attention to be met by the fullest reparation.... after all she did not bring it to sir isaac's attention. but one morning, while this phase of new doubts was still lively in her mind, sir isaac told her he was going down to brighton, and then along the coast road in a car to portsmouth, to pay a few surprise visits, and see how the machine was working. he would be away a night, an unusual breach in his habits. "are you thinking of any new branches, isaac?" "i may have a look at arundel." "isaac." she paused to frame her question carefully. "i suppose there are some shops at arundel now." "i've got to see to that." "if you open----i suppose the old shops get hurt. what becomes of the people if they do get hurt?" "that's _their_ look-out," said sir isaac. "isn't it bad for them?" "progress is progress, elly." "it _is_ bad for them. i suppose----wouldn't it be sometimes kinder if you took over the old shop--made a sort of partner of him, or something?" sir isaac shook his head. "i want younger men," he said. "you can't get a move on the older hands." "but, then, it's rather bad----i suppose these little men you shut up,--some of them must have families." "you're theorizing a bit this morning, elly," said sir isaac, looking up over his coffee cup. "i've been thinking--about these little people." "someone's been talking to you about my shops," said sir isaac, and stuck out an index finger. "if that's georgina----" "it isn't georgina," said lady harman, but she had it very clear in her mind that she must not say who it was. "you can't make a business without squeezing somebody," said sir isaac. "it's easy enough to make a row about any concern that grows a bit. some people would like to have every business tied down to a maximum turnover and so much a year profit. i dare say you've been hearing of these articles in the _london lion_. pretty stuff it is, too. this fuss about the little shopkeepers; that's a new racket. i've had all that row about the waitresses before, and the yarn about the normandy eggs, and all that, but i don't see that you need go reading it against me, and bringing it up at the breakfast-table. a business is a business, it isn't a charity, and i'd like to know where you and i would be if we didn't run the concern on business lines.... why, that _london lion_ fellow came to me with the first two of those articles before the thing began. i could have had the whole thing stopped if i liked, if i'd chosen to take the back page of his beastly cover. that shows the stuff the whole thing is made of. that shows you. why!--he's just a blackmailer, that's what he is. much he cares for my waitresses if he can get the dibs. little shopkeepers, indeed! i know 'em! nice martyrs they are! there isn't one wouldn't _skin_ all the others if he got half a chance...." sir isaac gave way to an extraordinary fit of nagging anger. he got up and stood upon the hearthrug to deliver his soul the better. it was an altogether unexpected and illuminating outbreak. he was flushed with guilt. the more angry and eloquent he became, the more profoundly thoughtful grew the attentive lady at the head of his table.... when at last sir isaac had gone off in the car to victoria, lady harman rang for snagsby. "isn't there a paper," she asked, "called the _london lion_?" "it isn't one i think your ladyship would like," said snagsby, gently but firmly. "i know. but i want to see it. i want copies of all the issues in which there have been articles upon the international stores." "they're thoroughly volgar, me lady," said snagsby, with a large dissuasive smile. "i want you to go out into london and get them now." snagsby hesitated and went. within five minutes he reappeared with a handful of buff-covered papers. "there 'appened to be copies in the pantry, me lady," he said. "we can't imagine 'ow they got there; someone must have brought them in, but 'ere they are quite at your service, me lady." he paused for a discreet moment. something indescribably confidential came into his manner. "i doubt if sir isaac will quite like to 'ave them left about, me lady--after you done with them." she was in a mood of discovery. she sat in the room that was all furnished in pink (her favourite colour) and read a bitter, malicious, coarsely written and yet insidiously credible account of her husband's business methods. something within herself seemed to answer, "but didn't you know this all along?" that large conviction that her wealth and position were but the culmination of a great and honourable social service, a conviction that had been her tacit comfort during much distasteful loyalty seemed to shrivel and fade. no doubt the writer was a thwarted blackmailer; even her accustomed mind could distinguish a twang of some such vicious quality in his sentences; but that did not alter the realities he exhibited and exaggerated. there was a description of how sir isaac pounced on his managers that was manifestly derived from a manager he had dismissed. it was dreadfully like him. convincingly like him. there was a statement of the wages he paid his girl assistants and long extracts from his codes of rules and schedules of fines.... when she put down the paper she was suddenly afflicted by a vivid vision of susan burnet's father, losing heart and not knowing what to do. she had an unreasonable feeling that susan burnet's father must have been a small, kindly, furry, bunnyish, little man. of course there had to be progress and the survival of the fittest. she found herself weighing what she imagined susan burnet's father to be like, against the ferrety face, stooping shoulders and scheming whistle of sir isaac. there were times now when she saw her husband with an extreme distinctness. §9 as this cold and bracing realization that all was not right with her position, with sir isaac's business procedure and the world generally, took possession of lady harman's thoughts there came also with it and arising out of it quite a series of new moods and dispositions. at times she was very full of the desire "to do something," something that would, as it were, satisfy and assuage this growing uneasiness of responsibility in her mind. at times her consuming wish was not to assuage but escape from this urgency. it worried her and made her feel helpless, and she wanted beyond anything else to get back to that child's world where all experiences are adventurous and everything is finally right. she felt, i think, that it was a little unfair to her that this something within her should be calling upon her to take all sorts of things gravely--hadn't she been a good wife and brought four children into the world...? i am setting down here as clearly as possible what wasn't by any means clear in lady harman's mind. i am giving you side by side phases that never came side by side in her thoughts but which followed and ousted and obliterated one another. she had moods of triviality. she had moods of magnificence. she had moods of intense secret hostility to her urgent little husband, and moods of genial tolerance for everything there was in her life. she had moods, and don't we all have moods?--of scepticism and cynicism, much profounder than the conventions and limitations of novel-writing permit us to tell here. and for hardly any of these moods had she terms and recognitions.... it isn't a natural thing to keep on worrying about the morality of one's material prosperity. these are proclivities superinduced by modern conditions of the conscience. there is a natural resistance in every healthy human being to such distressful heart-searchings. strong instincts battled in lady harman against this intermittent sense of responsibility that was beginning to worry her. an immense lot of her was for simply running away from these troublesome considerations, for covering herself up from them, for distraction. and about this time she happened upon "elizabeth and her german garden," and was very greatly delighted and stimulated by that little sister of montaigne. she was charmed by the book's fresh gaiety, by its gallant resolve to set off all the good things there are in this world, the sunshine and flowers and laughter, against the limitations and thwartings and disappointments of life. for a time it seemed to her that these brave consolations were solutions, and she was stirred by an imitative passion. how stupid had she not been to let life and sir isaac overcome her! she felt that she must make herself like elizabeth, exactly like elizabeth; she tried forthwith, and a certain difficulty she found, a certain deadness, she ascribed to the square modernity of her house and something in the putney air. the house was too large, it dominated the garden and controlled her. she felt she must get away to some place that was chiefly exterior, in the sunshine, far from towns and struggling, straining, angry and despairing humanity, from syndicated shops and all the embarrassing challenges of life. somehow there it would be possible to keep sir isaac at arm's length; and the ghost of susan burnet's father could be left behind to haunt the square rooms of the london house. and there she would live, horticultural, bookish, whimsical, witty, defiant, happily careless. and it was this particular conception of evasion that had set her careering about the countryside in her car, looking for conceivable houses of refuge from this dark novelty of social and personal care, and that had driven her into the low long room of black strand and the presence of mr. brumley. of what ensued and the appearance and influence of lady beach-mandarin and how it led among other things to a lunch invitation from that lady the reader has already been informed. chapter the sixth the adventurous afternoon §1 you will perhaps remember that before i fell into this extensive digression about lady harman's upbringing, we had got to the entry of mrs. sawbridge into the house bearing a plunder of sir isaac's best roses. she interrupted a conversation of some importance. those roses at this point are still unwithered and fragrant, and moreover they are arranged according to mrs. sawbridge's ideas of elegance about sir isaac's home.... and sir isaac, when that conversation could be renewed, categorically forbade lady harman to go to lady beach-mandarin's lunch and lady harman went to lady beach-mandarin's lunch. she had some peculiar difficulties in getting to that lunch. it is necessary to tell certain particulars. they are particulars that will distress the delicacy of mrs. sawbridge unspeakably if ever she chances to read this book. but a story has to be told. you see sir isaac harman had never considered it advisable to give his wife a private allowance. whatever she wished to have, he maintained, she could have. the bill would afterwards be paid by his cheque on the first day of the month following the receipt of the bill. he found a generous pleasure in writing these cheques, and lady harman was magnificently housed, fed and adorned. moreover, whenever she chose to ask for money he gave her money, usually double of what she demanded,--and often a kiss or so into the bargain. but after he had forbidden her to go to lady beach-mandarin's so grave an estrangement ensued that she could not ask him for money. a door closed between them. and the crisis had come at an unfortunate moment. she possessed the sum of five shillings and eightpence. she perceived quite early that this shortness of money would greatly embarrass the rebellion she contemplated. she was exceptionally ignorant of most worldly things, but she knew there was never yet a campaign without a war chest. she felt entitled to money.... she planned several times to make a demand for replenishment with a haughty dignity; the haughty dignity was easy enough to achieve, but the demand was not. a sensitive dread of her mother's sympathetic curiosity barred all thoughts of borrowing in that direction,--she and her mother "never discussed money matters." she did not want to get georgina into further trouble. and besides, georgina was in devonshire. even to get to lady beach-mandarin's became difficult under these circumstances. she knew that clarence, though he would take her into the country quite freely, had been instructed, on account of sir isaac's expressed dread of any accident happening to her while alone, not to plunge with her into the vortex of london traffic. only under direct orders from sir isaac would clarence take her down putney hill; though she might go up and away--to anywhere. she knew nothing of pawnshops or any associated methods of getting cash advances, and the possibility of using the telephone to hire an automobile never occurred to her. but she was fully resolved to go. she had one advantage in the fact that sir isaac didn't know the precise date of the disputed engagement. when that arrived she spent a restless morning and dressed herself at last with great care. she instructed peters, her maid, who participated in these preparations with a mild astonishment, that she was going out to lunch, asked her to inform mrs. sawbridge of the fact and, outwardly serene, made a bolt for it down the staircase and across the hall. the great butler appeared; she had never observed how like a large note of interrogation his forward contours could be. "i shall be out to lunch, snagsby," she said, and went past him into the sunshine. she left a discreetly astonished snagsby behind her. ("now where are we going out to lunch?" said snagsby presently to peters. "i've never known her so particular with her clothes," said the maid. "never before--not in the same way; it's something new and special to this affair," snagsby reflected, "i wonder now if sir isaac...." "one can't help observing things," said the maid, after a pause. "mute though we be.") lady harman had the whole five and eightpence with her. she had managed to keep it intact in her jewel case, declaring she had no change when any small demands were made on her. with an exhilaration so great that she wanted sorely to laugh aloud she walked out through her big open gates and into the general publicity of putney hill. why had she not done as much years ago? how long she had been, working up to this obvious thing! she hadn't been out in such complete possession of herself since she had been a schoolgirl. she held up a beautifully gloved hand to a private motor-car going downhill and then to an engaged taxi going up, and then with a slightly dashed feeling, picked up her skirt and walked observantly downhill. her reason dispelled a transitory impression that these two vehicles were on sir isaac's side against her. there was quite a nice taxi on the rank at the bottom of the hill. the driver, a pleasant-looking young man in a white cap, seemed to have been waiting for her in particular; he met her timid invitation halfway and came across the road to her and jumped down and opened the door. he took her instructions as though they were after his own heart, and right in front of her as she sat was a kind of tin cornucopia full of artificial flowers that seemed like a particular attention to her. his fare was two and eightpence and she gave him four shillings. he seemed quite gratified by her largesse, his manner implied he had always thought as much of her, from first to last their relations had been those of sunny contentment, and it was only as she ascended the steps of lady beach-mandarin's portico, that it occurred to her that she now had insufficient money for an automobile to take her home. but there were railways and buses and all sorts of possibilities; the day was an adventure; and she entered the drawing-room with a brow that was beautifully unruffled. she wanted to laugh still; it animated her eyes and lips with the pleasantest little stir you can imagine. "a-a-a-a-a-h!" cried lady beach-mandarin in a high note, and threw out--it had an effect of being quite a number of arms--as though she was one of those brass indian goddesses one sees. lady harman felt taken in at once to all that capacious bosom involved and contained.... §2 it was quite an amusing lunch. but any lunch would have been amusing to lady harman in the excitement of her first act of deliberate disobedience. she had never been out to lunch alone in all her life before; she experienced a kind of scared happiness, she felt like someone at lourdes who has just thrown away crutches. she was seated between a pink young man with an eyeglass whose place was labelled "bertie trevor" and who was otherwise unexplained, and mr. brumley. she was quite glad to see mr. brumley again, and no doubt her eyes showed it. she had hoped to see him. miss sharsper was sitting nearly opposite to her, a real live novelist pecking observations out of life as a hen pecks seeds amidst scenery, and next beyond was a large-headed inattentive fluffy person who was mr. keystone the well-known critic. and there was agatha alimony under a rustling vast hat of green-black cock's feathers next to sir markham crosby, with whom she had been having an abusive controversy in the _times_ and to whom quite elaborately she wouldn't speak, and there was lady viping with her lorgnette and adolphus blenker, horatio's younger and if possible more gentlemanly brother--horatio of the _old country gazette_ that is--sole reminder that there was such a person as sir isaac in the world. lady beach-mandarin's mother and the swiss governess and the tall but retarded daughter, phyllis, completed the party. the reception was lively and cheering; lady beach-mandarin enfolded her guests in generosities and kept them all astir like a sea-swell under a squadron, and she introduced lady harman to miss alimony by public proclamation right across the room because there were two lavish tables of bric-à-brac, a marble bust of old beach-mandarin and most of the rest of the party in the way. and at the table conversation was like throwing bread, you never knew whom you might hit or who might hit you. (but lady beach-mandarin produced an effect of throwing whole loaves.) bertie trevor was one of those dancing young men who talk to a woman as though they were giving a dog biscuits, and mostly it was mr. brumley who did such talking as reached lady harman's ear. mr. brumley was in very good form that day. he had contrived to remind her of all their black strand talk while they were still eating _petites bouchées à la reine_. "have you found that work yet?" he asked and carried her mind to the core of her situation. then they were snatched up into a general discussion of bazaars. sir markham spoke of a great bazaar that was to be held on behalf of one of the many shakespear theatre movements that were then so prevalent. was lady beach-mandarin implicated? was anyone? he told of novel features in contemplation. he generalized about bazaars and, with an air of having forgotten the presence of miss alimony, glanced at the suffrage bazaar--it was a season of bazaars. he thought poorly of the suffrage bazaar. the hostess intervened promptly with anecdotes of her own cynical daring as a bazaar-seller, miss sharsper offered fragments of a reminiscence about signing one of her own books for a bookstall, blenker told a well-known bazaar anecdote brightly and well, and the impending skirmish was averted. while the bazaar talk still whacked to and fro about the table mr. brumley got at lady harman's ear again. "rather tantalizing these meetings at table," he said. "it's like trying to talk while you swim in a rough sea...." then lady beach-mandarin intervened with demands for support for her own particular bazaar project and they were eating salad before there was a chance of another word between them. "i must confess that when i want to talk to people i like to get them alone," said mr. brumley, and gave form to thoughts that were already on the verge of crystallization in her own mind. she had been recalling that she had liked his voice before, noting something very kindly and thoughtful and brotherly about his right profile and thinking how much an hour's talk with him would help to clear up her ideas. "but it's so difficult to get one alone," said lady harman, and suddenly an idea of the utmost daring and impropriety flashed into her mind. she was on the verge of speaking it forthwith and then didn't, she met something in his eye that answered her own and then lady beach-mandarin was foaming over them like a dam-burst over an american town. "what do _you_ think, mr. brumley?" demanded lady beach-mandarin. "?" "about sir markham's newspaper symposium. they asked him what allowance he gave his wife. sent a prepaid reply telegram." "but he hasn't got a wife!" "they don't stick at a little thing like that," said sir markham grimly. "i think a husband and wife ought to have everything in common like the early christians," said lady beach-mandarin. "_we_ always did," and so got the discussion afloat again off the sandbank of mr. brumley's inattention. it was quite a good discussion and lady harman contributed an exceptionally alert and intelligent silence. sir markham distrusted lady beach-mandarin's communism and thought that anyhow it wouldn't do for a financier or business man. he favoured an allowance. "so did sir joshua," said the widow viping. this roused agatha alimony. "allowance indeed!" she cried. "is a wife to be on no better footing than a daughter? the whole question of a wife's financial autonomy needs reconsidering...." adolphus blenker became learned and lucid upon pin-money and dowry and the customs of savage tribes, and mr. brumley helped with corroboration.... mr. brumley managed to say just one other thing to lady harman before the lunch was over. it struck her for a moment as being irrelevant. "the gardens at hampton court," he said, "are delightful just now. have you seen them? autumnal fires. all the september perennials lifting their spears in their last great chorus. it's the _götterdämmerung_ of the year." she was going out of the room before she appreciated his possible intention. lady beach-mandarin delegated sir markham to preside over the men's cigars and bounced and slapped her four ladies upstairs to the drawing-room. her mother disappeared and so did phyllis and the governess. lady harman heard a large aside to lady viping: "isn't she perfectly lovely?" glanced to discover the lorgnette in appreciative action, and then found herself drifting into a secluded window-seat and a duologue with miss agatha alimony. miss alimony was one of that large and increasing number of dusky, grey-eyed ladies who go through life with an air of darkly incomprehensible significance. she led off lady harman as though she took her away to reveal unheard-of mysteries and her voice was a contralto undertone that she emphasized in some inexplicable way by the magnetic use of her eyes. her hat of cock's feathers which rustled like familiar spirits greatly augmented the profundity of her effect. as she spoke she glanced guardedly at the other ladies at the end of the room and from first to last she seemed undecided in her own mind whether she was a conspirator or a prophetess. she had heard of lady harman before, she had been longing impatiently to talk to her all through the lunch. "you are just what we want," said agatha. "what who want?" asked lady harman, struggling against the hypnotic influence of her interlocutor. "_we_," said miss agatha, "the cause. the g.s.w.s. "we want just such people as you," she repeated, and began in panting rhetorical sentences to urge the militant cause. for her it was manifestly a struggle against "the men." miss alimony had no doubts of her sex. it had nothing to learn, nothing to be forgiven, it was compact of obscured and persecuted marvels, it needed only revelation. "they know nothing," she said of the antagonist males, bringing deep notes out of the melodious caverns of her voice; "they know _nothing_ of the deeper secrets of woman's nature." her discourse of a general feminine insurrection fell in very closely with the spirit of lady harman's private revolt. "we want the vote," said agatha, "and we want the vote because the vote means autonomy. and then----" she paused voluminously. she had already used that word "autonomy" at the lunch table and it came to her hearer to supply a long-felt want. now she poured meanings into it, and lady harman with each addition realized more clearly that it was still a roomy sack for more. "a woman should be absolute mistress of herself," said miss alimony, "absolute mistress of her person. she should be free to develop----" germinating phrases these were in lady harman's ear. she wanted to know about the suffrage movement from someone less generously impatient than georgina, for georgina always lost her temper about it and to put it fairly _ranted_, this at any rate was serene and confident, and she asked tentative ill-formed questions and felt her way among miss alimony's profundities. she had her doubts, her instinctive doubts about this campaign of violence, she doubted its wisdom, she doubted its rightness, and she perceived, but she found it difficult to express her perception, that miss alimony wasn't so much answering her objections as trying to swamp her with exalted emotion. and if there was any flaw whatever in her attention to miss alimony's stirring talk, it was because she was keeping a little look-out in the tail of her eye for the reappearance of the men, and more particularly for the reappearance of mr. brumley with whom she had a peculiar feeling of uncompleted relations. and at last the men came and she caught his glance and saw that her feeling was reciprocated. she was presently torn from agatha, who gasped with pain at the parting and pursued her with a sedulous gaze as a doctor might watch an injected patient, she parted with lady beach-mandarin with a vast splash of enthusiasm and mutual invitations, and lady viping came and pressed her to come to dinner and rapped her elbow with her lorgnette to emphasize her invitation. and lady harman after a still moment for reflection athwart which the word autonomy flickered, accepted this invitation also. §3 mr. brumley hovered for a few moments in the hall conversing with lady beach-mandarin's butler, whom he had known for some years and helped about a small investment, and who was now being abjectly polite and grateful to him for his attention. it gave mr. brumley a nice feudal feeling to establish and maintain such relationships. the furry-eyed boy fumbled with the sticks and umbrellas in the background and wondered if he too would ever climb to these levels of respectful gilt-tipped friendliness. mr. brumley hovered the more readily because he knew lady harman was with the looking-glass in the little parlour behind the dining-room on her way to the outer world. at last she emerged. it was instantly manifest to mr. brumley that she had expected to find him there. she smiled frankly at him, with the faintest admission of complicity in her smile. "taxi, milady?" said the butler. she seemed to reflect. "no, i will walk." she hesitated over a glove button. "mr. brumley, is there a tube station near here?" "not two minutes. but can't i perhaps take you in a taxi?" "i'd rather walk." "i will show you----" he found himself most agreeably walking off with her. still more agreeable things were to follow for mr. brumley. she appeared to meditate upon a sudden idea. she disregarded some conversational opening of his that he forgot in the instant. "mr. brumley," she said, "i didn't intend to go directly home." "i'm altogether at your service," said mr. brumley. "at least," said lady harman with that careful truthfulness of hers, "it occurred to me during lunch that i wouldn't go directly home." mr. brumley reined in an imagination that threatened to bolt with him. "i want," said lady harman, "to go to kensington gardens, i think. this can't be far from kensington gardens--and i want to sit there on a green chair and--meditate--and afterwards i want to find a tube railway or something that will take me back to putney. there is really no need for me to go directly home.... it's very stupid of me but i don't know my way about london as a rational creature should do. so will you take me and put me in a green chair and--tell me how afterwards i can find the tube and get home? do you mind?" "all my time, so long as you want it, is at your service," said mr. brumley with convincing earnestness. "and it's not five minutes to the gardens. and afterwards a taxi-cab----" "no," said lady harman mindful of her one-and-eightpence, "i prefer a tube. but that we can talk about later. you're sure, mr. brumley, i'm not invading your time?" "i wish you could see into my mind," said mr. brumley. she became almost barefaced. "it is so true," she said, "that at lunch one can't really talk to anyone. and i've so wanted to talk to you. ever since we met before." mr. brumley conveyed an unfeigned delight. "since then," said lady harman, "i've read your _euphemia_ books." then after a little unskilful pause, "again." then she blushed and added, "i _had_ read one of them, you know, before." "exactly," he said with an infinite helpfulness. "and you seem so sympathetic, so understanding. i feel that all sorts of things that are muddled in my mind would come clear if i could have a really good talk. to you...." they were now through the gates approaching the albert memorial. mr. brumley was filled with an idea so desirable that it made him fear to suggest it. "of course we can talk very comfortably here," he said, "under these great trees. but i do so wish----have you seen those great borders at hampton court? the whole place is glowing, and in such sunshine as this----a taxi--will take us there under the hour. if you are free until half-past five." _why shouldn't she?_ the proposal seemed so outrageous to all the world of lady harman that in her present mood she felt it was her duty in the cause of womanhood to nerve herself and accept it.... "i mustn't be later than half-past five." "we could snatch a glimpse of it all and be back before then." "in that case----it would be very agreeable." (_why shouldn't she?_ it would no doubt make sir isaac furiously angry--if he heard of it. but it was the sort of thing other women of her class did; didn't all the novels testify? she had a perfect right---and besides, mr. brumley was so entirely harmless.) §4 it had been lady harman's clear intention to have a luminous and illuminating discussion of the peculiar difficulties and perplexities of her position with mr. brumley. since their first encounter this idea had grown up in her mind. she was one of those women who turn instinctively to men and away from women for counsel. there was to her perception something wise and kindly and reassuring in him; she felt that he had lived and suffered and understood and that he was ready to help other people to live; his heart she knew from his published works was buried with his dead euphemia, and he seemed as near a thing to a brother and a friend as she was ever likely to meet. she wanted to tell him all this and then to broach her teeming and tangled difficulties, about her own permissible freedoms, about her social responsibilities, about sir isaac's business. but now as their taxi dodged through the traffic of kensington high street and went on its way past olympia and so out westwards, she found it extremely difficult to fix her mind upon the large propositions with which it had been her intention to open. do as she would to feel that this was a momentous occasion, she could not suppress, she could not ignore an obstinate and entirely undignified persuasion that she was having a tremendous lark. the passing vehicles, various motors, omnibuses, vans, carriages, the thronging pedestrians, the shops and houses, were all so distractingly interesting that at last she had to put it fairly to herself whether she hadn't better resign herself to the sensations of the present and reserve that sustained discussion for an interval she foresaw as inevitable on some comfortable seat under great trees at hampton court. you cannot talk well and penetratingly about fundamental things when you are in a not too well-hung taxi which is racing to get ahead of a vast red motor-omnibus.... with a certain discretion mr. brumley had instructed the chauffeur to cross the river not at putney but at hammersmith, and so they went by barnes station and up a still almost rural lane into richmond park, and there suddenly they were among big trees and bracken and red deer and it might have been a hundred miles from london streets. mr. brumley directed the driver to make a detour that gave them quite all the best of the park. the mind of mr. brumley was also agreeably excited and dispersed on this occasion. it was an occasion of which he had been dreaming very frequently of late, he had invented quite remarkable dialogues during those dreams, and now he too was conversationally inadequate and with a similar feeling of unexpected adventure. he was now no more ready to go to the roots of things than lady harman. he talked on the way down chiefly of the route they were following, of the changes in the london traffic due to motor traction and of the charm and amenity of richmond park. and it was only after they had arrived at hampton court and dismissed the taxi and spent some time upon the borders, that they came at last to a seat under a grove beside a long piece of water bearing water lilies, and sat down and made a beginning with the good talk. then indeed she tried to gather together the heads of her perplexity and mr. brumley did his best to do justice to confidence she reposed in him.... it wasn't at all the conversation he had dreamt of; it was halting, it was inconclusive, it was full of a vague dissatisfaction. the roots of this dissatisfaction lay perhaps more than anything else in her inattention to him--how shall i say it?--as _him_. hints have been conveyed to the reader already that for mr. brumley the universe was largely a setting, a tangle, a maze, a quest enshrining at the heart of it and adumbrating everywhere, a mystical her, and his experience of this world had pointed him very definitely to the conclusion that for that large other half of mankind which is woman, the quality of things was reciprocal and centred, for all the appearances and pretences of other interests, in--him. and he was disposed to believe that the other things in life, not merely the pomp and glories but the faiths and ambitions and devotions, were all demonstrably little more than posings and dressings of this great duality. a large part of his own interests and of the interests of the women he knew best, was the sustained and in some cases recurrent discovery and elaboration of lights and glimpses of him or her as the case might be, in various definite individuals; and it was a surprise to him, it perplexed him to find that this lovely person, so beautifully equipped for those mutual researches which constituted, he felt, the heart of life, was yet completely in her manner unaware of this primary sincerity and looking quite simply, as it were, over him and through him at such things as the ethics of the baking, confectionery and refreshment trade and the limits of individual responsibility in these matters. the conclusion that she was "unawakened" was inevitable. the dream of "awakening" this sleeping beauty associated itself in a logical sequence with his interpretations. i do not say that such thoughts were clear in mr. brumley's mind, they were not, but into this shape the forms of his thoughts fell. such things dimly felt below the clear level of consciousness were in him. and they gave his attempt to take up and answer the question that perplexed her, something of the quality of an attempt to clothe and serve hidden purposes. it could not but be evident to him that the effort of lady harman to free herself a little from her husband's circumvallation and to disentangle herself a little from the realities of his commercial life, might lead to such a liberation as would leave her like a nascent element ready to recombine. and it was entirely in the vein of this drift of thought in him that he should resolve upon an assiduous proximity against that moment of release and awakening.... i do not do mr. brumley as the human lover justice if i lead you to suppose that he plotted thus clearly and calculatingly. yet all this was in his mind. all this was in mr. brumley, but it wasn't mr. brumley. presented with it as a portrait of his mind, he would have denied it indignantly--and, knowing it was there, have grown a little flushed in his denials. quite equally in his mind was a simple desire to please her, to do what she wished, to help her because she wanted help. and a quite keen desire to be clean and honest about her and everything connected with her, for his own sake as well as for her sake--for the sake of the relationship.... so you have mr. brumley on the green seat under the great trees at hampton court, in his neat london clothes, his quite becoming silk-hat, above his neatly handsome and intelligent profile, with his gloves in his hand and one arm over the seat back, going now very earnestly and thoughtfully into the question of the social benefit of the international bread and cake stores and whether it was possible for her to "do anything" to repair any wrongs that might have arisen out of that organization, and you will understand why there is a little flush in his cheek and why his sentences are a trifle disconnected and tentative and why his eye wanders now to the soft raven tresses about lady harman's ear, now to the sweet movement of her speaking lips and now to the gracious droop of her pose as she sits forward, elbow upon crossed knee and chin on glove, and jabs her parasol at the ground in her unaccustomed efforts to explain and discuss the difficulties of her position. and you will understand too why it is that he doesn't deal with the question before him so simply and impartially as he seems to do. obscuring this extremely interesting problem of a woman growing to man-like sense of responsibility in her social consequences, is the dramatic proclivity that makes him see all this merely as something which must necessarily weaken lady harman's loyalty and qualify her submission to sir isaac, that makes him want to utilize it and develop it in that direction.... §5 moreover so complex is the thought of man, there was also another stream of mental activity flowing in the darker recesses of mr. brumley's mind. unobtrusively he was trying to count the money in his pockets and make certain estimates. it had been his intention to replenish his sovereign purse that afternoon at his club and he was only reminded of this abandoned plan when he paid off his taxi at the gates of hampton court. the fare was nine and tenpence and the only piece of gold he had was a half-sovereign. but there was a handful of loose silver in his trouser pocket and so the fare and tip were manageable. "will you be going back, sir?" asked the driver. and mr. brumley reflected too briefly and committed a fatal error. "no," he said with his mind upon that loose silver. "we shall go back by train." now it is the custom with taxi-cabs that take people to such outlying and remote places as hampton court, to be paid off and to wait loyally until their original passengers return. thereby the little machine is restrained from ticking out twopences which should go in the main to the absent proprietor, and a feeling of mutuality is established between the driver and his fare. but of course this cab being released presently found another passenger and went away.... i have written in vain if i have not conveyed to you that mr. brumley was a gentleman of great and cultivated delicacy, that he liked the seemly and handsome side of things and dreaded the appearance of any flaw upon his prosperity as only a man trained in an english public school can do. it was intolerable to think of any hitch in this happy excursion which was to establish he knew not what confidence between himself and lady harman. from first to last he felt it had to go with an air--and what was the first class fare from hampton court to putney--which latter station he believed was on the line from hampton court to london--and could one possibly pretend it was unnecessary to have tea? and so while lady harman talked about her husband's business--"our business" she called it--and shrank from ever saying anything more about the more intimate question she had most in mind, the limits to a wife's obedience, mr. brumley listened with these financial solicitudes showing through his expression and giving it a quality of intensity that she found remarkably reassuring. and once or twice they made him miss points in her remarks that forced him back upon that very inferior substitute for the apt answer, a judicious "um." (it would be quite impossible to go without tea, he decided. he himself wanted tea quite badly. he would think better when he had had some tea....) the crisis came at tea. they had tea at the inn upon the green that struck mr. brumley as being most likely to be cheap and which he pretended to choose for some trivial charm about the windows. and it wasn't cheap, and when at last mr. brumley was faced by the little slip of the bill and could draw his money from his pocket and look at it, he knew the worst and the worst was worse than he had expected. the bill was five shillings (should he dispute it? too ugly altogether, a dispute with a probably ironical waiter!) and the money in his hand amounted to four shillings and sixpence. he acted surprise with the waiter's eye upon him. (should he ask for credit? they might be frightfully disagreeable in such a cockney resort as this.) "tut, tut," said mr. brumley, and then--a little late for it--resorted to and discovered the emptiness of his sovereign purse. he realized that this was out of the picture at this stage, felt his ears and nose and cheeks grow hot and pink. the waiter's colleague across the room became interested in the proceedings. "i had no idea," said mr. brumley, which was a premeditated falsehood. "is anything the matter?" asked lady harman with a sisterly interest. "my dear lady harman, i find myself----ridiculous position. might i borrow half a sovereign?" he felt sure that the two waiters exchanged glances. he looked at them,--a mistake again--and got hotter. "oh!" said lady harman and regarded him with frank amusement in her eyes. the thing struck her at first in the light of a joke. "i've only got one-and-eightpence. i didn't expect----" she blushed as beautifully as ever. then she produced a small but plutocratic-looking purse and handed it to him. "most remarkable--inconvenient," said mr. brumley, opening the precious thing and extracting a shilling. "that will do," he said and dismissed the waiter with a tip of sixpence. then with the open purse still in his hand, he spent much of his remaining strength trying to look amused and unembarrassed, feeling all the time that with his flushed face and in view of all the circumstances of the case he must be really looking very silly and fluffy. "it's really most inconvenient," he remarked. "i never thought of the--of this. it was silly of me," said lady harman. "oh no! oh dear no! the silliness i can assure you is all mine. i can't tell you how entirely apologetic----ridiculous fix. and after i had persuaded you to come here." "still we were able to pay," she consoled him. "but you have to get home!" she hadn't so far thought of that. it brought sir isaac suddenly into the picture. "by half-past five," she said with just the faintest flavour of interrogation. mr. brumley looked at his watch. it was ten minutes to five. "waiter," he said, "how do the trains run from here to putney?" "i don't _think_, sir, that we have any trains from here to putney----" an a.b.c. railway guide was found and mr. brumley learnt for the first time that putney and hampton court are upon two distinct and separate and, as far as he could judge by the time-table, mutually hostile branches of the south western railway, and that at the earliest they could not get to putney before six o'clock. mr. brumley was extremely disconcerted. he perceived that he ought to have kept his taxi. it amounted almost to a debt of honour to deliver this lady secure and untarnished at her house within the next hour. but this reflection did not in the least degree assist him to carry it out and as a matter of fact mr. brumley became flurried and did not carry it out. he was not used to being without money, it unnerved him, and he gave way to a kind of hectic _savoir faire_. he demanded a taxi of the waiter. he tried to evolve a taxi by will power alone. he went out with lady harman and back towards the gates of hampton court to look for taxis. then it occurred to him that they might be losing the 5.25 up. so they hurried over the bridge of the station. he had a vague notion that he would be able to get tickets on credit at the booking office if he presented his visiting card. but the clerk in charge seemed to find something uncongenial in his proposal. he did not seem to like what he saw of mr. brumley through his little square window and mr. brumley found something slighting and unpleasant in his manner. it was one of those little temperamental jars which happen to men of delicate sensibilities and mr. brumley tried to be reassuringly overbearing in his manner and then lost his temper and was threatening and so wasted precious moments what time lady harman waited on the platform, with a certain shadow of doubt falling upon her confidence in him, and watched the five-twenty-five gather itself together and start londonward. mr. brumley came out of the ticket office resolved to travel without tickets and carry things through with a high hand just as it became impossible to do so by that train, and then i regret to say he returned for some further haughty passages with the ticket clerk upon the duty of public servants to point out such oversights as his, that led to repartee and did nothing to help lady harman on her homeward way. then he discovered a current time-table and learnt that now even were all the ticket difficulties over-ridden he could not get lady harman to putney before twenty minutes past seven, so completely is the south western railway not organized for conveying people from hampton court to putney. he explained this as well as he could to lady harman, and then led her out of the station in another last desperate search for a taxi. "we can always come back for that next train," he said. "it doesn't go for half an hour." "i cannot blame myself sufficiently," he said for the eighth or ninth time.... it was already well past a quarter to six before mr. brumley bethought himself of the london county council tramcars that run from the palace gates. along these an ample four-pennyworth was surely possible and at the end would be taxis----there _must_ be taxis. the tram took them--but oh! how slowly it seemed!--to hammersmith by a devious route through interminable roads and streets, and long before they reached that spot twilight had passed into darkness, and all the streets and shops were flowering into light and the sense of night and lateness was very strong. after they were seated in the tram a certain interval of silence came between them and then lady harman laughed and mr. brumley laughed--there was no longer any need for him to be energetic and fussy--and they began to have that feeling of adventurous amusement which comes on the further side of desperation. but beneath the temporary elation lady harman was a prey to grave anxieties and mr. brumley could not help thinking he had made a tremendous ass of himself in that ticket clerk dispute.... at hammersmith they got out, two quite penniless travellers, and after some anxious moments found a taxi. it took them to putney hill. lady harman descended at the outer gates of her home and walked up the drive in the darkness while mr. brumley went on to his club and solvency again. it was five minutes past eight when he entered the hall of his club.... §6 it had been lady harman's original intention to come home before four, to have tea with her mother and to inform her husband when he returned from the city of her entirely dignified and correct disobedience to his absurd prohibitions. then he would have bullied at a disadvantage, she would have announced her intention of dining with lady viping and making the various calls and expeditions for which she had arranged and all would have gone well. but you see how far accident and a spirit of enterprise may take a lady from so worthy a plan, and when at last she returned to the victorian baronial home in putney it was very nearly eight and the house blazed with crisis from pantry to nursery. even the elder three little girls, who were accustomed to be kissed goodnight by their "boofer muvver," were still awake and--catching the subtle influence of the atmosphere of dismay about them--in tears. the very under-housemaids were saying: "where _ever_ can her ladyship 'ave got to?" sir isaac had come home that day at an unusually early hour and with a peculiar pinched expression that filled even snagsby with apprehensive alertness. sir isaac had in fact returned in a state of quite unwonted venom. he had come home early because he wished to vent it upon ellen, and her absence filled him with something of that sensation one has when one puts out a foot for the floor and instead a step drops one down--it seems abysmally. "but where's she gone, snagsby?" "her ladyship _said_ to lunch, sir isaac," said snagsby. "good gracious! where?" "her ladyship didn't _say_, sir isaac." "but where? where the devil----?" "i have--'ave no means whatever of knowing, sir isaac." he had a defensive inspiration. "perhaps mrs. sawbridge, sir isaac...." mrs. sawbridge was enjoying the sunshine upon the lawn. she sat in the most comfortable garden chair, held a white sunshade overhead, had the last new novel by mrs. humphry ward upon her lap, and was engaged in trying not to wonder where her daughter might be. she beheld with a distinct blenching of the spirit sir isaac advancing towards her. she wondered more than ever where ellen might be. "here!" cried her son-in-law. "where's ellen gone?" mrs. sawbridge with an affected off-handedness was sure she hadn't the faintest idea. "then you _ought_ to have," said isaac. "she ought to be at home." mrs. sawbridge's only reply was to bridle slightly. "where's she got to? where's she gone? haven't you any idea at all?" "i was not favoured by ellen's confidence," said mrs. sawbridge. "but you _ought_ to know," cried sir isaac. "she's your daughter. don't you know anything of _either_ of your daughters. i suppose you don't care where they are, either of them, or what mischief they're up to. here's a man--comes home early to his tea--and no wife! after hearing all i've done at the club." mrs. sawbridge stood up in order to be more dignified than a seated position permitted. "it is scarcely my business, sir isaac," she said, "to know of the movements of your wife." "nor georgina's apparently either. good god! i'd have given a hundred pounds that this shouldn't have happened!" "if you must speak to me, sir isaac, will you please kindly refrain from--from the deity----" "oh! shut it!" said sir isaac, blazing up to violent rudeness. "why! don't you know, haven't you an idea? the infernal foolery! those tickets. she got those women----look here, if you go walking away with your nose in the air before i've done----look here! mrs. sawbridge, you listen to me----georgina. i'm speaking of georgina." the lady was walking now swiftly and stiffly towards the house, her face very pale and drawn, and sir isaac hurrying beside her in a white fury of expostulation. "i tell you," he cried, "georgina----" there was something maddeningly incurious about her. he couldn't understand why she didn't even pause to hear what georgina had done and what he had to say about it. a person so wrapped up in her personal and private dignity makes a man want to throw stones. perhaps she knew of georgina's misdeeds. perhaps she sympathized.... a sense of the house windows checked his pursuit of her ear. "then go," he said to her retreating back. "_go!_ i don't care if you go for good. i don't care if you go altogether. if _you_ hadn't had the upbringing of these two girls----" she was manifestly out of earshot and in full yet almost queenly flight for the house. he wanted to say things about her. _to_ someone. he was already saying things to the garden generally. what does one marry a wife for? his mind came round to ellen again. where had she got to? even if she had gone out to lunch, it was time she was back. he went to his study and rang for snagsby. "lady harman back yet?" he asked grimly. "no, sir isaac." "why isn't she back?" snagsby did his best. "perhaps, sir isaac, her ladyship has experienced--'as hexperienced a naxident." sir isaac stared at that idea for a moment. then he thought, 'someone would have telephoned,' "no," he said, "she's out. that's where she is. and i suppose i can wait here, as well as i can until she chooses to come home. degenerate foolish nonsense!..." he whistled between his teeth like an escape of steam. snagsby, after the due pause of attentiveness, bowed respectfully and withdrew.... he had barely time to give a brief outline of the interview to the pantry before a violent ringing summoned him again. sir isaac wished to speak to peters, lady harman's maid. he wanted to know where lady harman had gone; this being impossible, he wanted to know where lady harman had seemed to be going. "her ladyship _seemed_ to be going out to lunch, sir isaac," said peters, her meek face irradiated by helpful intelligence. "oh _get_ out!" said sir isaac. "_get_ out!" "yes, sir isaac," said peters and obeyed.... "he's in a rare bait about her," said peters to snagsby downstairs. "i'm inclined to think her ladyship will catch it pretty hot," said snagsby. "he can't _know_ anything," said peters. "what about?" asked snagsby. "oh, _i_ don't know," said peters. "don't ask _me_ about her...." about ten minutes later sir isaac was heard to break a little china figure of the goddess kwannon, that had stood upon his study mantel-shelf. the fragments were found afterwards in the fireplace.... the desire for self-expression may become overwhelming. after sir isaac had talked to himself about georgina and lady harman for some time in his study, he was seized with a great longing to pour some of this spirited stuff into the entirely unsympathetic ear of mrs. sawbridge. so he went about the house and garden looking for her, and being at last obliged to enquire about her, learnt from a scared defensive housemaid whom he cornered suddenly in the conservatory, that she had retired to her own room. he went and rapped at her door but after one muffled "who's that?" he could get no further response. "i want to tell you about georgina," he said. he tried the handle but the discreet lady within had turned the key upon her dignity. "i want," he shouted, "to tell you about georgina.... georgina! oh _damn_!" silence. tea awaited him downstairs. he hovered about the drawing-room, making noises between his teeth. "snagsby," said sir isaac, "just tell mrs. sawbridge i shall be obliged if she will come down to tea." "mrs. sawbridge 'as a '_ead_ache, sir isaac," said mr. snagsby with extreme blandness. "she asked me to acquaint you. she 'as ordered tea in 'er own apartment." for a moment sir isaac was baffled. then he had an inspiration. "just get me the _times_, snagsby," he said. he took the paper and unfolded it until a particular paragraph was thrown into extreme prominence. this he lined about with his fountain pen and wrote above it with a quivering hand, "these women's tickets were got by georgina under false pretences from me." he handed the paper thus prepared back to snagsby. "just take this paper to mrs. sawbridge," he said, "and ask her what she thinks of it?" but mrs. sawbridge tacitly declined this proposal for a correspondence _viâ_ snagsby. §7 there was no excuse for georgina. georgina had obtained tickets from sir isaac for the great party reception at barleypound house, under the shallow pretext that she wanted them for "two spinsters from the country," for whose good behaviour she would answer, and she had handed them over to that organization of disorder which swayed her mind. the historical outrage upon mr. blapton was the consequence. two desperate and misguided emissaries had gone to the great reception, dressed and behaving as much as possible like helpful liberal women; they had made their way towards the brilliant group of leading liberals of which mr. blapton was the centre, assuming an almost whig-like expression and bearing to mask the fires within, and had then suddenly accosted him. it was one of those great occasions when the rank and file of the popular party is privileged to look upon court dress. the ministers and great people had come on from buckingham palace in their lace and legs. scarlet and feathers, splendid trains and mysterious ribbons and stars, gave an agreeable intimation of all that it means to be in office to the dazzled wives and daughters of the party stalwarts and fired the ambition of innumerable earnest but earnestly competitive young men. it opened the eyes of the labour leaders to the higher possibilities of parliament. and then suddenly came a stir, a rush, a cry of "tear off his epaulettes!" and outrage was afoot. and two quite nice-looking young women! it is unhappily not necessary to describe the scene that followed. mr. blapton made a brave fight for his epaulettes, fighting chiefly with his cocked hat, which was bent double in the struggle. mrs. blapton gave all the assistance true womanliness could offer and, in fact, she boxed the ears of one of his assailants very soundly. the intruders were rescued in an extremely torn and draggled condition from the indignant statesmen who had fallen upon them by tardy but decisive police.... such scenes sprinkle the recent history of england with green and purple patches and the interest of this particular one for us is only because of georgina's share in it. that was brought home to sir isaac, very suddenly and disagreeably, while he was lunching at the climax club with sir robert charterson. a man named gobbin, an art critic or something of that sort, one of those flimsy literary people who mar the solid worth of so many great clubs, a man with a lot of hair and the sort of loose tie that so often seems to be less of a tie than a detachment from all decent restraints, told him. charterson was holding forth upon the outrage. "that won't suit sir isaac, sir robert," said gobbin presuming on his proximity. sir isaac tried to give him a sort of look one gives to an unsatisfactory clerk. "they went there with sir isaac's tickets," said gobbin. "they _never_----!" "horatio blenker was looking for you in the hall. haven't you seen him? after all the care they took. the poor man's almost in tears." "they never had tickets of mine!" cried sir isaac stoutly and indignantly. and then the thought of georgina came like a blow upon his heart.... in his flurry he went on denying.... the subsequent conversation in the smoking-room was as red-eared and disagreeable for sir isaac as any conversation could be. "but how _could_ such a thing have happened?" he asked in a voice that sounded bleached to him. "how could such a thing have come about?" their eyes were dreadful. did they guess? could they guess? conscience within him was going up and down shouting out, "georgina, your sister-in-law, georgina," so loudly that he felt the whole smoking-room must be hearing it.... §8 as lady harman came up through the darkness of the drive to her home, she was already regretting very deeply that she had not been content to talk to mr. brumley in kensington gardens instead of accepting his picturesque suggestion of hampton court. there was an unpleasant waif-like feeling about this return. she was reminded of pictures published in the interests of doctor barnardo's philanthropies,--dr. barnardo her favourite hero in real life,--in which wistful little outcasts creep longingly towards brightly lit but otherwise respectable homes. it wasn't at all the sort of feeling she would have chosen if she had had a choice of feelings. she was tired and dusty and as she came into the hall the bright light was blinding. snagsby took her wrap. "sir isaac, me lady, 'as been enquiring for your ladyship," he communicated. sir isaac appeared on the staircase. "good gracious, elly!" he shouted. "where you been?" lady harman decided against an immediate reply. "i shall be ready for dinner in half an hour," she told snagsby and went past him to the stairs. sir isaac awaited her. "where you been?" he repeated as she came up to him. a housemaid on the staircase and the second nursemaid on the nursery landing above shared sir isaac's eagerness to hear her answer. but they did not hear her answer, for lady harman with a movement that was all too reminiscent of her mother's in the garden, swept past him towards the door of her own room. he followed her and shut the door on the thwarted listeners. "here!" he said, with a connubial absence of restraint. "where the devil you been? what the deuce do you think you've been getting up to?" she had been calculating her answers since the moment she had realized that she was to return home at a disadvantage. (it is not my business to blame her for a certain disingenuousness; it is my business simply to record it.) "i went out to lunch at lady beach-mandarin's," she said. "i told you i meant to." "lunch!" he cried. "why, it's eight!" "i met--some people. i met agatha alimony. i have a perfect right to go out to lunch----" "you met a nice crew i'll bet. but that don't account for your being out to eight, does it? with all the confounded household doing as it pleases!" "i went on--to see the borders at hampton court." "with _her_?" "_yes_," said lady harman.... it wasn't what she had meant to happen. it was an inglorious declension from her contemplated pose of dignified assertion. she was impelled to do her utmost to get away from this lie she had uttered at once, to eliminate agatha from the argument by an emphatic generalization. "i've a perfect right," she said, suddenly nearly breathless, "to go to hampton court with anyone i please, talk about anything i like and stay there as long as i think fit." he squeezed his thin lips together for a silent moment and then retorted. "you've got nothing of the sort, nothing of the sort. you've got to do your duty like everybody else in the world, and your duty is to be in this house controlling it--and not gossiping about london just where any silly fancy takes you." "i don't think that _is_ my duty," said lady harman after a slight pause to collect her forces. "of _course_ it's your duty. you know it's your duty. you know perfectly well. it's only these rotten, silly, degenerate, decadent fools who've got ideas into you----" the sentence staggered under its load of adjectives like a camel under the last straw and collapsed. "_see?_" he said. lady harman knitted her brows. "i do my duty," she began. but sir isaac was now resolved upon eloquence. his mind was full with the accumulations of an extremely long and bitter afternoon and urgent to discharge. he began to answer her and then a passion of rage flooded him. suddenly he wanted to shout and use abusive expressions and it seemed to him there was nothing to prevent his shouting and using abusive expressions. so he did. "call this your duty," he said, "gadding about with some infernal old suffragette----" he paused to gather force. he had never quite let himself go to his wife before; he had never before quite let himself go to anyone. he had always been in every crisis just a little too timid to let himself go. but a wife is privileged. he sought strength and found it in words from which he had hitherto abstained. it was not a discourse to which print could do justice; it flickered from issue to issue. he touched upon georgina, upon the stiffness of mrs. sawbridge's manner, upon the neurotic weakness of georgina's unmarried state, upon the general decay of feminine virtue in the community, upon the laxity of modern literature, upon the dependent state of lady harman, upon the unfairness of their relations which gave her every luxury while he spent his days in arduous toil, upon the shame and annoyance in the eyes of his servants that her unexplained absence had caused him. he emphasized his speech by gestures. he thrust out one rather large ill-shaped hand at her with two vibrating fingers extended. his ears became red, his nose red, his eyes seemed red and all about these points his face was wrathful white. his hair rose up into stiff scared listening ends. he had his rights, he had some _little_ claim to consideration surely, he might be just nobody but he wasn't going to stand this much anyhow. he gave her fair warning. what was she, what did she know of the world into which she wanted to rush? he lapsed into views of lady beach-mandarin--unfavourable views. i wish lady beach-mandarin could have heard him.... ever and again lady harman sought to speak. this incessant voice confused and baffled her; she had a just attentive mind at bottom and down there was a most weakening feeling that there must indeed be some misdeed in her to evoke so impassioned a storm. she had a curious and disconcerting sense of responsibility for his dancing exasperation, she felt she was to blame for it, just as years ago she had felt she was to blame for his tears when he had urged her so desperately to marry him. some irrational instinct made her want to allay him. it is the supreme feminine weakness, that wish to allay. but she was also clinging desperately to her resolution to proclaim her other forthcoming engagements. her will hung on to that as a man hangs on to a mountain path in a thunderburst. she stood gripping her dressing-table and ever and again trying to speak. but whenever she did so sir isaac lifted a hand and cried almost threateningly: "you hear me out, elly! you hear me out!" and went on a little faster.... (limburger in his curious "_sexuelle unterschiede der seele_," points out as a probably universal distinction between the sexes that when a man scolds a woman, if only he scolds loudly enough and long enough, conviction of sin is aroused, while in the reverse case the result is merely a murderous impulse. this he further says is not understood by women, who hope by scolding to produce the similar effect upon men that they themselves would experience. the passage is illustrated by figures of ducking stools and followed by some carefully analyzed statistics of connubial crime in berlin in the years 1901-2. but in this matter let the student compare the achievement of paulina in _the winter's tale_ and reflect upon his own life. and moreover it is difficult to estimate how far the twinges of conscience that lady harman was feeling were not due to an entirely different cause, the falsification of her position by the lie she had just told sir isaac.) and presently upon this noisy scene in the great pink bedroom, with sir isaac walking about and standing and turning and gesticulating and lady harman clinging on to her dressing-table, and painfully divided between her new connections, her sense of guilty deception and the deep instinctive responsibilities of a woman's nature, came, like one of those rows of dots that are now so frequent and so helpful in the art of fiction, the surging, deep, assuaging note of snagsby's gong: booooooom. boom. boooooom.... "damn it!" cried sir isaac, smiting at the air with both fists clenched and speaking as though this was ellen's crowning misdeed, "and we aren't even dressed for dinner!" §9 dinner had something of the stiffness of court ceremonial. mrs. sawbridge, perhaps erring on the side of discretion, had consumed a little soup and a wing of chicken in her own room. sir isaac was down first and his wife found him grimly astride before the great dining-room fire awaiting her. she had had her dark hair dressed with extreme simplicity and had slipped on a blue velvet tea-gown, but she had been delayed by a visit to the nursery, where the children were now flushed and uneasily asleep. husband and wife took their places at the genuine sheraton dining-table--one of the very best pieces sir isaac had ever picked up--and were waited on with a hushed, scared dexterity by snagsby and the footman. lady harman and her husband exchanged no remarks during the meal; sir isaac was a little noisy with his soup as became a man who controls honest indignation, and once he complained briefly in a slightly hoarse voice to snagsby about the state of one of the rolls. between the courses he leant back in his chair and made faint sounds with his teeth. these were the only breach of the velvety quiet. lady harman was surprised to discover herself hungry, but she ate with thoughtful dignity and gave her mind to the attempted digestion of the confusing interview she had just been through. it was a very indigestible interview. on the whole her heart hardened again. with nourishment and silence her spirit recovered a little from its abasement, and her resolution to assert her freedom to go hither and thither and think as she chose renewed itself. she tried to plan some way of making her declaration so that she would not again be overwhelmed by a torrent of response. should she speak to him at the end of dinner? should she speak to him while snagsby was in the room? but he might behave badly even with snagsby in the room and she could not bear to think of him behaving badly to her in the presence of snagsby. she glanced at him over the genuine old silver bowl of roses in the middle of the table--all the roses were good _new_ sorts--and tried to estimate how he might behave under various methods of declaration. the dinner followed its appointed ritual to the dessert. came the wine and snagsby placed the cigars and a little silver lamp beside his master. she rose slowly with a speech upon her lips. sir isaac remained seated looking up at her with a mitigated fury in his little red-brown eyes. the speech receded from her lips again. "i think," she said after a strained pause, "i will go and see how mother is now." "she's only shamming," said sir isaac belatedly to her back as she went out of the room. she found her mother in a wrap before her fire and made her dutiful enquiries. "it's only quite a _slight_ headache," mrs. sawbridge confessed. "but isaac was so upset about georgina and about"--she flinched--"about--everything, that i thought it better to be out of the way." "what exactly has georgina done?" "it's in the paper, dear. on the table there." ellen studied the _times_. "georgina got them the tickets," mrs. sawbridge explained. "i wish she hadn't. it was so--so unnecessary of her." there was a little pause as lady harman read. she put down the paper and asked her mother if she could do anything for her. "i--i suppose it's all right, dear, now?" mrs. sawbridge asked. "quite," said her daughter. "you're sure i can do nothing for you, mummy?" "i'm kept so in the dark about things." "it's quite all right now, mummy." "he went on--dreadfully." "it was annoying--of georgina." "it makes my position so difficult. i do wish he wouldn't want to speak to me--about all these things.... georgina treats me like a perfect nonentity and then he comes----it's so inconsiderate. starting disputes. do you know, dear, i really think--if i were to go for a little time to bournemouth----?" her daughter seemed to find something attractive in the idea. she came to the hearthrug and regarded her mother with maternal eyes. "don't you _worry_ about things, mummy," she said. "mrs. bleckhorn told me of such a nice quiet boarding-house, almost looking on the sea.... one would be safe from insult there. you know----" her voice broke for a moment, "he was insulting, he _meant_ to be insulting. i'm--upset. i've been thinking over it ever since." §10 lady harman came out upon the landing. she felt absolutely without backing in the world. (if only she hadn't told a lie!) then with an effort she directed her course downstairs to the dining-room. (the lie had been necessary. it was only a detail. it mustn't blind her to the real issue.) she entered softly and found her husband standing before the fire plunged in gloomy thoughts. upon the marble mantel-shelf behind him was a little glass; he had been sipping port in spite of the express prohibition of his doctor and the wine had reddened the veins of his eyes and variegated the normal pallor of his countenance with little flushed areas. "hel-lo," he said looking up suddenly as she closed the door behind her. for a moment there was something in their two expressions like that on the faces of men about to box. "i want you to understand," she said, and then; "the way you behaved----" there was an uncontrollable break in her voice. she had a dreadful feeling that she might be going to cry. she made a great effort to be cold and clear. "i don't think you have a right--just because i am your wife--to control every moment of my time. in fact you haven't. and i have a right to make engagements.... i want you to know i am going to an afternoon meeting at lady beach-mandarin's. next week. and i have promised to go to miss alimony's to tea." "go on," he encouraged grimly. "i am going to lady viping's to dinner, too; she asked me and i accepted. later." she stopped. he seemed to deliberate. then suddenly he thrust out a face of pinched determination. "you _won't_, my lady," he said. "you bet your life you won't. _no!_ so _now_ then!" and then gripping his hands more tightly behind him, he made a step towards her. "you're losing your bearings, lady harman," he said, speaking with much intensity in a low earnest voice. "you don't seem to be remembering where you are. you come and you tell me you're going to do this and that. don't you know, lady harman, that it's your wifely duty to obey, to do as i say, to behave as i wish?" he brought out a lean index finger to emphasize his remarks. "and i am going to make you do it!" he said. "i've a perfect right," she repeated. he went on, regardless of her words. "what do you think you can do, lady harman? you're going to all these places--how? not in _my_ motor-car, not with _my_ money. you've not a thing that isn't mine, that _i_ haven't given you. and if you're going to have a lot of friends i haven't got, where're they coming to see you? not in _my_ house! i'll chuck 'em out if i find 'em. i won't have 'em. i'll turn 'em out. see?" "i'm not a slave." "you're a wife--and a wife's got to do what her husband wishes. you can't have two heads on a horse. and in _this_ horse--this house i mean, the head's--_me_!" "i'm not a slave and i won't be a slave." "you're a wife and you'll stick to the bargain you made when you married me. i'm ready in reason to give you anything you want--if you do your duty as a wife should. why!--i spoil you. but this going about on your own, this highty-flighty go-as-you-please,--no man on earth who's worth calling a man will stand it. i'm not going to begin to stand it.... you try it on. you try it, lady harman.... you'll come to your senses soon enough. see? you start trying it on now--straight away. we'll make an experiment. we'll watch how it goes. only don't expect me to give you any money, don't expect me to help your struggling family, don't expect me to alter my arrangements because of you. let's keep apart for a bit and you go your way and i'll go mine. and we'll see who's sick of it first, we'll see who wants to cry off." "i came down here," said lady harman, "to give you a reasonable notice----" "and you found _i_ could reason too," interrupted sir isaac in a kind of miniature shout, "you found i could reason too!" "you think----reason! i _won't_," said lady harman, and found herself in tears. by an enormous effort she recovered something of her dignity and withdrew. he made no effort to open the door, but stood a little hunchbacked and with a sense of rhetorical victory surveying her retreat. §11 after lady harman's maid had left her that night, she sat for some time in a low easy chair before her fire, trying at first to collect together into one situation all the events of the day and then lapsing into that state of mind which is not so much thinking as resting in the attitude of thought. presently, in a vaguely conceived future, she would go to bed. she was stunned by the immense dimensions of the row her simple act of defiance had evoked. and then came an incredible incident, so incredible that next day she still had great difficulty in deciding whether it was an actuality or a dream. she heard a little very familiar sound. it was the last sound she would have expected to hear and she turned sharply when she heard it. the paper-covered door in the wall of her husband's apartment opened softly, paused, opened some more and his little undignified head appeared. his hair was already tumbled from his pillow. he regarded her steadfastly for some moments with an expression between shame and curiosity and smouldering rage, and then allowed his body, clad now in purple-striped pyjamas, to follow his head into her room. he advanced guiltily. "elly," he whispered. "elly!" she caught her dressing-gown about her and stood up. "what is it, isaac?" she asked, feeling curiously abashed at this invasion. "elly," he said, still in that furtive undertone. "_make it up!_" "i want my freedom," she said, after a little pause. "don't be _silly_, elly," he whispered in a tone of remonstrance and advancing slowly towards her. "make it up. chuck all these ideas." she shook her head. "we've got to get along together. you can't go going about just anywhere. we've got--we've got to be reasonable." he halted, three paces away from her. his eyes weren't sorrowful eyes, or friendly eyes; they were just shiftily eager eyes. "look here," he said. "it's all nonsense.... elly, old girl; let's--let's make it up." she looked at him and it dawned upon her that she had always imagined herself to be afraid of him and that indeed she wasn't. she shook her head obstinately. "it isn't reasonable," he said. "here, we've been the happiest of people----anything in reason i'll let you have." he paused with an effect of making an offer. "i want my autonomy," she said. "autonomy!" he echoed. "autonomy! what's autonomy? autonomy!" this strange word seemed first to hold him in distressful suspense and then to infuriate him. "i come in here to make it up," he said, with a voice charged with griefs, "after all you've done, and you go and you talk of autonomy!" his feelings passed beyond words. an extremity of viciousness flashed into his face. he gave vent to a snarl of exasperation, "ya-ap!" he said, he raised his clenched fists and seemed on the verge of assault, and then with a gesture between fury and despair, he wheeled about and the purple-striped pyjamas danced in passionate retreat from her room. "autonomy!..." a slam, a noise of assaulted furniture, and then silence. lady harman stood for some moments regarding the paper-covered door that had closed behind him. then she bared her white forearm and pinched it--hard. it wasn't a dream! this thing had happened. §12 at a quarter to three in the morning, lady harman was surprised to find herself wide awake. it was exactly a quarter to three when she touched the stud of the ingenious little silver apparatus upon the table beside her bed which reflected a luminous clock-face upon the ceiling. and her mind was no longer resting in the attitude of thought but extraordinarily active. it was active, but as she presently began to realize it was not progressing. it was spinning violently round and round the frenzied figure of a little man in purple-striped pyjamas retreating from her presence, whirling away from her like something blown before a gale. that seemed to her to symbolize the completeness of the breach the day had made between her husband and herself. she felt as a statesman might feel who had inadvertently--while conducting some trivial negotiations--declared war. she was profoundly alarmed. she perceived ahead of her abundant possibilities of disagreeable things. and she wasn't by any means as convinced of the righteousness of her cause as a happy warrior should be. she had a natural disposition towards truthfulness and it worried her mind that while she was struggling to assert her right to these common social freedoms she should be tacitly admitting a kind of justice in her husband's objections by concealing the fact that her afternoon's companion was a man. she tried not to recognize the existence of a doubt, but deep down in her mind there did indeed lurk a weakening uncertainty about the right of a woman to free conversation with any man but her own. her reason disowned that uncertainty with scorn. but it wouldn't go away for all her reason. she went about in her mind doing her utmost to cut that doubt dead.... she tried to go back to the beginning and think it all out. and as she was not used to thinking things out, the effort took the form of an imaginary explanation to mr. brumley of the difficulties of her position. she framed phrases. "you see, mr. brumley," she imagined herself to be saying, "i want to do my duty as a wife, i have to do my duty as a wife. but it's so hard to say just where duty leaves off and being a mere slave begins. i cannot believe that _blind_ obedience is any woman's duty. a woman needs--autonomy." then her mind went off for a time to a wrestle with the exact meaning of autonomy, an issue that had not arisen hitherto in her mind.... and as she planned out such elucidations, there grew more and more distinct in her mind a kind of idealized mr. brumley, very grave, very attentive, wonderfully understanding, saying illuminating helpful tonic things, that made everything clear, everything almost easy. she wanted someone of that quality so badly. the night would have been unendurable if she could not have imagined mr. brumley of that quality. and imagining him of that quality her heart yearned for him. she felt that she had been terribly inexpressive that afternoon, she had shirked points, misstated points, and yet he had been marvellously understanding. ever and again his words had seemed to pierce right through what she had been saying to what she had been thinking. and she recalled with peculiar comfort a kind of abstracted calculating look that had come at times into his eyes, as though his thoughts were going ever so much deeper and ever so much further than her blundering questionings could possibly have taken them. he weighed every word, he had a guarded way of saying "um...." her thoughts came back to the dancing little figure in purple-striped pyjamas. she had a scared sense of irrevocable breaches. what would he do to-morrow? what should she do to-morrow? would he speak to her at breakfast or should she speak first to him?... she wished she had some money. if she could have foreseen all this she would have got some money before she began.... so her mind went on round and round and the dawn was breaking before she slept again. §13 mr. brumley, also, slept little that night. he was wakefully mournful, recalling each ungraceful incident of the afternoon's failure in turn and more particularly his dispute with the ticket clerk, and thinking over all the things he might have done--if only he hadn't done the things he had done. he had made an atrocious mess of things. he felt he had hopelessly shattered the fair fabric of impressions of him that lady harman had been building up, that image of a wise humane capable man to whom a woman would gladly turn; he had been flurried, he had been incompetent, he had been ridiculously incompetent, and it seemed to him that life was a string of desolating inadequacies and that he would never smile again. the probable reception of lady harman by her husband never came within his imaginative scope. nor did the problems of social responsibility that lady harman had been trying to put to him exercise him very greatly. the personal disillusionment was too strong for that. about half-past four a faint ray of comfort came with the consideration that after all a certain practical incapacity is part of the ensemble of a literary artist, and then he found himself wondering what flowers of wisdom montaigne might not have culled from such a day's experience; he began an imitative essay in his head and he fell asleep upon this at last at about ten minutes past five in the morning. there were better things than this in the composition of mr. brumley, we shall have to go deep into these reserves before we have done with him, but when he had so recently barked the shins of his self-esteem they had no chance at all. chapter the seventh lady harman learns about herself §1 so it was that the great and long incubated quarrel between lady harman and her husband broke into active hostilities. in spite of my ill-concealed bias in favour of lady harman i have to confess that she began this conflict rashly, planlessly, with no equipment and no definite end. particularly i would emphasize that she had no definite end. she had wanted merely to establish a right to go out by herself occasionally, exercise a certain choice of friends, take on in fact the privileges of a grown-up person, and in asserting that she had never anticipated that the participation of the household would be invoked, or that a general breach might open between herself and her husband. it had seemed just a definite little point at issue, but at sir isaac's angry touch a dozen other matters that had seemed safely remote, matters she had never yet quite properly thought about, had been drawn into controversy. it was not only that he drew in things from outside; he evoked things within herself. she discovered she was disposed to fight not simply to establish certain liberties for herself but also--which had certainly not been in her mind before--to keep her husband away from herself. something latent in the situation had surprised her with this effect. it had arisen out of the quarrel like a sharpshooter out of an ambuscade. her right to go out alone had now only the value of a mere pretext for far more extensive independence. the ultimate extent of these independences, she still dared not contemplate. she was more than a little scared. she wasn't prepared for so wide a revision of her life as this involved. she wasn't at all sure of the rightfulness of her position. her conception of the marriage contract at that time was liberal towards her husband. after all, didn't she owe obedience? didn't she owe him a subordinate's co-operation? didn't she in fact owe him the whole marriage service contract? when she thought of the figure of him in his purple-striped pyjamas dancing in a paroxysm of exasperation, that sense of responsibility which was one of her innate characteristics reproached her. she had a curious persuasion that she must be dreadfully to blame for provoking so ridiculous, so extravagant an outbreak.... §2 she heard him getting up tumultuously and when she came down,--after a brief interview with her mother who was still keeping her room,--she found him sitting at the breakfast-table eating toast and marmalade in a greedy malignant manner. the tentative propitiations of his proposal to make things up had entirely disappeared, he was evidently in a far profounder rage with her than he had been overnight. snagsby too, that seemly domestic barometer, looked extraordinarily hushed and grave. she made a greeting-like noise and sir isaac scrunched "morning" up amongst a crowded fierce mouthful of toast. she helped herself to tea and bacon and looking up presently discovered his eye fixed upon her with an expression of ferocious hatred.... he went off in the big car, she supposed to london, about ten and she helped her mother to pack and depart by a train a little after midday. she made a clumsy excuse for not giving that crisp little trifle of financial assistance she was accustomed to, and mrs. sawbridge was anxiously tactful about the disappointment. they paid a visit of inspection and farewell to the nursery before the departure. then lady harman was left until lunch to resume her meditation upon this unprecedented breach that had opened between her husband and herself. she was presently moved to write a little note to lady beach-mandarin expressing her intention of attending a meeting of the social friends and asking whether the date was the following wednesday or thursday. she found three penny stamps in the bureau at which she wrote and this served to remind her of her penniless condition. she spent some time thinking out the possible consequences of that. how after all was she going to do things, with not a penny in the world to do them with? lady harman was not only instinctively truthful but also almost morbidly honourable. in other words, she was simple-minded. the idea of a community of goods between husband and wife had never established itself in her mind, she took all sir isaac's presents in the spirit in which he gave them, presents she felt they were on trust, and so it was that with a six-hundred pound pearl necklace, a diamond tiara, bracelets, lockets, rings, chains and pendants of the most costly kind--there had been a particularly beautiful bracelet when millicent was born, a necklace on account of florence, a fan painted by charles conder for annette and a richly splendid set of old spanish jewellery--yellow sapphires set in gold--to express sir isaac's gratitude for the baby--with all sorts of purses, bags, boxes, trinkets and garments, with a bedroom and morning-room rich in admirable loot, and with endless tradespeople willing to give her credit it didn't for some time occur to her that there was any possible means of getting pocket-money except by direct demand from sir isaac. she surveyed her balance of two penny stamps and even about these she felt a certain lack of negotiable facility. she thought indeed that she might perhaps borrow money, but there again her paralyzing honesty made her recoil from the prospect of uncertain repayment. and besides, from whom could she borrow?... it was on the evening of the second day that a chance remark from peters turned her mind to the extensive possibilities of liquidation that lay close at hand. she was discussing her dinner dress with peters, she wanted something very plain and high and unattractive, and peters, who disapproved of this tendency and was all for female wiles and propitiations, fell into an admiration of the pearl necklace. she thought perhaps by so doing she might induce lady harman to wear it, and if she wore it sir isaac might be a little propitiated, and if sir isaac was a little propitiated it would be much more comfortable for snagsby and herself and everyone. she was reminded of a story of a lady who sold one and substituted imitation pearls, no one the wiser, and she told this to her mistress out of sheer garrulousness. "but if no one found out," said lady harman, "how do you know?" "not till her death, me lady," said peters, brushing, "when all things are revealed. her husband, they say, made it a present of to another lady and the other lady, me lady, had it valued...." once the idea had got into lady harman's head it stayed there very obstinately. she surveyed the things on the table before her with a slightly lifted eyebrow. at first she thought the idea of disposing of them an entirely dishonourable idea, and if she couldn't get it out of her head again at least she made it stand in a corner. and while it stood in a corner she began putting a price for the first time in her life first upon this coruscating object and then that. then somehow she found herself thinking more and more whether among all these glittering possessions there wasn't something that she might fairly regard as absolutely her own. there were for example her engagement ring and, still more debateable, certain other pre-nuptial trinkets sir isaac had given her. then there were things given her on her successive birthdays. a birthday present of all presents is surely one's very own? but selling is an extreme exercise of ownership. since those early schooldays when she had carried on an unprofitable traffic in stamps she had never sold anything--unless we are to reckon that for once and for all she had sold herself. concurrently with these insidious speculations lady harman found herself trying to imagine how one sold jewels. she tried to sound peters by taking up the story of the necklace again. but peters was uninforming. "but where," asked lady harman, "could such a thing be done?" "there are places, me lady," said peters. "but where?" "in the west end, me lady. the west end is full of places--for things of that sort. there's scarcely anything you can't do there, me lady--if only you know how." that was really all that peters could impart. "how _does_ one sell jewels?" lady harman became so interested in this side of her perplexities that she did a little lose sight of those subtler problems of integrity that had at first engaged her. do jewellers buy jewels as well as sell them? and then it came into her head that there were such things as pawnshops. by the time she had thought about pawnshops and tried to imagine one, her original complete veto upon any idea of selling had got lost to sight altogether. instead there was a growing conviction that if ever she sold anything it would be a certain sapphire and diamond ring which she didn't like and never wore that sir isaac had given her as a birthday present two years ago. but of course she would never dream of selling anything; at the utmost she need but pawn. she reflected and decided that on the whole it would be wiser not to ask peters how one pawned. it occurred to her to consult the _encyclopædia britannica_ on the subject, but though she learnt that the chinese pawnshops must not charge more than three per cent. per annum, that king edward the third pawned his jewels in 1338 and that father bernardino di feltre who set up pawnshops in assisi and padua and pavia was afterward canonized, she failed to get any very clear idea of the exact ritual of the process. and then suddenly she remembered that she knew a finished expert in pawnshop work in the person of susan burnet. susan could tell her everything. she found some curtains in the study that needed replacement, consulted mrs. crumble and, with a view to economizing her own resources, made that lady send off an urgent letter to susan bidding her come forthwith. §3 it has been said that fate is a plagiarist. lady harman's fate at any rate at this juncture behaved like a benevolent plagiarist who was also a little old-fashioned. this phase of speechless hostility was complicated by the fact that two of the children fell ill, or at least seemed for a couple of days to be falling ill. by all the rules of british sentiment, this ought to have brought about a headlong reconciliation at the tumbled bedside. it did nothing of the sort; it merely wove fresh perplexities into the tangled skein of her thoughts. on the day after her participation in that forbidden lunch millicent, her eldest daughter, was discovered with a temperature of a hundred and one, and then annette, the third, followed suit with a hundred. this carried lady harman post haste to the nursery, where to an unprecedented degree she took command. latterly she had begun to mistrust the physique of her children and to doubt whether the trained efficiency of mrs. harblow the nurse wasn't becoming a little blunted at the edges by continual use. and the tremendous quarrel she had afoot made her keenly resolved not to let anything go wrong in the nursery and less disposed than she usually was to leave things to her husband's servants. she interviewed the doctor herself, arranged for the isolation of the two flushed and cross little girls, saw to the toys and amusements which she discovered had become a little flattened and disused by the servants' imperatives of tidying up and putting away, and spent the greater part of the next two days between the night and day nurseries. she was a little surprised to find how readily she did this and how easily the once entirely authoritative mrs. harblow submitted. it was much the same surprise that growing young people feel when they reach some shelf that has hitherto been inaccessible. the crisis soon passed. at his first visit the doctor was a little doubtful whether the harman nursery wasn't under the sway of measles, which were then raging in a particularly virulent form in london; the next day he inclined to the view that the trouble was merely a feverish cold, and before night this second view was justified by the disappearance of the "temperatures" and a complete return to normal conditions. but as for that hushed reconciliation in the fevered presence of the almost sacrificial offspring, it didn't happen. sir isaac merely thrust aside the stiff silences behind which he masked his rage to remark: "this is what happens when wimmen go gadding about!" that much and glaring eyes and compressed lips and emphasizing fingers and then he had gone again. indeed rather than healing their widening breach this crisis did much to spread it into strange new regions. it brought lady harman to the very verge of realizing how much of instinct and how much of duty held her the servant of the children she had brought into the world, and how little there mingled with that any of those factors of pride and admiration that go to the making of heroic maternal love. she knew what is expected of a mother, the exalted and lyrical devotion, and it was with something approaching terror that she perceived that certain things in these children of hers she _hated_. it was her business she knew to love them blindly; she lay awake at night in infinite dismay realizing she did nothing of the sort. their weakness held her more than anything else, the invincible pathos of their little limbs in discomfort so that she was ready to die she felt to give them ease. but so she would have been held, she was assured, by the little children of anybody if they had fallen with sufficient helplessness into her care. just how much she didn't really like her children she presently realized when in the feeble irascibility of their sickness they fell quarrelling. they became--horrid. millicent and annette being imprisoned in their beds it seemed good to florence when she came back from the morning's walk, to annex and hide a selection of their best toys. she didn't take them and play with them, she hid them with an industrious earnestness in a box window-seat that was regarded as peculiarly hers, staggering with armfuls across the nursery floor. then millicent by some equally mysterious agency divined what was afoot and set up a clamour for a valued set of doll's furniture, which immediately provoked a similar outcry from little annette for her teddy bear. followed woe and uproar. the invalids insisted upon having every single toy they possessed brought in and put upon their beds; florence was first disingenuous and then surrendered her loot with passionate howlings. the teddy bear was rescued from baby after a violent struggle in which one furry hind leg was nearly twisted off. it jars upon the philoprogenitive sentiment of our time to tell of these things and still more to record that all four, stirred by possessive passion to the profoundest depths of their beings, betrayed to an unprecedented degree in their little sharp noses, their flushed faces, their earnest eyes, their dutiful likeness to sir isaac. he peeped from under millicent's daintily knitted brows and gestured with florence's dimpled fists. it was as if god had tried to make him into four cherubim and as if in spite of everything he was working through. lady harman toiled to pacify these disorders, gently, attentively, and with a faint dismay in her dark eyes. she bribed and entreated and marvelled at mental textures so unlike her own. baby was squared with a brand new teddy bear, a rare sort, a white one, which snagsby went and purchased in the putney high street and brought home in his arms, conferring such a lustre upon the deed that the lower orders, the very street-boys, watched him with reverence as he passed. annette went to sleep amidst a discomfort of small treasures and woke stormily when mrs. harblow tried to remove some of the spikier ones. and lady harman went back to her large pink bedroom and meditated for a long time upon these things and tried to remember whether in her own less crowded childhood with georgina, either of them had been quite so inhumanly hard and grasping as these feverish little mites in her nursery. she tried to think she had been, she tried to think that all children were such little distressed lumps of embittered individuality, and she did what she could to overcome the queer feeling that this particular clutch of offspring had been foisted upon her and weren't at all the children she could now imagine and desire,--gentle children, sweet-spirited children.... §4 susan burnet arrived in a gusty mood and brought new matter for lady harman's ever broadening consideration of the wifely position. susan, led by a newspaper placard, had discovered sir isaac's relations to the international bread and cake stores. "at first i thought i wouldn't come," said susan. "i really did. i couldn't hardly believe it. and then i thought, 'it isn't _her_. it can't be _her_!' but i'd never have dreamt before that i could have been brought to set foot in the house of the man who drove poor father to ruin and despair.... you've been so kind to me...." susan's simple right-down mind stopped for a moment with something very like a sob, baffled by the contradictions of the situation. "so i came," she said, with a forced bright smile. "i'm glad you came," said lady harman. "i wanted to see you. and you know, susan, i know very little--very little indeed--of sir isaac's business." "i quite believe it, my lady. i've never for one moment thought _you_----i don't know how to say it, my lady." "and indeed i'm not," said lady harman, taking it as said. "i knew you weren't," said susan, relieved to be so understood. and the two women looked perplexedly at one another over the neglected curtains susan had come to "see to," and shyness just snatched back lady harman from her impulse to give susan a sisterly kiss. nevertheless susan who was full of wise intuitions felt that kiss that was never given, and in the remote world of unacted deeds returned it with effusion. "but it's hard," said susan, "to find one's own second sister mixed up in a strike, and that's what it's come to last week. they've struck, all the international waitresses have struck, and last night in piccadilly they were standing on the kerb and picketing and her among them. with a crowd cheering.... and me ready to give my right hand to keep that girl respectable!" and with a volubility that was at once tumultuous and effective, susan sketched in the broad outlines of the crisis that threatened the dividends and popularity of the international bread and cake stores. the unsatisfied demands of that bright journalistic enterprise, _the london lion_, lay near the roots of the trouble. _the london lion_ had stirred it up. but it was only too evident that _the london lion_ had merely given a voice and form and cohesion to long smouldering discontents. susan's account of the matter had that impartiality which comes from intellectual incoherence, she hadn't so much a judgment upon the whole as a warring mosaic of judgments. it was talking upon post impressionist lines, talking in the manner of picasso. she had the firmest conviction that to strike against employment, however ill-paid or badly conditioned, was a disgraceful combination of folly, ingratitude and general wickedness, and she had an equally strong persuasion that the treatment of the employees of the international bread and cake stores was such as no reasonably spirited person ought to stand. she blamed her sister extremely and sympathized with her profoundly, and she put it all down in turn to _the london lion_, to sir isaac, and to a small round-faced person called babs wheeler, who appeared to be the strike leader and seemed always to be standing on tables in the branches, or clambering up to the lions in trafalgar square, or being cheered in the streets. but there could be no mistaking the quality of sir isaac's "international" organization as susan's dabs of speech shaped it out. it was indeed what we all of us see everywhere about us, the work of the base energetic mind, raw and untrained, in possession of the keen instruments of civilization, the peasant mind allied and blended with the ghetto mind, grasping and acquisitive, clever as a norman peasant or a jew pedlar is clever, and beyond that outrageously stupid and ugly. it was a new view and yet the old familiar view of her husband, but now she saw him not as little eager eyes, a sharp nose, gaunt gestures and a leaden complexion, but as shops and stores and rules and cash registers and harsh advertisements and a driving merciless hurry to get--to get anything and everything, money, monopoly, power, prominence, whatever any other human being seemed to admire or seemed to find desirable, a lust rather than a living soul. now that her eyes were at last opened lady harman, who had seen too little heretofore, now saw too much; she saw all that she had not seen, with an excess of vision, monstrous, caricatured. susan had already dabbed in the disaster of sir isaac's unorganized competitors going to the wall--for charity or the state to neglect or bandage as it might chance--the figure of that poor little "father," moping hopelessly before his "accident" symbolized that; and now she gave in vivid splotches of allusion, glimpses of the business machine that had replaced those shattered enterprises and carried sir isaac to the squalid glory of a liberal honours list,--the carefully balanced antagonisms and jealousies of the girls and the manageresses, those manageresses who had been obliged to invest little bunches of savings as guarantees and who had to account for every crumb and particle of food stock that came to the branch, and the hunt for cases and inefficiency by the inspectors, who had somehow to justify a salary of two hundred a year, not to mention a percentage of the fines they inflicted. "there's all that business of the margarine," said susan. "every branch gets its butter under weight,--the water squeezes out,--and every branch has over weight margarine. of course the rules say that mixing's forbidden and if they get caught they go, but they got to pay-in for that butter, and it's setting a snare for their feet. people who've never thought to cheat, when they get it like that, day after day, they cheat, my lady.... and the girls get left food for rations. there's always trouble, it's against what the rules say, but they get it. of course it's against the rules, but what can a manageress do?--if the waste doesn't fall on them, it falls on her. she's tied there with her savings.... such driving, my lady, it's against the very spirit of god. it makes scoffers point. it makes people despise law and order. there's luke, he gets bitterer and bitterer; he says that it's in the word we mustn't muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn, but these stores, he says, they'd muzzle the ox and keep it hungry and make it work a little machine, he says, whenever it put down its head in the hope of finding a scrap...." so susan, bright-eyed, flushed and voluble, pleading the cause of that vague greatness in humanity that would love, that would loiter, that would think, that would if it could give us art, delight and beauty, that turns blindly and stumblingly towards joy, towards intervals, towards the mysterious things of the spirit, against all this sordid strenuousness, this driving destructive association of hardfisted peasant soul and ghetto greed, this fool's "efficiency," that rules our world to-day. then susan lunged for a time at the waitress life her sister led. "she has 'er 'ome with us, but some--they haven't homes." "they make a fuss about all this white slave traffic," said susan, "but if ever there were white slaves it's the girls who work for a living and keep themselves respectable. and nobody wants to make an example of the men who get rich out of _them_...." and after some hearsay about the pressure in the bake-houses and the accidents to the van-men, who worked on a speeding-up system that sir isaac had adopted from an american business specialist, susan's mental discharge poured out into the particulars of the waitresses' strike and her sister's share in that. "she _would_ go into it," said susan, "she let herself be drawn in. i asked her never to take the place. better service, i said, a thousand times. i begged her, i could have begged her on my bended knees...." the immediate cause of the strike it seemed was the exceptional disagreeableness of one of the london district managers. "he takes advantage of his position," repeated susan with face aflame, and lady harman was already too wise about susan's possibilities to urge her towards particulars.... now as lady harman listened to all this confused effective picturing of the great catering business which was the other side of her husband and which she had taken on trust so long, she had in her heart a quite unreasonable feeling of shame that she should listen at all, a shyness, as though she was prying, as though this really did not concern her. she knew she had to listen and still she felt beyond her proper jurisdiction. it is against instinct, it is with an enormous reluctance that women are bringing their quick emotions, their flashing unstable intelligences, their essential romanticism, their inevitable profound generosity into the world of politics and business. if only they could continue believing that all that side of life is grave and wise and admirably managed for them they would. it is not in a day or a generation that we shall un-specialize women. it is a wrench nearly as violent as birth for them to face out into the bleak realization that the man who goes out for them into business, into affairs, and returns so comfortably loaded with housings and wrappings and trappings and toys, isn't, as a matter of fact, engaged in benign creativeness while he is getting these desirable things. §5 lady harman's mind was so greatly exercised by susan burnet's voluminous confidences that it was only when she returned to her own morning room that she recalled the pawning problem. she went back to sir isaac's study and found susan with all her measurements taken and on the very edge of departure. "oh susan!" she said. she found the matter a little difficult to broach. susan remained in an attitude of respectful expectation. "i wanted to ask you," said lady harman and then broke off to shut the door. susan's interest increased. "you know, susan," said lady harman with an air of talking about commonplace things, "sir isaac is very rich and--of course--very generous.... but sometimes one feels, one wants a little money of one's own." "i think i can understand that, my lady," said susan. "i knew you would," said lady harman and then with a brightness that was slightly forced, "i can't always get money of my own. it's difficult--sometimes." and then blushing vividly: "i've got lots of _things_.... susan, have you ever pawned anything?" and so she broached it. "not since i got fairly into work," said susan; "i wouldn't have it. but when i was little we were always pawning things. why! we've pawned kettles!..." she flashed three reminiscences. meanwhile lady harman produced a little glittering object and held it between finger and thumb. "if i went into a pawnshop near here," she said, "it would seem so odd.... this ring, susan, must be worth thirty or forty pounds. and it seems so silly when i have it that i should really be wanting money...." susan displayed a peculiar reluctance to handle the ring. "i've never," she said, "pawned anything valuable--not valuable like that. suppose--suppose they wanted to know how i had come by it." "it's more than alice earns in a year," she said. "it's----" she eyed the glittering treasure; "it's a queer thing for me to have." a certain embarrassment arose between them. lady harman's need of money became more apparent. "i'll do it for you," said susan, "indeed i'll do it. but----there's one thing----" her face flushed hotly. "it isn't that i want to make difficulties. but people in our position--we aren't like people in your position. it's awkward sometimes to explain things. you've got a good character, but people don't know it. you can't be too careful. it isn't sufficient--just to be honest. if i take that----if you were just to give me a little note--in your handwriting--on your paper--just asking me----i don't suppose i need show it to anyone...." "i'll write the note," said lady harman. a new set of uncomfortable ideas was dawning upon her. "but susan----you don't mean that anyone, anyone who's really honest--might get into trouble?" "you can't be too careful," said susan, manifestly resolved not to give our highly civilized state half a chance with her. §6 the problem of sir isaac and just what he was doing and what he thought he was doing and what he meant to do increased in importance in lady harman's mind as the days passed by. he had an air of being malignantly up to something and she could not imagine what this something could be. he spoke to her very little but he looked at her a great deal. he had more and more of the quality of a premeditated imminent explosion.... one morning she was standing quite still in the drawing-room thinking over this now almost oppressive problem of why the situation did not develop further with him, when she became aware of a thin flat unusual book upon the small side table near the great armchair at the side of the fire. he had been reading that overnight and it lay obliquely--it might almost have been left out for her. she picked it up. it was _the taming of the shrew_ in that excellent folio edition of henley's which makes each play a comfortable thin book apart. a curiosity to learn what it was had drawn her husband to english literature made her turn over the pages. _the taming of the shrew_ was a play she knew very slightly. for the harmans, though deeply implicated like most other rich and striving people in plans for honouring the immortal william, like most other people found scanty leisure to read him. as she turned over the pages a pencil mark caught her eye. thence words were underlined and further accentuated by a deeply scored line in the margin. "but for my bonny kate, she must with me. nay; look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret; i will be master of what is mine own: she is my goods, my chattels; she is my house, she is my household stuff, my field, my barn, my horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing: and here she stands, touch her whoever dare; i'll bring mine action on the proudest he, that stops my way in padua." with a slightly heightened colour, lady harman read on and presently found another page slashed with sir isaac's approval.... her face became thoughtful. did he mean to attempt--petruchio? he could never dare. there were servants, there were the people one met, the world.... he would never dare.... what a strange play it was! shakespear of course was wonderfully wise, the crown of english wisdom, the culminating english mind,--or else one might almost find something a little stupid and clumsy.... did women nowadays really feel like these elizabethan wives who talked--like girls, very forward girls indeed, but girls of sixteen?... she read the culminating speech of katherine and now she had so forgotten sir isaac she scarcely noted the pencil line that endorsed the immortal words. "thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, thy head, thy sovereign; one who cares for thee, and for thy maintenance commits his body to painful labour both by sea and land, to watch the night in storms, the day in cold, while thou liest warm at home, secure and safe; and craves no other tribute at thy hands but love, fair looks, and true obedience; too little payment for so great a debt. such duty as the subject owes the prince, even such a woman oweth to her husband; and when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour, and not obedient to his honest will, what is she but a foul contending rebel and graceless traitor to her loving lord? i am ashamed that women are so simple to offer war, where they should kneel for peace; * * * * * my mind has been as big as one of yours, my heat as great; my reason, haply, more, to bandy word for word and frown for frown. but now i see our lances are but straws; our strength is weak, our weakness past compare, seeming that most which we indeed least are...." she wasn't indignant. something in these lines took hold of her protesting imagination. she knew that so she could have spoken of a man. but that man,--she apprehended him as vaguely as an anglican bishop apprehends god. he was obscured altogether by shadows; he had only one known characteristic, that he was totally unlike sir isaac. and the play was false she felt in giving this speech to a broken woman. such things are not said by broken women. broken women do no more than cheat and lie. but so a woman might speak out of her unconquered wilfulness, as a queen might give her lover a kingdom out of the fullness of her heart. §7 the evening after his wife had had this glimpse into sir isaac's mental processes he telephoned that charterson and horatio blenker were coming home to dinner with him. neither lady charterson nor mrs. blenker were to be present; it was to be a business conversation and not a social occasion, and lady harman he desired should wear her black and gold with just a touch of crimson in her hair. charterson wanted a word or two with the flexible horatio on sugar at the london docks, and sir isaac had some vague ideas that a turn might be given to the public judgment upon the waitresses' strike, by a couple of horatio's thoughtful yet gentlemanly articles. and in addition charterson seemed to have something else upon his mind; he did not tell as much to sir isaac but he was weighing the possibilities of securing a controlling share in the _daily spirit_, which simply didn't know at present where it was upon the sugar business, and of installing horatio's brother, adolphus, as its editor. he wanted to form some idea from horatio of what adolphus might expect before he approached adolphus. lady harman wore the touch of crimson in her hair as her husband had desired, and the table was decorated simply with a big silver bowl of crimson roses. a slight shade of apprehension in sir isaac's face changed to approval at the sight of her obedience. after all perhaps she was beginning to see the commonsense of her position. charterson struck her as looking larger, but then whenever she saw him he struck her as looking larger. he enveloped her hand in a large amiable paw for a minute and asked after the children with gusto. the large teeth beneath his discursive moustache gave him the effect of a perennial smile to which his asymmetrical ears added a touch of waggery. he always betrayed a fatherly feeling towards her as became a man who was married to a handsome wife old enough to be her mother. even when he asked about the children he did it with something of the amused knowingness of assured seniority, as if indeed he knew all sorts of things about the children that she couldn't as yet even begin to imagine. and though he confined his serious conversation to the two other men, he would ever and again show himself mindful of her and throw her some friendly enquiry, some quizzically puzzling remark. blenker as usual treated her as if she were an only very indistinctly visible presence to whom an effusive yet inattentive politeness was due. he was clearly nervous almost to the pitch of jumpiness. he knew he was to be spoken to about the sugar business directly he saw charterson, and he hated being spoken to about the sugar business. he had his code of honour. of course one had to make concessions to one's proprietors, but he could not help feeling that if only they would consent to see his really quite obvious gentlemanliness more clearly it would be better for the paper, better for the party, better for them, far better for himself. he wasn't altogether a fool about that sugar; he knew how things lay. they ought to trust him more. his nervousness betrayed itself in many little ways. he crumbled his bread constantly until, thanks to snagsby's assiduous replacement, he had made quite a pile of crumbs, he dropped his glasses in the soup--a fine occasion for snagsby's _sang-froid_--and he forgot not to use a fish knife with the fish as lady grove directs and tried when he discovered his error to replace it furtively on the table cloth. moreover he kept on patting the glasses on his nose--after snagsby had whisked his soup plate away, rescued, wiped and returned them to him--until that feature glowed modestly at such excesses of attention, and the soup and sauces and things bothered his fine blond moustache unusually. so that mr. blenker what with the glasses, the napkin, the food and the things seemed as restless as a young sparrow. lady harman did her duties as hostess in the quiet key of her sombre dress, and until the conversation drew her out into unexpected questionings she answered rather than talked, and she did not look at her husband once throughout the meal. at first the talk was very largely charterson. he had no intention of coming to business with blenker until lady harman had given place to the port and the man's nerves were steadier. he spoke of this and that in the large discursive way men use in clubs, and it was past the fish before the conversation settled down upon the topic of business organization and sir isaac, a little warmed by champagne, came out of the uneasily apprehensive taciturnity into which he had fallen in the presence of his wife. horatio blenker was keenly interested in the idealization of commercial syndication, he had been greatly stirred by a book of mr. gerald stanley lee's called _inspired millionaires_ which set out to show just what magnificent airs rich men might give themselves, and he had done his best to catch its tone and to find _inspired millionaires_ in sir isaac and charterson and to bring it to their notice and to the notice of the readers of the _old country gazette_. he felt that if only sir isaac and charterson would see getting rich as a great creative act it would raise their tone and his tone and the tone of the _old country gazette_ tremendously. it wouldn't of course materially alter the methods or policy of the paper but it would make them all feel nobler, and blenker was of that finer clay that does honestly want to feel nobler. he hated pessimism and all that criticism and self-examination that makes weak men pessimistic, he wanted to help weak men and be helped himself, he was all for that school of optimism that would have each dunghill was a well-upholstered throne, and his nervous, starry contributions to the talk were like patches of water ranunculuses trying to flower in the overflow of a sewer. because you know it is idle to pretend that the talk of charterson and sir isaac wasn't a heavy flow of base ideas; they hadn't even the wit to sham very much about their social significance. they cared no more for the growth, the stamina, the spirit of the people whose lives they dominated than a rat cares for the stability of the house it gnaws. they _wanted_ a broken-spirited people. they were in such relations wilfully and offensively stupid, and i do not see why we people who read and write books should pay this stupidity merely because it is prevalent even the mild tribute of an ironical civility. charterson talked of the gathering trouble that might lead to a strike of the transport workers in london docks, and what he had to say, he said,--he repeated it several times--was, "_let_ them strike. we're ready. the sooner they strike the better. devonport's a man and this time we'll _beat_ 'em...." he expanded generally on strikes. "it's a question practically whether we are to manage our own businesses or whether we're to have them managed for us. _managed_ i say!..." "they know nothing of course of the details of organization," said blenker, shining with intelligence and looking quickly first to the right and then to the left. "nothing." sir isaac broke out into confirmatory matter. there was an idea in his head that this talk might open his wife's eyes to some sense of the magnitude of his commercial life, to the wonder of its scale and quality. he compared notes with charterson upon a speeding-up system for delivery vans invented by an american specialist and it made blenker flush with admiration and turn as if for sympathy to lady harman to realize how a modification in a tailboard might mean a yearly saving in wages of many thousand pounds. "the sort of thing they don't understand," he said. and then sir isaac told of some of his own little devices. he had recently taken to having the returns of percentage increase and decrease from his various districts printed on postcards and circulated monthly among the district managers, postcards endorsed with such stimulating comments in red type as "well done cardiff!" or "what ails portsmouth?"--the results had been amazingly good; "neck and neck work," he said, "everywhere"--and thence they passed to the question of confidential reports and surprise inspectors. thereby they came to the rights and wrongs of the waitress strike. and then it was that lady harman began to take a share in the conversation. she interjected a question. "yes," she said suddenly and her interruption was so unexpected that all three men turned their eyes to her. "but how much do the girls get a week?" "i thought," she said to some confused explanations by blenker and charterson, "that gratuities were forbidden." blenker further explained that most of the girls of the class sir isaac was careful to employ lived at home. their income was "supplementary." "but what happens to the others who don't live at home, mr. blenker?" she asked. "very small minority," said mr. blenker reassuring himself about his glasses. "but what do they do?" charterson couldn't imagine whether she was going on in this way out of sheer ignorance or not. "sometimes their fines make big unexpected holes in their week's pay," she said. sir isaac made some indistinct remark about "utter nonsense." "it seems to me to be driving them straight upon the streets." the phrase was susan's. its full significance wasn't at that time very clear to lady harman and it was only when she had uttered it that she realized from horatio blenker's convulsive start just what a blow she had delivered at that table. his glasses came off again. he caught them and thrust them back, he seemed to be holding his nose on, holding his face on, preserving those carefully arranged features of himself from hideous revelations; his free hand made weak movements with his dinner napkin. he seemed to be holding it in reserve against the ultimate failure of his face. charterson surveyed her through an immense pause open-mouthed; then he turned his large now frozen amiability upon his host. "these are awful questions," he gasped, "rather beyond us don't you think?" and then magnificently; "harman, things are looking pretty queer in the far east again. i'm told there are chances--of revolution--even in pekin...." lady harman became aware of snagsby's arm and his steady well-trained breathing beside her as, tenderly almost but with a regretful disapproval, he removed her plate.... §8 if lady harman had failed to remark at the time the deep impression her words had made upon her hearers, she would have learnt it later from the extraordinary wrath in which sir isaac, as soon as his guests had departed, visited her. he was so angry he broke the seal of silence he had set upon his lips. he came raging into the pink bedroom through the paper-covered door as if they were back upon their old intimate footing. he brought a flavour of cigars and manly refreshment with him, his shirt front was a little splashed and crumpled and his white face was variegated with flushed patches. "what ever d'you mean," he cried, "by making a fool of me in front of those fellers?... what's my business got to do with you?" lady harman was too unready for a reply. "i ask you what's my business got to do with you? it's _my_ affair, _my_ side. you got no more right to go shoving your spoke into that than--anything. see? what do _you_ know of the rights and wrongs of business? how can _you_ tell what's right and what isn't right? and the things you came out with--the things you came out with! why charterson--after you'd gone charterson said, she doesn't know, she can't know what she's talking about! a decent woman! a _lady_! talking of driving girls on the street. you ought to be ashamed of yourself! you aren't fit to show your face.... it's these damned papers and pamphlets, all this blear-eyed stuff, these decadent novels and things putting narsty thoughts, _narsty dirty_ thoughts into decent women's heads. it ought to be rammed back down their throats, it ought to be put a stop to!" sir isaac suddenly gave way to woe. "what have i _done_?" he cried, "what have i done? here's everything going so well! we might be the happiest of couples! we're rich, we got everything we want.... and then you go harbouring these ideas, fooling about with rotten people, taking up with socialism----yes, i tell you--socialism!" his moment of pathos ended. "no?" he shouted in an enormous voice. he became white and grim. he emphasized his next words with a shaken finger. "it's got to end, my lady. it's going to end sooner than you expect. that's all!..." he paused at the papered door. he had a popular craving for a vivid curtain and this he felt was just a little too mild. "it's going to end," he repeated and then with great violence, with almost alcoholic violence, with the round eyes and shouting voice and shaken fist and blaspheming violence of a sordid, thrifty peasant enraged, "it's going to end a damned sight sooner than you expect." chapter the eighth sir isaac as petruchio §1 twice had sir isaac come near to betraying the rapid and extensive preparations for the subjugation of his wife, that he hid behind his silences. he hoped that their estrangement might be healed by a certain display of strength and decision. he still refused to let himself believe that all this trouble that had arisen between them, this sullen insistence upon unbecoming freedoms of intercourse and movement, this questioning spirit and a gaucherie of manner that might almost be mistaken for an aversion from his person, were due to any essential evil in her nature; he clung almost passionately to the alternative that she was the victim of those gathering forces of discontent, of that interpretation which can only be described as decadent and that veracity which can only be called immodest, that darken the intellectual skies of our time, a sweet thing he held her still though touched by corruption, a prey to "idees," "idees" imparted from the poisoned mind of her sister, imbibed from the carelessly edited columns of newspapers, from all too laxly censored plays, from "blear-eyed" bookshow he thanked the archbishop of york for that clever expressive epithet!--from the careless talk of rashly admitted guests, from the very atmosphere of london. and it had grown clearer and clearer to him that his duty to himself and the world and her was to remove her to a purer, simpler air, beyond the range of these infections, to isolate her and tranquillize her and so win her back again to that acquiescence, that entirely hopeless submissiveness that had made her so sweet and dear a companion for him in the earlier years of their married life. long before lady beach-mandarin's crucial luncheon, his deliberate foreseeing mind had been planning such a retreat. black strand even at his first visit had appeared to him in the light of a great opportunity, and the crisis of their quarrel did but release that same torrential energy which had carried him to a position of napoleonic predominance in the world of baking, light catering and confectionery, into the channels of a scheme already very definitely formed in his mind. his first proceeding after the long hours of sleepless passion that had followed his wife's hampton court escapade, had been to place himself in communication with mr. brumley. he learnt at mr. brumley's club that that gentleman had slept there overnight and had started but a quarter of an hour before, back to black strand. sir isaac in hot pursuit and gathering force and assistance in mid flight reached black strand by midday. it was with a certain twinge of the conscience that mr. brumley perceived his visitor, but it speedily became clear that sir isaac had no knowledge of the guilty circumstances of the day before. he had come to buy black strand--incontinently, that was all. he was going, it became clear at once, to buy it with all its fittings and furnishings as it stood, lock, stock and barrel. mr. brumley, concealing that wild elation, that sense of a joyous rebirth, that only the liquidation of nearly all one's possessions can give, was firm but not excessive. sir isaac haggled as a wave breaks and then gave in and presently they were making a memorandum upon the pretty writing-desk beneath the traditional rose euphemia had established there when mr. brumley was young and already successful. this done, and it was done in less than fifteen minutes, sir isaac produced a rather crumpled young architect from the motor-car as a conjurer might produce a rabbit from a hat, a builder from aleham appeared astonishingly in a dog-cart--he had been summoned by telegram--and sir isaac began there and then to discuss alterations, enlargements and, more particularly, with a view to his nursery requirements, the conversion of the empty barn into a nursery wing and its connexion with the house by a corridor across the shrubbery. "it will take you three months," said the builder from aleham. "and the worst time of the year coming." "it won't take three weeks--if i have to bring down a young army from london to do it," said sir isaac. "but such a thing as plastering----" "we won't have plastering." "there's canvas and paper, of course," said the young architect. "there's canvas and paper," said sir isaac. "and those new patent building units, so far as the corridor goes. i've seen the ads." "we can whitewash 'em. they won't show much," said the young architect. "oh if you do things in _that_ way," said the builder from aleham with bitter resignation.... §2 the morning dawned at last when the surprise was ripe. it was four days after susan's visit, and she was due again on the morrow with the money that would enable her employer to go to lady viping's now imminent dinner. lady harman had had to cut the social friends' meeting altogether, but the day before the surprise agatha alimony had come to tea in her jobbed car, and they had gone together to the committee meeting of the shakespear dinner society. sir isaac had ignored that defiance, and it was an unusually confident and quite unsuspicious woman who descended in a warm october sunshine to the surprise. in the breakfast-room she discovered an awe-stricken snagsby standing with his plate-basket before her husband, and her husband wearing strange unusual tweeds and gaiters,--buttoned gaiters, and standing a-straddle,--unusually a-straddle, on the hearthrug. "that's enough, snagsby," said sir isaac, at her entrance. "bring it all." she met snagsby's eye, and it was portentous. latterly snagsby's eye had lost the assurance of his former days. she had noted it before, she noted it now more than ever; as though he was losing confidence, as though he was beginning to doubt, as though the world he had once seemed to rule grew insecure beneath his feet. for a moment she met his eye; it might have been a warning he conveyed, it might have been an appeal for sympathy, and then he had gone. she looked at the table. sir isaac had breakfasted acutely. in silence, among the wreckage and with a certain wonder growing, lady harman attended to her needs. sir isaac cleared his throat. she became aware that he had spoken. "what did you say, isaac?" she asked, looking up. he seemed to have widened his straddle almost dangerously, and he spoke with a certain conscious forcefulness. "we're going to move out of this house, elly," he said. "we're going down into the country right away." she sat back in her chair and regarded his pinched and determined visage. "what do you mean?" she asked. "i've bought that house of brumley's,--black strand. we're going to move down there--_now_. i've told the servants.... when you've done your breakfast, you'd better get peters to pack your things. the big car's going to be ready at half-past ten." lady harman reflected. "to-morrow evening," she said, "i was going out to dinner at lady viping's." "not my affair--seemingly," said sir isaac with irony. "well, the car's going to be ready at half-past ten." "but that dinner----!" "we'll think about it when the time comes." husband and wife regarded each other. "i've had about enough of london," said sir isaac. "so we're going to shift the scenery. see?" lady harman felt that one might adduce good arguments against this course if only one knew of them. sir isaac had a bright idea. he rang. "snagsby," he said, "just tell peters to pack up lady harman's things...." "_well!_" said lady harman, as the door closed on snagsby. her mind was full of confused protest, but she had again that entirely feminine and demoralizing conviction that if she tried to express it she would weep or stumble into some such emotional disaster. if now she went upstairs and told peters _not_ to pack----! sir isaac walked slowly to the window, and stood for a time staring out into the garden. extraordinary bumpings began overhead in sir isaac's room. no doubt somebody was packing something.... lady harman realized with a deepening humiliation that she dared not dispute before the servants, and that he could. "but the children----" she said at last. "i've told mrs. harblow," he said, over his shoulder. "told her it was a bit of a surprise." he turned, with a momentary lapse into something like humour. "you see," he said, "it _is_ a bit of a surprise." "but what are you going to do with this house?" "lock it all up for a bit.... i don't see any sense in living where we aren't happy. perhaps down there we shall manage better...." it emerged from the confusion of lady harman's mind that perhaps she had better go to the nursery, and see how things were getting on there. sir isaac watched her departure with a slightly dubious eye, made little noises with his teeth for a time, and then went towards the telephone. in the hall she found two strange young men in green aprons assisting the under-butler to remove the hats and overcoats and such-like personal material into a motor-van outside. she heard two of the housemaids scurrying upstairs. "'arf an hour," said one, "isn't what i call a proper time to pack a box in." in the nursery the children were disputing furiously what toys were to be taken into the country. lady harman was a very greatly astonished woman. the surprise had been entirely successful. §3 it has been said, i think, by limburger, in his already cited work, that nothing so excites and prevails with woman as rapid and extensive violence, sparing and yet centring upon herself, and certainly it has to be recorded that, so far from being merely indignant, and otherwise a helplessly pathetic spectacle, lady harman found, though perhaps she did not go quite so far as to admit to herself that she found, this vehement flight from the social, moral, and intellectual contaminations of london an experience not merely stimulating but entertaining. it lifted her delicate eyebrows. something, it may have been a sense of her own comparative immobility amid this sudden extraordinary bustle of her home, put it into her head that so it was long ago that lot must have bundled together his removable domesticities. she made one attempt at protest. "isaac," she said, "isn't all this rather ridiculous----" "don't speak to me!" he answered, waving her off. "don't speak to me! you should have spoken before, elly. _now_,--things are happening." the image of black strand as, after all, a very pleasant place indeed returned to her. she adjudicated upon the nursery difficulties, and then went in a dreamlike state of mind to preside over her own more personal packing. she found peters exercising all that indecisive helplessness which is characteristic of ladies' maids the whole world over. it was from peters she learnt that the entire household, men and maids together, was to be hurled into surrey. "aren't they all rather surprised?" asked lady harman. "yes, m'm," said peters on her knees, "but of course if the drains is wrong the sooner we all go the better." (so that was what he had told them.) a vibration and a noise of purring machinery outside drew the lady to the window, and she discovered that at least four of the large motor-vans from the international stores were to co-operate in the trek. there they were waiting, massive and uniform. and then she saw snagsby in his alpaca jacket _running_ towards the house from the gates. of course he was running only very slightly indeed, but still he was running, and the expression of distress upon his face convinced her that he was being urged to unusual and indeed unsuitable tasks under the immediate personal supervision of sir isaac.... then from round the corner appeared the under butler or at least the legs of him going very fast, under a pile of shirt boxes and things belonging to sir isaac. he dumped them into the nearest van and heaved a deep sigh and returned houseward after a remorseful glance at the windows. a violent outcry from baby, who, with more than her customary violence was making her customary morning protest against being clad, recalled lady harman from the contemplation of these exterior activities.... the journey to black strand was not accomplished without misadventure; there was a puncture near farnham, and as clarence with a leisurely assurance entertained himself with the stepney, they were passed first by the second car with the nursery contingent, which went by in a shrill chorus, crying, "_we-e-e_ shall get there first, _we-e-e_ shall get there first," and then by a large hired car all agog with housemaids and mrs. crumble and with snagsby, as round and distressed as the full moon, and the under butler, cramped and keen beside the driver. there followed the leading international stores car, and then the stepney was on and they could hasten in pursuit.... and at last they came to black strand, and when they saw black strand it seemed to lady harman that the place had blown out a huge inflamed red cheek and lost its pleasant balance altogether. "_oh!_" she cried. it was the old barn flushed by the strain of adaptation to a new use, its comfortable old wall ruptured by half a dozen brilliant new windows, a light red chimney stack at one end. from it a vividly artistic corridor ran to the house and the rest of the shrubbery was all trampled and littered with sheds, bricks, poles and material generally. black strand had left the hands of the dilettante school and was in the grip of those vigorous moulding forces that are shaping our civilization to-day. the jasmine wig over the porch had suffered a strenuous clipping; the door might have just come out of prison. in the hall the carpaccio copies still glowed, but there were dust sheets over most of the furniture and a plumber was moving his things out with that eleventh hour reluctance so characteristic of plumbers. mrs. rabbit, a little tearful, and dressed for departure very respectably in black was giving the youngest and least experienced housemaid a faithful history of mr. brumley's earlier period. "'appy we all was," said mrs. rabbit, "as birds in a nest." through the windows two of the putney gardeners were busy replacing mr. brumley's doubtful roses by recognized sorts, the _right_ sorts.... "i've been doing all i can to make it ready for you," said sir isaac at his wife's ear, bringing a curious reminiscence of the first home-coming to putney into her mind. §4 "and now," said sir isaac with evident premeditation and a certain deliberate amiability, "now we got down here, now we got away a bit from all those london things with nobody to cut in between us, me and you can have a bit of a talk, elly, and see what it's all about." they had lunched together in the little hall-dining room,--the children had had a noisily cheerful picnic in the kitchen with mrs. harblow, and now lady harman was standing at the window surveying the ravages of rose replacement. she turned towards him. "yes," she said. "i think--i think we can't go on like this." "_i_ can't," said sir isaac, "anyhow." he too came and stared at the rose planting. "if we were to go up there--among the pine woods"--he pointed with his head at the dark background of euphemia's herbaceous borders--"we shouldn't hear quite so much of this hammering...." husband and wife walked slowly in the afternoon sunlight across the still beautiful garden. each was gravely aware of an embarrassed incapacity for the task they had set themselves. they were going to talk things over. never in their lives had they really talked to each other clearly and honestly about anything. indeed it is scarcely too much to say that neither had ever talked about anything to anyone. she was too young, her mind was now growing up in her and feeling its way to conscious expression, and he had never before wanted to express himself. he did now want to express himself. for behind his rant and fury sir isaac had been thinking very hard indeed during the last three weeks about his life and her life and their relations; he had never thought so much about anything except his business economics. so far he had either joked at her, talked "silly" to her, made, as they say, "remarks," or vociferated. that had been the sum of their mental intercourse, as indeed it is the sum of the intercourse of most married couples. his attempt to state his case to her had so far always flared into rhetorical outbreaks. but he was discontented with these rhetorical outbreaks. his dispositions to fall into them made him rather like a nervous sepia that cannot keep its ink sac quiet while it is sitting for its portrait. in the earnestness of his attempt at self-display he vanished in his own outpourings. he wanted now to reason with her simply and persuasively. he wanted to say quietly impressive and convincing things in a low tone of voice and make her abandon every possible view except his view. he walked now slowly meditating the task before him, making a faint thoughtful noise with his teeth, his head sunken in the collar of the motor overcoat he wore because of a slight cold he had caught. and he had to be careful about colds because of his constitutional defect. she too felt she had much to say. much too she had in her mind that she couldn't say, because this strange quarrel had opened unanticipated things for her; she had found and considered repugnances in her nature she had never dared to glance at hitherto.... sir isaac began rather haltingly when they had reached a sandy, ant-infested path that ran slantingly up among the trees. he affected a certain perplexity. he said he did not understand what it was his wife was "after," what she "thought she was doing" in "making all this trouble"; he wanted to know just what it was she wanted, how she thought they ought to live, just what she considered his rights were as her husband and just what she considered were her duties as his wife--if, that is, she considered she had any duties. to these enquiries lady harman made no very definite reply; their estrangement instead of clearing her mind had on the whole perplexed it more, by making her realize the height and depth and extent of her possible separation from him. she replied therefore with an unsatisfactory vagueness; she said she wanted to feel that she possessed herself, that she was no longer a child, that she thought she had a right to read what she chose, see what people she liked, go out a little by herself, have a certain independence--she hesitated, "have a certain definite allowance of my own." "have i ever refused you money?" cried sir isaac protesting. "it isn't that," said lady harman; "it's the feeling----" "the feeling of being able to--defy--anything i say," said sir isaac with a note of bitterness. "as if i didn't understand!" it was beyond lady harman's powers to express just how that wasn't the precise statement of the case. sir isaac, reverting to his tone of almost elaborate reasonableness, expanded his view that it was impossible for husband and wife to have two different sets of friends;--let alone every other consideration, he explained, it wasn't convenient for them not to be about together, and as for reading or thinking what she chose he had never made any objection to anything unless it was "decadent rot" that any decent man would object to his womanfolk seeing, rot she couldn't understand the drift of--fortunately. blear-eyed humbug.... he checked himself on the verge of an almost archiepiscopal outbreak in order to be patiently reasonable again. he was prepared to concede that it would be very nice if lady harman could be a good wife and also an entirely independent person, very nice, but the point was--his tone verged on the ironical--that she couldn't be two entirely different people at the same time. "but you have your friends," she said, "you go away alone----" "that's different," said sir isaac with a momentary note of annoyance. "it's business. it isn't that i want to." lady harman had a feeling that they were neither of them gaining any ground. she blamed herself for her lack of lucidity. she began again, taking up the matter at a fresh point. she said that her life at present wasn't full, that it was only half a life, that it was just home and marriage and nothing else; he had his business, he went out into the world, he had politics and--"all sorts of things"; she hadn't these interests; she had nothing in the place of them---sir isaac closed this opening rather abruptly by telling her that she should count herself lucky she hadn't, and again the conversation was suspended for a time. "but i want to know about these things," she said. sir isaac took that musingly. "there's things go on," she said; "outside home. there's social work, there's interests----am i never to take any part--in that?" sir isaac still reflected. "there's one thing," he said at last, "i want to know. we'd better have it out--_now_." but he hesitated for a time. "elly!" he blundered, "you aren't--you aren't getting somehow--not fond of me?" she made no immediate reply. "look here!" he said in an altered voice. "elly! there isn't something below all this? there isn't something been going on that i don't know?" her eyes with a certain terror in their depths questioned him. "something," he said, and his face was deadly white--"_some other man, elly?_" she was suddenly crimson, a flaming indignation. "isaac!" she said, "what do you _mean_? how can you _ask_ me such a thing?" "if it's that!" said sir isaac, his face suddenly full of malignant force, "i'll----but i'd _kill_ you...." "if it isn't that," he went on searching his mind; "why should a woman get restless? why should she want to go away from her husband, go meeting other people, go gadding about? if a woman's satisfied, she's satisfied. she doesn't harbour fancies.... all this grumbling and unrest. natural for your sister, but why should you? you've got everything a woman needs, husband, children, a perfectly splendid home, clothes, good jewels and plenty of them, respect! why should you want to go out after things? it's mere spoilt-childishness. of course you want to wander out--and if there isn't a man----" he caught her wrist suddenly. "there isn't a man?" he demanded. "isaac!" she protested in horror. "then there'll be one. you think i'm a fool, you think i don't know anything all these literary and society people know. i _do_ know. i know that a man and a woman have got to stick together, and if you go straying--you may think you're straying after the moon or social work or anything--but there's a strange man waiting round the corner for every woman and a strange woman for every man. think _i_'ve had no temptations?... oh! i _know_, i _know_. what's life or anything but that? and it's just because we've not gone on having more children, just because we listened to all those fools who said you were overdoing it, that all this fretting and grumbling began. we've got on to the wrong track, elly, and we've got to get back to plain wholesome ways of living. see? that's what i've come down here for and what i mean to do. we've got to save ourselves. i've been too--too modern and all that. i'm going to be a husband as a husband should. i'm going to protect you from these idees--protect you from your own self.... and that's about where we stand, elly, as i make it out." he paused with the effect of having delivered himself of long premeditated things. lady harman essayed to speak. but she found that directly she set herself to speak she sobbed and began weeping. she choked for a moment. then she determined she would go on, and if she must cry, she must cry. she couldn't let a disposition to tears seal her in silence for ever. "it isn't," she said, "what i expected--of life. it isn't----" "it's what life is," sir isaac cut in. "when i think," she sobbed, "of what i've lost----" "_lost!_" cried sir isaac. "lost! oh come now, elly, i like that. what!--_lost_. hang it! you got to look facts in the face. you can't deny----marrying like this,--you made a jolly good thing of it." "but the beautiful things, the noble things!" "_what's_ beautiful?" cried sir isaac in protesting scorn. "_what's_ noble? rot! doing your duty if you like and being sensible, that's noble and beautiful, but not fretting about and running yourself into danger. you've got to have a sense of humour, elly, in this life----" he created a quotation. "as you make your bed--so shall you lie." for an interval neither of them spoke. they crested the hill, and came into view of that advertisement board she had first seen in mr. brumley's company. she halted, and he went a step further and halted too. he recalled his ideas about the board. he had meant to have them all altered but other things had driven it from his mind.... "then you mean to imprison me here," said lady harman to his back. he turned about. "it isn't much like a prison. i'm asking you to stay here--and be what a wife _should_ be." "i'm to have no money." "that's--that depends entirely on yourself. you know that well enough." she looked at him gravely. "i won't stand it," she said at last with a gentle deliberation. she spoke so softly that he doubted his hearing. "_what?_" he asked sharply. "i won't stand it," she repeated. "no." "but--what can you do?" "i don't know," she said, after a moment of grave consideration. for some moments his mind hunted among possibilities. "it's me that's standing it," he said. he came closely up to her. he seemed on the verge of rhetoric. he pressed his thin white lips together. "standing it! when we might be so happy," he snapped, and shrugged his shoulders and turned with an expression of mournful resolution towards the house again. she followed slowly. he felt that he had done all that a patient and reasonable husband could do. _now_--things must take their course. §5 the imprisonment of lady harman at black strand lasted just one day short of a fortnight. for all that time except for such interludes as the urgent needs of the strike demanded, sir isaac devoted himself to the siege. he did all he could to make her realize how restrainedly he used the powers the law vests in a husband, how little he forced upon her the facts of marital authority and wifely duty. at times he sulked, at times he affected a cold dignity, and at times a virile anger swayed him at her unsubmissive silences. he gave her little peace in that struggle, a struggle that came to the edge of physical conflict. there were moments when it seemed to her that nothing remained but that good old-fashioned connubial institution, the tussle for the upper hand, when with a feminine horror she felt violence shouldering her shoulder or contracting ready to grip her wrist. against violence she doubted her strength, was filled with a desolating sense of yielding nerve and domitable muscle. but just short of violence sir isaac's spirit failed him. he would glower and bluster, half threaten, and retreat. it might come to that at last but at present it had not come to that. she could not understand why she had neither message nor sign from susan burnet, but she hid that anxiety and disappointment under her general dignity. she spent as much time with the children as she could, and until sir isaac locked up the piano she played, and was surprised to find far more in chopin than she had ever suspected in the days when she had acquired a passable dexterity of execution. she found, indeed, the most curious things in chopin, emotional phrases, that stirred and perplexed and yet pleased her.... the weather was very fine and open that year. a golden sunshine from october passed on into november and lady harman spent many of these days amidst the pretty things the builder from aleham had been too hurried to desecrate, dump, burn upon, and flatten into indistinguishable mire, after the established custom of builders in gardens since the world began. she would sit in the rockery where she had sat with mr. brumley and recall that momentous conversation, and she would wander up the pine-wood slopes behind, and she would spend long musing intervals among euphemia's perennials, thinking sometimes, and sometimes not so much thinking as feeling the warm tendernesses of nature and the perplexing difficulties of human life. with an amused amazement lady harman reflected as she walked about the pretty borders and the little patches of lawn and orchard that in this very place she was to have realized an imitation of the immortal "elizabeth" and have been wise, witty, gay, defiant, gallant and entirely successful with her "man of wrath." evidently there was some temperamental difference, or something in her situation, that altered the values of the affair. it was clearly a different sort of man for one thing. she didn't feel a bit gay, and her profound and deepening indignation with the alternative to this stagnation was tainted by a sense of weakness and incapacity. she came very near surrender several times. there were afternoons of belated ripened warmth, a kind of summer that had been long in the bottle, with a certain lassitude in the air and a blue haze among the trees, that made her feel the folly of all resistances to fate. why, after all, shouldn't she take life as she found it, that is to say, as sir isaac was prepared to give it to her? he wasn't really so bad, she told herself. the children--their noses were certainly a little sharp, but there might be worse children. the next might take after herself more. who was she to turn upon her appointed life and declare it wasn't good enough? whatever happened the world was still full of generous and beautiful things, trees, flowers, sunset and sunrise, music and mist and morning dew.... and as for this matter of the sweated workers, the harshness of the business, the ungracious competition, suppose if instead of fighting her husband with her weak powers, she persuaded him. she tried to imagine just exactly how he might be persuaded.... she looked up and discovered with an extraordinary amazement mr. brumley with eager gestures and a flushed and excited visage hurrying towards her across the croquet lawn. §6 lady viping's dinner-party had been kept waiting exactly thirty-five minutes for lady harman. sir isaac, with a certain excess of zeal, had intercepted the hasty note his wife had written to account for her probable absence. the party was to have centred entirely upon lady harman, it consisted either of people who knew her already, or of people who were to have been specially privileged to know her, and lady viping telephoned twice to putney before she abandoned hope. "it's disconnected," she said, returning in despair from her second struggle with the great public service. "they can't get a reply." "it's that little wretch," said lady beach-mandarin. "he hasn't let her come. _i_ know him." "it's like losing a front tooth," said lady viping, surveying her table as she entered the dining-room. "but surely--she would have written," said mr. brumley, troubled and disappointed, regarding an aching gap to the left of his chair, a gap upon which a pathetic little card bearing lady harman's name still lay obliquely. naturally the talk tended to centre upon the harmans. and naturally lady beach-mandarin was very bold and outspoken and called sir isaac quite a number of vivid things. she also aired her views of the marriage of the future, which involved a very stringent treatment of husbands indeed. "half his property and half his income," said lady beach-mandarin, "paid into her separate banking account." "but," protested mr. brumley, "would men marry under those conditions?" "men will marry anyhow," said lady beach-mandarin, "under _any_ conditions." "exactly sir joshua's opinion," said lady viping. all the ladies at the table concurred and only one cheerful bachelor barrister dissented. the other men became gloomy and betrayed a distaste for this general question. even mr. brumley felt a curious faint terror and had for a moment a glimpse of the possibilities that might lie behind the vote. lady beach-mandarin went bouncing back to the particular instance. at present, she said, witness lady harman, women were slaves, pampered slaves if you will, but slaves. as things were now there was nothing to keep a man from locking up his wife, opening all her letters, dressing her in sack-cloth, separating her from her children. most men, of course, didn't do such things, they were amenable to public opinion, but sir isaac was a jealous little ogre. he was a gnome who had carried off a princess.... she threw out projects for assailing the ogre. she would descend to-morrow morning upon the putney house, a living flamboyant writ of habeas corpus. mr. brumley, who had been putting two and two together, was abruptly moved to tell of the sale of black strand. "they may be there," he said. "he's carried her off," cried lady beach-mandarin on a top note. "it might be the eighteenth century for all he cares. but if it's black strand,--i'll go to black strand...." but she had to talk about it for a week before she actually made her raid, and then, with an instinctive need for an audience, she took with her a certain miss garradice, one of those mute, emotional nervous spinsters who drift detachedly, with quick sudden movements, glittering eyeglasses, and a pent-up imminent look, about our social system. there is something about this type of womanhood--it is hard to say--almost as though they were the bottled souls of departed buccaneers grown somehow virginal. she came with lady beach-mandarin quietly, almost humorously, and yet it was as if the pirate glittered dimly visible through the polished glass of her erect exterior. "here we are!" said lady beach-mandarin, staring astonished at the once familiar porch. "now for it!" she descended and assailed the bell herself and miss garradice stood beside her with the light of combat in her eyes and glasses and cheeks. "shall i offer to take her for a drive!" "_let's_," said miss garradice in an enthusiastic whisper. "_right away! for ever._" "_i will_," said lady beach-mandarin, and nodded desperately. she was on the point of ringing again when snagsby appeared. he stood with a large obstructiveness in the doorway. "lady 'arman, my lady" he said with a well-trained deliberation, "is not a tome." "not at home!" queried lady beach-mandarin. "not a tome, my lady," repeated snagsby invincibly. "but--when will she be at home?" "i can't say, my lady." "is sir isaac----?" "sir isaac, my lady, is not a tome. nobody is a tome, my lady." "but we've come from london!" said lady beach-mandarin. "i'm very sorry, my lady." "you see, i want my friend to see this house and garden." snagsby was visibly disconcerted. "i 'ave no instructions, my lady," he tried. "oh, but lady harman would never object----" snagsby's confusion increased. he seemed to be wanting to keep his face to the visitors and at the same time glance over his shoulder. "i will," he considered, "i will enquire, my lady." he backed a little, and seemed inclined to close the door upon them. lady beach-mandarin was too quick for him. she got herself well into the open doorway. "and of whom are you going to enquire?" a large distress betrayed itself in snagsby's eye. "the 'ousekeeper," he attempted. "it falls to the 'ousekeeper, my lady." lady beach-mandarin turned her face to miss garradice, shining in support. "stuff and nonsense," she said, "of course we shall come in." and with a wonderful movement that was at once powerful and perfectly lady-like this intrepid woman--"butted" is not the word--collided herself with snagsby and hurled him backward into the hall. miss garradice followed closely behind and at once extended herself in open order on lady beach-mandarin's right. "go and enquire," said lady beach-mandarin with a sweeping gesture of her arm. "go and enquire." for a moment snagsby surveyed the invasion with horror and then fled precipitately into the recesses of the house. "of _course_ they're at home!" said lady beach-mandarin. "fancy that--that--that _navigable_--trying to shut the door on us!" for a moment the two brightly excited ladies surveyed each other and then lady beach-mandarin, with a quickness of movement wonderful in one so abundant, began to open first one and then another of the various doors that opened into the long hall-living room. at a peculiar little cry from miss garradice she turned from a contemplation of the long low study in which so much of the euphemia books had been written, to discover sir isaac behind her, closely followed by an agonized snagsby. "a-a-a-a-h!" she cried, with both hands extended, "and so you've come in, sir isaac! that's perfectly delightful. this is my friend miss garradice, who's _dying_ to see anything you've left of poor euphemia's garden. and _how_ is dear lady harman?" for some crucial moments sir isaac was unable to speak and regarded his visitors with an expression that was unpretendingly criminal. then he found speech. "you can't," he said. "it--can't be managed." he shook his head; his lips were whitely compressed. "but all the way from london, sir isaac!" "lady harman's ill," lied sir isaac. "she mustn't be disturbed. everything has to be kept quiet. see? not even shouting. not even ordinarily raised voices. a voice like yours--might kill her. that's why snagsby here said we were not at home. we aren't at home--not to anyone." lady beach-mandarin was baffled. "snagsby," said sir isaac, "open that door." "but can't i see her--just for a moment?" sir isaac's malignity had softened a little at the prospect of victory. "absolutely impossible," he said. "everything disturbs her, every tiny thing. you----you'd be certain to." lady beach-mandarin looked at her companion and it was manifest that she was at the end of her resources. miss garradice after the fashion of highly strung spinsters suddenly felt disappointed in her leader. it wasn't, her silence intimated, for her to offer suggestions. the ladies were defeated. when at last that stiff interval ended their dresses rustled doorward, and sir isaac broke out into the civilities of a victor.... it was only when they were a mile away from black strand that fluent speech returned to lady beach-mandarin. "the little--crippen," she said. "he's got her locked up in some cellar.... horrid little face he has! he looked like a rat at bay." "i think perhaps if we'd done _differently_," said miss garradice in a tone of critical irresponsibility. "i'll write to her. that's what i'll do," said lady beach-mandarin contemplating her next step. "i'm really--concerned. and didn't you feel--something sinister. that butler-man's expression--a kind of round horror." that very evening she told it all--it was almost the trial trip of the story--to mr. brumley.... sir isaac watched their departure furtively from the study window and then ran out to the garden. he went right through into the pine woods beyond and presently, far away up the slopes, he saw his wife loitering down towards him, a gracious white tallness touched by a ray of sunlight--and without a suspicion of how nearly rescue had come to her. §7 so you see under what excitement mr. brumley came down to black strand. luck was with him at first and he forced the defence with ridiculous ease. "lady harman, sir, is not a tome," said snagsby. "ah!" said mr. brumley, with all the assurance of a former proprietor, "then i'll just have a look round the garden," and was through the green door in the wall and round the barn end before snagsby's mind could function. that unfortunate man went as far as the green door in pursuit and then with a gesture of despair retreated to the pantry and began cleaning all his silver to calm his agonized spirit. he could pretend perhaps that mr. brumley had never rung at the front door at all. if not---moreover mr. brumley had the good fortune to find lady harman quite unattended and pensive upon the little seat that euphemia had placed for the better seeing of her herbaceous borders. "lady harman!" he said rather breathlessly, taking both her hands with an unwonted assurance and then sitting down beside her, "i am so glad to see you. i came down to see you--to see if i couldn't be of any service to you." "it's so kind of you to come," she said, and her dark eyes said as much or more. she glanced round and he too glanced round for sir isaac. "you see," he said. "i don't know.... i don't want to be impertinent.... but i feel--if i can be of any service to you.... i feel perhaps you want help here. i don't want to seem to be taking advantage of a situation. or making unwarrantable assumptions. but i want to assure you--i would willingly die--if only i could do anything.... ever since i first saw you." he said all this in a distracted way, with his eyes going about the garden for the possible apparition of sir isaac, and all the time his sense of possible observers made him assume an attitude as though he was engaged in the smallest of small talk. her colour quickened at the import of his words, and emotion, very rich and abundant emotion, its various factors not altogether untouched perhaps by the spirit of laughter, lit her eyes. she doubted a little what he was saying and yet she had anticipated that somehow, some day, in quite other circumstances, mr. brumley might break into some such strain. "you see," he went on with a quality of appeal in his eyes, "there's so little time to say things--without possible interruption. i feel you are in difficulties and i want to make you understand----we----every beautiful woman, i suppose, has a sort of right to a certain sort of man. i want to tell you--i'm not really presuming to make love to you--but i want to tell you i am altogether yours, altogether at your service. i've had sleepless nights. all this time i've been thinking about you. i'm quite clear, i haven't a doubt, i'll do anything for you, without reward, without return, i'll be your devoted brother, anything, if only you'll make use of me...." her colour quickened. she looked around and still no one appeared. "it's so kind of you to come like this," she said. "you say things--but i _have_ felt that you wanted to be brotherly...." "whatever i _can_ be," assured mr. brumley. "my situation here," she said, her dark frankness of gaze meeting his troubled eyes. "it's so strange and difficult. i don't know what to do. i don't know--what i _want_ to do...." "in london," said mr. brumley, "they think--they say--you have been taken off--brought down here--to a sort of captivity." "i _have_," admitted lady harman with a note of recalled astonishment in her voice. "if i can help you to escape----!" "but where can i escape?" and one must admit that it is a little difficult to indicate a correct refuge for a lady who finds her home intolerable. of course there was mrs. sawbridge, but lady harman felt that her mother's disposition to lock herself into her bedroom at the slightest provocation made her a weak support for a defensive fight, and in addition that boarding-house at bournemouth did not attract her. yet what other wall in all the world was there for lady harman to set her back against? during the last few days mr. brumley's mind had been busy with the details of impassioned elopements conducted in the most exalted spirit, but now in the actual presence of the lady these projects did in the most remarkable manner vanish. "couldn't you," he said at last, "go somewhere?" and then with an air of being meticulously explicit, "i mean, isn't there somewhere, where you might safely go?" (and in his dreams he had been crossing high passes with her; he had halted suddenly and stayed her mule. in his dream because he was a man of letters and a poet it was always a mule, never a _train de luxe_. "look," he had said, "below there,--_italy!_--the country you have never seen before.") "there's nowhere," she answered. "now _where_?" asked mr. brumley, "and how?" with the tone and something of the gesture of one who racks his mind. "if you only trust yourself to me----oh! lady harman, if i dared ask it----" he became aware of sir isaac walking across the lawn towards them.... the two men greeted each other with a reasonable cordiality. "i wanted to see how you were getting on down here," said mr. brumley, "and whether there was anything i could do for you." "we're getting on all right," said sir isaac with no manifest glow of gratitude. "you've altered the old barn--tremendously." "come and see it," said sir isaac. "it's a wing." mr. brumley remained seated. "it was the first thing that struck me, lady harman. this evidence of sir isaac's energy." "come and look over it," sir isaac persisted. mr. brumley and lady harman rose together. "one's enough to show him that," said sir isaac. "i was telling lady harman how much we missed her at lady viping's, sir isaac." "it was on account of the drains," sir isaac explained. "you can't--it's foolhardy to stay a day when the drains are wrong, dinners or no dinners." "you know _i_ was extremely sorry not to come to lady viping's. i hope you'll tell her. i wrote." but mr. brumley didn't remember clearly enough to make any use of that. "everybody naturally _is_ sorry on an occasion of that sort," said sir isaac. "but you come and see what we've done in that barn. in three weeks. they couldn't have got it together in three months ten years ago. it's--system." mr. brumley still tried to cling to lady harman. "have you been interested in this building?" he asked. "i still don't understand the system of the corridor," she said, rising a little belatedly to the occasion. "i _will_ come." sir isaac regarded her for a moment with a dubious expression and then began to explain the new method of building with large prepared units and shaped pieces of reinforced concrete instead of separate bricks that messrs. prothero & cuthbertson had organized and which had enabled him to create this artistic corridor so simply. it was a rather uncomfortable three-cornered conversation. sir isaac addressed his exposition exclusively to mr. brumley and mr. brumley made repeated ineffectual attempts to bring lady harman, and lady harman made repeated ineffectual attempts to bring herself, into a position in the conversation. their eyes met, the glow of mr. brumley's declarations remained with them, but neither dared risk any phrase that might arouse sir isaac's suspicions or escape his acuteness. and when they had gone through the new additions pretty thoroughly--the plumbers were still busy with the barn bathroom--sir isaac asked mr. brumley if there was anything more he would like to see. in the slight pause that ensued lady harman suggested tea. but tea gave them no opportunity of resuming their interrupted conversation, and as sir isaac's invincible determination to shadow his visitor until he was well off the premises became more and more unmistakable,--he made it quite ungraciously unmistakable,--mr. brumley's inventiveness failed. one thing came to him suddenly, but it led to nothing of any service to him. "but i heard you were dangerously ill, lady harman!" he cried. "lady beach-mandarin called here----" "but when?" asked lady harman, astonished over the tea-things. "but you _know_ she called!" said mr. brumley and looked in affected reproach at sir isaac. "i've not been ill at all!" "sir isaac told her." "told her i was ill!" "dangerously ill. that you couldn't bear to be disturbed." "but _when_, mr. brumley?" "three days ago." they both looked at sir isaac who was sitting on the music stool and eating a piece of tea-cake with a preoccupied air. he swallowed and then spoke thoughtfully--in a tone of detached observation. nothing but a slight reddening of the eyes betrayed any unusual feeling in him. "it's my opinion," he said, "that that old lady--lady beach-mandarin i mean--doesn't know what she's saying half the time. she says--oh! remarkable things. saying _that_ for example!" "but did she call on me?" "she called. i'm surprised you didn't hear. and she was all in a flurry for going on.... did you come down, mr. brumley, to see if lady harman was ill?" "that weighed with me." "well,--you see she isn't," said sir isaac and brushed a stray crumb from his coat.... mr. brumley was at last impelled gateward and sir isaac saw him as far as the high-road. "good-bye!" cried mr. brumley with excessive amiability. sir isaac with soundless lips made a good-bye like gesture. "and now," said sir isaac to himself with extreme bitterness, "now to see about getting a dog." "bull mastiff?" said sir isaac developing his idea as he went back to lady harman. "or perhaps a thoroughly vicious collie?" "how did that chap get in?" he demanded. "what had he got to say to you?" "he came in--to look at the garden," said lady harman. "and of course he wanted to know if i had been well--because of lady viping's party. and i suppose because of what you told lady beach-mandarin." sir isaac grunted doubtfully. he thought of snagsby and of all the instructions he had given snagsby. he turned about and went off swiftly and earnestly to find snagsby.... snagsby lied. but sir isaac was able to tell from the agitated way in which he was cleaning his perfectly clean silver at that unseasonable hour that the wretched man was lying. §8 quite a number of words came to the lips of mr. brumley as he went unwillingly along the pleasant country road that led from black strand to the railway station. but the word he ultimately said showed how strongly the habits of the gentlemanly _littérateur_ prevailed in him. it was the one inevitable word for his mood,--"baffled!" close upon its utterance came the weak irritation of the impotent man. "what the _devil_?" cried mr. brumley. some critical spirit within him asked him urgently why he was going to the station, what he thought he was doing, what he thought he had done, and what he thought he was going to do. to all of which questions mr. brumley perceived he had no adequate reply. earlier in the day he had been inspired by a vague yet splendid dream of large masterful liberations achieved. he had intended to be very disinterested, very noble, very firm, and so far as sir isaac was concerned, a trifle overbearing. you know now what he said and did. "of course if we could have talked for a little longer," he said. from the stormy dissatisfaction of his retreat this one small idea crystallized, that he had not talked enough without disturbance to lady harman. the thing he had to do was to talk to her some more. to go on with what he had been saying. that thought arrested his steps. on that hypothesis there was no reason whatever why he should go on to the station and london. instead----he stopped short, saw a convenient gate ahead, went to it, seated himself upon its topmost rail and attempted a calm survey of the situation. he had somehow to continue that conversation with lady harman. was it impossible to do that by going back to the front door of black strand? his instinct was against that course. he knew that if he went back now openly he would see nobody but sir isaac or his butler. he must therefore not go back openly. he must go round now and into the pine-woods at the back of black strand; thence he must watch the garden and find his opportunity of speaking to the imprisoned lady. there was something at once attractively romantic and repellently youthful about this course of action. mr. brumley looked at his watch, then he surveyed the blue clear sky overhead, with just one warm tinted wisp of cloud. it would be dark in an hour and it was probable that lady harman had already gone indoors for the day. might it be possible after dark to approach the house? no one surely knew the garden so well as he. of course this sort of thing is always going on in romances; in the stories of that last great survivor of the stevensonian tradition, h.b. marriot watson, the heroes are always creeping through woods, tapping at windows, and scaling house-walls, but mr. brumley as he sat on his gate became very sensible of his own extreme inexperience in such adventures. and yet anything seemed in his present mood better than going back to london. suppose he tried his luck! he knew of course the lie of the land about black strand very well indeed and his harmless literary social standing gave him a certain freedom of trespass. he dropped from his gate on the inner side and taking a bridle path through a pine-wood was presently out upon the moorland behind his former home. he struck the high-road that led past the staminal bread board and was just about to clamber over the barbed wire on his left and make his way through the trees to the crest that commanded the black strand garden when he perceived a man in a velveteen coat and gaiters strolling towards him. he decided not to leave the road until he was free from observation. the man was a stranger, an almost conventional gamekeeper, and he endorsed mr. brumley's remark upon the charmingness of the day with guarded want of enthusiasm. mr. brumley went on for some few minutes, then halted, assured himself that the stranger was well out of sight and returned at once towards the point where high-roads were to be left and adventure begun. but he was still some yards away when he became aware of that velveteen-coated figure approaching again. "damn!" said mr. brumley and slacked his eager paces. this time he expressed a view that the weather was extremely mild. "very," said the man in velveteen with a certain lack of respect in his manner. it was no good turning back again. mr. brumley went on slowly, affected to botanize, watched the man out of sight and immediately made a dash for the pine-woods, taking the barbed wire in a manner extremely detrimental to his left trouser leg. he made his way obliquely up through the trees to the crest from which he had so often surveyed the shining ponds of aleham. there he paused to peer back for that gamekeeper--whom he supposed in spite of reason to be stalking him--to recover his breath and to consider his further plans. the sunset was very fine that night, a great red sun was sinking towards acutely outlined hill-crests, the lower nearer distances were veiled in lavender mists and three of the ponds shone like the fragments of a shattered pink topaz. but mr. brumley had no eye for landscape.... about two hours after nightfall mr. brumley reached the railway station. his trousers and the elbow of his coat bore witness to a second transit of the barbed-wire fence in the darkness, he had manifestly walked into a boggy place and had some difficulty in recovering firm ground and he had also been sliding in a recumbent position down a bank of moist ferruginous sand. moreover he had cut the palm of his left hand. there was a new strange stationmaster who regarded him without that respect to which he had grown accustomed. he received the information that the winter train service had been altered and that he would have to wait forty-five minutes for the next train to london with the resignation of a man already chastened by misfortune and fatigue. he went into the waiting-room and after a vain search for the poker--the new stationmaster evidently kept it in a different place--sat down in front of an irritatingly dull fire banked up with slack, and nursed his damaged hand and meditated on his future plans. his plans were still exactly in the state in which they had been when sir isaac parted from him at the gate of black strand. they remained in the same state for two whole days. throughout all that distressing period his general intention of some magnificent intervention on behalf of lady harman remained unchanged, it produced a number of moving visions of flights at incredible speeds in (recklessly hired) motor-cars of colossal power,--most of the purchase money for black strand was still uninvested at his bank--of impassioned interviews with various people, of a divorce court with a hardened judge congratulating the manifestly quite formal co-respondent on the moral beauty of his behaviour, but it evolved no sort of concrete practicable detail upon which any kind of action might be taken. and during this period of indecision mr. brumley was hunted through london by a feverish unrest. when he was in his little flat in pont street he was urged to go to his club, when he got to his club he was urged to go anywhere else, he called on the most improbable people and as soon as possible fled forth again, he even went to the british museum and ordered out a lot of books on matrimonial law. long before that great machine had disgorged them for him he absconded and this neglected, this widowed pile of volumes still standing to his account only came back to his mind in the middle of the night suddenly and disturbingly while he was trying to remember the exact words he had used in his brief conversation with lady harman.... §9 two days after mr. brumley's visit susan burnet reached black strand. she too had been baffled for a while. for some week or more she couldn't discover the whereabouts of lady harman and lived in the profoundest perplexity. she had brought back her curtains to the putney house in a large but luggable bundle, they were all made and ready to put up, and she found the place closed and locked, in the charge of a caretaker whose primary duty it was to answer no questions. it needed several days of thought and amazement, and a vast amount of "i wonder," and "i just would like to know," before it occurred to susan that if she wrote to lady harman at the putney address the letter might be forwarded. and even then she almost wrecked the entire enterprise by mentioning the money, and it was by a quite exceptional inspiration that she thought after all it was wiser not to say that but to state that she had finished the curtains and done everything (underlined) that lady harman had desired. sir isaac read it and tossed it over to his wife. "make her send her bill," he remarked. whereupon lady harman set mrs. crumble in motion to bring susan down to black strand. this wasn't quite easy because as mrs. crumble pointed out they hadn't the slightest use for susan's curtains there, and lady harman had to find the morning light quite intolerable in her bedroom--she always slept with window wide open and curtains drawn back--to create a suitable demand for susan's services. but at last susan came, too humbly invisible for sir isaac's attention, and directly she found lady harman alone in the room with her, she produced a pawn ticket and twenty pounds. "i 'ad to give all sorts of particulars," she said. "it was a job. but i did it...." the day was big with opportunity, for sir isaac had been unable to conceal the fact that he had to spend the morning in london. he had gone up in the big car and his wife was alone, and so, with susan upstairs still deftly measuring for totally unnecessary hangings, lady harman was able to add a fur stole and a muff and some gloves to her tweed gardening costume, walk unchallenged into the garden and from the garden into the wood and up the hillside and over the crest and down to the high-road and past that great advertisement of staminal bread and so for four palpitating miles, to the railway station and the outer world. she had the good fortune to find a train imminent,--the twelve-seventeen. she took a first-class ticket for london and got into a compartment with another woman because she felt it would be safer. §10 lady harman reached miss alimony's flat at half-past three in the afternoon. she had lunched rather belatedly and uncomfortably in the waterloo refreshment room and she had found out that miss alimony was at home through the telephone. "i want to see you urgently," she said, and miss alimony received her in that spirit. she was hatless but she had a great cloud of dark fuzzy hair above the grey profundity of her eyes and she wore an artistic tea-gown that in spite of a certain looseness at neck and sleeve emphasized the fine lines of her admirable figure. her flat was furnished chiefly with books and rich oriental hangings and vast cushions and great bowls of scented flowers. on the mantel-shelf was the crystal that amused her lighter moments and above it hung a circular allegory by florence swinstead, very rich in colour, the awakening of woman, in a heavy gold frame. miss alimony conducted her guest to an armchair, knelt flexibly on the hearthrug before her, took up a small and elegant poker with a brass handle and a spear-shaped service end of iron and poked the fire. the service end came out from the handle and fell into the grate. "it always does that," said miss alimony charmingly. "but never mind." she warmed both hands at the blaze. "tell me all about it," she said, softly. lady harman felt she would rather have been told all about it. but perhaps that would follow. "you see," she said, "i find----my married life----" she halted. it _was_ very difficult to tell. "everyone," said agatha, giving a fine firelit profile, and remaining gravely thoughtful through a little pause. "do you mind," she asked abruptly, "if i smoke?" when she had completed her effect with a delicately flavoured cigarette, she encouraged lady harman to proceed. this lady harman did in a manner do. she said her husband left her no freedom of mind or movement, gave her no possession of herself, wanted to control her reading and thinking. "he insists----" she said. "yes," said miss agatha sternly blowing aside her cigarette smoke. "they all insist." "he insists," said lady harman, "on seeing all my letters, choosing all my friends. i have no control over my house or my servants, no money except what he gives me." "in fact you are property." "i'm simply property." "a harem of one. and all _that_ is within the provisions of the law!" "how any woman can marry!" said miss agatha, after a little interval. "i sometimes think that is where the true strike of the sex ought to begin. if none of us married! if we said all of us, 'no,--definitely--we refuse this bargain! it is a man-made contract. we have had no voice in it. we decline.' perhaps it will come to that. and i knew that you, you with that quiet beautiful penetration in your eyes would come to see it like that. the first task, after the vote is won, will be the revision of that contract. the very first task of our women statesmen...." she ceased and revived her smouldering cigarette and mused blinking through the smoke. she seemed for a time almost lost to the presence of her guest in a great daydream of womanstatecraft. "and so," she said, "you've come, as they all come,--to join us." "_well_," said lady harman in a tone that made agatha turn eyes of surprise upon her. "of course," continued lady harman, "i suppose--i shall join you; but as a matter of fact you see, what i've done to-day has been to come right away.... you see i am still in my garden tweeds.... there it was down there, a sort of stale mate...." agatha sat up on her heels. "but my dear!" she said, "you don't mean you've run away?" "yes,--i've run away." "but--run away!" "i sold a ring and got some money and here i am!" "but--what are you going to do?" "i don't know. i thought you perhaps--might advise." "but--a man like your husband! he'll pursue you!" "if he knows where i am, he will," said lady harman. "he'll make a scandal. my dear! are you wise? tell me, tell me exactly, _why_ have you run away? i didn't understand at all--that you had run away." "because," began lady harman and flushed hotly. "it was impossible," she said. miss alimony regarded her deeply. "i wonder," she said. "i feel," said lady harman, "if i stayed, if i gave in----i mean after--after i had once--rebelled. then i should just be--a wife--ruled, ordered----" "it wasn't your place to give in," said miss alimony and added one of those parliament touches that creep more and more into feminine phraseology; "i agree to that--_nemine contradicente_. but--i _wonder_...." she began a second cigarette and thought in profile again. "i think, perhaps, i haven't explained, clearly, how things are," said lady harman, and commenced a rather more explicit statement of her case. she felt she had not conveyed and she wanted to convey to miss alimony that her rebellion was not simply a desire for personal freedom and autonomy, that she desired these things because she was becoming more and more aware of large affairs outside her home life in which she ought to be not simply interested but concerned, that she had been not merely watching the workings of the business that made her wealthy, but reading books about socialism, about social welfare that had stirred her profoundly.... "but he won't even allow me to know of such things," she said.... miss alimony listened a little abstractedly. suddenly she interrupted. "tell me," she said, "one thing.... i confess," she explained, "i've no business to ask. but if i'm to advise----if my advice is to be worth anything...." "yes?" asked lady harman. "is there----is there someone else?" "someone else?" lady harman was crimson. "on _your_ side!" "someone else on my side?" "i mean--someone. a man perhaps? some man that you care for? more than you do for your husband?..." "_i can't imagine_," whispered lady harman, "_anything_----" and left her sentence unfinished. her breath had gone. her indignation was profound. "then i can't understand why you should find it so important to come away." lady harman could offer no elucidation. "you see," said miss alimony, with an air of expert knowledge, "our case against our opponents is just exactly their great case against us. they say to us when we ask for the vote, 'the woman's place is the home.' 'precisely,' we answer, 'the woman's place _is_ the home. _give_ us our homes!' now _your_ place is your home--with your children. that's where you have to fight your battle. running away--for you it's simply running away." "but----if i stay i shall be beaten." lady harman surveyed her hostess with a certain dismay. "do you understand, agatha? i _can't_ go back." "but my dear! what else can you do? what had you thought?" "you see," said lady harman, after a little struggle with that childish quality in her nerves that might, if it wasn't controlled, make her eyes brim. "you see, i didn't expect you quite to take this view. i thought perhaps you might be disposed----if i could have stayed with you here, only for a little time, i could have got some work or something----" "it's so dreadful," said miss alimony, sitting far back with the relaxation of infinite regrets. "it's dreadful." "of course if you don't see it as i do----" "i can't," said miss alimony. "i can't." she turned suddenly upon her visitor and grasped her knees with her shapely hands. "oh let me implore you! don't run away. please for my sake, for all our sakes, for the sake of womanhood, don't run away! stay at your post. you mustn't run away. you must _not_. if you do, you admit everything. everything. you must fight in your home. it's _your_ home. that is the great principle you must grasp,--it's not his. it's there your duty lies. and there are your children--_your_ children, your little ones! think if you go--there may be a fearful fuss--proceedings. lawyers--a search. very probably he will take all sorts of proceedings. it will be a matrimonial case. how can i be associated with that? we mustn't mix up women's freedom with matrimonial cases. impossible! we _dare_ not! a woman leaving her husband! think of the weapon it gives our enemies. if once other things complicate the vote,--the vote is lost. after all our self-denial, after all our sacrifices.... you see! don't you _see_?... "_fight!_" she summarized after an eloquent interval. "you mean," said lady harman,--"you think i ought to go back." miss alimony paused to get her full effect. "_yes_," she said in a profound whisper and endorsed it, "oh so much so!--yes." "now?" "instantly." for an interval neither lady spoke. it was the visitor at last who broke the tension. "do you think," she asked in a small voice and with the hesitation of one whom no refusal can surprise; "you could give me a cup of tea?" miss alimony rose with a sigh and a slow unfolding rustle. "i forgot," she said. "my little maid is out." lady harman left alone sat for a time staring at the fire with her eyes rather wide and her eyebrows raised as though she mutely confided to it her infinite astonishment. this was the last thing she had expected. she would have to go to some hotel. can a woman stay alone at an hotel? her heart sank. inflexible forces seemed to be pointing her back to home--and sir isaac. he would be a very triumphant sir isaac, and she'd not have much heart left in her.... "i _won't_ go back," she whispered to herself. "whatever happens i _won't_ go back...." then she became aware of the evening newspaper miss alimony had been reading. the headline, "suffrage raid on regent street," caught her eye. a queer little idea came into her head. it grew with tremendous rapidity. she put out a hand and took up the paper and read. she had plenty of time to read because her hostess not only got the tea herself but went during that process to her bedroom and put on one of those hats that have contributed so much to remove the stigma of dowdiness from the suffrage cause, as an outward and visible sign that she was presently ceasing to be at home.... lady harman found an odd fact in the report before her. "one of the most difficult things to buy at the present time in the west end of london," it ran, "is a hammer...." then a little further: "the magistrate said it was impossible to make discriminations in this affair. all the defendants must have a month's imprisonment...." when miss alimony returned lady harman put down the paper almost guiltily. afterwards miss alimony recalled that guilty start, and the still more guilty start that had happened, when presently she went out of the room again and returned with a lamp, for the winter twilight was upon them. afterwards, too, she was to learn what had become of the service end of her small poker, the little iron club, which she missed almost as soon as lady harman had gone.... lady harman had taken that grubby but convenient little instrument and hidden it in her muff, and she had gone straight out of miss alimony's flat to the post office at the corner of jago street, and there, with one simple effective impact, had smashed a ground-glass window, the property of his majesty king george the fifth. and having done so, she had called the attention of a youthful policeman, fresh from yorkshire, to her offence, and after a slight struggle with his incredulity and a visit to the window in question, had escorted him to the south hampsmith police-station, and had there made him charge her. and on the way she explained to him with a newfound lucidity why it was that women should have votes. and all this she did from the moment of percussion onward, in a mood of exaltation entirely strange to her, but, as she was astonished to find, by no means disagreeable. she found afterwards that she only remembered very indistinctly her selection of the window and her preparations for the fatal blow, but that the effect of the actual breakage remained extraordinarily vivid upon her memory. she saw with extreme distinctness both as it was before and after the breakage, first as a rather irregular grey surface, shining in the oblique light of a street lamp, and giving pale phantom reflections of things in the street, and then as it was after her blow. it was all visual impression in her memory; she could not recollect afterwards if there had been any noise at all. where there had been nothing but a milky dinginess a thin-armed, irregular star had flashed into being, and a large triangular piece at its centre, after what seemed an interminable indecision, had slid, first covertly downward, and then fallen forward at her feet and shivered into a hundred fragments.... lady harman realized that a tremendous thing had been done--irrevocably. she stared at her achievement open-mouthed. the creative lump of iron dropped from her hand. she had a momentary doubt whether she had really wanted to break that window at all; and then she understood that this business had to be seen through, and seen through with neatness and dignity; and that wisp of regret vanished absolutely in her concentration upon these immediate needs. §11 some day, when the arts of the writer and illustrator are more closely blended than they are to-day, it will be possible to tell of all that followed this blow, with an approach to its actual effect. here there should stand a page showing simply and plainly the lower half of the window of the jago street post office, a dark, rather grimy pane, reflecting the light of a street lamp--and _broken_. below the pane would come a band of evilly painted woodwork, a corner of letter-box, a foot or so of brickwork, and then the pavement with a dropped lump of iron. that would be the sole content of this page, and the next page would be the same, but very slightly fainter, and across it would be printed a dim sentence or so of explanation. the page following that would show the same picture again, but now several lines of type would be visible, and then, as one turned over, the smashed window would fade a little, and the printed narrative, still darkened and dominated by it, would nevertheless resume. one would read on how lady harman returned to convince the incredulous young yorkshireman of her feat, how a man with a barrow-load of bananas volunteered comments, and how she went in custody, but with the extremest dignity, to the police-station. then, with some difficulty, because that imposed picture would still prevail over the letterpress, and because it would be in small type, one would learn how she was bailed out by lady beach-mandarin, who was clearly the woman she ought to have gone to in the first place, and who gave up a dinner with a duchess to entertain her, and how sir isaac, being too torn by his feelings to come near her spent the evening in a frantic attempt to keep the whole business out of the papers. he could not manage it. the magistrate was friendly next morning, but inelegant in his friendly expedients; he remanded lady harman until her mental condition could be inquired into, but among her fellow-defendants--there had been quite an epidemic of window-smashing that evening--lady harman shone pre-eminently sane. she said she had broken this window because she was assured that nothing would convince people of the great dissatisfaction of women with their conditions except such desperate acts, and when she was reminded of her four daughters she said it was precisely the thought of how they too would grow up to womanhood that had made her strike her blow. the statements were rather the outcome of her evening with lady beach-mandarin than her own unaided discoveries, but she had honestly assimilated them, and she expressed them with a certain simple dignity. sir isaac made a pathetic appearance before the court, and lady harman was shocked to see how worn he was with distress at her scandalous behaviour. he looked a broken man. that curious sense of personal responsibility, which had slumbered throughout the black strand struggle, came back to her in a flood, and she had to grip the edge of the dock tightly to maintain her self-control. unaccustomed as he was to public speaking, sir isaac said in a low, sorrow-laden voice, he had provided himself with a written statement dissociating himself from the views his wife's rash action might seem to imply, and expressing his own opinions upon woman's suffrage and the relations of the sexes generally, with especial reference to contemporary literature. he had been writing it most of the night. he was not, however, permitted to read this, and he then made an unstudied appeal for the consideration and mercy of the court. he said lady harman had always been a good mother and a faithful wife; she had been influenced by misleading people and bad books and publications, the true significance of which she did not understand, and if only the court would regard this first offence leniently he was ready to take his wife away and give any guarantee that might be specified that it should not recur. the magistrate was sympathetic and kindly, but he pointed out that this window-breaking had to be stamped out, and that it could only be stamped out by refusing any such exception as sir isaac desired. and so sir isaac left the court widowed for a month, a married man without a wife, and terribly distressed. all this and more one might tell in detail, and how she went to her cell, and the long tedium of her imprisonment, and how deeply snagsby felt the disgrace, and how miss alimony claimed her as a convert to the magic of her persuasions, and many such matters--there is no real restraint upon a novelist fully resolved to be english and gothic and unclassical except obscure and inexplicable instincts. but these obscure and inexplicable instincts are at times imperative, and on this occasion they insist that here must come a break, a pause, in the presence of this radiating gap in the postmaster-general's glass, and the phenomenon of this gentle and beautiful lady, the mother of four children, grasping in her gloved hand, and with a certain amateurishness, a lumpish poker-end of iron. we make the pause by ending the chapter here and by resuming the story at a fresh point--with an account of various curious phases in the mental development of mr. brumley. chapter the ninth mr. brumley is troubled by difficult ideas §1 then as that picture of a post office pane, smashed and with a large hole knocked clean through it, fades at last upon the reader's consciousness, let another and a kindred spectacle replace it. it is the carefully cleaned and cherished window of mr. brumley's mind, square and tidy and as it were "frosted" against an excess of light, and in that also we have now to record the most jagged all and devastating fractures. little did mr. brumley reckon when first he looked up from his laces at black strand, how completely that pretty young woman in the dark furs was destined to shatter all the assumptions that had served his life. but you have already had occasion to remark a change in mr. brumley's bearing and attitude that carries him far from the kindly and humorous conservatism of his earlier work. you have shared lady harman's astonishment at the ardour of his few stolen words in the garden, an astonishment that not only grew but flowered in the silences of her captivity, and you know something of the romantic impulses, more at least than she did, that gave his appearance at the little local railway station so belated and so disreputable a flavour. in the chilly ill-flavoured solitude of her prison cell and with a mind quickened by meagre and distasteful fare, lady harman had ample leisure to reflect upon many things, she had already fully acquainted herself with the greater proportion of mr. brumley's published works, and she found the utmost difficulty in reconciling the flushed impassioned quality of his few words of appeal, with the moral assumptions of his published opinions. on the whole she was inclined to think that her memory had a little distorted what he had said. in this however she was mistaken; mr. brumley had really been proposing an elopement and he was now entirely preoccupied with the idea of rescuing, obtaining and possessing lady harman for himself as soon as the law released her. one may doubt whether this extensive change from a humorous conservatism to a primitive and dangerous romanticism is to be ascribed entirely to the personal charm, great as it no doubt was, of lady harman; rather did her tall soft dark presence come to release a long accumulating store of discontent and unrest beneath the polished surfaces of mr. brumley's mind. things had been stirring in him for some time; the latter euphemia books had lacked much of the freshness of their precursors and he had found it increasingly hard, he knew not why, to keep up the lightness, the geniality, the friendly badinage of successful and accepted things, the sunny disregard of the grim and unamiable aspects of existence, that were the essential merits of that optimistic period of our literature in which mr. brumley had begun his career. with every justification in the world mr. brumley had set out to be an optimist, even in the _granta_ his work had been distinguished by its gay yet steadfast superficiality, and his early success, his rapid popularity, had done much to turn this early disposition into a professional attitude. he had determined that for all his life he would write for comfortable untroubled people in the character of a light-spirited, comfortable, untroubled person, and that each year should have its book of connubial humour, its travel in picturesque places, its fun and its sunshine, like roses budding in succession on a stem. he did his utmost to conceal from himself the melancholy realization that the third and the fourth roses were far less wonderful than the first and the second, and that by continuing the descending series a rose might be attained at last that was almost unattractive, but he was already beginning to suspect that he was getting less animated and a little irritable when euphemia very gently and gracefully but very firmly and rather enigmatically died, and after an interval of tender and tenderly expressed regrets he found himself, in spite of the most strenuous efforts to keep bright and kindly and optimistic in the best style, dull and getting duller--he could disguise the thing no longer. and he weighed more. six--eight--eleven pounds more. he took a flat in london, dined and lunched out lightly but frequently, sought the sympathetic friendship of several charming ladies, and involved himself deeply in the affairs of the academic committee. indeed he made a quite valiant struggle to feel that optimism was just where it always had been and everything all right and very bright with him and with the world about him. he did not go under without a struggle. but as max beerbohm's caricature--the 1908 one i mean--brought out all too plainly, there was in his very animation, something of the alert liveliness of the hunted man. do what he would he had a terrible irrational feeling that things, as yet scarce imagined things, were after him and would have him. even as he makes his point, even as he gesticulates airily, with his rather distinctively north european nose beerbohmically enlarged and his sensitive nostril in the air, he seems to be looking at something he does not want to look at, something conceivably pursuing, out of the corner of his eye. the thing that was assailing mr. brumley and making his old established humour and tenderness seem dull and opaque and giving this new uneasy quality to his expression was of course precisely the thing that sir isaac meant when he talked about "idees" and their disturbing influence upon all the once assured tranquillities and predominances of putney life. it was criticism breaking bounds. as a basis and substance for the tissue of whimsically expressed happiness and confident appreciation of the good things of life, which mr. brumley had set before himself as his agreeable--and it was to be hoped popular and profitable--life-task, certain assumptions had been necessary. they were assumptions he had been very willing to make and which were being made in the most exemplary way by the writers who were succeeding all about him at the commencement of his career. and these assumptions had had such an air then of being quite trustworthy, as being certain to wash and wear! already nowadays it is difficult to get them stated; they have become incredible while still too near to justify the incredibility that attaches to history. it was assumed, for example, that in the institutions, customs and culture of the middle victorian period, humanity had, so far as the broad lines of things are concerned, achieved its goal. there were of course still bad men and women--individually--and classes one had to recognize as "lower," but all the main things were right, general ideas were right; the law was right, institutions were right, consols and british railway debentures were right and were going to keep right for ever. the abolition of slavery in america had been the last great act which had inaugurated this millennium. except for individual instances the tragic intensities of life were over now and done with; there was no more need for heroes and martyrs; for the generality of humanity the phase of genial comedy had begun. there might be improvements and refinements ahead, but social, political and economic arrangement were now in their main outlines settled for good and all; nothing better was possible and it was the agreeable task of the artist and the man of letters to assist and celebrate this establishment. there was to be much editing of shakespear and charles lamb, much delightful humour and costume romance, and an academy of refined fine writers would presently establish belles-lettres on the reputable official basis, write _finis_ to creative force and undertake the task of stereotyping the language. literature was to have its once terrible ferments reduced to the quality of a helpful pepsin. ideas were dead--or domesticated. the last wild idea, in an impoverished and pitiful condition, had been hunted down and killed in the mobbing of, "the woman who did." for a little time the world did actually watch a phase of english writing that dared nothing, penetrated nothing, suppressed everything and aspired at most to charm, creep like a transitory patch of sunlight across a storm-rent universe. and vanish.... at no time was it a perfectly easy task to pretend that the crazy makeshifts of our legal and political systems, the staggering accidents of economic relationship, the festering disorder of contemporary philosophy and religious teaching, the cruel and stupid bed of king og that is our last word in sexual adjustment, really constituted a noble and enduring sanity, and it became less and less so with the acute disillusionments that arose out of the boer war. the first decade of the twentieth century was for the english a decade of badly sprained optimism. our empire was nearly beaten by a handful of farmers amidst the jeering contempt of the whole world--and we felt it acutely for several years. we began to question ourselves. mr. brumley found his gay but entirely respectable irresponsibility harder and harder to keep up as that decade wore on. and close upon the south african trouble came that extraordinary new discontent of women with a woman's lot which we have been observing as it reached and troubled the life of lady harman. women who had hitherto so passively made the bulk of that reading public which sustained mr. brumley and his kind--they wanted something else! and behind and beneath these immediately disconcerting things still more sinister hintings and questioning were beginning to pluck at contentment. in 1899 nobody would have dreamt of asking and in 1909 even mr. brumley was asking, "are things going on much longer?" a hundred little incidents conspired to suggest that a christianity that had, to put it mildly, shirked the darwinian challenge, had no longer the palliating influence demanded of a national religion, and that down there in the deep levels of labour where they built railways to carry mr. brumley's food and earn him dividends, where they made engines and instruments and textiles and drains for his little needs, there was a new, less bounded discontent, a grimmer spirit, something that one tried in vain to believe was only the work of "agitators," something that was to be pacified no longer by the thin pretences of liberalism, something that might lead ultimately--optimism scarcely dared to ask whither.... mr. brumley did his best to resist the influence of these darkening ideas. he tried to keep it up that everything was going well and that most of these shadows and complaints were the mischief of a few incurably restless personalities. he tried to keep it up that to belong to the working class was a thoroughly jolly thing--for those who were used to it. he declared that all who wanted to alter our laws or our ideas about property or our methods of production were envious and base and all who wanted any change between the sexes, foolish or vicious. he tried to go on disposing of socialists, agitators, feminists, women's suffragists, educationists and every sort of reformer with a good-humoured contempt. and he found an increasing difficulty in keeping his contempt sufficiently good-humoured. instead of laughing down at folly and failure, he had moments when he felt that he was rather laughing up--a little wryly--at monstrous things impending. and since ideas are things of atmosphere and the spirit, insidious wolves of the soul, they crept up to him and gnawed the insides out of him even as he posed as their manful antagonist. insensibly mr. brumley moved with his times. it is the necessary first phase in the break-up of any system of unsound assumptions that a number of its votaries should presently set about padding its cutting corners and relieving the harsh pressure of its injustices by exuberances of humour and sentimentality. mr. brumley became charitable and romantic,--orthodox still but charitable and romantic. he was all for smashing with the generalization, but now in the particular instance he was more and more for forgiveness. one finds creeping into the later euphemia books a bret-harte-like doctrine that a great number of bad women are really good and a persuasion in the 'raffles' key that a large proportion of criminals are really very picturesque and admirable fellows. one wonders how far mr. brumley's less ostensible life was softening in harmony with this exterior change, this tender twilight of principle. he wouldn't as yet face the sterner fact that most people who are condemned by society, whether they are condemned justly or not, are by the very gregariousness of man's nature debased, and that a law or custom that stamps you as bad makes you bad. a great state should have high and humane and considerate laws nobly planned, nobly administered and needing none of these shabby little qualifications _sotto voce_. to find goodness in the sinner and justification in the outcast is to condemn the law, but as yet mr. brumley's heart failed where his intelligence pointed towards that conclusion. he hadn't the courage to revise his assumptions about right and wrong to that extent; he just allowed them to get soft and sloppy. he waded, where there should be firm ground. he waded toward wallowing. this is a perilous way of living and the sad little end of euphemia, flushed and coughing, left him no doubt in many ways still more exposed to the temptations of the sentimental byway and the emotional gloss. happily this is a book about lady harman and not an exhaustive monograph upon mr. brumley. we will at least leave him the refuge of a few shadows. occasionally he would write an important signed review for the _twentieth century_ or the _hebdomadal review_, and on one such occasion he took in hand several studies of contemporary conditions by various 'new witnesses,' 'young liberals,' _new age_ rebels and associated insurgent authors. he intended to be rather kindly with them, rather disillusioned, quite sympathetic but essentially conventional and conservative and sane. he sat at a little desk near the drooping venus, under the benediction of euphemia's posthumous rose, and turned over the pages of one of the least familiar of the group. the stuff was written with a crude force that at times became almost distinguished, but with a bitterness that he felt he must reprove. and suddenly he came upon a passionate tirade against the present period. it made him nibble softly with his lips at the top of his fountain pen as he read. "we live," said the writer, "in a second byzantine age, in one of those multitudinous accumulations of secondary interests, of secondary activities and conventions and colossal intricate insignificances, that lie like dust heaps in the path of the historian. the true history of such periods is written in bank books and cheque counterfoils and burnt to save individual reputations; it sneaks along under a thousand pretences, it finds its molelike food and safety in the dirt; its outer forms remain for posterity, a huge débris of unfathomable riddles." "hm!" said mr. brumley. "he slings it out. and what's this?" "a civilization arrested and decayed, waiting through long inglorious ages of unscheduled crime, unchallenged social injustice, senseless luxury, mercenary politics and universal vulgarity and weakness, for the long overdue scavenging of the turk." "i wonder where the children pick up such language," whispered mr. brumley with a smile. but presently he had pushed the book away and was thinking over this novel and unpleasant idea that perhaps after all his age didn't matter as some ages have mattered and as he had hitherto always supposed it did matter. byzantine, with the gold of life stolen and the swans changed to geese? of course always there had been a certain qualification upon heroes, even cæsar had needed a wreath, but at any rate the age of cæsar had mattered. kings no doubt might be more kingly and the issues of life plainer and nobler, but this had been true of every age. he tried to weigh values against values, our past against our present, temperately and sanely. our art might perhaps be keener for beauty than it seemed to be, but still--it flourished. and our science at least was wonderful--wonderful. there certainly this young detractor of existing things went astray. what was there in byzantium to parallel with the electric light, the electric tram, wireless telegraphy, aseptic surgery? of course this about "unchallenged social injustice" was nonsense. rant. why! we were challenging social injustice at every general election--plainly and openly. and crime! what could the man mean about unscheduled crime? mere words! there was of course a good deal of luxury, but not _wicked_ luxury, and to compare our high-minded and constructive politics with the mere conflict of unscrupulous adventurers about that semi-oriental throne! it was nonsense! "this young man must be spanked," said mr. brumley and, throwing aside an open illustrated paper in which a full-length portrait of sir edward carson faced a picture of the king and queen in their robes sitting side by side under a canopy at the coronation durbar, he prepared himself to write in an extremely salutary manner about the follies of the younger generation, and incidentally to justify his period and his professional contentment. §2 one is reminded of those houses into which the white ants have eaten their way; outwardly still fair and solid, they crumble at the touch of a hand. and now you will begin to understand those changes of bearing that so perplexed lady harman, that sudden insurgence of flushed half-furtive passion in the garden, through the thin pretences of a liberal friendship. his hollow honour had been gripped and had given way. he had begun so well. at first lady harman had occupied his mind in the properest way. she was another man's wife and sacred--according to all honourable standards, and what he wanted was merely to see more of her, talk to her, interest her in himself, share whatever was available outside her connubial obligations,--and think as little of sir isaac as possible. how quickly the imaginative temperament of mr. brumley enlarged that to include a critical hostility to sir isaac, we have already recorded. lady harman was no longer simply a charming, suppressed young wife, crying out for attentive development; she became an ill-treated beautiful woman--misunderstood. still scrupulously respecting his own standards, mr. brumley embarked upon the dangerous business of inventing just how sir isaac might be outraging them, and once his imagination had started to hunt in that field, it speedily brought in enough matter for a fine state of moral indignation, a white heat of not altogether justifiable chivalry. assisted by lady beach-mandarin mr. brumley had soon converted the little millionaire into a matrimonial ogre to keep an anxious lover very painfully awake at nights. because by that time and quite insensibly he had become an anxious lover--with all the gaps in the thread of realities that would have made him that, quite generously filled up from the world of reverie. moral indignation is jealousy with a halo. it is the peculiar snare of the perplexed orthodox, and soon mr. brumley was in a state of nearly unendurable moral indignation with sir isaac for a hundred exaggerations of what he was and of what conceivably he might have done to his silent yet manifestly unsuitably mated wife. and now that romantic streak which is as i have said the first certain symptom of decay in a system of moral assumptions began to show itself in mr. brumley's thoughts and conversation. "a marriage like that," said mr. brumley to lady beach-mandarin, "isn't a marriage. it flouts the true ideal of marriage. it's slavery--following a kidnapping...." but this is a wide step from the happy optimism of the cambridge days. what becomes of the sanctity of marriage and the institution of the family when respectable gentlemen talk of something called "true marriage," as non-existent in relation to a lady who is already the mother of four children? i record this lapsing of mr. brumley into romanticism without either sympathy or mitigation. the children, it presently became apparent, were not "true" children. "forced upon her," said mr. brumley. "it makes one ill to think of it!" it certainly very nearly made him ill. and as if these exercises in distinction had inflamed his conscience mr. brumley wrote two articles in the _hebdomadal_ denouncing impure literature, decadence, immorality, various recent scandalous instances, and the suffragettes, declaring that woman's place was the home and that "in a pure and exalted monogamy lies the sole unitary basis for a civilized state." the most remarkable thing about this article is an omission. that sir isaac's monogamy with any other instances that might be akin to it was not pure and exalted, and that it needed--shall we call it readjustment? is a view that in this article mr. brumley conspicuously doesn't display. it's as if for a moment, pen in hand, he had eddied back to his old absolute positions.... in a very little while mr. brumley and lady beach-mandarin had almost persuaded each other that sir isaac was applying physical torture to his proudly silent wife, and mr. brumley was no longer dreaming and glancing at but steadily facing the possibility of a pure-minded and handsomely done elopement to "free" lady harman, that would be followed in due course by a marriage, a "true marriage" on a level of understanding far above any ordinary respectable wedding, amidst universal sympathy and admiration and the presence of all the very best people. in these anticipations he did rather remarkably overlook the absence of any sign of participation on the part of lady harman in his own impassioned personal feelings, and he overlooked still more remarkably as possible objections to his line of conduct, millicent, florence, annette and baby. these omissions no doubt simplified but also greatly falsified his outlook. this proposal that all the best people shall applaud the higher rightness that was to be revealed in his projected elopement, is in the very essence of the romantic attitude. all other people are still to remain under the law. there is to be nothing revolutionary. but with exceptional persons under exceptional conditions---mr. brumley stated his case over and over again to his utmost satisfaction, and always at great moral altitudes and with a kind of transcendent orthodoxy. the more difficult any aspect of the affair appeared from the orthodox standpoint the more valiantly mr. brumley soared; if it came to his living with lady harman for a time before they could be properly married amidst picturesque foreign scenery in a little _casa_ by the side of a stream, then the water in that stream was to be quite the purest water conceivable and the scenery and associations as morally faultless as a view that had passed the exacting requirements of mr. john ruskin. and mr. brumley was very clear in his mind that what he proposed to do was entirely different in quality even if it was similar in form from anything that anyone else had ever done who had ever before made a scandal or appeared in the divorce court. this is always the way in such cases--always. the scandal was to be a noble scandal, a proud scandal, one of those instances of heroical love that turn aside misdemeanours--admittedly misdemeanours--into edifying marvels. this was the state of mind to which mr. brumley had attained when he made his ineffectual raid upon black strand, and you will remark about it, if you are interested in the changes in people's ideas that are going on to-day, that although he was prepared to make the most extensive glosses in this particular instance upon the commonly accepted rules of what is right and proper, he was not for a moment prepared to accord the terrible gift of an independent responsibility to lady harman. in that direction lay regions that mr. brumley had still to explore. lady harman he considered was married wrongly and disastrously and this he held to be essentially the fault of sir isaac--with perhaps some slight blame attaching to lady harman's mother. the only path of escape he could conceive as yet for lady harman lay through the chivalry of some other man. that a woman could possibly rebel against one man without the sympathy and moral maintenance of another was still outside the range of mr. brumley's understanding. it is still outside the range of most men's understandings--and of a great many women's. if he generalized at all from these persuasions it was in the direction that in the interest of "true marriage" there should be greater facilities for divorce and also a kind of respectable-ization of divorce. then these "false marriages" might be rectified without suffering. the reasons for divorce he felt should be extended to include things not generally reprehensible, and chivalrous people coming into court should be protected from the indelicate publicity of free reporting.... §3 mr. brumley was still contemplating rather inconclusively the possibility of a long and intimate talk leading up to and preparing for an elopement with lady harman, when he read of her jago street escapade and of her impending appearance at the south hampsmith police court. he was astonished. the more he contemplated the thing the greater became his astonishment. even at the first impact he realized that the line she had taken wasn't quite in the picture with the line he had proposed for her. he felt--left out. he felt as though a door had slammed between himself and affairs to which he had supposed himself essential. he could not understand why she had done this thing instead of coming straight to his flat and making use of all that chivalrous service she surely knew was at her disposal. this self-reliance, this direct dealing with the world, seemed to him, even in the height of his concern, unwomanly, a deeper injury to his own abandoned assumptions than any he had contemplated. he felt it needed explanation, and he hurried to secure an elbowed unsavoury corner in the back of the court in order to hear her defence. he had to wait through long stuffy spaces of time before she appeared. there were half a dozen other window smashers,--plain or at least untidy-looking young women. the magistrate told them they were silly and the soul of mr. brumley acquiesced. one tried to make a speech, and it was such a poor speech--squeaky.... when at last lady harman entered the box--the strangest place it seemed for her--he tried to emerge from the jostling crowd about him into visibility, to catch her eye, to give her the support of his devoted presence. twice at least she glanced in his direction but gave no sign of seeing him. he was surprised that she could look without fear or detestation, indeed once with a gesture of solicitude, at sir isaac. she was astonishingly serene. there seemed to be just the faintest shadow of a smile about her lips as the stipendiary explained the impossibility of giving her anything less than a month. an uneasy object like the smashed remains of a colossal box of bonbons that was riding out a gale, down in the middle of the court, turned round at last completely and revealed itself as the hat of lady beach-mandarin, but though mr. brumley waved his hand he could not even make that lady aware of his presence. a powerful rude criminal-looking man who stood in front of him and smelt grossly of stables, would not give him a fair chance of showing himself, and developed a strong personal hostility to him on account of his alleged "shoving about." it would not he felt be of the slightest help to lady harman for him to involve himself in a personal struggle with a powerful and powerfully flavoured criminal. it was all very dreadful. after the proceedings were over and lady harman had been led away into captivity, he went out and took a taxi in an agitated distraught manner to lady beach-mandarin's house. "she meant," said lady beach-mandarin, "to have a month's holiday from him and think things out. and she's got it." perhaps that was it. mr. brumley could not tell, and he spent some days in that state of perplexity which, like the weariness that heralds a cold, marks so often the onset of a new series of ideas.... why hadn't she come to him? had he after all rather overloaded his memory of her real self with imaginative accessories? had she really understood what he had been saying to her in the garden? afterwards when he had met her eyes as he and she went over the new wing with sir isaac she had so manifestly--and, when one came to think of it, so tranquilly--seemed to understand.... it was such an extraordinary thing to go smashing a window like that--when there he was at hand ready to help her. she knew his address? did she? for a moment mr. brumley cherished that wild surmise. was that perhaps it? but surely she could have looked in the telephone directory or who's who.... but if that was the truth of the matter she would have looked and behaved differently in court--quite differently. she would have been looking for him. she would have seen him.... it was queer too to recall what she had said in court about her daughters.... could it be, he had a frightful qualm, that after all--he wasn't the man? how little he knew of her really.... "this wretched agitation," said mr. brumley, trying to flounder away anyhow from these disconcerting riddles; "it seems to unbalance them all." but he found it impossible to believe that lady harman was seriously unbalanced. §4 and if mr. brumley's system of romantically distorted moral assumptions was shattered by lady harman's impersonal blow at a post office window when all the rules seemed to require her to fly from the oppression of one man to the chivalry of another, what words can convey the devastating effect upon him of her conduct after her release? to that crisis he had been looking forward continually; to record the variety of his expectations would fill a large volume, but throughout them all prevailed one general idea, that when she came out of prison her struggle with her husband would be resumed, and that this would give mr. brumley such extraordinary opportunities of displaying his devotion that her response, which he was now beginning to suspect might be more reluctant than his earlier dreams had assumed, was ultimately inevitable. in all these dreams and meditations that response figured as the crown. he had to win and possess lady harman. the idea had taken hold of his busy yet rather pointless life, had become his directing object. he was full of schemes for presently arresting and captivating her imagination. he was already convinced that she cared for him; he had to inflame interest and fan liking into the fire of passion. and with a mind so occupied, mr. brumley wrote this and that and went about his affairs. he spent two days and a night at margate visiting his son at his preparatory school, and he found much material for musing in the question of just how the high romantic affairs ahead of him would affect this delicately intelligent boy. for a time perhaps he might misjudge his father.... he spent a week-end with lady viping and stayed on until wednesday and then he came back to london. his plans were still unformed when the day came for lady harman's release, and indeed beyond an idea that he would have her met at the prison gates by an enormous bunch of snowy-white and crimson chrysanthemums he had nothing really concrete at all in his mind. she had, however, been released stealthily a day before her time, and this is what she had done. she had asked that--of all improbable people!--sir isaac's mother should meet her, the biggest car had come to the prison gates, and she had gone straight down with mrs. harman to her husband--who had taken a chill and was in bed drinking contrexéville water--at black strand. as these facts shaped themselves in answer to the blanched inquiries of mr. brumley his amazement grew. he began to realize that there must have been a correspondence during her incarceration, that all sorts of things had been happening while he had been dreaming, and when he went round to lady beach-mandarin, who was just packing up to be the life and soul of a winter-sports party at a nice non-lunnite hotel at lenzerheide, he learnt particulars that chilled him to the marrow. "they've made it up," said lady beach-mandarin. "but how?" gasped mr. brumley, with his soul in infinite distress. "but how?" "the ogre, it seems, has come to see that bullying won't do. he's given in tremendously. he's let her have her way with the waitress strike and she's going to have an allowance of her own and all kinds of things. it's settled. it's his mother and that man charterson talked him over. you know--his mother came to me--as her friend. for advice. wanted to find out what sort of things we might have been putting in her head. she said so. a curious old thing--vulgar but--_wise_. i liked her. he's her darling--and she just knows what he is.... he doesn't like it but he's taken his dose. the thought of her going to prison again----! he's let her do anything rather than that...." "and she's gone to him!" "naturally," said lady beach-mandarin with what he felt to be deliberate brutality. surely she must have understood---"but the waitress strike--what has it got to do with the waitress strike?" "she cared--tremendously." "_did_ she?" "tremendously. and they all go back and the system of inspection is being altered, and he's even forgiven babs wheeler. it made him ill to do it but he did." "and she's gone back to him." "like godiva," said lady beach-mandarin with that sweeping allusiveness that was part of her complicated charm. §5 for three days mr. brumley was so staggered by these things that it did not occur to him that it was quite possible for him to see lady harman for himself and find out just how things stood. he remained in london with an imagination dazed. and as it was the christmas season and as george edmund in a rather expectant holiday state had now come up from margate, mr. brumley went in succession to the hippodrome, to peter pan and to an exhibition at olympia, assisted at an afternoon display of the kinemacolor at la scala theatre, visited hamley's and lunched george edmund once at the criterion and twice at the climax club, while thinking of nothing in all the world but the incalculable strangeness of women. george edmund thought him a very passive leadable parent indeed, less querulous about money matters and altogether much improved. the glitter and colour of these various entertainments reflected themselves upon the surface of that deep flood of meditation, hook-armed wooden-legged pirates, intelligent elephants, ingenious but extremely expensive toys, flickering processions, comic turns, snatches of popular music and george edmund's way of eating an orange, pictured themselves on his mind confusedly without in any way deflecting its course. then on the fourth day he roused himself, gave george edmund ten shillings to get himself a cutlet at the café royal and do the cinematographs round and about the west end, and so released reached aleham in time for a temperate lunch. he chartered the aleham car to take him to black strand and arrived there about a quarter past three, in a great effort to feel himself a matter-of-course visitor. it ought to be possible to record that mr. brumley's mind was full of the intensest sense of lady harman during that journey and of nothing else, but as a matter of fact his mind was now curiously detached and reflective, the tensions and expectation of the past month and the astonishment of the last few days had worked themselves out and left him as it were the passive instrument of the purpose of his more impassioned moods. this distressed lover approached black strand in a condition of philosophical lassitude. the road from aleham to black strand is a picturesque old english road, needlessly winding and badly graded, wriggling across a healthy wilderness with occasional pine-woods. something in that familiar landscape--for his life had run through it since first he and euphemia on a tandem bicycle and altogether very young had sought their ideal home in the south of england--set his mind swinging and generalizing. how freshly youthful he and euphemia had been when first he came along that road, how crude, how full of happy expectations of success; it had been as bright and it was now as completely gone as the sunsets they had seen together. how great a thing life is! how much greater than any single romance, or any individual affection! since those days he had grown, he had succeeded, he had suffered in a reasonable way of course, still he could recall with a kind of satisfaction tears and deep week-long moods of hopeless melancholy--and he had changed. and now dominating this landscape, filling him with new emotions and desires and perplexing intimations of ignorance and limitations he had never suspected in his youth, was this second figure of a woman. she was different from euphemia. with euphemia everything had been so simple and easy; until that slight fading, that fatigue of entire success and satisfaction, of the concluding years. he and euphemia had always kept it up that they had no thought in the world except for one another.... yet if that had been true, why hadn't he died when she did. he hadn't died--with remarkable elasticity. clearly in his case there had been these unexplored, unsuspected hinterlands of possibility towards which lady harman seemed now to be directing him. it came to him that afternoon as an entirely fresh thought that there might also have been something in euphemia beyond their simple, so charmingly treated relationship. he began to recall moments when euphemia had said perplexing little things, had looked at him with an expression that was unexpected, had been--difficult.... i write of mr. brumley to tell you things about him and not to explain him. it may be that the appetite for thorough good talks with people grows upon one, but at any rate it did occur to mr. brumley on his way to talk to lady harman, it occurred to him as a thing distressingly irrevocable that he could now never have a thorough good talk with euphemia about certain neglected things between them. it would have helped him so much.... his eyes rested as he thought of these things upon the familiar purple hill crests, patched that afternoon with the lingering traces of a recent snowstorm, the heather slopes, the dark mysterious woods, the patches of vivid green where a damp and marshy meadow or so broke the moorland surface. to-day in spite of the sun there was a bright blue-white line of frost to the northward of every hedge and bank, the trees were dripping down the white edgings of the morning into the pine-needle mud at their feet; he had seen it so like this before; years hence he might see it all like this again; all this great breezy countryside had taken upon itself a quality of endurance, as though it would still be real and essential in his mind when lady harman had altogether passed again. it would be real when he himself had passed away, and in other costumes and other vehicles fresh euphemias and new crude george brumleys would come along, feeling in the ultimate bright new wisdom of youth that it was all for them--a subservient scenery, when really it was entirely indifferent in its careless permanence to all their hopes and fancies.... §6 mr. brumley's thoughts on the permanence of landscape and the mutability of human affairs were more than a little dashed when he came within sight of black strand and perceived that once cosily beautiful little home clipped and extended, its shrubbery wrecked and the old barn now pierced with windows and adorned--for its new chimneys were not working very well--by several efficient novelties in chimney cowls. up the slopes behind sir isaac had extended his boundaries, and had been felling trees and levelling a couple of tennis courts for next summer. something was being done to the porch, and the jasmine had been cleared away altogether. mr. brumley could not quite understand what was in progress; sir isaac he learnt afterwards had found a wonderful bargain in a real genuine georgian portal of great dignity and simplicity in aleham, and he was going to improve black strand by transferring it thither--with the utmost precaution and every piece numbered--from its original situation. mr. brumley stood among the preparatory débris of this and rang a quietly resolute electric bell, which was answered no longer by mrs. rabbit but by the ample presence of snagsby. snagsby in that doorway had something of the preposterous effect of a very large face beneath a very small hat. he had to mr. brumley's eyes a restored look, as though his self-confidence had been thoroughly done up since their last encounter. bygones were bygones. mr. brumley was admitted as one is admitted to any normal home. he was shown into the little study-drawing-room with the stepped floor, which had been so largely the scene of his life with euphemia, and he was left there for the better part of a quarter of an hour before his hostess appeared. the room had been changed very little. euphemia's solitary rose had gone, and instead there were several bowls of beaten silver scattered about, each filled with great chrysanthemums from london. sir isaac's jackdaw acquisitiveness had also overcrowded the corner beyond the fireplace with a very fine and genuine queen anne cabinet; there were a novel by elizabeth robins and two or three feminist and socialist works lying on the table which would certainly not have been visible, though they might have been in the house, during the brumley régime. otherwise things were very much as they always had been. a room like this, thought mr. brumley among much other mental driftage, is like a heart,--so long as it exists it must be furnished and tenanted. no matter what has been, however bright and sweet and tender, the spaces still cry aloud to be filled again. the very essence of life is its insatiability. how complete all this had seemed in the moment when first he and euphemia had arranged it. and indeed how complete life had seemed altogether at seven-and-twenty. every year since then he had been learning--or at any rate unlearning. until at last he was beginning to realize he had still everything to learn.... the door opened and the tall dark figure of lady harman stood for a moment in the doorway before she stepped down into the room. she had always the same effect upon him, the effect of being suddenly remembered. when he was away from her he was always sure that she was a beautiful woman, and when he saw her again he was always astonished to see how little he had borne her beauty in mind. for a moment they regarded one another silently. then she closed the door behind her and came towards him. all mr. brumley's philosophizing had vanished at the sight of her. his spirit was reborn within him. he thought of her and of his effect upon her, vividly, and of nothing else in the world. she was paler he thought beneath her dusky hair, a little thinner and graver.... there was something in her manner as she advanced towards him that told him he mattered to her, that his coming there was something that moved her imagination as well as his own. with an almost impulsive movement she held out both her hands to him, and with an inspiration as sudden he took them and kissed them. when he had done so he was ashamed of his temerity; he looked up to meet in her dark eyes the scared shyness of a fallow deer. she suddenly remembered to withdraw her hands, and it became manifest to both of them that the incident must never have happened. she went to the window, stood almost awkwardly for a moment looking out of it, then turned. she put her hands on the back of the chair and stood holding it. "i knew you would come to see me," she said. "i've been very anxious about you," he said, and on that their minds rested through a little silence. "you see," he explained, "i didn't know what was happening to you. or what you were doing." "after asking your advice," she said. "exactly." "i don't know why i broke that window. except i think that i wanted to get away." "but why didn't you come to me?" "i didn't know where you were. and besides--i didn't somehow want to come to you." "but wasn't it wretched in prison? wasn't it miserably cold? i used to think of you of nights in some wretched ill-aired cell.... you...." "it _was_ cold," she admitted. "but it was very good for me. it was quiet. the first few days seemed endless; then they began to go by quickly. quite quickly at last. and i came to think. in the day there was a little stool where one sat. i used to sit on that and brood and try to think things out--all sorts of things i've never had the chance to think about before." "yes," said mr. brumley. "all this," she said. "and it has brought you back here!" he said, with something of the tone of one who has a right to enquire, with some flavour too of reproach. "you see," she said after a little pause, "during that time it was possible to come to understandings. neither i nor my husband had understood the other. in that interval it was possible--to explain. "yes. you see, mr. brumley, we--we both misunderstood. it was just because of that and because i had no one who seemed able to advise me that i turned to you. a novelist always seems so wise in these things. he seems to know so many lives. one can talk to you as one can scarcely talk to anyone; you are a sort of doctor--in these matters. and it was necessary--that my husband should realize that i had grown up and that i should have time to think just how one's duty and one's--freedom have to be fitted together.... and my husband is ill. he has been ill, rather short of breath--the doctor thinks it is asthma--for some time, and all the agitation of this business has upset him and made him worse. he is upstairs now--asleep. of course if i had thought i should make him ill i could never have done any of this. but it's done now and here i am, mr. brumley, back in my place. with all sorts of things changed. put right...." "i see," said mr. brumley stupidly. her speech was like the falling of an opaque curtain upon some romantic spectacle. she stood there, almost defensively behind her chair as she made it. there was a quality of premeditation in her words, yet something in her voice and bearing made him feel that she knew just how it covered up and extinguished his dreams and impulses. he heard her out and then suddenly his spirit rebelled against her decision. "no!" he cried. she waited for him to go on. "you see," he said, "i thought that it was just that you wanted to get away----that this life was intolerable----that you were----forgive me if i seem to be going beyond--going beyond what i ought to be thinking about you. only, why should i pretend? i care, i care for you tremendously. and it seemed to me that you didn't love your husband, that you were enslaved and miserable. i would have done anything to help you--anything in the world, lady harman. i know--it may sound ridiculous--there have been times when i would have faced death to feel you were happy and free. i thought all that, i felt all that,--and then--then you come back here. you seem not to have minded. as though i had misunderstood...." he paused and his face was alive with an unwonted sincerity. his self-consciousness had for a moment fallen from him. "i know," she said, "it _was_ like that. i knew you cared. that is why i have so wanted to talk to you. it looked like that...." she pressed her lips together in that old familiar hunt for words and phrases. "i didn't understand, mr. brumley, all there was in my husband or all there was in myself. i just saw his hardness and his--his hardness in business. it's become so different now. you see, i forgot he has bad health. he's ill; i suppose he was getting ill then. instead of explaining himself--he was--excited and--unwise. and now----" "now i suppose he has--explained," said mr. brumley slowly and with infinite distaste. "lady harman, _what_ has he explained?" "it isn't so much that he has explained, mr. brumley," said lady harman, "as that things have explained themselves." "but how, lady harman? how?" "i mean about my being a mere girl, almost a child when i married him. naturally he wanted to take charge of everything and leave nothing to me. and quite as naturally he didn't notice that now i am a woman, grown up altogether. and it's been necessary to do things. and naturally, mr. brumley, they shocked and upset him. but he sees now so clearly, he wrote to me, such a fair letter--an unusual letter--quite different from when he talks--it surprised me, telling me he wanted me to feel free, that he meant to make me--to arrange things that is, so that i should feel free and more able to go about as i pleased. it was a _generous_ letter, mr. brumley. generous about all sorts of affairs that there had been between us. he said things, quite kind things, not like the things he has ever said before----" she stopped short and then began again. "you know, mr. brumley, it's so hard to tell things without telling other things that somehow are difficult to tell. yet if i don't tell you them, you won't know them and then you won't be able to understand in the least how things are with us." her eyes appealed to him. "tell me," he said, "whatever you think fit." "when one has been afraid of anyone and felt they were ever so much stronger and cruel and hard than one is and one suddenly finds they aren't. it alters everything." he nodded, watching her. her voice fell nearly to a whisper. "mr. brumley," she said, "when i came back to him--you know he was in bed here--instead of scolding me--he _cried_. he cried like a vexed child. he put his face into the pillow--just misery.... i'd never seen him cry--at least only once--long ago...." mr. brumley looked at her flushed and tender face and it seemed to him that indeed he could die for her quite easily. "i saw how hard i had been," she said. "in prison i'd thought of that, i'd thought women mustn't be hard, whatever happens to them. and when i saw him like that i knew at once how true that was.... he begged me to be a good wife to him. no!--he just said, 'be a wife to me,' not even a good wife--and then he cried...." for a moment or so mr. brumley didn't respond. "i see," he said at last. "yes." "and there were the children--such helpless little things. in the prison i worried about them. i thought of things for them. i've come to feel--they are left too much to nurses and strangers.... and then you see he has agreed to nearly everything i had wanted. it wasn't only the personal things--i was anxious about those silly girls--the strikers. i didn't want them to be badly treated. it distressed me to think of them. i don't think you know how it distressed me. and he--he gave way upon all that. he says i may talk to him about the business, about the way we do our business--the kindness of it i mean. and this is why i am back here. where else _could_ i be?" "no," said mr. brumley still with the utmost reluctance. "i see. only----" he paused downcast and she waited for him to speak. "only it isn't what i expected, lady harman. i didn't think that matters could be settled by such arrangements. it's sane, i know, it's comfortable and kindly. but i thought--oh! i thought of different things, quite different things from all this. i thought of you who are so beautiful caught in a loveless passionless world. i thought of the things there might be for you, the beautiful and wonderful things of which you are deprived.... never mind what i thought! never mind! you've made your choice. but i thought that you didn't love, that you couldn't love--this man. it seemed to me that you felt too--that to live as you are doing--with him--was a profanity. something--i'd give everything i have, everything i am, to save you from. because--because i care.... i misunderstood you. i suppose you can--do what you are doing." he jumped to his feet as he spoke and walked three paces away and turned to utter his last sentences. she too stood up. "mr. brumley," she said weakly, "i don't understand. what do you mean? i have to do what i am doing. he--he is my husband." he made a gesture of impatience. "do you understand nothing of _love_?" he cried. she pressed her lips together and remained still and silent, dark against the casement window. there came a sound of tapping from the room above. three taps and again three taps. lady harman made a little gesture as though she would put this sound aside. "love," she said at last. "it comes to some people. it happens. it happens to young people.... but when one is married----" her voice fell almost to a whisper. "one must not think of it," she said. "one must think of one's husband and one's duty. life cannot begin again, mr. brumley." the taps were repeated, a little more urgently. "that is my husband," she said. she hesitated through a little pause. "mr. brumley," she said, "i want friendship so badly, i want some one to be my friend. i don't want to think of things--disturbing things--things i have lost--things that are spoilt. _that_--that which you spoke of; what has it to do with me?" she interrupted him as he was about to speak. "be my friend. don't talk to me of impossible things. love! mr. brumley, what has a married woman to do with love? i never think of it. i never read of it. i want to do my duty. i want to do my duty by him and by my children and by all the people i am bound to. i want to help people, weak people, people who suffer. i want to help him to help them. i want to stop being an idle, useless, spending woman...." she made a little gesture of appeal with her hands. "oh!" he sighed, and then, "you know if i can help you----rather than distress you----" her manner changed. it became confidential and urgent. "mr. brumley," she said, "i must go up to my husband. he will be impatient. and when i tell him you are here he will want to see you.... you will come up and see him?" mr. brumley sought to convey the struggle within him by his pose. "i will do what you wish, lady harman," he said, with an almost theatrical sigh. he closed the door after her and was alone in his former study once more. he walked slowly to his old writing-desk and sat down in his familiar seat. presently he heard her footfalls across the room above. mr. brumley's mind under the stress of the unfamiliar and the unexpected was now lapsing rapidly towards the theatrical. "my _god_!" said mr. brumley. he addressed that friendly memorable room in tones that mingled amazement and wrong. "he is her husband!" he said, and then: "the power of words!" ... §7 it seemed to mr. brumley's now entirely disordered mind that sir isaac, propped up with cushions upon a sofa in the upstairs sitting-room, white-faced, wary and very short of breath, was like proprietorship enthroned. everything about him referred deferentially to him. even his wife dropped at once into the position of a beautiful satellite. his illness, he assured his visitor with a thin-lipped emphasis, was "quite temporary, quite the sort of thing that might happen to anyone." he had had a queer little benumbing of one leg, "just a trifle of nerve fag did it," and the slight asthma that came and went in his life had taken advantage of his condition to come again with a little beyond its usual aggressiveness. "elly is going to take me off to marienbad next week or the week after," he said. "i shall have a cure and she'll have a treat, and we shall come back as fit as fiddles." the incidents of the past month were to be put on a facetious footing it appeared. "it's a mercy they didn't crop her hair," he said, apropos of nothing and with an air of dry humour. no further allusion was made to lady harman's incarceration. he was dressed in a lama wool bedroom suit and his resting leg was covered by a very splendid and beautiful fur rug. all euphemia's best and gayest cushions sustained his back. the furniture had been completely rearranged for his comfort and convenience. close to his hand was a little table with carefully selected remedies and aids and helps and stimulants, and the latest and best of the light fiction of the day was tossed about between the table, the couch and the floor. at the foot of the couch euphemia's bedroom writing-table had been placed, and over this there were scattered traces of the stenographer who had assisted him to wipe off the day's correspondence. three black cylinders and other appliances in the corner witnessed that his slight difficulty in breathing could be relieved by oxygen, and his eyes were regaled by a great abundance of london flowers at every available point in the room. of course there were grapes, fabulous looking grapes. everything conspired to give sir isaac and his ownership the centre of the picture. mr. brumley had been brought upstairs to him, and the tea table, with scarcely a reference to anyone else, was arranged by snagsby conveniently to his hand. and sir isaac himself had a confidence--the assurance of a man who has been shaken and has recovered. whatever tears he had ever shed had served their purpose and were forgotten. "elly" was his and the house was his and everything about him was his--he laid his hand upon her once when she came near him, his possessiveness was so gross--and the strained suspicion of his last meeting with mr. brumley was replaced now by a sage and wizened triumph over anticipated and arrested dangers. their party was joined by sir isaac's mother, and the sight of her sturdy, swarthy, and rather dignified presence flashed the thought into mr. brumley's mind that sir isaac's father must have been a very blond and very nosey person indeed. she was homely and practical and contributed very usefully to a conversation that remained a trifle fragmentary and faintly uncomfortable to the end. mr. brumley avoided as much as he could looking at lady harman, because he knew sir isaac was alert for that, but he was acutely aware of her presence dispensing the tea and moving about the room, being a good wife. it was his first impression of lady harman as a good wife and he disliked the spectacle extremely. the conversation hovered chiefly about marienbad, drifted away and came back again. mrs. harman made several confidences that provoked the betrayal of a strain of irritability in sir isaac's condition. "we're all looking forward to this marienbad expedition," she said. "i do hope it will turn out well. neither of them have ever been abroad before--and there's the difficulty of the languages." "ow," snarled sir isaac, with a glance at his mother that was almost vicious and a lapse into cockney intonations and phrases that witnessed how her presence recalled his youth, "it'll _go_ all right, mother. _you_ needn't fret." "of course they'll have a courier to see to their things, and go train de luxe and all that," mrs. harman explained with a certain gusto. "but still it's an adventure, with him not well, and both as i say more like children than grown-up people." sir isaac intervened with a crushing clumsiness to divert this strain of explanation, with questions about the quality of the soil in the wood where the ground was to be cleared and levelled for his tennis lawns. mr. brumley did his best to behave as a man of the world should. he made intelligent replies about the sand, he threw out obvious but serviceable advice upon travel upon the continent of europe, and he tried not to think that this was the way of living into which the sweetest, tenderest, most beautiful woman in the world had been trapped. he avoided looking at her until he felt it was becoming conspicuous, a negative stare. why had she come back again? fragmentary phrases she had used downstairs came drifting through his mind. "i never think of it. i never read of it." and she so made for beautiful love and a beautiful life! he recalled lady beach-mandarin's absurdly apt, absurdly inept, "like godiva," and was suddenly impelled to raise the question of those strikers. "your trouble with your waitresses is over, sir isaac?" sir isaac finished a cup of tea audibly and glanced at his wife. "i never meant to be hard on them," he said, putting down his cup. "never. the trouble blew up suddenly. one can't be all over a big business everywhere all at once, more particularly if one is worried about other things. as soon as i had time to look into it i put things right. there was misunderstandings on both sides." he glanced up again at lady harman. (she was standing behind mr. brumley so that he could not see her but--did their eyes meet?) "as soon as we are back from marienbad," sir isaac volunteered, "lady harman and i are going into all that business thoroughly." mr. brumley concealed his intense aversion for this association under a tone of intelligent interest. "into--i don't quite understand--what business?" "women employees in london--hostels--all that kind of thing. bit more sensible than suffragetting, eh, elly?" "very interesting," said mr. brumley with a hollow cordiality, "very." "done on business lines, mind you," said sir isaac, looking suddenly very sharp and keen, "done on proper business lines, there's no end of a change possible. and it's a perfectly legitimate outgrowth from such popular catering as ours. it interests me." he made a little whistling noise with his teeth at the end of this speech. "i didn't know lady harman was disposed to take up such things," he said. "or i'd have gone into them before." "he's going into them now," said mrs. harman, "heart and soul. why! we have to take his temperature over it, to see he doesn't work himself up into a fever." her manner became reasonable and confidential. she spoke to mr. brumley as if her son was slightly deaf. "it's better than his fretting," she said.... §8 mr. brumley returned to london in a state of extreme mental and emotional unrest. the sight of lady harman had restored all his passion for her, the all too manifest fact that she was receding beyond his reach stirred him with unavailing impulses towards some impossible extremity of effort. she had filled his mind so much that he could not endure the thought of living without hope of her. but what hope was there of her? and he was jealous, detestably jealous, so jealous that in that direction he did not dare to let his mind go. he sawed at the bit and brought it back, or he would have had to writhe about the carriage. his thoughts ran furiously all over the place to avoid that pit. and now he found himself flashing at moments into wild and hopeless rebellion against the institution of marriage, of which he had hitherto sought always to be the dignified and smiling champion against the innovator, the over-critical and the young. he had never rebelled before. he was so astonished at the violence of his own objection that he lapsed from defiance to an incredulous examination of his own novel attitude. "it's not _true_ marriage i object to," he told himself. "it's this marriage like a rat trap, alluring and scarcely unavoidable, so that in we all go, and then with no escape--unless you tear yourself to rags. no escape...." it came to him that there was at least one way out for lady harman: _sir isaac might die!_ ... he pulled himself up presently, astonished and dismayed at the activities of his own imagination. among other things he had wondered if by any chance lady harman had ever allowed her mind to travel in this same post-mortem direction. at times surely the thing must have shone upon her as a possibility, a hope. from that he had branched off to a more general speculation. how many people were there in the world, nice people, kind people, moral and delicate-minded people, to whom the death of another person means release from that inflexible barrier--possibilities of secretly desired happiness, the realization of crushed and forbidden dreams? he had a vision of human society, like the vision of a night landscape seen suddenly in a lightning flash, as of people caught by couples in traps and quietly hoping for one another's deaths. "good heavens!" said mr. brumley, "what are we coming to," and got up in his railway compartment--he had it to himself--and walked up and down its narrow limits until a jolt over a point made him suddenly sit down again. "most marriages are happy," said mr. brumley, like a man who has fallen into a river and scrambles back to safety. "one mustn't judge by the exceptional cases.... "though of course there are--a good many--exceptional cases." ... he folded his arms, crossed his legs, frowned and reasoned with himself,--resolved to dismiss post-mortem speculations--absolutely. he was not going to quarrel with the institution of marriage. that was going too far. he had never been able to see the beginnings of reason in sexual anarchy, never. it is against the very order of things. man is a marrying animal just as much as he was a fire-making animal; he goes in pairs like mantel ornaments; it is as natural for him to marry and to exact and keep good faith--if need be with a savage jealousy, as it is for him to have lobes to his ears and hair under his armpits. these things jar with the dream perhaps; the gods on painted ceilings have no such ties, acting beautifully by their very nature; and here on the floor of the world one had them and one had to make the best of them.... are we making the best of them? mr. brumley was off again. that last thought opened the way to speculative wildernesses, and into these mr. brumley went wandering with a novel desperate enterprise to find a kind of marriage that would suit him. he began to reform the marriage laws. he did his utmost not to think especially of lady harman and himself while he was doing so. he would just take up the whole question and deal with it in a temperate reasonable way. it was so necessary to be reasonable and temperate in these questions--and not to think of death as a solution. marriages to begin with were too easy to make and too difficult to break; countless girls--lady harman was only a type--were married long before they could know the beginnings of their own minds. we wanted to delay marriage--until the middle twenties, say. why not? or if by the infirmities of humanity one must have marriage before then, there ought to be some especial opportunity of rescinding it later. (lady harman ought to have been able to rescind her marriage.) what ought to be the marriageable age in a civilized community? when the mind was settled into its general system of opinions mr. brumley thought, and then lapsed into a speculation whether the mind didn't keep changing and developing all through life; lady harman's was certainly still doing so.... this pointed to logical consequences of an undesirable sort.... (some little mind-slide occurred just at this point and he found himself thinking that perhaps sir isaac might last for years and years, might even outlive a wife exhausted by nursing. and anyhow to wait for death! to leave the thing one loved in the embrace of the moribund!) he wrenched his thoughts back as quickly as possible to a disinterested reform of the marriage laws. what had he decided so far? only for more deliberation and a riper age in marrying. surely that should appeal even to the most orthodox. but that alone would not eliminate mistakes and deceptions altogether. (sir isaac's skin had a peculiar, unhealthy look.) there ought in addition to be the widest facilities for divorce possible. mr. brumley tried to draw up a schedule in his head of the grounds for divorce that a really civilized community would entertain. but there are practical difficulties. marriage is not simply a sexual union, it is an economic one of a peculiarly inseparable sort,--and there are the children. and jealousy! of course so far as economics went, a kind of marriage settlement might meet most of the difficulties, and as for the children, mr. brumley was no longer in that mood of enthusiastic devotion to children that had made the birth of george edmund so tremendous an event. children, alone, afforded no reason for indissoluble lifelong union. face the thing frankly. how long was it absolutely necessary for people to keep a home together for their children? the prosperous classes, the best classes in the community, packed the little creatures off to school at the age of nine or ten. one might overdo--we were overdoing in our writing nowadays this--philoprogenitive enthusiasm.... he found himself thinking of george meredith's idea of ten year marriages.... his mind recoiled to sir isaac's pillowed-up possession. what flimsy stuff all this talk of altered marriage was! these things did not even touch the essentials of the matter. he thought of sir isaac's thin lips and wary knowing eyes. what possible divorce law could the wit of man devise that would release a desired woman from that--grip? marriage was covetousness made law. as well ask such a man to sell all his goods and give to the poor as expect the sir isaacs of this world to relax the matrimonial subjugation of the wife. our social order is built on jealousy, sustained by jealousy, and those brave schemes we evolve in our studies for the release of women from ownership,--and for that matter for the release of men too,--they will not stand the dusty heat of the market-place for a moment, they wilt under the first fierce breath of reality. marriage and property are the twin children of man's individualistic nature; only on these terms can he be drawn into societies.... mr. brumley found his little scheme for novelties in marriage and divorce lying dead and for the most part still-born in his mind; himself in despair. to set to work to alter marriage in any essential point was, he realized, as if an ant should start to climb a thousand feet of cliff. this great institution rose upon his imagination like some insurmountable sierra, blue and sombre, between himself and the life of lady harman and all that he desired. there might be a certain amount of tinkering with matrimonial law in the next few years, of petty tinkering that would abolish a few pretences and give ease to a few amiable people, but if he were to come back to life a thousand years hence he felt he would still find the ancient gigantic barrier, crossed perhaps by a dangerous road, pierced perhaps by a narrow tunnel or so, but in all its great essentials the same, between himself and lady harman. it wasn't that it was rational, it wasn't that it was justifiable, but it was one with the blood in one's veins and the rain-cloud in the sky, a necessity in the nature of present things. before mankind emerged from the valley of these restraints--if ever they did emerge--thousands of generations must follow one another, there must be tens of thousands of years of struggle and thought and trial, in the teeth of prevalent habit and opinion--and primordial instincts. a new humanity.... his heart sank to hopelessness. meanwhile? meanwhile we had to live our lives. he began to see a certain justification for the hidden cults that run beneath the fair appearances of life, those social secrecies by which people--how could one put it?--people who do not agree with established institutions, people, at any rate not merely egoistic and jealous as the crowd is egoistic and jealous, hide and help one another to mitigate the inflexible austerities of the great unreason. yes, mr. brumley had got to a phrase of that quality for the undiscriminating imperatives of the fundamental social institution. you see how a particular situation may undermine the assumptions of a mind originally devoted to uncritical acceptances. he still insisted it was a necessary great unreason, absolutely necessary--for the mass of people, a part of them, a natural expression of them, but he could imagine the possibility--of 'understandings.' ... mr. brumley was very vague about those understandings, those mysteries of the exalted that were to filch happiness from the destroying grasp of the crude and jealous. he had to be vague. for secret and noble are ideas like oil and water; you may fling them together with all the force of your will but in a little while they will separate again. for a time this dream of an impossible secrecy was uppermost in mr. brumley's meditations. it came into his head with the effect of a discovery that always among the unclimbable barriers of this supreme institution there had been,--caves. he had been reading anatole france recently and the lady of _le lys rouge_ came into his thoughts. there was something in common between lady harman and the countess martin, they were tall and dark and dignified, and lady harman was one of those rare women who could have carried the magnificent name of thérèse. and there in the setting of paris and florence was a whole microcosm of love, real but illicit, carried out as it were secretly and tactfully, beneath the great shadow of the cliff. but he found it difficult to imagine lady harman in that. or sir isaac playing count martin's part.... how different were those frenchwomen, with their afternoons vacant except for love, their detachment, their lovers, those secret, convenient, romantically furnished flats, that compact explicit business of _l'amour_! he had indeed some moments of regret that lady harman wouldn't go into that picture. she was different--if only in her simplicity. there was something about these others that put them whole worlds apart from her, who was held so tethered from all furtive adventure by her filmy tentacles of responsibility, her ties and strands of relationship, her essential delicacy. that momentary vision of ellen as the countess martin broke up into absurdities directly he looked at it fully and steadfastly. from thinking of the two women as similar types he passed into thinking of them as opposites; thérèse, hard, clear, sensuous, secretive, trained by a brilliant tradition in the technique of connubial betrayal, was the very antithesis of ellen's vague but invincible veracity and openness. not for nothing had anatole france made his heroine the daughter of a grasping financial adventurer.... of course the cave is a part of the mountain.... his mind drifted away to still more general speculations, and always he was trying not to see the figure of sir isaac, grimly and yet meanly resolute--in possession. always too like some open-mouthed yokel at a fair who knows nothing of the insult chalked upon his back, he disregarded how he himself coveted and desired and would if he could have gripped. he forgot his own watchful attention to euphemia in the past, nor did he think what he might have been if lady harman had been his wife. it needed the chill veracities of the small hours to bring him to that. he thought now of crude egotism as having sir isaac's hands and sir isaac's eyes and sir isaac's position. he forgot any egotism he himself was betraying. all the paths of enlightenment he thought of, led to lady harman. §9 that evening george edmund, who had come home with his mind aglitter with cinematograph impressions, found his father a patient but inattentive listener. for indeed mr. brumley was not listening at all; he was thinking and thinking. he made noises like "ah!" and "um," at george edmund and patted the boy's shoulder kindly and repeated words unintelligently, such as, "red indians, eh!" or "came out of the water backwards! my eye!" sometimes he made what george edmund regarded as quite footling comments. still george edmund had to tell someone and there was no one else to tell. so george edmund went on talking and mr. brumley went on thinking. §10 mr brumley could not sleep at all until it was nearly five. his intelligence seemed to be making up at last for years of speculative restraint. in a world for the most part given up to slumber mr. brumley may be imagined as clambering hand over fist in the silences, feverishly and wonderfully overtaking his age. in the morning he got up pallid and he shaved badly, but he was a generation ahead of his own euphemia series, and the school of charm and quiet humour and of letting things slide with a kind of elegant donnishness, had lost him for ever.... and among all sorts of things that had come to him in that vast gulf of nocturnal thinking was some vivid self-examination. at last he got to that. he had been dragged down to very elemental things indeed by the manifest completeness of lady harman's return to her husband. he had had at last to look at himself starkly for the male he was, to go beneath the gentlemanly airs, the refined and elegant virilities of his habitual poses. either this thing was unendurable--there were certainly moments when it came near to being unendurable--or it was not. on the whole and excepting mere momentary paroxysms it was not, and so he had to recognize and he did recognize with the greatest amazement that there could be something else besides sexual attraction and manoeuvring and possession between a beautiful woman and a man like himself. he loved lady harman, he loved her, he now began to realize just how much, and she could defeat him and reject him as a conceivable lover, turn that aside as a thing impossible, shame him as the romantic school would count shame and still command him with her confident eyes and her friendly extended hands. he admitted he suffered, let us rather say he claimed to suffer the heated torments of a passionate nature, but he perceived like fresh air and sunrise coming by blind updrawn and opened window into a foetid chamber, that also he loved her with a clean and bodiless love, was anxious to help her, was anxious now--it was a new thing--to understand her, to reassure her, to give unrequited what once he had sought rather to seem to give in view of an imagined exchange. he perceived too in these still hours how little he had understood her hitherto. he had been blinded,--obsessed. he had been seeing her and himself and the whole world far too much as a display of the eternal dualism of sex, the incessant pursuit. now with his sexual imaginings newly humbled and hopeless, with a realization of her own tremendous minimization of that fundamental of romance, he began to see all that there was in her personality and their possible relations outside that. he saw how gravely and deeply serious was her fine philanthropy, how honest and simple and impersonal her desire for knowledge and understandings. there is the brain of her at least, he thought, far out of sir isaac's reach. she wasn't abased by her surrenders, their simplicity exalted her, showed her innocent and himself a flushed and congested soul. he perceived now with the astonishment of a man newly awakened just how the great obsession of sex had dominated him--for how many years? since his early undergraduate days. had he anything to put beside her own fine detachment? had he ever since his manhood touched philosophy, touched a social question, thought of anything human, thought of art, or literature or belief, without a glancing reference of the whole question to the uses of this eternal hunt? during that time had he ever talked to a girl or woman with an unembarrassed sincerity? he stripped his pretences bare; the answer was no. his very refinements had been no more than indicative fig-leaves. his conservatism and morality had been a mere dalliance with interests that too brutal a simplicity might have exhausted prematurely. and indeed hadn't the whole period of literature that had produced him been, in its straining purity and refinement, as it were one glowing, one illuminated fig-leaf, a vast conspiracy to keep certain matters always in mind by conspicuously covering them away? but this wonderful woman--it seemed--she hadn't them in mind! she shamed him if only by her trustful unsuspiciousness of the ancient selfish game of him and her that he had been so ardently playing.... he idealized and worshipped this clean blindness. he abased himself before it. "no," cried mr. brumley suddenly in the silence of the night, "i will rise again. i will rise again by love out of these morasses.... she shall be my goddess and by virtue of her i will end this incessant irrational craving for women.... i will be her friend and her faithful friend." he lay still for a time and then he said in a whisper very humbly: "_god help me_." he set himself in those still hours which are so endless and so profitable to men in their middle years, to think how he might make himself the perfect lover instead of a mere plotter for desire, and how he might purge himself from covetousness and possessiveness and learn to serve. and if very speedily his initial sincerity was tinged again with egotism and if he drowsed at last into a portrait of himself as beautifully and admirably self-sacrificial, you must not sneer too readily at him, for so god has made the soul of mr. brumley and otherwise it could not do. chapter the tenth lady harman comes out §1 the treaty between lady harman and her husband which was to be her great charter, the constitutional basis of her freedoms throughout the rest of her married life, had many practical defects. the chief of these was that it was largely undocumented; it had been made piecemeal, in various ways, at different times and for the most part indirectly through diverse intermediaries. charterson had introduced large vaguenesses by simply displaying more of his teeth at crucial moments, mrs. harman had conveyed things by hugging and weeping that were afterwards discovered to be indistinct; sir isaac writing from a bed of sickness had frequently been totally illegible. one cannot therefore detail the clauses of this agreement or give its provisions with any great precision; one can simply intimate the kind of understanding that had had an air of being arrived at. the working interpretations were still to come. before anything else it was manifestly conceded by lady harman that she would not run away again, and still more manifest that she undertook to break no more windows or do anything that might lead to a second police court scandal. and she was to be a true and faithful wife and comfort, as a wife should be, to sir isaac. in return for that consideration and to ensure its continuance sir isaac came great distances from his former assumption of a matrimonial absolutism. she was to be granted all sorts of small autonomies,--the word autonomy was carefully avoided throughout but its spirit was omnipresent. she was in particular to have a banking account for her dress and personal expenditure into which sir isaac would cause to be paid a hundred pounds monthly and it was to be private to herself alone until he chose to go through the cashed cheques and counterfoils. she was to be free to come and go as she saw fit, subject to a punctual appearance at meals, the comfort and dignity of sir isaac and such specific engagements as she might make with him. she might have her own friends, but there the contract became a little misty; a time was to come when sir isaac was to betray a conviction that the only proper friends that a woman can have are women. there were also non-corroborated assurances as to the privacy of her correspondence. the second rolls-royce car was to be entirely at her service, and clarence was to be immediately supplemented by a new and more deferential man, and as soon as possible assisted to another situation and replaced. she was to have a voice in the further furnishing of black strand and in the arrangement of its garden. she was to read what she chose and think what she liked within her head without too minute or suspicious an examination by sir isaac, and short of flat contradiction at his own table she was to be free to express her own opinions in any manner becoming a lady. but more particularly if she found her ideas infringing upon the management or influence of the international bread and cake stores, she was to convey her objections and ideas in the first instance privately and confidentially to sir isaac. upon this point he displayed a remarkable and creditable sensitiveness. his pride in that organization was if possible greater than his original pride in his wife, and probably nothing in all the jarring of their relationship had hurt him more than her accessibility to hostile criticism and the dinner-table conversation with charterson and blenker that had betrayed this fact. he began to talk about it directly she returned to him. his protestations and explanations were copious and heart-felt. it was perhaps the chief discovery made by lady harman at this period of reconstruction that her husband's business side was not to be explained completely as a highly energetic and elaborate avarice. he was no doubt acquisitive and retentive and mean-spirited, but these were merely the ugly aspects of a disposition that involved many other factors. he was also incurably a schemer. he liked to fit things together, to dove-tail arrangements, to devise economies, to spread ingeniously into new fields, he had a love of organization and contrivance as disinterested as an artist's love for the possibilities of his medium. he would rather have made a profit of ten per cent. out of a subtly planned shop than thirty by an unforeseen accident. he wouldn't have cheated to get money for the world. he knew he was better at figuring out expenditures and receipts than most people and he was as touchy about his reputation for this kind of cleverness as any poet or painter for his fame. now that he had awakened to the idea that his wife was capable of looking into and possibly even understanding his business, he was passionately anxious to show her just how wonderfully he had done it all, and when he perceived she was in her large, unskilled, helpless way, intensely concerned for all the vast multitude of incompetent or partially competent young women who floundered about in badly paid employment in our great cities, he grasped at once at the opportunity of recovering her lost interest and respect by doing some brilliant feats of contrivance in that direction. why shouldn't he? he had long observed with a certain envy the admirable advertisement such firms as lever and cadbury and burroughs & wellcome gained from their ostentatiously able and generous treatment of their workpeople, and it seemed to him conceivable that in the end it might not be at all detrimental to his prosperity to put his hand to this long neglected piece of social work. the babs wheeler business had been a real injury in every way to the international bread and cake stores and even if he didn't ultimately go to all the lengths his wife seemed to contemplate, he was resolved at any rate that an affair of that kind should not occur again. the expedition to marienbad took with it a secretary who was also a stenographer. a particularly smart young inspector and graper, the staff manager, had brisk four-day holidays once or twice for consultation purposes; sir isaac's rabbit-like architect was in attendance for a week and the harmans returned to putney with the first vivid greens of late march,--for the putney hill house was to be reopened and black strand reserved now for week-end and summer use--with plans already drawn out for four residential hostels in london primarily for the girl waitresses of the international stores who might have no homes or homes at an inconvenient distance, and, secondarily, if any vacant accommodation remained over, for any other employed young women of the same class.... §2 lady harman came back to england from the pine-woods and bright order and regimen and foreign novelty of their bohemian kur-ort, in a state of renewed perplexity. already that undocumented magna charta was manifestly not working upon the lines she had anticipated. the glosses sir isaac put upon it were extensive and remarkable and invariably in the direction of restricting her liberties and resuming controls she had supposed abandoned. marienbad had done wonders for him; his slight limp had disappeared, his nervous energy was all restored; except for a certain increase in his natural irritability and occasional panting fits, he seemed as well as he had ever been. at the end of their time at the kur he was even going for walks. once he went halfway up the podhorn on foot. and with every increment in his strength his aggressiveness increased, his recognition of her new freedoms was less cordial and her sense of contrition and responsibility diminished. moreover, as the scheme of those hostels, which had played so large a part in her conception of their reconciliation, grew more and more definite, she perceived more and more that it was not certainly that fine and humanizing thing she had presumed it would be. she began to feel more and more that it might be merely an extension of harman methods to cheap boarding-houses for young people. but faced with a mass of detailed concrete projects and invited to suggest modifications she was able to realize for the first time how vague, how ignorant and incompetent her wishes had been, how much she had to understand and how much she had to discover before she could meet sir isaac with his "i'm doing it all for you, elly. if you don't like it, you tell me what you don't like and i'll alter it. but just vague doubting! one can't do anything with vague doubting." she felt that once back in england out of this picturesque toylike german world she would be able to grasp realities again and deal with these things. she wanted advice, she wanted to hear what people said of her ideas. she would also, she imagined, begin to avail herself of those conceded liberties which their isolation together abroad and her husband's constant need of her presence had so far prevented her from tasting. she had an idea that susan burnet might prove suggestive about the hostels. and moreover, if now and then she could have a good talk with someone understanding and intelligent, someone she could trust, someone who cared enough for her to think with her and for her.... §3 we have traced thus far the emergence of lady harman from that state of dutiful subjection and social irresponsibility which was the lot of woman in the past to that limited, ill-defined and quite unsecured freedom which is her present condition. and now we have to give an outline of the ideas of herself and her uses and what she had to do, which were forming themselves in her mind. she had made a determination of herself, which carried her along the lines of her natural predisposition, to duty, to service. there she displayed that acceptance of responsibility which is so much more often a feminine than a masculine habit of thinking. but she brought to the achievement of this determination a discriminating integrity of mind that is more frequently masculine than feminine. she wanted to know clearly what she was undertaking and how far its consequences would reach and how it was related to other things. her confused reading during the last few years and her own observation and such leakages of fact into her life as the talk of susan burnet, had all contributed to her realization that the world was full of needless discomfort and hardships and failure, due to great imperfectly apprehended injustices and maladjustments in the social system, and recently it had been borne in upon her, upon the barbed point of the _london lion_ and the quick tongue of susan, that if any particular class of people was more answerable than any other for these evils, it was the people of leisure and freedom like herself, who had time to think, and the directing organizing people like her husband, who had power to change. she was called upon to do something, at times the call became urgent, and she could not feel any assurance which it was of the many vague and conflicting suggestions that came drifting to her that she had to do. her idea of hostels for the international waitresses had been wrung out of her prematurely during her earlier discussions with her husband. she did not feel that it was anything more than a partial remedy for a special evil. she wanted something more general than that, something comprehensive enough to answer completely so wide a question as "what ought i to be doing with all my life?" in the honest simplicity of her nature she wanted to find an answer to that. out of the confusion of voices about us she hoped to be able to disentangle directions for her life. already she had been reading voraciously: while she was still at marienbad she had written to mr. brumley and he had sent her books and papers, advanced and radical in many cases, that she might know, "what are people thinking?" many phrases from her earlier discussions with sir isaac stuck in her mind in a curiously stimulating way and came back to her as she read. she recalled him, for instance, with his face white and his eyes red and his flat hand sawing at her, saying: "i dessay i'm all wrong, i dessay i don't know anything about anything and all those chaps you read, bernud shaw, and gosworthy, and all the rest of them are wonderfully clever; but you tell me, elly, what they say we've got to do! you tell me that. you go and ask some of those chaps just what they want a man like me to do.... they'll ask me to endow a theatre or run a club for novelists or advertise the lot of them in the windows of my international stores or something. and that's about all it comes to. you go and see if i'm not right. they grumble and they grumble; i don't say there's not a lot to grumble at, but give me something they'll back themselves for all they're worth as good to get done.... that's where i don't agree with all these idees. they're wind, elly, weak wind at that." it is distressing to record how difficult it was for lady harman to form even the beginnings of a disproof of that. her life through all this second phase of mitigated autonomy was an intermittent pilgrimage in search of that disproof. she could not believe that things as they were, this mass of hardships, cruelties, insufficiencies and heartburnings were the ultimate wisdom and possibility of human life, yet when she went from them to the projects that would replace or change them she seemed to pass from things of overwhelming solidity to matters more thin and flimsy than the twittering of sparrows on the gutter. so soon as she returned to london she started upon her search for a solution; she supplemented mr. brumley's hunt for books with her own efforts, she went to meetings--sometimes sir isaac took her, once or twice she was escorted by mr. brumley, and presently her grave interest and her personal charm had gathered about her a circle of companionable friends. she tried to talk to people and made great efforts to hear people who seemed authoritative and wise and leaderlike, talking. there were many interruptions to this research, but she persevered. quite early she had an illness that ended in a miscarriage, an accident for which she was by no means inconsolable, and before she had completely recovered from that sir isaac fell ill again, the first of a series of relapses that necessitated further foreign travel--always in elaborately comfortable trains with maid, courier, valet, and secretary, to some warm and indolent southward place. and few people knew how uncertain her liberties were. sir isaac was the victim of an increasing irritability, at times he had irrational outbursts of distrust that would culminate in passionate outbreaks and scenes that were truncated by an almost suffocating breathlessness. on several occasions he was on the verge of quarrelling violently with her visitors, and he would suddenly oblige her to break engagements, pour abuse upon her and bring matters back to the very verge of her first revolt. and then he would break her down by pitiful appeals. the cylinders of oxygen would be resorted to, and he would emerge from the crisis, rather rueful, tamed and quiet for the time. he was her chief disturbance. her children were healthy children and fell in with the routines of governess and tutor that their wealth provided. she saw them often, she noted their increasing resemblance to their father, she did her best to soften the natural secretiveness and aggressiveness of their manners, she watched their teachers and intervened whenever the influences about them seemed to her to need intervention, she dressed them and gave them presents and tried to believe she loved them, and as sir isaac's illness increased she took a larger and larger share in the direction of the household.... through all these occupations and interruptions and immediacies she went trying to comprehend and at times almost believing she comprehended life, and then the whole spectacle of this modern world of which she was a part would seem to break up again into a multitude of warring and discordant fragments having no conceivable common aim or solution. those moments of unifying faith and confidence, that glowed so bravely and never endured, were at once tantalizing and sustaining. she could never believe but that ultimately she would not grasp and hold--something.... many people met her and liked her and sought to know more of her; lady beach-mandarin and lady viping were happy to be her social sponsors, the blenkers and the chartersons met her out and woke up cautiously to this new possibility; her emergence was rapid in spite of the various delays and interruptions i have mentioned and she was soon in a position to realize just how little one meets when one meets a number of people and how little one hears when one has much conversation. her mind was presently crowded with confused impressions of pleasant men evading her agreeably and making out of her gravities an opportunity for bright sayings, and of women being vaguely solemn and quite indefinite. she went into the circle of movements, was tried over by mrs. hubert plessington, she questioned this and that promoter of constructive schemes, and instead of mental meat she was asked to come upon committees and sounded for subscriptions. on several occasions, escorted by mr. brumley--some instinct made her conceal or minimize his share in these expeditions to her husband--she went as inconspicuously as possible to the backs of public meetings in which she understood great questions were being discussed or great changes inaugurated. some public figures she even followed up for a time, distrusting her first impressions. she became familiar with the manners and bearing of our platform class, with the solemn dummy-like chairman or chairwoman, saying a few words, the alert secretary or organizer, the prominent figures sitting with an air of grave responsibility, generously acting an intelligent attention to others until the moment came for them themselves to deliver. then with an ill-concealed relief some would come to the footlights, some leap up in their places with a tenoring eagerness, some would be facetious and some speak with neuralgic effort, some were impertinent, some propitiatory, some dull, but all were--disappointing, disappointing. god was not in any of them. a platform is no setting for the shy processes of an honest human mind,--we are all strained to artificiality in the excessive glare of attention that beats upon us there. one does not exhibit opinions at a meeting, one acts them, the very truth must rouge its cheeks and blacken its eyebrows to tell, and to lady harman it was the acting chiefly and the make-up that was visible. they didn't grip her, they didn't lift her, they failed to convince her even of their own belief in what they supported. §4 but occasionally among the multitude of conversations that gave her nothing, there would come some talk that illuminated and for the time almost reconciled her to the effort and the loss of time and distraction her social expeditions involved. one evening at one of lady tarvrille's carelessly compiled parties she encountered edgar wilkins the novelist and got the most suggestive glimpses of his attitude towards himself and towards the world of intellectual ferment to which he belonged. she had been taken down by an amiable but entirely uninteresting permanent official who when the time came turned his stereotyped talk over to the other side of him with a quiet mechanical indifference, and she was left for a little while in silence until wilkins had disengaged himself. he was a flushed man with untidy hair, and he opened at once with an appeal to her sympathies. "oh! bother!" he said. "i say,--i've eaten that mutton. i didn't notice. one eats too much at these affairs. one doesn't notice at the time and then afterwards one finds out." she was a little surprised at his gambit and could think of nothing but a kindly murmur. "detestable thing," he said; "my body." "but surely not," she tried and felt as she said it that was a trifle bold. "you're all right," he said making her aware he saw her. "but i've this thing that wheezes and fattens at the slightest excuse and--it encumbers me--bothers me to take exercise.... but i can hardly expect you to be interested in my troubles, can i?" he made an all too manifest attempt to read her name on the slip of card that lay before her among the flowers and as manifestly succeeded. "we people who write and paint and all that sort of thing are a breed of insatiable egotists, lady harman. with the least excuse. don't you think so?" "not--not exceptionally," she said. "exceptionally," he insisted. "it isn't my impression," she said. "you're--franker." "but someone was telling me--you've been taking impressions of us lately. i mean all of us people who go flapping ideas about in the air. somebody--was it lady beach-mandarin?--was saying you'd come out looking for intellectual heroes--and found bernard shaw.... but what could you have expected?" "i've been trying to find out and understand what people are thinking. i want ideas." "it's disheartening, isn't it?" "it's--perplexing sometimes." "you go to meetings, and try to get to the bottom of movements, and you want to meet and know the people who write the wonderful things? get at the wonderful core of it?" "one feels there are things going on." "great illuminating things." "well--yes." "and when you see those great thinkers and teachers and guides and brave spirits and high brows generally----" he laughed and stopped just in time on the very verge of taking pheasant. "oh, take it away," he cried sharply. "we've all been through that illusion, lady harman," he went on. "but i don't like to think----aren't great men after all--great?" "in their ways, in their places--yes. but not if you go up to them and look at them. not at the dinner table, not in their beds.... what a time of disillusionment you must have had! "you see, lady harman," he said, leaning back from his empty plate, inclining himself confidentially to her ear and speaking in a privy tone; "it's in the very nature of things that we--if i may put myself into the list--we ideologists, should be rather exceptionally loose and untrustworthy and disappointing men. rotters--to speak plain contemporary english. if you come to think of it, it has to be so." "but----" she protested. he met her eye firmly. "it has to be." "why?" "the very qualities that make literature entertaining, vigorous, inspiring, revealing, wonderful, beautiful and--all that sort of thing, make its producers--if you will forgive the word again--rotters." she smiled and lifted her eyebrows protestingly. "sensitive nervous tissue," he said with a finger up to emphasize his words. "quick responsiveness to stimulus, a vivid, almost uncontrollable, expressiveness; that's what you want in your literary man." "yes," said lady harman following cautiously. "yes, i suppose it is." "can you suppose for a moment that these things conduce to self-control, to reserve, to consistency, to any of the qualities of a trustworthy man?... of course you can't. and so we _aren't_ trustworthy, we _aren't_ consistent. our virtues are our vices.... _my_ life," said mr. wilkins still more confidentially, "won't bear examination. but that's by the way. it need not concern us now." "but mr. brumley?" she asked on the spur of the moment. "i'm not talking of him," said wilkins with careless cruelty. "he's restrained. i mean the really imaginative people, the people with vision, the people who let themselves go. you see now why they are rotten, why they must be rotten. (no! no! take it away. i'm talking.) i feel so strongly about this, about the natural and necessary disreputableness of everybody who produces reputable writing--and for the matter of that, art generally--that i set my face steadily against all these attempts that keep on cropping up to make figures of us. we aren't figures, lady harman; it isn't our line. of all the detestable aspects of the victorian period surely that disposition to make figures of its artists and literary men was the most detestable. respectable figures--examples to the young. the suppressions, the coverings up that had to go on, the white-washing of dickens,--who was more than a bit of a rip, you know, the concealment of thackeray's mistresses. did you know he had mistresses? oh rather! and so on. it's like that bust of jove--or bacchus was it?--they pass off as plato, who probably looked like any other literary grub. that's why i won't have anything to do with these academic developments that my friend brumley--do you know him by the way?--goes in for. he's the third man down----you _do_ know him. and he's giving up the academic committee, is he? i'm glad he's seen it at last. what _is_ the good of trying to have an academy and all that, and put us in uniform and make out we are somebodies, and respectable enough to be shaken hands with by george and mary, when as a matter of fact we are, by our very nature, a collection of miscellaneous scandals----we _must_ be. bacon, shakespear, byron, shelley--all the stars.... no, johnson wasn't a star, he was a character by boswell.... oh! great things come out of us, no doubt, our arts are the vehicles of wonder and hope, the world is dead without these things we produce, but that's no reason why--why the mushroom-bed should follow the mushrooms into the soup, is it? perfectly fair image. (no, take it away.)" he paused and then jumped in again as she was on the point of speaking. "and you see even if our temperaments didn't lead inevitably to our--dipping rather, we should still have to--_dip_. asking a writer or a poet to be seemly and academic and so on, is like asking an eminent surgeon to be stringently decent. it's--you see, it's incompatible. now a king or a butler or a family solicitor--if you like." he paused again. lady harman had been following him with an attentive reluctance. "but what are we to do," she asked, "we people who are puzzled by life, who want guidance and ideas and--help, if--if all the people we look to for ideas are----" "bad characters." "well,--it's your theory, you know--bad characters?" wilkins answered with the air of one who carefully disentangles a complex but quite solvable problem. "it doesn't follow," he said, "that because a man is a bad character he's not to be trusted in matters where character--as we commonly use the word--doesn't come in. these sensitives, these--would you mind if i were to call myself an æolian harp?--these æolian harps; they can't help responding to the winds of heaven. well,--listen to them. don't follow them, don't worship them, don't even honour them, but listen to them. don't let anyone stop them from saying and painting and writing and singing what they want to. freedom, canvas and attention, those are the proper honours for the artist, the poet and the philosopher. listen to the noise they make, watch the stuff they produce, and presently you will find certain things among the multitude of things that are said and shown and put out and published, something--light in _your_ darkness--a writer for you, something for you. nobody can have a greater contempt for artists and writers and poets and philosophers than i, oh! a squalid crew they are, mean, jealous, pugnacious, disgraceful in love, _disgraceful_--but out of it all comes the greatest serenest thing, the mind of the world, literature. nasty little midges, yes,--but fireflies--carrying light for the darkness." his face was suddenly lit by enthusiasm and she wondered that she could have thought it rather heavy and commonplace. he stopped abruptly and glanced beyond her at her other neighbour who seemed on the verge of turning to them again. "if i go on," he said with a voice suddenly dropped, "i shall talk loud." "you know," said lady harman, in a halty undertone, "you--you are too hard upon--upon clever people, but it is true. i mean it is true in a way...." "go on, i understand exactly what you are saying." "i mean, there _are_ ideas. it's just that, that is so--so----i mean they seem never to be just there and always to be present." "like god. never in the flesh--now. a spirit everywhere. you think exactly as i do, lady harman. it is just that. this is a great time, so great that there is no chance for great men. every chance for great work. and we're doing it. there is a wind--blowing out of heaven. and when beautiful people like yourself come into things----" "i try to understand," she said. "i want to understand. i want--i want not to miss life." he was on the verge of saying something further and then his eyes wandered down the table and he stopped short. he ended his talk as he had begun it with "bother! lady tarvrille, lady harman, is trying to catch your eye." lady harman turned her face to her hostess and answered her smile. wilkins caught at his chair and stood up. "it would have been jolly to have talked some more," he said. "i hope we shall." "well!" said wilkins, with a sudden hardness in his eyes and she was swept away from him. she found no chance of talking to him upstairs, sir isaac came for her early; but she went in hope of another meeting. it did not come. for a time that expectation gave dinners and luncheon parties a quite appreciable attraction. then she told agatha alimony. "i've never met him but that once," she said. "one doesn't meet him now," said agatha, deeply. "but why?" deep significance came into miss alimony's eyes. "my dear," she whispered, and glanced about them. "don't you _know_?" lady harman was a radiant innocence. and then miss alimony began in impressive undertones, with awful omissions like pits of darkness and with such richly embroidered details as serious spinsters enjoy, adding, indeed, two quite new things that came to her mind as the tale unfolded, and, naming no names and giving no chances of verification or reply, handed on the fearful and at that time extremely popular story of the awful wickedness of wilkins the author. upon reflection lady harman perceived that this explained all sorts of things in their conversation and particularly the flash of hardness at the end. even then, things must have been hanging over him.... §5 and while lady harman was making these meritorious and industrious attempts to grasp the significance of life and to get some clear idea of her social duty, the developments of those hostels she had started--she now felt so prematurely--was going on. there were times when she tried not to think of them, turned her back on them, fled from them, and times when they and what she ought to do about them and what they ought to be and what they ought not to be, filled her mind to the exclusion of every other topic. rigorously and persistently sir isaac insisted they were hers, asked her counsel, demanded her appreciation, presented as it were his recurring bill for them. five of them were being built, not four but five. there was to be one, the largest, in a conspicuous position in bloomsbury near the british museum, one in a conspicuous position looking out upon parliament hill, one conspicuously placed upon the waterloo road near st. george's circus, one at sydenham, and one in the kensington road which was designed to catch the eye of people going to and fro to the various exhibitions at olympia. in sir isaac's study at putney there was a huge and rather splendid-looking morocco portfolio on a stand, and this portfolio bore in excellent gold lettering the words, international bread and cake hostels. it was her husband's peculiar pleasure after dinner to take her to turn over this with him; he would sit pencil in hand, while she, poised at his request upon the arm of his chair, would endorse a multitude of admirable modifications and suggestions. these hostels were to be done--indeed they were being done--by sir isaac's tame architect, and the interlacing yellow and mauve tiles, and the doulton ware mouldings that were already familiar to the public as the uniform of the stores, were to be used upon the façades of the new institutions. they were to be boldly labelled international hostels right across the front. the plans revealed in every case a site depth as great as the frontage, and the utmost ingenuity had been used to utilize as much space as possible. "every room we get in," said sir isaac, "adds one to the denominator in the cost;" and carried his wife back to her schooldays. at last she had found sense in fractions. there was to be a series of convenient and spacious rooms on the ground floor, a refectory, which might be cleared and used for meetings--"dances," said lady harman. "hardly the sort of thing we want 'em to get up to," said sir isaac--various offices, the matron's apartments--"we ought to begin thinking about matrons," said sir isaac;--a bureau, a reading-room and a library--"we can pick good, serious stuff for them," said sir isaac, "instead of their filling their heads with trash"--one or two workrooms with tables for cutting out and sewing; this last was an idea of susan burnet's. upstairs there was to be a beehive of bedrooms, floor above floor, and each floor as low as the building regulations permitted. there were to be long dormitories with cubicles at three-and-sixpence a week--make your own beds--and separate rooms at prices ranging from four-and-sixpence to seven-and-sixpence. every three cubicles and every bedroom had lavatory basins with hot and cold water; there were pull-out drawers under the beds and a built-in chest of drawers, a hanging cupboard, a looking-glass and a radiator in each cubicle, and each floor had a box-room. it was ship-shape. "a girl can get this cubicle for three-and-six a week," said sir isaac, tapping the drawing before him with his pencil. "she can get her breakfast with a bit of bacon or a sausage for two shillings a week, and she can get her high tea, with cold meat, good potted salmon, shrimp paste, jam and cetera, for three-and-six a week. say her bus fares and lunch out mean another four shillings. that means she can get along on about twelve-and-six a week, comfortable, read the papers, have a book out of the library.... there's nothing like it to be got now for twice the money. the sort of thing they have now is one room, dingy, badly fitted, extra for coals. "that's the answer to your problem, elly," he said. "there we are. every girl who doesn't live at home can live here--with a matron to keep her eye on her.... and properly run, elly, properly run the thing's going to pay two or three per cent,--let alone the advertisement for the stores. "we can easily make these hostels obligatory on all our girls who don't live at their own homes," he said. "that ought to keep them off the streets, if anything can. i don't see how even miss babs wheeler can have the face to strike against that. "and then we can arrange with some of the big firms, drapers' shops and all that sort of thing near each hostel, to take over most of our other cubicle space. a lot of them--overflow. "of course we'll have to make sure the girls get in at night." he reached out for a ground floor plan of the bloomsbury establishment which was to be the first built. "if," he said, "we were to have a sort of porter's lodge with a book--and make 'em ring a bell after eleven say--just here...." he took out a silver pencil case and got to work. lady harman's expression as she leant over him became thoughtful. there were points about this project that gave her the greatest misgivings; that matron, keeping her eye on the girls, that carefully selected library, the porter's bell, these casual allusions to "discipline" that set her thinking of scraps of the babs wheeler controversy. there was a regularity, an austerity about this project that chilled her, she hardly knew why. her own vague intentions had been an amiable, hospitable, agreeably cheap establishment to which the homeless feminine employees in london could resort freely and cheerfully, and it was only very slowly that she perceived that her husband was by no means convinced of the spontaneity of their coming. he seemed always glancing at methods for compelling them to come in and oppressions when that compulsion had succeeded. there had already hovered over several of these anticipatory evenings, his very manifest intention to have very carefully planned "rules." she felt there lay ahead of them much possibility for divergence of opinion about these "rules." she foresaw a certain narrowness and hardness. she herself had made her fight against the characteristics of sir isaac and--perhaps she was lacking in that aristocratic feeling which comes so naturally to most successful middle-class people in england--she could not believe that what she had found bad and suffocating for herself could be agreeable and helpful for her poorer sisters. it occurred to her to try the effect of the scheme upon susan burnet. susan had such a knack of seeing things from unexpected angles. she contrived certain operations upon the study blinds, and then broached the business to susan casually in the course of an enquiry into the welfare of the burnet family. susan was evidently prejudiced against the idea. "yes," said susan after various explanations and exhibitions, "but where's the home in it?" "the whole thing is a home." "barracks _i_ call it," said susan. "nobody ever felt at home in a room coloured up like that--and no curtains, nor vallances, nor toilet covers, nor anywhere where a girl can hang a photograph or anything. what girl's going to feel at home in a strange place like that?" "they ought to be able to hang up photographs," said lady harman, making a mental note of it. "and of course there'll be all sorts of rules." "_some_ rules." "homes, real homes don't have rules. and i daresay--fines." "no, there shan't be any fines," said lady harman quickly. "i'll see to that." "you got to back up rules somehow--once you got 'em," said susan. "and when you get a crowd, and no father and mother, and no proper family feeling, i suppose there's got to be rules." lady harman pointed out various advantages of the project. "i'm not saying it isn't cheap and healthy and social," said susan, "and if it isn't too strict i expect you'll get plenty of girls to come to it, but at the best it's an institution, lady harman. it's going to be an institution. that's what it's going to be." she held the front elevation of the bloomsbury hostel in her hand and reflected. "of course for my part, i'd rather lodge with nice struggling believing christian people anywhere than go into a place like that. it's the feeling of freedom, of being yourself and on your own. even if the water wasn't laid on and i had to fetch it myself.... if girls were paid properly there wouldn't be any need of such places, none at all. it's the poverty makes 'em what they are.... and after all, somebody's got to lose the lodgers if this place gets them. suppose this sort of thing grows up all over the place, it'll just be the story of the little bakers and little grocers and all those people over again. why in london there are thousands of people just keep a home together by letting two or three rooms or boarding someone--and it stands to reason, they'll have to take less or lose the lodgers if this kind of thing's going to be done. nobody isn't going to build a hostel for them." "no," said lady harman, "i never thought of them." "lots of 'em haven't anything in the world but their bits of furniture and their lease and there they are stuck and tied. there's aunt hannah, father's sister, she's like that. sleeps in the basement and works and slaves, and often i've had to lend her ten shillings to pay the rent with, through her not being full. this sort of place isn't going to do much good to her." lady harman surveyed the plan rather blankly. "i suppose it isn't." "and then if you manage this sort of place easy and attractive, it's going to draw girls away from their homes. there's girls like alice who'd do anything to get a bit of extra money to put on their backs and seem to think of nothing but chattering and laughing and going about. such a place like this would be fine fun for alice; in when she liked and out when she liked, and none of us to ask her questions. she'd be just the sort to go, and mother, who's had the upbringing of her, how's she to make up for alice's ten shillings what she pays in every week? there's lots like alice. she's not bad isn't alice, she's a good girl and a good-hearted girl; i will say that for her, but she's shallow, say what you like she's shallow, she's got no thought and she's wild for pleasure, and sometimes it seems to me that that's as bad as being bad for all the good it does to anyone else in the world, and so i tell her. but of course she hasn't seen things as i've seen them and doesn't feel as i do about all these things...." thus susan. her discourse so puzzled lady harman that she bethought herself of mr. brumley and called in his only too readily accorded advice. she asked him to tea on a day when she knew unofficially that sir isaac would be away, she showed him the plans and sketched their probable development. then with that charming confidence of hers in his knowledge and ability she put her doubts and fears before him. what did he really think of these places? what did he think of susan burnet's idea of ruined lodging-house keepers? "i used to think our stores were good things," she said. "is this likely to be a good thing at all?" mr. brumley said "um" a great number of times and realized that he was a humbug. he fenced with her and affected sagacity for a time and suddenly he threw down his defences and confessed he knew as little of the business as she did. "but i see it is a complex question and--it's an interesting one too. may i enquire into it for you? i think i might be able to hunt up a few particulars...." he went away in a glow of resolution. georgina was about the only intimate who regarded the new development without misgiving. "you think you're going to do all sorts of things with these hostels, ella," she said, "but as a matter of fact they're bound to become just exactly what we've always wanted." "and what may that be?" asked mrs. sawbridge over her macramé work. "strongholds for a garrison of suffragettes," said georgina with the light of the great insane movement in her eyes and a ringing note in her voice. "fort chabrols for women." §6 for some months in a negative and occasionally almost negligent fashion mr. brumley had been living up to his impassioned resolve to be an unselfish lover of lady harman. he had been rather at loose ends intellectually, deprived of his old assumptions and habitual attitudes and rather chaotic in the matter of his new convictions. he had given most of his productive hours to the writing of a novel which was to be an entire departure from the euphemia tradition. the more he got on with this, the more clearly he realized that it was essentially insignificant. when he re-read what he had written he was surprised by crudities where he had intended sincerities and rhetoric where the scheme had demanded passion. what was the matter with him? he was stirred that lady harman should send for him, and his inability to deal with her perplexities deepened his realization of the ignorance and superficiality he had so long masked even from himself beneath the tricks and pretensions of a gay scepticism. he went away fully resolved to grapple with the entire hostel question, and he put the patched and tortured manuscript of the new novel aside with a certain satisfaction to do this. the more he reflected upon the nature of this study he proposed for himself the more it attracted him. it was some such reality as this he had been wanting. he could presently doubt whether he would ever go back to his novel-writing again, or at least to the sort of novel-writing he had been doing hitherto. to invent stories to save middle-aged prosperous middle-class people from the distresses of thinking, is surely no work for a self-respecting man. stevenson in the very deeps of that dishonourable traffic had realized as much and likened himself to a _fille de joie_, and haggard, of the same school and period, had abandoned blood and thunder at the climax of his success for the honest study of agricultural conditions. the newer successes were turning out work, less and less conventional and agreeable and more and more stiffened with facts and sincerities.... he would show lady harman that a certain debonair quality he had always affected, wasn't incompatible with a powerful grasp of general conditions.... and she wanted this done. suppose he did it in a way that made him necessary to her. suppose he did it very well. he set to work, and understanding as you do a certain quality of the chameleon in mr. brumley's moral nature, you will understand that he worked through a considerable variety of moods. sometimes he worked with disinterested passion and sometimes he was greatly sustained by this thought that here was something that would weave him in with the gravities of her life and give him perhaps a new inlet to intimacy. and presently a third thing came to his help, and that was the discovery that the questions arising out of this attempt to realize the importance of those hostels, were in themselves very fascinating questions for an intelligent person. because before you have done with the business of the modern employé, you must, if you are an intelligent person, have taken a view of the whole vast process of social reorganization that began with the development of factory labour and big towns, and which is even now scarcely advanced enough for us to see its general trend. for a time mr. brumley did not realize the magnitude of the thing he was looking at; when he did, theories sprouted in his mind like mushrooms and he babbled with mental excitement. he came in a state of the utmost lucidity to explain his theories to lady harman, and they struck that lady at the time as being the most illuminating suggestions she had ever encountered. they threw an appearance of order, of process, over a world of trade and employment and competition that had hitherto seemed too complex and mysterious for any understanding. "you see," said mr. brumley--they had met that day in kensington gardens and they were sitting side by side upon green chairs near the frozen writings of physical energy--"you see, if i may lecture a little, putting the thing as simply as possible, the world has been filling up new spaces ever since the discovery of america; all the period from then to about 1870, let us say, was a period of rapid increase of population in response to new opportunities of living and new fulnesses of life in every direction. during that time, four hundred years of it roughly, there was a huge development of family life; to marry and rear a quite considerable family became the chief business of everybody, celibacy grew rare, monasteries and nunneries which had abounded vanished like things dissolving in a flood and even the priests became protestant against celibacy and took unto themselves wives and had huge families. the natural checks upon increase, famine and pestilence, were lifted by more systematized communication and by scientific discovery; and altogether and as a consequence the world now has probably three or four times the human population it ever carried before. everywhere in that period the family prevailed again, the prospering multiplying household; it was a return to the family, to the reproductive social grouping of early barbaric life, and naturally all the thought of the modern world which has emerged since the fifteenth century falls into this form. so i see it, lady harman. the generation of our grandfathers in the opening nineteenth century had two shaping ideas, two forms of thought, the family and progress, not realizing that that very progress which had suddenly reopened the doors of opportunity for the family that had revived the ancient injunction to increase and multiply and replenish the earth, might presently close that door again and declare the world was filled. but that is what is happening now. the doors close. that immense swarming and multiplying of little people is over, and the forces of social organization have been coming into play now, more and more for a century and a half, to produce new wholesale ways of doing things, new great organizations, organizations that invade the autonomous family more and more, and are perhaps destined ultimately to destroy it altogether and supersede it. at least it is so i make my reading of history in these matters." "yes," said lady harman, with knitted brows, "yes," and wondered privately whether it would be possible to get from that opening to the matter of her hostels before it was time for her to return for sir isaac's tea. mr. brumley continued to talk with his eyes fixed as it were upon his thoughts. "these things, lady harman, go on at different paces in different regions. i will not trouble you with a discussion of that, or of emigration, of any of the details of the vast proliferation that preceded the present phase. suffice it, that now all the tendency is back towards restraints upon increase, to an increasing celibacy, to a fall in the birth-rate and in the average size of families, to--to a release of women from an entire devotion to a numerous offspring, and so at last to the supersession of those little family units that for four centuries have made up the substance of social life and determined nearly all our moral and sentimental attitudes. the autonomy of the family is being steadily destroyed, and it is being replaced by the autonomy of the individual in relation to some syndicated economic effort." "i think," said lady harman slowly, arresting him by a gesture, "if you could make that about autonomy a little clearer...." mr. brumley did. he went on to point out with the lucidity of a university extension lecturer what he meant by these singular phrases. she listened intelligently but with effort. he was much too intent upon getting the thing expressed to his own satisfaction to notice any absurdity in his preoccupation with these theories about the population of the world in the face of her immediate practical difficulties. he declared that the onset of this new phase in human life, the modern phase, wherein there was apparently to be no more "proliferating," but instead a settling down of population towards a stable equilibrium, became apparent first with the expropriation of the english peasantry and the birth of the factory system and machine production. "since that time one can trace a steady substitution of wholesale and collective methods for household and family methods. it has gone far with us now. instead of the woman drawing water from a well, the pipes and taps of the water company. instead of the home-made rushlight, the electric lamp. instead of home-spun, ready-made clothes. instead of home-brewed, the brewer's cask. instead of home-baked, first the little baker and then, clean and punctual, the international bread and cake stores. instead of the child learning at its mother's knee, the compulsory elementary school. flats take the place of separate houses. instead of the little holding, the big farm, and instead of the children working at home, the factory. everywhere synthesis. everywhere the little independent proprietor gives place to the company and the company to the trust. you follow all this, lady harman?" "go on," she said, encouraged by that transitory glimpse of the stores in his discourse. "now london--and england generally--had its period of expansion and got on to the beginnings at least of this period of synthesis that is following it, sooner than any other country in the world; and because it was the first to reach the new stage it developed the characteristics of the new stage with a stronger flavour of the old than did such later growths of civilization as new york or bombay or berlin. that is why london and our british big cities generally are congestions of little houses, little homes, while the newer great cities run to apartments and flats. we hadn't grasped the logical consequences of what we were in for so completely as the people abroad did who caught it later, and that is why, as we began to develop our new floating population of mainly celibate employees and childless people, they had mostly to go into lodgings, they went into the homes that were intended for families as accessories to the family, and they were able to go in because the families were no longer so numerous as they used to be. london is still largely a city of landladies and lodgings, and in no other part of the world is there so big a population of lodgers. and this business of your hostels is nothing more nor less than the beginning of the end of that. just as the great refreshment caterers have mopped up the ancient multitude of coffee-houses and squalid little special feeding arrangements of the days of tittlebat titmouse and dick swiveller, so now your hostels are going to mop up the lodging-house system of london. of course there are other and kindred movements. naturally. the y.w.c.a., the y.m.c.a., the london girls club union and so forth are all doing kindred work." "but what, mr. brumley, what is to become of the landladies?" asked lady harman. mr. brumley was checked in mid theory. "i hadn't thought of the landladies," he said, after a short pause. "they worry me," said lady harman. "um," said mr. brumley, thrown out. "do you know the other day i went into chelsea, where there are whole streets of lodgings, and--i suppose it was wrong of me, but i went and pretended to be looking for rooms for a girl clerk i knew, and i saw--oh! no end of rooms. and such poor old women, such dingy, worked-out, broken old women, with a kind of fearful sharpness, so eager, so dreadfully eager to get that girl clerk who didn't exist...." she looked at him with an expression of pained enquiry. "that," said mr. brumley, "that i think is a question, so to speak, for the social ambulance. if perhaps i might go on----that particular difficulty we might consider later. i think i was talking of the general synthesis." "yes," said lady harman. "and what is it exactly that is to take the place of these isolated little homes and these dreary little lodgings? here are we, my husband and i, rushing in with this new thing, just as he rushed in with his stores thirty years ago and overset little bakers and confectioners and refreshment dealers by the hundred. some of them--poor dears--they----i don't like to think. and it wasn't a good thing he made after all,--only a hard sort of thing. he made all those shops of his--with the girls who strike and say they are sweated and driven.... and now here we are making a kind of barrack place for people to live in!" she expressed the rest of her ideas with a gesture of the hands. "i admit the process has its dangers," said mr. brumley. "it's like the supersession of the small holdings by the _latifundia_ in italy. but that's just where our great opportunity comes in. these synthetic phases have occurred before in the world's history and their history is a history of lost opportunities.... but need ours be?" she had a feeling as though something had slipped through her fingers. "i feel," she said, "that it is more important to me than anything else in life, that these hostels, anyhow, which are springing so rapidly from a chance suggestion of mine, shouldn't be lost opportunities." "exactly," said mr. brumley, with the gesture of one who recovers a thread. "that is just what i am driving at." the fingers of his extended hand felt in the warm afternoon air for a moment, and then he said "ah!" in a tone of recovery while she waited respectfully for the resumed thread. "you see," he said, "i regard this process of synthesis, this substitution of wholesale and collective methods for homely and individual ones as, under existing conditions, inevitable--inevitable. it's the phase we live in, it's to this we have to adapt ourselves. it is as little under your control or mine as the movement of the sun through the zodiac. practically, that is. and what we have to do is not, i think, to sigh for lost homes and the age of gold and spade husbandry, and pigs and hens in the home, and so on, but to make this new synthetic life tolerable for the mass of men and women, hopeful for the mass of men and women, a thing developing and ascending. that's where your hostels come in, lady harman; that's where they're so important. they're a pioneer movement. if they succeed--and things in sir isaac's hands have a way of succeeding at any rate to the paying point--then there'll be a headlong rush of imitations, imitating your good features, imitating your bad features, deepening a groove.... you see my point?" "yes," she said. "it makes me--more afraid than ever." "but hopeful," said mr. brumley, presuming to lay his hand for an instant on her arm. "it's big enough to be inspiring." "but i'm afraid," she said. "it's laying down the lines of a new social life--no less. and what makes it so strange, so typical, too, of the way social forces work nowadays, is that your husband, who has all the instinctive insistence upon every right and restriction of the family relation in his private life, who is narrowly, passionately _for_ the home in his own case, who hates all books and discussion that seem to touch it, should in his business activities be striking this tremendous new blow at the ancient organization. for that, you see, is what it amounts to." "yes," said lady harman slowly. "yes. of course, he doesn't know...." mr. brumley was silent for a little while. "you see," he resumed, "at the worst this new social life may become a sort of slavery in barracks; at the best--it might become something very wonderful. my mind's been busy now for days thinking just how wonderful the new life might be. instead of the old bickering, crowded family home, a new home of comrades...." he made another pause, and his thoughts ran off upon a fresh track. "in looking up all these things i came upon a queer little literature of pamphlets and so forth, dealing with the case of the shop assistants. they have a great grievance in what they call the living-in system. the employers herd them in dormitories over the shops, and usually feed them by gaslight in the basements; they fine them and keep an almost intolerable grip upon them; make them go to bed at half-past ten, make them go to church on sundays,--all sorts of petty tyrannies. the assistants are passionately against this, but they've got no power to strike. where could they go if they struck? into the street. only people who live out and have homes of their own to sulk in _can_ strike. naturally, therefore, as a preliminary to any other improvement in the shop assistant's life, these young people want to live out. practically that's an impossible demand at present, because they couldn't get lodgings and live out with any decency at all on what it costs their employers to lodge and feed them _in_. well, here you see a curious possibility for your hostels. you open the prospect of a living-out system for shop assistants. but just in the degree in which you choose to interfere with them, regulate them, bully and deal with them wholesale through their employers, do you make the new living-out method approximate to the living-in. _that's_ a curious side development, isn't it?" lady harman appreciated that. "that's only the beginning of the business. there's something more these hostels might touch...." mr. brumley gathered himself together for the new aspect. "there's marriage," he said. "one of the most interesting and unsatisfactory aspects of the life of the employee to-day--and you know the employee is now in the majority in the adult population--is this. you see, we hold them celibate. we hold them celibate for a longer and longer period; the average age at marriage rises steadily; and so long as they remain celibate we are prepared with some sort of ideas about the future development of their social life, clubs, hostels, living-in, and so forth. but at present we haven't any ideas at all about the adaptation of the natural pairing instinct to the new state of affairs. ultimately the employee marries; they hold out as long as they possibly can, but ultimately they have to. they have to, even in the face of an economic system that holds out no prospects of anything but insecurity and an increasing chance of trouble and disaster to the employee's family group. what happens is that they drop back into a distressful, crippled, insecure imitation of the old family life as one had it in what i might call the multiplying periods of history. they start a home,--they dream of a cottage, but they drift to a lodging, and usually it isn't the best sort of lodging, for landladies hate wives and the other lodgers detest babies. often the young couple doesn't have babies. you see, they are more intelligent than peasants, and intelligence and fecundity vary reciprocally," said mr. brumley. "you mean?" interrupted lady harman softly. "there is a world-wide fall in the birth-rate. people don't have the families they did." "yes," said lady harman. "i understand now." "and the more prosperous or the more sanguine take these suburban little houses, these hutches that make such places as hendon nightmares of monotony, or go into ridiculous jerry-built sham cottages in some garden suburb, where each young wife does her own housework and pretends to like it. they have a sort of happiness for a time, i suppose; the woman stops all outside work, the man, very much handicapped, goes on competing against single men. then--nothing more happens. except difficulties. the world goes dull and grey for them. they look about for a lodger, perhaps. have you read gissing's _paying guest_?..." "i suppose," said lady harman, "i suppose it is like that. one tries not to think it is so." "one needn't let oneself believe that dullness is unhappiness," said mr. brumley. "i don't want to paint things sadder than they are. but it's not a fine life, it's not a full life, that life in a neo-malthusian suburban hutch." "neo----?" asked lady harman. "a mere phrase," said mr. brumley hastily. "the extraordinary thing is that, until you set me looking into these things with your questions, i've always taken this sort of thing for granted, as though it couldn't be otherwise. now i seem to see with a kind of freshness. i'm astounded at the muddle of it, the waste and aimlessness of it. and here again it is, lady harman, that i think your opportunity comes in. with these hostels as they might be projected now, you seem to have the possibility of a modernized, more collective and civilized family life than the old close congestion of the single home, and i see no reason at all why you shouldn't carry that collective life on to the married stage. as things are now these little communities don't go beyond the pairing--and out they drift to find the homestead they will never possess. what has been borne in upon me more and more forcibly as i have gone through your--your nest of problems, is the idea that the new social--association, that has so extensively replaced the old family group, might be carried on right through life, that it might work in with all sorts of other discontents and bad adjustments.... the life of the women in these little childless or one-or-two-child homes is more unsatisfactory even than the man's." mr. brumley's face flushed with enthusiasm and he wagged a finger to emphasize his words. "why not make hostels, lady harman, for married couples? why not try that experiment so many people have talked about of the conjoint kitchen and refectory, the conjoint nursery, the collective social life, so that the children who are single children or at best children in small families of two or three, may have the advantages of playfellows, and the young mothers still, if they choose, continue to have a social existence and go on with their professional or business, work? that's the next step your hostels might take ... incidentally you see this opens a way to a life of relative freedom for the woman who is married.... i don't know if you have read mrs. stetson. yes, charlotte perkins gilman stetson.... yes, _woman and economics_, that's the book. "i know," mr. brumley went on, "i seem to be opening out your project like a concertina, but i want you to see just how my thoughts have been going about all this. i want you to realize i haven't been idle during these last few weeks. i know it's a far cry from what the hostels are to all these ideas of what they might begin to be, i know the difficulties in your way--all sorts of difficulties. but when i think just how you stand at the very centre of the moulding forces in these changes...." he dropped into an eloquent silence. lady harman looked thoughtfully at the sunlight under the trees. "you think," she said, "that it comes to as much as all this." "more," said mr. brumley. "i was frightened before. _now_----you make me feel as though someone had put the wheel of a motor car in my hand, started it and told me to steer...." §7 lady harman went home from that talk in a taxi, and on the way she passed the building operations in kensington road. a few weeks ago it had been a mere dusty field of operation for the house-wreckers; now its walls were already rising to the second storey. she realized how swiftly nowadays the search for wisdom can be outstripped by reinforced concrete. §8 it was only by slow degrees and rather in the absence of a more commanding interest than through any invincible quality in their appeal to her mind that these hostels became in the next three years the grave occupation of lady harman's thoughts and energies. she yielded to them reluctantly. for a long time she wanted to look over them and past them and discover something--she did not know what--something high and domineering to which it would be easy to give herself. it was difficult to give herself to the hostels. in that mr. brumley, actuated by a mixture of more or less admirable motives, did his best to assist her. these hostels alone he thought could give them something upon which they could meet, give them a common interest and him a method of service and companionship. it threw the qualities of duty and justification over their more or less furtive meetings, their little expeditions together, their quiet frequent association. together they made studies of the girls' clubs which are scattered about london, supplementary homes that have in such places as walworth and soho worked small miracles of civilization. these institutions appealed to a lower social level than the one their hostels were to touch, but they had been organized by capable and understanding minds and lady harman found in one or two of their evening dances and in the lunch she shared one morning with a row of cheerful young factory girls from soho just that quality of concrete realization for which her mind hungered. then mr. brumley took her once or twice for evening walks, just when the stream of workers is going home; he battled his way with her along the footpath of charing cross railway bridge from the waterloo side, they swam in the mild evening sunshine of september against a trampling torrent of bobbing heads, and afterwards they had tea together in one of the international stores near the strand, where mr. brumley made an unsuccessful attempt to draw out the waitress on the subject of babs wheeler and the recent strike. the young woman might have talked freely to a man alone or freely to lady harman alone but the combination of the two made her shy. the bridge experience led to several other expeditions, to see home-going on the tube, at the big railway termini, on the train--and once they followed up the process to streatham and saw how the people pour out of the train at last and scatter--until at last they are just isolated individuals running up steps, diving into basements. and then it occurred to mr. brumley that he knew someone who would take them over "gerrard," that huge telephone exchange, and there lady harman saw how the national telephone company, as it was in those days, had a care for its staff, the pleasant club rooms, the rest room, and stood in that queer rendez-vous of messages, where the "hello" girl sits all day, wearing a strange metallic apparatus over ear and mouth, watching small lights that wink significantly at her and perpetually pulling out and slipping in and releasing little flexible strings that seem to have a resilient volition of their own. they hunted out mrs. barnet and heard her ideas about conjoint homes for spinsters in the garden suburb. and then they went over a training college for elementary teachers and visited the post office and then came back to more unobtrusive contemplation, from the customer's little table, of the ministering personalities of the international stores. there were times when all these things seen, seemed to fall into an entirely explicable system under mr. brumley's exposition, when they seemed to be giving and most generously giving the clearest indications of what kind of thing the hostels had to be, and times when this all vanished again and her mind became confused and perplexed. she tried to express just what it was she missed to mr. brumley. "one doesn't," she said, "see all of them and what one sees isn't what we have to do with. i mean we see them dressed up and respectable and busy and then they go home and the door shuts. it's the home that we are going to alter and replace--and what is it like?" mr. brumley took her for walks in highbury and the newer parts of hendon and over to clapham. "i want to go inside those doors," she said. "that's just what they won't let you do," said mr. brumley. "nobody visits but relations--and prospective relations, and the only other social intercourse is over the garden wall. perhaps i can find books----" he got her novels by edwin pugh and pett ridge and frank swinnerton and george gissing. they didn't seem to be attractive homes. and it seemed remarkable to her that no woman had ever given the woman's view of the small london home from the inside.... she overcame her own finer scruples and invaded the burnet household. apart from fresh aspects of susan's character in the capacity of a hostess she gained little light from that. she had never felt so completely outside a home in her life as she did when she was in the burnets' parlour. the very tablecloth on which the tea was spread had an air of being new and protective of familiar things; the tea was manifestly quite unlike their customary tea, it was no more intimate than the confectioner's shop window from which it mostly came; the whole room was full of the muffled cries of things hastily covered up and specially put away. vivid oblongs on the faded wallpaper betrayed even a rearrangement of the pictures. susan's mother was a little dingy woman, wearing a very smart new cap to the best of her ability; she had an air of having been severely shaken up and admonished, and her general bearing confessed only too plainly how shattered those preparations had left her. she watched her capable daughter for cues. susan's sisters displayed a disposition to keep their backs against something and at the earliest opportunity to get into the passage and leave susan and her tremendous visitor alone but within earshot. they started convulsively when they were addressed and insisted on "your ladyship." susan had told them not to but they would. when they supposed themselves to be unobserved they gave themselves up to the impassioned inspection of lady harman's costume. luke had fled into the street, and in spite of various messages conveyed to him by the youngest sister he refused to enter until lady harman had gone again and was well out of the way. and susan was no longer garrulous and at her ease; she had no pins in her mouth and that perhaps hampered her speech; she presided flushed and bright-eyed in a state of infectious nervous tension. her politeness was awful. never in all her life had lady harman felt her own lack of real conversational power so acutely. she couldn't think of a thing that mightn't be construed as an impertinence and that didn't remind her of district visiting. yet perhaps she succeeded better than she supposed. "what a family you have had!" she said to mrs. burnet. "i have four little girls, and i find them as much as we can manage." "you're young yet, my ladyship," said mrs. burnet, "and they aren't always the blessings they seem to be. it's the rearing's the difficulty." "they're all such healthy-looking--people." "i wish we could get hold of luke, my ladyship, and show you _'im_. he's that sturdy. and yet when 'e was a little feller----" she was launched for a time on those details that were always so dear to the mothers of the past order of things. her little spate of reminiscences was the only interlude of naturalness in an afternoon of painfully constrained behaviour.... lady harman returned a trifle shamefacedly from this abortive dip into realities to mr. brumley's speculative assurance. §9 while lady harman was slowly accustoming her mind to this idea that the development of those hostels was her appointed career in life, so far as a wife may have a career outside her connubial duties, and while she was getting insensibly to believe in mr. brumley's theory of their exemplary social importance, the hostels themselves with a haste that she felt constantly was premature, were achieving a concrete existence. they were developing upon lines that here and there disregarded mr. brumley's ideas very widely; they gained in practicality what perhaps they lost in social value, through the entirely indirect relations between mr. brumley on the one hand and sir isaac on the other. for sir isaac manifestly did not consider and would have been altogether indisposed to consider mr. brumley as entitled to plan or suggest anything of the slightest importance in this affair, and whatever of mr. brumley reached that gentleman reached him in a very carefully transmitted form as lady harman's own unaided idea. sir isaac had sound victorian ideas about the place of literature in life. if anyone had suggested to him that literature could supply ideas to practical men he would have had a choking fit, and he regarded mr. brumley's sedulous attentions to these hostel schemes with feelings, the kindlier elements of whose admixture was a belief that ultimately he would write some elegant and respectful approval of the established undertaking. the entire admixture of sir isaac's feelings towards mr. brumley was by no means kindly. he disliked any man to come near lady harman, any man at all; he had a faint uneasiness even about waiters and hotel porters and the clergy. of course he had agreed she should have friends of her own and he couldn't very well rescind that without something definite to go upon. but still this persistent follower kept him uneasy. he kept this uneasiness within bounds by reassuring himself upon the point of lady harman's virtuous obedience, and so reassured he was able to temper his distrust with a certain contempt. the man was in love with his wife; that was manifest enough, and dangled after her.... let him dangle. what after all did he get for it?... but occasionally he broke through this complacency, betrayed a fitful ingenious jealousy, interfered so that she missed appointments and had to break engagements. he was now more and more a being of pathological moods. the subtle changes of secretion that were hardening his arteries, tightening his breath and poisoning his blood, reflected themselves upon his spirit in an uncertainty of temper and exasperating fatigues and led to startling outbreaks. then for a time he would readjust himself, become in his manner reasonable again, become accessible. he was the medium through which this vision that was growing up in her mind of a reorganized social life, had to translate itself, as much as it could ever translate itself, into reality. he called these hostels her hostels, made her the approver of all he did, but he kept every particle of control in his own hands. all her ideas and desires had to be realized by him. and his attitudes varied with his moods; sometimes he was keenly interested in the work of organization and then he terrified her by his bias towards acute economies, sometimes he was resentful at the burthen of the whole thing, sometimes he seemed to scent brumley or at least some moral influence behind her mind and met her suggestions with a bitter resentment as though any suggestion must needs be a disloyalty to him. there was a remarkable outbreak upon her first tentative proposal that the hostel system might ultimately be extended to married couples. he heard her with his lips pressing tighter and tighter together until they were yellow white and creased with a hundred wicked little horizontal creases. then he interrupted her with silent gesticulations. then words came. "i never did, elly," he said. "i never did. reely--there are times when you ain't rational. married couples who're assistants in shops and places!" for a little while he sought some adequate expression of his point of view. "nice thing to go keeping a place for these chaps to have their cheap bits of skirt in," he said at last. then further: "if a man wants a girl let him work himself up until he can keep her. married couples indeed!" he began to expand the possibilities of the case with a quite unusual vividness. "double beds in each cubicle, i suppose," he said, and played for a time about this fancy.... "well, to hear such an idea from you of all people, elly. i never did." he couldn't leave it alone. he had to go on to the bitter end with the vision she had evoked in his mind. he was jealous, passionately jealous, it was only too manifest, of the possible happinesses of these young people. he was possessed by that instinctive hatred for the realized love of others which lies at the base of so much of our moral legislation. the bare thought--whole corridors of bridal chambers!--made his face white and his hand quiver. _his_ young men and young women! the fires of a hundred vigilance committees blazed suddenly in his reddened eyes. he might have been a concentrated society for preventing the rapid multiplication of the unfit. the idea of facilitating early marriages was manifestly shameful to him, a disgraceful service to render, a job for pandarus. what was she thinking of? elly of all people! elly who had been as innocent as driven snow before georgina came interfering! it ended in a fit of abuse and a panting seizure, and for a day or so he was too ill to resume the discussion, to do more than indicate a disgusted aloofness.... and then it may be the obscure chemicals at work within him changed their phase of reaction. at any rate he mended, became gentler, was more loving to his wife than he had been for some time and astonished her by saying that if she wanted hostels for married couples, it wasn't perhaps so entirely unreasonable. selected cases, he stipulated, it would have to be and above a certain age limit, sober people. "it might even be a check on immorality," he said, "properly managed...." but that was as far as his acquiescence went and lady harman was destined to be a widow before she saw the foundation of any hostel for young married couples in london. §10 the reinforced concrete rose steadily amidst lady harman's questionings and mr. brumley's speculations. the harmans returned from a recuperative visit to kissingen, to which sir isaac had gone because of a suspicion that his marienbad specialist had failed to cure him completely in order to get him back again, to find the first of the five hostels nearly ripe for its opening. there had to be a manageress and a staff organized and neither lady harman nor mr. brumley were prepared for that sort of business. a number of abler people however had become aware of the opportunities of the new development and mrs. hubert plessington, that busy publicist, got the harmans to a helpful little dinner, before lady harman had the slightest suspicion of the needs that were now so urgent. there shone a neat compact widow, a mrs. pembrose, who had buried her husband some eighteen months ago after studying social questions with him with great éclat for ten happy years, and she had done settlement work and girls' club work and had perhaps more power of organization--given a suitable director to provide for her lack of creativeness, mrs. plessington told sir isaac, than any other woman in london. afterwards sir isaac had an opportunity of talking to her; he discussed the suffrage movement with her and was pleased to find her views remarkably sympathetic with his own. she was, he declared, a sensible woman, anxious to hear a man out and capable, it was evident, of a detachment from feminist particularism rare in her sex at the present time. lady harman had seen less of the lady that evening, she was chiefly struck by her pallor, by a kind of animated silence about her, and by the deep impression her capabilities had made on mr. plessington, who had hitherto seemed to her to be altogether too overworked in admiring his wife to perceive the points of any other human being. afterwards lady harman was surprised to hear from one or two quite separate people that mrs. pembrose was the only possible person to act as general director of the new hostels. lady beach-mandarin was so enthusiastic in the matter that she made a special call. "you've known her a long time?" said lady harman. "long enough to see what a chance she is!" said lady beach-mandarin. lady harman perceived equivocation. "now how long is that really?" she said. "count not in years, nor yet in moments on a dial," said lady beach-mandarin with a fine air of quotation. "i'm thinking of her quiet strength of character. mrs. plessington brought her round to see me the other afternoon." "did she talk to you?" "i saw, my dear, i saw." a vague aversion from mrs. pembrose was in some mysterious way strengthened in lady harman by this extraordinary convergence of testimony. when sir isaac mentioned the lady with a kind of forced casualness at breakfast as the only conceivable person for the work of initiation and organization that lay before them, lady harman determined to see more of her. with a quickened subtlety she asked her to tea. "i have heard so much of your knowledge of social questions and i want you to advise me about my work," she wrote, and then scribbled a note to mr. brumley to call and help her judgments. mrs. pembrose appeared dressed in dove colour with a near bonnetesque straw hat to match. she had a pale slightly freckled complexion, little hard blue-grey eyes with that sort of nose which redeems a squarish shape by a certain delicacy of structure; her chin was long and protruding and her voice had a wooden resonance and a ghost of a lisp. her talk had a false consecutiveness due to the frequent use of the word "yes." her bearing was erect and her manner guardedly alert. from the first she betrayed a conviction that mr. brumley was incidental and unnecessary and that her real interest lay with sir isaac. she might almost have been in possession of special information upon that point. "yes," she said, "i'm rather specially _up_ in this sort of question. i worked side by side with my poor frederick all his life, we were collaborators, and this question of the urban distributive employee was one of his special studies. yes, he would have been tremendously interested in sir isaac's project." "you know what we are doing?" "every one is interested in sir isaac's enterprise. naturally. yes, i think i have a fairly good idea of what you mean to do. it's a great experiment." "you think it is likely to answer?" said mr. brumley. "in sir isaac's hands it is _very_ likely to answer," said mrs. pembrose with her eye steadily on lady harman. there was a little pause. "yes, now you wrote of difficulties and drawing upon my experience. of course just now i'm quite at sir isaac's disposal." lady harman found herself thrust perforce into the rôle of her husband's spokeswoman. she asked mrs. pembrose if she knew the exact nature of the experiment they contemplated. mrs. pembrose hadn't a doubt she knew. of course for a long time and more especially in the metropolis where the distances were so great and increasing so rapidly, there had been a gathering feeling not only in the catering trade, but in very many factory industries, against the daily journey to employment and home again. it was irksome and wasteful to everyone concerned, there was a great loss in control, later hours of beginning, uncertain service. "yes, my husband calculated the hours lost in london every week, hours that are neither work nor play, mere tiresome stuffy journeying. it made an enormous sum. it worked out at hundreds of working lives per week." sir isaac's project was to abolish all that, to bring his staff into line with the drapers and grocers who kept their assistants on the living-in system.... "i thought people objected to the living-in system," said mr. brumley. "there's an agitation against it on the part of a small trade union of shop assistants," said mrs. pembrose. "but they have no real alternative to propose." "and this isn't living in," said mr. brumley. "yes, i think you'll find it is," said mrs. pembrose with a nice little expert smile. "living-in isn't _quite_ what we want," said lady harman slowly and with knitted brows, seeking a method of saying just what the difference was to be. "yes, not perhaps in the strictest sense," said mrs. pembrose giving her no chance, and went on to make fine distinctions. strictly speaking, living-in meant sleeping over the shop and eating underneath it, and this hostel idea was an affair of a separate house and of occupants who would be assistants from a number of shops. "yes, collectivism, if you like," said mrs. pembrose. but the word collectivism, she assured them, wouldn't frighten her, she was a collectivist, a socialist, as her husband had always been. the day was past when socialist could be used as a term of reproach. "yes, instead of the individual employer of labour, we already begin to have the collective employer of labour, with a labour bureau--and so on. we share them. we no longer compete for them. it's the keynote of the time." mr. brumley followed this with a lifted eyebrow. he was still new to these modern developments of collectivist ideas, this socialism of the employer. the whole thing mrs. pembrose declared was a step forward in civilization, it was a step in the organization and discipline of labour. of course the unruly and the insubordinate would cry out. but the benefits were plain enough, space, light, baths, association, reasonable recreations, opportunities for improvement---"but freedom?" said mr. brumley. mrs. pembrose inclined her head a little on one side, looked at him this time and smiled the expert smile again. "if you knew as much as i do of the difficulties of social work," she said, "you wouldn't be very much in love with freedom." "but--it's the very substance of the soul!" "you must permit me to differ," said mrs. pembrose, and for weeks afterwards mr. brumley was still seeking a proper polite retort to that difficult counterstroke. it was such a featureless reply. it was like having your nose punched suddenly by a man without a face. they descended to a more particular treatment of the problems ahead. mrs. pembrose quoted certain precedents from the girls' club union. "the people lady harman contemplates--entertaining," said mr. brumley, "are of a slightly more self-respecting type than those young women." "it's largely veneer," said mrs. pembrose.... "detestable little wretch," said mr. brumley when at last she had departed. he was very uncomfortable. "she's just the quintessence of all one fears and dreads about these new developments, she's perfect--in that way--self-confident, arrogant, instinctively aggressive, with a tremendous class contempt. there's a multitude of such people about who hate the employed classes, who _want_ to see them broken in and subjugated. i suppose that kind of thing is in humanity. every boy's school has louts of that kind, who love to torment fags for their own good, who spring upon a chance smut on the face of a little boy to scrub him painfully, who have a kind of lust to dominate under the pretence of improving. i remember----but never mind that now. keep that woman out of things or your hostels work for the devil." "yes," said lady harman. "certainly she shall not----. no." but there she reckoned without her husband. "i've settled it," he said to her at dinner two nights later. "what?" "mrs. pembrose." "you've not made her----?" "yes, i have. and i think we're very lucky to get her." "but--isaac! i don't want her!" "you should have told me that before, elly. i've made an agreement." she suddenly wanted to cry. "but----you said i should manage these hostels myself." "so you shall, elly. but we must have somebody. when we go abroad and all that and for all the sort of business stuff and looking after things that you can't do. we've _got_ to have her. she's the only thing going of her sort." "but--i don't like her." "well," cried sir isaac, "why in goodness couldn't you tell me that before, elly? i've been and engaged her." she sat pale-faced staring at him with wide open eyes in which tears of acute disappointment were shining. she did not dare another word because of her trick of weeping. "it's all right, elly," said sir isaac. "how touchy you are! anything you want about these hostels of yours, you've only got to tell me and it's done." §11 lady harman was still in a state of amazement at the altered prospects of her hostels when the day arrived for the formal opening of the first of these in bloomsbury. they made a little public ceremony of it in spite of her reluctance, and mr. brumley had to witness things from out of the general crowd and realize just how completely he wasn't in it, in spite of all his efforts. mrs. pembrose was modestly conspicuous, like the unexpected in all human schemes. there were several reporters present, and horatio blenker who was going to make a loyal leader about it, to be followed by one or two special articles for the _old country gazette_. horatio had procured mrs. blapton for the opening after some ineffectual angling for the princess adeline, and the thing was done at half-past three in the afternoon. in the bright early july sunshine outside the new building there was a crimson carpet down on the pavement and an awning above it, there was a great display of dog-daisies at the windows and on the steps leading up to the locked portals, an increasing number of invited people lurked shyly in the ground-floor rooms ready to come out by the back way and cluster expectantly when mrs. blapton arrived, graper the staff manager and two assistants in dazzling silk hats seemed everywhere, the rabbit-like architect had tried to look doggish in a huge black silk tie and only looked more like a rabbit than ever, and there was a steady driftage of small boys and girls, nurses with perambulators, cab touts, airing grandfathers and similar unemployed people towards the promise of the awning, the carpet and the flowers. the square building in all its bravery of doulton ware and yellow and mauve tiles and its great gilt inscription international hostels above the windows of the second storey seemed typical of all those modern forces that are now invading and dispelling the ancient residential peace of bloomsbury. mrs. blapton appeared only five minutes late, escorted by bertie trevor and her husband's spare secretary. graper became so active at the sight of her that he seemed more like some beast out of the apocalypse with seven hands and ten hats than a normal human being; he marshalled the significant figures into their places, the door was unlocked without serious difficulty, and lady harman found herself in the main corridor beside mr. trevor and a little behind mrs. blapton, engaged in being shown over the new creation. sir isaac (driven by graper at his elbow) was in immediate attendance on the great political lady, and mrs. pembrose, already with an air of proprietorship, explained glibly on her other hand. close behind lady harman came lady beach-mandarin, expanding like an appreciative gas in a fine endeavour to nestle happily into the whole big place, and with her were mrs. hubert plessington and mr. pope, one of those odd people who are called publicists because one must call them something, and who take chairs and political sides and are vice-presidents of everything and organize philanthropies, write letters to the papers and cannot let the occasion pass without saying a few words and generally prevent the institutions of this country from falling out of human attention. he was a little abstracted in his manner, every now and then his lips moved as he imagined a fresh turn to some classic platitude; anyone who knew him might have foretold the speech into which he presently broke. he did this in the refectory where there was a convenient step up at the end. beginning with the customary confession of incontinence, "could not let the occasion pass," he declared that he would not detain them long, but he felt that everyone there would agree with him that they shared that day in no slight occasion, no mean enterprise, that here was one of the most promising, one of the most momentous, nay! he would go further and add with due deference to them all, one of the most pregnant of social experiments in modern social work. in the past he had himself--if he might for a moment allow a personal note to creep into his observations, he himself had not been unconnected with industrial development.--(querulous voice, "who the devil is that?" and whispered explanations on the part of horatio blenker; "pope--very good man--east purblow experiment--payment in kind instead of wages--yes.").... lady harman ceased to listen to mr. pope's strained but not unhappy tenor. she had heard him before, and she had heard his like endlessly. he was the larger moiety of every public meeting she had ever attended. she had ceased even to marvel at the dull self-satisfaction that possessed him. to-day her capacity for marvelling was entirely taken up by the details of this extraordinary reality which had sprung from her dream of simple, kindly, beautiful homes for distressed and overworked young women; nothing in the whole of life had been so amazing since that lurid occasion when she had been the agonized vehicle for the entry of miss millicent harman upon this terrestrial scene. it was all so entirely what she could never have thought possible. a few words from other speakers followed, mrs. blapton, with the young secretary at hand to prompt, said something, and sir isaac was poked forwards to say, "thank you very much. it's all my wife's doing, really.... oh dash it! thank you very much." it had the effect of being the last vestige of some more elaborate piece of eloquence that had suddenly disintegrated in his mind. "and now, elly," he said, as their landaulette took them home, "you're beginning to have your hostels." "then they _are_ my hostels?" she asked abruptly. "didn't i say they were?" the satisfaction of his face was qualified by that fatigued irritability that nowadays always followed any exertion or excitement. "if i want things done? if i want things altered?" "of course you may, of course you may. what's the matter with you, elly? what's been putting ideers into your head? you got to have a directress to the thing; you must have a woman of education who knows a bit about things to look after the matrons and so on. very likely she isn't everything you want. she's the only one we could get, and i don't see----. here i go and work hard for a year and more getting these things together to please you, and then suddenly you don't like 'em. there's a lot of the spoilt child in you, elly--first and last. there they are...." they were silent for the rest of the journey to putney, both being filled with incommunicable things. §12 and now lady harman began to share the trouble of all those who let their minds pass out of the circle of their immediate affections with any other desire save interest and pleasure. assisted in this unhappy development by the sedulous suggestions of mr. brumley she had begun to offend against the most sacred law in our sensible british code, she was beginning to take herself and her hostels seriously, and think that it mattered how she worked for them and what they became. she tried to give all the attention her children's upbringing, her husband's ailments and the general demands of her household left free, to this complex, elusive, puzzling and worrying matter. instead of thinking that these hostels were just old hostels and that you start them and put in a mrs. pembrose and feel very benevolent and happy and go away, she had come to realize partly by dint of her own conscientious thinking and partly through mr. brumley's strenuous resolve that she should not take sir isaac's gift horse without the most exhaustive examination of its quality, that this new work, like most new things in human life, was capable not only of admirable but of altogether detestable consequences, and that it rested with her far more than with any other human being to realize the former and avoid the latter. and directly one has got to this critical pose towards things, just as one ceases to be content with things anyhow and to want them precisely somehow, one begins to realize just how intractable, confused and disingenuous are human affairs. mr. brumley had made himself see and had made her see how inevitable these big wholesale ways of doing things, these organizations and close social co-operations, have become unless there is to be a social disintegration and set back, and he had also brought himself and her to realize how easily they may develop into a new servitude, how high and difficult is the way towards methods of association that will ensure freedom and permit people to live fine individual lives. every step towards organization raises a crop of vices peculiar to itself, fresh developments of the egotism and greed and vanity of those into whose hands there falls control, fresh instances of that hostile pedantry which seems so natural to officials and managers, insurgencies and obstinacies and suspicions on the part of everyone. the poor lady had supposed that when one's intentions were obviously benevolent everyone helped. she only faced the realities of this task that she had not so much set for herself as had happened to her, after dreadful phases of disillusionment and dismay. "these hostels," said mr. brumley in his most prophetic mood, "can be made free, fine things--or no--just as all the world of men we are living in, could be made a free, fine world. and it's our place to see they are that. it's just by being generous and giving ourselves, helping without enslaving, and giving without exacting gratitude, planning and protecting with infinite care, that we bring that world nearer.... since i've known you i've come to know such things are possible...." the bloomsbury hostel started upon its career with an embarrassing difficulty. the young women of the international stores refreshment departments for whom these institutions were primarily intended displayed what looked extremely like a concerted indisposition to come in. they had been circularized and informed that henceforth, to ensure the "good social tone" of the staff, all girls not living at home with their parents or close relations would be expected to reside in the new hostels. there followed an attractive account of the advantages of the new establishment. in drawing up this circular with the advice of mrs. pembrose, sir isaac had overlooked the fact that his management was very imperfectly informed just where the girls did live, and that after its issue it was very improbable that it would be possible to find out this very necessary fact. but the girls seemed to be unaware of this ignorance at headquarters, miss babs wheeler was beginning to feel a little bored by good behaviour and crave for those dramatic cessations at the lunch hour, those speeches, with cheers, from a table top, those interviews with reporters, those flushed and eager councils of war and all the rest of that good old crisis feeling that had previously ended so happily. mr. graper came to his proprietor headlong, mrs. pembrose was summoned and together they contemplated the lamentable possibility of this great social benefit they had done the world being discredited at the outset by a strike of the proposed beneficiaries. sir isaac fell into a state of vindictiveness and was with difficulty restrained by mr. graper from immediately concluding the negotiations that were pending with three great oxford street firms that would have given over the hostels to their employees and closed them against the international girls for ever. even mrs. pembrose couldn't follow sir isaac in that, and remarked: "as i understand it, the whole intention was to provide proper housing for our own people first and foremost." "and haven't we provided it, _damn_ them?" said sir isaac in white desperation.... it was lady harman who steered the newly launched institutions through these first entanglements. it was her first important advantage in the struggle that had hitherto been going relentlessly against her. she now displayed her peculiar gift, a gift that indeed is unhappily all too rare among philanthropists, the gift of not being able to classify the people with whom she was dealing, but of continuing to regard them as a multitude of individualized souls as distinct and considerable as herself. that makes no doubt for slowness and "inefficiency" and complexity in organization, but it does make for understandings. and now, through a little talk with susan burnet about her sister's attitude upon the dispute, she was able to take the whole situation in the flank. like many people who are not easily clear, lady harman when she was clear acted with very considerable decision, which was perhaps none the less effective because of the large softnesses of her manner. she surprised sir isaac by coming of her own accord into his study, where with an altogether novel disfavour he sat contemplating the detailed plans for the sydenham hostel. "i think i've found out what the trouble is," she said. "what trouble?" "about my hostel." "how do you know?" "i've been finding out what the girls are saying." "they'd say anything." "i don't think they're clever enough for that," said lady harman after consideration. she recovered her thread. "you see, isaac, they've been frightened by the rules. i didn't know you had printed a set of rules." "one must _have_ rules, elly." "in the background," she decided. "but you see these rules--were made conspicuous. they were printed in two colours on wall cards just exactly like that list of rules and scale of fines you had to withdraw----" "i know," said sir isaac, shortly. "it reminded the girls. and that circular that seems to threaten them if they don't give up their lodgings and come in. and the way the front is got up to look just exactly like one of the refreshment-room branches--it makes them feel it will be un-homelike, and that there will be a kind of repetition in the evening of all the discipline and regulations they have to put up with during the day." "have to put up with!" murmured sir isaac. "i wish that had been thought of sooner. if we had made the places look a little more ordinary and called them osborne house or something a little old-fashioned like that, something with a touch of the old queen about it and all that kind of thing." "we can't go to the expense of taking down all those big gilt letters just to please the fancies of miss babs wheeler." "it's too late now to do that, perhaps. but we could do something, i think, to remove the suspicions ... i want, isaac----i think----" she pulled herself together to announce her determination. "i think if i were to go to the girls and meet a delegation of them, and just talk to them plainly about what we mean by this hostel." "_you_ can't go making speeches." "it would just be talking to them." "it's such a come down," said sir isaac, after a momentary contemplation of the possibility. for some time they talked without getting very far from these positions they had assumed. at last sir isaac shifted back upon his expert. "can't we talk about it to mrs. pembrose? she knows more about this sort of business than we do." "i'm not going to talk to mrs. pembrose," said lady harman, after a little interval. some unusual quality in her quiet voice made sir isaac lift his eyes to her face for a moment. so one saturday afternoon, lady harman had a meeting with a roomful of recalcitrant girls at the regent street refreshment branch, which looked very odd to her with grey cotton wrappers over everything and its blinds down, and for the first time she came face to face with the people for whom almost in spite of herself she was working. it was a meeting summoned by the international branch of the national union of waitresses and miss babs wheeler and mr. graper were so to speak the north and south poles of the little group upon the improvised platform from which lady harman was to talk to the gathering. she would have liked the support of mr. brumley, but she couldn't contrive any unostentatious way of bringing him into the business without putting it upon a footing that would have involved the appearance of sir isaac and mrs. pembrose and--everybody. and essentially it wasn't to be everybody. it was to be a little talk. lady harman rather liked the appearance of miss babs wheeler, and met more than an answering approval in that insubordinate young woman's eye. miss wheeler was a minute swaggering person, much akimbo, with a little round blue-eyed innocent face that shone with delight at the lark of living. her three companions who were in the lobby with her to receive and usher in lady harman seemed just as young, but they were relatively unilluminated except by their manifest devotion to their leader. they displayed rather than concealed their opinion of her as a "dear" and a "fair wonder." and the meeting generally it seemed to her was a gathering of very human young women, rather restless, then agog to see her and her clothes, and then somehow allayed by her appearance and quite amiably attentive to what she had to say. a majority were young girls dressed with the cheap smartness of the suburbs, the rest were for the most part older and dingier, and here and there were dotted young ladies of a remarkable and questionable smartness. in the front row, full of shy recognitions and a little disguised by an unfamiliar hat was susan's sister alice. as lady harman had made up her mind that she was not going to deliver a speech she felt no diffidence in speaking. she was far too intent on her message to be embarrassed by any thought of the effect she was producing. she talked as she might have talked in one of her easier moods to mr. brumley. and as she talked it happened that miss babs wheeler and quite a number of the other girls present watched her face and fell in love with her. she began with her habitual prelude. "you see," she said, and stopped and began again. she wanted to tell them and with a clumsy simplicity she told them how these hostels had arisen out of her desire that they should have something better than the uncomfortable lodgings in which they lived. they weren't a business enterprise, but they weren't any sort of charity. "and i wanted them to be the sort of place in which you would feel quite free. i hadn't any sort of intention of having you interfered with. i hate being interfered with myself, and i understand just as well as anyone can that you don't like it either. i wanted these hostels to be the sort of place that you might perhaps after a time almost manage and run for yourselves. you might have a committee or something.... only you know it isn't always easy to do as one wants. things don't always go in this world as one wants them to go--particularly if one isn't clever." she lost herself for a moment at that point, and then went on to say she didn't like the new rules. they had been drawn up in a hurry and she had only read them after they were printed. all sorts of things in them---she seemed to be losing her theme again, and mr. graper handed her the offending card, a big varnished wall placard, with eyelets and tape complete. she glanced at it. for example, she said, it wasn't her idea to have fines. (great and long continued applause.) there was something she had always disliked about fines. (renewed applause.) but these rules could easily be torn up. and as she said this and as the meeting broke into acquiescence again it occurred to her that there was the card of rules in her hands, and nothing could be simpler than to tear it up there and then. it resisted her for a moment, she compressed her lips and then she had it in halves. this tearing was so satisfactory to her that she tore it again and then again. as she tore it, she had a pleasant irrational feeling that she was tearing mrs. pembrose. mr. graper's face betrayed his shocked feelings, and the meeting which had become charged with a strong desire to show how entirely it approved of her, made a crowning attempt at applause. they hammered umbrellas on the floor, they clapped hands, they rattled chairs and gave a shrill cheer. a chair was broken. "i wish," said lady harman when that storm had abated, "you'd come and look at the hostel. couldn't you come next saturday afternoon? we could have a stand-up tea and you could see the place and then afterwards your committee and i--and my husband--could make out a real set of rules...." she went on for some little time longer, she appealed to them with all the strength of her honest purpose to help her to make this possible good thing a real good thing, not to suspect, not to be hard on her--"and my husband"--not to make a difficult thing impossible, it was so easy to do that, and when she finished she was in the happiest possession of her meeting. they came thronging round her with flushed faces and bright eyes, they wanted to come near her, wanted to touch her, wanted to assure her that for her they were quite prepared to live in any kind of place. for her. "you come and talk to us, lady harman," said one; "_we'll_ show you." "nobody hasn't told us, lady harman, how these hostels were _yours_." "you come and talk to us again, lady harman." ... they didn't wait for the following saturday. on monday morning mrs. pembrose received thirty-seven applications to take up rooms. §13 for the next few years it was to be a matter of recurrent heart-searching for lady harman whether she had been profoundly wise or extremely foolish in tearing up that card of projected rules. at the time it seemed the most natural and obvious little action imaginable; it was long before she realized just how symbolical and determining a few movements of the hand and wrist can be. it fixed her line not so much for herself as for others. it put her definitely, much more definitely than her convictions warranted, on the side of freedom against discipline. for indeed her convictions like most of our convictions kept along a tortuous watershed between these two. it is only a few rare extravagant spirits who are wholly for the warp or wholly for the woof of human affairs. the girls applauded and loved her. at one stroke she had acquired the terrible liability of partisans. they made her their champion and sanction; she was responsible for an endless succession of difficulties that flowered out of their interpretations of her act. these hostels that had seemed passing out of her control, suddenly turned back upon her and took possession of her. and they were never simple difficulties. right and wrong refused to unravel for her; each side of every issue seemed to be so often in suicidal competition with its antagonist for the inferior case. if the forces of order and discipline showed themselves perennially harsh and narrow, it did not blind her perplexed eyes to the fact that the girls were frequently extremely naughty. she wished very often, she did so wish--they wouldn't be. they set out with a kind of eagerness for conflict. their very loyalty to her expressed itself not so much in any sustained attempt to make the hostels successful as in cheering inconveniently, in embarrassing declarations of a preference, in an ingenious and systematic rudeness to anyone suspected of imperfect devotion to her. the first comers into the hostels were much more like the swelling inrush of a tide than, as mrs. pembrose would have preferred, like something laid on through a pipe, and when this lady wanted to go on with the old rules until sir isaac had approved of the new, the new arrivals went into the cutting-out room and manifested. lady harman had to be telephoned for to allay the manifestation. and then arose questions of deportment, trivial in themselves, but of the gravest moment for the welfare of the hostels. there was a phrase about "noisy or improper conduct" in the revised rules. few people would suspect a corridor, ten feet wide and two hundred feet long, as a temptation to impropriety, but mrs. pembrose found it was so. the effect of the corridors upon undisciplined girls quite unaccustomed to corridors was for a time most undesirable. for example they were moved to _run_ along them violently. they ran races along them, when they overtook they jostled, when they were overtaken they squealed. the average velocity in the corridors of the lady occupants of the bloomsbury hostel during the first fortnight of its existence was seven miles an hour. was that violence? was that impropriety? the building was all steel construction, but one _heard_ even in the head matron's room. and then there was the effect of the rows and rows of windows opening out upon the square. the square had some pleasant old trees and it was attractive to look down into their upper branches, where the sparrows mobbed and chattered perpetually, and over them at the chimneys and turrets and sky signs of the london world. the girls looked. so far they were certainly within their rights. but they did not look modestly, they did not look discreetly. they looked out of wide-open windows, they even sat perilously and protrudingly on the window sills conversing across the façade from window to window, attracting attention, and once to mrs. pembrose's certain knowledge a man in the street joined in. it was on a sunday morning, too, a bloomsbury sunday morning! but graver things were to rouse the preventive prohibitionist in the soul of mrs. pembrose. there was the visiting of one another's rooms and cubicles. most of these young people had never possessed or dreamt of possessing a pretty and presentable apartment to themselves, and the first effect of this was to produce a decorative outbreak, a vigorous framing of photographs and hammering of nails ("dust-gathering litter."--_mrs. pembrose_) and then--visiting. they visited at all hours and in all costumes; they sat in groups of three or four, one on the chair and the rest on the bed conversing into late hours,--entirely uncensored conversations too often accompanied by laughter. when mrs. pembrose took this to lady harman she found her extraordinarily blind to the conceivable evils of this free intercourse. "but lady harman!" said mrs. pembrose, with a note of horror, "some of them--kiss each other!" "but if they're fond of each other," said lady harman. "i'm sure i don't see----" and when the floor matrons were instructed to make little surprise visits up and down the corridors the girls who occupied rooms took to locking their doors--and lady harman seemed inclined to sustain their right to do that. the floor matrons did what they could to exercise authority, one or two were former department manageresses, two were ex-elementary teachers, crowded out by younger and more certificated rivals, one, and the most trustworthy one, mrs. pembrose found, was an ex-wardress from holloway. the natural result of these secret talkings and conferrings in the rooms became apparent presently in some mild ragging and in the concoction of petty campaigns of annoyance designed to soften the manners of the more authoritative floor matrons. here again were perplexing difficulties. if a particular floor matron has a clear commanding note in her voice, is it or is it not "violent and improper" to say "haw!" in clear commanding tones whenever you suppose her to be within earshot? as for the door-locking mrs. pembrose settled that by carrying off all the keys. complaints and incidents drifted towards definite scenes and "situations." both sides in this continuing conflict of dispositions were so definite, so intolerant, to the mind of the lady with the perplexed dark eyes who mediated. her reason was so much with the matrons; her sympathies so much with the girls. she did not like the assured brevity of mrs. pembrose's judgments and decisions; she had an instinctive perception of the truth that all compact judgments upon human beings are unjust judgments. the human spirit is but poorly adapted either to rule or to be ruled, and the honesty of all the efforts of mrs. pembrose and her staffs--for soon the hostels at sydenham and west kensington were open--were marred not merely by arrogance but by an irritability, a real hostility to complexities and difficulties and resisters and troublesome characters. and it did not help the staff to a triumphant achievement of its duties that the girls had an exaggerated perception that lady harman's heart was on their side. and presently the phrase "weeding out" crept into the talk of mrs. pembrose. some of the girls were being marked as ringleaders, foci of mischief, characters it was desirable to "get rid of." confronted with it lady harman perceived she was absolutely opposed to this idea of getting rid of anyone--unless it was mrs. pembrose. she liked her various people; she had no desire for a whittled success with a picked remnant of subdued and deferential employees. she put that to mr. brumley and mr. brumley was indignant and eloquent in his concurrence. a certain mary trunk, a dark young woman with a belief that it became her to have a sweet disorder in her hair, and a large blond girl named lucy baxandall seemed to be the chief among the bad influences of the bloomsbury hostel, and they took it upon themselves to appeal to lady harman against mrs. pembrose. they couldn't, they complained, "do a thing right for her...." so the tangle grew. presently lady harman had to go to the riviera with sir isaac and when she came back mary trunk and lucy baxandall had vanished from both the international hostel and the international stores. she tried to find out why, and she was confronted by inadequate replies and enigmatical silences. "they decided to go," said mrs. pembrose, and dropped "fortunately" after that statement. she disavowed any exact knowledge of their motives. but she feared the worst. susan burnet was uninforming. whatever had happened had failed to reach alice burnet's ears. lady harman could not very well hold a commission of enquiry into the matter, but she had an uneasy sense of a hidden campaign of dislodgement. and about the corridors and cubicles and club rooms there was she thought a difference, a discretion, a flavour of subjugation.... chapter the eleventh the last crisis §1 it would be quite easy for anyone with the knack of reserve to go on from this point with a history of lady harman that would present her as practically a pure philanthropist. for from these beginnings she was destined to proceed to more and more knowledge and understanding and clear purpose and capable work in this interesting process of collective regrouping, this process which may even at last justify mr. brumley's courageous interpretations and prove to be an early experiment in the beginning of a new social order. perhaps some day there will be an official biography, another addition to the inscrutable records of british public lives, in which all these things will be set out with tact and dignity. horatio blenker or adolphus blenker may survive to be entrusted with this congenial task. she will be represented as a tall inanimate person pursuing one clear benevolent purpose in life from her very beginning, and sir isaac and her relations with sir isaac will be rescued from reality. the book will be illustrated by a number of carefully posed photographer's photographs of her, studies of the putney house and perhaps an unappetizing woodcut of her early home at penge. the aim of all british biography is to conceal. a great deal of what we have already told will certainly not figure in any such biography, and still more certainly will the things we have yet to tell be missing. lady harman was indeed only by the force of circumstances and intermittently a pure philanthropist, and it is with the intercalary passages of less exalted humanity that we are here chiefly concerned. at times no doubt she did really come near to filling and fitting and becoming identical with that figure of the pure philanthropist which was her world-ward face, but for the most part that earnest and dignified figure concealed more or less extensive spaces of nothingness, while the errant soul of the woman within strayed into less exalted ways of thinking. there were times when she was almost sure of herself--mrs. hubert plessington could scarcely have been surer of herself, and times when the whole magnificent project of constructing a new urban social life out of those difficult hostels, a collective urban life that should be liberal and free, broke into grimacing pieces and was the most foolish of experiments. her struggles with mrs. pembrose thereupon assumed a quality of mere bickering and she could even doubt whether mrs. pembrose wasn't justified in her attitude and wiser by her very want of generosity. she felt then something childish in the whole undertaking that otherwise escaped her, she was convicted of an absurd self-importance, she discovered herself an ignorant woman availing herself of her husband's power and wealth to attempt presumptuous experiments. in these moods of disillusionment, her mind went adrift and was driven to and fro from discontent to discontent; she would find herself taking soundings and seeking an anchorage upon the strangest, most unfamiliar shoals. and in her relations and conflicts with her husband there was a smouldering shame for her submissions to him that needed only a phase of fatigue to become acute. so long as she believed in her hostels and her mission that might be endured, but forced back upon her more personal life its hideousness stood unclothed. mr. brumley could sometimes reassure her by a rhetorical effort upon the score of her hostels, but most of her more intimate and inner life was not, for very plain reasons, to be shown to him. he was full of the intention of generous self-denials, but she had long since come to measure the limits of his self-denial.... mr. brumley was a friend in whom smouldered a love, capable she knew quite clearly of tormented and tormenting jealousies. it would be difficult to tell, and she certainly could never have told how far she knew of this by instinct, how far it came out of rapid intuitions from things seen and heard. but she understood that she dared not let a single breath of encouragement, a hint of physical confidence, reach that banked-up glow. a sentinel discretion in her brain was always on the watch for that danger, and that restraint, that added deliberate inexpressiveness, kept them most apart, when most her spirit cried out for companionship. the common quality of all these moods of lassitude was a desolating loneliness. she had at times a need that almost overwhelmed her to be intimate, to be comforted and taken up out of the bleak harsh disappointments and stresses of her customary life. at times after sir isaac had either been too unloving or too loving, or when the girls or the matrons had achieved some new tangle of mutual unreasonableness, or when her faith failed, she would lie in the darkness of her own room with her soul crying out for--how can one put it?--the touch of other soul-stuff. and perhaps it was the constant drift of mr. brumley's talk, the little suggestions that fell drop by drop into her mind from his, that disposed her to believe that this aching sense of solitude in the void was to be assuaged by love, by some marvel of close exaltation that one might reach through a lover. she had told mr. brumley long ago that she would never let herself think of love, she still maintained to him that attitude of resolute aloofness, but almost without noting what she did, she was tampering now in her solitude with the seals of that locked chamber. she became secretly curious about love. perhaps there was something in it of which she knew nothing. she found herself drawn towards poetry, found a new attraction in romance; more and more did she dally with the idea that there was some unknown beauty in the world, something to which her eyes might presently open, something deeper and sweeter than any thing she had ever known, close at hand, something to put all the world into proportion for her. in a little while she no longer merely tampered with these seals, for quite silently the door had opened and she was craning in. this love it seemed to her might after all be so strange a thing that it goes unsuspected and yet fills the whole world of a human soul. an odd grotesque passage in a novel by wilkins gave her that idea. he compared love to electricity, of all things in the world; that throbbing life amidst the atoms that we now draw upon for light, warmth, connexion, the satisfaction of a thousand wants and the cure of a thousand ills. there it is and always has been in the life of man, and yet until a century ago it worked unsuspected, was known only for a disregarded oddity of amber, a crackling in frost-dry hair and thunder.... and then she remembered how mr. brumley had once broken into a panegyric of love. "it makes life a different thing. it is like the home-coming of something lost. all this dispersed perplexing world _centres_. think what true love means; to live always in the mind of another and to have that other living always in your mind.... only there can be no restraints, no reserves, no admission of prior rights. one must feel _safe_ of one's welcome and freedoms...." wasn't it worth the risk of almost any breach of boundaries to get to such a light as that?... she hid these musings from every human being, she was so shy with them, she hid them almost from herself. rarely did they have their way with her and when they did, presently she would accuse herself of slackness and dismiss them and urge herself to fresh practicalities in her work. but her work was not always at hand, sir isaac's frequent relapses took her abroad to places where she found herself in the midst of beautiful scenery with little to do and little to distract her from these questionings. then such thoughts would inundate her. this feeling of the unsatisfactoriness of life, of incompleteness and solitariness, was not of that fixed sort that definitely indicates its demand. under its oppression she tried the idea of love, but she also tried certain other ideas. very often this vague appeal had the quality of a person, sometimes a person shrouded in night, a soundless whisper, the unseen lover who came to psyche in the darkness. and sometimes that person became more distinct, less mystic and more companionable. perhaps because imaginations have a way of following the line of least resistance, it took upon itself something of the form, something of the voice and bearing of mr. brumley. she recoiled from her own thoughts when she discovered herself wondering what manner of lover mr. brumley might make--if suddenly she lowered her defences, freed his suffocating pleading, took him to herself. in my anxiety to draw mr. brumley as he was, i have perhaps a little neglected to show him as lady harman saw him. we have employed the inconsiderate verisimilitude of a novelist repudiating romance in his portrayal; towards her he kept a better face. he was at least a very honest lover and there was little disingenuousness in the flow of fine mental attitudes that met her; the thought and presence of her made him fine; as soon could he have turned his shady side towards the sun. and she was very ready and eager to credit him with generous qualities. we of his club and circle, a little assisted perhaps by max beerbohm's diabolical index finger, may have found and been not unwilling to find his face chiefly expressive of a kind of empty alertness; but when it was turned to her its quite pleasantly modelled features glowed and it was transfigured. so far as she was concerned, with sir isaac as foil, he was real enough and good enough for her. and by the virtue of that unlovely contrast even a certain ineffectiveness--became infinite delicacy.... the thought of mr. brumley in that relation and to that extent of clearness came but rarely into her consciousness, and when it did it was almost immediately dismissed again. it was the most fugitive of proffered consolations. and it is to be remarked that it made its most successful apparitions when mr. brumley was far away, and by some weeks or months of separation a little blurred and forgotten.... and sometimes this unrest of her spirit, this unhappiness turned her in quite another direction as it seemed and she had thoughts of religion. with a deepened shame she would go seeking into that other, that greater indelicacy, from which her upbringing had divorced her mind. she would even secretly pray. greatly daring she fled on several occasions from her visitation of the hostels or slipped out of her home, and evading mr. brumley, went once to the brompton oratory, once or twice to the westminster cathedral and then having discovered saint paul's, to saint paul's in search of this nameless need. it was a need that no plain and ugly little place of worship would satisfy. it was a need that demanded choir and organ. she went to saint paul's haphazard when her mood and opportunity chanced together and there in the afternoons she found a wonder of great music and chanting voices, and she would kneel looking up into those divine shadows and perfect archings and feel for a time assuaged, wonderfully assuaged. sometimes, there, she seemed to be upon the very verge of grasping that hidden reality which makes all things plain. sometimes it seemed to her that this very indulgence was the hidden reality. she could never be sure in her mind whether these secret worshippings helped or hampered her in her daily living. they helped her to a certain disregard of annoyances and indignities and so far they were good, but they also helped towards a more general indifference. she might have told these last experiences to mr. brumley if she had not felt them to be indescribable. they could not be half told. they had to be told completely or they were altogether untellable. so she had them hid, and at once accepted and distrusted the consolation they brought her, and went on with the duties and philanthropies that she had chosen as her task in the world. §2 one day in lent--it was nearly three years after the opening of the first hostel--she went to saint paul's. she was in a mood of great discouragement; the struggle between mrs. pembrose and the bloomsbury girls had suddenly reopened in an acute form and sir isaac, who was sickening again after a period of better health, had become strangely restless and irritable and hostile to her. he had thwarted her unusually and taken the side of the matrons in a conflict in which susan burnet's sister alice was now distinguished as the chief of the malcontents. the new trouble seemed to lady harman to be traceable in one direction to that ardent unionist, miss babs wheeler, under the spell of whose round-faced, blue-eyed, distraught personality alice had altogether fallen. miss babs wheeler was fighting for the union; she herself lived at highbury with her mother, and alice was her chosen instrument in the hostels. the union had always been a little against the lady-like instincts of many of the waitresses; they felt strikes were vulgar and impaired their social standing, and this feeling had been greatly strengthened by irruptions of large contingents of shop assistants from various department stores. the bloomsbury hostel in particular now accommodated a hundred refined and elegant hands--they ought rather to be called figures--from the great oxford street costume house of eustace and mills, young people with a tall sweeping movement and an elevation of chin that had become nearly instinctive, and a silent yet evident intention to find the international girls "low" at the slightest provocation. it is only too easy for poor humanity under the irritation of that tacit superiority to respond with just the provocation anticipated. what one must regretfully speak of as the vulgar section of the international girls had already put itself in the wrong by a number of aggressive acts before the case came to lady harman's attention. mrs. pembrose seized the occasion for weeding on a courageous scale, and miss alice burnet and three of her dearest friends were invited to vacate their rooms "pending redecoration". with only too much plausibility the threatened young women interpreted this as an expulsion, and declined to remove their boxes and personal belongings. miss babs wheeler thereupon entered the bloomsbury hostel, and in the teeth of three express prohibitions from mrs. pembrose, went a little up the staircase and addressed a confused meeting in the central hall. there was loud and continuous cheering for lady harman at intervals during this incident. thereupon mrs. pembrose demanded sweeping dismissals, not only from the hostels but the shops as an alternative to her resignation, and lady harman found herself more perplexed than ever.... georgina sawbridge had contrived to mingle herself in an entirely characteristic way in these troubles by listening for a brief period to an abstract of her sister's perplexities, then demanding to be made director-general of the whole affair, refusing to believe this simple step impossible and retiring in great dudgeon to begin a series of letters of even more than sisterly bitterness. and mr. brumley when consulted had become dangerously sentimental. under these circumstances lady harman's visit to saint paul's had much of the quality of a flight. it was with an unwonted sense of refuge that she came from the sombre stress and roar of london without into the large hushed spaces of the cathedral. the door closed behind her--and all things changed. here was meaning, coherence, unity. here instead of a pelting confusion of movements and motives was a quiet concentration upon the little focus of light about the choir, the gentle complete dominance of a voice intoning. she slipped along the aisle and into the nave and made her way to a seat. how good this was! outside she had felt large, awkwardly responsible, accessible to missiles, a distressed conspicuous thing; within this living peace she suddenly became no more than one of a tranquil hushed community of small black-clad lenten people; she found a chair and knelt and felt she vanished even from her own consciousness.... how beautiful was this place! she looked up presently at the great shadowy arcs far above her, so easy, so gracious that it seemed they had not so much been built by men as shaped by circling flights of angels. the service, a little clustering advance of voices unsustained by any organ, mingled in her mind with the many-pointed glow of candles. and then into this great dome of worship and beauty, like a bed of voices breaking into flower, like a springtime breeze of sound, came allegri's miserere.... her spirit clung to this mood of refuge. it seemed as though the disorderly, pugnacious, misunderstanding universe had opened and shown her luminous mysteries. she had a sense of penetration. all that conflict, that jar of purposes and motives, was merely superficial; she had left it behind her. for a time she had no sense of effort in keeping hold of this, only of attainment, she drifted happily upon the sweet sustaining sounds, and then--then the music ceased. she came back into herself. close to her a seated man stirred and sighed. she tried to get back her hold upon that revelation but it had gone. inexorably, opaque, impenetrable doors closed softly on her moment of vision.... all about her was the stir of departure. she walked out slowly into the cold march daylight, to the leaden greys, the hurrying black shapes, the chaotic afternoon traffic of london. she paused on the steps, still but half reawakened. a passing omnibus obtruded the familiar inscription, "international stores for staminal bread." she turned like one who remembers, to where her chauffeur stood waiting. §3 as her motor car, with a swift smoothness, carried her along the embankment towards the lattice bar of charing cross bridge and the remoter towers of the houses of parliament, grey now and unsubstantial against the bright western sky, her mind came back slowly to her particular issues in life. but they were no longer the big exasperatingly important things that had seemed to hold her life by a hundred painful hooks before she went into the cathedral. they were small still under this dome of evening, small even by the measure of the grey buildings to the right of her and the warm lit river to her left, by the measure of the clustering dark barges, the teeming trams, the streaming crowds of people, the note of the human process that sounds so loud there. she felt small even to herself, for the touch of beauty saves us from our own personalities, makes gods of us to our own littleness. she passed under the railway bridge at charing cross, watched the square cluster of westminster's pinnacles rise above her until they were out of sight overhead, ran up the little incline and round into parliament square, and was presently out on the riverside embankment again with the great chimneys of chelsea smoking athwart the evening gold. and thence with a sudden effect of skies shut and curtains drawn she came by devious ways to the fulham road and the crowding traffic of putney bridge and putney high street and so home. snagsby, assisted by a new under-butler, a lean white-faced young man with red hair, received her ceremoniously and hovered serviceably about her. on the hall table lay three or four visiting cards of no importance, some circulars and two letters. she threw the circulars into the basket placed for them and opened her first letter. it was from georgina; it was on several sheets and it began, "i still cannot believe that you refuse to give me the opportunity the director-generalship of your hostels means to me. it is not as if you yourself had either the time or the abilities necessary for them yourself; you haven't, and there is something almost dog-in-the-manger-ish to my mind in the way in which you will not give me my chance, the chance i have always been longing for----" at this point lady harman put down this letter for subsequent perusal and took its companion, which was addressed in an unfamiliar hand. it was from alice burnet and it was written in that sprawling hand and diffused style natural to a not very well educated person with a complicated story to tell in a state of unusual emotion. but the gist was in the first few sentences which announced that alice had been evicted from the hostel. "i found my things on the pavement," wrote alice. lady harman became aware of snagsby still hovering at hand. "mrs. pembrose, my lady, came here this afternoon," he said, when he had secured her attention. "came here." "she asked for you, my lady, and when i told her you were not at 'ome, she asked if she might see sir isaac." "and did she?" "sir isaac saw her, my lady. they 'ad tea in the study." "i wish i had been at home to see her," said lady harman, after a brief interval of reflection. she took her two letters and turned to the staircase. they were still in her hand when presently she came into her husband's study. "i don't want a light," he said, as she put out her hand to the electric switch. his voice had a note of discontent, but he was sitting in the armchair against the window so that she could not see his features. "how are you feeling this afternoon?" she asked. "i'm feeling all right," he answered testily. he seemed to dislike inquiries after his health almost as much as he disliked neglect. she came and stood by him and looked out from the dusk of the room into the garden darkening under a red-barred sky. "there is fresh trouble between mrs. pembrose and the girls," she said. "she's been telling me about it." "she's been here?" "pretty nearly an hour," said sir isaac. lady harman tried to imagine that hour's interview on the spur of the moment and failed. she came to her immediate business. "i think," she said, "that she has been--high-handed...." "you would," said sir isaac after an interval. his tone was hostile, so hostile that it startled her. "don't you?" he shook his head. "my idees and your idees--or anyhow the idees you've got hold of--somewhere--somehow----i don't know where you _get_ your idees. we haven't got the same idees, anyhow. you got to keep order in these places--anyhow...." she perceived that she was in face of a prepared position. "i don't think," she threw out, "that she does keep order. she represses--and irritates. she gets an idea that certain girls are against her...." "and you get an idea she's against certain girls...." "practically she expels them. she has in fact just turned one out into the street." "you got to expel 'em. you got to. you can't run these places on sugar and water. there's a sort of girl, a sort of man, who makes trouble. there's a sort makes strikes, makes mischief, gets up grievances. you got to get rid of 'em somehow. you got to be practical somewhere. you can't go running these places on a lot of littry idees and all that. it's no good." the phrase "littry idees" held lady harman's attention for a moment. but she could not follow it up to its implications, because she wanted to get on with the issue she had in hand. "i want to be consulted about these expulsions. girl after girl has been sent away----" sir isaac's silhouette was obstinate. "she knows her business," he said. he seemed to feel the need of a justification. "they shouldn't make trouble." on that they rested for a little while in silence. she began to realize with a gathering emotion that this matter was far more crucial than she had supposed. she had been thinking only of the reinstatement of alice burnet, she hadn't yet estimated just what that overriding of mrs. pembrose might involve. "i don't want to have any girl go until i have looked into her case. it's----it's vital." "she says she can't run the show unless she has some power." neither spoke for some seconds. she had the feeling of hopeless vexation that might come to a child that has wandered into a trap. "i thought," she began. "these hostels----" she stopped short. sir isaac's hand tightened on the arm of his chair. "i started 'em to please you," he said. "i didn't start 'em to please your friends." she turned her eyes quickly to his grey up-looking face. "i didn't start them for you and that chap brumley to play about with," he amplified. "and now you know about it, elly." the thing had found her unprepared. "as if----" she said at last. "as if!" he mocked. she stood quite still staring blankly at this unmanageable situation. he was the first to break silence. he lifted one hand and dropped it again with a dead impact on the arm of his chair. "i got the things," he said, "and there they are. anyhow,--they got to be run in a proper way." she made no immediate answer. she was seeking desperately for phrases that escaped her. "do you think," she began at last. "do you really think----?" he stared out of the window. he answered in tones of excessive reasonableness: "i didn't start these hostels to be run by you and your--friend." he gave the sentence the quality of an ultimatum, an irreducible minimum. "he's my friend," she explained, "only--because he does work--for the hostels." sir isaac seemed for a moment to attempt to consider that. then he relapsed upon his predetermined attitude. "god!" he exclaimed, "but i have been a fool!" she decided that that must be ignored. "i care more for those hostels than i care for anything--anything else in the world," she told him. "i want them to work--i want them to succeed.... and then----" he listened in sceptical silence. "mr. brumley is nothing to me but a helper. he----how can you imagine, isaac----? _i!_ how can you dare? to suggest----!" "very well," said sir isaac and reflected and made his old familiar sound with his teeth. "run the hostels without him, elly," he propounded. "then i'll believe." she perceived that suddenly she was faced by a test or a bargain. in the background of her mind the figure of mr. brumley, as she had seen him last, in brown and with a tie rather to one side, protested vainly. she did what she could for him on the spur of the moment. "but," she said, "he's so helpful. he's so--harmless." "that's as may be," said sir isaac and breathed heavily. "how can one suddenly turn on a friend?" "i don't see that you ever wanted a friend," said sir isaac. "he's been so good. it isn't reasonable, isaac. when anyone has--_slaved_." "i don't say he isn't a good sort of chap," said sir isaac, with that same note of almost superhuman rationality, "only--he isn't going to run my hostels." "but what do you mean, isaac?" "i mean you got to choose." he waited as if he expected her to speak and then went on. "what it comes to is this, elly, i'm about sick of that chap. i'm sick of him." he paused for a moment because his breath was short. "if you go on with the hostels he's--phew--got to mizzle. _then_--i don't mind--if you want that girl burnet brought back in triumph.... it'll make mrs. pembrose chuck the whole blessed show, you know, but i say--i don't mind.... only in that case, i don't want to see or hear--or hear about--phew--or hear about your mr. brumley again. and i don't want you to, either.... i'm being pretty reasonable and pretty patient over this, with people--people--talking right and left. still,--there's a limit.... you've been going on--if i didn't know you were an innocent--in a way ... i don't want to talk about that. there you are, elly." it seemed to her that she had always expected this to happen. but however much she had expected it to happen she was still quite unprepared with any course of action. she wanted with an equal want of limitation to keep both mr. brumley and her hostels. "but isaac," she said. "what do you suspect? what do you think? this friendship has been going on----how can i end it suddenly?" "don't you be too innocent, elly. you know and i know perfectly well what there is between men and women. i don't make out i know--anything i don't know. i don't pretend you are anything but straight. only----" he suddenly gave way to his irritation. his self-control vanished. "damn it!" he cried, and his panting breath quickened; "the thing's got to end. as if i didn't understand! as if i didn't understand!" she would have protested again but his voice held her. "it's got to end. it's got to end. of course you haven't done anything, of course you don't know anything or think of anything.... only here i am ill.... _you_ wouldn't be sorry if i got worse.... _you_ can wait; you can.... all right! all right! and there you stand, irritating me--arguing. you know--it chokes me.... got to end, i tell you.... got to end...." he beat at the arms of his chair and then put a hand to his throat. "go away," he cried to her. "go to hell!" §4 i cannot tell whether the reader is a person of swift decisions or one of the newer race of doubters; if he be the latter he will the better understand how lady harman did in the next two days make up her mind definitely and conclusively to two entirely opposed lines of action. she decided that her relations with mr. brumley, innocent as they were, must cease in the interests of the hostels and her struggle with mrs. pembrose, and she decided with quite equal certainty that her husband's sudden veto upon these relations was an intolerable tyranny that must be resisted with passionate indignation. also she was surprised to find how difficult it was now to think of parting from mr. brumley. she made her way to these precarious conclusions and on from whichever it was to the other through a jungle of conflicting considerations and feelings. when she thought of mrs. pembrose and more particularly of the probable share of mrs. pembrose in her husband's objection to mr. brumley her indignation kindled. she perceived mrs. pembrose as a purely evil personality, as a spirit of espionage, distrust, calculated treachery and malignant intervention, as all that is evil in rule and officialism, and a vast wave of responsibility for all those difficult and feeble and likeable young women who elbowed and giggled and misunderstood and blundered and tried to live happily under the commanding stresses of mrs. pembrose's austerity carried her away. she had her duty to do to them and it overrode every other duty. if a certain separation from mr. brumley's assiduous aid was demanded, was it too great a sacrifice? and no sooner was that settled than the whole question reopened with her indignant demand why anyone at any price had the right to prohibit a friendship that she had so conscientiously kept innocent. if she gave way to this outrageous restriction to-day, what fresh limitations might not sir isaac impose to-morrow? and now, she was so embarrassed in her struggle by his health. she could not go to him and have things out with him, she could not directly defy him, because that might mean a suffocating seizure for him.... it was entirely illogical, no doubt, but extremely natural for lady harman to decide that she must communicate her decision, whichever one it was, to mr. brumley in a personal interview. she wrote to him and arranged to meet and talk to him in kew gardens, and with a feeling of discretion went thither not in the automobile but in a taxi-cab. and so delicately now were her two irrevocable decisions balanced in her mind that twice on her way to kew she swayed over from one to the other. arrived at the gardens she found herself quite disinclined to begin the announcement of either decision. she was quite exceptionally glad to see mr. brumley; he was dressed in a new suit of lighter brown that became him very well indeed, the day was warm and bright, a day of scyllas and daffodils and snow-upon-the-mountains and green-powdered trees and frank sunshine,--and the warmth of her feelings for her friend merged indistinguishably with the springtime stir and glow. they walked across the bright turf together in a state of unjustifiable happiness, purring little admirations at the ingenious elegance of creation at its best as gardeners set it out for our edification, and the whole tenor of lady harman's mind was to make this occasion an escape from the particular business that had brought her thither. "we'll look for daffodils away there towards the river under the trees," said mr. brumley, and it seemed preposterous not to enjoy those daffodils at least before she broached the great issue between an irresistible force and an immoveable post, that occupied her mental background. mr. brumley was quite at his best that afternoon. he was happy, gay and deferential; he made her realize by his every tone and movement that if he had his choice of the whole world that afternoon and all its inhabitants and everything, there was no other place in which he would be, no other companion, no other occupation than this he had. he talked of spring and flowers, quoted poets and added the treasures of a well-stored mind to the amenities of the day. "it's good to take a holiday at times," he said, and after that it was more difficult than ever to talk about the trouble of the hostels. she was able to do this at last while they were having tea in the little pavilion near the pagoda. it was the old pavilion, the one that miss alimony's suffragettes were afterwards to burn down in order to demonstrate the relentless logic of women. they did it in the same eventful week when miss alimony was, she declared, so nearly carried off by white slave traders (disguised as nurses but, fortunately for her, smelling of brandy) from the brixton temperance bazaar. but in those simpler days the pavilion still existed; it was tended by agreeable waiters whose evening dress was mitigated by cheerful little straw hats, and an enormous multitude of valiant and smutty cockney sparrows chirped and squeaked and begged and fluttered and fought, venturing to the very tables and feet of the visitors. and here, a little sobered from their first elation by much walking about and the presence of jam and watercress, mr. brumley and lady harman could think again of the work they were doing for the reconstitution of society upon collective lines. she began to tell him of the conflict between mrs. pembrose and alice burnet that threatened the latter with extinction. she found it more convenient to talk at first as though the strands of decision were still all in her hands; afterwards she could go on to the peculiar complication of the situation through the unexpected weakening of her position in relation to mrs. pembrose. she described the particular of the new trouble, the perplexing issue between the "lady-like," for which as a feminine ideal there was so much to be said on the one hand and the "genial," which was also an admirable quality, on the other. "you see," she said, "it's very rude to cough at people and make noises, but then it's so difficult to explain to the others that it's equally rude to go past people and pretend not to see or hear them. girls of that sort always seem so much more underbred when they are trying to be superior than when they are not; they get so stiff and--exasperating. and this keeping out of the union because it isn't genteel, it's the very essence of the trouble with all these employees. we've discussed that so often. those drapers' girls seem full of such cold, selfish, base, pretentious notions; much more full even than our refreshment girls. and then as if it wasn't all difficult enough comes mrs. pembrose and her wardresses doing all sorts of hard, clumsy things, and one can't tell them just how little they are qualified to judge good behaviour. their one idea of discipline is to speak to people as if they were servants and to be distant and crushing. and long before one can do anything come trouble and tart replies and reports of "gross impertinence" and expulsion. we keep on expelling girls. this is the fourth time girls have had to go. what is to become of them? i know this burnet girl quite well as you know. she's just a human, kindly little woman.... she'll feel disgraced.... how can i let a thing like that occur?" she spread her hands apart over the tea things. mr. brumley held his chin in his hand and said "um" and looked judicial, and admired lady harman very much, and tried to grasp the whole trouble and wring out a solution. he made some admirable generalizations about the development of a new social feeling in response to changed conditions, but apart from a remark that mrs. pembrose was all organization and no psychology, and quite the wrong person for her position, he said nothing in the slightest degree contributory to the particular drama under consideration. from that utterance, however, lady harman would no doubt have gone on to the slow, tentative but finally conclusive statement of the new difficulty that had arisen out of her husband's jealousy and to the discussion of the more fundamental decisions it forced upon her, if a peculiar blight had not fallen upon their conversation and robbed it at last of even an appearance of ease. this blight crept upon their minds.... it began first with mr. brumley. mr. brumley was rarely free from self-consciousness. whenever he was in a restaurant or any such place of assembly, then whatever he did or whatever he said he had a kind of surplus attention, a quickening of the ears, a wandering of the eyes, to the groups and individuals round about him. and while he had seemed entirely occupied with lady harman, he had nevertheless been aware from the outset that a dingy and inappropriate-looking man in a bowler hat and a ready-made suit of grey, was listening to their conversation from an adjacent table. this man had entered the pavilion oddly. he had seemed to dodge in and hesitate. then he had chosen his table rather deliberately--and he kept looking, and trying not to seem to look. that was not all. mr. brumley's expression was overcast by the effort to recall something. he sat elbows on table and leant forward towards lady harman and at the blossom-laden trees outside the pavilion and trifled with two fingers on his lips and spoke between them in a voice that was speculative and confidential and muffled and mysterious. "where have i seen our friend to the left before?" she had been aware of his distraction for some time. she glanced at the man and found nothing remarkable in him. she tried to go on with her explanations. mr. brumley appeared attentive and then he said again: "but where have i seen him?" and from that point their talk was blighted; the heart seemed to go out of her. mr. brumley she felt was no longer taking in what she was saying. at the time she couldn't in any way share his preoccupation. but what had been difficult before became hopeless and she could no longer feel that even presently she would be able to make him understand the peculiar alternatives before her. they drifted back by the great conservatory and the ornamental water, aripple with ducks and swans, to the gates where his taxi waited. even then it occurred to her that she ought to tell him something of the new situation. but now their time was running out, she would have to be concise, and what wife could ever say abruptly and offhand that frequent fact, "oh, by the by, my husband is jealous of you"? then she had an impulse to tell him simply, without any explanation at all, that for a time he must not meet her. and while she gathered herself together for that, his preoccupations intervened again. he stood up in the open taxi-cab and looked back. "that chap," he said, "is following us." §5 the effect of this futile interview upon lady harman was remarkable. she took to herself an absurd conviction that this inconclusiveness had been an achievement. confronted by a dilemma, she had chosen neither horn and assumed an attitude of inoffensive defiance. springs in england vary greatly in their character; some are easterly and quarrelsome, some are north-westerly and wetly disastrous, a bleak invasion from the ocean; some are but the broken beginnings of what are not so much years as stretches of meteorological indecision. this particular spring was essentially a south-westerly spring, good and friendly, showery but in the lightest way and so softly reassuring as to be gently hilarious. it was a spring to get into the blood of anyone; it gave lady harman the feeling that mrs. pembrose would certainly be dealt with properly and without unreasonable delay by heaven, and that meanwhile it was well to take the good things of existence as cheerfully as possible. the good things she took were very innocent things. feeling unusually well and enjoying great draughts of spring air and sunshine were the chief. and she took them only for three brief days. she carried the children down to black strand to see her daffodils, and her daffodils surpassed expectation. there was a delirium of blackthorn in the new wild garden she had annexed from the woods and a close carpet of encouraged wild primroses. even the putney garden was full of happy surprises. the afternoon following her visit to black strand was so warm that she had tea with her family in great gaiety on the lawn under the cedar. her offspring were unusually sweet that day, they had new blue cotton sunbonnets, and baby and annette at least succeeded in being pretty. and millicent, under the new swiss governess, had acquired, it seemed quite suddenly, a glib colloquial french that somehow reconciled one to the extreme thinness and shapelessness of her legs. then an amazing new fact broke into this gleam of irrational contentment, a shattering new fact. she found she was being watched. she discovered that dingy man in the grey suit following her. the thing came upon her one afternoon. she was starting out for a talk with georgina. she felt so well, so confident of the world that it was intolerable to think of georgina harbouring resentment; she resolved she would go and have things out with her and make it clear just how impossible it was to impose a director-general upon her husband. she became aware of the man in grey as she walked down putney hill. she recognized him at once. he was at the corner of redfern road and still unaware of her existence. he was leaning against the wall with the habituated pose of one who is frequently obliged to lean against walls for long periods of time, and he was conversing in an elucidatory manner with the elderly crossing-sweeper who still braves the motor-cars at that point. he became aware of her emergence with a start, he ceased to lean and became observant. he was one of those men whose face suggests the word "muzzle," with an erect combative nose and a forward slant of the body from the rather inturned feet. he wore an observant bowler hat a little too small for him, and there is something about the tail of his jacket--as though he had been docked. she passed at a stride to the acceptance of mr. brumley's hitherto incredible suspicion. her pulses quickened. it came into her head to see how far this man would go in following her. she went on demurely down the hill leaving him quite unaware that she had seen him. she was amazed, and after her first belief incredulous again. could isaac be going mad? at the corner she satisfied herself of the grey man's proximity and hailed a taxi-cab. the man in grey came nosing across to listen to her directions and hear where she was going. "please drive up the hill until i tell you," she said, "slowly"--and had the satisfaction, if one may call it a satisfaction, of seeing the grey man dive towards the taxi-cab rank. then she gave herself up to hasty scheming. she turned her taxi-cab abruptly when she was certain of being followed, went back into london, turned again and made for westridge's great stores in oxford street. the grey man ticked up two pences in pursuit. all along the brompton road he pursued her with his nose like the jib of a ship. she was excited and interested, and not nearly so shocked as she ought to have been. it didn't somehow jar as it ought to have jarred with her idea of sir isaac. watched by a detective! this then was the completion of the conditional freedom she had won by smashing that window. she might have known.... she was astonished and indignant but not nearly so entirely indignant as a noble heroine should have been. she was certainly not nearly so queenly as mrs. sawbridge would have shown herself under such circumstances. it may have been due to some plebeian strain in her father's blood that over and above her proper indignation she was extremely interested. she wanted to know what manner of man it was whose nose was just appearing above the window edge of the taxi-cab behind. in her inexperienced inattention she had never yet thought it was possible that men could be hired to follow women. she sat a little forward, thinking. how far would he follow her and was it possible to shake him off? or are such followers so expert that once upon a scent, they are like the indian hunting dog, inevitable. she must see. she paid off her taxi at westridge's and, with the skill of her sex, observed him by the window reflection, counting the many doors of the establishment. would he try to watch them all? there were also some round the corner. no, he was going to follow her in. she had a sudden desire, an unreasonable desire, perhaps an instinctive desire to see that man among baby-linen. it was in her power for a time to wreathe him with incongruous objects. this was the sort of fancy a woman must control.... he stalked her with an unreal sang-froid. he ambushed behind a display of infants' socks. driven to buy by a saleswoman he appeared to be demanding improbable varieties of infant's socks. are these watchers and trackers sometimes driven to buying things in shops? if so, strange items must figure in accounts of expenses. if he bought those socks, would they appear in sir isaac's bill? she felt a sudden craving for the sight of sir isaac's private detective account. and as for the articles themselves, what became of them? she knew her husband well enough to feel sure that if he paid for anything he would insist upon having it. but where--where did he keep them?... but now the man's back was turned; he was no doubt improvising paternity and an extreme fastidiousness in baby's footwear----now for it!--through departments of deepening indelicacy to the lift! but he had considered that possibility of embarrassment; he got round by some other way, he was just in time to hear the lift gate clash upon a calmly preoccupied lady, who still seemed as unaware of his existence as the sky. he was running upstairs, when she descended again, without getting out; he stopped at the sight of her shooting past him, their eyes met and there was something appealing in his. he was very moist and his bowler was flagging. he had evidently started out in the morning with misconceptions about the weather. and it was clear he felt he had blundered in coming into westridge's. before she could get a taxi he was on the pavement behind her, hot but pursuing. she sought in her mind for corner shops, with doors on this street and that. she exercised him upon peter robinson's and debenham and freebody's and then started for the monument. but on her way to the monument she thought of the moving staircase at harrod's. if she went up and down on this, she wanted to know what he would do, would he run up and down the fixed flight? he did. several times. and then she bethought herself of the piccadilly tube; she got in at brompton road and got out at down street and then got in again and went to south kensington and he darted in and out of adjacent carriages and got into lifts by curious retrograde movements, being apparently under the erroneous impression that his back was less characteristic than his face. by this time he was evidently no longer unaware of her intelligent interest in his movements. it was clear too that he had received a false impression that she wanted to shake him off and that all the sleuth in him was aroused. he was dishevelled and breathing hard and getting a little close and coarse in his pursuit, but he was sticking to it with a puckered intensified resolution. he came up into the south kensington air open-mouthed and sniffing curiously, but invincible. she discovered suddenly that she did not like him at all and that she wanted to go home. she took a taxi, and then away in the wilds of the fulham road she had her crowning idea. she stopped the cab at a dingy little furniture shop, paid the driver exorbitantly and instructed him to go right back to south kensington station, buy her an evening paper and return for her. the pursuer drew up thirty yards away, fell into her trap, paid off his cab and feigned to be interested by a small window full of penny toys, cheap chocolate and cocoanut ice. she bought herself a brass door weight, paid for it hastily and posted herself just within the furniture-shop door. then you see her cab returned suddenly and she got in at once and left him stranded. he made a desperate effort to get a motor omnibus. she saw him rushing across the traffic gesticulating. then he collided with a boy with a basket on a bicycle--not so far as she could see injuriously, they seemed to leap at once into a crowd and an argument, and then he was hidden from her by a bend in the road. §6 for a little while her mind was full of fragments of speculation about this man. was he a married man? was he very much away from home? what did he earn? were there ever disputes about his expenses?... she must ask isaac. for she was determined to go home and challenge her husband. she felt buoyed up by indignation and the consciousness of innocence.... and then she felt an odd little doubt whether her innocence was quite so manifest as she supposed? that doubt grew to uncomfortable proportions. for two years she had been meeting mr. brumley as confidently as though they had been invisible beings, and now she had to rack her brains for just what might be mistaken, what might be misconstrued. there was nothing, she told herself, nothing, it was all as open as the day, and still her mind groped about for some forgotten circumstance, something gone almost out of memory that would bear misinterpretation.... how should she begin? "isaac," she would say, "i am being followed about london." suppose he denied his complicity! how could he deny his complicity? the cab ran in through the gates of her home and stopped at the door. snagsby came hurrying down the steps with a face of consternation. "sir isaac, my lady, has come home in a very sad state indeed." beyond snagsby in the hall she came upon a lost-looking round-eyed florence. "daddy's ill again," said florence. "you run to the nursery," said lady harman. "i thought i might help," said florence. "i don't want to play with the others." "no, run away to the nursery." "i want to see the ossygen let out," said florence petulantly to her mother's unsympathetic back. "i _never_ see the ossygen let out. mum--my!..." lady harman found her husband on the couch in his bedroom. he was propped up in a sitting position with every available cushion and pillow. his coat and waistcoat and collar had been taken off, and his shirt and vest torn open. the nearest doctor, almsworth, was in attendance, but oxygen had not arrived, and sir isaac with an expression of bitter malignity upon his face was fighting desperately for breath. if anything his malignity deepened at the sight of his wife. "damned climate," he gasped. "wouldn't have come back--except for _your_ foolery." it seemed to help him to say that. he took a deep inhalation, pressed his lips tightly together, and nodded at her to confirm his words. "if he's fanciful," said almsworth. "if in any way your presence irritates him----" "let her stay," said sir isaac. "it--pleases her...." almsworth's colleague entered with the long-desired oxygen cylinder. §7 and now every other interest in life was dominated, and every other issue postponed by the immense urgencies of sir isaac's illness. it had entered upon a new phase. it was manifest that he could no longer live in england, that he must go to some warm and kindly climate. there and with due precautions and observances almsworth assured lady harman he might survive for many years--"an invalid, of course, but a capable one." for some time the business of the international stores had been preparing itself for this withdrawal. sir isaac had been entrusting his managers with increased responsibility and making things ready for the flotation of a company that would take the whole network of enterprises off his hands. charterson was associated with him in this, and everything was sufficiently definite to be managed from any continental resort to which his doctors chose to send him. they chose to send him to santa margherita on the ligurian coast near rapallo and porto fino. it was old bergener of marienbad who chose this place. sir isaac had wanted to go to marienbad, his first resort abroad; he had a lively and indeed an exaggerated memory of his kur there; his growing disposition to distrust had turned him against his london specialist, and he had caused lady harman to send gigantic telegrams of inquiry to old bergener before he would be content. but bergener would not have him at marienbad; it wasn't the place, it was the wrong time of year, there was the very thing for them at the regency hotel at santa margherita, an entire dépendance in a beautiful garden right on the sea, admirably furnished and adapted in every way to sir isaac's peculiar needs. there, declared doctor bergener, with a proper attendant, due precaution, occasional oxygen and no excitement he would live indefinitely, that is to say eight or ten years. and attracted by the eight or ten years, which was three more than the london specialist offered, sir isaac finally gave in and consented to be taken to santa margherita. he was to go as soon as possible, and he went in a special train and with an immense elaboration of attendance and comforts. they took with them a young doctor their specialist at marienbad had recommended, a bright young bavarian with a perfectly square blond head, an incurable frock coat, the manners of the less kindly type of hotel-porter and luggage which apparently consisted entirely of apparatus, an arsenal of strange-shaped shining black cases. he joined them in london and went right through with them. from genoa at his request they obtained the services of a trained nurse, an amiable fluent-shaped woman who knew only italian and german. for reasons that he declined to give, but which apparently had something to do with the suffrage agitation, he would have nothing to do with an english trained nurse. they had also a stenographer and typist for sir isaac's correspondence, and lady harman had a secretary, a young lady with glasses named summersly satchell who obviously reserved opinions of a harshly intellectual kind and had previously been in the service of the late lady mary justin. she established unfriendly relations with the young doctor at an early date by attempting, he said, to learn german from him. then there was a maid for lady harman, an assistant maid, and a valet-attendant for sir isaac. the rest of the service in the dépendance was supplied by the hotel management. it took some weeks to assemble this expedition and transport it to its place of exile. arrangements had to be made for closing the putney house and establishing the children with mrs. harman at black strand. there was an exceptional amount of packing up to do, for this time lady harman felt she was not coming back--it might be for years. they were going out to warmth and sunlight for the rest of sir isaac's life. he was entering upon the last phase in the slow disorganization of his secretions and the progressive hardening of his arterial tissues that had become his essential history. his appearance had altered much in the last few months; he had become visibly smaller, his face in particular had become sharp and little-featured. it was more and more necessary for him to sit up in order to breathe with comfort, he slept sitting up; and his senses were affected, he complained of strange tastes in his food, quarrelled with the cook and had fits of sickness. sometimes, latterly, he had complained of strange sounds, like air whistling in water-pipes, he said, that had no existence outside his ears. moreover, he was steadily more irritable and more suspicious and less able to control himself when angry. a long-hidden vein of vile and abusive language, hidden, perhaps, since the days of mr. gambard's college at ealing, came to the surface.... for some days after his seizure lady harman was glad to find in the stress of his necessities an excuse for disregarding altogether the crisis in the hostels and the perplexing problem of her relations to mr. brumley. she wrote two brief notes to the latter gentleman breaking appointments and pleading pressure of business. then, at first during intervals of sleeplessness at night, and presently during the day, the danger and ugliness of her outlook began to trouble her. she was still, she perceived, being watched, but whether that was because her husband had failed to change whatever orders he had given, or because he was still keeping himself minutely informed of her movements, she could not tell. she was now constantly with him, and except for small spiteful outbreaks and occasional intervals of still and silent malignity, he tolerated and utilized her attentions. it was clear his jealousy of her rankled, a jealousy that made him even resentful at her health and ready to complain of any brightness of eye or vigour of movement. they had drifted far apart from the possibility of any real discussion of the hostels since that talk in the twilit study. to re-open that now or to complain of the shadowing pursuer who dogged her steps abroad would have been to precipitate mr. brumley's dismissal. even at the cost of letting things drift at the hostels for a time she wished to avoid that question. she would not see him, but she would not shut the door upon him. so far as the detective was concerned she could avoid discussion by pretending to be unaware of his existence, and as for the hostels--the hostels each day were left until the morrow. she had learnt many things since the days of her first rebellion, and she knew now that this matter of the man friend and nothing else in the world is the central issue in the emancipation of women. the difficulty of him is latent in every other restriction of which women complain. the complete emancipation of women will come with complete emancipation of humanity from jealousy--and no sooner. all other emancipations are shams until a woman may go about as freely with this man as with that, and nothing remains for emancipation when she can. in the innocence of her first revolt this question of friendship had seemed to lady harman the simplest, most reasonable of minor concessions, but that was simply because mr. brumley hadn't in those days been talking of love to her, nor she been peeping through that once locked door. now she perceived how entirely sir isaac was by his standards justified. and after all that was recognized she remained indisposed to give up mr. brumley. yet her sense of evil things happening in the hostels was a deepening distress. it troubled her so much that she took the disagreeable step of asking mrs. pembrose to meet her at the bloomsbury hostel and talk out the expulsions. she found that lady alertly defensive, entrenched behind expert knowledge and pretension generally. her little blue eyes seemed harder than ever, the metallic resonance in her voice more marked, the lisp stronger. "of course, lady harman, if you were to have some practical experience of control----" and "three times i have given these girls every opportunity--_every_ opportunity." "it seems so hard to drive these girls out," repeated lady harman. "they're such human creatures." "you have to think of the ones who remain. you must--think of the institution as a whole." "i wonder," said lady harman, peering down into profundities for a moment. below the great truth glimmered and vanished that institutions were made for man and not man for institutions. "you see," she went on, rather to herself than to mrs. pembrose, "we shall be away now for a long time." mrs. pembrose betrayed no excesses of grief. "it's no good for me to interfere and then leave everything...." "that way spells utter disorganization," said mrs. pembrose. "but i wish something could be done to lessen the harshness--to save the pride--of such a girl as alice burnet. practically you tell her she isn't fit to associate with--the other girls." "she's had her choice and warning after warning." "i daresay she's--stiff. oh!--she's difficult. but--being expelled is bitter." "i've not _expelled_ her--technically." "she thinks she's expelled...." "you'd rather perhaps, lady harman, that _i_ was expelled." the dark lady lifted her eyes to the little bridling figure in front of her for a moment and dropped them again. she had had an unspeakable thought, that mrs. pembrose wasn't a gentlewoman, and that this sort of thing was a business for the gentle and for nobody else in the world. "i'm only anxious not to hurt anyone if i can help it," said lady harman. she went on with her attempt to find some way of compromise with mrs. pembrose that should save the spirit of the new malcontents. she was much too concerned on account of the things that lay ahead of them to care for her own pride with mrs. pembrose. but that good lady had all the meagre inflexibilities of her class and at last lady harman ceased. she came out into the great hall of the handsome staircase, ushered by mrs. pembrose as a guest is ushered by a host. she looked at the spacious proportion of the architecture and thought of the hopes and imaginations she had allowed to centre upon this place. it was to have been a glowing home of happy people, and over it all brooded the chill stillness of rules and regulations and methodical suppressions and tactful discouragement. it was an institution, it had the empty orderliness of an institution, mrs. pembrose had just called it an institution, and so susan burnet had prophesied it would become five years or more ago. it was a dream subjugated to reality. so it seemed to lady harman must all dreams be subjugated to reality, and the tossing spring greenery of the square, the sunshine, the tumult of sparrows and the confused sound of distant traffic, framed as it was in the hard dark outline of the entrance door, was as near as the promise of joy could ever come to her. "caught and spoilt," that seemed to be the very essential of her life; just as it was of these hostels, all the hopes, the imaginings, the sweet large anticipations, the generosities, and stirring warm desires.... perhaps lady harman had been a little overworking with her preparations for exile. because as these unhappy thoughts passed through her mind she realized that she was likely to weep. it was extremely undesirable that mrs. pembrose should see her weeping. but mrs. pembrose did see her weeping, saw her dark eyes swimming with uncontrollable tears, watched her walk past her and out, without a word or a gesture of farewell. a kind of perplexity came upon the soul of mrs. pembrose. she watched the tall figure descend to her car and enter it and dispose itself gracefully and depart.... "hysterical," whispered mrs. pembrose at last and was greatly comforted. "childish," said mrs. pembrose sipping further consolation for an unwonted spiritual discomfort. "besides," said mrs. pembrose, "what else can one do?" §8 sir isaac was greatly fatigued by his long journey to santa margherita in spite of every expensive precaution to relieve him; but as soon as the effect of that wore off, his recovery under the system bergener had prescribed was for a time remarkable. in a little while he was out of bed again and in an armchair. then the young doctor began to talk of drives. they had no car with them, so he went into genoa and spent an energetic day securing the sweetest-running automobile he could find and having it refitted for sir isaac's peculiar needs. in this they made a number of excursions through the hot beauty of the italian afternoons, eastward to genoa, westward to sestri and northward towards montallegro. then they went up to the summit of the monte de porto fino and sir isaac descended and walked about and looked at the view and praised bergener. after that he was encouraged to visit the gracious old monastery that overhangs the road to porto fino. at first lady harman did her duty of control and association with an apathetic resignation. this had to go on--for eight or ten years. then her imagination began to stir again. there came a friendly letter from mr. brumley and she answered with a description of the colour of the sea and the charm and wonder of its tideless shore. the three elder children wrote queer little letters and she answered them. she went into rapallo and got herself a carriageful of tauchnitz books.... that visit to the monastery on the porto fino road was like a pleasant little glimpse into the brighter realities of the middle ages. the place, which is used as a home of rest for convalescent carthusians, chanced to be quite empty and deserted; the bavarian rang a jangling bell again and again and at last gained the attention of an old gardener working in the vineyard above, an unkempt, unshaven, ungainly creature dressed in scarce decent rags of brown, who was yet courteous-minded and, albeit crack-voiced, with his yellow-fanged mouth full of gracious polysyllables. he hobbled off to get a key and returned through the still heat of the cobbled yard outside the monastery gates, and took them into cool airy rooms and showed them clean and simple cells in shady corridors, and a delightful orangery, and led them to a beautiful terrace that looked out upon the glowing quivering sea. and he became very anxious to tell them something about "francesco"; they could not understand him until the doctor caught "battaglia" and "pavia" and had an inspiration. francis the first, he explained in clumsy but understandable english, slept here, when he was a prisoner of the emperor and all was lost but honour. they looked at the slender pillars and graceful archings about them. "chust as it was now," the young doctor said, his imagination touched for a moment by mere unscientific things.... they returned to their dépendance in a state of mutual contentment, sir isaac scarcely tired, and lady harman ran upstairs to change her dusty dress for a fresher muslin, while he went upon the doctor's arm to the balcony where tea was to be served to them. she came down to find her world revolutionized. on the table in the balcony the letters had been lying convenient to his chair and he--it may be without troubling to read the address, had seized the uppermost and torn it open. he was holding that letter now a little crumpled in his hand. she had walked close up to the table before she realized the change. the little eyes that met hers were afire with hatred, his lips were white and pressed together tightly, his nostrils were dilated in his struggle for breath. "i knew it," he gasped. she clung to her dignity though she felt suddenly weak within. "that letter," she said, "was addressed to me." there was a gleam of derision in his eyes. "look at it!" he said, and flung it towards her. "my private letter!" "look at it!" he repeated. "what right have you to open my letter?" "friendship!" he said. "harmless friendship! look what your--friend says!" "whatever there was in my letter----" "oh!" cried sir isaac. "don't come _that_ over me! don't you try it! oooh! phew--" he struggled for breath for a time. "he's so harmless. he's so helpful. he----read it, you----" he hesitated and then hurled a strange word at her. she glanced at the letter on the table but made no movement to touch it. then she saw that her husband's face was reddening and that his arm waved helplessly. his eyes, deprived abruptly of all the fury of conflict, implored assistance. she darted to the french window that opened into the dining-room from the balcony. "doctor greve!" she cried. "doctor greve!" behind her the patient was making distressful sounds. "doctor greve," she screamed, and from above she heard the bavarian shouting and then the noise of his coming down the stairs. he shouted some direction in german as he ran past her. by an inspiration she guessed he wanted the nurse. miss summersley satchell appeared in the doorway and became helpful. then everyone in the house seemed to be converging upon the balcony. it was an hour before sir isaac was in bed and sufficiently allayed for her to go to her own room. then she thought of mr. brumley's letter, and recovered it from the table on the balcony where it had been left in the tumult of her husband's seizure. it was twilight and the lights were on. she stood under one of them and read with two moths circling about her.... mr. brumley had had a mood of impassioned declaration. he had alluded to his "last moments of happiness at kew." he said he would rather kiss the hem of her garment than be the "lord of any other woman's life." it was all so understandable--looked at in the proper light. it was all so impossible to explain. and why had she let it happen? why had she let it happen? §9 the young doctor was a little puzzled and rather offended by sir isaac's relapse. he seemed to consider it incorrect and was on the whole disposed to blame lady harman. he might have had such a seizure, the young doctor said, later, but not now. he would be thrown back for some weeks, then he would begin to mend again and then whatever he said, whatever he did, lady harman must do nothing to contradict him. for a whole day sir isaac lay inert, in a cold sweat. he consented once to attempt eating, but sickness overcame him. he seemed so ill that all the young doctor's reassurances could not convince lady harman that he would recover. then suddenly towards evening his arrested vitality was flowing again, the young doctor ceased to be anxious for his own assertions, the patient could sit up against a pile of pillows and breathe and attend to affairs. there was only one affair he really seemed anxious to attend to. his first thought when he realized his returning strength was of his wife. but the young doctor would not let him talk that night. next morning he seemed still stronger. he was restless and at last demanded lady harman again. this time the young doctor transmitted the message. she came to him forthwith and found him, white-faced and unfamiliar-looking, his hands gripping the quilt and his eyes burning with hatred. "you thought i'd forgotten," was his greeting. "don't argue," signalled the doctor from the end of sir isaac's bed. "i've been thinking it out," said sir isaac. "when you were thinking i was too ill to think.... i know better now." he sucked in his lips and then went on. "you've got to send for old crappen," he said. "i'm going to alter things. i had a plan. but that would have been letting you off too easy. see? so--you send for old crappen." "what do you mean to do?" "never you mind, my lady, never you mind. you send for old crappen." she waited for a moment. "is that all you want me to do?" "i'm going to make it all right about those hostels. don't you fear. you and your hostels! you shan't _touch_ those hostels ever again. ever. mrs. pembrose go! why! you ain't worthy to touch the heel of her shoe! mrs. pembrose!" he gathered together all his forces and suddenly expelled with rousing force the word he had already applied to her on the day of the intercepted letter. he found it seemed great satisfaction in the sound and taste of it. he repeated it thrice. "zut," cried the doctor, "sssh!" then sir isaac intimated his sense that calm was imperative. "you send for crappen," he said with a quiet earnestness. she had become now so used to terms of infamy during the last year or so, so accustomed to forgive them as part of his suffering, that she seemed not to hear the insult. "do you want him at once?" she asked. "shall i telegraph?" "want him at once!" he dropped his voice to a whisper. "yes, you fool--yes. telegraph. (phew.) telegraph.... i mustn't get angry, you know. you--telegraph." he became suddenly still. but his eyes were active with hate. she glanced at the doctor, then moved to the door. "i will send a telegram," she said, and left him still malignant. she closed the door softly and walked down the long cool passage towards her own room.... §10 she had to be patient. she had to be patient. this sort of thing had to go on from crisis to crisis. it might go on for years. she could see no remedy and no escape. what else was there to do but be patient? it was all amazing unjust, but to be a married woman she was beginning to understand is to be outside justice. it is autocracy. she had once imagined otherwise, and most of her life had been the slow unlearning of that initial error. she had imagined that the hostels were hers simply because he had put it in that way. they had never been anything but his, and now it was manifest he would do what he liked with his own. the law takes no cognizance of the unwritten terms of a domestic reconciliation. she sat down at the writing-table the hotel management had improvised for her. she rested her chin on her hand and tried to think out her position. but what was there to think out, seeing that nature and law and custom have conspired together to put women altogether under the power of jealous and acquisitive men? she drew the telegram form towards her. she was going to write a telegram that she knew would bring crappen headlong--to disinherit her absolutely. and--it suddenly struck her--her husband had trusted her to write it. she was going to do what he had trusted her to do.... but it was absurd. she sat making patterns of little dots with her pencil point upon the telegram form, and there was a faint smile of amusement upon her lips. it was absurd--and everything was absurd. what more was to be said or thought about it? this was the lot of woman. she had made her struggle, rebelled her little bit of rebellion. most other women no doubt had done as much. it made no difference in the long run. but it was hard to give up the hostels. she had been foolish of course, but she had not let them make her feel _real_. and she wasn't real. she was a wife--just _this_.... she sighed and bestirred herself and began to write. then abruptly she stopped writing. for three years her excuse for standing--everything, had been these hostels. if now the hostels were to be wrenched out of her hands, if at her husband's death she was to be stripped of every possession and left a helpless dependant on her own children, if for all her good behaviour she was to be insulted by his frantic suspicions so long as he lived and then disgraced by his posthumous mistrust; was there any reason why she should go on standing anything any more? away there in england was mr. brumley, _her_ man, ready with service and devotion.... it was a profoundly comforting thing to think of him there as hers. he was hers. he'd given so much and on the whole so well. if at last she were to go to him.... yet when she came to imagine the reality of the step that was in her mind, it took upon itself a chill and forbidding strangeness. it was like stepping out of a familiar house into empty space. what could it be like? to take some odd trunks with her, meet him somewhere, travel, travel through the evening, travel past nightfall? the bleak strangeness of that going out never to return! her imagination could give her no figure of mr. brumley as intimate, as habitual. she could as easily imagine his skeleton. he remained in all this queer speculation something friendly, something incidental, more than a trifle disembodied, entirely devoted of course in that hovering way--but hovering.... and she wanted to be free. it wasn't mr. brumley she wanted; he was but a means--if indeed he was a means--to an end. the person she wanted, the person she had always wanted--was _herself_. could mr. brumley give her that? would mr. brumley give her that? was it conceivable he would carry sacrifice to such a pitch as that?... and what nonsense was this dream! here was her husband needing her. and the children, whose inherent ungainliness, whose ungracious spirits demanded a perpetual palliation of culture and instilled deportment. what honest over-nurse was there for him or helper and guide and friend for them, if she withdrew? there was something undignified in a flight for mere happiness. there was something vindictive in flight from mere insult. to go, because she was disinherited, because her hostels were shattered,--no! and in short--she couldn't do it.... if sir isaac wanted to disinherit her he must disinherit her. if he wanted to go on seizing and reading her letters, then he could. there was nothing in the whole scheme of things to stop him if he did not want to stop himself, nothing at all. she was caught. this was the lot of women. she was a _wife_. what else in honour was there but to be a wife up to the hilt?... she finished writing her telegram. §11 suddenly came a running in the passage outside, a rap at the door and the nurse entered, scared, voluble in italian, but with gestures that translated her. lady harman rose, realized the gravity and urgency of the moment and hurried with her along the passage. "est-il mauvais?" the poor lady attempted, "est-il----" oh! what words are there for "taken worse"? the woman attempted english and failed. she resorted to her native italian and exclaimed about the "povero signore." she conveyed a sense of pitiful extremities. could it be he was in pain again? what was it? what was it? ten minutes ago he had been so grimly angry. at the door of the sick room the nurse laid a warning hand on the arm of lady harman and made an apprehensive gesture. they entered almost noiselessly. the bavarian doctor turned his face from the bed at their entrance. he was bending over sir isaac. he held up one hand as if to arrest them; his other was engaged with his patient. "no," he said. his attention went back to the sick man, and he remained very still in that position, leaving lady harman to note for the first time how broad and flat he was both between his shoulders and between his ears. then his face came round slowly, he relinquished something heavy, stood up, held up a hand. "zu spät," he whispered, as though he too was surprised. he sought in his mind for english and then found his phrase: "he has gone!" "gone?" "in one instant." "dead?" "so. in one instant." on the bed lay sir isaac. his hand was thrust out as though he grasped at some invisible thing. his open eyes stared hard at his wife, and as she met his eyes he snored noisily in his nose and throat. she looked from the doctor to the nurse. it seemed to her that both these people must be mad. never had she seen anything less like death. "but he's not dead!" she protested, still standing in the middle of the room. "it iss chust the air in his throat," the doctor said. "he went--_so!_ in one instant as i was helping him." he waited to see some symptom of feminine weakness. there was a quality in his bearing--as though this event did him credit. "but--isaac!" it was astounding. the noise in his throat ceased. but he still stared at her. and then the nurse made a kind of assault upon lady harman, caught her--even if she didn't fall. it was no doubt the proper formula to collapse. or to fling oneself upon the deceased. lady harman resisted this assistance, disentangled herself and remained amazed; the nurse a little disconcerted but still ready behind her. "but," said lady harman slowly, not advancing and pointing incredulously at the unwinking stare that met her own, "is he dead? is he really dead? like that?" the doctor's gesture to the nurse betrayed his sense of the fine quick scene this want of confidence had ruined. under no circumstances in life did english people really seem to know how to behave or what was expected of them. he answered with something bordering upon irony. "madam," he said, with a slight bow, "he is _really_ det." "but--like _that_!" cried lady harman. "like that," repeated the doctor. she went three steps nearer and stopped, open-eyed, wonder-struck, her lips compressed. §12 for a time astonishment overwhelmed her mind. she did not think of sir isaac, she did not think of herself, her whole being was filled by this marvel of death and cessation. like _that_! death! never before had she seen it. she had expected an extreme dignity, an almost ceremonial sinking back, a slow ebbing, but this was like a shot from a bow. it stunned her. and for some time she remained stunned, while the doctor and her secretary and the hotel people did all that they deemed seemly on this great occasion. she let them send her into another room; she watched with detached indifference a post-mortem consultation in whispers with a doctor from rapallo. then came a great closing of shutters. the nurse and her maid hovered about her, ready to assist her when the sorrowing began. but she had no sorrow. the long moments lengthened out, and he was still dead and she was still only amazement. it seemed part of the extraordinary, the perennial surprisingness of sir isaac that he should end in this way. dead! she didn't feel for some hours that he had in any way ended. he had died with such emphasis that she felt now that he was capable of anything. what mightn't he do next? when she heard movements in the chamber of death it seemed to her that of all the people there, most probably it was he who made them. she would not have been amazed if he had suddenly appeared in the doorway of her room, anger-white and his hand quiveringly extended, spluttering some complaint. he might have cried: "here i am dead! and it's _you_, damn you--it's _you_!" it was after distinct efforts, after repeated visits to the room in which he lay, that she began to realize that death was death, that death goes on, that there was no more any sir isaac, but only a still body he had left behind, that was being moulded now into a stiff image of peace. then for a time she roused herself to some control of their proceedings. the doctor came to lady harman to ask her about the meals for the day, the hotel manager was in entanglements of tactful consideration, and then the nurse came for instructions upon some trivial matter. they had done what usage prescribes and now, in the absence of other direction, they appealed to her wishes. she remarked that everyone was going on tiptoe and speaking in undertones.... she realized duties. what does one have to do when one's husband is dead? people would have to be told. she would begin by sending off telegrams to various people, to his mother, to her own, to his lawyer. she remembered she had already written a telegram--that very morning to crappen. should she still let the lawyer come out? he was her lawyer now. perhaps he had better come, but instead of that telegram, which still lay upon the desk, she would wire the news of the death to him.... does one send to the papers? how does one send to the papers? she took miss summersly satchell who was hovering outside in the sunshine on the balcony, into her room, and sat pale and businesslike and very careful about details, while miss summersly satchell offered practical advice and took notes and wrote telegrams and letters.... there came a hush over everything as the day crept towards noon, and the widowed woman sat in her own room with an inactive mind, watching thin bars of sunlight burn their slow way across the floor. he was dead. it was going on now more steadfastly than ever. he was keeping dead. he was dead at last for good and her married life was over, that life that had always seemed the only possible life, and this stunning incident, this thing that was like the blinding of eyes or the bursting of eardrums, was to be the beginning of strange new experiences. she was afraid at first at their possible strangeness. and then, you know, in spite of a weak protesting compunction she began to feel glad.... she would not admit to herself that she was glad, that she was anything but a woman stunned, she maintained her still despondent attitude as long as she could, but gladness broke upon her soul as the day breaks, and a sense of release swam up to the horizons of her mind and rose upon her, flooding every ripple of her being, as the sun rises over water in a clear sky. presently she could sit there no longer, she had to stand up. she walked to the closed venetians to look out upon the world and checked herself upon the very verge of flinging them open. he was dead and it was all over for ever. of course!--it was all over! her marriage was finished and done. miss satchell came to summon her to lunch. throughout that meal lady harman maintained a sombre bearing, and listened with attention to the young doctor's comments on the manner of sir isaac's going. and then,--it was impossible to go back to her room. "my head aches," she said, "i must go down and sit by the sea," and her maid, a little shocked, brought her not only her sunshade, but needless wraps--as though a new-made widow must necessarily be very sensitive to the air. she would not let her maid come with her, she went down to the beach alone. she sat on some rocks near the very edge of the transparent water and fought her gladness for a time and presently yielded to it. he was dead. one thought filled her mind, for a while so filled her mind, that no other thought it seemed could follow it, it had an effect of being final; it so filled her mind that it filled the whole world; the broad sapphire distances of the sea, the lapping waves amidst the rocks at her feet, the blazing sun, the dark headland of porto fino and a small sailing boat that hung beyond came all within it like things enclosed within a golden globe. she forgot all the days of nursing and discomfort and pity behind her, all the duties and ceremonies before her, forgot all the details and circumstances of life in this one luminous realization. she was free at last. she was a free woman. never more would he make a sound or lift a finger against her life, never more would he contradict her or flout her; never more would he come peeping through that papered panel between his room and hers, never more could hateful and humiliating demands be made upon her as his right; no more strange distresses of the body nor raw discomfort of the nerves could trouble her--for ever. and no more detectives, no more suspicions, no more accusations. that last blow he had meant to aim was frozen before it could strike her. and she would have the hostels in her hands, secure and undisputed, she could deal as she liked with mrs. pembrose, take such advisers as she pleased.... she was free. she found herself planning the regeneration of those difficult and disputed hostels, plans that were all coloured by the sun and sky of italy. the manacles had gone; her hands were free. she would make this her supreme occupation. she had learnt her lesson now she felt, she knew something of the mingling of control and affectionate regard that was needed to weld the warring uneasy units of her new community. and she could do it, now as she was and unencumbered, she knew this power was in her. when everything seemed lost to her, suddenly it was all back in her hands.... she discovered the golden serenity of her mind with a sudden astonishment and horror. she was amazed and shocked that she should be glad. she struggled against it and sought to subdue her spirit to a becoming grief. one should be sorrowful at death in any case, one should be grieved. she tried to think of sir isaac with affection, to recall touching generosities, to remember kind things and tender and sweet things and she could not do so. nothing would come back but the white intensities of his face, nothing but his hatred, his suspicion and his pitiless mean mastery. from which she was freed. she could not feel sorry. she did her utmost to feel sorry; presently when she went back into the dépendance, she had to check her feet to a regretful pace; she dreaded the eyes of the hotel visitors she passed in the garden lest they should detect the liberation of her soul. but the hotel visitors being english were for the most part too preoccupied with manifestations of a sympathy that should be at once heart-felt and quite unobtrusive and altogether in the best possible taste, to have any attention free for the soul of lady harman. the sense of her freedom came and went like the sunlight of a day in spring, though she attempted her utmost to remain overcast. after dinner that night she was invaded by a vision of the great open years before her, at first hopeful but growing at last to fear and a wild restlessness, so that in defiance of possible hotel opinion, she wandered out into the moonlight and remained for a long time standing by the boat landing, dreaming, recovering, drinking in the white serenities of sea and sky. there was no hurry now. she might stay there as long as she chose. she need account for herself to no one; she was free. she might go where she pleased, do what she pleased, there was no urgency any more.... there was mr. brumley. mr. brumley made a very little figure at first in the great prospect before her.... then he grew larger in her thoughts. she recalled his devotions, his services, his self-control. it was good to have one understanding friend in this great limitless world.... she would have to keep that friendship.... but the glorious thing was freedom, to live untrammelled.... through the stillness a little breeze came stirring, and she awoke out of her dream and turned and faced the shuttered dépendance. a solitary dim light was showing on the verandah. all the rest of the building was a shapeless mass of grey. the long pale front of the hotel seen through a grove of orange trees was lit now at every other window with people going to bed. beyond, a black hillside clambered up to the edge of the sky. far away out of the darknesses a man with a clear strong voice was singing to a tinkling accompaniment. in the black orange trees swam and drifted a score of fireflies, and there was a distant clamour of nightingales when presently the unseen voice had done. §13 when she was in her room again she began to think of sir isaac and more particularly of that last fixed stare of his.... she was impelled to go and see him, to see for herself that he was peaceful and no longer a figure of astonishment. she went slowly along the corridor and very softly into his room--it remained, she felt, his room. they had put candles about him, and the outline of his face, showing dimly through the linen that veiled it, was like the face of one who sleeps very peacefully. very gently she uncovered it. he was not simply still, he was immensely still. he was more still and white than the moonlight outside, remoter than moon or stars.... she stood surveying him. he looked small and pinched and as though he had been very tired. life was over for him, altogether over. never had she seen anything that seemed so finished. once, when she was a girl she had thought that death might be but the opening of a door upon a more generous feast of living than this cramped world could give, but now she knew, she saw, that death can be death. life was over. she felt she had never before realized the meaning of death. that beautiful night outside, and all the beautiful nights and days that were still to come and all the sweet and wonderful things of god's world could be nothing to him now for ever. there was no dream in him that could ever live again, there was no desire, no hope in him. and had he ever had his desire or his hope, or felt the intensities of life? there was this beauty she had been discovering in the last few years, this mystery of love,--all that had been hidden from him. she began to realize something sorrowful and pitiful in his quality, in his hardness, his narrowness, his bickering suspicions, his malignant refusals of all things generous and beautiful. he made her feel, as sometimes the children made her feel, the infinite pity of perversity and resistance to the bounties and kindliness of life. the shadow of sorrow for him came to her at last. yet how obstinate he looked, the little frozen white thing that had been sir isaac harman! and satisfied, wilfully satisfied; his lips were compressed and his mouth a little drawn in at the corners as if he would not betray any other feeling than content with the bargain he had made with life. she did not touch him; not for the world would she ever touch that cold waxen thing that had so lately clasped her life, but she stood for a long time by the side of his quiet, immersed in the wonder of death.... he had been such a hard little man, such a pursuing little man, so unreasonable and difficult a master, and now--he was such a poor shrunken little man for all his obstinacy! she had never realized before that he was pitiful.... had she perhaps feared him too much, disliked him too much to deal fairly with him? could she have helped him? was there anything she could have done that she had not done? might she not at least have saved him his suspicion? behind his rages, perhaps he had been wretched. could anyone else have helped him? if perhaps someone had loved him more than she had ever pretended to do---how strange that she should be so intimately in this room--and still so alien. so alien that she could feel nothing but detached wonder at his infinite loss.... _alien_,--that was what she had always been, a captured alien in this man's household,--a girl he had taken. had he ever suspected how alien? the true mourner, poor woman! was even now, in charge of cook's couriers and interpreters, coming by express from london, to see with her own eyes this last still phase of the son she had borne into the world and watched and sought to serve. she was his nearest; she indeed was the only near thing there had ever been in his life. once at least he must have loved her? and even she had not been very near. no one had ever been very near his calculating suspicious heart. had he ever said or thought any really sweet or tender thing--even about her? he had been generous to her in money matters, of course,--but out of a vast abundance.... how good it was to have a friend! how good it was to have even one single friend!... at the thought of his mother lady harman's mind began to drift slowly from this stiff culmination of life before her. presently she replaced the white cloth upon his face and turned slowly away. her imagination had taken up the question of how that poor old lady was to be met, how she was to be consoled, what was to be said to her.... she began to plan arrangements. the room ought to be filled with flowers; mrs. harman would expect flowers, large heavy white flowers in great abundance. that would have to be seen to soon. one might get them in rapallo. and afterwards,--they would have to take him to england, and have a fine great funeral, with every black circumstance his wealth and his position demanded. mrs. harman would need that, and so it must be done. cabinet ministers must follow him, members of parliament, all blenkerdom feeling self-consciously and, as far as possible, deeply, the chartersons by way of friends, unfamiliar blood relations, a vast retinue of employees.... how could one take him? would he have to be embalmed? embalming!--what a strange complement of death. she averted herself a little more from the quiet figure on the bed, and could not turn to it again. they might come here and do all sorts of things to it, mysterious, evil-seeming things with knives and drugs.... she must not think of that. she must learn exactly what mrs. harman thought and desired. her own apathy with regard to her husband had given way completely now to a desire to anticipate and meet mrs. harman's every conceivable wish. chapter the twelfth love and a serious lady §1 the news of sir isaac's death came quite unexpectedly to mr. brumley. he was at the climax club, and rather bored; he had had some tea and dry toast in the magazine room, and had been through the weeklies, and it was a particularly uninteresting week. then he came down into the hall, looked idly at the latest bulletins upon the board, and read that "sir isaac harman died suddenly this morning at sta. margherita, in ligure, whither he had gone for rest and change." he went on mechanically reading down the bulletin, leaving something of himself behind him that did not read on. then he returned to that remarkable item and re-read it, and picked up that lost element of his being again. he had awaited this event for so long, thought of it so often in such a great variety of relationships, dreamt of it, hoped for it, prayed for it, and tried not to think of it, that now it came to him in reality it seemed to have no substance or significance whatever. he had exhausted the fact before it happened. since first he had thought of it there had passed four long years, and in that time he had seen it from every aspect, exhausted every possibility. it had become a theoretical possibility, the basis of continually less confident, continually more unsubstantial day dreams. constantly he had tried not to think of it, tried to assure himself of sir isaac's invalid immortality. and here it was! the line above it concerned an overdue ship, the line below resumed a speech by mr. lloyd george. "he would challenge the honourable member to repeat his accusations----" mr. brumley stood quite still before the mauve-coloured print letters for some time, then went slowly across the hall into the breakfast-room, sat down in a chair by the fireplace, and fell into a kind of featureless thinking. sir isaac was dead, his wife was free, and the long waiting that had become a habit was at an end. he had anticipated a wild elation, and for a while he was only sensible of change, a profound change.... he began to feel glad that he had waited, that she had insisted upon patience, that there had been no disaster, no scandal between them. now everything was clear for them. he had served his apprenticeship. they would be able to marry, and have no quarrel with the world. he sat with his mind forming images of the prospect before him, images that were at first feeble and vague, and then, though still in a silly way, more concrete and definite. at first they were quite petty anticipations, of how he would have to tell people of his approaching marriage, of how he would break it to george edmund that a new mother impended. he mused for some time upon the details of that. should he take her down to george edmund's school, and let the boy fall in love with her--he would certainly fall in love with her--before anything definite was said, or should he first go down alone and break the news? each method had its own attractive possibilities of drama. then mr. brumley began to think of the letter he must write lady harman--a difficult letter. one does not rejoice at death. already mr. brumley was beginning to feel a generous pity for the man he had done his utmost not to detest for so long. poor sir isaac had lived like a blind thing in the sunlight, gathering and gathering, when the pride and pleasure of life is to administer and spend.... mr. brumley fell wondering just how she could be feeling now about her dead husband. she might be in a phase of quite real sorrow. probably the last illness had tired and strained her. so that his letter would have to be very fine and tender and soothing, free from all harshness, free from any gladness--yet it would be hard not to let a little of his vast relief peep out. always hitherto, except for one or two such passionate lapses as that which had precipitated the situation at santa margherita, his epistolary manner had been formal, his matter intellectual and philanthropic, for he had always known that no letter was absolutely safe from sir isaac's insatiable research. should he still be formal, still write to "dear lady harman," or suddenly break into a new warmth? half an hour later he was sitting in the writing-room with some few flakes of torn paper on the carpet between his feet and the partially filled wastepaper basket, still meditating upon this difficult issue of the address. the letter he achieved at last began, "my dear lady," and went on to, "i do not know how to begin this letter--perhaps you will find it almost as difficult to receive...." in the small hours he woke to one of his habitual revulsions. was that, he asked himself, the sort of letter a lover should write to the beloved on her release, on the sudden long prayed-for opening of a way to her, on the end of her shameful servitude and his humiliations? he began to recall the cold and stilted sentences of that difficult composition. the gentility of it! all his life he had been a prey to gentility, had cast himself free from it, only to relapse again in such fashion as this. would he never be human and passionate and sincere? of course he was glad, and she ought to be glad, that sir isaac, their enemy and their prison, was dead; it was for them to rejoice together. he turned out of bed at last, when he could lie still under these self-accusations no longer, and wrapped himself in his warm dressing-gown and began to write. he wrote in pencil. his fountain-pen was as usual on his night table, but pencil seemed the better medium, and he wrote a warm and glowing love-letter that was brought to an end at last by an almost passionate fit of sneezing. he could find no envelopes in his bedroom davenport, and so he left that honest scrawl under a paper-weight, and went back to bed greatly comforted. he re-read it in the morning with emotion, and some slight misgivings that grew after he had despatched it. he went to lunch at his club contemplating a third letter that should be sane and fine and sweet, and that should rectify the confusing effect of those two previous efforts. he wrote this letter later in the afternoon. the days seemed very long before the answer to his first letter came to him, and in that interval two more--aspects went to her. her reply was very brief, and written in the large, firm, still girlishly clear hand that distinguished her. "_i was so glad of your letter. my life is so strange here, a kind of hushed life. the nights are extraordinarily beautiful, the moon very large and the little leaves on the trees still and black. we are coming back to england and the funeral will be from our putney house._" that was all, but it gave mr. brumley an impression of her that was exceedingly vivid and close. he thought of her, shadowy and dusky in the moonlight until his soul swam with love for her; he had to get up and walk about; he whispered her name very softly to himself several times; he groaned gently, and at last he went to his little desk and wrote to her his sixth letter--quite a beautiful letter. he told her that he loved her, that he had always loved her since their first moment of meeting, and he tried to express just the wave of tenderness that inundated him at the thought of her away there in italy. once, he said, he had dreamt that he would be the first to take her to italy. perhaps some day they would yet be in italy together. §2 it was only by insensible degrees that doubt crept into mr. brumley's assurances. he did not observe at once that none of the brief letters she wrote him responded to his second, the impassioned outbreak in pencil. and it seemed only in keeping with the modest reserves of womanhood that she should be restrained--she always had been restrained. she asked him not to see her at once when she returned to england; she wanted, she said, "to see how things are," and that fell in very well with a certain delicacy in himself. the unburied body of sir isaac--it was now provisionally embalmed--was, through some inexplicable subtlety in his mind, a far greater barrier than the living man had ever been, and he wanted it out of the way. and everything settled. then, indeed, they might meet. meanwhile he had a curious little private conflict of his own. he was trying not to think, day and night he was trying not to think, that lady harman was now a very rich woman. yet some portions of his brain, and he had never suspected himself of such lawless regions, persisted in the most vulgar and outrageous suggestions, suggestions that made his soul blush; schemes, for example, of splendid foreign travel, of hotel staffs bowing, of a yacht in the mediterranean, of motor cars, of a palatial flat in london, of a box at the opera, of artists patronized, of--most horrible!--a baronetcy.... the more authentic parts of mr. brumley cowered from and sought to escape these squalid dreams of magnificences. it shocked and terrified him to find such things could come out in him. he was like some pest-stricken patient, amazedly contemplating his first symptom. his better part denied, repudiated. of course he would never touch, never even propose--or hint.... it was an aspect he had never once contemplated before sir isaac died. he could on his honour, and after searching his heart, say that. yet in pall mall one afternoon, suddenly, he caught himself with a thought in his head so gross, so smug, that he uttered a faint cry and quickened his steps.... benevolent stepfather! these distresses begot a hope. perhaps, after all, probably, there would be some settlement.... she might not be rich, not so very rich.... she might be tied up.... he perceived in that lay his hope of salvation. otherwise--oh, pitiful soul!--things were possible in him; he saw only too clearly what dreadful things were possible. if only she were disinherited, if only he might take her, stripped of all these possessions that even in such glancing anticipations begot----this horrid indigestion of the imagination! but then,----the hostels?... there he stumbled against an invincible riddle! there was something dreadful about the way in which these considerations blotted out the essential fact of separations abolished, barriers lowered, the way to an honourable love made plain and open.... the day of the funeral came at last, and mr. brumley tried not to think of it, paternally, at margate. he fled from sir isaac's ultimate withdrawal. blenker's obituary notice in the _old country gazette_ was a masterpiece of tactful eulogy, ostentatiously loyal, yet extremely not unmindful of the widowed proprietor, and of all the possible changes of ownership looming ahead. mr. brumley, reading it in the londonward train, was greatly reminded of the hostels. that was a riddle he didn't begin to solve. of course, it was imperative the hostels should continue--imperative. now they might run them together, openly, side by side. but then, with such temptations to hitherto inconceivable vulgarities. and again, insidiously, those visions returned of two figures, manifestly opulent, grouped about a big motor car or standing together under a large subservient archway.... there was a long letter from her at his flat, a long and amazing letter. it was so folded that his eye first caught the writing on the third page: "_never marry again. it is so clear that our work needs all my time and all my means._" his eyebrows rose, his expression became consternation; his hands trembled a little as he turned the letter over to read it through. it was a deliberate letter. it began-"_dear mr. brumley, i could never have imagined how much there is to do after we are dead, and before we can be buried._" "yes," said mr. brumley; "but what does this _mean_?" "_there are so many surprises_----" "it isn't clear." "_in ourselves and the things about us._" "of course, he would have made some complicated settlement. i might have known." "_it is the strangest thing in the world to be a widow, much stranger than anyone could ever have supposed, to have no one to control one, no one to think of as coming before one, no one to answer to, to be free to plan one's life for oneself_----" * * * * * he stood with the letter in his hand after he had read it through, perplexed. "i can't stand this," he said. "i want to know." he went to his desk and wrote:-"_my dear, i want you to marry me._" what more was to be said? he hesitated with this brief challenge in his hand, was minded to telegraph it and thought of james's novel, _in the cage_. telegraph operators are only human after all. he determined upon a special messenger and rang up his quarter valet--he shared service in his flat--to despatch it. the messenger boy got back from putney that evening about half-past eight. he brought a reply in pencil. "_my dear friend_," she wrote. "_you have been so good to me, so helpful. but i do not think that is possible. forgive me. i want so badly to think and here i cannot think. i have never been able to think here. i am going down to black strand, and in a day or so i will write and we will talk. be patient with me._" she signed her name "_ellen_"; always before she had been "e.h." "yes," cried mr. brumley, "but i want to know!" he fretted for an hour and went to the telephone. something was wrong with the telephone, it buzzed and went faint, and it would seem that at her end she was embarrassed. "i want to come to you now," he said. "impossible," was the clearest word in her reply. should he go in a state of virile resolution, force her hesitation as a man should? she might be involved there with mrs. harman, with all sorts of relatives and strange people.... in the end he did not go. §3 he sat at his lunch alone next day at one of the little tables men choose when they shun company. but to the right of him was the table of the politicians, adolphus blenker and pope of the east purblow experiment, and sir piper nicolls, and munk, the editor of the _daily rectification_, sage men all and deep in those mysterious manipulations and wire-pullings by which the liberal party organization was even then preparing for itself unusual distrust and dislike, and horatio blenker was tenoring away after his manner about a case of right and conscience, "blenking like winking" was how a silent member had put it once to brumley in a gust of hostile criticism. "practically if she marries again, she is a pauper," struck on brumley's ears. "of course," said mr. brumley, and stopped eating. "i don't know if you remember the particulars of the astor case," began munk.... never had mr. brumley come so frankly to eavesdropping. but he heard no more of lady harman. munk had to quote the rights and wrongs of various american wills, and then mr. pope seized his opportunity. "at east purblow," he went on, "in quite a number of instances we had to envisage this problem of the widow----" mr. brumley pushed back his plate and strolled towards the desk. it was exactly what he might have expected, what indeed had been at the back of his mind all along, and on the whole he was glad. naturally she hesitated; naturally she wanted time to think, and as naturally it was impossible for her to tell him what it was she was thinking about. they would marry. they must marry. love has claims supreme over all other claims and he felt no doubt that for her his comparative poverty of two thousand a year would mean infinitely more happiness than she had ever known or could know with sir isaac's wealth. she was reluctant, of course, to become dependent upon him until he made it clear to her what infinite pleasure it would be for him to supply her needs. should he write to her forthwith? he outlined a letter in his mind, a very fine and generous letter, good phrases came, and then he reflected that it would be difficult to explain to her just how he had learnt of her peculiar situation. it would be far more seemly to wait either for a public announcement or for some intimation from her. and then he began to realize that this meant the end of all their work at the hostels. in his first satisfaction at escaping that possible great motor-car and all the superfluities of sir isaac's accumulation, he had forgotten that side of the business.... when one came to think it over, the hostels did complicate the problem. it was ingenious of sir isaac.... it was infernally ingenious of sir isaac.... he could not remain in the club for fear that somebody might presently come talking to him and interrupt his train of thought. he went out into the streets. these hostels upset everything. what he had supposed to be a way of escape was really the mouth of a net. whichever way they turned sir isaac crippled them.... §4 mr. brumley grew so angry that presently even the strangers in the street annoyed him. he turned his face homeward. he hated dilemmas; he wanted always to deny them, to thrust them aside, to take impossible third courses. "for three years," shouted mr. brumley, free at last in his study to give way to his rage, "for three years i've been making her care for these things. and then--and then--they turn against me!" a violent, incredibly undignified wrath against the dead man seized him. he threw books about the room. he cried out vile insults and mingled words of an unfortunate commonness with others of extreme rarity. he wanted to go off to kensal green and hammer at the grave there and tell the departed knight exactly what he thought of him. then presently he became calmer, he lit a pipe, picked up the books from the floor, and meditated revenges upon sir isaac's memory. i deplore my task of recording these ungracious moments in mr. brumley's love history. i deplore the ease with which men pass from loving and serving women to an almost canine fight for them. it is the ugliest essential of romance. there is indeed much in the human heart that i deplore. but mr. brumley was exasperated by disappointment. he was sore, he was raw. driven by an intolerable desire to explore every possibility of the situation, full indeed of an unholy vindictiveness, he went off next morning with strange questions to maxwell hartington. he put the case as a general case. "lady harman?" said maxwell hartington. "no, not particularly lady harman. a general principle. what are people--what are women tied up in such a way to do?" precedents were quoted and possibilities weighed. mr. brumley was flushed, vague but persistent. "suppose," he said, "that they love each other passionately--and their work, whatever it may be, almost as passionately. is there no way----?" "he'll have a _dum casta_ clause right enough," said maxwell hartington. "_dum----? dum casta!_ but, oh! anyhow that's out of the question--absolutely," said mr. brumley. "of course," said maxwell hartington, leaning back in his chair and rubbing the ball of his thumb into one eye. "of course--nobody ever enforces these _dum casta_ clauses. there isn't anyone to enforce them. ever."--he paused and then went on, speaking apparently to the array of black tin boxes in the dingy fixtures before him. "who's going to watch you? that's what i always ask in these cases. unless the lady goes and does things right under the noses of these trustees they aren't going to bother. even sir isaac i suppose hasn't provided funds for a private detective. eh? you said something?" "nothing," said mr. brumley. "well, why should they start a perfectly rotten action like that," continued maxwell hartington, now addressing himself very earnestly to his client, "when they've only got to keep quiet and do their job and be comfortable. in these matters, brumley, as in most matters affecting the relations of men and women, people can do absolutely what they like nowadays, absolutely, unless there's someone about ready to make a row. then they can't do anything. it hardly matters if they don't do anything. a row's a row and damned disgraceful. if there isn't a row, nothing's disgraceful. of course all these laws and regulations and institutions and arrangements are just ways of putting people at the mercy of blackmailers and jealous and violent persons. one's only got to be a lawyer for a bit to realize that. still that's not _our_ business. that's psychology. if there aren't any jealous and violent persons about, well, then no ordinary decent person is going to worry what you do. no decent person ever does. so far as i can gather the only barbarian in this case is the testator--now in kensal green. with additional precautions i suppose in the way of an artistic but thoroughly massive monument presently to be added----" "he'd--turn in his grave." "let him. no trustees are obliged to take action on _that_. i don't suppose they'd know if he did. i've never known a trustee bother yet about post-mortem movements of any sort. if they did, we'd all be having prayers for the dead. fancy having to consider the subsequent reflections of the testator!" "well anyhow," said mr. brumley, after a little pause, "such a breach, such a proceeding is out of the question--absolutely out of the question. it's unthinkable." "then why did you come here to ask me about it?" demanded maxwell hartington, beginning to rub the other eye in an audible and unpleasant manner. §5 when at last mr. brumley was face to face with lady harman again, a vast mephitic disorderly creation of anticipations, intentions, resolves, suspicions, provisional hypotheses, urgencies, vindications, and wild and whirling stuff generally vanished out of his mind. there beside the raised seat in the midst of the little rock garden where they had talked together five years before, she stood waiting for him, this tall simple woman he had always adored since their first encounter, a little strange and shy now in her dead black uniform of widowhood, but with her honest eyes greeting him, her friendly hands held out to him. he would have kissed them but for the restraining presence of snagsby who had brought him to her; as it was it seemed to him that the phantom of a kiss passed like a breath between them. he held her hands for a moment and relinquished them. "it is so good to see you," he said, and they sat down side by side. "i am very glad to see you again." then for a little while they sat in silence. mr. brumley had imagined and rehearsed this meeting in many different moods. now, he found none of his premeditated phrases served him, and it was the lady who undertook the difficult opening. "i could not see you before," she began. "i did not want to see anyone." she sought to explain. "i was strange. even to myself. suddenly----" she came to the point. "to find oneself free.... mr. brumley,--_it was wonderful!_" he did not interrupt her and presently she went on again. "you see," she said, "i have become a human being----owning myself. i had never thought what this change would be to me.... it has been----. it has been--like being born, when one hadn't realized before that one wasn't born.... now--now i can act. i can do this and that. i used to feel as though i was on strings--with somebody able to pull.... there is no one now able to pull at me, no one able to thwart me...." her dark eyes looked among the trees and mr. brumley watched her profile. "it has been like falling out of a prison from which one never hoped to escape. i feel like a moth that has just come out of its case,--you know how they come out, wet and weak but--released. for a time i feel i can do nothing but sit in the sun." "it's queer," she repeated, "how one tries to feel differently from what one really feels, how one tries to feel as one supposes people expect one to feel. at first i hardly dared look at myself.... i thought i ought to be sorrowful and helpless.... i am not in the least sorrowful or helpless.... "but," said mr. brumley, "are you so free?" "yes." "altogether?" "as free now--as a man." "but----people are saying in london----. something about a will----." her lips closed. her brows and eyes became troubled. she seemed to gather herself together for an effort and spoke at length, without looking at him. "mr. brumley," she said, "before i knew anything of the will----. on the very evening when isaac died----. i knew----i would never marry again. never." mr. brumley did not stir. he remained regarding her with a mournful expression. "i was sure of it then," she said, "i knew nothing about the will. i want you to understand that--clearly." she said no more. the still pause lengthened. she forced herself to meet his eyes. "i thought," he said after a silent scrutiny, and left her to imagine what he had thought.... "but," he urged to her protracted silence, "you _care_?" she turned her face away. she looked at the hand lying idle upon her crape-covered knee. "you are my dearest friend," she said very softly. "you are almost my only friend. but----. i can never go into marriage any more...." "my dear," he said, "the marriage you have known----." "no," she said. "no sort of marriage." mr. brumley heaved a profound sigh. "before i had been a widow twenty-four hours, i began to realize that i was an escaped woman. it wasn't the particular marriage.... it was any marriage.... all we women are tied. most of us are willing to be tied perhaps, but only as people are willing to be tied to life-belts in a wreck--from fear from drowning. and now, i am just one of the free women, like the women who can earn large incomes, or the women who happen to own property. i've paid my penalties and my service is over.... i knew, of course, that you would ask me this. it isn't that i don't care for you, that i don't love your company and your help--and the love and the kindness...." "only," he said, "although it is the one thing i desire, although it is the one return you can make me----. but whatever i have done--i have done willingly...." "my dear!" cried mr. brumley, breaking out abruptly at a fresh point, "i want you to marry me. i want you to be mine, to be my dear close companion, the care of my life, the beauty in my life.... i can't frame sentences, my dear. you know, you know.... since first i saw you, talked to you in this very garden...." "i don't forget a thing," she answered. "it has been my life as well as yours. only----" the grip of her hand tightened on the back of their seat. she seemed to be examining her thumb intently. her voice sank to a whisper. "i won't marry you," she said. §6 mr. brumley leant back, then he bent forward in a desperate attitude with his hands and arms thrust between his knees, then suddenly he recovered, stood up and then knelt with one knee upon the seat. "what are you going to do with me then?" he asked. "i want you to go on being my friend." "i can't." "you can't?" "no,--i've _hoped_." and then with something almost querulous in his voice, he repeated, "my dear, i want you to marry me and i want now nothing else in the world." she was silent for a moment. "mr. brumley," she said, looking up at him, "have you no thought for our hostels?" mr. brumley as i have said hated dilemmas. he started to his feet, a man stung. he stood in front of her and quivered extended hands at her. "what do such things matter," he cried, "when a man is in love?" she shrank a little from him. "but," she asked, "haven't they always mattered?" "yes," he expostulated; "but these hostels, these hostels.... we've started them--isn't that good enough? we've set them going...." "do you know," she asked, "what would happen to the hostels if i were to marry?" "they would go on," he said. "they would go to a committee. named. it would include mrs. pembrose.... don't you see what would happen? he understood the case so well...." mr. brumley seemed suddenly shrunken. "he understood too well," he said. he looked down at her soft eyes, at her drooping gracious form, and it seemed to him that indeed she was made for love and that it was unendurable that she should be content to think of friendship and freedom as the ultimate purposes of her life.... §7 presently these two were walking in the pine-woods beyond the garden and mr. brumley was discoursing lamentably of love, this great glory that was denied them. the shade of perplexity deepened in her dark eyes as she listened. ever and again she seemed about to speak and then checked herself and let him talk on. he spoke of the closeness of love and the deep excitement of love and how it filled the soul with pride and the world with wonder, and of the universal right of men and women to love. he told of his dreams and his patience, and of the stormy hopes that would not be suppressed when he heard that sir isaac was dead. and as he pictured to himself the lost delights at which he hinted, as he called back those covert expectations, he forgot that she had declared herself resolved upon freedom at any cost, and his rage against sir isaac, who had possessed and wasted all that he would have cherished so tenderly, grew to nearly uncontrollable proportions. "here was your life," he said, "your beautiful life opening and full--full of such dear seeds of delight and wonder, calling for love, ready for love, and there came this _clutch_, this clutch that embodied all the narrow meanness of existence, and gripped and crumpled you and spoilt you.... for i tell you my dear you don't know; you don't begin to know...." he disregarded her shy eyes, giving way to his gathered wrath. "and he conquers! this little monster of meanness, he conquers to the end--his dead hand, his dead desires, out of the grave they hold you! always, always, it is clutch that conquers; the master of life! i was a fool to dream, a fool to hope. i forgot. i thought only of you and i--that perhaps you and i----" he did not heed her little sound of protest. he went on to a bitter denunciation of the rule of jealousy in the world, forgetting that the sufferer under that rule in this case was his own consuming jealousy. that was life. life was jealousy. it was all made up of fierce graspings, fierce suspicions, fierce resentments; men preyed upon one another even as the beasts they came from; reason made its crushed way through their conflict, crippled and wounded by their blows at one another. the best men, the wisest, the best of mankind, the stars of human wisdom, were but half ineffectual angels carried on the shoulders and guided by the steps of beasts. one might dream of a better world of men, of civilizations and wisdom latent in our passion-strained minds, of calms and courage and great heroical conquests that might come, but they lay tens of thousands of years away and we had to live, we had to die, no more than a herd of beasts tormented by gleams of knowledge we could never possess, of happiness for which we had no soul. he grew more and more eloquent as these thoughts sprang and grew in his mind. "of course i am absurd," he cried. "all men are absurd. man is the absurd animal. we have parted from primordial motives--lust and hate and hunger and fear, and from all the tragic greatness of uncontrollable fate and we, we've got nothing to replace them. we are comic--comic! ours is the stage of comedy in life's history, half lit and blinded,--and we fumble. as absurd as a kitten with its poor little head in a bag. there's your soul of man! mewing. we're all at it, the poets, the teachers. how can anyone hope to escape? why should i escape? what am i that i should expect to be anything but a thwarted lover, a man mocked by his own attempts at service? why should i expect to discover beauty and think that it won't be snatched away from me? all my life is comic--the story of this--this last absurdity could it make anything but a comic history? and yet within me my heart is weeping tears. the further one has gone, the deeper one wallows in the comic marsh. i am one of the newer kind of men, one of those men who cannot sit and hug their credit and their honour and their possessions and be content. i have seen the light of better things than that, and because of my vision, because of my vision and for no other reason i am the most ridiculous of men. always i have tried to go out from myself to the world and give. those early books of mine, those meretricious books in which i pretended all was so well with the world,--i did them because i wanted to give happiness and contentment and to be happy in the giving. and all the watchers and the grippers, the strong silent men and the calculating possessors of things, the masters of the world, they grinned at me. how i lied to please! but i tell you for all their grinning, in my very prostitution there was a better spirit than theirs in their successes. if i had to live over again----" he left that hypothesis uncompleted. "and now," he said, with a curious contrast between his voice and the exaltation of his sentiments, "now that i am to be your tormented, your emasculated lover to the very end of things, emasculated by laws i hate and customs i hate and vile foresights that i despise----" he paused, his thread lost for a moment. "because," he said, "i'm going to do it. i'm going to do what i can. i'm going to be as you wish me to be, to help you, to serve you.... if you can't come to meet me, i'll meet you. i can't help but love you, i can't do without you. never in my life have i subscribed willingly to the idea of renunciation. i've hated renunciation. but if there is no other course but renunciation, renunciation let it be. i'm bitter about this, bitter to the bottom of my soul, but at least i'll have you know i love you. anyhow...." his voice broke. there were tears in his eyes. and on the very crest of these magnificent capitulations his soul rebelled. he turned about so swiftly that for a sentence or so she did not realize the nature of his change. her mind remained glowing with her distressed acceptance of his magnificent nobility. "i can't," he said. he flung off his surrenders as a savage might fling off a garment. "when i think of his children," he said. "when i think of the world filled by his children, the children you have borne him--and i--forbidden almost to touch your hand!" and flying into a passion mr. brumley shouted "no!" "not even to touch your hand!" "i won't do it," he assured her. "i won't do it. if i cannot be your lover--i will go away. i will never see you again. i will do anything--anything, rather than suffer this degradation. i will go abroad. i will go to strange places. i will aviate. i will kill myself--or anything, but i won't endure this. i won't. you see, you ask too much, you demand more than flesh and blood can stand. i've done my best to bring myself to it and i can't. i won't have that--that----" he waved his trembling fingers in the air. he was absolutely unable to find an epithet pointed enough and bitter enough to stab into the memory of the departed knight. he thought of him as marble, enthroned at kensal green, with a false dignity, a false serenity, and intolerable triumph. he wanted something, some monosyllable to expound and strip all that, some lung-filling sky-splitting monosyllable that one could shout. his failure increased his exasperation. "i won't have him grinning, at me," he said at last. "and so, it's one thing or the other. there's no other choice. but i know your choice. i see your choice. it's good-bye--and why--why shouldn't i go now?" he waved his arms about. he was pitifully ridiculous. his face puckered as an ill-treated little boy's might do. this time it wasn't just the pathetic twinge that had broken his voice before; he found himself to his own amazement on the verge of loud, undignified, childish weeping. he was weeping passionately and noisily; he was over the edge of it, and it was too late to snatch himself back. the shame which could not constrain him, overcame him. a preposterous upward gesture of the hands expressed his despair. and abruptly this unhappy man of letters turned from her and fled, the most grief-routed of creatures, whooping and sobbing along a narrow pathway through the trees. §8 he left behind him an exceedingly distressed and astonished lady. she had stood with her eyes opening wider and wider at this culminating exhibition. "but mr. brumley!" she had cried at last. "mr. brumley!" he did not seem to hear her. and now he was running and stumbling along very fast through the trees, so that in a few minutes he would be out of sight. dismay came with the thought that he might presently go out of sight altogether. for a moment she seemed to hesitate. then with a swift decision and a firm large grasp of the hand, she gathered up her black skirts and set off after him along the narrow path. she ran. she ran lightly, with a soft rhythmic fluttering of white and black. the long crêpe bands she wore in sir isaac's honour streamed out behind her. "but mr. brumley," she panted unheard. "mister brumley!" he went from her fast, faster than she could follow, amidst the sun-dappled pine stems, and as he went he made noises between bellowing and soliloquy, heedless of any pursuit. all she could hear was a heart-wringing but inexpressive "wa, wa, wooh, wa, woo," that burst from him ever and again. through a more open space among the trees she fancied she was gaining upon him, and then as the pines came together again and were mingled with young spruces, she perceived that he drew away from her more and more. and he went round a curve and was hidden, and then visible again much further off, and then hidden----. she attempted one last cry to him, but her breath failed her, and she dropped her pace to a panting walk. surely he would not go thus into the high road! it was unendurable to think of him rushing out into the high road--blind with sorrow--it might be into the very bonnet of a passing automobile. she passed beyond the pines and scanned the path ahead as far as the stile. then she saw him, lying where he had flung himself, face downward among the bluebells. "oh!" she whispered to herself, and put one hand to her heart and drew nearer. she was flooded now with that passion of responsibility, with that wild irrational charity which pours out of the secret depths of a woman's stirred being. she came up to him so lightly as to be noiseless. he did not move, and for a moment she remained looking at him. then she said once more, and very gently-"mr. brumley." he started, listened for a second, turned over, sat up and stared at her. his face was flushed and his hair extremely ruffled. and a slight moisture recalled his weeping. "mr. brumley," she repeated, and suddenly there were tears of honest vexation in her voice and eyes. "you _know_ i cannot do without you." he rose to his knees, and never, it seemed to him, had she looked so beautiful. she was a little out of breath, her dusky hair was disordered, and there was an unwonted expression in her eyes, a strange mingling of indignation and tenderness. for a moment they stared unaffectedly at each other, each making discoveries. "oh!" he sighed at last; "whatever you please, my dear. whatever you please. i'm going to do as you wish, if you wish it, and be your friend and forget all this"--he waved an arm--"loving." there were signs of a recrudescence of grief, and, inarticulate as ever, she sank to her knees close beside him. "let us sit quietly among these hyacinths," said mr. brumley. "and then afterwards we will go back to the house and talk ... talk about our hostels." he sat back and she remained kneeling. "of course," he said, "i'm yours--to do just as you will with. and we'll work----. i've been a bit of a stupid brute. we'll work. for all those people. it will be--oh! a big work, quite a big work. big enough for us to thank god for. only----." the sight of her panting lips had filled him with a wild desire, that set every nerve aquivering, and yet for all that had a kind of moderation, a reasonableness. it was a sisterly thing he had in mind. he felt that if this one desire could be satisfied, then honour would be satisfied, that he would cease grudging sir isaac--anything.... but for some moments he could not force himself to speak of this desire, so great was his fear of a refusal. "there's one thing," he said, and all his being seemed aquiver. he looked hard at the trampled bluebells about their feet. "never once," he went on, "never once in all these years--have we two even--once--kissed.... it is such a little thing.... so much." he stopped, breathless. he could say no more because of the beating of his heart. and he dared not look at her face.... there was a swift, soft rustling as she moved.... she crouched down upon him and, taking his shoulder in her hand, upset him neatly backwards, and, doing nothing by halves, had kissed the astonished mr. brumley full upon his mouth. the end the following pages contain advertisements of macmillan books by the same author, and new fiction. by the same author the war in the air _illustrated. 12mo. $1.50 net._ "it is not every man who can write a story of the improbable and make it appear probable, and yet that is what mr. wells has done in _the war in the air_."--_the outlook._ "a more entertaining and original story of the future has probably never been written."--_town and country._ " ... displays that remarkable ingenuity for which mr. 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novel is her life and little else, but it is a life filled with a variety of experiences and touching closely many different strata of humankind. throughout it all, from the days when as a thirteen-year-old, homeless, friendless waif, jennie is sent to a reformatory, to the days when her beauty is the inspiration of a successful painter, there is in the narrative an appeal to the emotions, to the sympathy, to the affections, that cannot be gainsaid. saturday's child by kathleen norris, author of "mother," "the treasure," etc. _with frontispiece in colors by f. graham cootes. decorated cloth, 12mo. $1.35 net._ "_friday's child is loving and giving, saturday's child must work for her living._" the title of mrs. norris's new novel at once indicates its theme. it is the story of a girl who has her own way to make in the world. the various experiences through which she passes, the various viewpoints which she holds until she comes finally to realize that service for others is the only thing that counts, are told with that same intimate knowledge of character, that healthy optimism and the belief in the ultimate goodness of mankind that have distinguished all of this author's writing. the book is intensely alive with human emotions. the reader is bound to sympathize with mrs. norris's people because they seem like _real_ people and because they are actuated by motives which one is able to understand. _saturday's child_ is mrs. norris's longest work. into it has gone the very best of her creative talent. it is a volume which the many admirers of _mother_ will gladly accept. published by the macmillan company 64-66 fifth avenue new york new macmillan fiction thracian sea a novel by john helston, author of "aphrodite," etc. _with frontispiece in colors. decorated cloth, 12mo. $1.35 net._ probably no author to-day has written more powerfully or frankly on the conventions of modern society than john helston, who, however, has hitherto confined himself to the medium of verse. in 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transformation that was wrought in the lives of an irritable, domineering german pastor and his wife through the influence of a young german girl and her american lover. sentiment, humor and a human feeling, all present in just the right measure, warm the heart and contribute to the enjoyment which the reader derives in following the experiences of the well drawn characters. published by the macmillan company 64-66 fifth avenue new york new macmillan fiction metzel changes his mind by rachel capen schauffler, author of "the goodly fellowship." _with frontispiece. decorated cloth, 12mo. $1.25 net._ the many readers who enjoyed _the goodly fellowship_ have been eagerly awaiting something more from the pen of the same author. this is at last announced. in _metzel changes his mind_, miss schauffler strengthens the impression made by her first book that she is a writer of marked originality. here again she has provided an unusual setting for her tale. the scene is largely laid in a 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